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

[thebesteverseen]

"Better." He says it, because he means it, but it's sharp on his tongue.

The next words softer, more manageable because of it. Even when his thoughts are with Chin, and the way he'd looked when he walked back. That weary exhausted admission, that seemed more real and yet more hallow. Things happened in shoot outs, and they couldn't be absolutely sure until asked or admitted, unless it was on tape.

But Steve was pretty sure of what he saw there, more than he wants to be sure of it. More than he wants to admit that it didn't bother him the way it should. The way that he would let it whenever that conversation ever did take place. Which wasn't for that day, or yesterday, or this morning.

"She was awake for four or five minutes this morning." Steve picked up his fork, collecting another bite. More because his stomach seemed to be trying to trottle him into acknowledging the presence of food, and reminding him he'd never really even touched the Asian food Danny had piled at him yesterday, on a whole day running with little eaten in it.

"First time since he found her in their house two days ago." Since he had to choose between the two people he loved most. "She's sleeping, again, now. But the doctor's said it was a good sign for her recovery."

[gonna_owe_me]

"Wow."

It's not much, really not enough, but it's something, as she sips at her water and tries not to imagine what that must have been like; coming home, finding his wife wounded and bleeding on the floor. The loco moco seems to have lost some of its appeal, and she pushes it around, briefly, gives it up for the moment, looking back up at Steve's continuation, with relief.

"Good." It is. Those things can be touch and go, but it's got to be a good sign if people wake up, right? Even if it's only briefly. "Chin must be so relieved. They only just got married, too, right?"

She remembers that. Hearing about Steve being best man, which was both sort of amusing and altogether sweet in a way that made her smile just to think about. How pleased he must have been, even if he didn't really see it for what it was: just another way the people around him care about him, want him in their lives.

It's a little strange, this new life of his. It comes with stability, and friends who have been around for over two years, now, and the kind of routine that's totally different from the sort aboard ship or on deployment. She'd never have figured civilian life would look so good on him, but she's got to say it's been a good fit, the Reserves and Five-0. Hawaii. Something she sees, now and again, in passing. Like getting postcards from the island, that don't exactly say wish you were here, but which welcome her every time.

It might not be such a bad thing to be in port for a while longer, maybe. Stay on land, near Steve, and this loyal little family he's built up around himself without even realizing it. "I'm sorry," she says, blinking as a realization of her own hits. "Did you want to go see them today? I didn't mean to interrupt anything."

[thebesteverseen]

"No, Cath. You're good," He said, with an almost strict shake of his head, blowing off the entire note in her words, before getting to the bite of food on his fork. Like he can read it, and he can. That moment where she's so sure she just landed in the wrong place at the wrong time, meaning well but getting in the way of everything else that she just hadn't known was there.

When, really, even for only ten or fifteen minutes she's been a nice sudden brightness to the day he didn't know what he was going to to with for a little.

"I was considering stopping by in the evening, making sure whether he's eaten or if needs anything. Wants anything for Malia, brought from their house, now that she's awake. But-" There's a gesture. Just. With a small gesture with that loaded fork. "-later."

"This-" which continues, with a shift, to the box. "-was actually perfectly timed. And, you know, if you wanted to come, I'm sure they both wouldn't mind more friendly faces, especially after your pulling in for everyone when it was needed this week." That she'd been the only reason, even over SWAT, Steve could walk away from the safe house and turn his focus on his case.

Because he could trust her. And did. Beyond question. Beyond her own doubts. She always came through. Always. Which leaves him sort of studying her through taking the bite of food. Grateful, fond, sideways from waiting for the answer, as well.

[gonna_owe_me]

"Well, timing is everything." She gives him a little, slightly pressed smile. "You don't think they'd mind?"

Asked with a certain degree of skepticism, that still doesn't turn her answer into a no. If anything, she'd like that. It might be sort of awkward, but there can't possibly be any degree of awkward worse than sitting around with Doris, trying to figure out how much, if any, of her relationship with Steve Cath really wanted to tell her about.

But Steve will give her his actual opinion, and he wouldn't offer if he didn't think it would be fine, or if he didn't want her to come. They've known each other too long and too well to dance around questions of when she should appear and for how long, and it works.

Still, this isn't exactly the best possible way to meet Malia for the first time.

He starts eating again, and she does, too, because that is all terrible and a messed-up week, but his people are still in one piece, and there's nothing else to do about it right now, and no way that skipping lunch will help.

Besides, it is tasty, and that other comment makes her smile a little wider, if a little more crookedly amused. Shoulder tipping in a shrug. "Just glad to help out. I needed something to do with my free time, anyway."

[thebesteverseen]

"Of course not," words totally thrown toward the air without much focus before another bite. Focused far more on chewing, and getting rid of the suddenly present gnawing feeling in his stomach. Because they don't need looking up or paying attention to. He wouldn't offer, especially now, if he hadn't meant it. There were a lot of people he wouldn't let anywhere near Chin yet. But not Cath.

He caught the crooked smile, swallowing a bite that might have been too big, and he'd care more about what it was or wasn't but after swimming, before the beach or a run, after the last two days, it was perfect. And Cath had a pretty steady knack for being in the right place at the right time just when he needed someone. There weren't many people he'd give that much.

"How's The Enterprise?" He shifted, realizing they were still in the kitchen and made a gesture toward the living room or dining room doors, like it was a question for her. In for things and updates, and back out. Like it all fit in the same flow. "Not that I'm against not having to plan my lunch, but I'm surprised you've got the day."

That if she'd been available when he called, she wouldn't have some current shifts right after. Or maybe took more time since he took over hers with little more than a request, and tossed her trailer into the middle of his unexpected family drama, and she'd still appeared little more than a day later, laden and still smiling. He had covered that she won under best, right?

[gonna_owe_me]

"Oh, I had some leave coming to me." Accompanied by a smile just this side of smug, and mischievous. "You're not the only one who owes me. There are a few strings I have available to pull, when I feel like getting away for a little while."

Easy. Breezy. It's not like she's doing this just for him, or wouldn't want the time, or wouldn't come see him even if there hadn't already been a shocking twist to his week. Maybe she wouldn't have taken leave so quickly; might have waited for him to call her, a few weeks into being in port, but that doesn't change the basics of this. Looking each other up, if they're on the same spit of land for a day or a week.

She picks up her box, turns to head into the dining room, all flooded with brilliant sunlight, and she chooses the largest puddle of it, pulls a chair into it, and sits down, crossing one long bare leg over the other and digging back into her lunch. "Everything's fine. It looks like we might be in port for a little while; no orders to head right back out again."

Her smile tilts at him. "Just long enough to find my land legs again, probably. But it's nice to have a little space and some time away. Not to mention --" Lifting the box, as an example. Fresh food, beer, beaches and cars; yeah, it's not so bad being back on land, even not including Steve in the mix.

[thebesteverseen]

"Good." Because it is, and, his tally not withstanding, Pearl's one of the good places to be stuck in comparison to several others.

Steve closed the cupboard behind him and followed after her. Grabbed a chair and settled in, still working on his pile of food that was more than half gone already. It was hard to say if he was tasting it as much as inhaling it, or maybe inhaling it because it actually did taste pretty great. Either way, another thing ticked off the list for this part of today.

Plus. Yeah. He gets that.

Even does miss it, on the curve of her smile, when she settles in the sun, with that reference. It's so easy to fall in love with the world for a few days, a week, maybe two. To get caught up in the parts that seem like insane, luxury, gifts to everyone but civilians. Food. Beaches. Relaxed clothes. An extra hour of sleep. Suck the marrow from those times.

When the rest of it will all be away. At sea. On mission. Busy. Focused. Dedicated. Ready.

Steve was nodding, swallowing a bite, before, "Your last run?"

Which was generic enough it could have been the exact last one or the whole run of them during the months since she'd last been here. Not that he expected pinpoint details, either. But it was worth asking. It was the job she loved doing and the sum of those months, too. More common than asking someone how either of their family was.

And. She knew his. At least up until that last point, ground in glass dust on him.

[gonna_owe_me]

"Nothing major."

Maybe a little bittersweet, with the look towards Norfolk in the not too distant future, but routine. "Support in the Gulf with the Abraham Lincoln."

Faintly newsworthy, having two carriers in the same waters, but no more so than a few years ago. "Some action off Somalia, but no surprises. You know the drill."

The Enterprise has been home for longer than most of her apartments, and that's how she likes it. Sure, it's nice to be in Pearl for a while, good to see Steve, a luxury to be on land, but there's a lot of affection in her voice for an old warship, that sometimes gets strange looks from people who aren't part of the life.

She leans back in the chair, basking without shame in the fall of sunshine. "Had some downtime in Jebel Ali. I may have picked up a trinket or two." Bright and pleased, maybe a little teasing, watching him with the same warmth that's filling up the dining room. He looks the same as ever. Maybe not so sharp around the edges, maybe a little more gray in his hair, but she knows the tattoos hidden under those shirt sleeves, and the way he holds himself, and it's all the same, even if they're both so much older, now.

It seems like those days in port, finding tiny restaurants that more often than not got left before the food even arrived, wandering streets and attempting to trade with natives and languages nothing like their own are decades ago, sometimes.

"How about you? This last week aside, I mean. Everything still going well with Five-0? Any celebrity catches I should be impressed by?"

[thebesteverseen]

It doesn't take him much to be spurred toward the notes of what make his team. The way they pull together, and how they bite against the current everyone else would just go with. "Max figured out who the actual Trash-man serial killer was, and freed the man who'd been put away for it decades ago."

He's filling a fork but not lifting it, as files are whizzing past him. "Chin and Danny ended up mainland'd over in Los Angeles helping an old colleague of mine in NCIS. Between them, they took out Dracul Comescu and helped to keep a new small pox epidemic breakout from starting."

Both of which are said with some pride and no lack of surprise. He believes in the work his people do for a reason. They don't let him down, even when they have to fight him to prove a point, and they've won by their gut, even against him. It's why he trusts them at his back. And. Yeah. Neither of those are his. Which he's getting more as he says, but it like wading into the pool of what Cath doesn't know.

And then realizing there's still more. And there's always a lot. But it's not usually this kind of a lot. And, he's not so much avoiding it, but touching it, will toss open the door. Then, it's all just dominoes and missteps. International terrorists and ghosts, both handing themselves to him only on their own terms, and both vanishing back into the night, through his fingers.

He isn't actually good at pausing anyway, when the shorted way through is in. Going off like a gun, with a bang.

"But aside from bringing Wo Fat in," And the tone there is disregard enough. It's not pity, or a request for sympathy, but there's no boast in it. A single fact. Just like there hadn't been any when he caught him, sitting down, drinking his tea. Or watching him, stone-faced, saying we'll see as the door closed. He should have known better. "-I only got back in two weeks ago, too."

Barely two weeks. Barely two days. It was all the same thing right? Except those two weeks were full of things, too.

[gonna_owe_me]

She's impressed, and a little affectionately interested at the pride and certainty in his tone. Steve trusts his team, but there's more to it than that. He'd handpicked them, and he's always been good at seeing potential where other people might gloss over it. The task force has done some amazing stuff, and she's a little biased, knowing he leads them, but he's taking no credit for any of this, which leads to faint surprise at his last admission.

"Sounds like they kept pretty busy without you."

She doesn't really know the team all that well. Danny she remembers as being a bundle of motion, with a cocky set to his shoulders despite being shorter than she is; Kono, all easy smiles and rookie enthusiasm mixed with a seriously impressive left hook. Chin, quieter than the others, but always a solid presence.

Details. Nothing she's experienced first-hand with any of them to take Steve's lack of surprise in stride, though she'll take his word for it.

Still, she gives him a curious glance over her glass of water. "Were you at drill?"

Not yet, right? It wasn't all that long ago he was aboard the Enterprise, although months do sort of slip into each other and start passing without her being able to keep track without the occasional interruptions of leave or holidays, most of which get mainly glossed over.

[thebesteverseen]

"In Asia--"

He says before he can let himself think about. The way he shoots, runs and jumps. The proper response and the honest one. Not that he would lie to Cath. Evade things, now and then. But he wouldn't have mentioned being gone at all if be was doing that.

But an ending deserves a beginning. Just as short and sharp and true to the point. If his voice gets thicker with unspoken words without his even meaning for it to happen.

"--chasing down Shelburne." Beat. A flick in his expression. "Doris."

It's still almost easier to compartment those as two. Two different people until two days ago. Shelburne who was the reason his mother died, his father was killed, his sister was kidnapped, he was tortured. The person who terrified Wo Fat. Somehow known by Joe. Sideways connect to Nosimuri.

And. Then, Doris. His mother. Who had been alive on the other side of a door.

Who didn't simply start the boulder rolling in an explosion, but with a choice and walking away.

[gonna_owe_me]

In retrospect, she's not all that surprised that Steve decided to take looking for Shelburne into his own hands. The whole sequence of events is more than a little confused for her: he hadn't exactly given her a lot of details, just asked for a favor every now and again, and the name Shelburne had started popping up with increasing frequency.

Until she found out that he'd been taken captive in North Korea, and found by Joe White and his team.

It's undoubtedly a good thing for her career that they hadn't asked her for help on that, hadn't let her know -- not that any of Five-0 have a good way of reaching her quickly without Steve -- but she still feels a degree of chilliness at how that might all have turned out; the ghost of an op gone wrong.

Not that any of them can dwell on possibilities that never came to fruition, so she pushes past it, because Steve's right here and fine, and he'll get through this like he's gotten through everything. She's just here to make sure he doesn't forget about the good things, along the way. "Did she get off okay, yesterday?"

She's not here to rehash Steve's actions, or make any kind of judgment on anybody. Being around Doris was awkward enough, but the very real danger of Wo Fat means that the important thing is Doris' inability to stay on the island.

Meaning, Steve just lost his mom, again.

It's not a topic she has much experience with approaching; how do you talk to someone about their mom, who was dead for twenty years and then showed up alive and well in Japan, and who is overly interested in your relationship with her son? Even with all the years between them, every intimacy and every time he's had her back or she's had his, she really doesn't know how to ask him about it.

So she just takes the direct route. They've always been honest with each other, and she bets he'd hate feeling coddled more than anything else, right now.

[thebesteverseen]

"Yeah." There's a nod, but there isn't much else.

When he's scraping together what's probably the first of his last two bites left, and thinking a whole mess of other things. That she got off fine. That her plane leaving was far easier than his original plane getting back here. That that isn't all that important or new to him, no matter how much Danny looked pissed and shot when he was told.

That Cath and Danny, and what they need to know, is so vastly different.

Cath wouldn't be all that surprised he walked away from from a plane crash that bad, trekked through the jungle taking people out as needed, and still brought the idiot, who got away, in. Maybe could have even guessed the consideration of shooting him between the eyes that hadn't existed for more than a flicker of a second.

But that wasn't the only thought. No. Oily and sideways and sliding cold in with it, is that thought about how everything had been pretty regimentally on track with her leaving. All things in accordance.

All security checks. No distractions. That everything had been fine.

Until she left the ground, while Danny was saying those words.

What the evidence said. Which went against the statements of everyone there. Settled like an irritable itch between his shoulder blades, where he just couldn't reach to make it be quiet or leave everything else alone. When he could ask her, again. But they have her statement from the night, and he was there for that.

There's something like tar sticking his lips together, tense hold set even when his jaw isn't set. When all he does is focus on taking those two bites, and eating the end of the box of the food in his hand. Thinking about those minutes racing into that room, again. Cath and Doris already there, both wide-eyed. Wo Fat already gone.

Danny's voice, like the wind through it all, three bullets were in the floor.

No, I'm saying, why didn't she kill him when she had the chance?

[gonna_owe_me]

This is going to be the hardest part of today, probably. This part of the conversation, right here. It's easy to skip to everything else, to talk about his team or put some action in the day; to pretend that this part didn't need to or never did happen, but they do need to at least acknowledge it.

She's not trying to make him go back over everything, relive the last few days. It's not her intention to drag Doris into the weekend any further than she's already going to be there, stuck in Steve's thoughts like a pushpin, but it would be stupid to pretend this question isn't on her mind. "How about you?"

Because are you okay is asking for a lie, and a stupid question. Of course he isn't. Even Steve would be brought up hard by something like this, and she wouldn't expect him to be okay.

What she does expect is to pull him enough out of his thoughts to answer her question with whatever version of the truth he feels like giving her. And maybe she's paused in her eating (if anyone asked, it would be due to how filling the dish is and how she's really not planning on slipping into a food coma this afternoon) to watch him. The shadows starting in his eyes, the distance that means he's getting caught in thoughts or plans or strategies. As if this is something he can take apart and put together in a better, more efficient way, like a football play or taking down a bad guy.

She's gone, and that's for the best right now, but it doesn't mean Cath doesn't think the ramifications of that decision, obvious as it might have been, aren't going to be haunting him for longer than he'd care to admit.

[thebesteverseen]

The second bite goes and down, more like cardboard than fully flavored gravy, yolk, filling food he's finishing. When there's no glance up for the question, not even a twinge of an expression flicker. It goes right on over, like maybe it wasn't a bomb. Like maybe it was wind. Closing the box, and leaning back, like it might have been nothing.

Except that it's not nothing in his face. It's just not rolling out a red carpet. Danny hadn't asked that question. At least not that he could remember. He'd said a lot of other words, and so had Steve, depending on the when and where. Even words he wasn't going to acknowledge ever escaped him.

He considered it, and tossed out a wry answer, as he slid back the chair, scraping chair legs on the floor and standing, to go throw away his empty box, "I could still make muster in three-" He paused, considering. "-maybe two, minutes."

The world falls apart and other things still hold. Other things trained deeper than skin, breath, and awareness. Maybe he couldn't keep it from getting everywhere in his head. But that didn't mean he had to give it everything. Or that he could. Even if he couldn't. It didn't mean he wanted to consider it. The worst of it got last night. Maybe it would again tonight.

But not this morning, and it wouldn't get to have now, while Cath was here. That really was enough for him to hold on to.

[gonna_owe_me]

"I don't think anyone would dare think otherwise."

It comes with a smile that's more in her eyes than on her lips, that's as much acknowledgement of the fact that he hadn't answered the question she asked as much as one they both know can always be answered. How soon can you be ready. Where's your head at. Can you get it in the game.

And Steve always can. Always has, as long as she's known him. She's never seen him fall apart, isn't sure it could happen. He falls back on training that goes past instinct, overrides every other reaction.

As answers or evasions go, it's not a terrible one.

"Well, hopefully you're not going to have to pull that out of the bag today, so we'll have to find something else to do, instead."

It's not like they have a code, or anything. He gets her, and they've known each other too long and too well to beat about the bush. If he wants to open up to her, he will: the best she can do is be here, on offer, and distract him so he doesn't spend the whole day running over scenarios in his head.

[thebesteverseen]

Steve could think a handful of worse things that being detailed today. Not that he really had the space or time for recall -- not that recall really cared whether you did, you signed saying you'd go when they called, no matter what, if the need of the country was so great -- but with everything else, it wouldn't have fit well going down either.

But there is something wistful about the though of it. Almost frustrating in the ease of the thought.

Recall. Reserves. Drill. Duty. Set lines in solid concrete, saying what needing doing in each hour on each day.

He popped the top up and pushed the box in the mostly empty trash can, that no one had really been here often enough to be filling in the last week. He'd been so in and out, even with Danny around on most of the evenings. The house itself hardly lived in, dropped in and out from, for nearly two months. Or was it decades. Did the two years really change anything.

Did it count to count the years that his father had been here, wandering it alone to? Had Doris ever counted those?

But he doesn't quite want those thoughts in there. Questions with no answer, from either ghosts or people lost in the wind, faded back into the black. He shoved at it, without so much as a twitch in his face, and walked back toward the door to the dinning room. Leaning on the side of it, looking at Cath, pristine and right for sunshine and relaxing, for being on break for a few days, having a breath of fresh air, off the clock.

Everything but something he felt anywhere inside himself now. He felt tired in a way that had nothing to do with having gotten enough sleep, and just needed shoving into something else. Something that might drag it thinner and thinner, until it was diluted out entirely. Which made an interesting thought in itself pop into his head.

"Have you been out to Koko Head yet?" It's not exactly sensitive, even if he hasn't been out there since Lori, before Asia, when that had seemed bigger. Which it was; big. But that was definitely a smaller, lesser one than the one already beating its own space in his head, even if it still mattered. Plus, it might fit well enough to several other things.

[gonna_owe_me]

Maybe one day she'll stop being impressed and a little amused at the way he can put food away, but it won't be today, as she pushes aside the remaining half of her own meal.

(If she's going to keep up with Steve, it's best not to weigh down with too much, anyway, just enough to fuel up for the day.)

"Not yet." She folds up her own box, puts the fork on top, leans on the table with her arms folded over the wood. "What exactly am I getting myself into?"

Everything is a competition with Steve. Who can be faster, better, get it all done and more, and she's learned it's best to just expect that the things he wants to do will generally end in a flat-out race to the finish, that he usually wins.

Nothing wrong with that; at least she can give him a decent run for his money, most of the time, and it would be good to get out and be active in the kind of space that just isn't available on a boat, no matter what size the deck or how impressive the gym.

[thebesteverseen]

Steve drug a smug smile from out of the blue, tipping his head. Letting it roll out a little across his mouth and most of his body in some kind of ease that hadn't been there seconds ago. It was a good way to do it, and he wouldn't really mind having her there at his side. He never did.

Which made it far easier to bluff, arrogantly. "Consider it a surprise."

There was the most minute beat, before the raised one hand gesturing toward her.

"But you're going to have to change out of that." Which lists toward a smirk. Even an appraising one.

Because she does look very nice, in her silky shirt, with the straps that have been sliding this way and that across her skin when she shifts. Which of course, is half the point. A warning that might be a hint, that might be a compliment, that might be any number of things. "Not that it isn't nice, but it won't help you much where you're headed."

[gonna_owe_me]

His smile switches on an answering one from her, matched with one arching eyebrow and a voice thick with skepticism. "Intriguing. Okay, I'll bite."

Sliding out of her chair, and heading past him to put her leftovers in the fridge. And, sure. Feeling a little smirk of her own, with that once-over. Not like Steve doesn't know what she looks like, in and from all stages of uniformed-pressed professionalism to nothing at all, but it gives a girl a little extra spunk to her step, when a guy like Steve gives her a look. Even if it's almost as old a joke as any others, even if it's as much for show, for a game, as the teasing and banter. Even if it's been years since either of them felt the need to hold back any type of admiration or expectation.

Which leads to that eyebrow being joined by another one, as she gives him a quick up-and-down of her own, taking in jeans, tee, shirt, tan. Feeling the familiar thrum, like an itch to scratch. Last spring was a long time away. "Looks to me like you're probably going to have to change, too."

Leading to the strong possibility that they won't actually make it out of the house this afternoon, at all. There's this tendency, when one or both of them is trying to change, where other hands tend to start helping and then hindering.

None of which she minds, today, she considers, as she puts her box in the fridge and shuts it again. It'll be good to go out, it'd be good to stay in. Put that doofy smile back on his face, in his eyes. "I can be ready in two minutes."

Less, probably. Which will be necessary when he invariably boasts that he'll need only one.

[thebesteverseen]

Her word get a droll almost disappointed flicker to his face. One that never reaches into his eyes, that are light even for that fact they never lighten entirely at all. "I guess I can wait for you."

Like two whole minutes was something to endure through. For her.

"I'll grab us some water and start up the truck while you're taking in the sights," Steve tossed over a shoulder headed from the kitchen, off for his bedroom.

Pounding up the stairs like maybe the best part of this isn't how normal it feels.

The edge of her smile and the knowledge the hours will sort of melt away. That they could keep batting these words back and forth the whole time, and maybe between her and The Steps he won't think about for a while. Any of the crazy all of it he can't stop following the complicated loops and knots on.

Though it really will only take him seconds to change out of this and into shorts, shirt, shoes all for running. He still had a towel in the back of the truck, but a clean one might not hurt either.

[gonna_owe_me]

"You say that like I won't be out there ahead of you."

Called up after him, the disappearing footsteps, making her jog into the living room to snag her tote and shimmy out of her shirt. There's no one out here, nobody likely to glance through the windows, so she shucks her jean shorts and replaces them with light running ones, pulls the sports bra over her head and tugs out the other, stuffs it and the tanktop back into the tote, a little haphazardly. Wrinkles can be steamed out -- it's more important to keep up with Steve, who she can hear upstairs. No shirt needed -- in this heat she'd rather have bare skin than the added layers, even with sun. That's what the sunblock in her bag is for, and the water he says he'll bring, right?

She's tugging on her running shoes when he comes back down, feet feeling strange in ankle-short cotton socks and sneakers, hopping on one foot with an index finger tugging the shoe over her heel.

"Better hurry up, or I really will beat you out there," she says, all grins and bouncing hair that will need to get tied up in a second. Not that Steve has actually lost his edge, but it's part of the play: the bullshit, the banter, the way they push each other to go faster, harder, take on more.

"Come on, sailor. We're burning daylight, here."

[thebesteverseen]

The shirt and jeans get left, hanging off the end of the bed. A towel tossed over one shoulder, still tugging his shirt, loose workout shirt with the SEAL's emblem at the left chest side, up over a second shoulder, and down across his side, when he's making it back down. Fast efficient movements. It helps that there were no shoes to get rid off that weren't house shoes, having gone nowhere or set to anything that wasn't on the beach or in the main rooms since Danny left.

And there is a momentary thought in that direction. Whether they've made it to the aquarium, and mental post it note, that at some point he still needs to send Danny the all clear for Kono, too, making it back to him as three for three on people checked in with and posted him on. But it's not right now. No.

It really isn't, when Cath is doing this little hopping dance with jamming her heel into a shoe, and throwing him that smile.

It can wait. All of it can wait. Because all of his people are okay -- or as near to okay as medically or legally possible for this morning, for -- right now, and that means he can switch hats. Just let the irrepressible smile saunter across his lips at her teasing, the challenge and words spilling something warm wide across his chest like it got splashed there suddenly by an unexpected wave, while he throws a hand out.

"You don't think there's water in the car already?" Headed for the door, rather than any of the back rooms, holding the towel, along with the bundle of his sidearm and one the wallet-badge sets, lingering only long enough to scoop up keys and toss open the door. Letting in more sunshine than this room has seen except in the seconds of Danny leaving and Cath arriving.

But until this second he can't really remember having seen it either of those times, and now it's buttery-gold. Like this morning, tossing at him the remembrance of Danny's skin. His hair. The fingers tangled with his, not letting go. Pouring into the lingering shadows of the room, even with it's wide open windows lighting the place. Catching on things he hadn't really thought about looking at either.

He can feel the warmth already trying at his shoulders and the back of his neck, when he's smiling at her.

"Don't tell me they've let you forget being ready at all times already." Steve tipped his head, smirk tugging at the corners, all shine and ribbing. "They do still call it 'a job,' when they have you sitting in a chair all day, sinking ships and catering to fly boys, right?"

[gonna_owe_me]

"When you say you need to get water, no, I don't."

Tossed at his head, as she follows to the door, arms up, tying her hair into a heavy ponytail that bounces against the back of her neck and brushes the top of her shoulders. It might be time to go short again, especially if she's going to be spending any amount of time in this heat, but right now she kind of likes the way it feels, silky and heavy and with a fun sort of flip to it when she moves.

Like now, as she makes her way to the door, hands on her hips, and takes a second to lean into his space, head tipped back in a dare or a challenge or just an attitude of go ahead, impress me. Smile tripping her up, teasing at her lips and eyes, smug and expectant and it's just damn good to see him, no matter what the circumstance. He smells good, up close, and she considers pushing up on her toes to kiss him, but leaves it, for now, though she's close enough to brush his chest.

"It could be worse. I could be catering to sailors."

Not that they don't try, the boys on the boat. And not that she hasn't, occasionally, taken part in some mutual catering of a distinctly unprofessional sort. But Steve's teasing is just that, good-natured ribbing that she's gotten every day she's known him and all the boys like him, running off to join the Navy, serving the country, a mix of bold and brash and crass and gentlemanly that she sometimes despairs of and sometimes adores and always watches with varying degrees of exasperated affection. It's who she is, too, and keeping up with the boys is as much a part of her job description as anything else.

Keeping up with, beating -- it's academic, really.

"At least I'm a whiz at Battleship."

All amusement, before she tips her head and tugs at his loose shirt, stepping out into the sun. "Are you going to keep interrupting out there, too? Is this some kind of pitiful attempt to distract me so you'll get a head start?"

[thebesteverseen]

Words are getting tossed at his head while her hair is pulled back, hands busy but no where near passive. Flashing smile, taunting words, and getting up into the space of the doorway with him. Her eyes bright and light, sparkling with laughter and that challenged when she leans in. Insulting sailors, herself including.

Irreverent bubble expanding inside his chest and shoving everything else to the corners and the shadows, when he's raising his eyebrows half accusing her of transgressing against herself and their own and half lost in the he fact they all know the worst jokes of their own. Especially on a cross-branch assignment. The way they worked for only people who built ships on purpose to sink them.

Shoulders and chest brushing him, soft and firm, in very little clothing, before her fingers grasped his shirt pulling. A tug with an insult, but he can feel the strength behind it, knows what she could bring to a fight. And. This close its impossible to miss they way her eyes drop to his lips, holding for half a second, against the answering surge of warmth as normal as the continued antagonizing that comes out if her mouth.

While something shifts awkward, clunky, heavy as a brick, in the center of his stomach. Dropping hard as a stone, surprising and a little interiorly disorienting, even when he was pulling the door closed behind him, locking it and stepping out following the hand dragging his shirt, tossing back. "Big words for someone who doesn't even know what they're getting into."

Which is one of the things he does love about her.

Sunshine pouring down over her as she steps out dragging him, like he isn't taller and heavier and trained to break through anything out in his way. The glow catching up in her pale skin, the same delightful color all over every time she came in from mouths in ship, and dark hair, always such and amazing contrast. The brilliance in her eyes, warm in her voice, wide in the smile at her mouth that is as much a challenge to try and beat him, no matter what it is, as it is the promise of what she's offering when he inevitably wins.

All of this is. Things he loves about her. Things that have never changed.

Which doesn't change that there's even more she doesn't know. That might have changed.

That was. He didn't even. It was like stepping into a sudden puddle of water in the dark, not expecting it. Even when his hand was already catching the back of her waist, the higher part of the small of her back and propelling her forward toward the truck. Because maybe that was easier than looking at her face for a second here.

"Get in the truck already. The mountain isn't going to wait for you all day."