Here for You, part 3: Lost and Alone

by xavionite

When Steve and Catherine are taken captive, Steve suffers a terrible loss. Can his ohana help him come through the darkness and learn to live again? Character death. No slash.

4. Chapter 4

August 25, 2021

Early in the morning, an orderly wheeled Steve's gurney up to the Medevac and he was loaded in. When they brought him outside, Steve's heart started pounding. He could feel sweat break out on his forehead. Danny was walking next to him. Steve grabbed his hand and clung to him.

Once they were in the chopper, the panic stopped. Steve listened to Danny. He sounded like he was in pain. Dr. Morgan had refused to do anything for him because he wasn't a veteran. Steve really disliked the woman. Danny had never been treated that way at Tripler. "Hey, Danny. Did you take your meds?"

"No. I don't want to be knocked out on the flight."

Steve rolled his eyes. Not that Danny could see it, as he was wearing his sunglasses. "You need to take them, Danny. I'm not going to do anything dumb. Besides, there will be a paramedic on duty the whole time."

Danny sighed. "Fine. I'll take them."

"You probably need your dressings changed by now. I know Morgan didn't do it." Steve worried about Danny. "What happened to the guy who shot you?"

"Dead. Lou or Junior shot him."

Steve grabbed the paramedic's arm when she walked by. "Hey, my buddy needs his dressings changed. Can you check on him, please? Also, he needs water so he can take his meds. And he doesn't have a spleen, so he probably needs some antibiotics."

"I've got those," Danny said. "Three month's supply."

"Sure, Commander. I'll take care of him." She grabbed a bottle of water and walked over to Danny. "Let me take a look at those dressings, sir."

"Sure."

Everything was blurry, but Steve heard Danny's quick intake of breath. He really was in pain.

"Those wounds look infected," the paramedic said. "I'll put some cream on them."

"Thanks," Danny said. "They wouldn't do anything for me at the VA hospital."

"Well, that's what I'm here for."

Steve liked the paramedic. She was friendly, respectful, and helpful. She came back to Steve now. "I need to check on you, Commander."

Steve cooperated with her, even when he had to take off his sunglasses. A little respect went a long way with him.

"Do you mind if I look at your residual limb?"

Steve groaned. "Go ahead."

She pulled back the sheet that was covering what remained of his leg. "It's really swollen, and it's red and hot. No one helped you take care of it after the amputation?"

Steve shook his head. "No. I was being held captive. They took the leg because I tried to escape. I didn't know what to do for it."

"That's awful. I'm sorry. I'll radio ahead to the doctors on the Mercy," she said. "They'll be ready for you. You'll need to wear a special shrinker sock to reshape the limb in preparation for a prosthetic leg. I don't have any aboard, or I'd put one on."

The flight was under three hours. The Medevac landed on the ship's flight deck. Steve squeezed his eyes shut as they brought him outside. His heart was pounding again. He needed to be indoors. Outdoors was terrifying.

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Danny held onto his side as he got off the Medevac. His meds were already wearing off. He could see that Steve was pale and trembling. The doctor asked the orderly who was standing nearby to get a wheelchair for Danny. When the orderly returned, the doctor said, "This is Ensign Joshua Clark. He's assigned to the two of you. Detective Williams, the paramedic told me you have a through and through gunshot wound, a grade three kidney laceration, and a broken rib."

Danny nodded as they moved inside. "Yeah. I can't take any more meds for an hour, but they're already wearing off. I've been really nauseous, too."

"You're on morphine?"

"Yeah. But it just doesn't cut it."

The doctor nodded. "Are you allergic to fentanyl?"

Danny shook his head. "Not that I know of."

"I'm going to switch you to that. It should be more effective."

"Thanks, Doc. Um, can Steve and I share a room?"

"Normally we put our patients in an open bay, but we were advised that the Commander might benefit from privacy, so we've prepared a cabin for you to share."

"Thanks, Doc. I appreciate that." Danny glanced at Steve. He wouldn't want people to hear him dealing with his nightmares.

Steve rolled his eyes. "You couldn't stick closer if we were glued together," he said. "Doc, he's worried I'll do something stupid. I said some things a few days ago that I shouldn't have said."

Danny sighed. "I know you're not going to do something stupid. I just don't think you should be alone right now."

Steve was quiet for a moment. "That's probably true," he finally said.

"Hey, Steve. I've got a phone call to make. Do you mind if Ensign Clark brings me to the cabin in a few minutes? Doc probably needs to look you over, anyway." Danny needed to hear Alani's voice. It was early enough in Hawaii that she wouldn't have left for work yet.

"Yeah, not a problem. I gotta have a little time alone, you know."

Clark leaned back against a wall. Once Steve was out of sight, Danny pulled out his phone and dialed. Alani answered right away. "Hey, honey," Danny said. "We're coming home by ship. We leave tomorrow morning. It'll take about five days. Steve has a concussion and the flight from California is too long for him."

"How are you doing, Danny?" She had been worried for him when she found out he'd been shot.

"I'm OK. Nauseous, though. The pain meds don't help much, and the paramedic on the Medevac thought the wounds looked infected. I'll see what the doctor says."

"I love you, Danny."

"I love you too, Babe. I know you've gotta get to work. We'll talk again later. Though I don't know what kind of phone service I'll have on this trip. Bye, love." He hung up the phone.

"Sounds serious," Clark said.

Danny nodded. "Yeah."

"But you don't want the Commander to know?"

Danny shook his head. "His wife was killed. I saw the pain in his eyes when he learned that a couple of our friends had gotten married. He doesn't need to know I'm engaged. I'll tell him later."

"Makes sense," Clark said. "Your secret is safe with me."

"Thanks." Danny waved a hand in the air. "Well, let's go."

A few minutes later, the orderly helped Danny into his bed. Steve was still getting checked over by the doctor. Danny pulled off his prosthetic hand. It was uncomfortable today. "I need a break from this thing," he said to Clark. "Can you put it somewhere safe?"

"Sure." Clark laid the prosthetic on a counter, then stepped out of the cabin.

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Dr. Hastings pulled the sheet off of Steve's right leg. "I need to take a look at this, OK?"

Steve squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to see it.

"Commander," Hastings said. "I know you're angry and you're hurting. I saw in your file that the amputation wasn't necessary. But you need to look at it. For now, we'll help you take care of it. There are exercises you need to learn to prepare for your prosthetic. You also have to start desensitizing it."

"Yeah, I know." Steve let out a heavy sigh. He'd been there when Danny was going through it after losing his hand. "It's just hard."

"Remember your SEAL training," Hastings said. "What was it Admiral McRaven said? 'Don't back down from the sharks.' Don't give up when you're faced with an obstacle." He returned his attention to Steve's stump. "As the paramedic said, your residual limb is still swollen and it's rather red. I suspect that there's an infection. You didn't have a doctor looking after you, did you?"

"No." Dr. Barton had looked at the stump but hadn't told him anything to do with it. Most likely, he figured Steve would die in captivity.

"We're going to get a CT scan. If there's an infection, we may have to take off another inch or so. Once we know for sure, I'll let you know what you can do to take care of it."

Steve groaned. "My whole life is falling apart."

Dr. Hastings put a hand on Steve's arm. "I'm sorry this happened to you, but your life isn't falling apart. You will find new ways to thrive. There's another line from Admiral McRaven. 'Be your very best in the darkest moments.' You've been through a dark time, but you're a SEAL. That doesn't change, even now. There's something in you stronger and better than that darkness. Tell me, how long were you held captive?"

Steve shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not even sure what day it is now. It was early May when I was taken. I don't know what day my son was born and my wife died, except it was the same day."

"Today is August twenty-fifth." Hastings looked down at his phone. "Your file says you were brought to the hospital in Dodge City on the twentieth, so that's about three and a half months." He sat down next to Steve. "I am very sorry about your wife."

Steve sucked in a deep breath. He still blamed himself for Catherine's death, but Hastings would say it wasn't his fault. He chose to keep quiet.

"Are you feeling pain in your residual limb?" Hastings asked.

Steve nodded. "Yeah. And sometimes it feels like my leg is still there. Either it hurts or I just feel a tingling sensation."

"All of that is normal, Commander. I can teach you some methods that will decrease those sensations." He paused briefly. "On a scale of one to ten, how bad would you say the pain is?"

Steve thought for a minute. "I think it's a five."

Danny interjected. "That means it's more like an eight or nine, Doc."

Hastings chuckled. "He likes to stick his nose in, doesn't he?"

"Yeah." Steve appreciated that about Danny. He never really knew what number to choose on that one to ten scale. "I tend to have a high tolerance for pain. It's less than it used to be, though. Danny's probably right."

"Doc," Danny said, "you should look at his back. He's got a brand there. Is there a way to remove it?"

Dr. Hastings helped Steve roll over. "You should lie on your stomach two or three times a day for about fifteen minutes. It's good for your residual limb." He lifted Steve's shirt. "I see. This must have been very painful."

Steve nodded. "Yeah, it was bad."

"Did they clean the skin before doing this?"

Steve shook his head. "No. They chained me up outside. Kincaid heated a brand in the fire and pressed it on my back."

"It looks infected to me. Is it painful?" The doctor pulled on a glove and rubbed it over the brand.

"Not really. It's numb. I couldn't wear anything over it for several days, but then I just stopped feeling anything there." Steve sighed. "Kincaid said he did it so everyone would know I was a murderer. I killed his friend when he was trying to shoot me."

"All right." Dr. Hastings pulled down Steve's shirt. "The burn damaged the nerve endings. That's why it went numb. When you get to Tripler, you should have your doctor look at it. You'll probably need a CT scan to see if any other damage was done. Laser therapy would lighten the scarring, but I think a skin graft would be the better option. The nerve damage is probably permanent."

He pulled out his penlight. "And now, I'm going to have to ask you to remove the sunglasses. I understand that light is a problem for you right now, but I do need to look in your eyes."

Steve pulled off the sunglasses. He didn't like the penlight shining in his eyes, but he put up with it. When Dr. Hastings was done, he handed the sunglasses back to Steve. "You can wear them again. Tell me about your symptoms. I did see that your right eye is wandering a little. Do you remember what happened?"

Steve shook his head. "I only know what Danny told me. I do remember that Kincaid was going to hang me. I remember walking up to the gallows — they had given me a wooden leg. After that, it's just a blank. I'm sensitive to light, but that's nothing new. My vision is blurry. And I have a headache that just won't quit. The doctor in Wichita only gave me acetaminophen. It didn't help much."

Hastings looked at his phone again. "Acetaminophen is generally the medication used for concussion pain. Do you get migraines?" Steve nodded. "We can try beta blockers. I'll have our neurologist come talk with you." He sent a message on his phone.

Ensign Clark stepped into the cabin. "Yessir?"

"I'd like you to take Detective Williams for a CT scan. I'd rather get our own images of his injuries than trust what we were sent. After that, you'll take the Commander for a CT scan of his residual limb."

"Yessir."

After the orderly had taken Danny, Dr. Hastings laid his hand on Steve's shoulder, "Now we need to talk about your right arm. I need to know what you want me to do. I can cut the bones apart and then set them so they will heal properly, and I can stitch the nerves. It would improve your chances of regaining use of the arm."

Steve was quiet for a long moment. He had failed to save Catherine. In fact, his actions had led to her death. "I deserve it to be the way it is."

Dr. Hastings frowned. "No, Commander. You don't deserve it. I want you to think about it. We can talk again tomorrow."

"OK." Steve didn't believe the doctor. Sullivan had said it was his fault Catherine died. Those words kept replaying in his mind.

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Dr. Hastings met Danny as the orderly pushed his wheelchair out of the room with the CT scanner. "I'll take him back," the doctor said. "You can get lunch before you get the Commander." He pushed Danny's wheelchair down the hall. "Detective Williams, I need to talk with you about what the Commander said regarding the injury to his right arm."

Danny listened. He found himself getting angrier and angrier. "Steve blames himself for his wife's death," he said. "I think that's where this is coming from. I'll talk with him." He sighed. "Doc, I think you need to read his journal. He wrote down everything that happened to him, things he probably won't be willing to talk about."

"Yes, I think that might be good. And I'm glad you'll talk with him — it's better coming from a good friend than from his doctor." He took Danny down in the elevator, back to the cabin.

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Steve avoided looking in Danny's direction. Dr. Hastings had pushed Danny's wheelchair into the cabin and then left. Danny sounded like a thunderstorm. He was upset with Steve. Steve used to relish these moments. Now he feared them. Bad things happened when people got angry, just like bad things happened outside.

"Look at me, Steve," Danny demanded. When Steve didn't raise his eyes, Danny lifted his chin. "Look at me, buddy. Dr. Hastings says you think you deserve that injury to your right arm. What would you say if it was me?"

Steve didn't answer. He would tell Danny to do whatever it took to get better. That didn't mean Steve didn't deserve the injury. "I got Catherine killed!" His eyes filled with tears. "Sullivan said it was my fault she died."

Danny shook his head. "No, Steve. Sullivan was a liar."

Steve's breathing quickened. His forehead felt sweaty. His heart was beating too fast. He could barely talk. "Killed his brother. Punishment."

"You had no choice about Robert Sullivan," Danny growled. "If that's your logic, you should blame me. You killed him to save me." He rested his hand on Steve's head. He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. "Box breathing, Steve. You're having a panic attack."

Steve closed his eyes. He breathed in for four seconds, held the breath for four seconds, breathed out for four seconds, and then waited four seconds before repeating the process. His heartbeat slowed. "Not your fault," he said. "I'm sorry, Danny. Tell Dr. Hastings I'll do it."

"Good." Danny took his hand. "You need to do whatever it takes to get better."

"What's the point?" Steve turned his head away again. "It's not like I can do anything now."

"I get it, Steve," Danny said. "Remember when I thought I needed to be discarded? You didn't let me get away with that." He sighed. "You told me I was still human. You made sure I knew that I was worthwhile. That I still had a reason to live. Sammy is a good reason to keep living. He needs you. I need you. Siobhan needs you. Your ohana needs you. You're going to get better and you're going to find something that you can do."

After a few minutes, Steve finally looked in Danny's direction. "I'm sorry. Please don't be mad at me." He didn't usually apologize, but Danny's anger worried him.

"I'm not mad at you," Danny said with a long sigh. His voice hardened. "I'm mad as hell about what happened to you. I'm mad that you believe Sullivan's lies. I'm mad that you're hurting so much." His voice got less thunderous, and he put a hand on Steve's back. "Hey, you're trembling. You don't need to be afraid. I would never hurt you."

Gradually, the trembling stopped. Steve gripped Danny's hand. "I'm glad you're here. Thank you for rescuing me. I'm sorry I'm so messed up."

"Hey," Danny said, "you don't need to apologize for anything. You've been through something horrible. You need time to heal."

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Danny was glaring at his lunch. Just the smell of it made him nauseous. Steve was out getting his CT scan.

Dr. Hastings knocked and then entered. "Detective, I was looking at your scan and I think that the doctor in Dodge City misread what you're dealing with. She said it was a grade three kidney laceration, but our nephrologist says it's a grade four. That would explain the severe pain you're having. It also explains why you look a bit green right now."

Danny frowned. "What does that mean, Doc?"

"It means you need surgery to repair it. It should have been done days ago. Dr. Brooks is prepared to get you into surgery immediately, as long as you haven't eaten any of that meal."

Danny shook his head. "I haven't been able to eat for a couple of days."

"All right." Hastings handed Danny a hospital gown. "Get into this. Then I'll get the sedative started and take you up to the OR." He stepped out of the room so Danny could change. A few minutes later, he knocked.

"Come in," Danny shouted. He had tossed his clothes on the chair by his bed.

Dr. Hastings placed an IV in his arm and started the sedative. It worked quickly. Danny was asleep before they got to the elevator.

When he woke up again, he was back with Steve, who was sleeping. Danny still had an IV. Dr. Hastings was hovering nearby. "Welcome back, Detective."

Danny just waved his hand. He was too drowsy to say anything. He reached for Steve's journal and held it up for the doctor.

Hastings took the journal. "Dr. Brooks said your surgery went well. He put you on an IV antibiotic. It's stronger than the pills you've been taking. It should knock out the wound infection."

Danny gave him a thumbs up. Then his eyes fell shut and he went back to sleep.

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Steve pushed away his lunch. He didn't want it.

Dr. Hastings knocked on the door, then came in. He moved to Steve's side and took a seat. "Commander, you need to eat, or I'll place a nasogastric tube. You're way too thin."

"Fine." Steve picked up his fork and took a bite of sausage. The flavors exploded in his mouth. "This is actually pretty good." He took another bite.

"I have been looking at your scans," Hastings said. "As you have probably figured out, I'm something of a medical jack of all trades, but before I took this job, I was an orthopedic surgeon. That's why I was assigned to you. You've got a pretty nasty infection, and it has gotten into the bone. It looks like I need to take off another inch of your leg. That should clear out all of the infection before it spreads. You'll still have four inches below your knee. This won't affect your ability to use a prosthetic. In fact, I hope to have you up and walking with a special crutch before you leave the ship. It's good for you to move around."

"I'll bump into everything. The world's a blur."

"Did you know we have an optometrist aboard? We can even make glasses. Dr. Kellum will take you to his office later today."

"Aww, Doc. I don't want glasses. My vision will clear up eventually." Dr. Abrams had tried to convince Steve to get some sort of correction the last time he was going through this, and he'd refused.

"It might not, Commander. I understand that you have an infant son. How will you take care of him if you can't see clearly?" Dr. Hastings patted Steve on the arm. "This is important. It's part of not backing down from the sharks. All of these obstacles want to devour you. But you have the power to defeat them. By not giving up, you win." He leaned back in the chair. "I'll do the surgery on your leg tomorrow. Have you thought about your arm?"

Steve sighed. "Yeah, you can take care of it too. It'll help me take care of Sammy."

The doctor nodded. "I can't promise you'll get full use of the arm back, but it will be better than it is now. I can do that surgery tomorrow, too. That way you only have to fast once." He leaned back and crossed his arms. "When you get home, you need to seek counseling, Commander. There's a good psychologist at Tripler, Dr. Paul Anderson."

Steve's forehead wrinkled up. "I don't need a shrink."

Dr. Hastings cleared his throat. "Yes, you do. You're deeply depressed, you're blaming yourself for things that were not your fault, and you've been through a terrible ordeal."

All the fight drained out of Steve. "Fine," he said. "I'll talk with him."

"I'm glad to hear it," Dr. Hastings said.

Steve closed his eyes. He felt like everything was going wrong, even though he was free now. He didn't know how to be free anymore. Was he really only a captive for three and a half months? It felt longer.

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Steve was sitting in a wheelchair when Dr. Kellum came for him. Ensign Clark had helped him make the move. He couldn't go for an eye exam on the gurney.

"I'm actually a neuro-optometrist, Commander. This means I specialize in vision problems related to neurological conditions and injuries, particularly brain injuries." Dr. Kellum said. "I understand that you're resistant to the idea of glasses."

Steve shrugged. "My vision has always cleared up after a while."

"I looked at the scans in your file, and I don't believe it will be clearing up this time." He laid a hand on Steve's shoulder. "I understand you have had multiple concussions, and they tend to affect your vision."

Steve nodded. "Yes. That's true. And I've always gotten better."

"It's unlikely this time." The doctor pressed the elevator button. The doors opened a few minutes later. "The blow you took to your head damaged your optic nerve. There is no way to repair the damaged tissue. I'm going to test your vision and get you a prescription for glasses. At some point, you may want to try contact lenses. You will need to see your eye doctor at home about that."

Dr. Kellum pushed Steve out of the elevator, down the hall, and into his office. When they finished the testing, it was determined that Steve had double vision. He hadn't realized this because all he could see was a big blur. His right eye was about 20/150, while his left eye was 20/100. His right eye had a tendency to wander. The doctor called it strabismus and said he could have surgery for it sometime in the future. He would have to see an ophthalmologist about that.

The doctor tried various combinations of corrective lenses. Steve was relieved to see that the lenses really worked. The optometrist was able to get him to 20/20 vision in both eyes. That meant he could keep his pilot's license. "How thick are the lenses going to be?" Steve asked.

"Don't worry — these won't be Coke bottle glasses. We use ultra-thin lenses. I can filter them for your light sensitivity. I'll also put some prism in them. That should clear up your double vision. In fact, I'm going to test how much prism you need right now."

Steve watched the lines and letters on the wall and told the doctor when they were lined up. The doctor made some notes. "All right, Commander. Let's look at some frames. I'll take you over to our collection."

He wheeled Steve to a wall full of frames and then brought him several pairs. "I think these are a good shape for your face."

Steve held them close to his eyes. It took him a while, but he chose one. It was a simple brown frame. If he had to wear glasses, he didn't want anything flashy.

"Good. I'll send these down to you when they're done," Dr. Kellum said.

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August 26, 2021

When Steve woke up after surgery, his arm was in a splint and his stump was bandaged. His stomach growled.

About half an hour later, Ensign Clark brought lunch. It smelled good. Steve pressed the button to elevate the head of his bed. His lunch was placed on his table, which was swiveled in front of him. The meal was a cheeseburger with all the fixings and a large serving of french fries. In addition, there was a chocolate brownie for dessert.

"You're getting the good stuff," Clark said. "Doc wants you to gain weight. Dr. Sutter — she's the neurologist — says that beef is good for head injuries."

Steve nodded. "Yeah, I've heard that, a few concussions ago." He took a bite. "This is pretty good."

"Yeah. Dr. Hastings ordered it up especially for you. He really wants you to gain weight. The detective's on a restricted diet at the moment. His meal is a little more boring."

"It's flavorless," Danny said. "No salt. Lean meat, kind of tough. At least the fruit is good."

Steve took another bite of his burger. "Man, this tastes so much better than what I got at the ranch." He drained his water cup.

"Do you want more water?" Clark said.

Steve nodded and held up the cup. He liked having cups again, instead of drinking from a ladle. "Thanks, Ensign."

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If Danny couldn't eat flavorful food, at least he could enjoy the smell of Steve's meal. He felt better today. The antibiotics were doing their job and so was the new pain reliever. His brain felt a little fuzzy, but that was to be expected. He hoped he could get off the pain meds soon because he didn't like feeling fuzzy.

"How are you feelin', Steve?"

"Leg doesn't hurt as much," Steve said. "Head's still pounding. Your words are slurring. Are you high?"

"Duh," Danny said. "Gotta get off these pain meds. Don't like how they make me feel."

"Rest and heal, Danny," Steve said.

"Yeah." Danny lay back in his bed and closed his eyes. He couldn't stop thinking about how Steve had seemed afraid of him the previous day. He didn't know what to do with a frightened Steve. The old Steve was never scared of anything.

This Steve panicked over anger and being outside and he seemed overwhelmed with guilt. Danny wished Joe were still living. He would know how to get through to Steve. Danny pulled out his phone and connected it to the ship's Wi-Fi. Then he wrote Ralph a text. Worried about Steve. He's afraid of things. He never used to be afraid. Don't know what to say to him. He needs you. We'll be home in four days.

Danny wished he could talk with Alani, but Steve was awake. Maybe later, before his next dose of pain pills, Ensign Clark could take him up to the deck.

His phone beeped. He'd gotten a text back. I've been there. You need to meet him where he is. Fear is a normal response after what he went through. Give him time. He'll get past it. He has to learn to be free again.

Danny nodded as he read that. He looked over at Steve. He decided that he was ready to get up, even if he was a bit woozy. He sat up, then grabbed his IV stand. He managed to stand up. His balance wasn't the best, but he walked over to Steve's bedside and sat down. Then he took Steve's hand. "Hey, buddy. I want you to know that I'm here for you. Through the fear, through the panic, whatever you need to help you get better, I'm here. I will never hurt you. You know I get emotional about things — that's just my personality. But Steve, I'm not angry at you. I'm not upset with you. You're my brother, and I only want to support you."

Eventually, Danny hoped that the old Steve would emerge, and they could get back to the banter that used to characterize their friendship. But for now, Ralph was right. Danny needed to meet Steve where he was and give him the support he needed to recover.

Steve squeezed Danny's hand. "Thanks. I promise you, I'm not going to ring the bell. I won't quit. I'll keep fighting. It's good to know you're fighting with me. Now go back to bed — you probably won't remember saying any of this when you're not high."

Danny laughed. "I'll remember." He rubbed the stump of his right wrist through his hair.

"You're not wearing your hand."

Danny shrugged. "It's uncomfortable. Not sure why. I'll talk to the Doc about it later." Holding onto his IV pole for balance, he managed the walk back to his bed. Once he was lying down, he was asleep within minutes.

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There was a knock at the door. Steve hollered, "Come in!"

Ensign Clark stepped inside the cabin. "Dr. Kellum sent me down with something for you, Commander." He brought Steve a glasses case. "Try them on. If you need them adjusted, I can take you up to Dr. Kellum tomorrow morning."

Steve opened the case. He really didn't like the idea of wearing glasses, but he put them on anyway. Hopefully, he could get contacts soon. He moved his eyes, looking around. That made him feel a little dizzy. He didn't think glasses would do that. Maybe it was the prism that caused it. "Hey, Ensign. I can finally see your face clearly."

"They look pretty good on you. How do they feel?"

"Good enough," Steve said. "I want to switch to contacts soon, though." He pulled the glasses off and set them beside his bed. "I'm going to get a nap, Ensign. Talk with you later."

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That evening, after he was done with his patients, Oliver Hastings sat down with McGarrett's journal. He read every page the Commander had written. He sighed heavily as he read the last entry. What McGarrett had gone through was heartbreaking. It made him sick to his stomach.

McGarrett had absorbed the lies of his captors, Sullivan and Kincaid, and now he believed them. He wasn't responsible for his wife's death, but he blamed himself. Oliver wished they had a psychologist aboard the Mercy, but they didn't. McGarrett desperately needed someone professional to help him with what he was feeling. Hopefully he would speak with Dr. Anderson when he got back to Hawaii. Anderson was an expert in PTSD. He would know how to help Steve.

Oliver picked up his phone and made a call. Cell service wasn't that great aboard the ship, but he had a good signal in his cabin. He would talk with Anderson now and get some ideas how he could help Commander McGarrett before they got to Honolulu.

"Hi, Paul," he said when Anderson answered.

"Ollie, it's good to hear from you. Are you in transit? I heard the Mercy was on the way to Honolulu."

"Yeah. I've got a patient here that could really use your help. Commander Steve McGarrett."

"I know Commander McGarrett. I worked with a friend of his a few years ago," Paul said.

"McGarrett has been through a horrific ordeal," Oliver said. "I've been reading through the journal he kept. What he experienced turns my stomach." He was quiet for a moment. "They forced him to watch as they executed his wife, shortly after she gave birth. They punished him for trying to run by having his healthy leg amputated below the knee." Oliver had to stop for a moment. It was all too much for him.

"That's terrible," Paul said.

"That isn't all. Sullivan was the one who especially hated him. He convinced his best friend Kincaid to help him. Some time ago, McGarrett killed Sullivan's older brother.

"Yes, I'm aware of that. Robert Sullivan. The world is better off without him."

"Same with his brother. Sullivan believed he was Matt Dillon from Gunsmoke. Losing his brother pushed him over the edge. He wanted to punish McGarrett for killing him. He frequently dragged McGarrett outside and beat him. One day, he insisted on a gunfight. McGarrett was strapped in a chair with his left arm free and a sack was put over his head and tied in place. Then he had to count to forty while Sullivan walked away. Sullivan's shot missed McGarrett, but McGarrett managed to kill him."

Paul said, "Mmhmm, that sounds like the Commander. I hear he did something similar when he was blind, and someone broke into his home to kill him."

"After that," Oliver said, "Kincaid shot him in the arm and denied him medical care for several days. It's possible that his arm won't fully heal. Kincaid also branded him on the back and finally decided to hang him. Thankfully, his friends were able to rescue him before that could happen. Kincaid managed to hit him in the head twice with the butt of his rifle before Williams killed him. He's got a nasty concussion and his vision is blurred. He was in captivity for about three and a half months."

"Wow. What have you observed about him now that he's free?"

Oliver cleared his throat. "When the Medevac landed, he seemed panicked about being outside. He blames himself for his wife's death. Sullivan told him he was to blame, and he believed it. He told me he deserved the injury to his right arm. According to his journal, the abuse all happened outside."

"Mmhmm. Commander McGarrett was already suffering from PTSD before this happened. I'm sure that has been exacerbated by this ordeal. He's a very private person. You won't be able to get him to talk about anything he doesn't want to share. I would suggest getting him talking about the future. Was his child rescued as well?"

"Yes. He's in Honolulu now, in the care of friends."

"Get him talking about how he intends to meet his son's needs. He needs to find a way to be outside without panicking. Remind him that as long as he keeps fighting, he is still a warrior. He's just got a different battle to fight now. You need to get him thinking and talking."

"Thanks, Paul. This is really helpful."

"Tell me what time the ship comes into Honolulu. I'll meet you at the dock, even if it's early."

"That would be great," Oliver said. "We'll arrive at six in the morning on August thirtieth. Patients disembark at seven. I'll talk with you later, Paul. I look forward to seeing you."

◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊

Steve had just finished his lunch when Dr. Hastings arrived. "Commander, how would you like to get up and walk around?" he asked. He sat down next to Steve's bed. He was holding something in his hand, but Steve wasn't wearing his glasses and couldn't see what it was.

Steve reached for the glasses and slid them in place. "Sure. That would be great."

"I've got a special crutch that you can wear. It will make the transition to a prosthetic easier, and it gets you up and moving around, which will be good for you." He crossed his arms over his chest. "I thought we could go up and walk on the deck."

Steve paled and shook his head. His body started trembling. "No. I can't go on the deck." He wished he could. He wanted a good look at the ocean.

Dr. Hastings laid a hand on Steve's arm. "What are you going to do when your son wants to play outside, Commander? Or when you have to take him to school?"

Steve was startled by those questions. He wasn't sure how to answer. "Bad things happen outside," he said, almost in a whisper.

"Do you think I'm going to hurt you?"

Steve just stared at him. He wanted to trust Dr. Hastings, but it was hard. He dropped his eyes. "I don't know," he said.

"Steve," Hastings said, "I'm supposed to get you talking, but I have to say this. Remember your training. 'I will never quit. I persevere and thrive on adversity.' You're still a SEAL, with or without your leg. Your training will get you through this. They didn't kill you. That means they didn't break you." He squeezed Steve's arm. "Listen to me, Commander. As long as you keep fighting, you are still a warrior. You need to think about the future, about being father to a precious little boy who needs you to find a way back to being whole."

"I'll never be whole again," Steve said. "That was stolen from me."

"I don't mean physically whole. I mean emotionally, mentally, even spiritually whole, whatever that means to you. You're a SEAL. You'll always be a SEAL, even if you're no longer able to serve."

Steve thought for a long moment. "I'll try, Doc."

Dr. Hastings grinned. "All right. Let me show you how this crutch works. It's hands-free. You strap it on to your residual limb. I knew the measurements, so it's already adjusted to fit you."

He showed Steve how to strap the crutch in place. It was simple enough that he could do it with one hand. "All right, are you ready to test it out?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah." Dr. Hastings helped him stand up. "It's kind of like the wooden leg I had, but it's more comfortable."

It was good to be standing up again. He was taller than Dr. Hastings. He hadn't realized that until now. "Should I take a few steps?"

"Sure. Give it a try. See how you feel."

Steve walked over to Danny's bed. "Want to go on a walk with me?"

Danny shook his head. "The meds have me feeling pretty woozy. My balance is off."

Steve raised his eyebrows. "You think mine is good right now?" The ship rolled on a wave and he anchored himself with his hand on the wall by Danny's bed. "I wasn't ready for that."

Then he turned around. "OK, Doc. Let's go for that walk. I want to see the ocean."

As he walked, Steve worked out how to keep his balance when the ship hit a swell. Before long, he didn't need to grab hold of anything. They were in the hatchway when the panic set in. Steve started breathing too fast, his heart started pounding, and sweat broke out on his forehead. He grabbed the doctor's arm. "I can't do it. I'm sorry. I want to trust you. I'm trying. But I can't go out there."

Dr. Hastings put a hand on his shoulder. "It's OK. You'll get there. It doesn't have to be today. If you'd like, we can go look out at the water through some portholes."

Steve nodded. "Yeah."

Hastings led him back down the hall to the elevator, then down two decks. When the elevator opened, there were multiple portholes. Steve stepped out and put a hand to the glass. It looked like a storm was coming. The waves were restless, a lot like he was. A storm was brewing inside him, too. "Can I stay here a while?"

"Sure," Hastings said. "I have about fifteen minutes before I need to go check on another patient."

Steve stood at the porthole, gazing out at the sea. He wanted to swim again, to feel the water flowing around him, soothing away all the stress that was tying him up in knots. "Someday I'll be out there," he whispered. "I have to."