I'm alive. Danny's first thought came as a factual, internal report, not elated emotion. Moving on instinct, he rapidly emptied his clip at the man hiding behind the pillar. Only when it clicked empty did he stop and actually assess his physical status. Patting himself down and finding nothing wrong, and realizing that Scott's single shot had gone wide, striking the wall somewhere behind him, he turned his attention to the ex-con.

Scott slumped against the wood pillar, one leg crumpled beneath him while the other stuck out awkwardly. A bloody hand lay limply in his lap, the weapon fallen from his grasp; the other hand hung at his side. As Danny approached, Scott's chest heaved in a final gasp; then his body tilted and finally fell sideways onto the floor.

Was it over?

Danny nudged him over with his shoe.

At least one bullet had hit center-mass. Unseeing eyes still glittered disconcertingly in the weak light, but there was no rise and fall of the chest, no movement, and no twitch of life. Danny kicked the gun away, then placed his fingers carefully at the other man's neck.

Nothing.

Danny exhaled. He should feel sad, he supposed, that another man had lost his life, but all he felt was relief. The lack of a pulse under his fingertips was the best thing he had ever not felt.

Holstering his weapon, Danny turned his attention back to Steve. At the foot of the stairs, he saw the black backpack and heavy bolt cutters Foster had retrieved from the trunk, and he wasted no time in clipping the chain from Steve's feet and the wire from his wrists. Opening the bag, he found a complete set of clothing including a light jacket, which Danny draped over his partner's nude form. Then he crouched by Steve's head and shook his shoulder. "Steve?"

Steve groaned.

Danny tried again. "Steven. Wake up."

Steve mumbled something and shivered.

"On your feet, sailor!"

That did the trick. Steve's head shot up and feverish eyes looked around deliriously. "Wha-?"

Danny frowned. He watched Steve blink, his eyes glassy. "You with me, buddy?"

Steve's head swiveled slowly to take in the room. "Where's Foster?" he asked sluggishly.

Danny had wondered that, too. "He's gone," he answered shortly, and prayed it was true. If they were lucky, Foster would leave them alone for the rest of the night. If they were really lucky, Foster would throw himself off the nearest waterfall, ridding the islands of his presence forever. Danny watched Steve's chest rise and fall in shallow pants. "How're you doing, babe?"

"Been better," Steve admitted in a raspy voice. "Water?"

Danny retrieved a bottle from the plastic bag, uncapped it, and lifted it to his lips. "Think you can walk? Cause if you're expecting me to carry you like a baby, you got another think coming."

"Yeah, I can walk." Steve paused in his drinking, the water dribbling down his chin. "How far?"

"Not far."

Steve nodded. He drank some more, then sought out the bags in the corner. "Food?"

Danny had a gel packet waiting. He'd already stuffed the protein bars in his pockets. "You sure you can walk?" he asked, watching Steve's hands shake as he handled the gel packet.

"Long as… it's not… ten miles," Steve rasped. He seemed to have trouble breathing again.

"Don't worry," Danny said. "It won't be 10 miles."

It took time for Steve to eat, resting between small swallows. The slightest movement left him breathless, and Danny worried that perhaps he was too late, that permanent damage had been done. But Steve was Steve, after all; if there were a way back from this, Danny knew his partner would stubbornly push through.

While Steve ate, Danny pulled off his shirt and undershirt and ripped the undershirt into strips. Steve muttered something that sounded like, you call me an exhibitionist.

"For your feet," Danny explained gruffly when he caught the look on Steve's face. "Walking around on those bare feet can't be good." As he worked, he could tell the process of wrapping the feet was excruciating, but short of slinging Steve over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, Danny wasn't sure what else to do. He tried to be gentle (Steve tried to act like it didn't hurt) and eventually the worst of the painful process was over.

After Steve finished the electrolyte packet, Danny looped an arm under him and together they slowly stood, Danny huffing as he tugged the SEAL precariously upright. He tried not to think about the damage to Steve's back and the agony he knew any touch must cause, but aside from a weak gasp, Steve gave no indication he was in pain. Even in his emaciated state, the navy man's weight was still a force to be reckoned with, and Danny struggled to keep Steve vertical.

"Easy does it," Danny muttered to himself. He swung Steve's arm over one shoulder and shifted as much of Steve's weight as possible onto himself. Together, they staggered a few feet forward as they grappled in disjointed unity. "Small steps, babe. Take your time."

Steve grunted something incoherent in response.

Moving slowly, one small, stiff step after another, they crossed the basement and climbed the stairs.

Beams of soft, misty sunlight greeted them, spotlighting the broken pews and moldy windows. Danny could smell the forest, fresh and green as the vines crawling across the floor. How much time had passed? Had he really just spent the night in the basement? He blinked uncertainly as his eyes tried to adjust. Still gripping his empty weapon in one hand and holding Steve up with the other, his eyes roved over the dusky interior. The church was empty.

Relief overwhelmed Danny.

"We did it, babe," he murmured, even as he staggered. Steve felt suddenly very heavy, and Danny struggled to hold on to him. The SEAL's feet twisted crookedly in pain, and he clutched Danny's arms heavily as they stumbled forward.

Danny staggered to the nearest pew and gently lowered Steve onto the seat. His partner looked ready to fall over: his shoulders hunched wearily and the jacket tied around his waist slipped off unnoticed. The short climb up the stairs had been nearly too much for his body to take.

Danny pushed another gel packet and the water bottle into Steve's hands. "Eat this."

Steve's hand trembled as he squeezed the gel into his mouth. "Go… call for backup," he whispered.

"And leave you here alone? Not happening. Besides, Scott Agaran is dead."

"You need backup, D," Steve repeated.

Danny wasn't sure if Steve hadn't heard him say Scott Agaran was dead, or if Steve just didn't comprehend the statement. He watched Steve's hands shake as he tried to open the water bottle, and he shook his head firmly. "Not leaving you," he replied as he twisted the cap off, his tone making clear the decision was final.

…

It took every ounce of Danny Williams not-inconsiderable strength to pull his partner out of the church and down the dirt trail through the jungle to the clearing where Foster had- hopefully- left his car. The front door of the church had been open, but Danny didn't waste his time pondering why. The team could come back and process the scene later. Gripping Steve's arm over his shoulder, he half-dragged, half-carried his partner over the threshold and into the jungle.

They moved with frustrating sluggishness, pausing frequently for Steve to catch his breath, or sitting when the pain in his feet became overwhelming. Several times, Danny forced Steve to stop and made him rest even though every nerve in his body screamed to keep going. Every sense was on high alert for the danger that he knew lurked somewhere nearby. Where was Foster hiding? Was he nearby, or miles away, trying to get off the island?

Danny didn't know.

Danny didn't care.

His only goal was to get Steve out alive.

They rested under a koa tree, both feeling sticky in the humid morning air. When he felt ready, Danny lifted Steve up and stumbled forward another hundred yards before he was forced to stop and set his partner down again. His arms ached from exertion as he carefully lowered Steve back onto the leafy forest floor. The jacket he had retied around Steve's waist was now filthy with dirt and muck from the forest floor, and was more of a hinderance than anything else, but it was the only scrap of dignity Steve had left, so Danny left it alone. He surveyed the forest around them in terse silence.

Steve's hand reached up and touched his own wearily, signaling he was ready to move on. Bending down, Danny pulled him upright and they moved forward again.

Walk. Rest. Walk. Rest.

Their progress formed a strange melody: shuffle, shuffle, pant. Shuffle, shuffle, pant.

Danny stayed alert for any sign of Foster, but the forest was quiet, almost serene. Even the morning bird songs trickled away until only a faint hint of them could be heard far away on the mountain behind them. The sun burned off the morning mist and punctured the canopy in bright, hot beams. The next time they stopped, Danny found himself popping the top few buttons of his shirt in the steamy, morning heat.

Eventually, they reached the clearing. Here the jungle disappeared where the trees had been cut away, leaving a sort of meadow that dropped down into the lower gardens toward the Arboretum parking lot and visitor center. Away in the distance, the skyscrapers of Honolulu sparkled.

The trail turned sharply as it exited the forest, so Danny did not see the car until they were only a few feet away from it. When it finally came into view, he pulled up short.

Kurtis Foster was leaning against the hood.

…

Foster leaned against the car hood as Danny emerged from the forest, exhausted and muddy, barely managing to hold his partner upright. Upon seeing him, Danny tensed and the empty gun jerked automatically in his hand. Foster did not move.

"You're still here?" Danny asked, feeling suddenly wary at the ex-con's surprise appearance.

"Don't want to run from this," Foster said softly.

Danny scoffed, a harsh laugh that burst unwillingly at Foster's ridiculous utterance. "Like you ran away from Scott? Thanks for that, by the way."

Foster flushed. "I knew you could handle him."

Danny rolled his eyes. Coward, but he didn't say it out loud. Eyes sharp, on high alert despite his weariness, he studied the man leaning against the hood of his car: arms at his sides, apparently unarmed, an expression that almost resembled concern on his face. Although Danny's cursory appraisal revealed no threat, Danny still pointed his weapon awkwardly in Foster's direction. "Relax," he muttered to himself, staggering as the movement shifted Steve's weight off-balance. "But how can I friggen' relax with you here?"

As if understanding his dilemma, Foster raised his hands, straightened slowly, and walked backwards around the car toward the trunk, then continued to back up into the damp grass. Unwilling to let Steve go, Danny followed, step-by-step, until he came alongside the passenger door. Still eyeing Foster, he bent over and fumbled at the door handle.

It was locked.

"Keys?" Danny grunted.

Foster withdrew the car keys and tossed them over. They fell into the grass at Danny's feet. Cautiously, Danny lowered Steve to the ground. Then Danny snatched the keys up, found the right button, and yanked the door open. At any moment, he expected Foster to give up the act and show himself for what he truly was: a ruthless, immoral convict, hardened by prison and unchanged in heart, eager for revenge against the man who'd been his downfall.

But Foster did not move from where he stood.

Danny gestured with his weapon at the ex-con. "Sit."

Foster sat.

Danny retrieved the handcuffs from his pocket and tossed them in his direction. "Right wrist- left ankle."

Foster made no complaints as he obeyed.

Finally convinced the man posed no immediate threat, Danny pulled out his phone. No signal. He returned his attention to Steve. "Babe, we're here. C'mon: upsie-daisy," and he seized Steve under the arms, pulled, pivoted and deposited him finally into the passenger seat.

"Hospital?" Steve murmured through cracked lips.

"Yeah, babe. We're going to the hospital."

Danny had in mind to simply leave Foster there in the grass until reinforcements arrived, but he also didn't want to risk Foster getting away again. So, after brief moment of indecision, he wrangled Foster in the back seat, still awkwardly cuffed, and drove away.

Danny kept an eye on his phone as he sped into the valley toward downtown. He was almost back to the Pali Highway when he finally had enough bars to make a call. Hitting a button on speed dial, he held the phone up to his ear.

"Chin? It's Danny. I got him. I've got Steve."