Jax's slightly inebriated subconscious worked on the puzzle for hours before coming to a solution.
"Well, shit," she said aloud, rubbing her eyes.
"What?" Steve said, instantly wide awake, voice perfectly normal. It was infuriating, really, how he could do that.
"The restraints," she said. "I mean, there weren't restraints. Or ligature marks. But I keep dreaming . . . when I have a nightmare, it involves being restrained. My hands being restrained. It was bugging me today."
"Oh," Steve said. 'Bugging her' didn't seem to do justice to the mental and emotional events of the day, but they'd go with it for now.
He stroked her hair as she fidgeted with the blanket. "This okay?" he whispered.
"Ummhmm," she mumbled, staying snuggled close to him. In spite of everything, there was no part of her that didn't appreciate being enveloped by his strong arms, and she rested a hand splayed out against his solid abs, idly admiring the definition even through his t-shirt.
"My hands," she said slowly, still not fully awake - maybe not entirely, completely, utterly sober, she thought in passing, "were underneath me. Martinez . . . "
"The one whose knee you dislocated?" Steve prompted, trying to keep his tone level, despite the hot burn of rage that was building.
"Yeah . . . he wasn't holding down my hands, because they were underneath me. Behind my back. He was holding down my shoulders, though," she said, as if she was explaining a new martial arts move. Steve wished he wasn't entirely sober. No one should be sober discussing this.
"That's how your shoulder was dislocated and your collarbone fractured," he said, closing his eyes and willing the image out of his mind. "You fought so hard you dislocated your shoulder and cracked your collarbone," he marveled. "Jax," he said, a sudden thought coming to him. "That makes him directly complicit. You could still file charges." Or Danny and I could fly to New York and file our boots up his ass, he thought.
Jax yawned sleepily and snuggled closer to Steve; he held her as tightly as he dared, trying not to hurt any of the recent cuts and bruises, and buried his face in her hair, grounding himself in the familiar honeysuckle and gunpowder scent.
"I'm glad I figured that out. At least it makes sense now," she said, as she drifted back to sleep.
Sleep did not return to Steve, and Danny found him the next morning, staring out the window at the still-falling rain.
"Babe, you look like shit," Danny said. "I didn't think you drank that much."
"I didn't drink enough, Danny," Steve sighed. He pointed at Jax, still curled up on the sofa, her riot of dark red curls cascading over her pillow, one small foot stuck out from under the blanket. "She drank enough, though, to let go of some of that iron-willed control of hers, and tell me what she remembered."
"Oh, shit," Danny said, pouring some coffee, and wondering if it was way too early to add a splash of something stronger.
"You know yesterday, right before she flipped like a switch, she said something about restraints, and it didn't make sense?"
"Oh, shit," Danny said again. He knew he was being redundant, but he had a bad feeling about where this was going.
"Yeah, she remembered being restrained," Steve said, his voice dripping sarcasm and fury, "but no ligature marks. Because her hands were being restrained by her own body weight, trapped underneath her."
"Oh, shit," Danny breathed.
"While Martinez, despite his dislocated kneecap, held her shoulders down. He held her shoulders down, Danny, while . . . " Steve broke off, rubbing his eyes furiously. "She struggled hard enough to dislocate her own shoulder and crack her own collarbone. But with her hands trapped underneath her, and O'Neil . . . she couldn't get any leverage. If she'd gotten her hands free she likely would have killed them both."
"Oh, shit," Danny whispered once more, and then fell silent for a long, long moment. He needed to update his word-a-day calendar. "That was not in the report," he said finally.
"No, it wasn't. She didn't remember until yesterday. Taking the restraints off of Valerie Keon must have jarred it loose," Steve said. "I wonder how many more times this is going to happen," he added, leaning wearily on the counter.
"As many as it needs to, Steve, and all we can do is ride it out," Danny said. "Wait, this means Martinez . . . "
"Directly complicit," Steve finished. "She brushed off the idea of filing charges."
"It's her call," Danny reminded him.
"I know, Danno," Steve sighed. Jax stirred, stretched, and winced as she pulled on two sets of stitches.
"Ow," she said to the world at large. "Why did you let me drink so much?"
"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Steve said, smiling down at her. He sat a cup of coffee on the table next to her and helped her sit up, brushing her tousled hair out of her face. "Good morning."
"Gimme," she smiled, reaching for the coffee. She sighed in happy appreciation, and his heart did its usual stumble at the sound. "Did I say I wanted to go to the range today?"
"You mentioned it," Steve said.
"I've changed my mind," she announced. "Danny," she yelled, and then grimaced. Too loud. "Danny," she tried again, more quietly. "Isn't it your day to pick Gracie up from school?"
"It is, indeed," Danny said, coming in from the kitchen and handing her a pop tart from his stash of unhealthy food that he kept hidden right under Steve's nose. Steve started to protest, and then remembered the little problem that Jax was having keeping her weight healthy, and decided that some processed sugar was possibly not the worst idea.
"Can we take her to visit Kono?" Jax asked, nibbling on her pop tart.
Danny and Steve both grinned broadly.
"That sounds absolutely perfect, babe," Danny said.
"I should go into the office and start on the paperwork," Steve said, his fingers still tangled in Jax's hair. But his legs folded back onto the sofa instead, and Jax curled against him. Danny handed him a cup of coffee and settled into the recliner, grabbing the remote.
"Let's see . . . we have Rangers vs Blackhawks . . . and three of the Fast and Furious oeuvre - I can tell what Jax does on your reserve weekends, Steven . . . "
The day passed in companionable sloth. Jax showered before their lunch of leftovers, and again before it was time to go pick up Gracie. Steve and Danny cast worried glances at each other but didn't say anything; Steve just quietly did a load of towels in the laundry, and turned the thermostat up slightly on the water heater.
Gracie was ecstatic to see both Jax and Kono; she'd heard that they were injured - Danny had learned that telling her a simple version of the truth caused her much less anxiety than what her active imagination provided. She was easily reassured by their presence, and took far too much interest in Kono's chest tube and Jax's stitches for Danny's liking.
"If you want to be a surgeon, Gracie, honey, that's just fine," Danny said. "But if Aunt Jax starts saying words like 'medic' or 'tactical', it's time to go home. Got it?"
Gracie, of course, giggled and rolled her eyes. "Danno, I don't want to be a medic," she said.
"Well, good, that's very sensible," Danny said.
"What do you want to be, honey?" Kono asked.
"I want to be a cop, like you or Danno," Gracie said solemnly. "Or a Navy SEAL like Uncle Steve."
Kono offered Danny her oxygen.
#*#*#*#*#
The rain stopped just as Danny dropped Steve and Jax off to retrieve his Silverado from the palace parking lot, and they rode home in the fading light of sunset.
"So, tomorrow, we start processing all of that arsenal?" Jax asked.
Steve sighed. He hadn't been able to resist a peek, and sure enough, many of the crates were marked with the arrogant and distinctive Novak family crest. For some reason, Declan Novak, international arms dealer, had set up Martin Lassiter, local serial killer, with enough firepower to take out his team.
"Yeah, we do," he said. "At least it will keep you and Danny in Malia's good graces; it's not active duty."
"Why would Novak . . . " Jax shook her head. "It's creepy."
"No kidding," Steve said, helping her out of the truck. "Sit by the water a while?"
"Absolutely," Jax said, smiling up at him.
Absolutely amazing, his brain confirmed. Also, that was alliteration, his brain added, helpfully but not remotely pertinent.
They settled into the chairs and enjoyed the sunset.
"I miss this," Jax said, "when we have a case. But I appreciate it more when I get back to it."
"Hmm, do you appreciate me more when I get back from reserve weekends?" Steve teased.
"I thought I made that obvious," Jax mumbled, grinning, as she closed her eyes and rested her head back against the seat. "Ow."
Steve leaned back in his chair as well. "Ow."
Jax snickered. "Do we have enough of that topical anesthetic left?"
"I bought a case," Steve grunted. "Technically, the governor bought a case. For Five-O. We should go in, it's going to take us an hour just to clean and change bandages."
"Five more minutes," Jax muttered.
Twenty minutes later, the sky was almost dark, and Steve was gently shaking her awake. He dodged a left uppercut.
"Nice one," he said, holding her shoulders carefully and cautiously at arm's length. "You with me now?"
"Yeah, sorry."
Steve was right; while Jax had efficiently and quickly cleaned and replaced the bandages on the half-dozen or so cuts scattered on his arms, he had taken much, much longer. Each and every cut was cleaned with infinite care, and gently covered with cream and bandages where necessary.
He pulled out a small tin and rubbed his fingers in it, and traced them gently over the two rows of stitches.
"What's that stuff?" Jax asked, more than a little breathless.
"Coconut oil," he murmured. "Kono swears by it." He rubbed more onto his fingers, and then onto the scars on her side and hip.
"I bet you a steak dinner that next time we see Caviness, he smells like coconut oil," Jax said.
Steve chuckled. "I'll take that action." He rubbed the last of the oil on his fingers onto a small abrasion on her jaw. His fingers took on a mind of their own and slid into her hair. He'd spent the better part of the last thirty minutes touching and gently kissing every part of her body that was cut or bruised . . . which was pretty much every square inch . . . and he was almost lightheaded with desire. He groaned as he tilted her head back and pressed his lips to hers, his tongue sweeping out to just graze -
She inhaled sharply with a cry, and he froze, pulling back.
"Oh, God, Jax," he said. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to rush . . . after all you've been through these last couple of days . . ."
She placed a finger over his mouth. "Steve," she whispered. "You shot me in the head, remember?" She grinned and pulled her hair back. He'd forgotten and run his fingers right over the wound, hidden by her thick curls. "Now, where were we?" she asked, her eyes dark, as she trailed her fingers down toward the waistband of his cargo shorts.
"I don't want to hurt you," he whispered, catching her hands and stopping their progress.
"Remember how I told Danny you could be creative?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She kissed the little spot behind his ear that always made him go stupid. "Be creative," she whispered.
Steve had wondered if the image of the Novak family crest would fill his thoughts that night. As it turned out, he didn't think of it at all.
#*#*#*#*#
A/N: Well, I don't mind confessing that was an exhausting story line - four fugitives was a challenge, and I feel like I just let poor Sang Min get tossed back in Halawa without so much as a thank-you note . . . thankfully that can always be rectified in the future.
I'm glad the Caviness character was well-received, and hope you'll enjoy seeing more of him in later chapters.
There will be some progress (I think) on the Skeletons story now, while Declan Novak plans his next evil move in this universe.
A/N2: Many heartfelt thanks to the guest who pointed out the grammar error - I am a true grammar nerd and I was riiculously happy to have that pointed out so I could fix it (not only was the word used incorrectly, it was used too many flippin' times). As to the differentiation between a fracture / break - yes, of course, you are correct in the clinical definition. However, the *treatment* for a complete fracture vs a partial fracture is different. One generally receives a hard cast for a complete fracture, which usually also requires either manual or surgical resetting to align the bone. One generally receives some form of removable soft or hard splint for an incomplete fracture, hairline fracture, greenstick fracture, chip, etc. The term "fracture" conveys all of that information to me (and then I'm asking - compound or simple? complete or greenstick? did you get a hard or soft cast? are there pins? - because I want to know all these things). So, I went with what felt like the more general definition of the word, that would convey the extent of the injury to the reader's mind without getting bogged down in detail. I don't mean to underestimate my readers or be lazy - I'll watch for more accurate, specific language in future chapters. But pretty much, I was more interested in Kono waking up with Caviness in her room, than I was defining his injury. ;-)