Hello everyone,

I'm excited to introduce my second fan fiction, set in the world of Hawaii Five-0. This story is entirely original and does not follow the show's actual plotlines. It takes place during season 7, after Steve McGarrett's liver transplant.

After finishing the writing process, I wondered about the best way to share it with you. Should I post it little by little or all at once, as I wrote it? In the end, I chose the latter, thinking it would be more enjoyable for you, my readers.

This fan fiction is approximately 50,000 words long and is divided into 4 chapters. I hope the length of the chapters won't feel overwhelming and that you'll enjoy discovering them. I'd love to hear your thoughts and feedback at the end of each chapter!

I can't wait to share this journey with you.

Best regards,

led-jen


Chapter 1: Steve's Challenges

The Raid

The rain pounded relentlessly against the windshield of the Five-0 team's vehicle. Water splashed onto the glass with such intensity that it felt as though the storm itself wanted to drown out the adrenaline filling the air. The sound of the drops hitting the window resembled an electric discharge, each impact amplifying the tension already present. Inside the vehicle, the atmosphere was stifling, and despite the humidity seeping in everywhere, Steve could feel the heat of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

The radio crackled in his earpiece, voices overlapping in a chaotic mix of contradictory reports and commands. On the other end, the dispatcher tried to maintain composure, but the anxiety in their tone was evident. Steve could hear the background noise of growing panic as the situation spiraled out of control. The warehouse at Pier 17 loomed ahead, its blurry silhouette framed by the driving rain and flashing police sirens, further heightening the stress.

A botched robbery. Criminals barricaded inside a warehouse with several hostages. The situation had quickly escalated beyond control. The dispatcher's words were clear, but the actions that would follow had to be even more precise.

"McGarrett, critical situation! The robbers are inside the building, and they have hostages! Officers are pinned down outside!" The dispatcher's voice trembled, hysterical, as though the pressure of the moment was beginning to overwhelm them. Steve didn't respond immediately. He fixed his gaze on the warehouse through the windshield, his eyes glinting with concentration. Hesitation was not an option.

"Alright, listen up, everyone," Steve began in a firm, commanding voice, his eyes scanning each member of the team. They all knew their roles, but in moments like this, reiterating them was essential. "Chin, you cover the perimeter. If anyone tries to escape, you block them. Lou, you're on the roof—take out anyone stationed up there. Kono, your priority is the hostages—keep them secure." He paused, his breath shortening slightly as fatigue caught up with him. But his voice remained steady. "I'm going inside. I'll disarm the leader. No casualties."

The orders were clear, but the tension lingered, like a taut wire ready to snap. Steve glanced down at the building layout, his finger quickly tracing paths on the touchscreen as he finalized his approach. The situation was moving fast. His heart pounded, but his experience reminded him that even a moment's hesitation could be costly.

Behind him, Danny, who had been silent until now, watched Steve's every move. Normally, he wouldn't hesitate to point out that Steve was rushing in headfirst again, taking too many risks. But tonight, he said nothing. He knew it wasn't the time for debate. The team needed their leader, and this mission was no exception. His brows furrowed slightly as he observed Steve, his habit of scanning for signs of exhaustion in his partner surfacing again. But this time, he kept his concerns to himself.

"Steve, are you sure about this plan?" Danny asked, his voice tinged with concern he couldn't entirely hide. But before he could finish, he stopped himself, realizing it was pointless. Steve wouldn't listen anyway. All he could do was follow his lead.

Steve exchanged a glance with Lou, who nodded slowly, wordlessly. Lou was always ready, always calm, his gaze steely and resolute, like a man who had faced too many similar situations. Kono, beside him, adjusted her gloves, her eyes already locked on the warehouse. She didn't need to speak. She knew every second mattered now.

At the back, Chin double-checked his gear one last time. He didn't need Steve's approval or unnecessary words. Every member of the team knew exactly what they had to do.

Steve turned to Danny, a fleeting moment of uncertainty flickering in his eyes. He knew the risks, but he was prepared to face them. The time for discussion had passed. Without a word, he stepped out of the vehicle, his boots striking the asphalt with determination. The rain no longer mattered. He was already in mission mode—a man who knew that adrenaline, not the elements, would dictate the course of this night.

He sprinted toward the warehouse, the others following closely, united in their movements. The sounds of the rain, sirens, and gunfire from within the warehouse seemed to fade around them. All that mattered now were their precise actions, preparation, and focus. The team was ready to do whatever it took to see this mission through.

"We're in," Steve said into his earpiece as he approached the entrance, his voice cutting through the surrounding chaos. "I'm inside. We're moving into the final phase. Requesting medical support on-site ASAP. No casualties. Repeat, no casualties."

The dispatcher's response came almost immediately, tinged with barely concealed anxiety. "Copy that, McGarrett. Medical support en route. Awaiting your update once you're secure."

The exchanges were brief, but every word carried weight. Steve paused momentarily at the entrance. He turned to Danny, a final glance heavy with everything he wasn't saying. Danny, still silent, nodded in reply. No words were needed. Tonight, they had a mission to complete. And nothing—absolutely nothing—was going to stop them.

Steve faced the warehouse again, stepping forward into the darkness without hesitation, his senses sharpened by preparation and tension. The team followed, and now, all that mattered was their execution. Together, they would see this through.

/

Inside, the air was heavy and saturated with the dust from the floor and the scent of scorched metal floating in the atmosphere—a mix of iron and sweat. The dim light from the flickering neon bulbs heightened the oppressive ambiance, and every sound, every footstep, echoed through the confined space like a warning. The robbers, now trapped, were tense, their eyes darting nervously. From the shadows, Steve observed them, a hunter waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

He immediately identified their leader, the head of the operation, standing apart from the others, watching his men with a calculated gaze. Moving silently through the shadows, Steve advanced, each movement deliberate, like a perfectly tuned machine. His focus was unwavering, his actions precise, but an unfamiliar wave of dizziness crept in. The fatigue, the lack of sleep—a slight unease he couldn't shake, like a shadow hovering at the edge of his thoughts. Yet, he betrayed no weakness. He knew that even a fraction of hesitation could turn the tide against him.

As he drew closer to the leader, a sudden glint of light reflecting off metal in the corner of the warehouse caught his attention. Instinctively, Steve dropped to the ground in one swift motion, his body reacting before his mind could process. A sharp cry in his earpiece snapped him into action.

"Steve, watch out!"

It was Kono.

Too late.

In the blink of an eye, Steve felt his rhythm break. There was no going back, no time to fully react. The sound of metal clanged in the air—a robber had raised his weapon, aiming directly at Steve. The flickering light around them seemed to freeze, the tension in the air palpable, like a cord ready to snap. The trajectory of the bullet was closing in.

The leader of the robbers turned his head abruptly in Steve's direction. Their eyes locked, and a guttural war cry escaped the man's lips. In an instant, the fight began. Steve surged forward, his hands reaching to disarm his adversary. The two men collided with a resounding thud, their bodies hitting the ground with force. The air seemed thinner, and Steve, despite his determination, felt the fight growing harder with every passing second. The weight of the other man, his brutal strikes, hammered Steve's already weary body.

They grappled, tumbling repeatedly, their fight becoming a chaotic clash of limbs—a deadly dance where every moment counted. Finally, Steve managed to pin the man down, slamming him to the ground with a decisive motion, his hands locking tightly around the robber's wrists. Disarmed, the man lay beneath him, his face twisted in hatred and pain. Steve pushed himself up, a sharp exhale escaping his lips. But it wasn't over. Not yet.

Then, the leader of the robbers, though disarmed, used his last advantage—a brutal elbow strike to Steve's abdomen, directly where his liver transplant scar remained. The blow staggered Steve, a searing pain shooting through his body. He buckled under the impact, a grimace of agony flashing across his face. The dizziness he had been suppressing erupted into a storm of pain and disorientation. His body, honed by years of battle, was no longer what it used to be. He wasn't invincible. Not anymore.

The leader rolled across the ground, his arm outstretched toward a discarded weapon. The threat became imminent. The man was about to shoot. Steve, still reeling from the blow, couldn't react quickly enough. He could hear the metallic sound of the weapon being cocked, feel the inevitability of the shot. The end was near.

But at the last moment, a familiar sound pierced the air. A sharp gunshot. The bullet zipped through the room and struck the weapon in the leader's hand, disarming him in an instant. The robber fell back, the gun clattering to the ground beside him, his body motionless.

Breathing heavily, Steve slowly turned his head. His eyes landed on Danny, standing firm, his gun still smoking. He hadn't hesitated. He hadn't overthought it. He had acted. Once again, he had saved Steve.

Steve took a deep breath, the pain in his abdomen mingling with a deep sense of gratitude he couldn't fully articulate. He knew that if he had been alone, if Danny hadn't intervened, it might have been too late. This fight, this situation, had pushed him to his limits. Steve wouldn't have made it without him.

Danny lowered his weapon slowly, and their eyes met. A silent exchange passed between them, a look laden with meaning.

"You're a bit too reckless sometimes," Danny said, his voice low but devoid of the usual sarcasm.

Steve, struggling to catch his breath, replied in a hoarse voice, "Yeah. But I'm still here."

The mission was over. The hostages were finally safe, and the robbers were neutralized. Steve turned his gaze toward the rest of the team, his eyes scanning to ensure the situation was secure. Kono was calming the hostages, while Lou and Chin rounded up the remaining robbers. It was over. But Steve knew there had been a moment, just one, where everything could have gone differently. The transplant, the fatigue, his vulnerability—they had all conspired to put him at a disadvantage. But luck was on his side. This time, Danny was there to pull him out of the fire.

The sound of police sirens grew closer. The team worked to secure the scene. But for Steve, it was a moment of introspection, a realization. He still had a long way to go before regaining the strength he once had.*

/

After the mission, the debriefing room felt too quiet, as if time refused to keep pace with the frantic events that had just unfolded. The team had gathered around the large metal table, their expressions tired but satisfied after the operation that had just taken place. But despite the apparent serenity, a lingering tension filled the air. The metallic clink of weapons being placed on the table and tactical vests being removed echoed through the room.

Steve had already taken off his bulletproof vest, and his face tightened slightly as he set it down on the chair next to him. The pain in his stomach, where the bullet had struck, was still there, persistent, like a dull burn. He took a sip of water, his hand gripping the bottle a little too tightly. He tried not to show the pain he was feeling, but it was getting harder with every passing second. He knew his teammates were watching him, observing him, as they always did, but today, something was different. They were worried.

Kono was the first to break the silence, her voice soft but marked by concern. "Are you okay, Steve?"

Steve nodded, trying to hide the pain with a forced smile. "I'm fine, Kono. Just a bad hit, that's all." He knew that no one was buying it. He was used to playing the tough guy, but even he couldn't ignore the obvious. He had fought for more than just victory tonight. He had almost lost. But he wasn't going to tell them that. Not yet. Not now.

Danny, on the other hand, stood there, his eyes fixed on Steve, not once looking away. He had seen it — that fleeting look, the barely perceptible shortness of breath that didn't belong to his friend. Steve, usually so unshakable, seemed fragile that night, and it wasn't just the exhaustion. Danny knew. He had seen too much not to understand. He knew Steve never showed signs of weakness, but tonight, there were signs. He had saved his friend in a moment of panic, but the anxiety had not dissipated. Steve had taken one hit too many, and Danny wondered how many more times he would have to save his life before fate caught up with him.

"Steve..." Danny began, his voice lower, almost hesitant. He knew he had to say something, but he couldn't find the words. His eyes scanned Steve's face, his gaze betraying the question he wasn't asking.

Steve looked away, avoiding the obvious concern in his partner's eyes. "It's nothing, Danny. I told you, it's just a hit." But the way he said it betrayed the truth. He didn't even believe it himself.

Danny said nothing, but his eyes never left Steve. It was like a pulse, a pressure he could feel growing, an instinct telling him that his best friend was hiding something. Steve had always been the first to sacrifice himself to protect others, and that night, he had been more than just a little shaken. It wasn't just the fatigue or the stress of the mission weighing on him. That blow to the stomach, that moment when he had been brought down… Danny knew there was more to it than that. But he didn't press, knowing Steve wouldn't open the door he was trying to lock so tightly.

Kono, a little too focused on the mission to press further, furrowed her brow, but she too knew something was wrong. She didn't need more proof than the obvious signs: the exchange between Steve and Danny, the silence between them, that look Danny had thrown, the underlying anxiety hanging in the air. Kono knew her instincts never lied. But she wasn't the type to push. If Steve didn't want to talk, she wouldn't insist. Not tonight. But that didn't stop her from worrying about him. She knew him too well.

Lou, ever the pragmatist of the group, shrugged as he put away his gear, preferring to let the others deal with this situation. He had understood too. He had seen how Steve reacted to the pain during the mission. But Lou didn't make a scene. He just did his job. It wasn't his role to question what was going on in his captain's head. He knew that if Steve wanted to talk, he would. Otherwise, there was little chance he would be heard.

Steve suddenly stood up, his posture slightly hunched, as if the effort of straightening up was heavier than he wanted it to be. He turned his head toward his team, trying to push the pain away and take back his role as the leader. "Alright, mission accomplished. We did our job. We can be proud of what we achieved tonight." His gaze briefly fell on each team member. He gave them a small smile, an attempt to lighten the mood. But no one was fooled.

Danny, who had followed every movement of Steve, took a deep breath, a heavy look slipping between him and his friend. He knew that for Steve, the mission was always the priority, but tonight, he couldn't silence the worry bubbling inside him. He hadn't just saved his friend that night. He knew Steve had fought against more than just robbers. But for now, he had to be there, for him, for the team. It was what they did best.

"You're right, Steve, mission accomplished. But don't forget, we're here for you, okay?" Danny said, his voice a little softer than usual, a tone betraying his concern. Steve smiled faintly at that remark, recognizing the kindness in his partner's words.

He knew the team would always be there for him. But a part of him also knew that this mission marked something deeper. Because, despite everything he had been through, the fatigue and pain he was feeling that night, he hadn't faltered. Not yet. But maybe that day was coming.

/

The Navy Letter

A few days had passed since their last mission, but for Steve, time seemed to stretch on like a throbbing pain that refused to fade. The images of the confrontation with the robbers kept coming back to him, violent flashes that brought him back to that exact moment when he had taken the blow to the stomach. It wasn't just any blow. It had struck right there, at that vulnerable spot he wished he could forget, where the transplant had left an indelible mark.

The pain was still there, dull, persistent. He felt it with every movement, every slightly too-deep breath. It reminded him, like a warning. Yet, true to himself, Steve did everything he could to ignore it, to push it to the background. But that morning, it wasn't just the pain that occupied his mind.

Sitting at his kitchen table, in the heavy silence of the house, Steve held a letter in his hands. A long-cold coffee sat forgotten on the table, just like the sunlight filtering through the half-open curtains. His eyes kept scanning the same words over and over, as if they might magically change. But nothing moved, nothing softened.

The official Navy seal stood at the top of the page, unyielding. The words, cold and bureaucratic, hit like sharp blows: "Your SEAL reservist status is under review, in light of the update to your medical file. You are required to undergo a series of physical tests to evaluate your fitness to continue serving."

It was simple. Too simple. A few words to call into question a lifetime of service, effort, and sacrifice. Steve clenched his jaw, the letter trembling slightly between his fingers. The Navy was his home, his family, his anchor. And now, that anchor seemed about to break.

The sudden sound of the front door startled him slightly, pulling him out of his thoughts. The familiar silhouette of Danny appeared in the hallway, walking with his usual confident stride, never knocking or announcing himself.

"McGarrett, you had me drive all the way out here in this scorching heat, and you don't even offer me a coffee?" Danny said, setting his bag down on the counter. His tone was light, but his gaze quickly lingered on Steve, noticing something unusual in his demeanor.

Steve looked up, slightly surprised, before averting his gaze back to the letter. He set it down on the table, almost as if to hide its contents, but the gesture was too slow to escape Danny's attention.

"What's that?" Danny asked, frowning.

"Nothing."

But Danny, ever perceptive, wasn't the type to settle for that kind of answer. He stepped forward, grabbed the letter before Steve could react, and started reading it out loud.

"Your SEAL reservist status… blah blah… physical tests…" His eyes widened slightly as he realized what it meant. "They're questioning your status?"

Steve nodded silently, maintaining his calm facade.

Danny placed the letter down carefully, but the worry was evident in his eyes. "And what exactly are you trying to prove to them? That you're still invincible?"

Steve's voice was low, almost monotone, but his determination cut through like a knife. "That I'm fit to continue."

Danny crossed his arms, the skepticism clear on his face. "And what if you fail? They'll kick you out, right?"

Steve stared at him with the intensity that defined him. "Yes. But I'm not planning to fail."

Danny burst into incredulous laughter, shaking his head. "Oh, of course, because your body's working at 200%, right? Remind me, what was that blow you took the other day while we were playing heroes against the robbers?"

Steve looked away, his face hardening slightly. "It was nothing."

"Nothing?" Danny moved closer, his tone becoming more incisive. "You've been holding your stomach for three days, and you're telling me it's nothing? McGarrett, you might be the most stubborn guy I know, but right now, you're setting new records."

Steve took a deep breath, trying to mask the pain that returned every time he moved. He straightened up, ignoring the tug at his scar. "Danny, I'm fine. I took a hit, it happens. It's not the first time."

But Danny, relentless, wasn't letting go. "You're fine? Seriously? Steve, we were all there. That guy hit you right where you were operated on. You were bent over, and if I hadn't been there to finish the job, you'd be in much worse shape. So don't tell me you're fine."

Steve's gaze darkened. He clenched his fists, visibly irritated by his friend's insistence. "I survived, Danny. I'm standing. That's all that matters."

Danny shook his head with an almost palpable exasperation, his eyes fixed on Steve with an intensity that mixed frustration and concern. "No, Steve, that's not all that matters! You're treating your health like it's a game, like your body's this damn machine that you think you can fix with sheer willpower. But there are limits, even for you. Your body's talking to you, Steve, it's telling you to stop, to slow down. Why won't you listen?"

The words echoed in the room like a reverberation, hanging in the heavy tension in the air. A weighty silence settled in, one of those silences that said more than any argument ever could. Steve, true to himself, kept his calm on the surface, but his clenched jaw and the fixed gaze on an invisible point in the room betrayed the inner turmoil he was desperately trying to contain.

Danny, arms crossed, watched his friend, searching for a sign, a word, a gesture, anything that would show he was being heard. But Steve remained impassive, his face a mask of control, almost too perfect to be honest.

Finally, Danny broke the silence, his voice slightly softer, yet still determined. "Listen to me, Steve. I know who you are. I know what it means to you, to push yourself, to keep pushing your limits over and over. But you also know as well as I do what it costs not to listen to your body."

He paused, looking for the right words, before continuing more firmly. "Do you remember what the doctor told you after the transplant? That you had to be careful, that you couldn't live like you did before. And now look at you. Some days, you can barely stand, but you keep pretending everything's fine. Steve, this can't keep going like this."

Danny's words pierced the shell Steve had been trying to maintain. He lowered his head for a moment, his shoulders sagging slightly, betraying a fatigue he refused to admit. In a rare, almost vulnerable gesture, he ran a hand over his face, as if wiping away a frustration he didn't know how to express.

When his voice finally rose, it was low, almost a whisper. But it carried a raw determination that seemed unshakable. "I have to do it, Danny." He lifted his eyes, meeting his friend's gaze with an intensity almost painful. "It's who I am."

Danny sighed deeply, placing a hand on his hip in a gesture of weariness mixed with concern. His expression changed, a blend of anger, sadness, and a kind of helpless despair. "No, Steve. What you are is human. Not a machine, not an invincible SEAL. A human being, like me, like everyone else. And if you keep living like nothing can stop you, you're going to end up breaking."

Steve turned his eyes slightly, as if trying to avoid those words too heavy to face. Danny's truth was a mirror he didn't want to look into. He knew it deep down, of course he did. But the thought of accepting his own weaknesses, of acknowledging that his body couldn't keep up with his mind anymore, was a mountain he wasn't ready to climb.

A thick silence fell again, even heavier than the last. The two men stood frozen for a moment, like adversaries on an invisible battlefield, each holding firm to their position.

Finally, Steve straightened up, gathering around him that calm and control he mastered so well. When his voice broke the silence again, it was composed, almost cold. "Thanks for your opinion, Danny. But I'm going to take those tests. I have no other choice."

Danny stared at him, his gaze betraying a mixture of anger, helplessness, and sadness. He knew Steve better than anyone. He knew that once Steve made up his mind, nothing could make him change it. Still, he couldn't help but ask the question that had been haunting him since he read that letter.

"And what if you fail?"

Steve remained silent. He didn't look away this time, but his eyes, usually so sure of themselves, seemed a little darker, as if carrying a weight he refused to admit.

Danny slowly shook his head, his expression softening slightly, though the worry never left. "That's what scares me, Steve. Not that you'll fail. But that you refuse to see what that means."

Steve didn't answer. But somewhere, in a corner of his mind that he didn't want to explore, Danny's question echoed like a painful reverberation. And even though he would never admit it, it terrified him as much as it terrified Danny.

/

The Training

The morning sun, timid, stretched its golden rays over the training base, but the light was far from soothing. It was a scene of strict discipline, marked by the metallic sounds of equipment, the sharp orders of the instructors, and the constant pounding of boots on the ground. The air carried a scent of dust, sweat, and iron, typical of intense drills.

Steve McGarrett, dressed in his training uniform – helmet, weighted vest, and military fatigues – stood at the center of the field, his jaw clenched and his shoulders tense. His gloved hands gripped his training rifle firmly, a realistic replica that added weight to his load. His grey t-shirt was already soaked with sweat, sticking to his back, and every fiber of his being seemed as taut as a bowstring.

The session had begun with a series of physical warm-ups, already a grueling prelude. The push-ups were not simple movements: with the weight of his gear, each repetition seemed to tear a silent scream from his muscles. His arms trembled from the effort, his fingers dug into the hard earth, but he kept going, driven by an almost blind inner strength.

After that, he tackled the pull-ups, his hands gripping a rough metal bar that bit into his skin through his gloves. The movements were fluid at first, but soon the pain surged, sweeping through his abdomen like a burning wave. His breathing became shallow, and his face, usually impassive, twisted into a painful grimace.

"Faster, McGarrett!" barked the instructor.

The man, a giant with a face marked by years of combat, crossed his arms, observing. He wore the calculating expression of someone accustomed to judging the limits of men. For him, this wasn't just a physical assessment: it was a mental test, a war against oneself. And he was determined to see if Steve would break.

But this was just the beginning.

The real heart of the trial lay in an obstacle course designed to mirror a SEAL operation in a hostile zone. Helmeted, equipped with his rifle, and carrying a weighted combat pack, Steve launched himself at the signal. A piercing siren marked the start of the exercise, and he dove into the dusty arena.

The first section involved scaling a series of assault walls. Each wall was a physical and psychological barrier. With the weight of his gear, each jump became a titanic challenge. The first wall was cleared without issue, but the second cost him a precious moment. His hands slipped on the rough ledge, and he found himself hanging for a brief moment, the pain in his stomach stealing his breath.

He grunted, using his legs to push himself up. Once on top, he swung over to the other side, landing heavily. But he couldn't stop.

He ran toward the next stage: a narrow tunnel through which he had to crawl, his rifle held in front of him, the cold metal pressing against his forearms. Dust filtered into his nose and mouth, almost suffocating him. Every movement in this confined space pulled at his scars, sharp spikes of pain radiating through his abdomen. But he kept going, inch by inch, his ragged breath masked by the shout of another instructor stationed at the tunnel's exit.

"Come on, McGarrett! Do you want your place or not?"

Finally emerging, he allowed himself only a moment to catch his breath before running toward a series of fictional targets placed before him. His rifle instinctively mounted on his shoulder, his movements quick and precise despite the fatigue. The plastic bullets snapped against the metal silhouettes, each impact resonating in the air.

But there was no time to savor any success. The clock was ticking.

The final obstacle awaited: a vertical rope to climb. The top seemed so far away that he could have sworn the exercise was designed more to humiliate than to test. His arms were already on fire, and his legs threatened to give way. But he gripped the rope, his fingers closing tightly around the rough fibers.

One meter. Two meters. The rope swayed slightly under his weight, adding to the difficulty. Halfway up, a sharp pain shot through his abdomen. He froze, suspended in mid-air, his breath caught.

"You going to give up, McGarrett?" yelled the instructor from the ground, his words as sharp as a whip.

Steve didn't answer. He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his strength, then resumed his climb, each move a challenge against his own body. When he finally reached the top and rang the bell, he quickly descended, his legs buckling beneath him as he hit the ground.

Steve slowly straightened up, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. His arms hung heavily at his sides, and his breath was ragged, broken. But despite the pain, he stared at the instructor with that determined look that had never left him.

The man approached, looking him over from head to toe, an impassive expression on his face. "That was acceptable, but far from enough. The final tests will give you no favors, McGarrett. If you want your place, you'll need to give more than that."

Steve simply nodded. He knew the man was right. This wasn't just a training session. It was a cruel reminder that, in the world he had chosen, every weakness could cost a life.

As he slowly made his way to the locker room, his body exhausted but his mind churning, one thought persisted: it wasn't just about proving he could still do it. It was about proving to himself that he was still Steve McGarrett.

/

Steve collapsed onto a worn wooden bench in the locker room, his body weighed down by an overwhelming fatigue. A trembling hand rested on his stomach, instinctively trying to soothe the aching pain that had settled there. His fingers brushed the damp fabric of his t-shirt, stuck to his skin by sweat and effort. He gently tugged at it, revealing a network of pale scars that crisscrossed his abdomen. These marks, silent remnants of past battles and his recent transplant, seemed to pulse under his fingers, as if they had a life of their own.

He let out a sigh, his head leaning heavily against the cold wall behind him. The tiles of the locker room, cracked in places, echoed strangely, amplifying the heavy silence of the room. In that moment, the outside world seemed to have stopped, leaving only the pain and the thoughts that circled endlessly in his mind.

He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the burning in his muscles and the constant discomfort. But the memories came unbidden. Flashbacks, sharp and relentless. The surgery, the harsh lights of the hospital room, the muffled whispers of the surgeons. Then the slow agony of the weeks that followed: those endless nights when every movement in his bed triggered a pain so sharp that he almost cried out. The phantom pains that made him believe his body was being attacked from within.

And there were the incessant visits to the doctor. Those clinical conversations where they explained, always in the same neutral tone, that all of this was normal. That his body was still adjusting. That the immunosuppressants were slowing his muscle recovery. "You'll have to learn to be patient, Commander McGarrett," they had said. Easy for them to say. But for him, patience felt like powerlessness.

He clenched his jaw, his hand still resting on his abdomen. He felt like he was living in a prison of flesh and blood. His muscles, once so reliable, now seemed hesitant to obey his commands. Every sudden movement, every exercise, was a struggle to reclaim even a fragment of what he had been before.

Then a pernicious thought slithered into his mind, like a snake crawling through his thoughts. What if... What if he stopped these damn medications? Without them, maybe his body would heal faster. Maybe he would become stronger, faster. Maybe he could finally become Steve McGarrett again, the indomitable SEAL he had always been.

He opened his eyes suddenly, as if to chase the thought away. But it lingered, coiling around his doubts, sinking its fangs into his deepest fears. His gaze fell on the metal locker in front of him, and his own reflection stared back at him. What he saw unsettled him.

His face, usually hard and impassive, appeared marked by effort and fatigue. His features were hollow, his complexion paler than usual. His eyes, however, remained the same. In their depths still shone that spark, that rebellious flame that no pain, no challenge had ever managed to extinguish.

Then another image surfaced in his mind, sweeping and clear like a gust of wind: Danny. Danny with his worried look, the one he gave him every time he saw him push his body beyond its limits. Danny, and the silent promise they had shared, right there in that hospital, after the transplant.

No, he couldn't give up. Not take such a reckless risk. Not after everything Danny, the team, and he himself had been through.

He took a deep breath, letting the air fill his aching lungs, and ran a hand over his face, wiping away a mixture of sweat and exhaustion. Then, slowly, he straightened up. His back protested, his legs trembled, but he forced himself to hold firm. He placed a hand on the locker to steady himself, his gaze fixed on the emptiness before him.

The physical tests were a wall, an unforgiving trial. But deep down, he knew it wasn't just about that. It was much more than a mere challenge for his body. It was a fight for his identity, for what he had always been and what he wanted to continue to be.

He clenched his fists, his fingers whitening under the strain. No matter the pain, no matter the obstacles. This was not an insurmountable wall. It was a fight he was ready to take on, again and again, until his body or his will gave way. And Steve McGarrett was not a man who gave way.

With slow, deliberate steps, he made his way toward the shower, each step reminding him of the magnitude of the battle he still had to face. But in his mind, a certainty was taking root: he was not ready to give up yet. Not today. Not tomorrow. Maybe never.

/

Intense Conversations

Back at HQ in the early afternoon, Steve walked through the glass doors of the office, his steps heavy. His exhaustion was evident to anyone paying attention, but as usual, he hid it under a straight posture and a determined look. In their respective offices, the team worked diligently. Chin was on the phone, focused, while Kono sifted through files spread out before her. Lou, on his side, was reviewing photos on a screen while sipping black coffee. Danny stopped typing on his keyboard as soon as he saw Steve enter the HQ.

Steve let out a low "Hello" to the room, his voice rough, before heading to his desk. His Navy gym bag slid off his shoulder with a muffled thud. He collapsed into his chair, furrowing his brow as he turned on his computer and dived into reading the pending emails and team reports.

A few minutes later, Danny burst into Steve's office, his gaze immediately drawn to the Navy gym bag, overflowing with tactical gear. He had no doubt about what his partner had done that morning. The defiance in his tired eyes, his slightly stiff movements—everything screamed "training." Training that was far too intense for someone in his condition.

Danny crossed the room with a determined stride, his shoes clicking faintly on the floor. He glanced at the team, who discreetly looked up from their screens to observe the scene unfolding. Lou gave him a subtle nod, a mix of support and "good luck." Kono raised an eyebrow, as if to say: Good luck with him. Danny sighed. He knew that what awaited him wouldn't be just a casual conversation, but he couldn't keep ignoring the state Steve was putting himself in.

He positioned himself in front of his partner's desk, arms crossed, lips pressed tightly together. Steve, his eyes glued to the screen, absentmindedly tapped the edge of his keyboard, pretending not to notice his presence. But Danny had known Steve for far too long to be fooled. He saw the muscles in his jaw tighten, the faint throb of a vein on his temple, and knew that his irritation was already at its peak.

Danny broke the silence, his voice low but heavy with reproach. "Do you realize you're hurting yourself for no reason, huh?"

Steve sighed in response, his exasperation clear. He pushed his chair back slightly, the wheels squeaking on the floor, before rubbing his eyes as though trying to chase away the fatigue… or Danny. "It's not for nothing, Danny. It's who I am." His voice was flat, but the underlying tone betrayed an unyielding determination.

Danny furrowed his brow, taking a step forward to close the distance between them. He placed his hands on the edge of the desk, his piercing gaze locked on Steve's. "No, Steve, it's who you were. You're still a SEAL, no matter what those damn tests say. It's not a piece of paper, a note, or some damn evaluation that defines who you are."

Steve finally looked up, and Danny saw the storm brewing in his eyes. With a sharp movement, Steve stood up, quickly rounding his desk. He planted himself in front of Danny, slightly towering over him, his eyes burning with a contained anger.

"You don't understand, Danny," he shot back, his voice now harder. "I need to know I can still do it. If I can't..." He paused, his voice wavering just enough for Danny to catch the emotion behind the words. "If I can't, then what good am I?"

Danny stayed silent for a moment, absorbing Steve's brutal confession. He swallowed, a trace of bitterness in his throat. Then, he slowly approached, adopting a softer tone, almost brotherly. "Do you realize what you're saying? What good are you? Steve, look around you. You have a team that relies on you, a partner who worries about you. You've saved lives, you've risked your own more times than I can count, and yet… you still act like it's not enough. Why? What are you trying to prove, exactly? And to whom? To yourself?"

Steve spread his arms, his frustration bursting like a storm. "Exactly, Danny!" he thundered, his voice echoing in the office. "I need to prove to myself that I'm still capable. I need to know that I can still be useful. Otherwise, what? I sit here, behind this desk, signing reports, giving orders? That's not me!"

Danny slowly shook his head, his expression a mix of concern and deep sadness. He moved closer, closing the distance between them. "Maybe that's not you, Steve, but maybe that's what you have to learn to accept. Your body has limits now. You know it, but you refuse to admit it. Keep fighting against it, it's like trying to hold back the ocean with your hands. All you're doing is hurting yourself over and over."

Steve looked away, his jaw clenched, his fists tight by his sides. He opened his mouth, ready to retort, but no words came out. A palpable tension thickened the air, and Danny, unwavering, kept his gaze fixed on his partner's, searching for a crack, an opening in his armor.

Suddenly, the phone on Steve's desk vibrated insistently, breaking the heavy atmosphere. Steve, visibly relieved by the distraction, grabbed the phone with an almost exaggerated speed.

"McGarrett," he said, his voice controlled, his tone cold and detached, as if putting on a mask.

At the other end of the line, Duke's deep, calm voice could be heard. "Steve, we found a body on Kailua Beach. No identification yet, but it looks recent. You should come check it out."

Steve gave a slight nod, though Duke couldn't see him. His eyes darkened for a moment, but he let nothing show in his response. "We're on our way."

He hung up and stood still for a few seconds, the phone still in his hand. His fingers tightened slightly around the device before he gently placed it back on the desk. He exhaled slowly, a quiet sigh, but heavy with weight.

Danny, still standing nearby, watched every movement of Steve carefully. He knew this man by heart, knew when he was about to close himself off completely. And that's exactly what he saw in that moment. An invisible shell was closing around his partner, reinforcing the distance already felt.

Steve walked past Danny and left the office with almost military rigidity, stopping in the middle of the room. His gaze briefly swept over the team. Chin, bent over a file, looked up first, followed by Kono, who put down her pen. Lou, always quick to sense tension in the air, had already turned his chair to focus on Steve.

"We found a body on Kailua Beach," Steve's voice was firm, but Danny could perceive the slight inflection, the emotional fatigue he was trying to mask. He crossed his arms, standing upright like a statue, refusing to let anything more show. "Get ready. We leave in five minutes."

Kono exchanged a quick glance with Chin, but neither of them asked questions. They knew Steve and understood that it was pointless to try to break the wall he always built after a difficult confrontation.

Steve turned to Danny, their eyes meeting briefly. Danny expected a word, a gesture, an attempt to ease the tension. But there was nothing. Just that heavy silence, filled with everything that had been said—and everything that hadn't.

Grabbing his bag by the door, Steve turned without another word and left the office with quick strides. Danny, left behind, sighed deeply. He watched his friend walk away, his back straight, but the weight of their exchange still visible in the stiffness of his shoulders.

Danny lightly shook his head, trying to push away his frustration. He grabbed his things before heading for the exit. The team, already up and gathering their equipment, shot him discreet glances filled with curiosity and concern.

In a deliberately lighter tone, Danny said as he moved forward, "Well, you heard the boss. Let's go!"

Chin, having finished securing his holster, quickened his pace to catch up with him in the hallway. Kono and Lou didn't take long to follow, falling in line beside Danny as they all made their way toward the parking lot.

"So?" asked Chin, breaking the silence. His voice was calm, as usual, but his gaze showed that he wasn't fooled.

Danny raised an eyebrow without slowing down. "So what?"

Kono, a bit more direct, picked up where Chin left off. "So, did you manage to make him see reason? Because we saw things were getting heated in there."

Danny sighed and ran a hand through his hair, a habitual gesture when he felt overwhelmed. "You know how he is. Steve never listens to anyone, even when it's for his own good."

"We've noticed that," Lou added with a slightly sarcastic tone. "But what exactly happened? He looked... tense, and so did you..."

Danny slowed his pace a little, as if searching for his words. They reached the stairwell, but none of them rushed to go down. The atmosphere in this small group was becoming heavier, more intimate.

"I told him he has to accept his limits," Danny finally admitted, his voice low, almost as if he feared Steve could hear him through the walls. "But he refuses to accept it. For him, being a SEAL isn't just a job. It's... who he is. And now that his body can't keep up, he's scared."

Kono furrowed her brows, a mixture of compassion and sadness on her face. "Scared of what?"

Danny let out a bitter laugh, briefly looking up at the ceiling as if searching for help. "Scared of not being useful anymore. Of no longer being... Steve McGarrett, the guy who can face anything. I told him it doesn't change anything, that he's still that guy for us, but..."

He stopped, hesitating. Chin placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, encouraging him to continue.

Danny shrugged, his tone growing more bitter. "But I think he needs to prove to himself that he can still be what he was. And no one else but him can make him understand that."

Lou nodded, thoughtful. "And in the meantime, he's going to keep pushing himself until he collapses. Great."

Danny shot a weary look at Lou. "You think I don't know that? But what can I do? I can't knock some sense into him."

They finally reached the door leading to the parking lot. Danny stopped, glancing at the daylight filtering through the windows. He took a deep breath before turning to his colleagues.

"Listen," he said in a softer tone. "Steve is like a brother to me, and to you guys too, I imagine. But he's as stubborn as a mule. If we want to help him, we'll have to be there for him when he realizes he can't keep going like this."

Kono nodded gently. "We're here, Danny. We always will be."

Danny gave her a tired but grateful smile before pushing the door open. Outside, Steve was waiting by the truck, already ready to leave. His eyes briefly lifted to look at them, but he quickly averted his gaze, staring at an invisible point on the horizon.

They all got in, but the atmosphere was marked by a silent gravity. Danny could feel the weight of their thoughts, just as he felt the weight of his own burden. But for now, he focused on what awaited them. He would have time to think later.

/

The First Body

The midday sun was relentless, its scorching rays beating down unceasingly on Kailua beach, making each grain of sand glisten like a sea of gold under the cruel light. Yet, the scene in the center of this radiant backdrop exuded a palpable darkness, almost suffocating. The yellow safety tape fluttered lazily in the warm breeze, as if futilely trying to contain something sinister within its boundaries.

The man, in his forties, sat in a metal chair at the center of this macabre tableau. His wrists and ankles were tightly bound, the rough rope digging deeply into his flesh, a testament to the brutality of his ordeal. His head hung limply forward, chin against his chest, and a large red stain slowly spread beneath his feet, soaking the fine sand until it became a dark, sticky mud.

Steve moved forward first, his steps slow and calculated, betraying a tension he never allowed to show outwardly. Danny, a few meters behind him, observed his friend's posture with care. He had learned to read Steve like an open book, detecting those subtle shifts in his body language.

Steve stopped a few meters from the body, his eyes fixed on the scene. His jaw was clenched, his steel gaze scanning every detail. Nothing seemed to escape him: the position of the body, the knots binding the wrists, the blood splatters scattered across the sand. Yet, he didn't move.

Danny approached, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. "Hey, Steve, you planning on standing there all day, or should we start looking for clues?" he joked, though his tone lacked any lightness.

Steve didn't respond.

Duke, who had been waiting off to the side, stepped forward with his notebook in hand, breaking the silence. "The victim was executed with a bullet to the forehead," he explained in a low voice. "From our initial observations, the murder took place elsewhere. No signs of struggle here."

The victim's face immediately caught Steve's attention. He moved closer slowly, his footsteps crunching on the sand, as if the slightest sound could shatter a fragile balance. The closer he got, the more his features became visible, and with them, a wave of memories he would have preferred to forget. Steve stopped less than a meter away, his eyes fixed on the face he knew too well.

Don Matthews.

The Name Crossed His Mind Like a Silent Detonation. Matthews wasn't just any SEAL. Although they had shared only a few missions together, each had left an indelible mark. But there was one mission, in particular, that overshadowed all the others: Iron Dagger, nine years ago.

Steve felt an uncomfortable shiver run down his spine. He could almost hear the crackling of radios in his ears, smell the gasoline and explosives. Iron Dagger hadn't been like any other mission. It was the one that changed something in him, the one where they lost Keller.

Keller. The memory of that young lieutenant, freshly thrust into his Bravo team, came rushing back, followed by the vivid image of the explosion that had taken him. Bravo team and its commander, Steve, had been helpless. Guilt and failure were familiar companions, but that day, they carried a particular weight.

Steve shook his head slightly, trying to push those thoughts aside. He didn't have the luxury of being distracted now. The discipline forged by years of service took over, and he locked those memories in a mental box, sealing it tightly.

He knelt by the body, examining the details with precision. The ties around the wrists and ankles were tight, the fibers embedded in the skin. The distinct mark of someone who had been restrained against their will for an extended period.

"Any adhesive traces?" he asked in a calm, almost detached voice, though a careful observer could have detected an underlying tension.

Duke stepped forward, his notebook in hand. "Yes. Hands and ankles. The state of the body suggests death occurred about two days ago. Experts are waiting for the ballistic results to confirm the weapon used."

Steve nodded without a word, his fingers briefly brushing one of the knots in the rope. He stood up, his expression closed, his gaze harder than usual.

A few steps away, Kono was circling the scene, photographing every angle, meticulously capturing the details. She eventually lowered her camera and observed Steve. Something about his behavior was off. She couldn't pinpoint exactly what, but there was this rigidity, this controlled coldness that often betrayed an internal battle.

"You seem tense, boss," she said, her voice light but laced with concern. "Everything okay?"

Steve looked up, his clear eyes locking onto hers with calculated coldness, a mask of unyielding steel. "Keep searching the area for evidence," he replied in a sharp, almost mechanical tone.

His voice wasn't unusual for Steve, but this time, something was off. It was as if this hardness wasn't just professional but personal, a shell he was reinforcing with every passing second to keep his emotions at bay.

Kono furrowed her brow slightly, surprised by his terse response. Still, she nodded, feigning indifference, and returned to her search. But her mind remained focused on Steve. She had seen him in tense situations, in moments when the pressure was overwhelming, yet this time, he seemed different.

Not far away, Danny watched the scene with silent interest. He knew Steve well enough to detect the cracks in his armor. It wasn't the first time his partner had tried to bury everything under a facade of total control, but that didn't mean Danny was going to let it slide.

Taking a step forward, he positioned himself beside Steve, lowering his voice just enough not to attract the attention of the others. "You knew him, didn't you?" he asked, his tone both direct and full of care.

Steve remained still, his eyes still fixed on the body before him. For a moment, it seemed as if he wasn't going to respond. Finally, he took a deep breath, his shoulders rising slightly before they fell.

"Maybe," he finally replied, his voice low, almost a whisper. "But it doesn't matter right now."

Danny raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. He knew this response, or rather this evasion. "Really?" he said, his tone sharpening. "Because you've got that look, you know, the one where you're half about to tell us something and half about to keep it to yourself. And guess what? I'm betting you're going to choose the second option."

Steve shifted his gaze slightly, his jaw tightening imperceptibly. He didn't say anything, but his silence spoke volumes. Danny sighed, exasperated but not surprised. He knew the rules of the game with Steve: the wall of silence was sometimes impenetrable.

Meanwhile, a few meters away, Kono had settled on a rock, her tablet in hand. Her fingers flew across the screen, decrypting databases and bypassing firewalls with expertise that would have made the best hackers pale. Yet, the more she searched, the more her brow furrowed.

"This is weird," she muttered to herself, catching Chin's attention as he walked by.

"What's weird?" Chin asked, leaning slightly to glance at the screen.

Kono tapped on a report that appeared on the display. "This guy has no papers, no identifiable fingerprints in the civilian databases. It's like he doesn't exist."

Chin slowly nodded, thinking. "If that's the case, check the military databases. If he was killed like this, he probably had a past he couldn't escape."

Kono nodded, her face hardening with concentration. She typed a few more commands, easily accessing the military databases with almost unsettling ease. After several long minutes of silence, her expression changed.

"Don Matthews," she finally announced, joining Steve and Danny. "Former SEAL." She quickly skimmed through the displayed information, stopping at a particular note. "And he was involved in a top-secret mission nine years ago. A mission called Iron Dagger."

She looked up at Steve, her scrutinizing gaze searching for a reaction. "Does that ring a bell?"

Steve slowly turned his head toward her. For a fraction of a second, something passed in his eyes, a buried pain, a memory trying to resurface. But almost immediately, he restored his impassable mask.

"I'll check it on my end," he said in a cold tone, before turning on his heel and walking away.

Kono furrowed her brow, following him with a step. "Hold on a second. Iron Dagger, that was your mission, right? You knew who this was the moment you saw the body."

Steve stopped dead in his tracks but didn't turn around. The silence that followed was heavy, filled with a tension no one dared break. When he finally spoke, his voice was cold, almost distant. "Focus on the scene. I want a full report in an hour."

Kono remained frozen for a moment, her frustration visible. She exchanged a glance with Chin, who gave her a slight nod, as if telling her to let it go. Danny, meanwhile, watched Steve walk away at a brisk pace toward their car.

"And there it is," he murmured, shaking his head. "The king of silence strikes again."

/

Top Secret Mission

A few hours later, Steve stood alone in his office, a palpable tension hanging in the air. The blinds were drawn, softening the daylight and casting irregular shadows on the walls and the cluttered desk. In the center of this organized chaos, a yellowed photo rested, a fragment of a past he had always tried to escape.

In the picture, a group of young men in uniform stood in front of a helicopter, Steve's subtle smile betraying a time when camaraderie had outweighed the horrors of their profession. In this group of Navy SEALs, Don Matthews wore a proud and confident look. In the background, Lieutenant Keller smiled with the carefree confidence of a man certain he was going to make it home.

Steve ran a finger over Matthews' face, brushing the image as though to revive a memory he'd prefer to forget. But it wasn't the photo that had pulled him back into those memories. Before him, on his screen, a classified report had been found, its pages filled with an account written by Don Matthews and Ramirez, his brothers in arms from that operation. This report told the story of their mission, Iron Dagger, an operation whose very name was enough to awaken the ghosts of the past.

He clicked to open the file, his eyes scanning the carefully chosen words meant to mask the brutality of the truth. Every line seemed to bear the weight of the decisions they had all been forced to endure. Steve remembered that mission perfectly, but he had never been able to tell it himself. At the time, he had been too badly wounded from the explosion that had taken Keller from them. Matthews and Ramirez had taken charge of writing the report, and Steve had been forced to read the details long after their return.

The words danced in front of his eyes: "Exfiltration compromised. Keller missing following explosion. Presumed KIA. Steve wounded. Extraction requested." These clinical phrases did nothing to reflect the horror they had lived through.

Steve closed his eyes for a moment, his fists clenching. The guilt he had buried all these years came rushing back, amplified by Matthews' recent murder. He whispered, almost to himself:

"What the hell is going on?"

His jaw tightened, and he straightened abruptly, making the chair squeak beneath him. He knew that this murder was no accident. He also knew that as long as he stayed trapped in his silence, they wouldn't make progress. Yet revealing the truth went against everything he had learned as a SEAL.

The sound of soft footsteps in the hallway broke the heavy silence that had settled in Steve's office. He briefly turned his head, a shiver of impatience running through him. A few seconds later, the door slowly opened, almost as if those behind it were trying not to disturb the tense atmosphere that reigned. Kono entered first, her silhouette framing the doorway, followed closely by Danny, Chin, and Lou. They stopped one by one, forming a silent line, their gazes fixed on him with a palpable insistence.

Steve didn't move immediately. He had learned to ignore silences, to let them weigh heavily without being affected, but today, that silence was different. It had the bitter taste of misunderstanding and frustration, and he felt it rising within him, fueled by the waiting of his teammates.

Danny was the first to break the suspended moment, his voice soft but firm, resonating in the room like lightning through a dark night:

"Listen, Steve. We all know that mission… that Iron Dagger… it's not just any mission." He paused, glancing at his partners before turning his gaze back to Steve, more determined than ever. "We know that this guy, Matthews, was more than just a former teammate to you. But if you keep shutting yourself off like this, we're not going to get anywhere. This murder won't be solved without you, without us."

There was a quiet strength in his words, but also a certain pain. They all knew Steve carried invisible wounds, secrets that weighed on his soul, but the situation called for a different approach. They were all here, ready to move forward with him, to carry the burden together.

Kono, who had been silent until then, took a step forward, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes filled with understanding but also with conviction. "We're here for this, Steve. We're your team. You don't have to carry all of this alone. We know your missions are classified. But we're asking you to tell us about this one. If you don't, this investigation will slip away from us. The JAG will take it over, and trust me, they won't try to understand. All we want to do is help you."

Chin and Lou stood slightly behind, their massive figures contrasting with the lightness of the atmosphere outside the office. Neither of them spoke a word, but their presence spoke volumes. It was a tacit support, as solid as a rock, offering Steve the chance to unload the weight of his secrets, if he chose to do so.

Steve slowly lifted his gaze, momentarily lost in the shadows dancing on the walls. His features were etched with fatigue, the dark circles under his eyes betraying sleepless nights spent ruminating over thoughts he wasn't ready to share. He looked at each of them in turn, then lowered his eyes to his hands. The tension in the air was palpable, and for a moment, he felt overwhelmed by anxiety. He took a deep breath, seeking an answer in the thick air around him.

"You don't understand," he said in a low, hoarse voice, his throat tight as if he were trying to hold back a flood of words he didn't want to let out. "I'm bound by directives, secrets that… that don't allow me to talk to you about this."

He suddenly stood up, a wave of agitation sweeping over him. He took a few steps around the room, as though searching for an escape from the pressure weighing on him. He would have liked to keep his distance, to disappear into the silence that had always protected him, but something inside him rebelled.

For a moment, it seemed like he hesitated, as if the temptation to retreat once again was stronger than anything. He turned toward the window, looking out at the endless sea, unyielding. His fists were clenched, his body tense, but a resolution was beginning to form within him. It was no longer the choice of silence that lay before him. It was the unavoidable necessity to confront his demons. He slowly turned back toward them, crossing his arms, and spoke with cold determination.

"But you're right," he said, his tone firmer, his voice softening slightly as the burden grew heavier with each word. "If I keep this to myself, we won't move forward. We'll stay here, going in circles, ignorant of what's really behind all this. So, I'm going to override these directives. You need to know. You need to understand what happened."

The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating. Steve's words hung in the air like a final warning. After a moment, Danny slowly nodded, his gaze sincere but worried. Kono moved a little closer, her eyes seeking a connection, a reassurance that the team remained united despite everything. Chin and Lou, still but attentive, watched every movement of Steve as if ready to support his decision, no matter where it would lead them.

Steve closed his eyes for a moment, a long sigh escaping his lips. The image of the past hit him again, as painful as it was inevitable. He finally turned his gaze back to them, darker than ever.

"Iron Dagger wasn't an ordinary mission," he said in a grave voice, each syllable carrying the weight of the memories he would have liked to erase. "It was a mission where everything that could go wrong… did."


Did you enjoy this chapter ?
Let me know with a 'like' or a comment !
Your feedback is so important to me and inspires me to keep sharing these adventures with you.
Thank you :)