CHAPTER THIRTY
THE THIRTY PAGE THICK FOLDER OF HER UPCOMING APPOINTMENT
FIVE-0 HEADQUARTERS - DOWNTOWN HONOLULU - O'AHU
Steve didn't arrest Kim.
Instead, he and Lou went back to headquarters. Despite every instinct urging Steve to confront Kim Leung directly and drag him back to the rendition room with them, Steve knew patience was paramount. Whether he liked it or not. His patience would pay off, eventually. Or so he hoped. During the thirty-minute drive back, Steve called ahead to bring Jerry in on their latest information and for him to expedite his search to fact-check if indeed Kim had a second business and why it hadn't come up to Five-0's radar until now.
At the headquarters, Steve pulled open the glass door leading to the general workspace. Lou followed him and together they met Jerry standing at the technical table.
"Fire away, Jer," Lou said, urging Jerry to share any findings.
"I hate to disappoint but there's not much to tell," Jerry began.
Steve frowned, seeking an explanation. "How come?"
"There's not one document or legal paperwork that says Kim Leung is the owner of that tanning salon or any other," Jerry explained.
"Okay," Steve folded his arms across his chest as he thought this through. "Given Kim's history. What about an illegal trail? He isn't exactly known for his legal activities. The gym's a facade too."
"You're right, but I couldn't find anything that supports that theory. I'll keep looking for a connection but I think it's a long shot." Jerry replied.
"So it's just a coincidence that there's a tanning salon next door, just like the venue here downtown." Lou summarized.
"Coincidences do exist. Besides it's not like the tanning salons are from the same franchise, like the gym's." Jerry clarified.
"You're one to talk," Lou quipped. "But he's right, Steve. There are loads of them on the island."
"I know," Steve acknowledged this but pointed out. "The girl from the tanning salon seemed certain though, right? She even confirmed Kim's name."
"She did," Lou admitted and noted. "But to be honest, she didn't seem interested in anything we had to say or liked her job that much."
As they grappled with this information Tani entered HQ with purpose, her expression revealing a mix of excitement and urgency.
"Hey guys," Tani greeted as she joined the team gathered around the technical table. "Guess what," she said and shared a breakthrough. "DNA test on the tongue came back. It's a match with Tao Fong."
Realizing the implications, Lou noted, "The DEA's not going to like that, are they."
"No, they're not." Steve agreed, his mind already calculating the consequences.
"They might like this though," Tani said with a mysterious glint in her eye as she revealed another layer to the discovery, "Noelani found traces of fentanyl on the tongue and not any kind. There was another narcotic cut through,"
A collective understanding settled among the team. Lou mused, "Makes sense on why Eddie was going nuts, but what are you saying?"
Tani explained with a triumphant smile, her excitement evident. "It works like a signature. So if we intercept the drug shipment coming in and test the fentanyl, big chance the signature is the same and we can pin the murder of Tao Fong on Kim as well as the drug charges."
"That might please the DEA," Steve nodded, acknowledging the potential impact. "Good find."
Steve, always a step ahead, formulated a plan, "All right, listen, why don't you take Tani back to the North Shore venue and press the girl from the tanning salon real hard," he instructed, then changed his mind. "You know what, bring her in and make a scene. Word travels fast within the Triad, we might get some answers that way."
"Will do," Tani responded and seemed ready to execute the plan
As the team divided, Steve mentioned. "I gotta go pick up Danny,"
"PT?" Lou inquired.
"No, we have our mandatory appointment with our shrink," Steve said. "I'll call to check in on our way back."
And with that, Steve left HQ to momentary pause their relentless pursuit of justice.
PARKING - SHRINKS OFFICE - O'AHU
Once Steve had picked up Danny at home, the partners found themselves in the familiar parking lot outside their shrink's office. The sun hung low over the Honolulu skyline as they stood outside the office building, the air thick with tension. Danny's frustration being the main reason as he questioned the purpose of their recurring routine. Danny locked eyes with his partner and looked with a mixture of frustration and exhaustion at Steve.
"Why are we still doing this?" Danny questioned, a tired sigh escaping his lips. "It's not really helping, is it?" he added, skepticism coloring his tone.
Steve, however, with a sense of duty, reminded him of the consequences if they failed to attend. "If we don't go, the governor will shut down Five-0, is that what you want?" he responded and knew the answer to the question. "I didn't think so." Steve continued, urging Danny to see the bigger picture. "Now, we will go in there. Smile. Argue like we always do, and she will send us off with some constructive advice or maybe an assignment, and that will be it, all right?" Steve outlined their strategy and then checked. "Can you do that?"
"Whatever," Danny sighed, his reluctance evident. He signaled to his still slightly bruised and injured face. "As long as she doesn't bring any of this up."
"Why would she? You can barely tell anymore," Steve reassured, though Danny remained unconvinced.
"Thanks, but that's a lie," Danny responded, a touch of bitterness in his tone.
Steve gestured towards the imposing government building, their destination looming ahead. "You wanna go inside, or?" He asked, as their partnership poised at the intersection of duty and personal struggles.
"Yeah, let's get this over with," Danny replied, leading the way toward the shrink's office.
DR. LILLIAN SINCLAIR'S OFFICE - O'AHU
Dr. Lillian Sinclair, a seasoned psychologist in her mid-50s, exuded an air of calm and understanding that instantly put her clients at ease. With a keen ability to read between the lines, Lillian, was known for her empathetic nature and the way she seamlessly navigated the intricacies of the human psyche. She was the psychologist who could unravel even the most tightly wound minds, a woman whose insights were as sharp as a switchblade.
Her auburn hair gracefully framed her face and a pair of glasses perched on the edge of her nose, Dr. Sinclair, possessed an aura of compassion, wisdom, and undeniable authority. However, her attire, a blend of professionalism and comfort, reflected her approachable but sharp demeanor, putting her clients in a space where vulnerability felt accepted. Her genuine interest in their well-being went beyond professional duty; it was a reflection of her commitment to helping others navigate the storms within.
Whether guiding someone through the aftermath of trauma or helping them untangle the complexities of relationships, Lillian Sinclair was a beacon of support. Her soft-spoken words held the power to mend the broken, and her therapeutic insights became a guiding light for those seeking solace in the labyrinth of their emotions.
Her office, adorned with warm colors and soft lighting, radiated tranquility and served as a sanctuary for those seeking solace. Her mahogany desk was meticulously organized, a testament to her structured approach. She sat down in her chair opposite another pair of leather armchairs.
Taking a folder and notepad from the side-table Dr. Sinclair skimmed through the notes of her thirty page thick folder of the upcoming appointment. When taking on new clients she always had a say in it, yet with these clients the Governor of Hawaii had given her almost no choice but to take them on.
Within their first appointment, it became clear that she would've missed a big opportunity if she had declined these clients. She knew she had to stay objective and she was more than capable of doing so, yet these six-month mandatory appointments had become quite easily her favorite.
Then there was a knock on the door.
Lillian turned the page on her notepad that held all kinds of information on the complex dynamics between the two partners who entered her office.
"Commander McGarrett. Detective Williams,"
SHRINKS OFFICE - O'AHU
Steve and Danny took place in the leather chairs facing the shrink. Who was dressed in a tailored suit that spoke of professionalism, the therapist leaned back in her chair. She looked observingly at Steve and Danny with an intensity that bordered on scrutiny. Steve looked back at the seasoned woman.
Her auburn hair framed a face marked by both compassion and an undeniable authority. A silver streak graced her hair, hinting at the wisdom she had gained through years of experience. Her hazel eyes reflected a depth of understanding as if she carried the weight of her clients' stories within her own soul. The lines on her face hinted at the weight of stories she'd heard and secrets she'd held and Steve guessed some were caused by them.
"Commander McGarrett. Detective Williams," she said, her voice a low, measured cadence that demanded attention. "The two of you have been busy the past six months." She remarked, opening the door to a discussion about their experiences.
"That's how we like it," Steve responded, embodying his characteristic nonchalant demeanor.
The therapist shifted her focus to Danny, "I've read that you took a bullet to the chest, Detective?"
"I— I did," Danny said puzzled, and shared a quick, annoyed look with Steve before looking back at the therapist. "I'm not sure what that has to do with anything. We're here to talk about the way we work, no? That bullet has nothing to do with us being partners."
"That depends," she said and redirected the conversation toward Steve. "How did that make you feel, Commander?"
Caught off guard, Steve asked. "Make me feel what, exactly?"
"That your partner got shot?"
"O, well— I mean," Steve sighed out a big breath acknowledging the weight of the question. "I was concerned, of course, maybe a little scared, but he's sitting right here. Everything worked out okay, didn't it?" Steve said and smiled sympathetically at Danny and back to the therapist as he tried to minimize the situation.
"That's right," the therapist acknowledged but she didn't smile back. She remained focused, not swayed by Steve's attempt to downplay the situation, and wrote something down. "What made you, to your own words, concerned?"
"Okay— uhm," Steve procrastinated while he checked with Danny, who had cast his gaze to the floor. Not sure what to make of that, Steve carried on. "Right. So— there was a bomb on the door, we were locked in. You could say I was concerned about how we were getting out of there. He didn't have much time, you know," Steve jabbed his own chest to simulate. "He was losing blood and the punctured lung was putting pressure on his heart. So I guess multiple factors contributed to me being concerned."
The psychologist probed deeper, "And at what point did you feel scared?"
She was good.
Steve shifted in his seat as events of that particular day vividly flooded his mind. He cleared his throat and sat up straight. "There were a few moments where I thought we were gonna lose him."
"It's good to admit that, because it's often we forget that an event like this is not only a traumatizing experience for the victim but also for the people standing by," the psychologist comforted. Then she switched her focus to Danny. "Detective, did you know that Commander McGarrett felt this way about it."
Danny looked up at the question and glanced at Steve. "We talked about it a little, right?" he shrugged, and as Steve nodded, Danny went on. "I mean, he never said it to me like that, but I don't think that's necessary. I'd feel the same way if things would've been reversed."
"Except it didn't happen reversed. It happened to you, Detective. You got shot."
With Dr. Sinclair's voice carrying the weight of that fateful moment, Steve's heart squeezed just thinking about that specific moment when the trigger got pulled and a bullet tore through his friend's chest.
"I'm aware, thank you," Danny replied with a courtesy nod masking the deeper torment within.
The therapist took an interest in the way he answered. "You are? Why's that?"
To Steve's surprise, Danny took the bait. "Well, it's not like you get clipped in the chest on a daily basis. Or that you flatline on an operating table only to be brought back to life so that months after that another scumbag can capture you for thirty-six hours and beat the crap out of you," he ranted and tried to give a comforting smile, but his lips barely twitched. "Yeah, I'm guessing by your facial expression that this is not in your notes yet, but don't worry about it, I'm sure it will lead to some interesting questions for our next session."
"Danny," Steve said with sorrow.
"What? She asked, right?"
"It's fine, I did," Dr. Sinclair assured, her pen poised above the notepad. "And I'm sorry, I didn't know," she sounded genuine. "Are you doing all right?"
Danny forced another smile but had to suppress the discomfort from his bruised face. "Don't recommend it, it's not like going to the Four Seasons or something."
"No need to deflect, Detective," Her questions were surgical, cutting through the layers of denial and self-deception. "Do you want to share what happened?"
"No, I do not. I'm all right," Danny kept smiling, but Steve saw the pain in his eyes,— a silent plea for understanding.
Dr. Sinclair noticed it as well and carefully redirected the conversation. "Okay, then when did this happen?"
Steve calculated, "Almost three weeks ago," and added. "And don't let him fool you, it was bad."
"O—, you've got to be kidding me." Danny scoffed with a hint of disbelief in his voice.
"You almost bled out before we could get you to the hospital, so yeah it was bad," Steve stated with a seriousness that mirrored the gravity of the situation. "It was even worse than bad."
"You're exaggerating," Danny proclaimed, deflecting the harsh reality as his gaze flicked back to the therapist. "He's exaggerating."
"How would you know, huh? You were unconscious for most of it." Steve shot back, frustration was evident in his voice. Yet the words underscored the trauma they both had endured. Danny physically and Steve mentally.
"Really?" Danny narrowed his eyes. "You're blaming me for passing out?"
"No— that's not what—," Steve started to explain.
Danny pointed at the shrink as his eyes locked with Steve's. "Did you put her up to this?"
"What?" Steve frowned. "No, I didn't"
"I told you I didn't need to talk with a therapist or with you, or with anyone. I'm good." The defiance in Danny's words clashed with the vulnerability in his eyes, leaving an unspoken tension hanging in the air.
"Gentlemen, let's take a deep breath," the psychologist intervened, her voice a steady and calm force in the room. "For the record, I wasn't put up to anything by anyone," she quickly assured. "Now, Detective Williams, I can understand why you don't feel like talking about it, but I'm sensing that Commander McGarrett is genuinely concerned and that he does have something to say about this situation," Danny shot a dubious look, but the therapist continued, "Is that correct, Commander?"
Steve took a moment before responding, realizing that some truths needed to surface, painful as they might be. "I am and I do,"
The air hung heavy with unspoken words. Dr. Sinclair nodded. "Then I suggest we continue the conversation as I'm here to help you two navigate through this. Detective, you don't have to participate, you can just listen, and if at any point it becomes overwhelming, you just let us know," she added, her gaze shifting between the two partners. "Is that all right with you?"
"Fine," Danny replied tersely, his discomfort evident.
The therapist, Dr. Sinclair, maintained a stoic composure, but her eyes hinted at an understanding beyond mere professional curiosity. She nodded, a silent encouragement for Steve to continue.
"Well— to be honest, I was concerned about you and I still am a little," Steve began, choosing his words carefully. "You came really close to dying, Danny. You're still recovering and dealing with the aftermath, so I don't see why I'm not allowed to be worried about you. We live under the same roof it's kinda hard not to, you know."
"You're living together?" Dr. Sinclair interjected, picking up on the layers beneath their professional partnership.
"Yeah, temporarily, his house exploded but that's not my point here," Steve explained, trying to steer the conversation back to the heart of the matter. "I don't get why you won't let me be concerned. You won't let me help you. You won't talk to me. Not really."
"You know what," Danny chimed in. "I don't talk about it much because I know it will make you feel guilty and I don't want you to. I'm done with giving pep talks." Danny retorted, his frustration palpable.
"Why would you say that?"
"Because it's true," Danny asserted. "It's all I have been doing ever since I got out of surgery. You, Tani, Eric, all of you, even Jerry. And every time if I do actually say something, you guys look at me like a deer that's about to be run over."
Dr. Sinclair observed the exchange, recognizing the intricate dynamics at play. Her next question cut through the mounting tension like a surgeon's scalpel. "Do you feel guilty, Commander?"
"Probably, I don't know," Steve admitted, his gaze shifting between Dr. Sinclair and Danny. "Who wouldn't? It's not a bad thing to feel guilt— or regret."
"Are you regretting something?"
"Lots of things," Steve said with a heavy sigh as he couldn't shake the images and vivid scenes of the recent ordeal etched in his mind like a haunting film reel.
Dr. Sinclair her eyes were now solely on Steve. "Commander, where were you in all of this?"
"That's the thing, I wasn't around," Steve said.
"What do you mean? You weren't among the people that rescued Detective Williams?" She inquired, her voice a steady presence, seeking clarity.
"Yeah— no I was there," Steve explained. "But a day before Danny— before he was taken, I got called away by the Navy. Went along on a mission, and left the Island. When I got back, I didn't directly realize he had been missing. Nobody on the team did. There had been no ransom demand made or anything that would suggest they'd taken him."
"How long after did you return to the island?"
"We flew back the next day. Hit the ground around 1900 hours. I basically went straight over the location where they were keeping Danny when we landed."
"That's not a hard thing to do, we're on an island."
"No, I literally landed four hangars down the row from where he was being tortured."
"Like you said, you didn't know," Dr. Sinclair remarked, piecing together the puzzle of events. She then directed her attention to Danny as she noticed a change. "What is it that makes you smile, Detective?"
"I just remembered hoping the thing he's dreading," Danny replied cryptically.
"What exactly do you mean by that?" The therapist probed, sensing a pivotal revelation. "Only if you want to share."
"Also, it's not that I don't want to talk about it 'cause of anyone's reaction, I just don't see the point of dwelling on it when I don't even remember much of it," Danny explained, his tone a mix of frustration and resignation.
"You don't remember?" Dr. Sinclair wondered.
"I mean of course I do," Danny clarified. "But not as vivid and detailed as one might think. I took more than a few blows to my head, you see. They really screwed up my brain with their punches," Danny signaled to his bruise face. "Most of it just comes and goes when I close my eyes, but I just remembered that I felt the vibrations of planes taking off and landing through the concrete, and each time one landed, it gave me hope that you would come looking for me. And you did."
"I'll always come looking for you, buddy," Steve reassured, a promise that transcended their partnership.
"I know you do," Danny said sincerely, a hint of appreciation in his eyes. "Now, can you stop hovering over me like my grandma?"
"All right, Gentleman. The time's up for today." Dr. Sinclair announced, giving a compassionate nod. The relief was palpable in Danny's eyes, and even Steve seemed to relax a bit.
As they gathered their thoughts, the therapist offered a parting insight, "Remember, healing is a process. It's okay not to have all the answers now. If you ever feel the need to talk besides our mandatory appointments, I'm here."
As Steve and Danny left the therapist's office, the weight of the conversation lingered between them. Danny, though reluctant to delve into the trauma, seemed to know that he couldn't continue to brush it aside. And Steve, still wrestling with guilt and regret, understood that supporting his partner went beyond physical rescues. In the hallway, Steve placed a hand on Danny's shoulder, a silent gesture of solidarity. Danny looked at him, and for a moment, unspoken words passed between them.
— TBC / HAWAIIFIVE0 —
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