AN: All right, I finally finished this chapter! Sorry it took so long, but a few parts took a while to sort out. On the bright side, it's definitely a longer chapter!
Hours passed before they returned to the house. A doctor had confirmed Steve's suspicions that Meg's ankle was sprained and had declared Meg was to keep her weight off that ankle for the next week or two unless she was wearing what Meg quickly dubbed the 'space boot'. If she didn't want to wear the boot, she still had to keep her ankle wrapped, and had to use crutches to move about. Frankly Meg wasn't wild about either option, but seeing as how her ankle didn't want to support her weight without the boot, she'd just have to suck it up and deal.
The sketch artist, a twenty-something woman named Ava with a friendly smile, had sat with Meg in Steve's office while the teen kept her ankle elevated and iced. Though the commander hadn't stayed in the office with them, Meg could see him just outside the office in her peripheral vision the entire time. Absentmindedly she wondered if he might half expect her to bolt at the first opportunity. Whether wearing the space boot or using the crutches, Meg acknowledged there was no way she could move fast enough to succeed at an escape attempt, and honestly, at that point what exactly was the point?
They had stayed at the Palace for lunch. Danny had picked up sandwiches from a nearby fast-food place. Meg hadn't been in the mood to eat much of anything but in spite of her persistent claims of not being hungry, Steve had waited patiently for her to eat at least half of her sandwich before agreeing they could finally head home.
Hobbling awkwardly through the front door now, Steve following right behind her, Meg half wished it had taken longer.
"Go sit on the armchair and elevate your ankle," the commander instructed as he closed the door and moved to set Meg's backpack at the base of the stairs.
Wary of their impending 'discussion', Meg made her way over to the armchair and carefully sat, lifting her boot-covered ankle onto the ottoman first before pulling the other one up to join it. It wasn't truly elevated, but she was fairly sure it was enough for Steve for the time being.
She watched him cross the room towards the kitchen and wondered what he was doing. A minute later, she had at least a partial answer as he approached her, a bottle of water in one hand, his other hand cupped. The water was set down on the small table beside her along with two small, reddish-brown tablets.
"The ibuprofen you took earlier will be wearing off soon," he explained at her slight look of confusion. "It will help with the swelling."
Meg was well aware of how ibuprofen worked, but she wasn't going to point that out. She didn't want to come off as snarky or having an attitude. Giving a small nod of understanding, she softly said, "Thank you," and swallowed the pills without complaint, rinsing them down with a small sip of the water.
Seemingly satisfied, Steve turned and walked away, this time toward the dining room. Meg didn't have long to ponder his actions, though, when he returned within a few moments carrying one of the dining chairs. He set the chair beside the ottoman and sat, his eyes calmly studying her.
The silence made her nervous, and Meg couldn't help but fidget a bit, though she managed to keep his gaze.
"Tell me what you're thinking."
Meg immediately recognized it was a request as opposed to a command. It was far gentler than she'd expected, particularly after their initial conversation when he'd found her earlier. It served to disarm her, coaxing her to share thoughts she hadn't planned on voicing. "I half expected to be shipped straight back to the mainland," she admitted softly, using a term she'd heard others use for the continental states. "If you know my name you know who my mom is, where I live…"
"I do," Steve agreed, masking his surprise that the kid would actually worry about being sent away. Had he not done a sufficient job showing her she was safe? "I was able to learn a little more about your mom's family while you were with Ava. She doesn't have any siblings, and neither of her parents are still living. You seem to have some extended family on your grandma's side, but they live in Europe." He watched Meg nod in agreement. "Here's the thing. I promised to keep you safe, and as far as I'm concerned, that means you're not leaving unless I know you're going to someone you know and trust."
Steve's words sparked a warm feeling in Meg, but they didn't chase away all of her insecurities. "I made you really mad this morning," pointed out the teen, as if that would be another reason he'd ditch her at first chance.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. "You scared me, Meg," corrected Steve. "You shared with me last night that there's someone you're afraid of back home, and this morning you admitted you heard that person's voice when you tried calling your mom. All of a sudden, you were gone. I had no idea where you were or if you were safe, and I couldn't track your phone because you'd turned it off. Having an idea of what you were able to do to hide yourself enough to make it from New York to Hawaii on your own, I was terrified I wouldn't be able to find you."
Meg felt moisture form in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, hoping Steve could hear the sincerity in her words. "I didn't mean to worry you."
"I know you didn't," Steve assured her, reaching out to give her good ankle a gentle squeeze.
"How… how did you find me?" she asked, hoping the question wouldn't irritate him.
Steve gave a rueful chuckle. "As Danny reminded me this morning, I do not have as much experience with kids or teenagers as he does." A hint of a smile played on Meg's lips at the thought of Danny telling Steve he was wrong or unknowledgeable about anything. "I'll admit that I didn't expect you to run off, not after our talk, but Danny thought it was probable." Steve wasn't sure he wanted to admit exactly how they had found her, as it would negate the advantage they had. Seeing the color creep into Meg's cheeks at his mention of their talk about her not going anywhere without permission, though, Steve wondered whether their upcoming 'discussion' would be enough to make up for it. "He hid a tracking device in your backpack."
She wanted to be irritated, but Meg couldn't help but appreciate the covert move, particularly considering she hadn't found the device. Perhaps it helped that she trusted Danny nearly as much as she trusted Steve. "That's crafty," she grudgingly admitted.
"He has his moments," agreed the commander. He gave Meg's good ankle another squeeze, hoping it might reassure her. "We have a few things we need to talk about."
A deep frown settled on Meg's features. "If I just admit I screwed up, could we maybe skip the talk?"
"Let's talk about those choices you've made recently that lead to you 'screwing up' as you put it."
Having to admit out loud to her mistakes was one of Meg's least favorite consequences. "I ran off this morning," she said, vocalizing her most egregious error.
"Mhmm," agreed Steve. "Why was that a poor choice?"
The teen frowned deeper as her cheeks warmed. Hearing Steve refer to it as a 'poor choice' made her feel like a naughty five-year-old. "You didn't know where I was, and I could've been hurt."
"Much worse than a sprained ankle, Meg," he said in a serious voice that was slowly becoming stern. "Running into that forest by yourself was dangerous. I know you have better sense than that."
"I was scared," she reminded him in a small voice.
"Let's talk about that," Steve said. "You've had nightmares about this guy from your first night here. You're terrified of this person, and the only reason I even know about him now is because he called you this morning and I was able to answer it. It took threatening to redden your butt to get you to talk, Margaret Rose."
Meg's face was already flushing from the commander's stern tone, but at his mention of the spanking threat from that morning, Meg was certain her face was resembling a tomato. Hearing him use her first and middle name only served to make her feel worse.
"Do you think he knows you're in Hawaii?"
The teen let out a soft sigh. "I don't know." When the commander's brows furrowed, she rushed to ensure he knew she wasn't lying or being evasive. "I don't!" she insisted. "I don't know if he has the resources to track that phone."
Straightening his back, Steve lifted his arms to cross in front of his chest. "So, you didn't know whether or not this person could be tracking you, you already admitted to me that your mom told you to hide if you saw him again, and you weren't going to tell me that he could possibly come after you here?"
Meg gave a small shrug and instantly regretted it at the expression on Steve's face.
"I cannot protect you from threats I don't know about, young lady. Not telling me about this person was just as dangerous as your jaunt into the forest this morning."
It was hitting Meg just how royally she'd screwed up. Feeling a jumble of emotions she couldn't identify, much less verbalize, Meg pulled her feet off of the ottoman, intending to stand up. "I know I fucked up. You should just send me back to New York, or to my mom's cousins in the UK. Then you wouldn't have to deal with me anymore."
"You get that ankle back up on the ottoman right now, Margaret Rose Starling, and don't let me ever hear that word come out of your mouth again."
Tears welled in her eyes, but Meg slowly repositioned her boot-covered foot on the ottoman.
"Do you understand me, young lady?" Steve pressed, clearly expecting a response.
"Yes, sir."
She watched him take a deep breath as if to calm himself. "All right," he told her, his voice still stern but not nearly as hard as before. "I want to know how you made it from New York to Hawaii without attracting attention. Even leaving your house must have been a challenge if you were trying to avoid notice."
Meg really didn't want to divulge her secrets, but it was evident that Steve wasn't going to give her a choice. He already knew who she was, so she didn't need to try to keep that secret anymore. "That was the easy part," she admitted. "I don't know when or how it got there, but my closet had a secret door that led to a passageway that I assume only my mom, the person who built it, and I know about. I also had a safe hidden in my closet that held my go bag and any other supplies my mom thought I'd need – wigs, colored contacts, makeup. The secret tunnel let me out far enough from my house that no one could possibly suspect that was where I'd come from."
Steve couldn't believe what the kid had gone through just to get away from her own home unnoticed. Grace was a bright girl, but he didn't know if she would've been able to pull something like this off. "After you left the passageway?" he pressed, wanting to know everything.
"Took a bus to the airport. I used one identity to book a flight to LA, and a different identity to fly from LA to Honolulu. Once I'd safely landed here, I switched to a third identity, one that said I was eighteen, so I could rent a hotel room without a parent or guardian."
"And you were going to just stay in a hotel until you heard from your mom?" He watched the teen nod. "Jesus," he muttered. Based on what he'd learned so far, he believed the threat to be real, whatever it was, but Steve couldn't wrap his head around a parent sending their fourteen-year-old child out into the world to fend for herself using fake IDs.
"What about this morning?" Steve asked, pivoting from the teen's arrival. "I'm assuming you were planning on finding a way off the island." Meg didn't confirm Steve's suspicions, but her silence spoke volumes. "How were you going to get off the island?"
Meg shrugged her shoulders, not at all prepared to admit she'd lied that first day at the commander's house. "I don't know. I hadn't thought about it."
Steve's expression made it clear he wasn't buying it for one second. "You thought about it extensively," he argued with a raised eyebrow, unnerving her with how well he seemed to understand her. "You just told me how you got from your house in New York to Honolulu without adult assistance or even raising anyone's suspicions. You don't honestly expect me to believe you didn't have a contingency plan."
"I hadn't figured out what I was going to do," she insisted, praying he'd believe the fib. "I just knew I needed to hide."
"Margaret Rose."
This time her face scrunched up at his use of both names. "Stop that!" she whined softly, her frustration outweighing her sense of self-preservation.
"Stop lying to me," countered Steve. "You do not want to add to the list of rules you've broken today, young lady."
When Meg chose to look away instead of responding to Steve's words, the commander narrowed his eyes as an idea formed in his head that he hoped was wrong. Wordlessly, he stood from his chair and strode over to the stairs, sure that the teen's eyes were following his every move. Picking up her backpack, he carried it back over to where she sat and placed it on his lap as he reclaimed his own seat. Her confusion was evident, but there was a hint of concern in her brown eyes.
"I have a feeling there's something in this backpack that will tell me exactly how you planned to get off the island," he said conversationally, watching her eyes widen just a little. "Should I take a look?"
Meg shook her head with vigor.
"Yes?" he prodded, reaching for the zipper as if he hadn't seen her response.
"No!" she nearly shouted, leaning forward as if she might try to reach for the backpack.
"Then tell me the truth about how you were going to get off the island."
Not seeing any way around it, Meg mumbled under her breath, "I have another ID."
"Louder, young lady," came the command.
She tried to maintain eye contact, but she couldn't stand the sternness in his voice or his eyes. It made her stomach feel like it had been overrun with butterflies. She hadn't been scolded this hard or for this long in years. Meg lowered her gaze. "I have another ID," she said in a voice she hoped was loud enough to satisfy him.
Steve held out the backpack for Meg to take. "Take it out and give it to me now," he said at once.
Meg took her backpack and placed it gingerly on her lap, unzipping the main compartment and reaching in towards the bottom. A few seconds later, she withdrew a hard, white piece of plastic the size of a credit card and placed it in Steve's outstretched hand. She watched him glance at it only a few seconds before he slipped into his pocket.
"Is that the last one?"
"Yes," she said softly.
"That's what you said last time," Steve reminded her. "Clearly you weren't being honest with me then."
"I'm sorry," apologized Meg. "I promise it's the last one."
"I hope so," Steve said, "because if I find out later that you had any other IDs that you didn't tell me about, even after promising, I will spank you every night for a week. Are we clear on that?"
Meg's eyes widened at the threat, but she truly didn't have any other fake IDs. "Yes, Steve. There aren't any other IDs."
"All right," he conceded. "As you said a few minutes ago, you're aware that you messed up big time. You ran off without anyone knowing where you were, you kept some really important information from me, and you put yourself in a dangerous situation." Meg couldn't dispute any of that. "I think I'm also safe in saying that you had an idea of the consequences were you to get caught." Meg couldn't deny that, either. She'd been pretty confident about how Steve would react if he found her. "That said, I think it's time we go ahead and take care of that."
The fourteen-year-old frowned. Yes, she'd expected it, but it didn't mean she had to like it or go down without any sort of fight. "I'm injured," she reminded him, hoping her tone and expression were sufficiently pitiful.
Steve couldn't help the soft snort that escaped. "I won't be spanking your ankle, so that's not an issue."
"Steeeeeeeve…" whined Meg.
The commander shook his head. "This is happening, kid. No amount of whining is going to change that. When we're finished, though, you'll have a clean slate. I won't bring it up again, unless you go out and pull a similar stunt, which I definitely don't recommend." At that point, he stood and moved the dining room chair out of the way. "Stand up."
He watched the teen slowly rise to her feet as he made sure he was set on his plan. He'd debated on the drive home exactly how this would go. He needed to do what he could to keep the kid from further hurting her ankle, even with the boot immobilizing it. Steve would've preferred to have her ankle elevated and had considered taking care of things on the couch with Meg's shins propped against one of the couch's arms. However, if she kicked that boot during, there was a chance she could clunk him in the head with it.
Instead, Steve opted to sit on the edge of the ottoman. Meg was still frowning pitifully, but she didn't put up a fight as he gently guided her over his left knee, adjusting her so that as much of her torso was able to rest on the ottoman as possible. His left arm wrapped around Meg's waist to help keep her in place. Then, to ensure she wouldn't be able to kick her boot-covered ankle enough to further injure it, Steve locked his right leg over both of Meg's legs. He immediately heard the kid groan.
"I want to make sure you don't hurt your ankle any worse," he explained.
Honestly, Meg wasn't concerned about her ankle. Her concern was focused solely on her backside, and moments later, that concern was justified when she felt a sharp smack. "Owww!" she squeaked. A second smack followed quickly, and Meg mentally cursed her decision to wear a pair of cotton shorts instead of denim that morning.
It had been at least a year since Meg had been in a similar position with her mom, but she couldn't remember her mother's hand feeling so solid. Steve didn't bother to lecture as he continued to rain down swats on her backside, but Meg wasn't sure whether or not that was a good thing. On one hand, she didn't have to listen to further scolding. On the other hand, with her legs pinned, Meg couldn't kick her feet, which made it hard to ignore the rapidly growing fire in her rear end.
The teen was openly crying by the time the commander paused, resting his smarting hand on his right thigh. Meg wondered if he was done, but she didn't move.
"Why are we here, Meg?"
Crap, he expected her to answer questions like this? "I f-fucked up," she muttered without thinking, her mind too wrapped up in her flaming butt.
A second later, a new fire ignited on the backs of Meg's thighs, eliciting an impressive shriek. "I told you I don't want to hear that word out of your mouth again, Margaret Rose," Steve scolded as he landed half a dozen hard swats on the unprotected skin.
"I'm soooooooooooorry!" wailed Meg as she tried to kick her legs without success.
"Let's try that again," Steve said, pausing once more. "Why are we here, Meg?"
It took a few moments for Meg to speak, and she was grateful that he didn't start spanking her again for taking too long. "I ran off, p-putting myself in a d-dangerous situation," she managed. "I didn't tell you about the g-guy calling from my m-m-mom's phone. I l-lied about the other f-f-fake ID-d-d."
"I. Can't. Protect. You. If. I. Don't. Know. What's. Going. On. Meg," Steve said sternly, punctuating each word with a hard swat to Meg's sit spots, pushing Meg to the point of sobbing. He gave her another quick flurry of swats before deciding it was over. He removed his leg from her calves, and the hand that had been wrapped around her waist moved to gently rub her back.
After several seconds, Meg realized Steve was no longer swatting her. She struggled to push herself to her feet, nearly stumbling in the process. Tears streamed down her face as she awkwardly attempted to rub away some of the fire, feeling unsteady on her feet.
As Steve rose from the ottoman as well, he reached out to brush some of the hair that had fallen in her face. He wanted to comfort the kid, but he was unsure of how she would respond. Did she want to be comforted? Did she want space to herself?
Steve didn't have to wonder for long, though. Meg wordlessly leaned into Steve, sobbing into his chest. As he wrapped his arms around her, he felt her body jerk as if her legs were giving way. Tightening his hold, he sat back down on the ottoman, pulling the kid to gingerly sit sideways on his lap. He couldn't imagine it was all that comfortable for Meg on a freshly spanked bottom, but she didn't utter a sound of complaint. Instead, she clung to him, her arms moving to wrap around his torso as if her life depended on it. Steve ran his hand over the back of her head before moving it to rub gentle circles on her back. "I've got you," he murmured gently. "It's over, and you're going to be okay."
As Meg's tears soaked Steve's shirt and her sobs tore at his heart, he began to suspect that her continued tears were about more than just a well-deserved spanking. The kid was likely releasing a lot of emotions she'd kept pent up since leaving New York. He continued to hold her and rub her back, giving her the time she needed to calm down.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed when the teen finally lifted her head from his chest. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her cheeks were flushed, but the tears had slowed and the sobs had quieted. "'M sorry," she murmured, embarrassed. "Your shirt…"
"Don't worry about that," he told her gently. "How are you feeling?"
Meg attempted to rub some of the blurriness from her vision, but she was only somewhat successful. "My butt hurts more than my ankle."
The commander chuckled, hearing the faint hint of humor in the girl's voice. It was a good sign, he thought. "I'm glad your ankle isn't bothering you too much," he replied.
"Are you still mad?"
"No Meg," he said at once, using one hand to gently nudge her chin so her gaze would meet his. "I was never mad, but even if I had been, it's over and done with now. Clean slate, remember?" He watched her give a small nod of understanding. "Between last night and today's events, you must be exhausted. Do you want to lie down for a while?"
She was exhausted, but Meg didn't want to move. Any other time, she would've likely been mortified, sitting on Steve's lap like a little child, but at that moment she felt safe in a way she hadn't for weeks, and she wasn't willingly giving that up. Meg shook her head more adamantly.
Steve suspected Meg was more tired than she wanted to let on, and quickly lifted the teen into his arms as he had in the forest and carried her over to the sofa, setting her down gently. At her questioning look, he said, "I'll be back in a minute."
Nodding, Meg leaned back so her head rested against the back of the sofa, watching Steve ascend the stairs across the room. Her eyes closed of their own accord as she waited. She had no doubt she'd nod off if she wasn't careful.
Upon hearing footsteps on the stairs again, she opened her eyes to watch the commander. He was wearing a different shirt and carrying a decorative pillow, standard-sized pillow and blanket from her room. Meg frowned at the sight. "I don't want to lie down."
"I know, kiddo, but you look like you're about to pass out from exhaustion." He set the items on the coffee table. "So, I have a compromise that I think you'll be okay with. Go ahead and take off that boot and your shoe."
Meg's frown didn't dissipate, but she couldn't deny that her ankle and foot were growing sweaty in the boot, so she slowly leaned forward to begin unfastening the multiple straps. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Steve carry away the dining room chair. A minute later, Meg could hear the water running in the downstairs bathroom, and her curiosity increased. What compromise did he have in mind?
She had both her sneaker and boot off her feet and set neatly to the side by the time Steve returned. He set what appeared to be a wet washcloth on an empty spot on the coffee table before picking up the larger pillow and setting it on the middle cushion of the sofa, right next to Meg's hip. He retrieved Meg's water bottle, moving it to the narrow side table beside the sofa. After that, the decorative pillow was placed at the opposite side of the sofa, right next to the arm.
"All right, head here and feet by the other pillow," he said, motioning to the pillow that Meg knew had come from her bed.
"Steve…" she protested softly.
"Compromise," he reminded her, patting the pillow gently.
With a sigh, Meg shifted onto her right side as she slid her body down so that her head could rest on the pillow. It meant having her knees bent, with her injured ankle atop the other one, but it wasn't uncomfortable.
Steve moved toward her feet, sitting on the edge of the coffee table to take a quick but careful look at Meg's wrapped ankle. The bandage hid any discoloring, but not the swelling. Fortunately, it didn't look any larger than it had at the doctor's. "Lift your foot for a moment," he told the teen. Steve waited for the teen to lift her ankle just enough for him to slide the decorative pillow underneath it, so it was sandwiched between her ankles and feet. "Is your ankle comfortable?"
"Yes, thank you," Meg admitted. "What's the compromise?"
"Just a moment," Steve promised as he reached for the blanket and spread it over Meg so that she was covered from her shoulders to her toes. "Do you want a cool cloth for your eyes?"
"No, thank you."
"All right. Lift your head for me for a moment."
Meg was about to ask, again, for an explanation about this supposed compromise when Steve sat on the free cushion on the sofa and shifted the pillow over so it rested against the side of his leg. No further explanation or instructions were needed as Meg shifted her own body so her head once again rested on the pillow, only this time slightly supported by Steve's thigh. This was definitely a decent compromise.
Steve reached down to brush some of Meg's hair behind her ear. It was a little awkward with his left hand, but he'd purposely positioned himself at this end so that Meg wouldn't be placing any unnecessary weight on her left ankle. Grabbing the remote from the end table, he held it out for the teen to take. "Your choice, whatever you'd like to watch." He was willing to cede complete control of the TV to Meg, not only because he wanted to reassure her that all was forgiven and forgotten, but also because he was sure she'd be asleep in minutes.
To his surprise, she shook her head. "That's okay, you can choose."
He rested a gentle hand on Meg's shoulder. "Meg, you know you're no longer in trouble, don't you?"
She offered him a hint of a smile, realizing she must be worrying him. "I know. I just don't care what we watch."
"All right," he acquiesced, turning on the TV and heading to the on-demand channel. "At least choose a genre. Action, documentary, comedy, drama… what should we do?"
"Comedy."
"Comedy it is. Let's see what we have to choose from…"