A/N: Your reviews make my day! Thank you for the inspiration. I am so, so happy to know that the characters that live inside my head connect with others. Writing is my little escape from the real world, my therapy. The positive reviews and kind comments mean more to me than you can imagine.
Also, lest someone feel compelled (again) to comment on the "unlikely" scenario of Steve performing medical procedures: First: our military elite are highly trained in all of these procedures and Second: I'm not military, elite, or highly trained - and yet, in the past calendar year, I have collected blood samples, suctioned a patient choking to death, reset an IV alarm, bypassed incompetent nursing care and conferred directly with a surgeon whose patient was severely infected post-op - as a visitor, inside the walls of three different hospitals (one of them one of the most prestigious teaching hospitals on the east coast). So, please: if I can get away with this stuff in real life, Steve can bloody well do it in a piece of fan fiction. I was at one point apologetic for this element of the story, but I now include it without apology and will continue to do so as the muse moves me.
Without further ado . . . back to the story . . .
#*#*#*#*#
Danny and Steve stood side by side at the sinks, scrubbing. The no-nonsense nurse had handed them two scrub brushes and a bottle of surgical handwash and shoved them into the locker room, after four burly medics had gently but insistently removed Steve from the trauma room. She glanced at them, the knees of their pants stiff with blood from kneeling at the scene, smears of it everywhere, all over their clothing, and she disappeared briefly. She returned with two simple toiletry travel kits and two sets of scrubs and towels. Army green, Danny noted, and idly wondered if Steve would be bothered. Probably not in this case.
"Rumor has it that this is common practice for you at Queens. Can't let a civilian hospital take better care of you than we would, sir," the nurse said, addressing Steve.
He nodded mutely, not trusting himself to respond to the small gesture of kindness. The nurse paused. "We'll be in Trauma 3 when you're ready."
Danny suspected that the wracked, broken coughing sound he heard from the shower stall next to his was a desperate cover for a few sobs that escaped from Steve. He barely resisted asking his best friend and partner if he was okay. He was definitely not okay.
They stepped out of the locker room and headed toward Trauma 3. Danny hated the fact that Steve knew exactly where it was. The door was ajar, and they heard the level urgency of the voices inside, over the unmistakable sound of a flatlined heart monitor.
"Hang another bag of plasma, and this time use a wider bore needle and run the damn thing wide open. Give me another shot of epi. Come on, kid, work with me here. Do not make me be the asshole that breaks Commander McGarrett's baby sister's ribs doing CPR. Come on . . . come on . . . "
Steve sagged in relief as one beep was followed by another, and then another. Danny's strong hands on his shoulders kept him on his feet. They waited, reassured by the continued, if erratic, beeping sounds coming from the room.
The doctor stepped outside the room and closed the door behind him. Steve moved as if to go past him, but the doctor's solid hand on his shoulder gave him pause.
"Commander McGarrett, you're going to want to give the nurses a few minutes, okay? I understand this is your sister, correct? Can you tell me if our situation today is part of one of your task force investigations, or not?" the doctor asked.
"It's related, yes," Steve said.
"Okay, then I'm going to let you do whatever you need to do as far as collecting evidence," the doctor said, "and of course our staff will do our best to cooperate. I need to ask, though, in order to provide the best possible care for your sister - you understand, the nature of this injury, it appeared to be self-inflicted. Do you think that's a possibility? I realize you can't have possibly had time to process the scene. I was told that you and your partner brought her in. But, best guess, what are we working with here, sir?"
"I - she -" Steve rubbed his eyes. "I didn't look at the scene at all." He looked at Danny helplessly. Danny knew about protocol, procedure, securing scenes and processing evidence. Steve barely slowed down long enough to care about such things on a good day.
"I have the knife," Danny said quietly. "We'll get someone from the lab to come get it, and get a team out to process the scene."
The doctor hesitated, then repeated his question, gently. "Sir, do you believe the injury could have been self-inflicted?"
Steve nodded miserably as Danny squeezed his shoulder. "There was an incident earlier today . . . yes. It may have been self-inflicted."
"Okay," the doctor said, nodding. "We aren't going to make any assumptions, either way, but we'll include that possibility as part of our overall plan of treatment and care. Riley is stable right now. I'm sure you heard, just a few minutes ago we did lose a pulse, but we got it back quickly with epinephrine. We're transfusing both whole blood and additional plasma, trying to get her blood volume back up so that doesn't happen again. I know you've seen enough traumatic injuries in the field . . . you don't need me to tell you how significant the blood loss was."
Steve took a shuddering breath and nodded.
"You can go sit with her now. Don't expect too much, too soon. We'll get her settled in a regular room as quickly as possible, and I'm going to assume you need it to be secure and equipped for a certain measure of communications and data. Mind you," the doctor said sternly, "I'll be following the case and I'll kick you out myself if your work is interfering with her recovery."
Steve and Danny went into the room, nodding their thanks to the nurses who were still efficiently working on Riley.
"Commander, Detective." The nurse who had set them up with clean scrubs stopped and addressed them. "Riley is resting comfortably now. Come here, it's okay."
She smiled sympathetically and gestured to Steve, pulling up a small chair for him. He started to protest.
"Schmuck," Danny muttered fondly, and pushed him into the chair. "Sit down before you fall down."
"We've given her one unit of blood, and have another going, as well as a unit of plasma. The laceration wasn't difficult to stitch up. It was very clean, and the scar should be minimal," the nurse said.
"It was my knife," Steve blurted out. "It's really sharp. Military grade." He looked up at the nurse, horrified. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't know . . . "
"Commander," the nurse said gently. "You don't need to apologize. She's very mildly sedated, but now that the laceration is closed, her blood volume should go up just fine."
"Her heart stopped beating," Steve said. "And that happened before . . . recently. Really recently. How much -"
"Commander? Your sister is young and healthy. Her heart only stopped briefly. It responded to epinephrine right away. What I want you to do right now, is sit here, hold her hand, and wait for her to wake up, okay?" The nurse was kind and firm.
"I need to call - Danny, we need to call Grover, and Chin, and we need to get a team. And coordinate, we need to coordinate with Charlie," Steve said, looking at Danny. "I'm sorry, I'm not usually . . . my team, we -"
"Commander? I'm going to go get you a cup of coffee, okay?" the nurse said. "Detective Williams, I'm sure you can take care of the calls that need to be made?"
"Yeah, yeah," Danny said. He put his hand on Steve's shoulder. "Steve? I've got this. I'll make the phone calls. I'm the one that understands protocol, remember? Just take care of Riley. Your only job right now is to be the big brother."
Danny stepped out into the hallway with the nurse. "I'm sorry; Steve is normally - he's a Navy SEAL. I've never seen him like this. Not even after his father was killed, not . . . well, not in any number of ridiculous life-threatening situations which he puts us in regularly."
The nurse smiled at Danny. "You're a good partner and a good friend, Detective Williams, and you were right: he needs to take a minute just to be a big brother. We're watching him for signs of shock, by the way. And you - how are you?"
"I'm good," Danny assured the nurse. "I'll go get these things taken care of. Thank you, really."
Danny and the nurse headed off in different directions, leaving Steve with Riley. He slumped in the chair, his long legs awkwardly stretched in front of him. Riley's uninjured hand was clasped in his, but he couldn't take his eyes off the neat bandage that extended from just inside her elbow down almost to her wrist.
"Riley," he sighed. "I hope you can explain what's going on."
The nurse returned with a steaming cup of coffee. She placed it in Steve's free hand and then proceeded to take his pulse, favoring him with a glare when he started to protest. Her expert hand smoothed over Riley's arm and forehead, and she stepped out to the hallway and returned with a warm blanket. She tucked it around Riley gently, resting her injured arm atop the blanket with exquisite care.
Riley sighed and shifted a bit.
"Riley," Steve said, leaning over her and squeezing her hand.
She struggled to open her eyes, her long lashes fluttering on her pale cheeks. Steve bent over and pressed his forehead to her hand, still clasped in his. He felt her squeeze his hand.
"Hey," he said, brushing her hair out of her face, and rubbing the back of his finger over her cheek.
Her eyes fluttered open and met his. "Charlie?" she whispered, tears filling her eyes and slipping out, tracking down to the pillow beneath her head.
"Charlie is okay," Steve whispered.
RIley's eyes widened, and she raised a finger to her lips. "Don't tell," she said.
"We didn't," Steve assured her. "Charlie understood somehow . . . Max is taking care of him. Official word is that he's dead. Riley, what happened? What's going on?"
"Watching. Just watching and then telling," Riley mumbled. "Telling and I didn't want . . . but the pain, I couldn't. I tried, Steve, I tried so hard -"
"Shh, it's okay, we understand, but Riley, what do you mean? Watching? Who's watching, honey? Is this what you were telling Jerry?"
"I don't know. Did you find . . . " she pulled at the edge of her bandage impatiently, and Steve grabbed her hand and stilled it. "It was . . . telling me, and the pain, from my head, but it stopped here." She was weak and disoriented, but she pointed definitively at a spot midway between her elbow and wrist.
"Riley," Steve said slowly, "are you telling me . . . is that what you were doing with the knife? Did you think there was something in your arm? You were trying to get it out?"
Riley nodded. "I wanted to give it to you . . . did I get it? Did you find it?" She was fighting to stay coherent, to stay awake.
Steve simply shook his head. He had no idea what Riley was talking about, but he was pretty sure he knew who did.
"Riley," he said, "I have to go get some answers. Danny is going to stay with you, okay? Rest, Riley. Just close your eyes, good girl . . . "
#*#*#*#*#
"Get in the car, Joe," Steve said, as Joe came outside his small garden apartment.
"Steve -"
"No. Get in the car."
"Okay, Steve," Joe said, sliding into the passenger seat.
They were just around the corner from the overlook before Steve spoke again. "I'm taking you to a crime scene. I want to show you something. And so help me God, you're going to give me everything you know, or you'll find yourself part of the scenery at the bottom."
"Is that a threat, Steve?"
"No, Joe, that is a promise. We're here. Get out." Steve got out and slipped under the crime scene tape, nodding at the technicians who stood back to give him room.
Joe stepped out and looked at Steve's truck. "What are we looking at?"
Steve shoved Joe roughly around to the driver's side of the truck. Grabbing Joe by the back of the neck, he forced his face downward. "See that? See all that blood? There was so much of it, Joe. Riley drove out here, got my diving knife out of my truck, and cut a nice, straight line from her elbow to her wrist. Do you know why she did that, Joe?"
Joe shook his head and looked up at Steve. He swallowed convulsively, and Steve was shocked to see tears in his eyes.
"Joe, she shot Charlie. Danny and I . . . we weren't sure, but we thought possibly she'd shot Charlie, thought she killed him, and came up here to . . . well, we weren't sure. But here's the thing: Clean shot, through the shoulder, didn't even hit bone. But Charlie said that she insisted that he had to be dead. You taught her to shoot, Joe. If she wanted someone dead, would she take a clean shot through the shoulder?"
Joe sagged against the truck.
"Is she alive?" Joe asked, his voice hoarse. His eyes were fixed on the blood stains, still dark on the roadside.
"She took my knife, Joe, and she opened up her arm. See all this blood here? So much of her blood spilled out, she didn't have enough to keep her heart beating, there for a minute. She was looking for something. I don't understand, because she's so disoriented, and confused, and weak from blood loss, and from her heart stopping. She's saying something about being watched, and being told, and trying to stop the pain. Said that there was something she wanted to find, and give to me to figure out." Steve stopped and leveled Joe with an intense stare. "What was she trying to find, Joe?"
Joe sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. "If it's what I'm afraid it is . . . you won't believe me if I just tell you, but maybe if I can show you. Please, Steve, take me to Riley. I'll explain everything that I can. And we'll need to pick up that conspiracy theorist friend of yours, too."
#*#*#*#*#
When Riley woke up, she was in a different room, and Danny was sitting next to her, looking out the window.
"I'm sorry I scared you, Danny," Riley said quietly, and Danny jumped. He'd dozed off to sleep, somehow, in the impossibly uncomfortable chair. He missed Queens, with its recliners.
"Sorry," she said again, giving him the lopsided smile that always reminded him so much of Steve.
"I am going to name my new ulcer Riley," Danny said, but his voice was soft and fond, and his hand was gentle on hers. "How are you feeling? Do you need anything?"
"I'm thirsty."
Danny stepped out into the hallway and returned with a cup of ice chips. She accepted a spoonful gratefully, glancing around her new surroundings.
"They moved me?"
"Yeah, you're in a regular room. No more trauma," Danny said, giving her more ice.
"Where's Steve?"
"I'm not entirely sure. He stormed out of here in alpha mode. I've been making phone calls and hanging out with you," Danny said, smoothing the blanket around her.
"Charlie?" she asked.
"Is going to be absolutely fine," Danny assured her. "We're just waiting to get all of this sorted out to move him to a hospital. He's in good hands, Riley. Max may be a little odd but he's very competent.
"Malia?"
"Also will be just fine. She's gone with Chin and Kono back to headquarters. Until we know what's happening, we're going to keep everyone safe," Danny said. He looked down as his phone buzzed with an incoming text message. "In fact, Steve is picking up Jerry, too, and he's on his way here."
Riley sagged into her pillows in relief, a tear running from the corner of her eye to drop into the fabric below.
"Hey, hey," Danny soothed, stroking her cheek with his thumb.
"I never cried before," Riley complained, "I blame you, Williams."
Danny chuckled. "I can live with that. What's wrong, sweetheart?"
"People are getting hurt because of me, Danny. I never should have come here. I should go back . . . maybe to the monks. Or back to Tokyo. I'm smart, Danny, I could just disappear, blend in, and then no one would have to get hurt."
Danny hesitated for a long moment. "Riley, is that why you -" he indicated the bandage on her arm.
She shook her head as more tears forced their way down her cheeks. "No, Danny, but I wish you hadn't found me after I did."
#*#*#*#*#
"McGarrett and Joe White just stopped at the computer geek's house and picked him up," Fielding said, throwing a file on the table in front of Garrison. It probably made a terrible sound on the other end of that blasted speaker phone. He hoped it hurt their ears, whoever was on the other side.
There was a long pause as Garrison stared at the phone.
"Well, gentlemen, the answer is clear then," the altered voice said. For the first time, Fielding thought he could detect a hint of emotion in the digital sound. "Joe White has made his choice. His loyalty is clearly with the subject and with McGarrett; not with the project itself."
"We don't know that for certain," Garrison said. "He could still be playing an angle, working from the inside."
"No," the voice said, with a tone of resigned finality, evident even through the alteration. "Joe White has always harbored a sentimentality for the subject. Make no mistake, gentlemen, his loyalties are not with the project."
#*#*#*#*#
Steve had a moment of sheer panic when he found Trauma 3 empty; bloody bandages and sheets strewn on the floor, empty IV bags hanging from a pole, and no one in sight.
"Commander," the familiar nurse said, smiling at him kindly, "please pardon the mess. Detective Williams is having a team come over to collect everything from this room for processing. Your sister has been taken to the secure room on the third floor. Take a left off the elevator. You'll have to show your credentials to get through the set of double doors. Detective Williams went up with her."
Steve nodded in relief, and headed for the elevators, jerking his head to indicate the others to follow him. After a tensely silent ride to the third floor, Steve shared his credentials with the uniformed officer at the desk, and vouched for Joe and Jerry. A soft buzz released the double doors, and they stepped through into the short, quiet hallway.
"Danny?" Steve said in alarm, stepping to his friend's side. Danny was leaning against the hallway, his shoulders shaking slightly, his hands over his face. His mind racing with worst case scenarios, Steve put his hand on Danny's shoulder. "Danny, what's wrong? Where's Riley?"
Danny looked up at Steve. "She wishes we hadn't found her, Steve. That's what she said. That she wishes we hadn't found her."
Joe stepped into Danny's line of vision, and before Steve could even react, Danny lashed out with a vicious uppercut and sent Joe staggering. As Steve grabbed Danny by the arms, he noticed that Joe had not made a move to defend himself.
"Danny," Steve said, but Joe cut him off.
"Leave him, Steve," Joe said. "I deserved that."
Jerry watched the entire exchange with wide eyes. "Um, guys?" he said, hesitantly. "Where's Riley?"
"The nurses are -" Danny paused, and cleared his throat, and tried again. "The nurses were getting rid of the rest of her bloody clothing, and getting her cleaned up. I, ah, had the lab bring over evidence bags so that everything can be processed."
At that moment, the nurses stepped out of the room. One of them smiled at Danny and handed him a neat stack of clear evidence bags. Danny signed the form and thanked her. He stared at the evidence bag containing Riley's bloody clothes, and then shoved it toward Joe.
"Do you see this? Are you satisfied, Joe? Is this what you hoped to accomplish? I didn't know, Joe, when I felt her blood stop slipping through my fingers, if it was because Steve's blasted combat gauze had worked, or if because there just wasn't any more blood left." Steve looked on in stunned silence as Danny took a shuddering breath. "Damn you, Joe," he added quietly. "Damn you and the government agency you rode in on."
"I know it may seem hard to believe, but this is exactly what I tried to prevent," Joe said.
"We're waiting to hear you explain this," Steve said, folding his arms across his chest.
"And I will," Joe said. "But Riley deserves to hear it from me. If I couldn't protect her, the least I can do is face her when I tell her the truth." He hesitated, looking at Steve. "And I'll spare you having to be the one to tell her, son."
"Why is Jerry here?" Danny asked Steve, as they filed into Riley's room.
"Joe said he needed someone here who would find what he had to say . . . believable," Steve answered. He stepped over to Riley's bed, bending and kissing her on the forehead. "Hey, kid," he said, smiling down at her. "You look better. You okay?"
"I'm good . . . but confused. Why is Joe here? And Jerry?"
"Joe's going to explain some things to us, and then apparently Jerry is going to convince us that Joe's not full of shit," Steve said, looking skeptically at Joe.
Joe leaned against the wall. "I had hoped to somehow spare you some of this . . . but I can see now that I can't. About forty years ago, Doris was an up-and-coming CIA agent, codenamed Shelburne. As you know, the CIA often uses . . . indirect means to arm and supply certain factions. Factions whose success aligns with the goals of the United States. Doris helped . . . facilitate some of those transactions. It was during this part of her career that her path intersected with WoFat's family. As you know, she was involved in the death of WoFat's father; her guilt prompted her to raise WoFat for a while."
"Until the CIA stepped in and made her stop," Steve said. "Around the time she met my father."
"Which was around the time I was recruited by Special Activities, and assigned to monitor your mother's activity, and keep an eye out for your family's safety," Joe said. "Over the next fifteen years, the CIA kept an eye on your mother, even as an inactive agent. She was gifted - so she stayed on their radar. As WoFat grew, he became obsessed with finding the person responsible for his father's death. There was a point of intersection: WoFat was close to identifying Shelburne, and Special Activities Division wanted your mother back for a classified project."
"Protection in exchange for participation?" Danny asked.
Joe hesitated. "At first, yes. For years, I was convinced that everything your mother had done - fabricating her death, going into hiding - was to protect your father, Mary, and you, Steve - and I believed her when she told me that she had no idea she was expecting a baby when she left the island and headed to Tokyo."
"What changed your mind?" Steve asked.
"Special Activities asked me as many questions about Riley as they did about Doris. The older Riley got, the more questions they asked. Until one day, I was told that WoFat was too close to Doris again; that she had to go underground, that it was too dangerous to take Riley with her. I was supposed to hide Riley, keep her safe. But then, I was given a set of directions. Tasks to carry out, tests to complete," Joe continued.
"The training you did with Riley in North Korea," Danny supplied.
"North Korea was the first field test," Joe said.
"You son of a bitch," Steve breathed. "Who gave you the orders? CIA? Special Activities? I know it sure as hell wasn't the Navy."
Joe was silent. He looked at Steve, and the unfathomable sadness in his eyes told the truth before he said it aloud.
"Shelburne."
"Doris. Our mother," Steve said, his voice flat. "She not only knew . . . "
"By this time, Shelburne was more than the codename of an operative. Shelburne had become the codename of a project. I didn't know it, not when I picked Riley up in Tokyo. Not when she was sixteen," Joe said, his voice suddenly old, and tired. "But as time went on in North Korea, I started to suspect . . ." Joe turned and looked at Riley, and Steve knew that the fondness on his face couldn't possibly be forced, or faked. "Riley . . . you were so much like your brother. So fast, so sharp. Every new thing I went to teach you . . . just once. I would show you once, and it was like . . . osmosis. There were times I felt like I only had to think it, and you understood."
Riley ducked her head. "You never said . . . I never thought I was doing a good job."
"Because at that point I only knew that if WoFat ever discovered you, he would be ruthless. I wanted to believe that my job was to teach you to protect yourself. And then . . . I started to suspect that there was a bigger plan. That there was something bigger. You were too strong, too fast . . . when you could do things at sixteen, barely a hundred pounds, that your brother could do in BUDs . . ." Joe stopped. "When the -" he had to stop again, clear his throat. "When the cigarette burns healed so quickly . . . I started to suspect."
"Suspect what, Joe?" Steve asked. He was gripping the back of the plastic chair so tightly that Danny wondered which was going to give first - the chair, or the skin over Steve's knuckles.
"Genetic tampering," Jerry said. "They fucked with her DNA. Sorry. Holy shit. Sorry."
"Is that even possible?" Danny asked.
"It is. It has been. For a long time, but no one . . . holy shit," Jerry said.
Riley stared at Joe in disbelief, her fingers absently rubbing the edge of the bandage on her arm.
"I carried out the orders," Joe said. "God help me, I did everything that Shelburne asked of me, until there was an order to go on to a second phase of the program. I couldn't . . . I couldn't go on any longer. Hideki Mokoto had an out for me. I thought . . . I thought I could get Riley out. Out of the program."
"Why couldn't you go through with it, Joe? What stopped you?" Steve asked quietly.
Joe laughed gently and looked at Riley. "It was your damn eyes, Riley. Your brother's eyes. Your father's eyes. I had promised him . . . before I knew, before I suspected. When it came down to it . . . I couldn't betray your father." He turned and looked at Steve. "You, Steve. After everything we'd been through together, starting in BUDs . . . I couldn't go on any longer, not with your eyes looking at me. So I tried to slip Riley out of the program."
"Second phase," Danny said. "You said something about a second phase."
Joe nodded. "Collection of data. Biochemistry, gamma and beta waves. Response to stimuli."
"Stimuli," Steve ground out, in a low, dangerous voice.
"Measurable, quantifiable data," Jerry breathed out. "Holy shit."
"Yes. I couldn't do it. After WoFat took Riley . . . I tried to improvise, I tried to get one step ahead of him, stay one step ahead of Shelburne. I tried to play him against the Special Activities Division; thought that if I could get Riley to create an airtight backhistory implicating John McGarrett as Shelburne, then WoFat would move on," Joe said. "And then . . . I thought that I could convince your mother to help me get Riley out of the program. I thought there might be some . . . sentimentality."
"You thought you could appeal to Doris' maternal instincts?" Danny spat.
"I had hoped," Joe said. He looked at Riley and Steve. "This, more than WoFat, more than the Special Activities Division . . . this is what I wanted to protect you from. This is what I was trying to keep from you."
"She wouldn't help you," Steve said. "She refused to help you get Riley out." He rested his hip on the edge of Riley's bed, his knees suddenly unable to support his weight.
"Yes. And that's the real reason I was disavowed. I refused to continue to participate," Joe said.
"Fielding . . . " Steve said . . . "He's part of . . . "
"Yes. Part of Shelburne. The project. And that's all I know for certain. He contacted me once - to tell me that if I could deliver Riley to them, they would let me back into the fold. The rest . . . I have speculation. Suspicion. But nothing definite," Joe said.
"Phase Two," Jerry said. "They moved on to Phase Two."
"My guess is that WoFat planted the device," Joe said slowly, watching Riley carefully for a response.
"Device?" Riley said quietly.
"To collect the data," Jerry said. "Joe, was there going to be a Phase Three?"
"Yes. Implementation of subliminal instruction," Joe said, looking at Jerry.
"Imple - what?" Danny demanded.
"Holy shit," Jerry said. "Mind control. Subliminal suggestion. They forced Riley to shoot Charlie."
Everyone's eyes were fixed on Jerry and Joe; silent in varying measures of disbelief. Steve had instinctively angled himself protectively between Riley and Joe, trying in some way to shield her from the horror of what he was saying. So it was Danny who noticed first.
"Riley! No, honey," Danny shouted, and moved toward the bed.
Steve turned and looked down at Riley, at the blood once again pouring freely from her arm. The bandage had been tossed aside, the stitches torn. Riley was digging with frantic fingers into the open wound, a desperate sound wrenching from her throat.
"Make sure it's gone, get it out, I want it out," she pleaded. "I know this is where it was, it was watching me, I tried not to shoot Charlie but it hurt, it hurt too much and I could feel it, it broke my mind, and I followed it, and it was right here . . . where is it?"
Danny was in the hall, yelling for a doctor. Joe had stepped forward, his hands wrapping securely around her bloody arm, while Steve grabbed her hands and tried to calm her down.
"Riley," he said, "Riley -" but it was taking almost all of his strength to just keep her on the narrow bed, and he couldn't restrain her hands and get her attention at the same time. She arched her back and managed to get a solid kick to Joe's ribs, knocking him back against the wall. Now Steve was frantically trying to apply pressure to her arm.
Jerry wrapped his arms gently around Riley's upper body, pinning her arms to her side. "Riley," he said very softly into her ear. "Stop and close your eyes. You could feel it before. Can you feel it now? Look for it like you did before . . . see if you can follow it."
Riley stilled and closed her eyes, tilting her head to the side. Steve looked at Jerry in amazement.
"Let's think through the problem, Riley," Jerry continued, still speaking softly. "The cut on your arm looks really, really deep. I think if there was something in your arm, they would have noticed it when they stitched you up. Right? Does that make sense?"
Riley sat perfectly still. Steve was reminded of how she sat that day on the hiking trail; he knew she was trying desperately to regain control of her emotions.
"Where is it, Riley?" Jerry whispered. Bless him - of all the people, he would be the one to know exactly what to do in this crazy situation. He stroked her hair gently and waited patiently.
Riley's eyes flew open and she sat straight up, so suddenly that Jerry and Steve both jumped.
"It's not there," she whispered, her eyes wild and frantic. "But it's not gone, either. Shoot me, Steve," she pleaded. "Please, God, just shoot me, I can't get rid of it, please, before I hurt someone . . ."
She fell apart into hysterical sobs as Steve held her, pounding her fists against him. A doctor came into the room, syringe in hand, and moved toward Riley.
"No!" Riley shouted. "No more." She had backed into the corner of the room.
Steve stood between Riley and the rest of the people in the room. "Everyone, out, now," he said. "Now!" he barked, when no one moved.
Everyone backed carefully out of the room. "You're going to get through this, I promise you," Danny said quietly, just before he closed the door.
Riley had slid down the corner wall of the room, and was huddled on the floor, still probing her mangled arm. Steve approached her cautiously, crouching in front of her.
"He can't promise that," she said absently, not looking at Steve. Blood was dripping at an alarming rate onto the floor.
"Actually," Steve said conversationally, "Danny's promises are remarkably accurate. He doesn't make them lightly. I'm inclined to believe him." He approached her carefully, not wanting to spook her.
"Our mother is a monster," Riley said. "I was a science project. How do we get through that?"
Steve felt a cold chill go up his spine at the both the words, and the low, emotionless tone. He thought of her saying that her mind had been broken and he had the singularly horrifying thought that maybe it was too much - that no matter how strong she was, that this would break her and he would be left -
"Don't leave me, Riley," he said, his voice breaking in a sob. "Stay with me. Please."
She looked up at that, met his eyes. "Why would you want me?" she whispered. "I'm broken."
Steve cupped her face in his hand. "I am, too," he whispered.
She put her head down on her knees, wrapping her arms around her legs, and her shoulders shook with silent sobs. Steve gently lifted her injured arm, pressing the heel of his hand against the newly opened cut to stem the bleeding, and put his other arm around her shoulders. He pulled her close, resting his head on hers, and held her until the worst of the shaking subsided.
Finally, she lifted her head, and looked down at her arm, still clutched in his hand.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't realize I was . . . I'm sorry."
"Hey, hey," he soothed, brushing her hair away from his face with his other hand. "It's okay. We're going to get this bleeding stopped, and get you fixed up, and then we're going to figure this out. Okay? I'm going to get Danny to come in and help me get you settled, is that alright? Just Danny."
She nodded, and Steve turned toward the door and called for Danny. He didn't have to question, or wonder; he knew, with absolute certainty, that Danny would be right there. The door opened immediately, and Danny looked in.
"Hey, babe, right here," he said, coming in quietly and closing the door behind him. He pulled a small evidence bag out of his pocket, and held it out to Steve and Riley as he crouched on the floor in front of them.
"Our scene techs retrieved this from the trauma room downstairs," he said. "One of the nurses found it when they were cleaning out your arm, and she set it aside. Jerry has some theories, of course."
"It's too simple," Riley whispered. "There's still something . . ."
Danny nodded. "Jerry thinks this was a . . . delivery system. But, it means there's no reason not to fix up your arm, okay?"
"Danny, can you take care of that?" Steve asked, nodding toward the bed.
Danny tossed the blood soaked blanket and sheets in the red hamper in the corner of the room, and grabbed a clean sheet out of the tidy cabinet next to the sink. He expertly spread it and tucked it around the thin mattress, as Steve pulled Riley gently to her feet.
"Okay, kid, first things first," he said, getting her deposited safely back onto the bed. He propped her arm on a pillow, and slowly and carefully let go of it. He looked at her arm in dismay. "I think all of these stitches are going to have to come out," he said. "Can we call the doctor to come in and take care of it?"
Riley shook her head, as tears filled her eyes again. "I don't know him," she said. Her tone bordered on petulant, and Steve had to smother a smile. The way he saw it, she was entitled to a bit of petulance at this point. "I don't know if I can trust -" she broke off, her voice hitching.
"Shh, Riley, I'll do it," Steve said.
Danny shook his head. "Field sutures? Really," he teased gently, pulling up the rolling stool and suture tray left by the nurse.
Steve scrubbed his hands and pulled on gloves, then sat down and bent his head over Riley's arm. As Steve began the painstaking work of carefully cutting and removing each of the mangled stitches, Danny sat down on the edge of Riley's bed. He reached over and tore off a piece of gauze bandaging and set it aside, then gathered Riley's wavy hair in his hands, gently running his fingers through it to remove the tangles.
"You know, I think once you're all healed up, you and Steve should plan a vacation," he said. He sectioned her hair off, and started braiding it. "What do you like to do, for vacation, Riley?"
"I've never had a vacation," she said thoughtfully. Danny's hands felt good in her hair.
"Okay, close your eyes," Danny instructed. "When all of this is behind you - and it will be, Riley, I swear - think of somewhere that makes you happy, somewhere you feel safe, and peaceful. Can you think of it?"
Riley nodded. "The monastery," she said.
"The monastery," Danny repeated. "Steve said it was beautiful. Tell me about it. What's your favorite thing about the monastery?"
"Sparring with the monks," Riley said immediately.
"Only a McGarrett would be able to find a good fight at a monastery," Danny said. As he spoke, he turned her hair over, and over, and over again in his deft fingers. "What else about it do you like?"
"It's quiet," Riley said. "And it's very cool."
"Hmm, yeah, cool is in short supply around here," Danny said. "I can see the appeal." He finished off the braid and picked up the piece of gauze, wrapping it several times around her hair and tying it off in a neat bow. "Hey, look at that - Steve's actually pretty good at this. All the messed up stitches are out."
Riley opened her eyes and looked at her arm. "You're sure there's nothing in there?" she asked quietly.
"I can't see or feel anything," Steve said. "I checked. Let's call the doctor in to come replace the stitches."
Once again, Riley shook her head, a stubborn expression coming over her face.
"Riley," Steve said, starting to argue with her. But she looked up at him, eyes pleading, and he sighed. "Okay. Can I at least ask the nurse to bring us a local?"
"Just do it," Riley said, her tone determined. "They want readings? Let's give them readings."
"You think . . . " Danny said.
Riley nodded. "Yeah. I can't explain it, but . . . yes."
"Riley, you don't have anything to prove," Steve said gently.
He and Danny watched in amazement as she squared her shoulders and pulled her legs up underneath her, assuming the lotus position that she'd used that day on the hiking trail. She lifted her eyes to Steve, and the fear and confusion were gone, replaced with a fiery determination.
"Don't I? I want to talk to Jerry," she said.
Danny stepped to the door and came back in with Jerry, who enveloped Riley in a huge, gentle bear hug, while Danny and Steve exchanged fond glances.
"Jerry," Riley said, "I think they tried to make me kill Charlie."
Jerry nodded. "I think that would have been their third phase; it's all theoretical, but the science is sound, and there have been rumors."
"But I didn't kill Charlie," Riley said. "Is that because the science is bad, or because I managed to get around it?"
"I don't know," Jerry said. "What do you remember? What happened?"
Riley closed her eyes and rested her hands on her knees, palms up. "I remember feeling watched, all that day. Remember Jerry? At your house? In the lab . . . I was working. On the pet store invoices. I remember hearing . . . no - not hearing. Feeling. Feeling convinced that Charlie had to be eliminated. I didn't understand. When he came in my office, I pulled out my Glock . . . "
"I told you Steve would be mad at you for carrying a gun," Jerry said. "It wasn't my idea," he added, looking at Steve.
"But I didn't want Charlie to be hurt. I didn't understand why anyone, least of all me, would want to hurt Charlie. I really . . . I really like Charlie," she said, almost in surprise, as she opened her eyes and looked at Steve.
"We all like Charlie," Steve said, smiling. "What else do you remember?"
"Pain," she said, taking a shuddering breath and closing her eyes. "I shot at the floor, for some reason, I thought if I could just take a shot, it would make the pain go away. But it didn't, it got worse." She opened her eyes again. "I thought I would die. I wanted to die. But I didn't want to hurt Charlie. So, I took the clean shot and then I ran, so I could get away before . . ."
Jerry looked at her, his eyes wide in amazement. "You outsmarted it. Do you think . . . if they try again, do you think you'll recognize it?"
"Yes," Riley said emphatically. "I'll at least recognize it in time to warn you." She looked at Steve, her eyes flashing. "And you have to promise me: promise me you'll take me out, don't let me hurt anyone."
"Riley, I -"
"Promise," she demanded. "Worst case scenario, just promise."
"Okay, Riley," Steve said. He knew a million ways to temporarily disable someone, if it came down to it.
"Now," she said, holding her arm out to him. "Fix this up. They're measuring stimuli? Let's give them stimuli."
"Riley, are you -" Danny started.
She looked up at them and smiled. "Shelburne has no idea who they're messing with. Bring it."
#*#*#*#*#
Garrison studied the latest sets of data.
"Well, the loss of data stream was temporary. The program is now fully and seamlessly integrated with her central nervous system. The next test should be much more successful," he said smugly.
Fielding looked at him in complete disbelief. "The next test. The next test? You can't be serious. You're going to continue the program? She's at Tripler. With McGarrett. And Joe White. They've put the pieces together by now."
Garrison didn't respond; he sat, mesmerized, in front of the monitor that displayed a constant stream of information. "Look," he said softly, as if Fielding wasn't even in the room, "look at that . . . pain receptors are spiking . . . beta waves are high . . . what are you up to, my little one?"
"You're mad . . ." Fielding said. "You're absolutely stark raving crazy."
#*#*#*#*#
They had to send Jerry out of the room while Steve sewed up Riley's arm.
"I can't pick you up off the floor, big guy," Danny said kindly, "so go wait in the hall."
"When we're done here," Riley said, wincing as Steve placed a stitch, "we need to get set up someplace secure. If someone is collecting data from me, there has to be a way to trace it. To a physical location. We find them, demand answers. Force them to undo whatever it is they've done."
Steve looked at her, something nudging at the back of his mind. Fielding . . .
"Fielding bugged our computers," Steve said. "Is there any way . . ."
"I can trace it back. We'll have to move fast, though. Special Activities told Five-O to stand down, right? We start this, the shit is going to hit the fan. You could lose your jobs," Riley said seriously. "We need a contingency plan, a fail-safe."
"Jerry. Jerry takes the whole story to the media," Danny said.
"It's crazy," Steve said, but he was starting to grin. Danny was mildly concerned; he usually got shot at when he saw that grin.
Riley's grin matched Steve's. "My days as a lab rat are over," she said. She looked at Steve, her eyes earnest. "You don't have to be involved. You'd be going up against Special Activities, against . . . against your own mother. You can turn me loose. I can handle this alone."
"Riley. Your days of handling things alone are over. We do this, and we do it together."
"Okay then," Danny said, rubbing his hands together. "So, Five-O is going to try to take down a government agency, unravel a highly classified project, and do it without getting us killed or fired. By enlisting the help of a conspiracy theorist and a retired Navy SEAL who is also a disavowed CIA agent. What could go wrong?"