A/N: see note at the end. The sentence passed is based in reality.
…
It was still dark and quiet on the island when Danny arrived at work. Doing anything before dawn was heresy to the locals, but for Danny it meant a clear drive to the Palace on the H1 and a few peaceful hours to himself before the rest of the island awoke. He unlocked the office, turned on the lights, and headed for breakroom and its precious coffee machine. Midway across the bullpen, he stopped, startled, and did a double-take. Sitting in the dark behind Steve's desk, barely visible through the office blinds, was a motionless, hunched figure, and Danny made an abrupt left turn.
"I'm not even going to ask when you got here," Danny announced as he thrust Steve's office door open and switched on the lights. "Why are you sleeping on the desk? Bed too soft? Ocean too loud?"
Steve grunted something unintelligible.
"Aren't you SEALs supposed to be up at the crack of dawn and doing PT?"
"Already did that," Steve mumbled groggily. Barely lifting his head, he eyed Danny with a bleary look that clearly said, Go away.
Danny did not go away. Walking across the room, he inserted himself into Steve's personal space by plopping on his desk and got straight to the point. "Nightmares?"
"No."
Danny raised an eyebrow and waited.
Steve held out a few seconds longer, then slumped in defeat. "Yeah."
Danny didn't bother to ask how bad. The answer was evident in the bags under Steve's eyes. "Dr. Gardner know?"
"No."
"Need to give her a call?"
"No," Steve said immediately.
"Want to talk about it?"
"No!" Steve growled.
Outside, grey light dawned in the windows. Danny watched Steve rub his eyes wearily. "Preliminary hearing is tomorrow," he said quietly, switching gears.
Steve drew in a long breath and exhaled slowly. "Yeah."
"You testifying?" Danny asked casually, as if he didn't already know the answer.
"Yeah."
Danny waited a beat, but when it became obvious Steve wouldn't elaborate, he said, "Kamekona offered to kill Foster for me, you know."
That got a reaction, and Steve lifted his head to stare at him quizzically.
"I mean, he wasn't specific, didn't mention Foster by name. Just offered to take care of my problem. Knock somebody off."
"Kamekona said that?" Steve asked and snorted when Danny nodded in affirmative. "How was he going to do it? I thought we confiscated his weapons cache."
"I dunno. Sit on him, probably." They both shared a chuckle at the thought. "We should keep an eye on him," Danny added, mostly serious.
"He's just being protective."
"It's 'protective' until it's 'murder'," Danny pointed out.
"You pressing charges?" Steve asked, then clarified quickly, "against Foster, not Kamekona."
"Foster carjacked me, Steven. I'm not in the habit of letting stuff like that go."
"If Foster were any other citizen, he'd be a hero."
"But he's not another citizen. He's Kurtis-freaking-Foster. He carjacked me, and he kidnapped and tortured you a few years ago, in case you've forgotten," Danny waved his hands to emphasize the point.
"Thirteen years. Haven't forgotten, D."
A brief silence ensued.
"How would you have done it?"
"What?"
Steve rubbed his face for a long moment and finally blinked blearily at Danny. "If you and Foster switched places, what would you have done? You go to the cops, but the cops didn't believe you, now you're facing the victim's partner, and he doesn't believe you, either. You know it's a life-or-death situation, so what do you do?"
"I dunno. Get some tools from the hardware store I guess, go back to the church, break you out, and get the hell out of Dodge."
"That's great in hindsight, Danny, but in the moment, when you don't know if or when Scott's going to return, can you really risk going all the way out to the hardware store?"
Danny stared at him.
"What? Why are you staring at me like I've grown two heads?"
"Honestly, a second head might make more sense right now. You want me to drop the charges, don't you? You want to let him get off scott-free."
"I never said-"
"Right, you never said it, but I can tell you're thinking it."
"If it weren't for him, I'd probably be dead, Danny."
"Good for you. Glad he did the right thing for once," Danny spat out with heavy sarcasm. "If you think that means I'm going to cozy up to the guy and be best buds or something, you've got another think coming."
"I don't expect you to be friends. Just… keep an open mind tomorrow. Think outside the box." Steve cut off Danny's retort with a look as he stood carefully, reaching for the cane that leaned against his desk.
Danny followed him into the hall. " 'Think outside the box'- outside what box? Metaphysically? Jurisprudentially? Or physically, like a prison cell?"
The elevator door chimed open and Steve limped inside.
"Hello, Steve- 'think outside the box'?"
Steve jabbed the button with his cane. "Good night, Danny."
The doors closed, leaving Danny alone in the hallway. "That's good morning, Steven," he grumbled at the elevator after it left.
…12 months.
Lamar barely heard the gavel clap against the wood after the sentence was read out.
12 months of weekends.
It was so lenient, Lamar was sure he had misheard.
His lawyer, too, had asked for confirmation. The details were simple: Check in Friday evening; check out Monday morning. Every weekend for a year. Lamar could still work during the week, go where he wanted on the island, and visit his granddaughter. The only stipulation was to stay away from McGarrett.
That was it. No halfway house, no curfew, no other restrictions. Lamar wondered if he were dreaming. Tomorrow, he thought dazedly, he would surely wake up in his cell and realize he had simply been asleep.
In consideration of your actions on behalf of Commander McGarrett…
McGarrett himself hadn't testified. Instead, he had handed the judge an envelope with several papers. Much to Lamar's surprise, Detective Williams had likewise opted not to testify, but had instead approached the bench and delivered more papers, along with a few quiet words only heard by the judge. Lamar had no idea what the papers contained; all he knew was that instead of prison, he was being given an almost unheard-of opportunity.
The courtroom bustled; the bailiff came forward with the keys. Lamar became aware suddenly of people leaving; he turned, scanning the courtroom, but was too late: McGarrett and Williams were already gone.
…
"Well?" Steve asked, leaning back languidly against the faded cloth and closing his eyes to the sun. "Is it over?"
Danny half-turned on his own lawn chair and frowned at Steve. It was a muggy afternoon and hot steam rose off the private beach behind Steve's house. Across the water, remnants of an afternoon shower darkened the skies offshore.
Steve lay on his back, eyes closed, a serene expression on his face. Danny's half-baked, sarcastic reply died on his lips. Leaning back, the detective stared up at the deep blue Hawaiian sky and finally allowed himself to smile. "Yeah. it's over."
[end]
A/N: Lamar could have apologized, and maybe he does later, but I wanted to leave it here so that we really don't know. What happened to Steve is fiction, but Danny's state of mind throughout the story is based in reality. The story took six years to write because that was how long it took for someone I know to be arrested, sentenced, serve his term in federal prison, and be released. The sentence Lamar receives is based on the case before the one I was there to witness, and the lenient sentence caught everyone in the courtroom by surprise. And like Danny, I'm still on the fence about how I feel toward that person. Not my best story, but I've been in a dry patch for writing and I wanted to put something out, even if it wasn't great.
