Our Devoured Minds Part 7/8 (Hawaii 5-0)
Our Devoured Minds Part 7/8
Author: Tari_Roo
Rating: PG (Gen)
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I profit from nothing. Although if I had my way Steve would be bare-chested even more than he is, we would actually ‘see’ Danny trying to surf and Kono would be a secret Cylon. That is all. Wait… Chin would be as awesome as he is.
Summary: Everyone says it’s the not knowing, right? Danny disappears and someone tries to kidnap Grace. Cue 5-0 and serious ass-kicking as Steve & Co try to keep Grace safe and find Danny.
Spoilers: Set in Season 1. No spoilers, but you kinda have to know the show, ok?
*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0
Saturday Night
Danny was asleep.
Steve wasn’t even remotely tired, his second wind only kicking in now. Years of late night ops, differing time zones had made ‘oh-dark’ a familiar friend and Steve was all set for an all-night vigil. A cup of coffee was cooling in his hand, filling the room with a heady aroma contrasting the stringent antiseptic odors. The coffee from the cafeteria was surprisingly good, and the night shift nurse had given him a packet of real jam doughnuts.
‘Cos you’re cops... and well...
The gesture, the fact that she’d taken the time to track down fresh, gooey pastry for the scattered, wild eyed Navy Seal and his stressed team - and injured partner, had really touched him. Brought an actual lump to his throat, as he stood in the busy hospital hallway, the guilt about the girl’s death still gnawing on his guts.
There was one doughnut left, for Danny.
They hadn’t sutured his wounds - not all of them - yet.
Danny was in a private room, with two armed HPD Officers outside his door and Steve by his side. Visiting hours did not apply when there was the threat of an unknown assailant and kidnapper at large. Now, with the late hour and privacy guaranteed by heavily armed law officers, the room was quiet and still.
In the gloom, Danny seemed peacefully at rest. The muted light through the closed blinds and underneath the door was barely enough to pick out distinct features, for which Steve was grateful. It was difficult looking at Danny without a tide of anger surging to epic proportions. The doctor was watching for infection, leaving the larger, angrier cuts and wounds open. Cleaned out, covered with gauze and soft bandages, but not neatly sutured. Danny looked ... held together. Like a broken plate or toy, put back together and held in place with tape.
Hypertrophic scars.
Infection.
Salt.
The visitor’s chair was stiff and unyielding, not one designed for hours-long bedside vigils, which was surprising considering how many people must have sat slumped, like Steve, watching their loved ones and friends. Talking. Visiting. A room like this should have the most comfortable chairs in the world to offer the weary, worried guest a modicum of comfort.
Danny twitched, fingers flickering as he moved in his sleep. Medicated sleep was both a boon and a curse. An escape from the waking nightmare of reality, but also an impossible nightmare to escape once asleep. Hand on his mouth, fingering the bristle of stubble on his chin, Steve studied Danny’s half seen face, watching for signs of distress, for nightmares born of memories.
You could never tell with Williams. Sometimes it was all you could do to get him to shut up, but other times, he was worse than a closed book. You had to pry and dig to find out some things. Heck, there were whole swaths of Danny’s life that Steve had no clue about. Steve at least had the blanket excuse of ‘I can neither confirm or nor deny’ to cover the aspects of his adult life he did not want to share. Danny just didn’t bother to mention crap that bothered him, or he exploded with information accompanied by expressive hand gestures.
There was a good chance Danny would never tell Steve everything about the last twenty hours and all that he’d endured. That he’d keep a good portion of his feelings and fears to himself. But there was just as good a chance that by Monday, Danny would be yelling at him, at the top of his lungs, sharing details Steve would rather never hear. Steve might end up with a combination of both - things he’d never know, and shit he wished he could scrub out of his brain.
Grace was gone.
Whisked away by Rachel to the questionable safety of a hotel for the night. Rachel had stayed long enough to make sure Danny was ok, and had let Grace linger and hug her father’s leg, until the surgical intern indicated he wanted to suture those wounds deemed fresh enough to stitch. Grace didn’t want to leave. Rachel didn’t want to stay, couldn’t bear to.
Dazed, groggy, and in pain, Danny had stared at Grace, her tears held in potentia, a hairsbreadth from spilling. He looked so out of it, so beyond figuring out for himself if he should let his girl go, or beg Rachel to let her stay. Rachel had hovered, for once so uncertain, so ... exhausted, that Steve had stepped in, and gathered Grace into a hug.
He could still feel her shivering - like she had after the attack at her house. Like she had in HQ. Even with Danny safe, she still shivered.
Please, Uncle Steve. I wanna stay with Danno.
Who said staring down arms dealers and terrorists was scary. Try a little girl, so close to crying a single word would unplug the dam and the little town in the valley was doomed.
McGarrett had no idea what he’d said, or how he managed it, but Grace left with Rachel, her gaze lingering on Danny. Danny had matched her look for look, unable to call her back, reluctant to let her go.
Sighing, Steve shoved those thoughts away, and checked his phone. The call to the Marshall’s office in New York had been brief, and full of questions Steve couldn’t answer. But he’d passed the message on. Frank Marks needed to be moved, given a new identity. That at least was one less thing for Danny to worry about. Chin and Kono were still working, trying to trace Vizzini, or whatever his name was. The list of charges was growing, the warrant full and ready to be issued. They just needed a face and a name worth the paper it was printed on.
Nothing. They had nothing.
Frowning, Steve tucked the phone away.
They had to catch the bastard. They just had to.
*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0
Sunday Morning
Kono fought the yawn that threatened to split her face in half, and the computer screen flickered as she blinked back the tears. HQ was quiet - at last. Just her left. The rest of the HPD personnel had faded over the evening, either going home or exchanging places with the new shift, who were deployed to run down leads, knock on doors, question anyone with any modicum of information.
Her eyes felt dry, gritty and wrung out. She had been staring at CCTV footage for hours. Footage from the hospital, traffic cameras from the harbor, Danny’s neighborhood, airport, car rental offices, hotels - hours and hours, and hours of footage.
Nothing.
In the age of Big Brother and of the Patriot Act, how was it possible for someone to escape all cameras. It just simply wasn’t.
Kono sighed, and started the facial recognition search one more time. It was now about finding the same face in different places. At the hotel and the hospital. At the harbor and the airport. Any connection, any remote chance of the same man being caught on two or more cameras. Reality was though - how did you chose which face to check. As good as the computers in HQ were, they couldn’t run all the faces from every crowd, not in the time they needed. The volumes were just too... extreme. The guy who had orchestrated Danny’s kidnapping and who had sliced him up like raw fish could be on a plane by now. Could be getting away scot free.
The hooker Candice had been too careful to be caught on camera often. She knew the hotel too well, and kept a low profile. The streets around the harbor were too busy. Given 48 hours, or even 72, Kono was certain that the computer search would yield a result. Time was not on their side.
Elbows on the table, Kono rubbed her eyes, willing a spark of inspiration to flare, or for the search to find - something. The sun was already pinking the horizon, the night disappearing and another day dawning. You couldn’t hear the ocean from the office, but if you knew what to listen for, and in the quiet hours of pre-dawn you could almost hear the crash of breakers. Almost.
Olekane, with his lawyer present had firmly and repeatedly said that Jurgens was the only one he had had dealings with. He was their source of guns and their driver while on the island. He had suggested the harbor and the storage space as a quiet place. But Olekane had not seen the mystery man calling the shots. He’d only seen Jurgens - until yesterday, Friday, when the other two men had climbed in the car with Jurgens. That was it. Nada. Nothing else.
Not even the threat of Homeland Security and terrorist charges had changed his story.
Taking a deep breath, Kono queued up a few more searches, expanding the parameters and walked away from the computer. Danny’s surf board was still in his office, for some unknown reason. He’d bought it second hand and had tried surfing just the once. With her. Before the fake Tsunami. Now he joked he had to keep it off the beach, just in case. Couldn’t risk another fake Tsunami.
Kono grabbed the board and dragged it outside. Her bikini was relatively dry from her interrupted surf session today, no yesterday. The main beach would be busy with tourists learning how to surf. But Kono didn’t care.
Running through the surf, Danny’s board under her arm, Kono dived into the break, heading out as fast as she could.
Sitting astride the board, bobbing gently with the swell, Kono watched the newbies learn, try and fail to catch a wave. The only ‘real’ surfers were the instructors. Everyone else was out of place. Trying to fit in, conquer the unconquerable. Failing to understand that you did not tame the ocean. You rode the wild bronco in. The only thing that broke - was you.
Danny was...
Kono covered her eyes, blocking out the glistening ocean awash with silver and gold highlights. Blocked out the sound of breaking waves, the roar of constant hunger. Ignored the cool dawn breeze that tugged at her hair, and chilled her skin. In the darkness, the self-imposed black, Kono remembered Danny at the hospital, sitting on the gurney, face alight with joy at the sight of Grace. Without invitation, the tears came, leaking steadily underneath her hands.
How could someone do that? How could you sit there and calmly, precisely cut and cut and cut until there was more red than white. What sort of man could do that?
Struggling to breath, her chest heaving, Kono gasped and swallowed against the tears.
Under the harsh fluorescent lights Danny had looked like an extra from a horror movie. Deep red lines all over his arms and shoulders, dark with scabs in places, bleeding in others. Moving to hug Grace had made some bleed. Even from where she stood Kono could see the deep bruises of a handprint around his throat. More bruises. Everywhere.
You saw ugly, horrible shit as a cop. You did. It was just - part of the job. But your friend. Your partner. The guy who mangled more Hawaiian names than a garbage disposal and insisted on shooting pineapples when he got drunk - he wasn’t supposed to look like that.
Who did that? Who could?
Danny teased her about being a rookie. But she never really felt like one - not really. They, her team, all treated her like she was ... like she was Kono. Not the rookie. Not the girl. Just Kono.
Today, yesterday, Kono felt like a rookie. Right now she felt the weight of grief pressing on her for a friend who could have died. And she would never be ready to feel that. Never.
Opening her hands and brushing away the tears angrily, Kono sniffed and tried to find something else to focus on. Danny was safe and alive. Team Five-0 would find the SOB who had done this and it would all be over.
Wiping her nose on the back of her hand, Kono patted the board beneath her fondly. Leaning back, she dived into the water, her tears lost in the great ocean.
*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0
Sunday Afternoon
Chin stared at the small note.
Danny’s apartment was exactly as he had left it on Saturday. Exactly. Except for this note.
After finding Danny at the harbor, Chin had charged off with the HPD squad cards in tow to hopefully catch the man responsible at Danny’s home. They had arrived to find no one. And Chin had sat in his car for hours, waiting, watching for a break. Hoping that the bastard would make a mistake and come for the information he needed.
The need to ‘see’ Danny, to make sure he was ok, had eventually spurred Chin to leave two HPD officers to watch the apartment. A quick trip to the hospital, a food run for the folks still working at HQ, and then Chin had joined the HPD detectives questioning hookers and car rental agents, and ... half of Ohau it felt.
After hours of fruitless searching, and a brief cat nap in the car, Chin had decided on a whim to check Danny’s apartment for ... something. Anything. A clue they might have missed. The HPD officers had nodded at him, and confirmed that no one had approached the little house in hours. Just the odd neighbor passing by.
And now, Chin was staring at a small, handwritten note inside Danny’s closet. A note in the place of the journal.
Better luck next time.
Chin had left the journal in the closet in the hope that the perp would see it and think he was free and clear. Make the mistake they needed him to make.
Mechanically, Chin thumbed the speed dial on his phone and waited for Kono to pick up.
“Chin?”
His cousin sounded... well, she sounded like he felt.
“The tracker - in the journal. Is it working?”
Muffled sounds of Kono cursing and moving around echoed through the line, and she said overly brightly, “Yes, yes. It’s still ... at Danny’s.”
“Shit,” Chin snarled, whirling around looking for the journal. He spotted it in the kitchen sink, half open, a page torn out of it. Yelling into the phone, Chin cried, “He’s been and gone. Damnit! Those morons outside missed him!”
“What?”
Frustrated anger roared through Chin and he slammed his fist into the kitchen wall. “Damnit! Kono, please, please tell me you have something! Anything?”
“No. Chin, I’m ... didn’t you... didn’t leave a camera or something?”
Hope sparked inside him, and Chin slammed his hand over his forehead. He was the moron. Of course. Chin strode over to the small bookshelf near the door that housed a few books on police procedure and Frank Sinatra. And a battered copy of the Prisoner of Azkaban. On top of the bookshelf, behind a wilting plant, Chin’s spare camera phone sat. He’d left it behind on a whim, a hunch, a half dazed inspiration. No time to set up a proper camera. Not when the perp might see the HPD car and run. So a fully charged camera phone, recording on the lowest pixel settings was now their last hope.
Please!
Chin picked up the phone and saw that it was still recording - battery and memory still ok.
“I’m sending you the file, Kono. Please tell me we get enough for facial recognition.”
It took forever to send the file and even longer for Kono to scan through the hours of recordings. But just as Chin was about to freak out and yell at her to work faster, Kono cried out in delight, “Got him!”
Chin was moving before he realized it - moving for his car outside. “You running it?”
“It’s poor resolution and from a distance, but it’ll do, cuz.”
Gunning the engine, Chin spun out into the street and raced towards HQ. He had to call McGarrett but first, he’d wait for confirmation, decent information. Ignoring the foul looks and angry gestures as he drove, Chin eventually stopped at a red light, thrumming with restrained energy, just like his car. As he watched the traffic blur past, Chin tapped rapidly on the steering wheel, ear pressed to the phone.
“Oh, shit! No, no,... damn!”
Chin felt his heart plummet and his foot twitched over the accelerator. “What?”
“I got him. No ID yet, but facial rec tagged him in recent CCTV footage. At the airport. Two hours ago.”
Shit indeed. “Is he on a flight?”
Kono’s sigh was as an expressive one, full of his own frustrated anger. “I... yes. Direct to Tokyo. Left ninety minutes ago. The passport information is coming in now... ah, John Sergent. Irish national. I...”
She trailed off, and Chin nodded in agreement - it was wrong. All wrong. How had he slipped by them? Stayed ahead of them the whole time?
Sighing, Chin said, “Get hold of the State Department, and make sure they start liaising with Tokyo PD. If... if they can, they must grab him on the other side. Hold him and ...”
“I’m on it.” Kono ended the call abruptly and Chin belatedly realized that the light was green and there was a collective irate hooting behind him. Waving in apology, Chin edged forward, at a much slower pace than before. Eyes firmly on the road, hands white knuckled on the steering wheel, Chin bit his lip and ... held it together.
There was still a chance. Steve had connections with a long reach. They had a face now, a name, even if it was maybe a false one. But, there was a chance. There just had to be.
Chin turned slowly onto the street leading to HQ, breathing deep, trying to calm down, to maintain his composure.
By the time he walked into the main computer room, Kono was waving at him, still on the phone. Chin though, didn’t return her smile, and instead got down to work. He’d call Steve when they had good news. And not before.
*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0
Monday afternoon
Steve quietly closed the backdoor and made his way down the yard towards the open beach. After a very long fruitless day, it felt moderately good doing something - making a small difference. Danny had been discharged, but Steve had argued about him going home - alone. And maybe the memories of the weekend from hell had been too much or too fresh, but Danny hadn’t fought the suggestion come order that he recuperate at Steve’s.
Grace had spent the afternoon with her Dad, before Rachel and Stan had picked her up. Worn out, Danny had headed down to the deck chairs on the small beach, to have a nap. Williams was moving slowly, and got tired quickly. In fact, too often, Steve caught Danny staring off into space, lost in thought, or lost in memories.
The grass underfoot turned to sand and Steve coughed a little, alerting Danny to his arrival. Without looking up, Danny waved a finger or two in McGarrett’s direction. Steve handed Danny a pale yellow glass filled with fruit juice, a jaunty little pink umbrella floating on a cherry island inside.
Lifting his sunglasses, Danny stared askance at the drink and wrinkled his forehead and grumbled, “You ran to the store for the umbrella didn’t you?”
“Yep,” Steve smiled as he sat on the deck chair next to Danny.
“A normal person would have driven.”
“A normal person says thank you.”
Danny mumbled thanks as he took a cautious sip. Instantly he made a face and handed the drink back. “Non-alcoholic fruit things are just wrong.”
Steve shoved the hand holding the glass gently away and smirked, “But right for people on the good painkillers. Drink up.”
Grumbling all the while, Danny took another sip and deliberately put the drink down on the arm of the chair.
“Danny, I...”
A single finger was held up, and demanded silence. In the obedient stillness Danny said quietly, “Steven. I am sitting here, drinking shit and watching the ocean. And that is all I want to do.”
This time a hand forestalled Steve’s open mouth, and Danny, still not looking at Steve, continued, “I am watching the ocean.” There was an accompanying wave of hands to indicate where the ocean was, just in case Steve was blind.
“So, the bastard got away. Ok. So, you didn’t catch him. Ok.” Danny’s voice trembled a little, betraying just how much it was not ok.
“Danny...”
Bulldozing on, Danny snarled, “Watching the ocean!” and still did not look at Steve. In the beat of tense silence, Danny continued, “Maybe tomorrow, or Wednesday or hell, maybe Thursday, I am not going to be ok with it. I may freak out at you little - or a lot. Shit, Steve, I am may well lose it completely because Tokyo lost the SOB, because you lost him and because ....”
Danny trailed off, chest heaving a bit. Steve reached out instinctively and Danny flinched away from his hand. Ignoring his friend, and soldiering on, Danny said calmly, “But right now - I am watching the ocean. Drinking this ... wonderful cocktail ala crap. And ...”
“Watching the ocean,” Steve finished, sighing a little.
“Correct,” Danny waved, pointing at the ocean and Steve and generally making it very clear that if Steve wanted to stay, he had to watch the ocean too.
Undaunted by the ire, not when there was so much residual underlying hurt, Steve sighed, “Danny, you can’t just pretend or...”
“I swear to God, McGarrett! I will stab you in the eye with that umbrella if you don’t shut up. This is a talk free zone. No words. No sharing. No ... nothing. Just watching.... the damn ocean!”
“Ok.”
Steve leant back in the chair, worry keeping his gaze on Danny.
“I am not the ocean.” A pointed hand waved towards the sea. Steve noticed the fine tremor in that hand, and his gaze lingered on the bandaged wrist hiding horrific wounds. Danny didn’t want to talk - yet. That was ok. There was time. They had all the time in the world it seemed. No perp - yet. No talking - yet. Steve nodded and settled in silence.
The minutes ticked by and Steve fought the urge to fidget, and ended worrying the wood of the deck chair.
Clearly breaking his own imposed silence zone, Danny sighed and without looking at Steve, said, “Thank you. For saving Grace.”
“I... sure, sure. Always, Danny. always.”
“And thank you for ... bringing her to the hospital.”
Steve nodded, not bothering to correct Danny that it’d been Kono.
“I ... I... “
Silence hung between them, the unspoken words lost in the soft lapping of the waves.
“I wish you hadn’t brought her... I wish to God you hadn’t. But thank you.”
Steve sighed and risked a glance at Danny. He had his eyes closed, face turned to the sun.
“You can rant at me later.”
“Already on my list. And I do not rant. I talk emphatically.”
Steve smiled. Danny didn’t.
*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0*h*5*0
AN: *cough* Do you all know what the doldrums are? This is my attempt to kick the comfort doldrums because now that hurt is done... my interest is waning. There’ll be one more concluding part J
After watching 2.15 (which was awesome) I thought - poor Danny. He really needs to catch a break. Did you all enjoy 2.15?
Continued in Part 8
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8