Drowning on Dry Land - Chapter one

A/N: Hello, everyone, and thanks again for the support on my previous works.

This is a longer project I've been working on for quite a while now. I'm almost done writing it so I feel safe posting it. Would hate to leave you guys hanging.

The idea for this story was born out of a "what if?" scenario. In eight seasons and countless fanfictions, we've seen the guys go through every possible event. What I tried to do here is analyze the result of possibly the worst outcome my two favorite characters could face, and try to imagine how a man like Steve would react to it.

It is mainly an angsty piece that also has friendship and yes, whump. And hopefully the two of them will be alright at the end so buckle up, get ready to start this ride and let me know what you think about it.

Spoilers: general knowledge of the series up to season eight. This is set before the quarantine episode so in this universe, Danny never got shot.

'The most intimate emotion two people can share

Is neither love or desire, but pain.'

- Tess Gerritsen, The Surgeon

In his dreams, he was always running.

Jogging along the beach to clear his mind, sprinting to take cover under the enemy's fire, chasing after suspects he was never going to get.

Some of those dreams were peaceful, some sad. Images and dialogues that he could barely remember in the morning, distant memories that slowly faded away as he started his day and went on with his life.

And then, every once in a while, he would wake up in a cold sweat after a particularly haunting vision. He'd sit up in bed amid the tangled sheets, heart hammering furiously inside his chest, and wait for the fear to subside, relieved that he had escaped the nightmare and that it was all in his head.

This time, the nightmare was real. And Steve knew there would be no escape.

8 hours earlier

"This should be it. Manager said last door to the left." Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett's voice was drowned by the loud music coming from the apartment they were about to check.

"What?" Special Operator 2nd Class Junior Reigns unconsciously stilled, tightening the grip on his 9mm as he strained to hear his superior's words. The blaring sound had assaulted them as soon as they'd entered the building and he wondered how any neighbor could sleep, talk or even watch TV without losing their sanity.

Stealing a glance in the taller man's direction, he marveled for the umpteenth time at the ex-Navy SEAL's compartmentalizing skills. His lean, athletic body was inching carefully along the hallway, laser gaze focused on the target at the end of it. He moved with the utmost precision, calculating any sudden danger that might present along their path as if he had everything under control.

All this while one of his men was in the hospital and his partner was missing.

"This way," Steve mouthed, pointing to the end of the deserted hallway. To the untrained eye, he appeared as the invincible military man who could emerge unscathed from any situation and had mastered the art of keeping a closed lid on his emotions. But that man was no longer in charge. Not today. Not when his partner's life was on the line. The cold-hearted soldier had been replaced by the terrified friend who knew enough about crime and human nature to realize that the person who meant the most to him in the world was in the hands of a deranged lunatic.

And that he was responsible for it.

"You're not skipping the appointment, Steven."

"I won't skip it. I'll reschedule."

"Nonsense. You're going to the doctor."

"Danny, this case is important."

"Your health is important, you idiot. Checkups are important."

"I feel fine."

"Then humor me, alright? Go, and then bust my chops about it. We, your team, can handle one hour without you."

"I know that. But maybe you should tell Lou—"

"Steve! We'll be fine. Call me when you're done."

Steve trusted the ex-SWAT Captain with his life, but there was only one person he counted on to back his partner up, and that was himself. Yet, he had gone to the doctor, more to appease Danny than himself, while the rest of his team gathered to take care of the tasks of the day. Forty-five minutes later, as soon as he'd set foot out of the hospital, he had called his partner for updates, and the call had gone straight to voicemail. Which wasn't totally unusual, he'd reasoned at first.

His second call had been to Grover, and upon hearing another recorded message Steve's frown had deepened. As his heartbeat accelerated to an unhealthy rhythm, he'd rushed to the Silverado and peeled away from the parking lot, his fingers automatically reaching for the third name on his list of recent calls. According to Jerry, the two men had gone to check an address in Wahiawa. Five-0 was after a large shipment of drug, and the men responsible for bringing the deadly substance to the island had been eluding them for two days. That morning, while Steve's blood was being drawn and his list of medications updated, Ortega had caught a break in the case, providing the team with a possible location that Danny and Lou had wasted no time heading to.

Immediately after hearing the news, Steve had pulled a U-turn, picked up the younger Navy SEAL currently residing at his place and driven to the address. What the two ex-militaries had found had sent Steve's heartbeat skyrocketing to even more dangerous levels. HPD cruises were surrounding the scene, their roof lights magnifying the sense of urgency that permeated the air. Yellow tape cordoned off part of the area, keeping unwanted personnel away. And on the far corner, an ambulance had its rear doors open as if ready to welcome the injured.

Steve didn't remember climbing out of the truck and pushing his way through the officers and the bustling activity, but he did remember with vivid clarity the fear that had seized his heart when he couldn't spot his partner anywhere, not even on the stretcher sitting inside the emergency vehicle. And that fear had increased exponentially when the occupant of that stretcher, Lou Grover, had told him that one of the two perps they were after had fled and taken Danny with him. When the older man had tried to stop him, he'd been repaid with a gunshot to the shoulder.

The task force leader had stood there, hand on his head in shocked bewilderment like he had done years before on foreign soil when he'd realized Victor Hesse was about to kill his father, trying to process how everything had gone so monumentally wrong in such a short amount of time, and chastising himself for not being there to back Danny up as his duty required.

His memories of the drive back to HQ were fuzzy as well. It had been Duke Lukela who had called Five-0's newest member, Tani Rey, to ask her to meet Lou at the hospital so that the man wouldn't be alone and get his statement, and Junior who had informed Jerry of the unsettling developments and urged him to run the prints they'd dusted from the neatly-packed stacks of cocaine.

Because the only good news, case-wise, was that they'd seized the drugs. All 200 pounds of it, making it the second biggest drug bust in Hawaiian history.

He didn't have all the details but right now, Steve didn't care. All he wanted was someone to focus his anger on to keep his mind off what his best friend had gone through while he was safe inside the hospital getting his health checked.

Gathering around the smart table, the remaining team members had frantically worked for clues until they'd finally been rewarded with a name: James Doyle, former El Paso resident who had relocated to the island a few years earlier. The man had prior arrests for possession and trafficking and had increasingly stepped up his game until this last, and hopefully final stint.

Steve had focused on Doyle's face, committing the features to memory, before turning his attention to the address listed under his name. Kakaako. The son of a bitch lived five minutes from the Palace. The odds of him taking Danny to his apartment were slim to none but the place was worth a check. Enlisting once again Junior as backup, the Five-0 leader had raced towards the new destination, hoping against hope that it would give them at least some answers.

Danny always joked that every time he wasn't around, Steve got himself into trouble. And that each phone call notifying him of said trouble had shaved a year off his already job-shortened life. Steve had never truly understood what that felt like until now. The guilt, the worry, the not knowing were eating at him, threatening his sanity.

A particularly loud rhythm brought him back to the present. He had to keep it together for the sake of his team and long enough to find Danny and bring him home. So he nodded at Junior and stepped forward.

The stale air smelled of dirt and decay, the only working bulb hanging from the ceiling providing them with just enough light to read the numbers on the dark, wooden doors. As they neared apartment 2F they both frowned, realizing that was where the incessant beat seemed to come from. An answer lied behind that closed door. Would it be good or bad news?

McGarrett positioned himself on one side, allowing Junior to move to the other. He held up his fingers.

1… 2… 3

Without hesitation, he took a step back and raised his foot, leveling a solid kick that connected just below the doorknob. The wooden frame splintered and the door sprung open.

"Five-0!"

They stood in the poorly furnished room for a few seconds, letting their eyes adjust to the dim light.

The sound, ricocheting off the aged walls, seemed —if possible— even louder, and Junior fought the urge to holster his weapon and cover his ears.

"The radio!"

He watched his superior's lips move but was unable to discern any words. "Can't hear you!"

"Find the damn radio!" Steve shouted again above the ear-splitting music.

His eyes slowly roamed across the room as he inched forward, gun at the ready, and finally located the device on the floor between a couch and a closed door. He wanted to shoot at it, blow it to splinters of metal and plastic, but feeling the weight of the Commander's stare on him he simply bent down and snatched the plug from its socket.

The silence that followed was so profound that they both felt like they'd gone deaf.

"Thank God," Steve said, releasing the breath he had been holding.

Gradually, as if a curtain had been lifted off the apartment, they became aware of their surroundings. The living room they were standing in was a small, messy area. Empty beer cans and takeout boxes littered the pavement, and drug supplies were scattered all across a small coffee table, signaling Doyle was a user other than a dealer. On the far corner of it was the kitchen, and they figured the door next to the couch where Junior had found the radio led to the bedroom.

Small noises that had been concealed before caught their attention.

Water dripping.

An angry exchange between two neighbors.

A soft whimper on the other side of the closed door.

Junior gave Steve a puzzled look. "Do you think…?"

McGarrett shook his head, adjusting the grip on his gun. "Five-0!" he called again. This time, his voice echoed loudly inside the apartment. "Doyle, if you're in there, I suggest you come out and put your hands where I can see them!" The man was too low on the food chain to be the leader of a multi-million-dollar operation, and that made him even more dangerous because he had nothing to lose.

No answer.

"You hear me?" he insisted, edging a little closer. "I'm not gonna ask you again!"

No sound.

The task-force leader let out a frustrated sigh. He looked at Junior, who nodded in understanding. "All right, we're coming in."

Carefully positioning himself next to the couch, he watched his hand slightly tremble as he raised it to unlock the door. If Jim Doyle was in there, they'd have him in a matter of seconds. And the son of a bitch would pay for what he'd done. In his mind, there was only one outcome, and it involved Danny safe from harm and the bastard dead. Nothing else mattered. No other possibility was considered.

Steve swallowed hard as the knob slowly began to twist under his touch, then in one swift move he threw the door open with such force it banged hard against the wall and stepped inside, Junior following right behind.

The room was as dirty as the rest of the apartment, furnished with a king-size bed, a dresser and a closet. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a slight movement.

"Five-0, don't move!"

Junior walked around the bed, finger ready to squeeze the trigger of his Glock, but didn't see anything. Frowning, he glanced at his superior who pointed to the small space under the bed. Sure it wasn't much, but apparently enough for someone to hide. He took a step back and tilted his head to try and catch a glimpse of their suspect while Steve reached out his hand to pull back the covers that were partially obscuring his view, tossing them aside.

"I'm counting to three," McGarrett bellowed. "You don't come out of there I swear to god you're never gonna see the light of day again!"

When nothing happened, Junior figured the guy had to be stupider then they'd given him credit for, because no one in their right mind messed with the Governor's task-force and stayed out of jail long enough to brag about it.

A few moments later the soft, whimpering sound returned and the two men exchanged a confused look. Something was definitely wrong with the picture. If Doyle was really hiding under the bed, he would've said or done something by now. Even high on drugs, it was unlikely that he'd cry and cower like that.

Then who?

Deciding that the whole thing had already been stretched too far, Steve carefully knelt down and peered under the bed. Junior held his breath, waiting for his reaction.

For one long second, silence engulfed the room. Then the Commander's eyes widened.

"Lower your weapon," he said, raking a hand through his short hair as he put his own gun back in its holster.

"Why?"

"Just do it."

Junior reluctantly complied to his superior's order and squatted down to find the answer to his question. What he saw made his heart sink. A kid, not much older than five or six, eyes wide open with fear, curled into a tiny ball.

"This is Doyle's kid," Steve explained, remembering the information Jerry had pulled on their suspect back at HQ and letting out a long, low sigh. Adjusting his tall frame so he was laying almost flat on the floor, he stretched his arm and gently stroked the boy's hair.

"Please don't kill me…" came his soft voice.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Steve made eye contact with him and smiled reassuringly. "It's okay, kiddo. We're the police, we're here to help you. What's your name?"

Tears glistened in the boy's eyes, but he didn't let them fall. "Kevin."

"All right, Kevin, we're gonna get you out of here."

The frightened child didn't move.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay," Steve said softly, his hand resting on the child's back. "I promise you."

"I'm scared."

"I know."

"Daddy and his friend said to play hide and seek but I didn't want to play anymore. I tried to call him, but he was listening to the radio and didn't hear me."

Steve's jaw clenched as he realized that Doyle had probably turned on the stereo to cover the child's cries. "Son of a bitch…" he whispered, glancing a Junior who had crouched on the other side of the bed.

Their heartfelt reassurances eventually paid off. Sensing that he could trust them, Kevin finally accepted the hand that had been offered to him and slowly came out of his hiding spot. Steve immediately picked him up and his heart clenched painfully as he felt the kid tremble in his arms.

"You hungry?"

The boy nodded.

"What would you like to eat?"

Kevin's lips curved into a small smile. "A cheeseburger."

"Is that right?" he replied, unable to suppress his own smile. "Well, I'm sure my friend Junior here can help you with that. And maybe even a shave ice, what do you say?"

The child nodded again and rested his head on Steve's shoulder.

Junior took out his cell phone and disappeared into the other room. When Steve joined him a short while later, Kevin still safe in his arms, all it took was one look at him to understand the bad news weren't over for the day.

"Nothing from the traffic cameras," the young SEAL admitted apologetically. "They must've switched cars along the way. HPD found Detective Williams' phone and tac vest a few blocks from the scene. They're still processing it but so far there's no sign of Doyle or his accomplice anywhere."

Steve pressed a hand against his forehead as if that alone could keep his headache at bay. "So where is he?" he wondered with a voice that sounded too shaky to be his own.

"I have no idea, Sir," Junior replied. "I have no idea."

"Where is it? Huh? Where'd they take it?"

Detective Danny Williams blew out a heavy breath and closed his eyes, wincing at Doyle's angry tone. He tried to ignore the feeling of his own gun pressed into his back and forced down the panic that was growing inside him. How a routine search had turned into such a complete mess was still beyond him, and he was worried about the increasingly paranoid man who kept asking where the police had taken his drugs.

"This is stupid… so stupid… You think kidnapping a cop is gonna get you far? My team's already looking for me!" While he couldn't be sure Five-0 was actually hot on his heels, Danny knew Steve, and knew that enough time had passed for his doctor's appointment to be over, which meant his control freak of a partner had tried to call him the minute he'd stepped out of the hospital, and that repeated unanswered calls would set all kinds of alarm bells in the man's head. Steve was undoubtedly looking all over the island for him.

"Well, then you better move or all they're gonna find is your dead body floating in the ocean," Doyle snarled, pushing him forward.

The detective stumbled but kept his balance and continued to walk, trying to keep up with the man's ramblings. "All right, all right. Just don't do anything stupid."

"Shut up! You fucking pigs don't know shit about me!" He grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and steered him to the left. "Oh, but you'll see," he added, his voice taking on an evil tone. "You'll see…"

Hoping for some kind of diversion that would allow him either to reach for his spare gun or turn around and tackle the man, Danny looked down at his feet and focused on getting wherever Doyle was taking him alive.

The late morning sun was weak, its pale light further obscured by thick, black clouds that settled an eerie heaviness over the city. A steady drizzle had been falling incessantly for hours, making everything damp and gloomy.

Steve stared out the window of his Silverado, his eyes fixed on the blonde paramedic that was lowering Kevin onto a stretcher. He couldn't hear her words, but from the smile on her face and her kind gestures he knew she was trying to soothe the child as best as she could. Jerry had easily located his mother, a 26-year old waitress who had already seen the inside of a prison too many times in her short life, and she was going to meet them at Queen's.

The ex-SEAL had always had a soft spot for kids, especially on the job, and couldn't help wondering where Kevin would be now if he had been born out of parents with no criminal record.

You just don't mess with children.

That was one of the basic rules he and his partner agreed on.

His partner… Steve felt the painful twinge in his heart as his thoughts went back to Danny. He wouldn't let anything happen to him. Not this time. He was going to make sure his best friend got out of this unharmed if it was the last thing he ever did.

The ambulance streaked past him, lights flashing. A few seconds later, Junior opened the door of the passenger side and climbed in.

"You call the hospital?"

"Yeah," the younger man replied. "They removed the bullet. Grover's gonna be all right."

Steve nodded and exhaled loudly. Finally some good news.

The two men exchanged a meaningful look and were both silent for a long moment before the ring of a cell phone brought them back to attention. Steve pressed the device to his ear and listened intently. When the call ended, he put both hands on the steering wheel and lowered his head, eyes closed.

Junior was quick to notice the man's distress. "Sir?"

"We gotta go."

"Where?"

"Kuhio Beach. There's a body they need us to identify."

TBC