A/N: Imagine getting a job working security, but your only tool is a 17th-century, rusted rapier and a list of regulations that make it difficult for you to actually do anything with it. Now imagine that scenario applied to technology. So... we're grateful for the job, but it's hilariously horrifying. Although, as he pointed out today, "If the software they're using is so old that no one else in the world actually uses it, then I guess it might be secure by accident of unpopularity?"

...

Danny had often thought that in an ideal world, after the arrest of a suspect the entire case should be wrapped up and finished within a week. No muss, no fuss, no lengthy court cases or bickering legal teams. There would be a quick trial, a decisive outcome, and then the case would be closed and everybody would move on.

Of course, real life was hardly ideal and so, as much as Danny wanted to put the whole ordeal with Foster and Scott behind him, reality continued to infuriatingly and unnecessarily drag things out.

There was evidence to be processed, both at the office and at the arboretum, as well as trace collected from Steve's body as he lay unconscious in a bed at Trinity. Tests needed to be run, chemicals analyzed, and results interpreted. Video footage collected from security cameras, witness statements taken. A timeline was constructed and pasted up on the board in the 5-0 office, but it contained large, blank areas that could only be filled in by Steve once he awoke. Max's autopsy report on Scott Agaran shed little light on the man's motives, but Danny did his best to run down any leads.

Through it all, Kurtis Foster sat downtown in a small cell, caught in limbo between the evidence and the events of the past few days, clinging to his claims of innocence.

An innocence Danny could not ascribe him. Regardless of the testimony of Mr. Okuma and others on Foster's behalf, and his own knowledge of the conversation overheard between Foster and Scott Agaran in the church, the truth remained that Foster had attacked Danny in the office, kidnapped him, and held him at gunpoint for the better part of the night. Whether or not Foster had also hurt Steve (this time) was beside the point; he had broken the law and Danny intended to see him brought to justice.

"It's not a vendetta," he mused aloud to an unconscious Steve as he sat by his partner's hospital bed the next sunny afternoon. "It's justice, plain and simple."

But his words felt oddly as though he were trying to convince himself.

…

Kurtis Lamar Foster leaned against the cold, cinderblock wall and stared mindlessly up at the pale light coming from the single bulb in the ceiling. A small fly circled, its wings emitting a high-pitched whine as it darted in and out of the bulb's heat. It had flown in yesterday when Detective Williams had come down to question him, and was likely too disoriented to know how to leave. Now it was destined to aimlessly circle the flickering bulb for the rest of its pitifully short life.

Lamar wondered if he should put it out of its misery.

Williams had talked to him several times already, each time for more than an hour. Lamar gave his alibi for the night of McGarrett's capture to the detective and answered all of his questions, but he could tell the detective wasn't satisfied. Lamar didn't bother with a lawyer- it was pointless, he thought- but Detective Williams had appointed one for him anyway.

"Why?" Lamar had asked.

"You have the right to an attorney."

"What about your infamous 'immunity and means'?"

The detective folded his arms and gave Lamar a hard stare. "Let's just say I don't want anything to jeopardize this case."

Williams didn't need to worry- Lamar knew he was going to prison. He'd resigned himself to that fact, and he wouldn't fight the charges Williams brought. The only question in his mind was, would he get to see his granddaughter again before he died there?

…

"You want dis ta go?"

"What?" Danny pulled his eyes back from the beach beyond the shrimp stand and blinked dumbly at the large man.

"It jus' you, brah, or is da little sistah comin'?"

"Uh…" Distracted and confused, Danny stood with his wallet open and squinted up at the Samoan in the bright light.

Kamekona heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Look, Jersey- you eatin' both, or is dis one take-out?"

"Oh." Danny waved a hand distractedly. "Yeah, to-go sounds fine," he mumbled, not fully answered the question. He shoved some bills through the window and took both platters (boxed in to-go containers) to a sunny table overlooking the cove. A small fleet of tourists were paddling around in the shallows of the bay; further out, a few surfers were riding the late afternoon waves in to shore. Danny watched without seeing. He ate without tasting.

The bench across the table squeaked and dipped suddenly, and a shadow blocked the sun. "Dis seat taken?"

His mouth full, Danny shook his head. The wood groaned as Kamekona eased himself the rest of the way onto the bench.

"How da Big Kahuna doin'?"

"Steve? Fine," Danny mumbled shortly.

"He don't look so fine when I seen him."

Danny looked up, startled. "You saw him?" Steve was under guard on the off-chance someone else wanted to kill him while he was sleeping, but no one on the detail had told Danny he'd had visitors. "When?"

"Yesterday. Dem guys guarding him didn't want ta let me in, so I had ta convince dem I was ohana. But I finally seen McGarrett," Kamekona broke off and shook his head, "an' somebody messed him up real good."

"Yeah," Danny grimaced.

Kamekona watched him thoughtfully. "Ya gonna git da guy who done it? Or mebbe you need da problem taken care of some other way? Ya know… quietly." and he waggled his eyebrows.

Danny stopped eating and jabbed his forked in Kamekona's direction. "First, I do not need you running around, killing people for me- that would be illegal and I'd have to throw you in jail. And second, I already got the guy who did it."

"Good," Kamekona nodded his approval.

Danny grunted and stuffed more shrimp into his mouth. Despite the fact that Scott was dead and Steve was safe, Danny found his thoughts were annoyingly stuck on Kurtis Foster. "Lemme ask you a question," he mumbled around the food, "What would've happened if Chin Ho Kelly hadn't given you a second chance?" Danny wasn't sure how the ex-con would take the question, but the big Samoan shrugged easily.

"Eh, I'd still be in da slammer." A wide grin suddenly split his face. "And dis island wouldn't have no good garlic shrimp."

"Ah yes, what a tragedy. Civilization as we know it would collapse, the apocalypse would be inevitable…"

"Careful, Jersey," Kamekona wagged a finger at him. "You start insulting my shrimp, an' I might take away da kama'aina discount."

"I get a discount? Good grief, what do you charge everyone else?"

"Hey, I always charge a fair price."

Danny doubted that very much. He had a sneaking suspicion that his 'discount' was probably the same as full price, but with a dash extra seasoning.

"So why you askin' 'bout second chances?" Kamekona asked, circling back around to the previous topic like a shark to a whale carcass.

"No reason," Danny lied.

Kamekona looked unconvinced. "Comin' from somebody who knows, second chances is a good ting, brah. Anybody can change, if you let 'em. It's da McGarrett way."

"Don't you mean the 'Chin Ho Kelly' way?"

Kamekona jerked a thumb back at Nahele, who was manning the shrimp truck in his absence. "He give it da name."

"The car thief."

"He's a good kid."

"If you say so."

"I know so." Kamekona leaned forward, causing the table to suddenly groan. "We all stuck here on dis island together, brah, so we all in dis together. Dis ting you got goin' on right know- I don' know what's got your Mahimahi in da net, but you don' want ta drag sumptin like dat around for too long. You gots to eat it, or cut it loose."

"And you think I should cut it loose."

"Sometimes dat's da only way ta do it." He looked up as Nahele called his name and carefully eased his bulk off the bench. "Gots ta go- ain't no rest for da weary here." A heavy (but friendly) slap landed on Danny's back. "Tell McGarrett I said e ola aku," Kamekona told him before he stumped back to his truck.

Danny remained sitting, stabbing irritably at the last of his garlic shrimp with the fork. Da McGarrett way…Danny wasn't convinced 'the McGarrett way' was worth it. Second chances, sure, but what about third chances? Wasn't this technically Foster's third chance?

Danny shook his head with a miserable sigh. The DA was waiting, and Danny didn't know what to tell him.

…

"What is the purpose of prison?"

In the darkened apartment, Danny leaned back in the armchair until it creaked and turned up the volume on the game. His left hand dangled near the floor, his fingers encircling a lukewarm bottle of beer.

"You ask ten people that question, you'll get ten different answers."

"I'm not asking ten people. I'm asking you."

The case had come across their desk three months ago. Their suspect, Aaron Lin, had shot someone at a nightclub while out on bond. The victims had been young, practically kids in Danny's eyes, with their whole lives ahead of them. What was the point of prison if it didn't protect those kids? If suspects like Aaron Lin didn't even make it to the prison walls, why have prisons at all? If the recidivism rate was so high that those who got out quickly went back in, what was the point in releasing them in the first place?

"Danno?"

The lights flicked on suddenly and Danny turned in surprise to find his daughter standing in the doorway, car keys in hand. She cocked her head and looked at him questioningly. "You okay?"

One side of his mouth twitched in a half-smile and he sat up, smoothing his shirt. "I'm fine," he lied, borrowing Steve's line. He set the unfinished glass to one side, flicked off the television, and reached an arm out for a hug. "I didn't hear you come in. When did you turn into a Ninja?" He paused, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Your Uncle Steve hasn't been giving you lessons, has he?"

She raised an eyebrow mischievously and leaned over into his waiting arms. A brief squeeze tightened around his ribs; then she stood back, her eyes twinkling. "If he had, would I tell you?"

"Great. I'll just add that to the endless list of things I worry about at night."

She laughed, her smile infectious, and Danny felt some of the day's tension ebb away.

"Is Uncle Steve here?" she asked, her voice dropping to a near-whisper when she saw the bedroom door closed.

Danny shook his head. "Not yet. He's still in the hospital, but he's hoping they'll release him tomorrow."

"Does he know he's coming over here yet?"

"No, and he'd better not find out until the moment he walks through that door," Danny said, eyes narrowed in warning.

His daughter nodded solemnly and mimed zipping her lips. Danny shook his head and couldn't help the small smile that warmed his face. Grace set the car keys and purse on the counter and returned to his side. "How is he?"

"He'll live."

"That's not what I meant." She cocked her head and suddenly looked so much like Rachel that Danny's heart jumped. "I'm not a little kid anymore, Danno. I'm not asking for all the gory details, just the facts. How bad is it?"

She really wasn't a little kid anymore, Danny realized as he studied the young woman standing before him. She was an adult now, still young in his mind, but very much an adult. Soon, she'd be off on her own, married to some shmuck, probably living very far away… He sighed.

"That bad?"

Danny blinked. "No. I mean yes, but…" Giving up, he patted the oversized arm on the chair and waited until Grace sat down. "So… um…"

Where to begin?

She cocked her head expectantly and then gave him a reassuring smile. It was like she could read his mind, and Danny took heart in that. He smiled weakly back. "Well, your Uncle Steve is dehydrated and suffering exhaustion and malnourishment. He didn't have any food and very little water for several days." Danny paused and saw her nod. A tiny wrinkle between her eyes was the only sign of worry. He debated briefly not continuing, but since Steve might be staying here in a few days, she'd know soon enough, anyway. Better to tell her now than to catch her by surprise when she saw her battered uncle at breakfast one morning. "He was, um…" Danny paused, uncertain how much detail to provide. "He was tortured extensively."

"How bad?"

"Bad." Danny sucked in a breath. "There are small burns and cuts and bruises all over his body. I don't really know the full extent of it, just what the doctor said."

"But nothing permanent?"

"The doctor doesn't seem to think so. There might be some scars for a while, and the bruises will take a while to heal, but yes, you should have your uncle back in mint-annoying-condition eventually."

"Good," she smiled. "I was worried about him."

Danny finally allowed a small smile of his own. "You and me both."

"And the man who did it- you caught him, right?"

"He's not going to terrorize anyone else," Danny said, and he meant it, even though he wasn't sure if he meant Scott Agaran or Kurtis Foster. Danny hadn't told Grace about being kidnapped; there were some things he didn't want his daughter to know, regardless of how grown-up she appeared to be.

His heart warmed when Grace patted his knee. "I'm glad you always catch the bad guy." Bending over, she gave him a kiss. "Night, Danno."

"Night Monkey," he murmured.

But after she went to bed, he remained sitting in the chair, staring thoughtfully out the window.

…

Steve wasn't supposed to be at work. He'd called Dr. Gardner and flat-out lied, claiming his pain medication was making him feel ill before requesting to move the required psyche appointment to another day. Of course, she wasn't available again any time soon, giving Steve plenty of time to get his thoughts (and nightmares) under lock and key before their inevitable meeting.

He wanted to swim, but his injuries coupled with dehydration and starvation for several days had left him weak and unable to get in the water without risking infection or drowning. After two nights at Danny's, he'd finally managed to convince Danny to let him go home to his own bed, but Steve found that being at home wasn't really any better. He tried sitting on the lanai and watching the waves, but found it maddening to be so close without actually getting in the water. Retreating inside, he attempted to content himself with watching TV, but- unsurprisingly- there was nothing on.

Eventually, Steve called a cab (Danny had cleverly taken off with his truck keys) and got a ride downtown where he figured staring at the office walls would at least be more entertaining… until Danny found him, anyway.

Danny predictably pitched a fit, Steve proclaimed himself perfectly fine, and this resulted in a stalemate in which the detective finally gave up and decided to ignore him.

For a while, Steve answered emails and worked on paperwork he'd been avoiding before the incident, but eventually the pain he'd been ignoring caught up with him. Pulling one foot into his lap, Steve eased the shoe off and gently massaged the sole. The skin remained sensitive to touch, but it was the scars and muscles underneath that were the most irritating. Steve knew he wouldn't be cleared for field duty until he could walk and stand for at least an hour, and so far he was having trouble doing fifteen minutes. Just making it up the Palace stairs had left him limping, sore, and winded.

"Don't rush it."

Startled, Steve looked up to find Danny standing in his office doorway. The detective stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned against the frame.

"Seriously- take your time. You've got PT this afternoon and I'm sure they'll give you all kinds of exercises and stretches. Don't wear yourself out before then."

"I know how PT works," Steve growled.

"Yeah, yeah, you're welcome for me caring," Danny replied generously. He gave his partner a quick once-over. "You look like crap. Why are you here again?"

"You kept nagging me to do this paperwork."

"I'm serious- why are you here? Go home. Rest. Sleep."

"Done enough of that," Steve muttered.

"How'd you get here anyway? Don't tell me you drove?" Just to be sure, Danny peered out the window into the parking lot. A quick glance showed that Steve's truck hadn't made it to the Palace, which was a good thing since one of the restrictions on his bottle of painkillers was 'Do not use while driving or operating heavy machinery.'

To his surprise, Steve answered the question for him. "Took a cab. Figured you'd take me home at the end of the day."

"You just assumed, huh?" Danny retorted good-naturedly. "What if I needed to run errands?"

Steve responded with one of the grouchier faces Danny had seen. "The only errands you ever run are for fast food."

At that moment, Chin tapped on the glass, interrupting Danny's retort just as the detective had begun to wave his hands angrily. "Lab report," Chin mouthed, pointing to a folder.

Annoyed at missing his chance to argue, Danny stood, gesturing for Steve to stay in his chair. "Sorry, babe- you've got to stay here. I'll let you know if we've got anything," and he quickly left the room.

…

Going over the lab report took longer than Danny anticipated, and by the time he made it back to Steve's office, his partner had disappeared. Danny experienced a small panic attack- he really needed to take Steve to the vet and get him chipped- until Pua directed him to one of the interrogation rooms on the ground floor.

Compared to their usual interrogation space in the basement, where the tiled walls, crappy lighting, and rusting drain in the floor made it easy to intimidate suspects into confession, the ground floor interrogation and its accompanying observation room were luxurious: comfortable chairs, a table, decent lighting, lack of stench… the space had been woefully under-used in Danny's opinion, ever since Steve began the 5-0 task force and settled on a damp storage closet in the basement instead.

Through the window, Danny could see Foster sitting at the table, which meant Steve must be in the room adjacent.

Danny opened the observation room door cautiously. The lights were off and only a faint hint of color seeped in through the one-way mirror. In the pale light, Danny saw his partner hunched over on a cold folding chair in front of the monitors, his head drooping in his hands. Danny let the door close with an audible click and waited a moment, but Steve gave no sign he'd heard. On the other side of the glass, the man who had started everything sat at a table and picked at something on his hand, apparently unaware that he had company.

Danny shook his head. "He's not going anywhere, you know."

Steve's shoulder tipped as he registered the detective's presence. "What do you want, Danny?" he asked wearily.

Danny's eyes narrowed. The lab report from Charlie Fong hadn't been pretty, and Danny was annoyed that Steve was even here at all. His partner was clearly in pain and exhausted, and what Danny had just seen on paper in black-and-white was plenty of evidence that Steve should definitely still be in bed, and possibly even at the hospital. "What I want is for you to go home, take your pain meds that I know you haven't touched, and go to sleep. That's what I want. But since you're obviously not going to do that…"

Steve made an affirmative sound.

"… then I thought I'd just settle for seeing if you needed anything." Danny's tone softened. "Food, drink? Heated blanket?" When Steve failed to give any kind of response, Danny dragged a second folding chair over from the wall and sat down beside him. "You want someone to turn off the cameras while you go in and beat Foster up?" he tried to lighten his partner's mood.

Steve raked a hand through his hair. "That won't fix anything," he said softly.

"So why are you here?"

"His daughter-in-law came by to visit."

Which meant Steve had been forced to get Foster out of lockup and handle the whole thing by himself. Danny grimaced. "Sorry, babe. You should have gotten one of us."

"It's fine."

Except it obviously wasn't.

"She have anything to say?" Danny asked.

Steve shrugged. "Just wanted to see her grandfather."

"Does she know…?"

Another shrug. "Don't think so." Before Danny could say anything in reply, Steve stood, pulling himself upright with the help of his cane and the back of the chair. "I'm tired, D. Gonna catch a ride home. Maybe even get some of that rest you keep nagging me about."

Which was a lie- Steve just wanted to get away, and they both knew it. Danny stood up with him, catching the door before Steve had a chance to argue. "I nag because I care. And don't be an idiot," he added when Steve reached for his phone to call a cab, "I'll drive."