A/N: I didn't realize this story was going to nudge into science-fiction . . . blame the Special Activities Division. I had no idea what they were up to.
"Good morning, gentlemen. It's been almost a week since the museum incident. Where are we with the data?" The voice on the speakerphone was electronically altered.
"As expected, the subject continues to exhibit advanced healing capabilities. Thankfully, the bullet missed vital organs. It was a deep graze. She was discharged from hospital care two days ago." The man speaking was at the head of the table; clearly asserting his higher standing over the others seated at the table. HIs suit and tie were impeccable, his nails manicured.
"This is why I believe we should bring her in immediately. What if the bullet had nicked her spleen or liver? Her physician has to already be questioning the rapid recovery; we risk complete exposure if there is an attempt to repair an organ in surgery, or even worse, an organ fails and a transplant is suggested." The man, seated in one of the side chairs, looked tired. His tie was loosened, and he sported a day's growth of stubble.
"Commander McGarrett is highly unlikely to allow her to be put at risk again. Cortisol readings are low; either emotionally taxing situations are not a current issue, or she's being shielded from it somehow. Real time gamma wave readings indicate that the subject is engaged in highly challenging mental exercise: mostly likely another attempt at an algorithm or programming task." He dismissed the concerns of his exhausted companion with a frown and a flick of the wrist. "We continue."
#*#*#*#*#
"Arrrrgggghhh," RIley growled in frustration, while Jerry chuckled at her.
"I honestly expected you to be much better at this," he observed, setting his controller aside and taking Riley's. He handed her a water bottle and sandwich in exchange. Steve's orders had been explicit: keep her mind off of Joe White, make sure she had plenty to drink, and remind her to eat. "You will never level up until you start looking out for number one. Numeral uno. You, yourself, and you."
"But the objective of the game is to complete the mission," Riley argued. "If I had taken out that sniper's nest and saved myself, then I might have leveled up, but the mission would have been incomplete."
Jerry blinked at her. "But you would have been alive. Staying alive is sort of crucial to leveling up."
"But what about the mission?" Riley asked, taking another bite of her sandwich.
"This is why you are one of the most requested players, despite your almost embarrassingly low personal score. Hey, how's your side feeling? Do you need me to, you know, check the bandage or anything?"
"Nah, it's fine. Hey, want to work on the programming for that Roswell database? I think I may have fixed the bug for the duplicate entries from the mis-matched platform interface."
This was definitely, absolutely, the best assignment Steve had ever given him.
#*#*#*#*#
"Is there something you wanted to ask me, son?" Joe White inquired.
Steve glared at him. He thought he'd made it perfectly clear; that sort of sentiment was no longer welcome from Joe, as it had clearly not been earned to begin with.
"Sorry," Joe said, holding his hands up in surrender. "Old habits die hard; and no matter what you may think of me, there'll never be a time that I don't think of you and Riley as my responsibility, my greatest accomplishments."
"Even though neither of us are any longer under your control?" Steve asked. He took a bite of shrimp. Meeting Joe at Kamekona's somehow seemed better than bringing him in to Five-O offices. He didn't want to risk giving Joe the impression that he was somehow now working for or with Five-O . . . and he didn't want to raise too many questions as to his presence in the office. The line between official and personal investigation was blurry, to say the least.
Joe smiled at that. "Control, of any sort, is just an illusion. And I'm proud of you and Riley, regardless. Sorry to hear that she was injured; how is she doing?" Joe tried to keep his voice neutral, even though he was fiercely curious.
"It was a deep graze," Steve said, studying Joe's response. "Close enough range that the bullet gouged out the flesh. It certainly wasn't clean or neat. She had multiple layers of stitches, IV antibiotics, of course, because of the risk of infection. You've seen similar injuries in the field, I'm sure."
"I have," Joe nodded.
"So what's your guess as to how she's doing at this point," Steve said. "It's been six days."
"I'd say she's probably being discharged from the hospital now, barring infection."
"She was discharged two days ago. No sign of infection."
"Well, that's good, Steve. Glad to hear it."
"She's a fast healer," Steve said, his voice impassive. Malia had gone over Riley's medical records with him the day of discharge, explaining that the tissue repair was a full week ahead of what they had expected. They had only kept her in order to monitor a fever, for which they had no explanation, and which resolved quickly - although they determined that apparently her 'normal' body temperature was a good degree higher than average.
"Well, she's young, in excellent health," Joe said mildly, smiling at Steve, "and stubbornness runs in her family. I seem to recall you frustrating medical personnel more than once with your quick exits from hospital care."
"I've had injuries similar to hers," Steve said. "Don't recall healing this quickly."
"Well, you know, there are many who say that this idea of women as the weaker sex is neither literally or culturally relevant," Joe replied.
"So that's your explanation, then?" Steve asked, his eyes inscrutable.
"I wasn't aware that I was expected to explain your sister's medical history," Joe said. "That's not my area of expertise. I would advise you to consult with the lovely Malia Waincroft."
Steve grunted and took a bite of his shrimp.
"Do you know where our mother is right now, Joe?" he asked abruptly.
"Not currently, no," Joe said.
"Do you know anything useful at all? Or are you still playing games?
"Steve, the last time I spoke to your mother, she was going to go off the grid. It is the only thing she can do at the moment that makes you and Riley safer, as opposed to putting you into more danger," Joe said, looking Steve steadily in the eyes.
Steve was silent for a moment. Everything about Joe's body language, including his pupil dilation and respiration, said that he was telling the truth. Of course, Steve knew how to fool a polygraph test, and he assumed Joe did as well.
"And when was the last time you spoke with my mother?" he asked, fixing Joe with an unwavering gaze.
"The day I went home from the hospital," Joe said.
Steve sat in stunned silence.
"So she is alive," he said quietly.
"I can neither confirm nor deny that, son," Joe said.
Steve stood up so quickly from the table that Joe flinched and Kamekona glanced over at them in alarm.
"Go home, Joe," Steve said in a low tone.
"Steve, I -"
"Joe. Go. Home. Get out of my sight, before I test the limits of what exactly Agent Fielding meant when he said that I could do with you whatever I pleased. Go."
#*#*#*#*#
Steve sat across from Chin's desk, his fingers steepled in front of his face. His unusual slouch spoke volumes regarding his state of mind - Chin could have sworn he stepped back onto the island at attention and stayed that way. There were faint smudges of dark under his eyes, and the early afternoon sunlight glinted off some silver strands mixed with the dark brown at his temples. Chin suspected there were even some frown lines forming, but he couldn't be sure, under the layer of thicker than usual scruff.
"If he had any indication at all, Steve, he certainly never hinted to me," Chin said. "I'm so sorry; I can't imagine, after twenty years . . . " Chin shook his head.
"Do you think he knew? The whole time? Do you think he sent us away, knowing that our mom was still alive?" Steve asked.
Chin hesitated. "Steve, this is so much to take in. You've just found out that Joe has been lying to you, betrayed you. Your mother has been alive and not forthcoming with her whereabouts or intentions. My advice? At this point, unless you have solid evidence otherwise, assume that your dad is someone you can take at face value. He was a good man, Steve, and he loved you and Mary more than anything. Assume he was telling you the truth as he knew it."
"That makes sense, Chin, and you're right - that would make everything easier," Steve sighed. "Just one problem, though."
"Yeah? What's that?"
"My father's last words to me were an apology. For lying."
Chin could not think of anything to say, so he remained silent, his eyes warm and compassionate. Steve smiled at him, knowing that Chin would do anything to make him feel better - except add to the lies. Finally, Steve stood and walked slowly to the center console, where Danny and Kono had their heads bent over a file.
"Anything, guys?" Steve asked.
Danny shook his head in disappointment. "Sorry, babe. We've chased down every potential lead, even the truly far-fetched ones. Dead ends, every single one. WoFat has disappeared not only off the island, but apparently off the face of the earth."
"Maybe Catherine," Kono suggested, but Steve shook his head at that, too.
"No, she's been given the stand-down in no uncertain terms. Special Activities Division doesn't want to play nice with Naval Intelligence, and I won't let Catherine risk her career - or her life - defying clear orders and common sense," Steve said.
"What about your mom?" Kono asked, in a very quiet voice, her eyes wide.
"Joe says he spoke with her the day he got out of the hospital," Steve said. "He claims that he has no idea where she is; that she's staying hidden in order to protect me and Riley."
"Do you believe him?" Danny asked skeptically.
"No, which is why Riley and I have other measures in place," Steve said. He sighed and looked at his watch. "Speaking of, I need to go meet up with her at Jerry's."
#*#*#*#*#
"Nothing?" Steve asked, as he slid into the driver's seat of the Silverado.
"Nothing," Riley replied glumly. She winced a little as she pulled the seatbelt across her body. "Not one email, incoming or outgoing, on any of the old accounts. The one time Joe actually follows rules that he's given . . . anything on the surveillance?"
"No. No one coming or going. It's almost as if . . . " Steve hesitated.
"As if he's afraid," Riley said quietly. "What could make a man like Joe White afraid?"
Steve couldn't answer. He didn't want to know.
"Hey, Charlie is really looking forward to meeting you and getting you set up in the lab, but are you sure you're up to this? It doesn't have to be today," Steve said, as they pulled back into the palace parking lot.
"I want to get started," Riley insisted. "Please, I've been doing nothing useful."
"Jerry seemed pretty excited about what you accomplished this morning," Steve teased. "Okay, start with Charlie today, but you have to promise, if you need to stop, you'll come upstairs to my office and rest."
"Whatever," Riley said, rolling her eyes.
#*#*#*#*#
"The placement seems to be perfect, and the data stream is working beautifully. Thank you for your service, WoFat," the director said, speaking crisply into the speaker phone on the conference table. "I know this wasn't originally the plan, but what's the motto? One that McGarrett would appreciate - 'Improvise, Adapt, and Overcome'? I hope this token of our appreciation will make it worth your while."
"Thank you, Director Garrison," came the smooth, cultured reply. "I am honored to be of service."
The call ended with a click.
"I don't like it," said the agent sitting to Garrison's left. "Special Activities Division was designed to protect the interests of national security, not become fixated on one fringe project."
"That's why Special Activities Division created this agency," Garrison said coldly. "So that it could distance itself from the project. I assure you, what we are doing here is contained. And it is in the interest of national security. Do you realize what the potential for the agency - for all of the agencies - will be, if this proves successful? We have twenty-five years invested in this 'fringe project'. It's arguably the pinnacle of the entire division."
"I still don't like it," the agent repeated, "the risks are unacceptable. We don't know if Joe White is going to cooperate with us or not. It could go either way. WoFat is currently being controlled by money, but he has his own agenda, and no particular loyalty to Special Activities. To anyone."
"We are collecting the data, and we have the girl. McGarrett thinks he is protecting her, when in fact, he is creating the perfect field test. This is so much better than what we could ever duplicate in a lab. It's simply changed the timeline," Garrison argued. "Shelburne has approved the new direction of the project, that's all you need to know."
The agent shook his head. "You are dangerously underestimating him. If he finds out what's going on, McGarrett will burn this to the ground."
"He can't discredit us; no one would believe him," Garrison argued.
"Discredit?" the agent laughed. "You're worried about being discredited. Do you have any idea what that man is capable of? And what if we can't control the girl? We're just beginning to understand what she can do. What about the theory that abilities will exponentially increase with use? Discredit; that's rich. If he finds out . . . being discredited is the least of your worries. They will never find our bodies."
"Well, then Agent Fielding, I suggest you do your job. Get us the data we want, keep Joe White and Steve McGarrett in check, and keep tabs on the girl," the director said coldly.
"You don't ask for much, do you Director Garrison?" Fielding said sarcastically. He stood to leave. As he reached the door, he paused, and looked back. "And Garrison? 'Improvise, Adapt, and Overcome' is a motto of the US Marine Corps . . . not the Navy Seals."
"Arrogant prick", Fielding muttered to himself, as he left the room.
#*#*#*#*#
"I don't think you should tell her at the office, babe," Danny said, sitting thoughtfully across Steve's desk.
"At home?"
Danny shook his head. "You know how sometimes a certain smell, or song, can take you back in time? To a specific event?"
"Yeah, like an association," Steve said, nodding.
"Yeah, exactly. So, I'll be honest, Steve, I'm amazed that you have dealt as well as you have with living in the home where you grew up; being notified there of your mom's death, knowing that your dad . . . I mean, when I met you, your house was an active crime scene," Danny said. He paused, studying Steve, his blue eyes filled with compassion. "Do you get what I'm saying?"
Steve nodded again. "So, you want me to keep Riley from having those associations?"
"I think it couldn't hurt to try," Danny said. "Just my thoughts, for what it's worth. But I think she has an awful lot to deal with, and I think having your home and Five-O offices as a safe space, with as many positive associations as possible, would be a good idea."
"That makes sense, Danny," Steve said. He looked out the window pensively. "She needs a place like your overlook."
"Well," Danny said, shrugging. "I don't own it, you know. That's not a bad idea."
#*#*#*#*#
"So, she's alive," Riley said quietly, the wind moving through her wavy brown hair. She looked out over the water, rubbing her hand lightly over the stone wall of the overlook.
"Joe claims that he spoke with her the day he came home from the hospital," Steve clarified. "He hasn't been the most trustworthy, you know."
"You think he's lying about this?"
Steve sighed.
"Please, Steve," Riley said, looking at him. "Please be honest with me. No one else is, apparently."
"No," he said finally. "I don't think Joe is lying about this. I think our mother is alive."
"I do, too," Riley whispered. "But . . . " she stopped, and looked back out over the water again.
"What, sweetheart?" Steve said, brushing her hair out of her face.
"I don't know if I want to find her. Or if I want her to find us," Riley said slowly. "I don't think . . ."
"You don't think you can trust her," Steve said.
Riley nodded. "I don't think I can trust anyone," she half laughed, half sobbed.
Steve hesitated again, and wished, not for the first time, that Danny had come with them. He took a deep breath, and reached out awkwardly, gathering Riley in his arms. She stiffened at first, then relaxed and leaned against him. He rubbed his hand in gentle circles on her shoulder as she rested her head in the crook of his neck.
"You can trust me, Riley," he said quietly. "I swear to God, you can trust me."
#*#*#*#*#
The digital alteration disguised the voice, but not the irritation in it.
"It's a full week, gentlemen, and all we have is more gamma wave data. Nothing on physical capabilities."
Garrison held up his hands in a placating gesture, despite the fact that the voice on the other end of the speakerphone couldn't see him. "According to the tracking device, the girl goes between the home, headquarters, and then another home out in the suburbs. As we predicted, McGarrett is keeping her close for protection; not taking further advantage of her capabilities. The signal is weaker at Five-O headquarters; our guess is that she's working in the lab in the basement. That would explain the gamma wave data."
"Yes," the voice said. Even altered, the disgust was evident. "Gamma wave activity which is not even scratching the surface of potential. I did not give my entire life to this program to have the subject turned into a data entry clerk. What about this house in the suburbs? The data would indicate that there's a least a bit of a challenge there; the gamma activity is significantly higher when the subject is located there. Send a team. No serious damage; let's see what we get in a perceived threat situation."
The call ended abruptly, as usual.
"I don't like this," Fielding said. "There isn't enough control."
"Shelburne wants field data; this is the best way to collect it," Garrison argued. "Take a team."
Fielding stared him down. "I'll send a team. I'm not blowing my cover. They think I'm an analyst with Special Activities; that's how it's going to stay."
#*#*#*#*#
The ding of the elevator announced Riley's arrival to the main floor, where the team was clustered around the central computer console. Pictures of exotic animals were posted on the plasma screens, and Riley tilted her head in interest.
"We have another poacher," Kono explained. "And so far, not many leads."
Riley nodded. "I heard Charlie say that our lab was likely to start smelling like a zoo with the new case; I didn't know what he meant."
"These cases sometimes involve . . . evidence," Kono said, wrinkling her nose in disgust, and making Riley laugh.
"Did Charlie send you up to get a file?" Steve asked.
"No . . . " Riley said hesitantly. "I have an appointment. For the stitches? And then I was thinking . . . Charlie doesn't have anything else for me today; maybe I could go over to Jerry's."
Steve nodded. "Danny and I are going to interview a pet store owner near Queen's medical center. Chin, you and Kono go check out that import pet store over by the harbor, yeah? Hang on Riley, I'll just close down the stuff in my office, and be right back."
Danny followed Steve into his office.
"Stitches? She tear something?" he asked quietly, as Steve shut down his computer.
"No. They need to come out," Steve said. He stopped what he was doing and looked at Danny, watching for his reaction.
"Way too soon," Danny said, confusion clouding his features. "Steve, I was on the scene, remember? I saw that wound. Malia said there were two layers of stitches, it was so deep. There's no way . . ."
"And yet, here we are," Steve said. "I checked last night myself. Stitches probably should have come out yesterday."
"I know she has youth on her side," Danny said slowly. "But you wouldn't have aneurysm face if this wasn't . . . hinky."
"Hinky, Danny?"
"Got a better word for it?"
Steve sighed. He didn't. "Come on, Danno, let's go see if we can catch our Dr. Doolittle."
#*#*#*#*#
Despite Riley's protests, Steve insisted on staying at the hospital and waiting for her to have the stitches removed.
"Steve, just drop me off, go on to your interview," she'd said. "You seriously don't have to babysit me. It's just getting stitches pulled - honestly, you could have done it yourself. I could have done it, if it weren't for the weird angle. I can't reach."
"Which tells me you tried to reach, which, eww," Danny said. "Here in the civilized world, we don't take our own stitches out. Well, you and Steve probably do, given that Joe taught you to be all you could be."
"That's the Army, Danny," Steve said in annoyance. "Let us wait with you, and then you can go on the interview with us."
"Oh," Riley said, reconsidering her protest. A suspect interview, and at a pet store, sounded interesting.
Steve smiled and parked the car.
"Riley," Malia said warmly, as they entered the emergency department. The rest of the staff had long ago quit questioning the tendency of the entire Five-O team to use Malia as their primary care physician. As if they could really make regular doctor's appointments between knife lacerations and bullet wounds. "We'll go in the suture room here and get you fixed up and back on your way. Boys, you can sit right out here; this shouldn't take but a few minutes."
Steve and Danny obediently dropped into the plastic chairs just outside the curtain, and Malia smiled to herself. It really never got old, ordering them around. She gently steered Riley behind the curtain and let her get settled on the gurney as she set up the tray of instruments.
Malia sighed in dismay at the stitches. "Riley, I'm so sorry . . . I don't understand, it's too soon, but the skin has started to grow around . . . it's good you came in today, but this is still going to hurt. Let me give you a local." She started to prep a syringe of lidocaine, but Riley shook her head.
"No, Malia, it's fine, really and truly," she said. "Just go ahead."
Steve and Danny could easily hear their conversation, and glanced at each other in concern. They sat in misery as the minutes went by; Riley did not make a sound, but the constant apologies and reassurances from Malia indicated that the removal was difficult and painful.
"Okay, sweetie, that was the last one," Malia said, finally, and they could hear the sound of the instruments being placed gently back on the tray. "You're going to want to keep this covered for a couple of days, okay? Alright, I'll let you get sorted."
Malia stepped to the other side of the curtain with Steve and Danny. She was visibly shaken and distressed.
"Whoa, babe," Danny said quietly, putting his arm around her. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," Malia said, but she leaned against Danny all the same. "That was . . . " she motioned them away from the curtain, and spoke quietly. "The skin had grown around the stitches. You would think they had been in for over two weeks, not just barely one week. I had to . . . well, let's just say there is no way that wasn't incredibly painful. I'm so sorry, Steve, I had no idea. I've never seen anything like this."
"It wasn't like that when I checked last night," Steve said, "or I would have gone ahead and removed them. It's not your fault, Malia. I asked Joe . . . he stonewalled me, but I think he knows something."
Danny's eyebrows shot up in question, but Riley came out from behind the curtain before he could ask. She was a bit pale but was moving easily.
"Now can we go to the pet store?" she said, smiling.
#*#*#*#*#
"Well, that was interesting," Danny groused, pulling feathers off his shirt.
"That bird really had it in for you, Danny," Riley said, grinning at him as they walked back to the Camaro. She glanced at Steve, wondering if they should mention the trail of bird shit running down the back of Danny's dress shirt. Steve shrugged and smirked at her.
"No, I meant it was interesting, the way every single animal in there looked at you like you were Dr. Doolittle and Jack Hanna rolled into one, kid," Danny said.
"I like animals," Riley said simply. "If you like animals, they know it, and they like you back. You obviously don't like animals, Danny, and they can sense that."
"But I do like animals," Danny protested. "I like dogs, especially. But not birds. I do not like birds."
"I think the feeling is mutual, Danno," Steve said, as they headed off toward Jerry's house.
"What is that smell . . . " Danny wondered.
#*#*#*#*#
"You're sure you're okay?" Steve asked, as they waited on Jerry's porch. "Malia said that didn't go well. I can take you home, first, then go back to the office." He brushed an errant wave of hair out of Riley's face.
"I'm fine," Riley insisted. "We are almost done with Jerry's crazy Roswell database, and I want to check and see if there's been any activity at all on Joe's accounts. And then I think we're going to start programming on a new video game. But if you get anything on the poaching case, and Charlie needs me to come in . . . "
"I'll send someone for you, I promise," Steve said. "You're sure this is okay?"
Riley smiled sheepishly. "Hanging out with Jerry is really a lot of fun. Kind of like my first semester at the university. I don't mean to be ungrateful, truly, I am so happy with my job at Five-O but . . . "
"It's kind of boring?" Steve guessed.
"A little," Riley admitted. "Until you need something hacked; that will be interesting."
"Wait until you're asked," Steve reminded her sternly. "What is taking Jerry so long?"
"Sorry guys," Jerry said, opening the door, a bit breathless. "There was a situation with the league . . . "
#*#*#*#*#
"It's called a what?" Riley asked, looking at the object on her plate dubiously.
"A Hot Pocket," Jerry said. "I can't believe you've never had one."
"Nope," Riley said, taking a tentative bite. "It's good," she added, surprised. "Thank you. And thank you, for, you know. The other thing." She pointed at her ankle, where a neat bandage had just been applied.
"I still think you should at least tell Steve," Jerry said. "Or Malia. What if you're allergic to it?"
Riley shook her head. "The fewer people who know the better. And only turn it on if I come up missing," she added sternly. "Otherwise, it's creepy. I don't want you knowing where I am all the time."
Jerry raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, but you can't let your brother kill me."
They'd been working together in mostly companionable silence for the better part of an hour. Riley was painstakingly sifting through the lines of data from the bugs she'd installed on Joe's accounts, searching for any indication of activity, and highlighting and printing anything that caught her eye. Jerry was still fiddling with his Roswell database, humming happily as pieces of information fell into neat categories.
"This frequency analysis equation you added - what's wrong?" Jerry asked, frowning at Riley. She was sitting quietly, a strange look on her face. "Did you find something with Joe?"
"Yeah, maybe some activity," she said dismissively, "but that's not . . ."
"What, what is it?" Jerry asked, as always, highly sensitive to any possible intrigue.
"I feel like - never mind, it's probably all of the electromagnetic frequencies we have down here," she laughed.
"Oh, like Ghost Hunters?" Jerry said, laughing with her. "Do we need to debunk the paranormal?"
"Maybe," Riley said, her fingers once again flying over the keyboard. "See if there's some little ghostly spirit looking over my shoulder."
"You feel like you're being watched?" Jerry asked, concerned. "Want me to call Steve?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Riley said, once again engrossed in her computer. "This is the best possible activity I've seen on this account since we started watching it. No, I'm just restless and . . . probably just itchy from getting stitches out and allergic to some of those animals, or something."
The soothing sound of keyboard strokes filled the comfortable silence for a while.
"Damn," Riley sighed. "I guess even retired Navy SEALs get spam. That's all the contact was . . . junk mail." She closed the lid of her laptop in frustration. "Let's work on the game. I'm bored."
Jerry nodded, and they both shifted over to the comfortable sofa, grabbing wireless keyboards and game controllers.
"Did you hear something?" Riley asked, pausing the game.
"Too much background audio?" Jerry asked, pulling up a screen of code.
"No, not on the game. Something upstairs," Riley said, setting her equipment aside. She pulled her boot back on her bandaged foot, and pulled a small handgun out of her other boot and clicked off the safety.
"Okay, does Steve know you carry that thing around?" Jerry asked, his eyes wide.
Riley shrugged. "I'm going upstairs to check," she said.
"And people say I'm paranoid," Jerry grumbled. "Remind me never to give you pot."
"I'll have you know I'm very mellow," Riley said absently. "Lock the basement door behind me."
Jerry started to protest.
"Look, don't argue," Riley said, in a tone that was uncannily similar to Steve's. "I don't want you to get in trouble if someone is here because of me tracking Joe. Let me just go check it out; it's probably nothing. I've been on edge all afternoon." She went soundlessly up the stairs.
Jerry looked after her for a moment and then shook his head. They were both imposing, but between the two of them, he'd rather risk Riley's wrath than Steve's. He pulled out his cell phone.
"Yeah, McGarrett? I think you better get over here . . . "
#*#*#*#*#
Riley crept silently through the basement door, pressing the button to lock it before she closed it behind her. Jerry might not remember. She pondered for a moment, then shrugged and locked the door from the hallway as well. Jerry would mean well, but honestly, it would be more complicated trying to cover him as well as take care of herself.
A muffled sound in the kitchen drew her attention, followed by another in the bathroom. At least two intruders, then. Her mind quickly raced through potential scenarios, and settled on taking the kitchen first. An intruder was more likely to pick up a weapon there. She slipped through the hallway and peeked around the door, her grip tightening on her Glock 26. No, Steve *hadn't* known that she was carrying it, but then, he hadn't asked, now had he?
She almost smiled at the sight in the kitchen. A young man, probably not more than sixteen or seventeen, was rummaging through the boxes of cereal in the top cabinet. Riley put the safety back on her Glock and reholstered it. Deadly force would hardly be necessary.
"Find it?" she said dryly, and the boy turned quickly, dropping the bag and spilling the contents all over the floor.
"Holy shit!" he exclaimed, and turned to make a run for the back door. Riley heard the sound of clatter in the bathroom - plastic, hitting the tile floor, from the sounds of it.
"Oh no you don't," Riley said, catching up to the first intruder as he tried to wrench open the back door. She grabbed the door and pulled it back toward him, hard, catching him solidly on the jaw. His head snapped back and he staggered against the wall, stunned.
"Hey!" the second intruder yelled, coming down the hall toward the kitchen. His eyes were wild, and he grabbed a knife out of the butcher block and charged toward Riley. She neatly sidestepped and drove her elbow into his shoulder blade. The knife dropped with a clatter. Both intruders regained their bearings and charged at her. As she easily blocked their clumsy kicks and punches, she was vaguely aware of Jerry banging on the door at the stairs, and of the sound of a siren in the distance.
Bruised, and starting to bleed, the young men glanced at each other and dashed out the door. Riley watched them run at full speed down the street before she went and unlocked the door for Jerry.
"Your brother is going to kill me," Jerry complained loudly as he practically fell into the hallway.
Riley could hear a commotion from the back door.
"Riley!" Steve shouted. Danny was right behind him. Guns drawn, they cleared the entrance and came barging through the kitchen toward Jerry and Riley.
"We're right here, and we're fine," Riley said, glaring at Jerry. "And my brother wouldn't need to kill you, because you didn't need to call him."
"The hell he didn't," Steve said, frantically checking her over for injuries.
"Ow," she complained, as his hand ghosted over her side. "I'm fine; I'm perfectly fine."
"What the hell happened? I get a call from Jerry that someone has broken into the house, and then he calls to inform me that he's been locked in the basement. Riley, I was scared to death," Steve said.
"Just a couple punks," Riley said, waving him off dismissively. "Looking for prescriptions and . . . oregano . . ." she added slowly, as Danny raised his eyebrows and pointed to the kitchen floor.
"I have a card for that," Jerry said.
"What am I gonna do with you, hunh?" Steve said, in fond exasperation. "Okay, enough fun for one day. Let's head home."
"Okay, let me go get my laptop," Riley said.
Danny busied himself sweeping up the kitchen floor while Steve turned to Jerry.
"Seriously, Jerry, what the hell?" Steve demanded.
"I don't know, man," Jerry said. "She was talking earlier about how she felt like she was being watched. Then later - much later - she hears a sound up here and comes up to check it out. She locked me in the basement. Oh, and by the way, in the interest of full disclosure, she's carrying a gun. Just, you know, in case you didn't know that."
Steve looked at him sharply. "Okay, thanks Jerry."
Danny picked up the huge knife from the floor and returned it to the knife block with another pointed glance at Steve.
"Damn crazy ninja people," he muttered, straightening his tie as he stalked out the door.
#*#*#*#*#
"Nicely done, Agent Fielding. Today's test was well executed. Sending in teenagers under the guise of a break-in searching for drugs was a brilliant cover; it's so common, I doubt Five-O will suspect anything. Adrenaline levels were off the charts - we're going to have to adjust our instrumentation to get a more accurate reading in the future. Cortisol levels were perfectly level. No spike at all," Director Garrison was peering over the edge of his reading glasses, studying the file in front of him on the conference table.
"So the possibility of physical confrontation is not stressful to the subject," the electronically altered voice commented over the speaker phone.
"At least not when the physical confrontation is in the form of assailants that she knows she can easily overcome," Fielding answered.
Garrison made a dismissive gesture. "At the first sound of the break-in, though, even the most highly trained individuals general exhibit a cortisol spike. It could have been a SWAT team, or even WoFat, for all she knew. There was no stress response. What about the surveillance?"
"They planted the bug in the kitchen," Fielding said.
"Excellent work, gentlemen," the voice complimented. "Soon we'll be ready to move on to testing transmitting signals; set up one final test, Fielding. We need to know the subject's response to separation and threat to others."
"I'm not comfortable with this," Fielding said.
"You'll do as you're instructed; your comfort has nothing to do with it," Garrison said sharply. "Don't worry, it will be taken care of."
"See to it," the voice said, and the call ended with an abrupt click.
Garrison glared at Fielding.
"We'll never get one of the team members," Fielding said. "It's too risky and too obvious. They'll be tipped off immediately. You act as if you're dealing with civilians here; do you seriously forget how well-trained and capable McGarrett is? Joe White trained both of them, remember?"
"So grab the good doctor. The girl is attached to her, she has to be by now. You can get to her easily, at the hospital," Garrison said carelessly.
Fielding stared at him for a moment.
"Do I have to remind you what's at stake, here, Fielding? You're in no position to argue. We answer to Shelburne, and Shelburne alone on this. Did you think you would ever be able to back out? You've got blood on your hands. Do as you're told, and see this project through to the end."
"This is going to end badly for you, Garrison," Fielding said. "And for me, too. I've resigned myself to that. At this point, I hope I live just long enough to see you get what's coming to you before it's all over."
#*#*#*#*#
Steve stood in the alley behind Joe's nondescript apartment, waiting.
"Good evening, Steve," Joe said, walking down the alley quietly. "Detective Williams. Where is Riley?"
"None of your business," Danny said.
"Joe, I'm going to ask you this once more, directly," Steve said. "And so help me God, I better get a straight answer. Why did Riley's wound heal so quickly that Malia almost didn't get the stitches out safely?"
"I can't answer as to why, Steve," Joe said.
"But you know there's something . . . " Steve said.
Joe nodded. "Yes. Riley heals more quickly than any average person."
Steve had a sick feeling in his stomach. "You found that out in North Korea, didn't you, Joe? The scars . . . you weren't just training her to withstand torture, you were . . . you sick son of a bitch. Who was behind this? Is this Special Activities? What, Joe? What the hell were you doing with my sister?"
"Steve," Danny said in a low, warning, voice. They weren't completely out of earshot of passersby.
"Everything that I did, Steve, I did to try to protect you and your family," Joe said. "My methods may be incomprehensible to you; and some of my attempts failed."
"Yeah, like when you tried to protect my family by letting WoFat kidnap and torture my sister? Twice?" Steve demanded. "Did our mother know about all of this?"
"Steve, you already know the answer to that question," Joe said tiredly. "Do I have to say it out loud?"
#*#*#*#*#
"Babe," Danny said, as he wrapped the gauze around Steve's knuckles. "Now, how are you gonna explain this to Riley?"
"I don't know Danny, I just . . . "
"I know, Steve," Danny said. He rested his hand on Steve's shoulder and squeezed sympathetically. "You're going to get through this, both of you. I'm sorry you're not getting the answers you wanted."
"I need . . . I need more than hints and suggestions, Danny. I need the whole story, beginning to end. There are so many pieces . . . I need to put it all together and make sense of it somehow," Steve said. His voice was hoarse with betrayal, with restrained emotion.
"You'll get there," Danny said. "Though God knows what you'll find when you do." He sighed and smoothed down the gauze, frowning when a bit more blood seeped through. He grabbed a second roll and started winding that around Steve's hand. "I wish you had just connected with Joe's face, you would have done less damage."
"I would have killed him, Danny," Steve explained.
"And you don't want to do that?"
"Not yet. Not until I have all of the answers I need," Steve said. His tone was flat, emotionless, and it scared the shit out of Danny.
#*#*#*#*#
Steve could hear Riley pacing downstairs. He waited a bit, until he heard the back door open. He hadn't been able to bring himself to burden her with more information after his meeting with Joe. It was too vague, too uncertain . . . too disturbing. But she seemed restless, as if she was picking up on his anxiety. Sighing, he checked the time on his phone. Three am. He pulled on a pair of gym shorts and padded down the stairs, following the sound of the back door closing.
Riley was sitting on the lanai, wrapped in an ancient quilt.
"That was dad's favorite," Steve said, kissing her on the top of the head, and sitting down in the chair next to her. "Can't sleep?"
"I've been restless all day," Riley admitted. "Maybe a little adrenaline from the break-in this afternoon. How's your hand?"
"It's fine," Steve lied. He felt guilty. He'd lied about how he hurt his hand, too. But a sparring accident with Grover was much easier than 'I found out our mother was behind all of the bad things that happened to you'. "Jerry said you were restless before that, though. Like you were . . . being watched?" he asked carefully.
She just shrugged. Unable to define or explain it to herself, she wasn't even going to attempt to explain it to Steve.
He looked down in surprise as his phone buzzed loudly.
"Chin?" he asked, confused. "Are you sure? When did her shift end? Okay, I'm on my way; I'm calling Danny and the others."
"What is it?" Riley asked.
"Malia," Steve said, stricken. "She never came home from work, and Chin can't find her."
#*#*#*#*#
They found her phone, first, and then her keys. Her car door had been unlocked, and opened, as best as they could tell. They worked in a radius outward. Chin's face was pinched and drawn, and Kono kept wiping surreptitiously at her eyes, even as she doggedly combed through the parking lot and alley for any sign of Malia.
It was Kono who caught a glimpse of the lab coat. Just the edge of it, sticking out from behind a dumpster.
"Steve," she yelled, and he knew. He knew from the tone of her voice that she'd found something. He'd never heard Kono really frightened, much less in full panic.
Chin started to run toward her, but Danny and Grover each held him back with a hand on his shoulder. Riley ran with Steve toward Kono, who was standing at the entrance to the alley. They were now seven blocks from the hospital, and the faintest light of dawn was adding a surreal hint of color to the scene. Kono stood, horrified, rooted to the spot.
"Steve," she said, "I can't - I don't -"
"Shh, Kono," Steve said, "I know. Just stay right here, okay?" He nodded at Riley, who awkwardly put her arm around Kono's shoulder. He raced into the alley and dropped to his knees behind the dumpster; they could see his familiar desert brown combat boots.
Kono held her breath until she saw Steve stand up and motion to her.
"She's okay," he yelled, his voice filled with relief. Danny and Grover released their hold on Chin, who raced, along with Kono, to join Steve. "She's okay, guys. Hey, hold still, Malia, wait until we get the medics here to check you out, okay? Hold on."
Riley stood at a distance, her arms wrapped around herself, until Danny stepped quietly beside her and put a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"Hey, kid," he said, his blue eyes crinkling fondly. She sagged against him in relief, and seemed startled by the tears that were making their way down her cheeks. "Hey, hey," he soothed, "it's okay. She's okay; we have an ambulance on the way." He put his arm around her shoulder, and she nodded mutely, brushing away the tears, and then rubbed absently at the inside of her lower arm.
#*#*#*#*#
"He wanted a prescription pad," Malia said, wincing as her nurse, Julia, put the last of several steri-strips over a cut on her forehead. "I told him that all prescriptions were ordered electronically from the hospital, and that I didn't have one. I don't think he even meant to hurt me - he was angry, and frustrated, and strung out on something. I remember him pushing me, and I guess I hit my head on the car."
"I'm guessing the lab will confirm that it's yours," Steve said.
"He must have panicked," Chin surmised, "and wanted to buy himself some time to get away."
"He may have even thought he was taking me to get help," Malia suggested. "Whatever it was, darling, I'm fine, perfectly fine."
"No, you have a concussion and a bit of you is held together with surgical glue and bandages," Chin corrected, kissing her gently, "but you're safe now and for that I am terribly thankful."
Steve and Chin stepped out into the hallway and joined the rest of the team.
"She's okay - sounds like an addict looking to score prescription access. The CSI team will test the blood on the doorframe of the car, and test for fingerprints," Steve said.
"I've had the hospital send over the security camera footage to the lab," Danny said. "I'll pick up plenty of coffee on the way in."
#*#*#*#*#
"Well, this is somewhat disappointing," the voice said. "Cortisol and other stress hormones are extremely elevated. This means the subject lacks objectivity. Self-preservation is not a priority; yet there's an alarming, and sustained, reaction to an acquaintance being injured or threatened."
"What had you hoped to accomplish?" Fielding said, not bothering to disguise the disgust in his voice. "You could have just built a robot."
"You're out of line, Fielding," Garrison warned.
"You're going behind my back and interfering with my instructions," Fielding challenged. "I was explicit in my directions that the doctor was not to be injured in any way, and my guy agreed. You obviously gave superseding instructions."
"The doctor is fine," Garrison retorted carelessly.
"The security camera footage is telling me otherwise," Fielding argued. "But go ahead, Garrison. Give another member of Five-O a reason to personally despise you. Why not."
"Enough," the voice came over the speakerphone. "We have what we need. One more field test, transmitting a subliminal order. And then we bring the subject in."
"And what good is that going to do?" Fielding argued. "We can't continue the project. The girl is entirely too attached; her biologics are going to be completely unstable. And McGarrett will burn the island to the ground to find her. You've collected the data; you know the concept is viable. Give the data to Special Activities Division, let them use it to go on to the next project."
"Director Garrison, if you can not control your agents on this project, replace them. Good day, gentlemen."
Garrison started to speak, but Fielding cut him off. "Don't bother," he said wearily. "I'll show myself to the door."
#*#*#*#*#
Riley rubbed absently at the inside of her arm as she studied the footage from the hospital security camera, rewinding it yet again.
"Anything?" Charlie said, handing her a steaming cup of coffee.
"No," she sighed. "Hmm, thank you. There's absolutely no indication whatsoever that the footage has been tampered with or altered in any way. Digitally, it's sound copy."
"So, the crime tech's guess is as good as we're going to get?"
"Yeah. Male, average height, average build. Everything is obscured by the angle, and the dark hoodie. Please tell me you have fingerprints or something?" Riley said, sipping her coffee.
"Nothing. Blood on the frame was Malia's. Nothing else," Charlie said. "Hey, you look exhausted. Why don't you go up to Steve's office and rest?"
"I'm fine," Riley insisted. "I'm going to go over all of those pet store invoices again. We still haven't figured out where they're getting their inventory, and my money is on our poacher. I just need to get the data to line up in order to prove it."
"Okay," Charlie nodded. "You sure you don't want a more comfortable space to work? I'm afraid Steve is going to come down here and fire me on the spot if he sees this." Charlie smiled, pointing to Riley's workspace. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, with her back to the corner of a small cubicle. Her laptop was on a coffee table in front of her, with papers spread around her in neat stacks.
"Sorry," she said, smiling up at him. "Growing up in Japan . . . this is normal to me."
"Ah; and asking me to move you to the back cubicle, and sitting with your back to the corner?"
"Situational awareness," she replied, ducking her head.
"Riley," Charlie said gently, "I'm not criticizing. You do brilliant work; in fact, I'm sure you're bored. I want you to be comfortable. Work on the pet store data if you want, but please, if you get tired, take a break."
Riley nodded happily and pulled up another file on her laptop.
#*#*#*#*#
Steve had lost track of time; it was disorienting, having been awake since three am, and then the time at the hospital . . . Chin and Kono had stayed. Steve had ordered them to get a bit of rest, plus, he wasn't satisfied with the turn of events, and wanted Malia protected.
"I don't like it, Danny," he said, as they'd deposited Riley in the basement lab and gone upstairs. "Two punks break in to Jerry's house, looking for drugs, and then someone mugs Malia in the parking lot, looking for a prescription pad? It's too similar, too neat. I'm keeping Chin and Kono with Malia. We've got the open poaching case, but . . . "
"I'm with you, Steve," Danny had agreed, nodding. "I love animals, but we take care of the team first. And yeah, I don't like the coincidence either."
That had been . . . an hour? Two? More? Steve and Danny had both been so engrossed in double and triple checking the hospital security footage, and then fielding phone calls from concerned animals rights groups (Steve made a mental note to find out who, exactly, had leaked the poaching case to the press) that time had slipped by.
Danny stood up, back popping in protest, and was just heading to Steve's office to suggest a lunch run, when he heard the gunshot. He would have thought he was imagining it, except for the fact that Steve was barreling out of his office at full speed.
Another shot rang out.
"Basement," Steve yelled, and Danny bolted behind him, to the stairs.
It took Danny longer to reach the bottom of the stairs, because Steve, the crazy Neanderthal, didn't bother to use half of them. Danny watched in a combination of amazement and terror as Steve bolted halfway down each set of stairs, and simply vaulted over the side. Twice.
By the time Danny reached the bottom, Steve was clearing the hallway, as two lab technicians bent over Charlie.
"What happened? Who's our shooter?" Steve said, kneeling next to Charlie. He was pale and shaking, bleeding from a gunshot wound to his shoulder.
"Steve, it was Riley," Charlie said, grabbing Steve's shirt. "Riley shot me."