Author note: Hi everyone. I just want to say something before you begin this next chapter. I know I may lose some of you as readers because this storyline is not the normal behavior for Steve, but writing the same ole' character as if they are flawless is what I consider boring and predictable. So if you decide to stick it out, I hope you enjoy where it goes. If you decide to move on, then I hope I see you again for the next story. Aloha!
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"Emily, you're boy is up again."
She looked over at the monitor that was a link to the camera in his room. She saw him sitting up on the edge of the bed bent over, knowing exactly what that meant.
She hurried out of her chair and down the two doors to his room. She didn't knock, saving that courtesy for when he was issued a private room after detox. By the time she got in there he was already on his hands and knees trying to crawl to the bathroom. She didn't try to help him but instead reached over for the black can that was sitting by his bed. "Here Steve, its ok. You don't have go all the way in there. Here is fine."
He felt her hand on his back, gently caressing him. It felt comforting for all of about five seconds until the churning in his stomach began to rise to his throat. He leaned over the can and vomited, hoping it would end soon, not like the last time that went on for almost twenty minutes. His gut was still in knots over it. But as nature would rear her ugly head, just as he caught his breath, his stomach lurched again. He couldn't remember the last time he ate not knowing what it was that was falling in the bucket, nor could he remember ever being this sick before.
He sat back on his feet with his hands placed on either side of the pail looking down into it, wondering how everything had got so out of control. This was beneath him. He was better than this.
"Don't fight it Steve," Emily said, "just let it out. It's all the bad stuff that your body doesn't want anymore."
He saw a bead of sweat drip off the end off his nose into the bucket and then another one. "I don't belong here," he shuttered. "I'm going to leave as soon as I feel better."
Emily smiled, "Ok."
He turned his head, looking at her, "I mean it."
She only nodded.
"I don't like you," he whimpered, facing the bucket again as the pain in his stomach swelled. He went to tell her why, but was interrupted by another round of dry heaves.
"Don't use up all your energy on anger, honey, you're going to need that strength later on. Trust me." She kept a hand on his back, showing him that she was there for support no matter what he said to her. She had to admit though that he was the most courteous patient she'd ever had. Most patients at this stage of recovery hated her and were vicious in their words; calling her horrible names, one even trying to physically hurt her, so when Steve told her he simply didn't like her, she found it almost amusing.
She helped him back into bed as he rolled over away from her, pulling his legs up closer to his chest, not feeling the nausea any longer, but a painful cramping in his stomach. "I need something for my stomach," he ordered, "I have the flu. Get me something for my stomach." He refused to ask for Morphine, considering it a defeat in his eyes, still convinced he wasn't addicted to it, even though he would have literally cut off his right arm at that moment for just one pill.
"I don't have anything," Emily replied softly. "It's not the flu. The sooner you accept that the better."
"I was fine until I got here!" he barked out. "This place is dirty! You don't know…" he paused groaning through a sharp cramp in his lower abdomen. "You don't know what the hell you're doing!" he panted, "Are you even a doctor?"
"I'm here to help you, Steve." She came out of the bathroom with a cool towel, leaning over the bed and wiping his sweaty face off.
"Stop calling me…Steve!" he snarled, barely able to catch his breath. "I'm Lieutenant…Commander…Steve McGarrett." Even in his fit of anger he turned his head, allowing her to wipe his face off. The cool water felt good.
"Not here you're not," she said quietly, "here you're just plain ole' Steve."
"Its too light in here," he complained. "I need to sleep! How the hell can I sleep with so much fucking light in this fucking room," he growled.
Emily went to the window and closed the dark drapes, trying to accommodate him the best she could, but knew sleep was not going to come soon, or very easily. He was at what she considered second stage of his detox, which brought on profuse sweating, anxiety, shakes and more vomiting. His body was removing the toxins that had been living inside of him and the only way out was extremely unpleasant.
"If you need me I'm here," she said to him as she closed the door behind her, leaving only a sliver of light coming from the bathroom.
He ignored the words as he closed his eyes, shutting her out. She was useless to him. He wanted to sleep, knowing he needed it but the other half of his body was fidgety. What he really needed was a pill. He needed a pill badly, instinctively reaching down with unsteady hands to the shorts he had on, feeling over for pockets where he'd always kept them. He slammed his hands on the bed angrily, knowing he had nothing to ease the madness that was slowly engulfing him.
"How is he," Mark, a fellow employee asked Emily as she sat down in front of the computer in the office to record Steve's recent progress.
"He's very polite, considering."
Mark laughed. "Polite? Oh so he says please and thank you?" he joked, as he took a bite of a sandwich that was on a plate in front of him. "Are you going to give him supplements to wean him off?"
"No," Emily replied. "He hasn't been on the drug for very long. It's going to be cold turkey for that boy. It'll be best."
Mark nodded in agreement. "Has he started to talk yet?"
"No, but he'll come around. It's only been twenty-four hours. He's still in the denial stage. It's going to take a couple more days, but he'll come around. And mark my word, I can already tell by his nature, he's going to hit bottom hard, really hard." She looked up at the monitor, keeping an eye on his activity.
He threw the covers off the bottom half of his body and stretched his legs out on the bed, abruptly using his feet to get the rest of the hindering sheet off of him and rolled over on his back.
He rolled out of bed and began to pace the room, hoping to ward off the anxious feelings that seemed to be crawling all over him. "I can't believe they dumped me off in this shithole," he mumbled, turning and going in the opposite direction. "That little bastard Danny. I'm done with him! Done!" he shouted. "And Anna, that backstabbing fucking…" he leaned back against the wall. "She was never any good for me from the start. Why did you ever get involved with her?" He growled through his anger as he slid down the wall, "Thirty days here! No fucking way!"
He laid his head back against the wall with his legs bent in front of him, nervously rubbing his hands on his bare thighs, over and over again. His body struggling with the sudden physical changes as well as the psychological ones, along with the lack of sleep that was plaguing him, he was a mess.
His hands became damp from the sweat on his thighs as he wiped them off on his shirt. It stuck to his body from the dampness on his chest while a small stream of perspiration ran down his back. He irritably took his shirt off, wiping his face off first and then his neck and around to the back.
"Shit," he whimpered, using it to cleanse his arms next and then his face once again, repeating the process as if there was no end to the madness. He backed himself into the corner of the room, continuing the ritual over and over again until his shirt was as drenched as he was.
"Emily!" he yelled in a frightened voice. "Emily!"
She came in the room seconds later and switched the lights on, seeing him as he was on the monitor, backed into the corner of the room, fidgeting anxiously. "I'm here Steve."
"What's wrong with me?' he looked up at her with a desperate plea in his eye, gone was the cocky attitude from earlier. "Something's wrong. You have to get me out of here and to a hospital!"
She knelt down next him, "You're having withdrawal symptoms from the Morphine, Steve. It's going to be painful for a while, but you're strong and you can get through this. I'll help you all that I can."
Those words were what he needed to hear. He reached out and grabbed her wrist. "Get me some, Morphine. I just need maybe a pill or two, that's all. I won't take it after that anymore. I promise, ok?"
Emily shook her head as Mark and another attendant appeared at the door. The rooms were constantly monitored for the counselor's safety. Any physical contact by a patient, no matter how small, meant immediate action was taken. "You have to let go of my wrist Steve."
"Please, just get me some and everything will be ok."
"Will it? Or will you wake up tomorrow and have the same problem, needing more and then more?"
He let go of her wrist, angry that she wouldn't comply with his wishes. "You told me you would help me! You're not doing anything to help me!"
"Do you really think that getting you some Morphine will help you?"
"Yes!"
"How will that get you back to Jenny, Steve?"
He looked up at her as if she'd just said the one thing that shook his world. "Don't do that," he shuttered, his breathing suddenly escalating. "Don't use her against me. She's just a little girl." his voice suddenly becoming fearful. "She doesn't understand why I can't see her."
"Don't you think she deserves to have you in her life?"
"I want too but Anna won't let me. It's her fault! It's her fault I'm here."
Emily knew all the people in his life, his family tree so to speak, carefully laid out by the brief interviews of those who chose to come forward before his admittance. The ones that did were usually the ones that cared the most, but often times were also the ones that had been hurt the most by the addiction. When she met Anna, she was almost certain the relationship he'd had with her was going to be too far-gone to repair. She was very forthcoming with information and in her willingness for him to re-cover, but she was also the only one that declined a visit after the two-week mark.
"You take no responsibility in the decision she made to keep you away from Jenny? Why would she do that if she didn't have a reason?"
He pushed himself up the wall, moving away from her, not liking where this was going. "I don't want to talk about it anymore." He went to the black curtains that were still closed and opened one of them. The bright light stung his eyes and as he closed them to prevent the temporary blindness an image of Anna flashed before him. They were face to face, but he had her hand pinned against the wall, forcing her to release his pills. He blamed her that day for their downfall, but the image that he remembered now was her frightened expression, the one he'd chose to ignore.
He opened his eyes, not believing that what he saw was true. He would never physically hurt a woman, especially Anna. "She wouldn't trust me," he said in his defense.
"Maybe she was scared. Did she have a reason to be?"
He shook his head, hating the way she was putting these questions out there. To admit that he was even slightly capable of such a heinous thing was even more frightening than being there. "I would never hurt her like that."
"Sometimes we don't think we are hurting the ones we love until it's too late."
"Stop it!" he yelled, closing the curtain again. "I don't want you here anymore! You don't know me! You don't know anything about me, or Anna!"
Emily walked to the door as Mark and the other attendant backed up, "You're right, but at one time I think you were happy with Anna. I think your life was fulfilling. I'm just here to help you find out where it all went wrong and why you ended up here with me instead of with Anna."
She closed the door before he could reply, leaving him with that thought to dwell on.
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Anna held the phone in her hand with the number on the screen. She took in a deep breath and pushed send. She rolled her eyes and let out the breath she'd been holding as it began to ring. She knew one of two people would answer, and they did.
"Hi Daryl," she said, glad it was him and not Alyssa. "How are you?"
"Anna!" he replied happily. "It's great to hear your voice. How are the kids?"
"Good. Good. They're fine," she rolled her eyes again, hating having to lie. They were all a mess. It was like winter in the house even though they lived in a tropical paradise. "Is Alyssa around? I really need to talk to her."
"Sure. Hold on one second. She's just coming out of makeup. We're on set in New York. It's her first dramatic lead roll. She's doing pretty well actually…"
"That's great," she interrupted, not really caring.
"Alyssa!"
Anna heard him yell out and then cuff the phone, wishing he had put it on mute instead, because she could hear the argument not having to guess any longer whether or not her twin was still harboring anger toward her. She heard her finally agree to take the call but not very happily.
"Hello," Alyssa said and then huffed. "So, are you finally calling to apologize to me?"
Anna rolled her eyes for a fourth time, "Would that make you feel better, Alyssa?" She hated having to cater to her, but right now she had no choice, she needed her help; but really she just needed her money.
"I'm very busy Anna, what do you want?"
Anna closed her eyes, biting her bottom lip, trying to muster up the strength to ask.
"Excuse me," Alyssa said impatiently, "I have a life. You might be able to waste time sitting on a phone but I don't. What?"
"I need about twenty thousand dollars."
It was now Alyssa's turn to roll her eyes. "For what? The house is paid off." She felt a shiver of fear. "The kids aren't sick are they?"
"No, no. They're fine." She swallowed down her pride. "I want to come home and I need the money to do it."
"What?" she laughed. "You got to be kidding me? What about your Navy Seal hero?" she laughed again. "Oh wait, let me guess. He's out of the picture. He turned out to exactly like I said he would be, didn't he?"
"Alyssa, I really don't want to talk about…"
"No," she said abruptly. "I won't give you the money. Sell the house, use that."
"That could take months! I want to come home now," she felt her throat closing up, but refused to let Alyssa hear it.
"You pinned me against the wall and choked me, threatened me and now you want me to send you money? Forget it! You made your bed, now you lie in it."
"Ok," Anna recanted, "ten thousand and I'm sorry, ok. I'm sorry."
"Call me when you get into town and maybe we'll do a lunch," Alyssa said before hanging up. "And oh, by the way, I told you so."
Anna knew her last statement was meant toward she and Steve's relationship. Asking her for the money was a lost cause, Alyssa always had to get the last word in and she also knew she was loving every second of this. In hindsight, maybe she had been right.
She slumped down in the chair in the kitchen, slamming the phone down on the table. She stared outside into the backyard. Alyssa was her only hope for a quick move. She had no choice now, if she wanted off this island she was going to have to sell the house. She just wanted to be gone before Steve got back. It was what he wanted too. He made it perfectly clear as they stood in the Governor's office. There was no going back after that. He hated her, and any feelings she had for him she'd managed to tuck away, it was easier that way than crying for him everyday. She couldn't do it anymore.
Her eyes focused on the tree in the backyard that she had fallen out of and broken her arm. He'd magically appeared at her side like some gallant hero that had stepped off the pages of some romantic novel. That night was the beginning of their friendship. She could hardly believe all the nights they'd spent together and all the plans they'd made for the future and this is where they ended up. It all seemed like a dream now, like some fantasy that she had imagined. It must have been an illusion, because they couldn't possibly have been that happy and ended up here, so in incredibly unhappy.
She quickly sat up and wiped away the moisture from her eyes. "Stop!" she spoke out loud, "Don't go there. You don't have the time or the energy today."
She pushed herself out of the chair and went to the counter by the sink and began to clean up the morning mess from making lunches for Jenny and Eric. She folded the bread package closed and reached over for the lid to the peanut butter when the memory of the time she had whipped together a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for him on his way out the door after spending his first night in the house with her. That warm, secure feeling of being in love swept through her, not having felt it in a long time, not sure she ever would again.
She thought about where he was now and how he was getting along, hoping he had stayed. She hadn't seen any activity at his house, assuming he had. The part of her that made him the peanut butter and jelly sandwich missed him. She missed his silly jokes and one-liners. She missed him rolling over in bed at night and putting his arms around her, even when he was asleep. She missed walking into a room and seeing that look from him, reminding her that she was loved.
The first tear fell, landing on the counter as she wiped away the next one, putting the lid on the jar and reaching over switching the TV on in the kitchen that she had purchased to help distract her from these moments right here that could sneak up and literally cripple her for the rest of the day. She didn't have time for them anymore. The thirty-day clock was ticking down and she didn't want to be here when it struck zero.
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Mark came flying out of his chair and into the next room where Emily was taking a nap, switching the light on.
"Emily!" he said needing to wake her quickly, but knowing during his break times while on detox watch that he hated being startled out of deep sleep. "Emily!" he said again as her eyes opened. "He's up. He had a nightmare," he said to her, knowing the signs all too well.
Emily was up and off the cot in a flash, fully awake as she followed him out through the office, stopping at the monitor feed from Steve's room to see his condition before she went to him.
"What happened?" she asked, seeing Steve standing in the corner clearly shaken by whatever had happened.
"He'd been sleeping since you went down and then all at once he shot out of bed like he was on fire."
She hurried down the hall to his room, knowing these moments were crucial.
He couldn't shake the gruesome image from his mind, not knowing if it were true or not. He had to get out and see her. He had to know she was all right. He swore he hadn't left the room but was confused because the dream felt so real he couldn't distinguish between it and reality at the moment. His mind was cluttered with the fear of seeing her dead and even more disturbing was the blood on his hands.
He looked down at them again in the semi dark room, and then began to frantically wipe them on his shorts, trying to get it off. It was her blood that was on his hands. He'd done it; he thought disturbingly, he'd taken her life with his own hands. The panic and fear inside of him grew ten fold as he trembled in the corner of the room.
Emily came in, switching the light on as he tried to hide the evidence of what he had done. She quickly went to his side. "Steve, look at me."
"Go away," he shuttered, afraid he'd hurt her too. "Please, I can't be trusted," he shuttered, his arms crossed, hiding his hands. "What's happening to me?"
"You had a nightmare."
He shook his head, "It was real," he looked up at her, all the terror he felt from it shown on him. "I think I hurt her," his voice shaky as the real shock began to emerge on him. "I think I might have killed her."
"Who?" Emily asked him. "Tell me what happened."
He looked past her to see if anyone else was there. "Anna," he said barely above a whisper as his voice choked. "I think I hurt her really bad. There's blood on my hands."
"It was a dream, Steve, Anna is fine. You were here the whole time."
He shook his head, "I don't think so."
She took ahold of his arms that were tightly crossed and bound to his chest, pulling them apart. "Look, there's no blood. You just had a bad dream." She held each one of his hands in hers, showing him. "See, nothing."
He stared at her, almost afraid to see for himself.
"It's ok, honey you can look."
He trusted her words that came out soft and calm, knowing she must be telling the truth. He slowly looked down at his hands that were clean. He was beside himself with relief as he fell back against the wall and slid down until he was sitting, all the while staring at his hands.
Emily knelt down on the floor next to him. "See, it was just a dream. You didn't kill anyone."
He realized then the comparison to what he had dreamt and what his reality was. His head fell forward into his hands. "Yes I did," he whimpered. "I loved her. I killed what we had together." He raised his head, leaning it back against the wall. For the first time in months he could see clearly the mistakes he'd made. He didn't know if it was the dream that had awakened him or if it was being off the pills but he felt a clarity that was unlike anything he ever had before. He turned and looked at her. "I know why I'm here now. I think…" he stopped mid-sentence coming head to head with his emotions, ultimately taking the blame for what had happened between he and Anna. It was a crushing blow as he realized her only intent was to help him and all the while he fought back with lies upon lies.
Emily put a hand on his shoulder, this was her favorite part of detox; it was that breakthrough moment when they finally came into the light. "It's ok, Steve," she affirmed, seeing the struggle in him to hold back what he was feeling. "There's nothing to be afraid of here. Whatever happens stays between you and me. My only purpose is to help you along the process of becoming whole again."
He wiped his hands down his face; stopping mid way, trying to fight off the tears that were forming as he realized the devastating dilemma he was in. "I can't go back," he declared, recalling only a portion of the vicious words that had come out of his mouth to all the people that loved and supported him. "I can't." He couldn't think of one person in his life that he hadn't alienated before coming there. "I have nothing to go back to. No one."
He bent his head as the relentless tears began to fall, coming to terms with his life that was no longer his.
"Don't count all those people out of your life just yet. Remember, they are the ones that stood up and brought you here. And what about the person that you stayed for? Don't you think Jenny deserves you back?"
He shook his head. "I let her down," he replied, thinking then of Eric and how he must look in the boy's eyes now. "I let them all down." He felt the impact of that statement as it hit him full force. He was the leader. He was the one that always stood tall and made sure everyone behind him was safe and sound. It was difficult to come to terms knowing he'd been the one that they were hiding from. He was the enemy. "I can't go back." He was sure of it now as the fear of an unknown future broke through and crippled him.
Emily smiled even though he sat next to her and quietly cried for all the mistakes he'd made, but to her it was a triumph, and only the beginning of his recovery. He had finally hit bottom and she looked forward to helping him climb up and out of the hole. He still had a long way to go but he was well on his way.
His body continued to be rocked by the pain of withdrawals from the Morphine, but he knew it would eventually fade away, but the ache that he felt in his heart over what he'd lost with Anna, he knew that pain and regret would last a lifetime.