"Tell me this," Steve demanded, facing down Dr. York, "how do I even know she's actually sick? That this isn't just some demented plan of the CIA and the SAD to get their . . . their subject back?"
Dr. York opened and closed her mouth helplessly as she tried to think of what to say. "I don't . . . I guess we could run a blood test, let you see the results yourself?"
"Steve," Riley said softly, her hand on his wildly gesturing arm. "Steve, it's ok. They aren't lying about me being sick."
Steve stopped and looked at her again. Her hand on his arm was trembling, and he could see her skin paling further.
"This is our option now, Steve," Riley said. "We see this through."
Steve grabbed her in a fierce hug, cradling her head against his shoulder, then reluctantly allowed Dr. York and a nurse take her to get settled.
Dr. Huntington found himself pressed against the dingy hallway, Steve's arm against his windpipe, his feet an inch off the ground.
"Straight answers, or I swear to God, I'll end you right here," Steve said. His tone was flat and unemotional, and Dr. Huntington was more terrified than he had been at the ranting and gesturing. He nodded, his eyes wide with fear and bulging a bit from the pressure on his windpipe.
"Are those scientists back there even sick?" Steve demanded.
"They are," Dr. Huntington said. "All of them. This team, this facility, is Plan B. The original plan was to have Riley . . . treated at that location. When the team was exposed, and then succumbed to the virus, we had to set up another team, and another facility."
"But the story, the set-up . . ." Steve said, his agile mind catching on quickly.
"Would have been the same either way," Dr. Huntington confirmed.
"You knew I'd go against my better judgment," Steve said. "You played me."
"We have extensive dossiers on your entire family, and to a lesser extent, your team," Dr. Huntington said. "Suffice to say, you're a compassionate lot, and your team is like family. There's not much you wouldn't do for each other: take a bullet, take a shot . . . This whole process will go smoothly with your cooperation. Had we tried to take Riley by force, there would have been far more collateral damage."
Steve processed what Dr. Huntington said quickly.
"I have zero issue with you being collateral damage," Steve said. "Keep that in mind. Garrison. He made it out of the bunker?"
"More or less," Dr. Huntington said.
"What about others?" Steve demanded.
"I only know this project," Dr. Huntington insisted. "And only what I need to know for this project. Nothing more. I'm sorry. I can't help you."
#*#*#*#*#
"Catherine, it's Danny."
Catherine stood up behind her desk. Danny was obviously distraught.
"Danny, what is it? What's happened?" Catherine asked, her heart in her throat.
"Catherine, they took Riley; they injected her with a virus and -"
"Danny, slow down," Catherine begged. "Who? Who has Riley?"
"I think - I think maybe the CIA? Garrison. Garrison survived the explosion, and . . . we thought we were leading a team of CDC scientists to get to a facility so that Riley could override the computer, you know, and get them inside, and . . . it was a set-up. They injected her with a virus, a fatal -" his voice broke.
"Danny, no," Catherine gasped.
"They think she'll survive, you know, because of the DNA alterations, and they want the antibodies -" Danny broke off. "But we could hear, the other scientists, the ones who got infected, and -"
Catherine's hands were already flying over her keyboard. "Okay, I'm on it, Danny," she said. "I'll find out everything I can. Where is she now? Where's Steve?"
"An old Coast Guard station on the . . . the Kure Atoll," Danny said. "Steve made the pilot come back with us so that he could go with Riley. He . . . he let her fly the chopper."
"Danny . . ." Catherine whispered. "Oh, Danny, I'm so sorry. Should we go? I can probably get clearance, I can check -"
"I don't know, Catherine," Danny said. "Riley is . . . she's terrified of exposing us. I don't know if they're going to a CDC facility, or CIA, or SAD . . . see what you can find out. I can't stand the thought of Steve there, alone, what if -"
"Danny, don't go there," Catherine said. "Let me see what I can find out. I'll call you back as soon as I know anything."
"Okay," Danny said, running a shaking hand through his already disheveled hair. "I - I have to call Mary."
#*#*#*#*#
Steve was still glaring at Dr. Huntington when Dr. York appeared in the hallway.
"Um, sir?" she said, timidly. "We have . . . she's . . . your sister - she's settled, if you'd like to be with her."
Steve turned away and followed her down the hall.
"What kind of doctor are you?" he asked, gruffly.
"I'm a virologist," she said, "but I as originally trained and still practice internal medicine."
"The last time you people got your hands on Riley, she had a nurse. A wonderful nurse," Steve said. "Who's actually taking care of her, right now?"
"I'll be providing her primary care," Dr. York said. She lifted her shoulders and dared a glance at Steve. "I'm good at what I do, sir."
He stared at her a moment. "Commander McGarrett. Steve."
She nodded as they paused in front of a closed door. "She's symptomatic now, but not contagious. We'll have to use extreme caution, of course, when we start to take blood samples."
"How symptomatic?" Steve asked. "Those scientists, back at the facility, they sounded . . ."
"We hope she'll be strong enough, it won't get to that," Dr. York said quickly.
"But you don't know," Steve said.
"We know it presents like your standard influenza, at first," she said. "And that's where we are now. We . . . we're trying to keep her comfortable, but you see, the fever . . . we don't want to suppress the fever, not more than we have to, because it's in the presence of the fever that she'll develop more antibodies more quickly."
"You're going to just let her suffer," Steve said flatly. "And I'm going to watch. That's what you're trying to tell me."
"The instant her blood tests positive for the antibodies, we will aggressively treat the fever," Dr. York said. "And we'll try to treat the other symptoms."
"Which will be?" Steve asked, steeling himself for the answer.
"You've had the flu, I'm sure," Dr. York said. "Probably an exotic one."
Steve raised an eyebrow at her.
"Riley is a typical younger sister," she said. "She's proud of your service in the Navy."
"Columbia, once," Steve said. "Thought I'd die. Would've preferred it, at one point. You're telling me we're going to stand and watch while she . . ."
"We'll do our best," Dr. York said softly. "You ready?"
Steve wondered why she put it that way; of course, he was ready to join Riley. Then, she pushed open the door, and he understood. Riley was unmistakably sick; her eyes glassy with fever, her skin pale, her lips already cracked. The cardiac monitor next to her bed showed an elevated heart rate.
"You people have no souls," Steve said quietly, looking down at Dr. York. "You know that, right? You seem nice enough, but . . . to do this. And things like this. If there's any humanity left in you, I suggest you find a way out."
Dr. York looked down, unable to meet Steve's gaze for the moment.
"Hey, kid," Steve said, smiling gently at Riley. "I hope you feel better than you look."
"You know," Riley said, forcing a smile back, "I don't normally primp, but I think when I get out, a hair cut is in order. Maybe even a manicure."
"Now I know you're delirious," Steve teased gently. "When you get better, I'll give Kono a day off, and the two of you can spend the whole day at one of those spas."
"Deal," Riley said. She closed her eyes. "Making antibodies is exhausting."
Steve pulled a chair up next to her bed. "It's okay. I'm not going anywhere, Riley. Rest."
#*#*#*#*#
Catherine's commanding officer handed her the file with an apology.
"I'm so sorry, Lieutenant," he said. "I wish I could refute what you've found so far, but all of my inquiries led to the same conclusion: the CIA sanctioned this . . . operation of the CDC. They're operating with full immunity and means."
Catherine tossed her computer mouse down, disgusted.
"Lieutenant, may I remind you that Five-O also operates with immunity and means?" the officer pointed out.
"Yes, well, they may take that liberty to use some unorthodox methods, but they would never - never - deliberately and knowingly inject a young woman with a deadly - a fatal - virus," Catherine protested. "Never."
"And if they had asked Riley?" he asked.
"She probably would have volunteered," Catherine said.
"Ah. And if they had asked Commander McGarrett?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.
"Well, we'll never know, will we?" Catherine sighed. "There's nothing you can do? Nothing at all?"
He smiled at her. "I did manage one thing . . . "
#*#*#*#*#
Riley wandered the halls of the monastery, unsure of why she was there, or how she'd arrived. It was quiet, and dark, and that was nice. Her head didn't hurt as badly, in the dim light. Frank had brought her here one other time, after she'd failed one of Joe's training sessions. Had that happened again? Had she failed another training session?
There was a nice voice, a voice that she knew she trusted, assuring her that she hadn't failed. That was good. And something else . . . oh. The voice wanted to know what kind of training session.
"Climbing," she explained drowsily. "I misjudged the foothold, and fell. Joe said . . . said I'd heal, learn my lesson, wouldn't fall next time. Frank . . . Frank yelled. Said it was . . . inhumane. Brought me to the monks. They fixed it."
A hand brushed her hair away from her face. The gesture was gentle, but the hand had calluses. Gun calluses, like . . . like Frank's. And someone else, since. The hands that went with the voice. Good hands, she remembered that. Very good hands, from another time . . . an image of her arm, flayed open and bloody, came back to her, and those hands, pressing, holding . . .
"Steve," she remembered.
"I'm here," the voice said. The good voice matched up with the good hands, and belonged to Steve. Her brother, her very own brother, and no one could take him away from her, now that she'd found him.
"That's right," the Steve-voice assured her. "I'm not going anywhere. What did the monks fix?"
"The bones," she said. "Put them back."
"Like . . . relics?" the Steve-voice was confused, and she thought it was funny.
"No, my bones," she murmured. "The hipbone connected to the . . . shoulder bone connected to the . . . arm bone," she hummed. "Frank said, it was a song. All the bones connected. Mine were disconnected." She frowned. That wasn't right.
"Dislocated?" the Steve-voice prompted softly. "Your hip and shoulder were dislocated?"
"Hmm," she nodded, managing to crack open her eyes. "Hi."
"Hey," Steve whispered. "I'm so sorry. I know that hurt."
"Mmm," she agreed. "Like now."
"Riley," Steve whispered. "Let me get them to give you something more, okay?"
"Mmm," she nodded. "Monks did . . . something. Helped. A spring. In a cave . . . warm. Can we go? Please?"
"Honey, no, I'm sorry," Steve said. "But I'll ask for something warm."
She tried her hardest not to cry when Steve moved away, just like she'd tried her hardest not to cry when Frank had left her with the monks. But there were rules, and Frank couldn't stay. He had to trust them. Maybe there were rules, and Steve had to trust - no.
"No," Riley whispered. She tried to open her eyes, tried to surface from the haze of sedative. No, she knew beyond a doubt that Steve didn't trust the people she was with now. And yet, he left. He left her with people that he didn't trust. A tear escaped her half closed eyes, and then another, until there was a little trail disappearing into her hair and dampening her pillow.
"Hey," Steve murmured, his fingertips brushing at the corners of her eyes. "Hey, I'm right here."
"You don't trust these people," Riley whispered. "But you left me."
"Big picture, little picture," Steve said. "The people in this room are here to try to make you feel better. It's okay. I'm not going to leave. I just went to ask the doctor for something for the pain."
"You're hurt?" Riley asked, trying to open her eyes more.
Steve chuckled. "No, Riley, for you. She'll be here in just a minute."
"Monks stuff works best," Riley pointed out. "But . . . okay. You . . . you check it."
"Okay," Steve assured her, as Dr. York came back into the room.
"What are you checking?" she asked Steve quietly.
"I'm checking to make sure that you're giving Riley the right stuff," Steve said. Dr. York held out the IV bag for his inspection.
"'S'okay?" Riley mumbled.
"Mmmhmm," Steve said. "It's Demerol. I've used it."
"This will help alleviate the pain," Dr. York said, "even though it's not really going to address the fever that's causing the pain."
"God forbid," Steve muttered, as the medication was added to Riley's IV.
The door opened again, and Steve caught a glimpse of someone coming in, carrying a blanket.
"And a nice warm blanket," Dr. York said. "Normally, we wouldn't use this . . . but -"
"But you don't give a damn about her fever," Steve said flatly. "Hey, maybe a nice hot blanket will jack it up a couple more degrees, get you what you wanted even faster."
He reached out to take the blanket, and looked at the person carrying it for the first time.
"Catherine . . . how did -"
"Hey, sailor," Catherine said. "Guess who pulled a Special Activities Division assignment?" She smiled up at him as they carefully draped the blanket over Riley.
"Hi, Riley," Catherine said. "I'm sorry you're not feeling well. I can be here with you and Steve until you're better."
"Thanks f'the blanket," Riley murmured, closing her eyes.
"Cath, how did you manage this?" Steve said, wrapping his arms around her slim frame, uniform and rules regarding public displays of affection be damned.
"My commanding officer and I turned over every stone we could. This is a sanctioned operation, Steve, I'm so sorry. We can't even prosecute . . . but, we could insist that Naval Intelligence assign a liaison to ensure that only the sanctioned research is carried out - not one extra cell or blood sample is to be taken, not one x-ray or CT scan - anything not immediately and directly related to developing a cure and vaccine for this virus is off-limits. I'm here to enforce that. With my own set of immunity and means," she added.
"Catherine, it's Garrison." Steve spat out the name.
"I know," she said quietly, with a glance at Riley.
Steve tamped down firmly on his anger. "You have intel that you can share on Garrison?"
"Files will be sent," she said, pulling a compact tablet out of one of the pockets of her uniform pants. "But it's sketchy at best. We know he survived. We know he's acting as a . . . consultant for this operation."
"Any word . . . " Steve let the sentence trail off.
"No," Catherine said softly. "Nothing. But if he survived . . ."
"Yeah," Steve said, his voice hoarse with fatigue and emotion. "We knew there would be a chance, but to know that anyone made it out . . ."
Riley stirred and a soft whimper escaped.
"Shh, it's okay," Steve said, brushing his fingertips across her cheek. "God, she's burning up." He turned to Dr. York. "Can you get the antibodies now? She has a fever."
"It usually takes at least twenty-four hours to begin to develop antibodies," Dr. York explained. "And she's only had a fever for about two."
"But you said the virus was progressing much faster than usual," Steve argued.
"I'm telling you, it's too soon," Dr. York said, standing her ground. Commander McGarrett was big, and scary, but she knew the medicine. "I can bring Dr. Harrington in to give his input, if you like."
"Keep him the hell away from this room," Steve said. He kept his voice low, but the edge was unmistakable.
"It's too soon, I'm sorry," Dr. York said. Her tone was genuinely sympathetic. "And I'm sure you understand - we don't want to handle any more blood samples than absolutely necessary. But we will start checking at eight hours. Okay?"
Steve nodded morosely. "She's confused, and in pain. Is there anything more you can do for her?"
"I'm sorry, Commander," Dr. York said. "At this point, we need to just let the virus run its course until we have antibodies. Believe it or not, letting the body use fever as an antiviral is an approach used even in mainstream medicine. Western medicine is so quick to try to eliminate every symptom . . . but by reducing her fever, we not only slow down the production of antibodies, we slow down her recovery."
"What if it gets just too high? Couldn't that be fatal?" Steve worried.
"That's a valid concern," Dr. York said. "And we would take action, I assure you. Generally speaking, this virus hasn't caused fevers that high. Can you hang in there? I think this is harder for you than for her."
Steve smiled despite his frustration. "You're probably right. I just . . . this was a despicable act, you know that. Damn it, if you'd just asked her . . . she probably would have held out her arm and volunteered."
"Not my call, Commander," Dr. York reminded him quietly. "I'm here to take the best care of her I can, while trying desperately to prevent this from killing others. We're all dealing with the situation we've been handed at this point."
Steve rubbed the back of his neck. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm taking my frustration out on you . . ."
"Hey, you don't have me in a choke hold against the wall," Dr. York said, shrugging. "I count my blessings. We're going to be in for a bit of a long haul. I'm going to try to catch forty winks on a cot. There are comfortable chairs in Riley's room. I suggest you and the . . . Lieutenant try to get some rest as you're able, as well."
Steve nodded as she left the room, and turned his attention back to Riley. He watched, smiling, as Catherine sat next to Riley, holding her hand and gently and carefully rubbing the scar on the inside of her arm. He slipped behind Catherine and wrapped his hands around her shoulders.
"Thank you," he whispered, as he bent and kissed her cheek. "Thank you for coming."
"I couldn't get clearance for any of your team," she said. "You know they all wanted to come. I couldn't even get clearance to give them updates - I had to just tell them that no news was good news."
"Mary?" he murmured.
"Danny was going to call her," Catherine said. "They are obligated to get her here if . . . well. If there were to be a need. The CDC seems pretty damn confident that there won't be, so we'll hang on to that. You look exhausted, Steve, why don't you try to rest, just a bit? She seems calm for now."
Steve agreed, reluctantly, and settled into the chair on the other side of the room. Exhausted, and content with the knowledge that Catherine was watching over Riley, he fell into a troubled doze.