Blown away by the support, thank you so much :) A little nervous about this chapter...

CHAPTER 2- LEFT BEHIND

One week earlier

Steve McGarrett sat slouched on his wooden chair, gazing out to sea. It was nearly dark. He should go inside, get some sleep. He had another day to face tomorrow, another endless day with his fractured team. Grimacing, he raised his bottle of whiskey and placed it against his lips. He took a long, calming drink. It burned sweetly in his throat, his chest. He closed his eyes, languishing in the familiar sensation.

It had been a long weekend, his weekend with Grace and Charlie. The monthly event had become his only reason to keep going, the only reason to have to appear sane and functional. He had made promises through the years that he intended to keep and someone had to make sure those kids' memories of their father were preserved sacrosanct. He sure as fuck couldn't trust Rachel with that. Two-faced bitch. She had never been good enough for Danny, not in his eyes.

He took another drink.

There was a big, fat downside to the monthly weekend. He had to talk about Danny, think about Danny. It left him raw and shaken, every time. It always took some downtime to reconstruct his barriers.

He shook his head. Seven years ago he would never have thought the loss of one person could have this much impact on him. Even after Freddie died, he might have been a mess emotionally but his personality was essentially unchanged.

When they had lost Danny two years ago, everything had been turned upside down.

His usual coping strategy of compartmentalization had failed miserably. Turned out it was hard to lock the memory of Danny Williams away in a box when the man had left his mark on every fucking part of Steve's life. Work, home, family, friends. He had taken Danny with him to every single place on the fucking islands that meant anything to him. There was no escape, the associations were literally everywhere.

There were only two avenues of defence left to him that would allow him to stay on Oahu, and stay he had to for those fucking kids. Number one; shut himself off. That had proved easier than he ever would have imagined. The whole 'ohana' thing- he snorted at the term- his ohana could go fuck themselves as far as he was concerned. It was pretty ironic when he had started the whole thing, ever broadening their circle of trusted friends. They had all gathered together after Danny, supporting each other, trying to support him. But he didn't want it. He didn't want to 'heal'. He was too angry. With himself, for letting it happen, whatever 'it' really was. With his friends for trying to move on. With Danny.

He wouldn't even work with anyone else now. Steve used to be happy enough to partner up with any member of Five-0 if Danny was otherwise engaged- busy with his kids, knee-deep in overdue paperwork, or just whatever. Not now. Everything had changed. It felt like a betrayal if anyone sat beside him in that fucking car, the one he couldn't bear to get rid of, ever. He snorted again. He had lost the two most important figures in his life and he was left with two cars in their stead. His garage was a freaking graveyard.

So he worked alone.

And then there was number two, which had just snuck up on him, really; he drank. A lot. He hadn't seen that coming. It helped, took the edge off the pain, but he was pretty sure the team could tell. Not all the time, just once in a while. He could see it in their faces when they stood too close if he'd had a bad night. They could smell it on his breath. It didn't matter. They could think what they wanted. He still worked hard, still worked effectively.

Danny would have kicked his ass.

He took another swig.

Steve's thoughts rested unwillingly on the man himself. Danny Williams, irritating, loud and stubborn. The best friend he had ever had and the best man he had ever known. He had been a bit quiet for a while before he vanished. That hadn't seemed unduly concerning, that was just Danny. They had been busy with a case and they hadn't questioned it. Danny had always been in your face one minute, all bluster and aggressive humor, then introspective, agonising over any one of a catalogue of things the next. They all knew the Danny Williams emotional rollercoaster well and rode along with his moods ever-patiently because he was a good man, a fantastic detective and he was their friend.

Then he had disappeared. A call had come in late one night, some irrelevant murder. They knew Danny had answered his phone because dispatch had the brief conversation recorded. Nothing sounded amiss. But he hadn't made the crime scene. His GPS showed his Camaro had set off half an hour after the call and had been driven in the opposite direction from the way Danny should have been heading. They had found the car hours later when the worry had kicked in. It was parked near Danny's special place, locked and empty. Forensics drew a blank- there was no sign of foul play.

Danny had just gone.

They refused to draw the obvious conclusion, to begin with at least, and had searched for him obsessively, turned the islands and beyond upside down. They still hadn't given up. Still couldn't accept he'd gone off the nearby cliffs into the sea, be it voluntarily or not. They just had no active lines of enquiry.

Danny's official status was missing presumed dead.

Cleaning out his house when his lease eventually expired had just about killed Steve. They had worked together silently, he and the rest of the team, boxing Danny's possessions and moving them to Steve's garage. Grace had helped, her cheeks damp with tears. Something had cracked inside Steve that day. That was when the reality of the situation had sunk in, when his personal spiral had begun. He hadn't been the same since.

He had come back home years earlier in search of his father's murderer as a battle-hardened SEAL but with an open heart, quick to draw the right people into his circle of friendship. Now his heart was closed. He could never take the risk of being hurt like this again.

He raised the bottle to his lips once more.

His phone rang mid-swig and he cursed inwardly. He was too drunk to go to work now, that was for sure.

He put down the bottle, pulled out his cellphone. He didn't recognize the number. He hit 'answer', growled out his name.

"Steve, long time no..."

Freaking Joe White. Another two-faced bastard Steve had long since struck off from his mental list of reliable individuals. Steve cut him off. "What do you want Joe?"

"Listen, I'm in Colombia, been doing a favor for an old friend. Long story short, I managed to get myself shot. I've been in hospital here for a few days."

There was a protracted silence while Steve tried to decide if he should pretend he cared enough to ask more.

"Steve? Just listen. That's not why I'm calling, I don't need your… sympathy. Or whatever. I'm calling because Danny's here too."

Time stood still. Joe was still talking but everything tunnelled around Steve, his hearing devolving into static. "Joe, you better not be fucking with me here," he managed to spit out eventually. His voice was actually shaking.

"Trust me, Steve. It's him. He's apparently been here for months. Someone found him dumped at the side of a road last year, seemingly left for dead. They had no idea who he was. Physically he's healed, but he's essentially catatonic. Severely traumatized, they think. He's not talking. Well not meaningfully. But it's him."

Steve couldn't speak.

He heard Joe sigh deeply at the end of the line. "I'll send you the location. Steve… just don't expect too much."

TBC

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