So, only a little bit of Five-0 in this one. But... the next chapter has lots of whump to make up for it.
Fair warning - Language gets a bit stronger towards the end. And finally, I've posted the first two chapters of the sister fic I promised you all a few weeks ago. It's called 'Ahonui (Be Patient, Tolerate)'.
As always, thanks to everyone who's taken the time to favourite, follow and review. Thank you. :)
On Sunday night I walk into work feeling like the slightest thing could tip me over the edge. It's the culmination of a few things, such as waking up this afternoon to find that my period had come early and then having a blazing row with Katie over why the air-con maintenance guy has to come at 10am tomorrow when I won't get to bed until 8 after working all night. She might be able to function on two hours sleep but I can't, and it's not fair to expect me to.
"Cheer up, love," Jim, the night guard, calls from behind his desk when I storm down the corridor towards the locker room. "It might never happen."
Heather's already in there and she winces when I slam the door to my locker shut. Pulling her pant leg down over the top of her boot after changing into it, she stands and motions for me to follow her before leading me out into the garage. She keeps walking until we're out the back where the quick response cars are parked in two long lines then leans back against the perimeter wall, and gestures for me start talking.
"Get it off your chest now," she warns when I stubbornly clamp my mouth shut. "Scream, shout… Do what you have to do to clear your head. You can't afford to be distracted when we get out there."
"I'm not distracted, I'm pissed. There's a difference."
Heather rolls her eyes at my cheek. "Well, whatever it is, get over it, all right? Better medics than you have found themselves in the shit because they've let themselves be distracted by something they should have left at door."
Just after midnight we're dispatched to a road traffic accident over the Kane'ohe Bay side of the island. The Sat Nav directs us past the Punchbowl on the Pali Highway and up over the ridge through Kaneohe into Ahuimanu. The road twists as it climbs and a couple of times, Heather has to grab onto the 'oh shit' handle above the door when I take a corner a little too fast in my haste to get us to the scene.
"We're not going to be any use to anybody if we die in a fire-y wreck before we even get there," she mutters before pointedly shifting in her seat so that her seatbelt doesn't choke her when it locks into place around the next bend (being so petite, it happens more often that you'd think).
Biting my tongue, I take my foot off the accelerator and brake before steering the rig around the next sweeping curve; Heather's talk earlier hit a nerve and I haven't forgiven her enough to want to make friends again just yet. I'll be civil but that's it.
"Have they updated the information yet?" I ask sullenly, nodding at the on-board computer between us. All dispatch could tell us when they patched the job through was that HPD was already en-route.
"Three cars involved, one of which has gone off the road into a ditch. Multiple casualties – they've sent a responder on ahead of us."
Quick response – also know as rapid response - cars are manned by one person, usually an EMT Paramedic like Heather. They carry the same life-saving equipment we do but, not being as bulky as a rig, they tend to get through traffic quicker and that means they can start treatment earlier. In the case of something like a stroke, even a minute can be the difference between a patient recovering the use of their leg(s) or being reliant on a wheelchair.
"They'll hopefully have triaged everyone by the time we get there," Heather adds, reaching up the fix the barrette holding her bangs back off of her face.
The road where the accident took place turns out to be little more than a dirt track and it's barely wide enough for two cars to pass without touching wing mirrors. On one side, it slopes away sharply and a hedge separates the ditch from the field beyond it. When we pull in to the side of the road behind a squad car we're met by the fast responder, a tall lanky guy whose name badge identifies him as Ano Hokule'a, and he leads us past the 'road closed' signs to where a Subaru Impreza and a Toyota Prius are lying abandoned in the middle of the road with their headlights still on.
"The third car's there," he says, pointing up the road to where two uniformed officers are shining their mag lights into the ditch. "It was travelling side-by-side with the Subaru when they met the Prius coming the other way. They split up and tried to go around the prius - HPD are thinking the driver of the Prius took her hands off the wheel to cover her face and her car then clipped the back end of the Mustang, sending it spinning. It flipped when it hit that rock over there and then slide down the incline. The two occupants were out by the time HPD arrived – they're over there with the two that were in the Subaru."
He points up the road to where four teenage boys are sitting on the ground with blankets draped over their shoulders and then tells us, "I've got the Prius driver sitting in the back of my car - if you guys could check out the Lewis Hamilton wannabe's, I'll get her sorted so she can head home as soon as her son gets here."
Nodding, we head into the back of the rig to grab our bags and head over to where the boys are sitting on the ground, leaning against one of the patrol cars. All of them have the same haunted look on their face - the seriousness of the situation has obviously starting to sink in - and they sit in silence as we methodically work our way down the line, taking pulses and checking blood pressures. It's not hard to tell which ones were in the Mustang because both of them have cuts and scrapes all over their arms and faces; I clean the gash on nineteen-year-old Luke's cheek and close it using two butterfly bandages while Heather pokes at his friend's swollen lower lip before we agree that neither of them require hospital treatment.
Once the Subaru's occupants have been checked over as well, I clamber to my feet and head over to the pair of officers standing by the newly-arrived Vehicular Homicide Section van to let them know they boys are fit to be questioned. When I announce my presence they both turn, but the handsome male officer's face twists like he's smelled something bad. He probably expects me say his prisoners can't be questioned due to needing medical attention in the ER, so I smile as I gesture over my should at the boys and tell him, "They're all yours. I think they've realized how close they came to seriously hurting that lady."
"They were lucky," the middle-aged female officer agrees, watching as her partner kicks at the dirt in disgust at the boys' actions. "If they were my kids, I'd be kicking their butts up and down this road for being so stupid and then taking away their keys. I'm telling you - these boys-racer types would think twice about showing off to their friends if they spent a day in the morgue with Doc Bergman."
"That's never going to happen and you know it," her partner grumbles. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he tells her, "I'll go let the Sarge know they can be taken back to the station," and then walks off towards the two officers watching the VHS techs dropping numbered markers next to the skid marks left in the dirt. We watch him go in silence and then, when he's out of ear shot, the young woman turns to me and asks, "Was that you and your partner I saw with Danny Williams the other day?"
"If you mean up at Waahila Ridge then yes, it was."
"I thought so," she says with a smile. "Danny's a good guy. I worked a few cases under him when he worked homicide at HPD. Of course, that was before McGarrett poached him for his task force." Glancing over at the group of officers behind us, she raises an eyebrow. "I'd better go – don't want to get in trouble with the brass now that Lukela's cracking down. Someone should be over to take those boys off of your hands in a couple of minutes."
She heads over to join her partner by the abandoned Subaru, leaving me to make my way back to where I left Heather watching over my equipment. The woman's comment about Steve strong-arming Danny into being his partner ties in with what I've heard about the rift between Five-0 and HPD; McGarrett ruffled a lot of feathers when he chose a pineapple-hating haole, a disgraced cop and a rookie –the disgraced cop's cousin, no less - to join his special team and some of the officers have even gone so far as to refuse to take orders from him, using the excuse that McGarrett's 'not a real cop' to justify their outright hostility.
They're probably just jealous, I think as I wander past where the VHS techs have moved onto positioning high-powered lights around the cars. Steve has the governor's backing and 'means and immunity', whatever that is. And half of the island's female population throwing themselves at him on a near-daily basis, which isn't exactly surprisingly given how good Super SEAL looks in his tactical gear (who knew thigh holsters could be so much of a turn on?). What do those guys have?
"Can we go?" Heather asks when I eventually rejoin her where she's leaning against the patrol car watching over the boys. Shaking my head, I stuff my hands in my pocket and then lean back against the rear panel beside her to watch as the one of the techs photographs the positions of the two cars on the road.
The four uniforms have moved off to one side and are talking amongst themselves. They're not exactly keeping their voices down - the Paul Giamatti look-alike's is particularly grating - so it's not surprising that I can hear snippets of what's being said even though I'm standing a good forty feet away.
I do my best to tune them out but it's hard when the look-alike seems to be in love with the sound of his own voice and doesn't seem to care who hears him going on about everything from the malasadas he had during his break to why he thinks the top brass are cracking down on them.
(Unsurprisingly), Steve's name crops up within about thirty seconds of the guy starting to explain his theory and I chew on my lower lip as I try to block out what he's saying (because it's really none of my business and, given what happened the other day, I'm more than a little biased). The problem is, it's a lot harder than it sound and I end up shaking my head in frustration as I push myself up from where I've been leaning against the cruiser. I need something to distract me so I kneel down beside my kit bag and pull my little square notebook from one of the zip pockets, intent on practicing converting Celsius to Farenheit and vice versa. But when I feel inside my trouser pocket for my pen, it's not there and I curse when a quick pat down leaves me empty handed.
"Seriously?"
"What's wrong?" Heather asks.
"I've lost my pen."
"There's a full box in the rig," she says without glancing up from where she's using a wet wipe to clean the face of her watch. "Just take one."
Pulling my penlight out of the leg pocket of my cargos, I shake my head, insisting, "No this was a special one. I find it tricky to write with some pens because I'm left-handed, you know?" and then point to a spot over by the group of gabbing officers. "I'm going to go check over there in case it fell out of my pocket earlier. Be right back," and then quickly walk off before she can question what makes this specific pen so special.
Aiming my penlight at the ground, I keep my head down as I walk back along the verge towards the VHS van looking for my lost pen. As soon as I'm level with the back end of the Subaru I slow my pace and start to meander a little, singing the new Nick Jonas song under my breath to drown out the inane chatter going on behind and slightly to the right of me. It works - until I notice one of my bootlaces has come undone and I crouch down right beside the group to tie it before I end up tripping over it.
"I saw him," the balding cop says, folding his arms over his chest. "He was at the precinct the other day talking to Lukela."
"Is that it? You saw them talking?" the female officer I was talking to earlier pipes up. "Duke and McGarrett go way back - for all you know they could have been discussing where to go for lunch."
The guy scowls and retorts, "You didn't let me finish, Karen. So, as I was saying, McGarrett was at the station talking to Duke and then, a couple of hours after he leaves, Lukela calls Kamalei and Mackay into his office and tells them he's putting them on traffic duty indefinitely. He gave Mackay a load of crap about having to follow up on a complaint that was made about the way they dealt with an assault case."
Boot secured, I stand and continue with my search just as the tall handsome officer chips in a quiet "So…? What's that got to do with us losing our smoke breaks?"
The balding guy smiles arrogantly and taps the side of his nose. "It was McGarrett who made the complaint," he tells his colleagues. "Rumor is, he's hooking up with the victim - otherwise why would he have gotten involved in a run-of-the-mill assault case? Lukela needs to make it look like he's handling things on HPD's end so he's 'cracking down' on us to keep McGarrett happy. Hence the lecture we got at briefing."
I've heard more than enough at this point and I abandon my search and quickly head back to where I left my partner keeping an eye on my kit bag. I can't believe that Steve went to HPD - what happened in Chinatown had absolutely nothing to do with him and by going to Duke Lukela, he's not only managed to piss off half of HPD, he's screwed me over, too (excuse the pun); I feel physically sick when I realize that all the two officers have to do is work out which assault Duke was talking about when he demoted them (details get written down in their notebooks incase they need to recall an incident in court) to get my name, address and occupation – it's all there on the charge sheet.
What happens if they persuade their colleagues to blackball me the same way some of HPD have blackballed Steve? And where does that leave me – and, more importantly, my partner - if things go to shit when we're on a call?
The idea of half of the emergency service personnel on the island finding out that I jumped into bed with McGarrett the first chance I got doesn't bother me half as much as the knowing I could potentially be left to the wolves. I bet Super SEAL didn't think about that before he went storming into Duke Lukela's office to confront him without talking to me first.
By the time I join Heather leaning against the rear panel of one of the black and whites, I have the beginnings of a plan of action forming inside my head and the first thing on my list is to find McGarrett.
H50*H50*H50
A little after eight am, I pull into the lot across the road from the Iolani palace – home to Five-0 HQ - and grab the sparkly pink gift bag containing Grace's birthday present off of the passenger seat as I go to get out of the car. It's not long started spitting and I clutch the bag close to my chest to shield it from the rain as I make a run for it across the road. Trotting up the steps, I push open the tall wooden door and join the queue waiting to go through the metal detector in the entrance hall. When the guard eyes my uniform and asks where I'm heading I tell her, "Commander McGarrett's office," and hand over the gift bag to be checked; once she's satisfied I'm not trying to smuggle in anything illegal she hands the bag back and waves me through.
Walking through into the main building, I take a second to marvel at the palace's high domed ceiling and the twin marble staircases that sweep in towards each other as they climb and then make a beeline for the guard sitting behind the desk on my right to ask directions to Steve's office; Lenny is more than happy to point me in the right direction and I turn right at the top of the stairs, and follow the long corridor round until I come to a double set of glass doors as described.
The lights are on inside the large office suite and the door opens when I try it, so I head inside, glancing down at the Special Investigations, State of Hawaii insignia on the floor as I walk past the unoccupied offices lining the left side of the walls.
"Hello?"
There's no answer so I wander further into the suite and pause next to what looks like a giant iPad supported by four legs; it's the size of a large dining table and surround at one end by three TV screens suspended from the ceiling. There's an actual table behind it and I drop Grace's present on the glass top as I let my gaze drift around the rest of the room, from the large corner office - Steve's (the flags and naval-themed paintings on either side of the desk are a dead give-away) - to the padlocked metal weapons locker that takes up most of the wall beyond it. The last of the offices takes up the remaining space on that side and I look at the sofa inside the glass-walled room longingly; the balls of my feet are burning and my eyes feel gritty, like there's sand in them, but I know that if I sit down I'll probably end up falling asleep. So, rubbing at my eyes, I tap my fingertips against the glass tabletop and then check my watch, trying to decide how much longer to wait.
Five minutes pass, then ten, and I wait until the display on the black and red G-Shock I bought especially for work changes from 08:19 to 08:20 before grabbing the gift bag back off the table and heading for the door. Using my shoulder to push my way out into the corridor, I let it swing shut behind me and then jump when look up to find myself face-to-face with Lieutenant Kelly, who nimbly steps to one side before I end up bouncing off his chest.
"It's Chloe, right?" he says, running his eyes over the Registered Emergency Medical Technician – Basic and State of Hawaii Paramedic badges on my rumpled uniform shirt. "I'm Chin Ho Kelly. I've head a lot about you."
"All good things I hope," I say, offering him a tired smile before I motion to the door behind me. "I didn't mean to intrude - I thought that, with the door being open…"
Chin waves off my apology, saying, "I went to get something out of my car," and nods at the gift bag I'm holding as he slips past me to push open the door into HQ. "I assume that's for Grace. I can take it off your hands if you want, unless you'd rather wait and give it Danny personally?"
"Actually, I'm here to see Steve. Do you know when he'll be in?"
"He shouldn't be much longer," Chin says as I trail him along the corridor towards Steve's office. "Tell you what, why don't you go take a seat in his office and I'll let him know you're here."
He points me towards the large corner office and heads into his own to give Steve a call while I settle myself into one of the twin leather chairs in front of the desk and then twist to look around. There's a row of shields on the wall behind me and to my left, a display box – or 'shadow' box - filled with medals and various insignia. I only recognize two – the Purple Heart and Bronze star – and, secretly, I'm awed by the sheer number of ribbons on display. The list of commendations beside it, all awarded to Steven J. McGarrett, United States Navy, only goes to prove what I've thought all along – Super SEAL is one bad-ass mother fucker.
But that still doesn't change the fact that I'm pissed at him and when he appears less than ten minutes later, I greet him with a weary-sounding "Why did you go to Duke Lukela?"
He looks confused, bless him, and comes to perch on the edge of his desk in front of me as I lean back in my chair and run a hand through my hair in frustration.
"Did it have anything to do with what happened between us Friday night?"
"Is that what you think?" he asks coolly. When I nod, he silently pushes himself up and heads round to the high-backed office chair behind his desk. "You're wrong," he informs me, pulling a sheaf of paperwork out of one of the drawers. "I remembered what you told me about the guy already being under arrest for assault so I asked Duke to pull the case file and he agreed that the whole thing never should have happened."
"I never asked you to get involved," I snap, my voice rising as the anger that's been brewing in my chest starts to bubble over. "I was handling it just fine on my own."
Steve chuckles humourlessly. "If by that, you mean filing charges against a user who'll probably end up overdosing before he makes it in front of a judge instead of complaining about a lazy officer who thought it would be fun to watch you squirm then yeah, you're right. Good job."
"Unbelievable."
Shaking my head incredulously, I grab my bag and stand, telling Steve, "I think I finally understand why half of HPD refuses to take orders from you," as I storm towards the door. Pausing there momentarily, I call, "Do me a favor and lose my number until you stop acting like a goddamn caveman," over my shoulder and then shove my way back into the main space where Chin is leaning over the computer table, scrolling through what look like a list of mug shots.
He looks up at the sound of my boots on the tiled floor and then cocks his head when I switch tracks to approach him and hold up the glittery pink bag containing Grace's gift.
"Would you mind giving this to Danny for me?"
"Of course." Taking the bag, the lieutenant motions towards Steve's office with it before fixing me with the eyes of a wise old man. "I couldn't help but overhear. Everything okay?"
"Peachy," I lie, forcing myself to smile at him. "I'm gonna go home and get some sleep, but it was nice to meet you properly and thanks for taking that - " I point at the pink bag he's holding and start walking backwards towards the main doors. "- off my hands."
"No worries. See you around, Chloe."
Not if I can help it, I think with a chuckle as I turn on my heel and head for the doors.
*peers out between splayed fingers*
Is it safe to come out? No? Okay...