Beneath the Surface

Author's note; I hope you enjoy this one. Reviews are always welcome. There might be a grammatical error/spelling mistake here and there, sorry! I was too excited to update this fic.

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It was a strange feeling to hold his hands on the steering wheel. Danny expected his next solo ride to be enjoyable. He expected driving his own car to be at least a bit fulfilling. A song, annoying to his ears, started playing on the radio and he instinctively reached out his hand to turn it off. For a few moments he was silent, as if he was expecting Steve's annoying ass to turn it back on. It remained silent. After a couple of minutes, Danny turned the radio back on. At least he could pretend Steve was here.

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Chin and Kono were in the middle of a lively conversation when Danny walked in, his face more frowny than usual.

"Danny," Chin called out and Danny winced as if he had just been woken up from some sort of a trance.

"Yeah," he muttered lazily, running his hand through his hair. "I just got a call from the governor."

"And?" Chin raised his eyebrow and Kono leaned her hands on the table.

"The little kid murdered three days ago was her nephew," he bit his lip. "She wants to see us."

The team was silent for a while and were simply exchanging worried looks.

"Well, I guess we should get going," said Chin silently and Kono nodded.

"Yeah," Danny murmured, staring at his phone.

"Still no word from Steve?" asked Kono. Danny made a grimace.

"Uh, no," he scratched his eyebrow and sighed. The team slowly exited the office and strolled toward Danny's car.

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It never felt good to be sat outside the governor's office. It was never because of good news. Danny's palms were sweating as the door creaked open. The secretary invited them in.

"Governor Mahoe," said Chin softly and squeezed her hand. "Please accept our condolences."

The woman, dressed in black, gave him a small nod and proceeded to shake hands with Kono and Danny. They then sat down opposite the governor and remained quiet.

"I can only hope that there will be a day when we meet under different circumstances", she began. "But for now, we must keep working to make this island a better place," she clenched her teeth. "I am assigning you to this case and it must be taken care of immediately. Robberies are one thing but innocent lives being taken… children's lives…" her eyes teared up. "That is another thing," she said coldly and reached for a tissue from her drawer. "Find those who did this, find out why, find out where they came from and bring them to justice," she stood up and walked up to the window, turning her back to the team. "If not, this just might be your final case."

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Steve McGarrett dragged himself downstairs. It took him several minutes to make a couple of steps. Feeling very disoriented, he staggered into the kitchen, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and a t-shirt that badly needed to be washed. Pulling the refrigerator door open, his eyes numbly stared at the content. There was so much food inside that nothing more could fit in and Steve hadn't touched any of it. He knew he had to eat but he just couldn't. He slammed the door shut, not on purpose, he just simply couldn't control his hands or legs as much as he wanted to. His eyes were bloodshot; a big, dark bag underneath each one, and his face seemed so sunken as if he hadn't eaten in weeks, not days. He didn't quite look like the old Steve McGarrett, he almost looked like a tired, lifeless reflection of himself, more so like a ghost aimlessly wandering around his house.

A breath of fresh air hit his face and soothed his skin as he made his way outside. The chair in his backyard was waiting for him to sit down and stare at the ocean, which is exactly what he went to do. Even though it felt like every bone in his body hurt, the wooden chair was oddly comforting to him. It wasn't comfortable but as he was sitting in it, relaxing his tense muscles, he felt at home. It was more like a sanctuary where couldn't be hurt. He was at home – he was safe.

After a while of staring at the water in front of him, Steve looked down and immediately winced, seeing red spots on his white, although not so bright, t-shirt. His mind wandered to three nights ago when he was kneeling in his bathroom, leaned against the wall, scrubbing the blood from his hands. The brush was so firm it scraped his skin too much and it began bleeding. Steve's hands and arms were full of wounds from the brush as he maniacally tried to clean it, thinking it was the boy's blood.

How is there so much?!

He kept thinking as tears were streaming down his face, staring at the bloody bathtub and floor, his shirt drenched in water mixed with blood. The bathroom was flooded, and Steve woke up in a puddle of his own blood, being slapped by Danny, trying to wake him up after he had passed out.

Seeing red spots on his shirt caused a major flashback and Steve felt sick, breathless, trapped. Looking around in panic, Steve tried to catch a breath and suddenly realized – it was just a white shirt with a colorful print. There was no blood. Steve suddenly burst out laughing uncontrollably, as sweat started dripping from his forehead, a feeling of relief overwhelming him.

Damn shirt.

Steve stood up, deciding it was maybe time to hit the shower and pretend this never happened. He never liked that shirt anyway so he decided to burn it. It seemed like a clever idea at the moment. As he was about to enter the house, he heard a silent sob from the distance, followed by a louder scream. Steve winced, assuming it was coming from the water. He ran closer to the ocean, feeling his bare feet touch the chilly water. He could barely make out the silhouette in the distance but he instinctively threw himself into the water. The more he swam, the less he could hear the voice. He was twisting and turning in the water, trying to find the silhouette but there was nothing but red water around him. Steve's eyes widened, he gasped, unable to breathe as water filled his nostrils and mouth. It was like he had forgotten to swim. The waves overcame him and his head was suddenly underwater, with his hands above the surface, thrashing the waves. He could hear the voice again. It sounded like a muffled scream, followed by a loud noise, resembling the noise of a gunshot. Steve stopped breathing the second two arms grabbed him out of the water.

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Muffled screams woke him up and he started coughing. He couldn't make out the two faces in front of him as he was sat on the grass, right in front of his wooden chair. Danny's eyes were staring at him, drops of water rolling down his chest and Chin gently nudged his shoulder.

"Steve," whispered Danny.

There were no muffled screams, that was just Danny calling his name. There was no red water, that was just the dark ocean. Nobody was drowning. Steve shook his head.

"I thought- I-," he tried to speak but coughs kept interrupting him.

"Easy," said Danny, looking at his wounded arms and something pained him inside his chest.

"Come on, brah, let's get you inside," said Chin in a very comforting, friendly tone and the two managed to pick him up, each holding him from one side, supporting his arms. Steve tottered inside with their help, completely wet, and sat down in the nearest chair. Chin brought a dry towel and a glass of water, as Danny sat beside him, patting his back.

"He needed my help," Steve began, disoriented. Danny raised his brow, trying to make sense out of the situation.

"Uh, who did, Steve?" he asked, trying to sound as neutral as possible while he was worried sick.

"The boy, the little boy, the-," he coughed. "-boy, in the water, there was a boy and he was yelling and he couldn't swim and the shark got to him and-" he mumbled, speaking in one quick sentence, forgetting to breathe and the suddenly got up. "He's still in the water, Danny! He needs my help!" he started yelling hoarsely and Danny grabbed his arm.

"Steve, listen to me," he said quietly as Chin caught his other arm although gently, trying not to touch his scratches. "Nobody's in the water, okay? There wasn't a shark, Steve," he tried to explain calmly, gazing at Steve's shocked face.

"They shot him! They shot him!" he started yelling even louder.

"Nobody shot the shark, buddy," whispered Chin.

Steve looked at them, shaken, and started putting the pieces together.

No blood. No boy. No screams. No shark.

Cold sweat covered his body and his face became paler than the wall. Danny and Chin exchanged worried looks once again as Steve whispered.

"He needed my help," he said utterly sadly, in a very low voice, referring to the boy that got shot in front of him. His thoughts wandered back to three days ago.

Sobs. Screams. Gunshot. T-shirt…

Drenched in blood.