Sorry for the delay.
Thanks to ElizabethWriter for her awesome beta skills. I have tinkered since she checked it so any and all mistakes are my own.
Part three is still to come...
The runaway SUV clips the commander's hip with enough force to send him skidding along the road and he lands in a crumpled heap approximately fifteen feet away. My heart just about leaps out of my chest when I realise he's lying motionless in the middle of the road.
"Uncle Steve!"
Before anyone can stop her, Gracie is out of the car and running. A well-meaning passerby wraps an arm around her waist in an attempt to shield her from the aftermath of the accident, which, needless to say, does not go down well with the young girl. Gracie kicks and wriggles her way out of the man's grasp with a strangled sob.
"No, leave me alone! Uncle Steve!"
Ignoring the concerned shouts from the crowd that's gathering on the sidewalk, the young girl drops to her knees beside Commander McGarrett and it just about breaks my heart to hear her pleading with him, and calling his name. I desperately want to wrap my arms around her and tell her that everything is going to be okay.
Off to the side, a concerned member of the public is trying to console the driver of the out-of-control Cherokee, who must be eighty if she's a day. The poor old dear is visibly shaken and keeps glancing over her shoulder at the fallen commander as though she can't quite believe what she's seeing.
"I don't know what happened," she whispers as the young man gently guides her away from the car, "I thought I put it in reverse."
I start to sprint back towards the parking lot, my bag bumping awkwardly against my leg as I run. For a moment, I seriously consider abandoning the damn thing in the middle of the pavement but then I remember my purse and keys are in it. By the time I reach McGarrett there's an older woman in a Hawaiian-print maxi dress kneeling over his prone form. I drop to me knees beside her, slightly breathless from my full-out sprint along the boardwalk.
"I'm a paramedic."
"I'll get out of your way, dear." The woman scrambles to make room so I can kneel down in the space beside McGarrett's head. "I've already opened his airway and checked his breathing," she explains as I gently run my hands over the commander's body to check for injuries. "My ex-husband was a doctor. My friend is on the phone with 911 – hopefully the ambulance will be here soon."
"Great, thanks." I glance over my shoulder at the young girl hovering behind us, hiccupping softly between sobs and ask, "Could you check on her for me? Her name is Gracie."
"Of course." The woman nods and gently starts to usher Gracie towards the pavement. "Come on, dear," she says kindly, pulling a tissue from her pocket. "Let's get you cleaned up a little bit while the lady checks on your…" She breaks off, unsure.
"He's my uncle. Is he going to be okay?"
"I hope so, sweetheart."
Contrary to her early hysterics, Gracie is surprisingly pliant as she allows to woman to guide her away from the middle of the road. It's probably a mild case of shock, which isn't exactly surprising considering she's just seen her uncle get mowed down by a car. I make a mental note to get her checked out once McGarrett has been taken care of.
Taking the commander's hand I mine, I press my fingers into the underside of his wrist and start counting. His pulse is strong, if a little fast, and I breathe a sigh of relief when he starts to stir. His eyelashes flutter as he fights his way back to consciousness and he groans before trying to push himself up onto one arm.
I'm starting to think that this is a typical reaction; it's obviously a habit from back in the day when getting injured meant being a liability. I guess it's still as true today with Five-0 as it was back when he was a SEAL on active duty.
The commander's movements are sluggish and uncoordinated as he tries to right himself. When I put my hand out to stop him, he squints up at me with bleary, confused eyes.
"Hey, no so fast," I scold mildly. I gently push on his shoulder until he's back lying on his side. It's not exactly the recovery position but it will do until I can figure out what I'm dealing with.
"You need to stay still just now. Do you remember what happened?"
I get a muttered "Uhuh" in response and then, "Gracie?"
"Don't worry about Gracie just now. She's fine." I reach for his wrist again. "How are you doing? Do you have any pain anywhere?" I ask.
"What? No…" The commander sluggishly tries to pull his arm out of my grasp. His brow furrows and for a second I swear I can see fear in the former SEAL's eyes before he rolls over onto his back and starts to push himself up onto his forearms. "What's going on? Where's Grace?"
Honestly, sometimes I think the man purposely goes around asking for trouble. He's obviously not thinking about the serious consequences his actions could have; call me Debbie Downer but all it would take it one wrong move and the former SEAL could end up spending the rest of his life in a wheelchair.
I have to bite my tongue to keep from snapping as I put my hands on his shoulders to stop him sitting up.
"There's nothing going on," I say firmly, pushing the commander back down. "Gracie is being taken care of. She's fine – a little shaken and worried about you but physically, she's okay. I'm going to get her checked out by EMS when they get here just in case, though."
"Shit." McGarrett groans and then squeezes his eyes shut. "Danny's going to kill me, " he mutters, bringing a hand up to his head.
"Ah, ah… Don't touch."
I grab his wrist before he can make contact with the bloody scrape on his forehead. It's one of many; the entire right side of the commander's face is scraped to hell thanks to the abrasive surface of the road he's just become rather intimately acquainted with. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say that his arm and side-slash-hip are in a similar state, despite having been protected by a layer of clothing.
My intervention earns me a pain-laced huff of annoyance, which I ignore.
"Right. Now, who's Danny?"
"Williams? You know, small blonde guy, likes to talk…?" The commander flaps a hand dismissively and then winces when the movement pulls on his injured side. "Oww…" he mutters, stilling instantly.
Sighing, I take his wrist and guide his arm down until it's lying across his stomach. Somehow I'm able to resist the temptation to tell him to 'stay' - like a dog.
I mean, the commander seems like a smart guy but right now, he's being remarkably obtuse. It's almost as though he's forgotten that getting hurt actually… well, hurts. God knows he's spent enough time in the Emergency Room to realize that. I don't know, maybe I'm being a little unfair? The guy's probably concussed and not thinking straight.
"Why would Detective Williams be mad at you? It was an accident – it's not like any of this way your fault," I say as the wail of approaching sirens finally breaks through the low hum of the early-afternoon traffic. It's about time; it feels like I've been kneeling here for hours and my knees are being rather vocal in making the displeasure known. I hate to think how much pain the commander must be in.
McGarrett pulls a face and shifts in discomfort before replying. While I can't blame him for moving, I can't help but frown at him disapprovingly. He huffs in frustration but stills. Chloe, one. Seriously spinal injury, nil.
"Danny can be a little overprotective. I guess it's understandable," he says with a grimace. "I mean, he moved all the way out here to be with Gracie and his ex-wife hasn't exactly – "
"Gracie is Detective Williams' daughter?"
"Well, yeah…" The commander looks up at me as though it's the most obvious thing in the world.
To be fair, it is kind of obvious now that I think about it. In fact, I don't why I didn't put two and two together sooner. It's as if last night's booze binge has cause my IQ to suddenly drop 20 points overnight.
It's pretty common knowledge around the island that McGarrett and Williams are a package deal so little Gracie referring to Commander McGarrett as 'Uncle Steve' kind of makes sense. It's actually kind of sweet that the two of them have come to think of each other as family, or 'Ohana', as the locals call it.
I can only hope that, someday, Heather and I become that close.
In the last thirty seconds or so, the volume of the approaching sirens has increased from barely audible to ear-splitting. I glance over my shoulder as flashing blue lights appear in the distance.
"Paramedics are here," I say, giving McGarrett's hand a reassuring squeeze. Pushing myself up onto my feet, I brace myself and swivel round to face the approaching bus. The strobing lights blur and split into two as they come back into focus and it's only then that I realize there's a marked police car pulling into the parking lot behind the ambulance.
"And so is HPD."
"What?" The commander's eyes grow wide and he shifts as though he's getting ready to make another attempt to sit up.
"Don't even think about it." Honestly, the guy just doesn't know when to quit. I mean, he even has the gall to complain about not being allowed to move.
"I don't understand why you won't let me sit up," he mutters, grimacing. "I'm fine. I don't need to go to the hospital.
"Yes, you do. Look, I know your partner calls you 'Super Seal' but that doesn't mean you're actually invincible. You were hit by a car and knocked out so you need to get checked."
The commander rolls his eyes at the 'super seal' reference but I may as well have been speaking Chinese for all the good my spiel does. I should have known that, injured or not, Steve McGarrett is apparently physically incapable of backing down without a fight.
"The car was barely moving," he argues. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear the man actually pouts as he adds, "And I wasn't knocked out. I just… got my bell rung a little bit. I'm fine."
Yeah, okay... And denial ain't just a river in Egypt…
"If you won't do it for yourself, then maybe you'll do it for Gracie. You owe it to that little girl to get yourself checked out."
It's a low blow and I feel a little mean using Gracie against the commander but the little girl's terrified screams are still echoing in my ears. If I'm honest, I'm waiting for him to bite my head of for even suggesting he go to the ER because it didn't exactly go down well the last time I recommended it.
The commander's expression darkens, as I suspected it would. The look on his face reminds me of that first awkward encounter in that parking lot in Kalihi-Palama. It definitely wasn't my finest moment and it's not something I care to repeat anytime in the near future.
'New Chloe' is about to make an appearance when the woman I entrusted with Gracie's care starts to makes her way back out into the road. She stops beside me and hesitates for a moment before glancing down at a tearful Gracie with a guilty look on her face.
"I hate to do this to you, dear, but I have to go," she says. "My friend and I are heading home tonight and we need to get a move on if we're going to make it to the airport on time."
"Of course. Thanks for your help – I really appreciate it." I scramble to my feet and hold my hand out to Gracie, who's still looking slightly shell-shocked.
"Come here, sweetheart."
I pull her into my arms as the ambulance pulls in behind the abandoned Jeep Cherokee. The sirens are silenced and then two-man crew jump out. One of them heads round to the back of the rig to pull their kit bags and an oxygen canister from the lockers while the other crouches down at the commander's side.
"Hey, guys." The medic is young and blonde, and his body language screams 'surfer dude' as he casually pulls a pair of purple latex gloves from the pocket of his cargos. "So what's been happening?" he asks, pen poised over the back of his gloved hand as he looks between the commander and myself expectantly.
"This is Commander McGarrett," I say – because let's be honest, Detective Williams was right when he said his partner can't be trusted to tell the truth about his injuries. "About twelve minutes ago, he was hit by a car travelling approximately ten-to-fifteen miles an hour and the impact threw him around fifteen feet. He lost consciousness for approximately two minutes but he's currently alert and responsive. Pulse is 68, resps 17."
"Alright-y." Surfer Medic jots the numbers down as his partner, a woman with long dark hair scraped back into a messy bun, sets the bulging green backpack down next to him. He pulls the pressure cuff from the bag and wraps it around the commander's bicep.
"Any pain anywhere?" he asks, hooking the cuff up to a portable monitor.
"My hip," McGarrett admits, grudgingly submitting to Surfer Medic's ministrations. His honesty is, no doubt, spurred on by the pointed look I throw him when the paramedics' backs are turned but at least it's a step in the right direction. Unfortunately, he ruins any premise by adding, "But it's not that bad." And then, "I really need to sit up." He winces and shifts uncomfortably, subconsciously emphasizing how unreasonable we're being by forcing him to lie flat.
I roll my eyes but Surfer Medic doesn't appear the least bit bothered by his patient's dogged insistence.
"Okay, sure," he agrees easily, slipping a pulse-ox clip onto McGarrett's index finger. "I need to do a few more tests first. If they're all okay then we can see about moving you. Any pain in your neck or back?"
McGarrett sighs noisily. "No," he mutters. He sounds thoroughly hacked off and while I can sympathize – my knees are hurting just from kneeling on the concrete – I can't help but wonder what it's going to take to get through to this guy. He just doesn't seem to understand the implications of being allowed to move should he have a spinal or internal injury.
"Can you move your toes?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, good." Surfer Medic nods, satisfied, and pulls his penlight from the leg pocket of his navy uniform cargos. "We're nearly done. I just need to check your pupils. Look straight ahead for me."
While he's shining his penlight in Commander McGarrett's eyes, I take the opportunity to sneak a look at the numbers flashing up on the monitor screen. The commander may be acting as though getting hit by a car is no big deal but his body is telling me otherwise; his pulse and blood pressure are both a little on the high side, both of which can be attributed to the stress of being involved in an accident, and there's a subtle shake to his hands that I didn't notice previously. Whether the tremors are the physical manifestation of shock or fear, I'm not a hundred percent sure, but either way it's kind of reassuring to know that, despite his training and the shockingly blatant disregard he shows for his own safety, Steven 'Super Seal' McGarrett is human. Just like the rest of us.
While it's nice to know that the commander isn't the emotionless robot everyone thinks he is, it's a little unnerving to see such a strong, capable man look so vulnerable. Glancing down at his trembling hands, I feel a sudden – and overwhelming – urge to hug him. I think it's something to do with the unexpected display or emotion; the commander usually comes across as a force to be reckoned with. I mean, I've watched the man tackle a knife-wielding murdered without so much as breaking a sweat so seeing him like this just doesn't sit right with me.
Call me naïve but if I had my way, no-one would ever be made to feel like this.
The two paramedics step off to the side to discuss a plan of action and I take the opportunity to steer Gracie round to McGarrett's other side. She kneels down and grabs her uncle's hand, grasping it so tightly that the skin beneath her fingers blanches.
The commander doesn't seem to notice the vice-like grip as he twists and reaches up to wipe a stray tear from the young girl's cheek with his free hand. I should probably remind him that he's supposed to stay still until the paramedics say its ok to move but Gracie is in desperate need of a little bit of reassurance and I suspect the commander is the only one who'll be able to give it to her. I'd feel more than a little mean reprimanding him for comforting a child so instead of chastising him, I crouch down and ask, "How are you holding up?"
"I'm okay."
It's directed more towards Gracie than myself. I suppose I should be thankful that he's still talking to me after the whole threatening him with Gracie to make him go to the hospital thing. I couldn't care less if he's pissed at me; at the end of the day, I have a duty of care towards him and towards Gracie, and, right now, little Gracie's needs take precedence over the commander's wounded pride. Hopefully he'll forgive me.
Gracie is, understandable, rather reluctant to move from her uncle's side when the paramedics return with stretcher in tow. I have to physically pry her fingers from the commander's hand as both mine and McGarrett's reassurances fall on deaf ears. I feel a little guilty about having to manhandle her but eventually we manage to convince her to loosen her grip on her uncle and she lets me usher her to one side.
"Are you ready to try sitting up?" Surfer Medic asks McGarrett as he removes the pressure cuff. "We're going to take it slow. If something doesn't feel right or you feel any pain, you need to let us know."
McGarrett waits for the blond medic to unclip the pulse-ox monitor from his finger before gingerly pushing himself up onto his forearms. From there, he accepts Surfer Medic's hand and allows the younger man to pull him up. He grimaces when the movement pulls on his side but overall, he looks relieve to finally be sitting upright.
"How does that feel?" the female medic asks, manually re-checking her patient's pulse. "Any dizziness?"
McGarrett shakes his head. "No."
"Good." She nods, satisfied. "So here's what's going to happen next; we're going to get you up. Let us do all of the work – all you need to do is lock your good knee once you're upright. Then we'll get you onto the stretcher and head over the Kings to get you checked out. Okay?"
She hops over McGarrett's legs and leans down to hook her arm under her patient's elbow while her partner wraps his fingers around the commander's wrist.
"On three," Surfer Medic instructs. He adjusts his grip and the commander braces himself as the two paramedics prepare to pull him upright. "One, two, three…"