Post 3.01 - The McGarrett Family Home

[gonna_owe_me]

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.

Comments

[gonna_owe_me]

"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."

[thebesteverseen]

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."

[gonna_owe_me]

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.

[thebesteverseen]

"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.

[gonna_owe_me]

"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?"

[thebesteverseen]

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.

[gonna_owe_me]

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.

[thebesteverseen]

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.

[gonna_owe_me]

"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.

[thebesteverseen]

"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.

[gonna_owe_me]

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.

[thebesteverseen]

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.

[gonna_owe_me]

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.

[thebesteverseen]

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.

[gonna_owe_me]

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.

[thebesteverseen]

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.

[gonna_owe_me]

She nods, waits to watch him start across, and then steps onto the bridge herself. Wooden beams feeling strange and fragile after the steps cut into dirt and volcanic rock.

It's really a matter of preparation and keeping your head -- and balance. Everything she's been trained to do, to pay attention to, and it's just crossing a bridge, but that doesn't mean that training doesn't come in handy, anyway. Step by careful step. No taking stupid risks, just to show off, and that's another thing about Steve, that people don't always get: he doesn't do the stuff he does to show off, and he always knows the risks. He does them because he knows he can do them, which is more than crossing a bridge and climbing a mountain.

It's why he's the best.

So she puts her feet where he does, each step considered, placed carefully, if not with the same timidity other people are showing.

It's not such a bad thing to catch her breath, either. Let her racing heart slow, a little, let her breath even out. Check the pull and tension in her muscles for any sign that they might give out, or hurt more than the usual soreness of trying something new. Nothing, but she'll be feeling it before the end of the day, definitely. Especially with this last run to the top.

[thebesteverseen]

Smaller steps, but not as quick, because he can't let himself rely so heavily on the fact each step will come down stationary. Which, somehow, doesn't actually keep him from speeding up, when the first third of them are barely flexing. Designed to hold train loads, even in the worst weather, you could put a person every foot of railing and they wouldn't cumulatively reach the weight of a train laden with cargo.

Which lets him start pushing the odds, bearing down at the carefulness like it's a rule to break. Especially when he starts factoring watching the feet of the people in front of him, while he's weaving around groups that are in different sides and center of it crossing themselves. Each of them doing their best to get across in their own way, which he simply begins maneuvering around.

He's probably six feet from the end, when he hedges the question back to her. Not because he hasn't shot a glance toward her during it, or because he can't make out her steps following him. The sound of her breathing, even mixed with the conversations of people almost slipping or laughing, pausing for breaks, in clustered spots along the short walk.

"Haven't fallen off, back there, have you?" His feet are touching the hard-packed ground again, when he's looking to her.

[gonna_owe_me]

As soon as Steve's got his bearings, his pace picks up, and hers does, too, like matching his breathing when he falls asleep. He won't outrun her, isn't making this a race, although the last hundred yards to the top will probably be a different story. Still, she's grateful for it, even if she wouldn't care if he did, wouldn't mind if he sprinted on ahead, pushed her further, faster. She might not be as fast as him, but she can keep up, can go toe to toe as far as she can.

It's no insult that Steve is faster or stronger than her. She doesn't expect to be better than him. What she expects is to be the best of herself, and the best of herself can at least give him someone at his back, who can come with him. Even up a mountain. Even if it's hard. It's not impossible.

Which makes her shoot a curving, distracted smile at him, as she navigates the last few steps, sweat a sheen across her skin, the ends of her ponytail damp from hitting slick shoulders, sticking to her neck. Sweat trickling into her eyes from her hairline.

And still, she smiles. Breathless and feeling brilliant with it all: the heat and the pain and the complaints from her body and the altitude lifting all around them.

"I thought you said this was going to be hard."

[thebesteverseen]

It's harder on her, harder just off being on a ship for months and months. He remembers that. Which only means the way she smiles, and the determined set to her shoulders when they aren't shifting with her weight or for a breath, kicks up even high in the glow of the workout shoving itself wide and warm through all of his skin. The flush running, like a glow, under her skin, shiny in the sun from moisture.

The way her smile doesn't waver, and she throws his bare level of concern back at his head, like he's babying her.

Something he really might consider doing with anyone else, but it's not something that comes to mind with Cath. At least not in this kind of situation. Or much of any, seeing as he called on her days ago, to do a job, not in ranking and she did it perfectly. For him. Which is far from any kind of consideration right now. The things he wouldn't call on her for. Far away. When she's breathless, beautiful and smacking at the bar.

And all he can do is laugh and grin, like there's nothing better in the whole world. Than the rush of his own blood, the tug to go faster, rung harder, push into that place where it feels like he's pushing hard enough until it feels like something might snap from exertion. When he's gesturing to his chest with one hand and pushing his eyebrows upward, "Oh, you don't feel challenged enough, Rollins?"

"Let's go," is louder, almost followed by double time, when he's not going to give her longer than the maybe four-five seconds since she got to the end after those words. Taking off for the path beyond the railway bridge. Flat for only a short while before it's going to start climbing straight up again. When he's definitely putting more into it. Both the run it self, that goes straight from stand still, and makes an effort to stay ahead of her a bit now.

Attacking the first stairs like they might be actual springboards, taking the momentum from each one to shave half seconds.

[gonna_owe_me]

"Right behind you, Commander."

She calls it back, as clear as she can, when her lungs are starting to feel thick and the oxygen levels are thinner now than she's used to. It's not that Hawaii is all that high above sea level -- it's not, and getting lower every day, every year, as the sea eats away at the islands -- but it's nowhere near the same as being aboard ship.

And yet, they hup to it, feet hitting faster, back on solid ground that she trusts more than she did that bridge, and she's all warmed up, now, can slip into the next gear. Faster, along the flat, and launching up the incline. Barely letting her feet hit the steps before she's onto the next one, because it's the only way, like running a stadium. Can't let gravity catch her, can't let the mind get caught. Just one foot in front of the other, up, up, up. Bouncing off the balls of her feet. Breathing hard, but steady.

Never allowing it to get out of rhythm. Fall out, and it's over. Just keep going. The top in view, muscles burning, lungs burning, adrenaline pumping into every vein and breath. Making the sun brighter, hotter, the stairs faster.

Up, up. Consoling herself with images of payback for him, when they're back off the mountain and she can breathe again.

[thebesteverseen]

The ground is solid, even if they are kicking up the top layer of loose dirt and old volcanic rock.

Dashing to the sides of those stopping to wipe a brow, or hand children water bottles. Both which he just passed, with a single callout from being on their right, stepping off the steps, onto hard, rolling ground to get past them, without slowing down. Not giving her the pleasure of the few seconds of delay that would have added. Even when he isn't tossing everything out and barreling at it like it was life or death to get there as fast as possible, shortest route as possible.

Put it together, push it through. Keep his eyes open and the feet hitting the ground at the same pace and places when he can. Keep his eyes on the steps in front of him, and the people in the closest group. But not the top. Keep pushing his muscles. Feeling the burn of muscles in his leg, stretch and catching, stretch and catch, along with the continually solid smack of the ground.

Getting caught up in the weight rush that is half of it, too, between one step and the next, continuing to throw himself further forward.

Compact, arms at ninety degree angles and compact, fast but tight movements of even them, when he's leaning into it. It can't even be half left now. He does allow himself to look over his shoulder, and to check in on her, judging steps and keeping himself ready for the steps as he's tossing glances that way. Making sure he isn't leaving her too far behind.

[gonna_owe_me]

This is part of it, too. Your eyes on the next step, and the one after that, and the one after that, but not further. A glance at the top, maybe, before forgetting it for the current stairs. The top will come when it comes, and not before. Like the end of a half hour, the end of a shift.

All she can do is try to get there faster.

It's hard, and getting harder. Breath scraping, now, panting against the pull of gravity. Keep going. Hard. Fast. Harder, faster. Up and up and up. Following the swing of Steve's shirt and shorts. Feeling her legs burn, the muscles wanting to give in and stumble.

Just a sign to focus more, further. Clear her mind of everything except one step after another, levering up, light as she can, as fatigue starts setting in and her feet start feeling heavy. Hair soaking in sweat, glad for the lack of a shirt sticking to her back or stomach, casting out breathless excuse me's to people they pass.

And tilting a smile at Steve when he looks back, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, breath hard, glowing under sweat and sun, and meeting that glance with one of her own. Not left behind yet, Steve, and not planning on it.

[thebesteverseen]

This is where he feels comfortable. Somewhere right at the top of his game. When the strain numbs out of awareness partially, because the endorphins make everything sharper, clearer, more in focus, taking his body half out of the equation. It's another thing to use, to push through hoops, that will object. Passing number markers half without reading them, as he just takes the mountain for itself.

Taking Cath at her determined smile, even when he can see where it's wearing at the edges. Enough to question, but not act, because she's has sharper, harder, more determined edges for the wear. And, God, but he's missed this. People who can push through, who get off on flagging as much as he does. How much it makes you, drives you, hauls you up by your boots and shoves you hard, faster, tougher at whatever is.

He's missed having someone to do this with. He's missed being home to even get to do this, himself.

The top is getting closer, crowning toward them, which just makes his foot work even lighter, except for push up. Makes his breaths shorter, choosing to take in air now and then, rather than get caught up in trying to take in more thinner air. He by passes the whole thing. Relying on breathing less, and not so much holding his breath as just slowly letting it, pushing toward a focal point, like swimming far down.

Letting that focus take everything that's in him. Each step, each blink, each shift of his arms when his weight does. Ignoring the the sweat coating his skin, and sticking his shirt to his back and his sides, his shorts against his legs. There's only the top, and the way it's a step closer every two seconds. Coming into view faster and faster, closer and closer, now.

[gonna_owe_me]

They're getting to the end.

She can feel it. It's in their pace, in the shortening steps, in the thinning, cooling air. In the wind that whips and sends her ponytail skewing to the side. In the stitch that's making itself known, pulse by pulse, by her ribs. She can see clouds marching across the sky out of the corner of her eye, floating high and puffy above the breeze, glinting white and pristine. Oahu is rolling itself out underneath them, but she doesn't look down, doesn't look to the sides, gives Steve a tight smile when he looks back, keeps her head down, and keeps going.

Breath by measured breath. Coming in puffs, now, lungs straining, muscles screaming. Feet feeling like they're encased in cement, instead of light running shoes. Cement on fire. Up, up.

It's good. Kicking that wave of endorphins, and riding right into it. Knowing she can, because she will, and that the way back down will be easier and harder, too, with gravity doing it's best to bring her down too fast, make her turn an ankle.

Things she can't think about yet, when she glances up, and it's there. The top. Flattening out into a shortened horizon, and making her smile, huffing a hard breath, and dig deeper, scrape the bottom of that barrel, and propel upwards, because she might not be able to beat Steve, but she's willing to bet she can catch him if she tries.