gonna_owe_me | Post 3.01 - The McGarrett Family Home

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Post 3.01 - The McGarrett Family Home

It doesn't come as any kind of surprise to her that she hasn't been able to stop thinking about Steve.

Neither does the fact that those thoughts come with a hefty side-helping of guilt. She should have known those trees were too close to the window. She should have been faster, more alert. Maybe they could have caught him, if she'd been doing the damn job Steve told her to do, if she'd done it the way he thought she could.

No surprise there: like she told him, she's not a bodyguard. She's a long way from basic, or doing anything that isn't in a gym or in front of a computer, and he doesn't blame her, but in some ways that just makes it worse.

So she puts in her request for leave right away, requests the weekend, and it's granted without too many hoops to jump through, but she's got to give up her Friday night and part of Saturday morning, which is fine, too. All she needs is to change, find a pair of shorts and a breezy, teal-colored top that hangs loose off her shoulders. Slides a pair of sandals on, brushes out her hair, washes her face, puts on a little makeup. She skips the gym, but throws running shoes, shorts, and a sports bra into the little bag she packs, along with a swimsuit, before slinging it over a shoulder and hitting the pavement.

The sun is high and hot, and she stops at a food truck, first, grabs two cardboard boxes, steaming with a scent that makes her stomach rumble and curl in on itself, before hailing a cab and sliding into the too-warm, hot polyester scented backseat, and giving the address.

It's been a while since she's been here. Cab rolling off in a faint crunch of gravel, leaving her with the tote over her arm, the food in her hand, looking up at the house with eyes squinting in the sun.

Doris left last night. Right? That gives Steve last evening, all night, and this morning to do his thing, be alone, brood if he wants to, deal with the admittedly ridiculous hand he's been given, and she'd have respected that, even if she didn't have to work, which is why she didn't call or text, just let him be, but it's daylight now, and it's gorgeous out, and there's only so much alone time Steve can really take. No matter what he might think.

Leading her up the path to the door, to knock, adjusting the slippery straps of her shirt, brushing hair out of her eyes as she waits. Rearranging her expression just like she does her makeup, or her clothes, so that when the door opens, she's got nothing there but a smile and the usual pleased light at seeing him.

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Steve was studying the back of the car in front of him, the loose box of the four cars within thirty feet of his truck. Already beginning to pick where he was shifting, where he'd weave based on the tilt of the cars alone. People were predictable enough, especially here, if you knew what to look for. The obsessively defensive notion behind driving that was in opposition to Asia.

Which is as far as he's made it when Cath is settling back in her chair. Loosening up, instead of preparing.

"It's a myth," Steve batted back fast and hard, like it was some other kind of sport. Serve and return. Eyebrows pinching up, and looking at her more from the side, over a shoulder. Like she'd just suggested some other kind of terrible thing were true. Like that whole notion wasn't even true from the ground.

Not that he didn't moonlight toward it from time to time. But coming here, even living here, hadn't been about that, still wasn't about that for the greatest percent of all of his days. That he'd come because of his Dad's last cryptic message before he was murdered. Stayed because it was going to be the long game. Stayed for various other reasons, too. Important ones. But that one had always been mixed in at the foundation.

A mystery that two years later was still only getting bigger and more multifaceted, from then until yesterday.

"You thinking about taking in the sights or just laying on the beach during this little vacation?" The last word is almost slanderously mocking. Curving up the edge of his mouth, even when his eyes stay a little more serious this time.

There are dozens of places and thoughts for things from the past. Most forgotten halfway to them. Halfway to meals, halfway to the front door, halfway out of a car. They did make it to places now and again, but he tally isn't lost on him, when he's thinking he could point her at things, sideswipe tickets to nearly anything she might be interested in, drag her to others, like Koko Head, time permitting on the Navy or Five-0.

Danny. When, if, she's still here once the weekend has rolled over.

"Can't I do both?"

Truthfully, she's not all that one hundred percent set on needing to do either. It's not like she hasn't missed out on beach days or sight-seeing here, before -- they just never quite seem to get out the door. She's faintly impressed that they even managed to get this far, when every minute with Steve is another minute where she wants to sit a little closer, put her arms around his neck, lean up and give him a kiss.

It's not that she thinks of herself as distraction, or that she wants him to think that's what she's here to offer. There's nothing that's going to really distract Steve from what happened this week, and it shouldn't. Besides, what they have might be casual, and fun, and as much of a part of vacation as beach time or hiking or surfing, but Steve's hardly just a good time, and she'd be surprised if that was all he thought of her, either.

But, seriously, they could probably both use it. Nothing wrong with calling a spade a spade, or wanting to be close to someone for a little while, especially when that someone is an old, good friend.

She rolls her window down the rest of the way, drapes her arm along the hot metal and rubber, fingers loose in the wind, rolling her head against the headrest to look at him.

"Admittedly, actually getting to see some of the sights would be kind of a novelty. Maybe I should make that my priority."

Dark eyes warm with teasing and affection and maybe just a little something else, because it really has been too long since she's seen him, since they've gotten to fall back into this easy banter, just being around each other. Months will go by without so much as a phone call, but this just never goes, and she hopes it never does.

"It could happen." Flippant. But it is the first time he thinks that it can't.

Which makes it all that much sharper in contrast. That Cath is beautiful.

Long, lean, always in shape, very flexible, lines relaxed in his car. The hair that's slipped free from her pony tail, blowing at her temples, across her ears and the cool, pale stretch of her neck, ends not quite long enough to brush her shoulder. The dark, warm color of her eyes and how she doesn't look away for long.

An irritably annoyed wave of uncertainty. Not at her, or the things he can read in her smile, the curl of implication in her words. That she doesn't have to see anything. Not The Stairs. Not Hawaii. She'd be just as glad as any other time, for him to pull the car over, drag her close, and not leave the ring of his arms, his bed, his house until that leave was over.

It's not at that. That's clear.

It's that it's suddenly there. The phantom knowledge of the softness of her skin, the brush of her hair, falling around her face, on him. The way she laughs, low in shoulder when picked up. The soft gasps she makes. The way she kept him as challenged there, as ever with following him out to The Stairs. The point when she loses control and can't help how loud or vocal she gets.

It's not just that. But it is, too. She's one of the oldest things to stay in his life. Definitely to stay this long. Someone he trusts to help, bend rules, meet in the middle, enjoy everything while demanding almost nothing. And three feet way, she suddenly feels like something else ripped from him now. So close she isn't there. At all.

Except that she is. There. Soft, smiling, amenable to everything, normal.

While he's doing everything not to eye the elephant in the corner of his head. The one all but battering the walls at every edge of those other thoughts, while he's turning on to Kalanianaole Highway, saying, "The islands definitely have some unmissable sights."

Edited 2013-01-25 18:26 (UTC)

"You know, I keep hearing that's the case."

Idly, amused little smile sidling across her lips before she looks away, out the windshield, absently tucking a few loose strands of hair behind her ear.

It feels good. Like it always does, being with Steve. He gets her, they get each other. Never wanting more than what they've got, but living it up for those few days or nights or hours, with plans continually getting pushed aside for the way her leg curls over his hip, for the weight and warmth of him and the laughter that gets carried up into his bed or hers.

'Friends with benefits' doesn't cut it, which brings her back to that question, the one that stopped her dead to rights, staring at Doris McGarrett with disbelief and teenage, coltish awkwardness written all over her suddenly too-clumsy mouth and body. Does she love him?

How is it even a question? Of course she loves Steve. She loves Steve like she loves her uniform, her duties, her days off. She loves him like she loves the sight of a long, sweeping stretch of sea, like the rush of surfing and the crest of a wave. It's like breathing. Infatuation burned out years ago into this: comfortable. Like wearing an old flannel shirt on a cool evening. He's Steve. How else is she supposed to feel about him?

Even if she knows that isn't really what was asked, or what made her so uncomfortable. It's the same feeling she gets when her mom asks about Steve, asks why Cath hasn't brought him over, asks why there isn't more of a commitment. It just -- isn't needed. Or wanted. Right? It's what they've fallen into, what they are. Boyfriend too specific, friend too general. Nothing that really covers the way he makes her smile, how her heart lightens like a helium-filled balloon when that goofy picture of him pops up on her phone.

But it's good. What they have. And she loves it, and loves him, too. Just, in her own way. Which, she has to say, she doesn't think is any less than what was implied. Just, not the same.

But that doesn't mean it's not there. The fact he's faintly angry, frustrated, exhausted toward losing even more things in these three days. That doesn't actually stop it. From shoving in between the spaces. Breaths. The first second he looks away from her. Pushing, stretching, making space for itself. Blinding strobe light in every movement.

Danny. She doesn't know about Danny.

Which isn't even in the same category about not knowing about Doris and Wo Fat.

He doesn't know that he can tell her. Should. Can. If there's a way out of today without having to, if this is only the first hour. If this is all going to go like normal. Toward normal. Doesn't really know what the words are to explain it even. It's not Kono, teasing Danny over the table about his new girl friend. It's Cath. It's not like he could end that conversation with saying he isn't in the mood.

Because, Christ, that would be a lie. Even right now. Some part of him. Large, half-sour and half-not, can feel that tug. How easy it would be. To fall into her. Fall into the only normal thing to touch his world in -- months? Two, three now?

And he wants that, too. Which he knows he couldn't say to either of them. She's gorgeous, fun, good fun, a great distraction, event, time whether its hours, a weekend, days. Several of his favorite memories from the last decade, when not listing the ones that involved his work. One of the near only reasons he ever came off the clock, off the job, out of missions, longer than required by an order.

Cath doesn't deserve that, and Danny wouldn't even want to hear it. He's sure.

He doesn't even know what words go there. He what, has a complicated, thing? A non-casual one, that was ranted in panic at him. He doesn't know if Danny actually wants anyone to know. He doesn't know if he does. If anything good can come of mentioning it to someone who will see all the cracks in the glass they are both willfully ignoring every time they touch, that could explode and take every single most important duty from them both.

If there is anything to know aside from the fact they keep falling into each other, which is only ever occasionally into a bed.

That there were phone calls. Coffee cups. Words he didn't say. Did.

That it's always been there, too. In the simplest, most inconvenient ways. Those are words not to say, too.

Edited 2013-01-25 19:12 (UTC)

Steve doesn't actually reply; doesn't toss anything back or insinuate that she might not see any of those sights this time, either. Doesn't protest that it's hardly his fault she hasn't before, even though she really could pin that on him just as much as on the United States Navy, and when she looks over at him, there's a thin line to his lips that wasn't there before, and distance in his eyes that has nothing to do with watching the road he's currently following.

"Hello? Steve?"

Her eyebrows lift, but it's as much concern as it is curiosity. Look, it's too much to expect Steve to be lighthearted and all aloha this weekend, and she doesn't, but when he goes quiet like that, it's hard to know the best steps to take. She's never been great at pretending things are fine when they're not, gets mired in awkwardness and second-guessing herself. Neither of them are strangers to personal or professional tragedy, but this is different -- like a death in the family, but without any prescribed actions or offers. The loco moco she'd brought sitting in his fridge like the casseroles church ladies bring to a house in mourning -- or just leftovers, she doesn't know.

Of course he's going to detach, distance himself. And there's nothing wrong with that, except it makes her think of the lost look on his face when he opened the door two days ago, the way he'd reached for her wrists, belatedly, after she'd put her hands on his chest.

"So are we almost there?"

It's what she goes with in the end, because there's nothing she can say to make it better -- at least, nothing that will ever have the same effect as physical exertion, endorphins, sunshine, fresh air. Not exactly doctor's orders, maybe, but they've both always felt best when being active.

Steve hears the question more as a jab first. There more as a metaphorical place, in this endless barrage of attacking thoughts, and whether he's going to tell her. Whether they've reached that spot. Whether he's going to or not going to. Except he knows she isn't.

The note of concern, pressing just enough in, that's matching to look on her face when he cants a glance that way. Before he looks directly away from it, and every single reason she could have to look at him like that, without even needing to toss in not having the faintest clue he was thinking about Danny. Out the window in front of them at the endless green, rising up into the sky.

Koko Head visible from the highway, and he lifts a hand from the wheel to gesture toward it. "There she is."

And the faint white-brown line that bisects the mountain. The path of stroller steps that they will be headed up and over. He'd missed this. He still missed Lori as well, something he was not near forgetting or moving past where it came to Dennings, his choices, or the power he exerted over Five-0 if they stepped too far from the line.

Another reason he needed to keep the thing with Chin, Kono, Malia, Adam and Delano looking cut and dry, even if it wasn't.

Edited 2013-01-25 22:52 (UTC)

You can't help but see a lot of impressive headlands, in her job, but volcanic islands, man, they really have some of the best. She looks out the window at the rising hump of land, climbing up into the blue, blue sky, all brown and green, with a faint trickle of people going up and down what looks like a steep path, right up the side of the hill.

"Is that what I'm supposed to be so worried about?"

There's an air of resignation to her tone, an admittance that he's got her, because that headland is really up there, plateauing high above sea level, shoulders thick with brush and grass. "Glad to see you're not exactly taking the easy way out. Most people would be happy buying a treadmill or running on the roads."

Most people, but not Steve, and not her, either. She loves a challenge, which is what drew her to Steve in the first place. He's as much of one as this mountain might be, and there's a little thrill of adrenaline spinning in her belly as she watches it grow while they get closer and closer, thinking of the strain of muscles, sweat, ragged breath.

There's nothing quite like making it to the top of a hill like that.

It's not the resignation that tries to pull out the edge of his mouth, fond regardless of circumstances.

It's the way, even past that resigned question, calling his bluff and realizing like she always knew, that isn't, that she's already eying the mountain. Not like she's picking which spot where to give up on, but like she's critically taking in what she's signed up for. The high rising peek, and the stairs, and the distances from bottom and top.

The look that is all analytical, curious, and challenged all at once. Like the fact it unnerves her is the exact reason to scale the damn thing. Just to have done it. Just to throw herself at it and win. Another thing he can't help but admire about her. Another reason she's always good to have at his sides. Unlike a lot of the rest of the world, challenges don't stop her.

If anything, she goes the way he does, even harder because challenges, real ones, are rare after what they do every day.

Because if anything out there is still a challenge, it's a terrifying and exhilarating next check off to prove they can beat as well.

"Try not to fall down." Steve said, trying to lighten his tone, even as it hedged straight past careful into strict sardonicism. Even when other memories sharpen against the irreverent, heavy handed warning. "I've already carried someone back down it once this year, and I'm not doing again."

Which is a lie. A very, obvious, bald faced one even for someone who has known him all these years. Steve would help anyone and everyone who actually needed it. But the look is still even and heavy with put upon exasperation, like the whole event must have drastically put him out.

Like there hadn't been any fondness for that morning, even that part, before it went all to hell with Peterson.

Lori running up it laughing, showing off and cheating, more than once. Before she was yanked out.

"You still would. There's a gentleman in there, somewhere."

It's a little absent, as she leans to get a better look at the behemoth. There's really only one way up it, looks like, so the plan of attack appears to be just to keep going up. This is going to be hard, and she'll push herself harder than she was really thinking she might, today, because Steve has probably been up here as often as possible since moving back, and that means he has the homefield advantage.

That doesn't make it any less true, though, and as much as Steve can make her pull faces at manners or his lack of understanding the basic processes of most dates, he's thoughtful and can be polite and, yeah, she might even say a gentleman.

From time to time.

It's a suit he can pull out and wear, whenever it's needed, whether it's for a party like that fundraiser he took her to, or helping out some wounded or wronged person who can't help themselves. It's just who he is, down to the marrow.

Which is not to say it's not rare enough that she doesn't turn an amused, faintly skeptical look on him, forehead pushing into mild interest. "I think I can keep on my own two feet, thanks. But that does sound like there might be a decent story attached."

He's mostly sure those last words are true. About her keeping her own feet. Because she almost always does, or has. No matter what's been thrown at her in the line of duty, or fun, no matter what been asked of her. Even when he's thinking not about Koko Head but the possibility of throwing other landmines in her way.

If he has to. He might not have to. There have been distractions, cases, things that came up. Yeah, okay, that's slim possibilities, but it's in the count. He couldn't wish anything worse on Max or Chin or Kono or Malia or the HPD. A break is in everyone's favor, and it amazing things haven't gotten any worse in the last fifteen hours. Time to catch their collective breath, see to the wounds, shoring up new walls.

"Lori." The turn is easier though, even if the word catches a in his chest before he pushes it out.

It's like naming a ghost and walking on a grave. Even if she alive, she's gone. Too. Twining into it those last words, my feelings for you, with a twist of guilty-laden proprietary-ownership he still has no idea what to do with but set on the whole situation as a fact. One he hadn't been surprised in the slightest of when it was given words, either.

Not the way the whole world have dissolved into pins and needles and his skin trying to tighten until it would tear free from his muscles when Danny said being around you is like, it's like torture and stumbled straight into I should not, should really, really not, be feeling the way I am, but I am. Neither of which he could have predicted in the time before a bomb went off at his feet.

No those moments were nothing alike. And today, if today happened, wouldn't really be like that either.

Besides. It wasn't that this sort of situation hadn't ever come up between them before, right?
It was just different. Everything was. From leaving with her after those words, Lori leaving.

Which wasn't the point. It wasn't, so he grabbed words like they were in bag and threw them.

"She was looking for a challenge, so I brought her out here a few weeks before her reassignment."

A few weeks before that would be a few weeks before she really met the woman; she'd seen her in passing at Steve's office, but they hadn't really chatted until the night of the fundraiser, right before Steve joined her for drill on the Enterprise.

For Valentine's Day. A thought that still makes her a lot more amused than she really should be, but, really? Steve McGarrett doing Valentine's Day. By coming aboard her workplace for his annual drill. She's sure he thought it was a great idea, and it was nice, but there really is something to be said for just a nice dinner. Especially when your Valentine could really only be called that by default.

But she remembers Lori: slim, petite, big eyes, blond hair, and a way of sometimes watching Steve that made Cath want to pat her on the shoulder. There ought to be a support group for the people who fall for Steve McGarrett, so they can help the new ones understand that there's light after the tunnel, that even though he'll never reciprocate, he's still someone to love and care about, and that he'll be loyal to the bitter end, if that's what it takes. Even if that loyalty doesn't come with a side helping of the kind of togetherness it's easy to dream about and crave when meeting him for the first time.

There's nothing to be jealous of in the kind of crush Lori had on Steve, and she's pretty much the last person to consider herself having a right to be jealous, even if it were more. What they have isn't the same thing.

Which makes it easy to tease, with a smile, and say: "Oh, so this is where you bring all the girls."

Hoping to wipe that inward turn off his expression, the disappointment that seeps in every time he loses somebody, even if it's just to another job. She's pretty sure Lori, somewhere, isn't going to remember hurting her ankle, or even the pain of leaving, as much as being invited here, and carried back down.

"Hey, we can go back now if you're afraid you can't hack it," Steve said, the words leaving his mouth bright and fast, no defense in his deflection.

Before he can even catch the easy way it flies out. Like there are alternate options that might not be as challenging. That are obvious. Which he didn't imply, or really mean to, but it's easy to throw it straight into there. To threaten her own motives before her words, when he knows they aren't the same thing.

"I wouldn't hold it against you." Which is such a lie, as much as it isn't, when he's studying her like might mean it as much as he's simply goading her. With Cath, and Cath alone, he actually might rib her to the end of time. A Navy sailor running away from a pile of dirt. He could probably write endless things, words that could fall from his mouth for hours, on how to taunt that singular event.

But that's because he already knows she isn't going to give in or back down, until she hits the top.

But part of that is the fun of it, isn't it? Getting into zone, the right mindset, pushing at each other until.

Edited 2013-01-26 14:21 (UTC)

"Now you just sound like you're trying to convince me not to go."

She can't say it's not an attractive option, turning right around and going straight back to his house. It's not like there wouldn't still be exercise involved, or the challenge in every word, the way they each up the ante, but they're here now, and she's not about to back down if he won't.

And Steve never will, never does, so she's in it for the full ride.

The second comment getting a sidelong glance, eyes dark and laughing. "You are such a liar. I would never hear the end of it."

Part of the reason why she's up for anything, will try it all, try to keep up with him, or do better when she can, because Steve, it's not that he'd find it a major character flaw if she didn't want to try, but he also wouldn't think of her like he does, wouldn't call her up for a weekend of good times, fun, ragging on each other like they're back in training, searching for the one-up, the furthest they can push.

And, frankly, if she weren't like that, she wouldn't be here, either. "You talk to me about not hacking it when we're at the top, okay?"

He might be smiling from the moment she calls him on it. A thin curve of lips that can't quite be pressed out from his mouth, when he's looking away from her, throwing down the gauntlet all promise and fire there, back to the high rising peak as they drive on to the park land. "Yes, ma'am."

All sharp, and smooth, like it's some kind of order. And his tone isn't laced with dutiful mocking.

But none of the gratitude for the fact she keeps dragging this out, a laugh or a smile, three breaths without a thought about his team, Doris, Wo Fat. Or the vague flicker of guilty ownership of things that need saying, or don't. But that she keeps making it happened. For another breath, it fades.

The way it will whether they're walking or running up that path. Especially the higher and more focused they get.

It easy to fly through the park, closer to the low speed limit required for all the civilians walking around, including children. Find a parking space, pretty easy, even though it is more crowded on the weekend rather than any other day of the week.

Of course, he outranks her. Of course, if any of this were serious, or were said aboard ship, or on a mission, she would get in serious trouble. But it's not insubordination that's in her voice or the curl of her smile as he parks and she reaches for her belt, unclips it with a click. "Then we'd better step to it."

The air hits her like she's opened an oven door, not the truck's: hot and heavy with sunshine and humidity. It's got to be arcing up into the upper nineties, maybe low hundreds, and they are probably stupid for going here during the hottest part of the day, but it's really just another button to push, isn't it?

Now and again, she wonders if maybe there's something haywire in her make-up that allows her to be so delighted at the prospect of absurd physical abuse, but, well, it's maybe an hour, tops, of absurd physical abuse, and then they'll be able to coast on the endorphins all afternoon. Add in a shower, maybe a swim, and the way exercising always makes it even harder to keep their hands off each other, and they're looking at an afternoon and evening of good times, after a brief interlude of exertion that is only going to make everything sharper, better, brighter.

Taking in a deep breath, hands finding her hips as she squints up at the mountain, the pile humping heavy into the sky, before pasting on an I'm waiting to be impressed look, adding to a tip of her head.

"It's not so bad. Barely even looks steep."

Which is a lie, but she's not about to back down, here.

Steve laughed, throwing the truck door shut. With the gun and the water left inside. Clicking it locked and tossing the keys in his empty pocket. The other still holding his phone and badge, which he can't go anywhere without. Walking out around the car, toward here, with a grin making his mouth widen.

"One hundred and ninety six meters." Steve said every single syllable of it with goading, arrogant pride, looking at her, hands on her hip, talking about it like it might just be a stroll in the park. Like he was going to roll out how much it wasn't one. Which was, exactly why it was one of the places he loved to end up when he wanted to get a challenge, or have his mind cleared.

Slipping into a smirk, as he rubbed his mouth, and ran it down to wrap at his neck as he nodded toward the path and headed that way, with long, direct steps. "There aren't any places for breaks between here and the top."

Which isn't true, but it was a challenge. Even if he'd probably stay right by her side, or at least keep her within view no matter what. Just in case. Because it was a challenge. There was a reason the greater percentage of people walked this one. Slow and steady. Steve might argue he can be steady, at times, but slow, was nothing near what level he went at.

"Well."

She takes a minute to stretch -- not much, not enough to really feel it, just enough to loosen up her muscles, her knees and ankles. Leaning against the truck to stretch out the long line of her Achilles tendon. "Then we'd better get started."

When he's rubbing in the idea of breaks, as if she might stop before she got to the top. As if having him pacing there next to her wouldn't be enough of a reason to keep going. Muscle burn and fatigue is brief enough, and it's all mental, anyway -- you get there because you want to get there.

And it does look good. Hard, but in the best kind of way. She licks her bottom lip, does a sideways tip of her head towards the path. "Don't worry. I'll keep up."

She always does. And she knows he won't bolt and leave her behind, even if she doesn't run this as fast as he can -- not that she'll try for anything else. Even if her first few steps, running shoes hitting the pavement as she starts for the stairs, are testing, picking up speed and rhythm as she turns into the pathway, knowing Steve will be right there next to her, behind her, will probably move up ahead and take the lead like he's used to doing.

Not that she's going to be setting a shabby pace. Path like this, this kind of slope, it requires momentum, and speed. Go up harder, to get there faster.

"I'll hold you to that," Steve said, up at her, raising a hand to the side of his mouth, making it louder.

He's got a grin, because she goes at it like everything else. Testing it for seconds, before she's takes off. Jumps straight in.

Which just makes his smile get thicker, when he gives her five or six steps before he's headed after her. No stretching needing, but then he's already gone through several things that might as well count as warm-ups through the last five or six hours. Including his morning and the long swim.

And, since when would he consider stopping for anything once it's started. Five, six steps and then he's headed after her. Arms tensed and up. Steps wide, fast and flat. Propelling him upward like small spring boards faster with each one. As he gets into the pattern. Faster and tighter movement with each one. When the world is sheering off in waves.

Everything is down to steps and the kick of his heart rate, shortening breaths, coming in through his nose.

This won't be easy, in the way taking a walk or a leisurely swim is easy. It's going to be rough, on joints, on muscle and bone, and she can feel her heart and breathing rates starting to pick up, twenty steps in.

Easy isn't the word for it, but maybe simple is. There's so much in the world not to trust. Emotions, treaties, truces. The weather. The ocean, for all she loves and respects it -- you start trusting the water, and you could wind up dead without any warning at all.

But she can trust her own body. Knows what she can ask of it, what it will give her, before complaint, before pain, before exhaustion, and then past all of those checkpoints, into the perfect knowledge that she can go where she needs to, do what needs to be done.

And right now, what needs to be done is to climb.

The steps are low, flat, and she has to watch her step. It would be easy to turn an ankle, or snap one, if she stumbled or hit the wrong angle, and the steps are too long for her to take each one comfortably in stride. Steve probably could, can, but she's not thinking about Steve, right now. She's thinking about the impact of shoes against wood and gravel and dirt, about the swing of her arms. About momentum, and using it to her best advantage. Leaning into it, using her weight to propel herself uphill.

Until a burn starts, low, in her calves and hamstrings, starts singing along muscle groups, as breath comes harder, with a beginning rhythm, huffing in and out every two steps. A trickle of sweat starting to tickle its way down her spine, as they head up, out, moving well, if not sprinting.

She's not going as fast as she could be, which would still be slower than he could manage flat out, and it's all slower than he usually throws himself at it, but it's not bad. Not the running sprint that Lori had done after her juvenile, Your shoe's untied, that seems to flick at him on the breeze. The pace never would have stayed and something painful and tight constricts in his chest, at the memories, but he pushes it out with each breath, as they keep going.

He hadn't known, then. That she'd be gone so quickly, and she'd finally been starting to find her place, her sea legs with Five-0. Figuring out she could be herself. Even if that meant learning how to bend and break some rules. How to let her hair down and be anything but her job title, as Five-0's work kept getting under her skin. As she really started getting to know who they were, and what they'd been through in the year before her assignment to them.

And he missed her.

She'd become this interesting fluctuating place as the two of them had learned to work together, as she slipped into someplace between himself and Mary. Someone who was reporting on, but who brought out this lighter, more down side to him even. That reminded him of a far less jaded, broken in version of himself at times. Stirred in with that need to watch over her, more carefully, because she hadn't been hand picked, but she tried so hard to keep up, to hold her own.

That they'd all taken their time, learning how to bend, to become something more than encompassed her. The way they'd done with Jenna. And how it'd been harder to accept her after what had happened with Jenna. But she'd toughed it out, soft heart and stiff upper lip mixed together. Wasn't that part of why he brought her here, too. Handing out something of his, which he did rare and slow with any of them. Giving a little in his own way.

He did it slowly with all of them, different things and different ways. He didn't need something to give the kid, or Chin. They all had this place, that they all loved and actually went out of their ways to use in different ways. Surfing and fishing and endless blue and green. He gave Danny some of it, when he didn't have to beg him to get out of one his endless parade of squalid apartments or hotels, but that was harder.

Since it was as much an uphill battle as Koko Head just to get Danny to agree to set foot anywhere else on Hawaii.

A problem, Cath, at his side, huffing careful, syncopated breaths as they both got into a pattern, taking the steps in longer, smoother strides, even if it was building up a slow burn with each one, ran at. Something new. Something different. But that was part of the Navy, too. Different lands scattered like clouds, and a lack of it, with the endless sea everywhere, for so much time. That made it all a novelty. Land. Countries. Cities. Sold places, that didn't sway.

It's a good pace, good enough that she can start picking it up a little, as they hit the real incline. Making feet move faster, hit lighter, bouncing off the balls of her feet as the sun strikes down. And climbing. Breath starting to come hard, body heating up.

But it feels damn good. Rough, yeah. But not too tough to handle. She'd be climbing this thing with a pack full of rocks, if she were getting ready for something harder. As it is, the sun is glorious on her skin, and she has enough air to breathe out excuse me or on your left to people walking the path in front of her, going up or down.

Not that this is the time or place to talk. No more teasing, no more banter, just the regular rhythm of Steve's footsteps and breathing, the regular rhythm of her own footsteps and breathing.

Nothing bu the mountain underfoot, the sky lifting ahead and around them, the world falling away, step by step, and this might not be what she'd expected, but she has to admit, it has a certain amount of appeal.

Not that her body is appreciating it, exactly, at this moment, but it will soon enough. She just needs to push through it all. Every step efficient, all her energy channeled towards moving up, and forward.

Breaths grow shorter and steps almost grow longer, when he's beginning to fight the adrenaline. That warmth evening out, longing to push harder, go faster, go more. And he does give her maybe, four or five more minutes, at this pace. Weaving around people. Watching her footing to make sure that she's not doing anything that's going to be aimed for a crushing landing anytime soon.

Not that he expects that she will, or would, given the past. But he would hate to not hit the top, again.

When they aren't even that far into yet. Which is why he tosses her the equivalent a challenge. Glancing at her, and waiting until he's caught her eye, and then jumping forward. Throwing more force and speed into it and seeing if she'll follow for the moment. Especially since they'll only have until they hit the bridge for this before it'll have to be a break. Even he wouldn't take that at a run.

Not that it isn't tempting. But he's not actually into the idea of breaking himself, or either of his own ankles, on the eighty year old railroad track, that could have all it's own troublesome spots, already. Besides, it would be in front of them in less than five minutes as it was. And it was worth taking the sprint for it, and seeing if he could get her to play along, since she'd seemed to be enjoying it so far.

There it is, the next gear. Steve shifts into it, like a car pushing forward, and she meets his glance, before finding it, setting it. Steps coming faster now, as they keep moving onward, upward, bloodflow a flood, now, beating like a drum in her ears. Starting to feel rough in her chest.

Nothing ragged, not the coppery taste of pushing too hard for too long, but this is pushing it, for sure, especially considering she's been on a deck for the last few months, close to half a year and is mostly there, anyway. Living on the water, on flat surfaces, enclosed surfaces, cramped quarters. She's hardly had the chance to stretch, let alone climb an incline, and she's feeling it. Will feel it all over, tomorrow, no matter how muster-ready she keeps herself. There's just nothing like it, no matter what incline you punch into the treadmill. Some combination of gravity, and balance, and keeping her footing on the narrow path.

Up, up. Following Steve's new pace, and feeling good about it, even as her breath shortens further, and everything compacts into motion, action, reaction. Rhythm. It's all about rhythm. Just continually putting one foot in front of the other. Good for life, good for a run.

Until they come to the bridge of narrow wooden steps, and she glances to him for example, breathing heavy and hard, because Steve might love a challenge, but she's pretty sure he wouldn't love tripping and breaking something on this next part of the path.

Steve stops just short, breath coming fast, but not in a heavy fashion. It's almost economical. How much air comes in his nose and goes out it, before he switches to having his mouth open when he stops. If it can be called stopping. When he's not really stop so much as pausing. Gesturing to the side that doesn't have people on it, until around halfway.

Clustered groups of people crossing carefully. Rung to rung on foot and some scooting on their knees or bottoms.

"Watch your footing," which is all laid out flat, when he's striking for it. Careful steps already going from the first three lines. Wooden beams of a bridge, flat and high, instead of just as steps in dug into the mountain side. Where he's calling over his shoulder, looking back at her more than it. "Sometimes the boards get a little loose toward the middles."

It's almost like be careful, but it isn't. Because he doesn't need to tell her that. She's already gotten it by the first time she looked to him for instruction, and because she sensibly trained, like all of them. Not to run head long into disaster. But to survey the situation and take it as best possible, with instruction if it is available. Which is pretty much just that.

Keep your balance. Don't fall. And watch your footing for the loose boards. Especially after a good heavy rain.

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