Case Files

By: watermelon . drops

Chapter 3:

The Case With the Stupid Bunker…

Though taken into the F.B.I.'s custody, Lori, and the personal vengeance she took out on Gretzkin over three weeks before, still lingered heavy in the 5-0 office. Kono wasn't sure if it could be blamed on the fact that Steve had so blatantly shown interest in the woman, or that they'd developed some sort of friendship, but during the weeks that followed her arrest, his moods have been off the wall, if not completely unpredictable. The night she left him in her office briefly makes an appearance in her attempted reasoning for his discontent, but she brushes it away quickly. Despite the things that continue to hover over them, things unsaid and unresolved, she can't bring herself to believe that she could elicit such emotions from him. Whatever had happened between them when Devero decided to put her six feet under was passed, gone, and she's reluctantly trying to accept that as she sits on a bench outside Kamekona's, poking at a small cup of shave ice.

It's sickening, how often she still thinks about that stupid kiss, about his eyes when she woke to find him in the ambulance with her. She briefly wonders if she's suffered some sort of permanent damage from the stress and physical trials she's been through over the passed year. Her eyes drop to the shave ice before her, and she sighs. No. Nothing permanent, though whatever he's done to her doesn't seem to be going away. And, yes, she blames him wholly. He should have stayed at the warehouse. Should have let Danny ride with her, should have let her cousin or maybe her friends help her home. There are about a million different ways she can think of to have avoided this entire, mind-gutting problem, and even as she sits going over them, reminding herself over and over again how insane it is to hold on to this stupid, pointless scenario they've created for themselves - she nearly falls from her seat when she sees him coming over to her, keys bouncing back and forth between his hands with an ease she hasn't seen in weeks. He seems pretty relaxed, with loose fitting jeans and a white tee making it hard to forget what it is that's underneath that frighteningly thin cotton. She blinks and he's before her, eyes squinting under the sun's mid-day rays.

"Hey," he greets casually, holding that calm demeanor. "Lose your cell?"

It occurs to her then that, yeah, she doesn't really know where it is. "I must've left it at home," she mumbles, searching her pockets with short, futile effort, knowing full well that she's done just that. "Why? What's up?"

He sighs. "I know it's supposed to be our day off, but we've got a case," and he seems truly regretful. "It's about a twenty minute drive, I can send the coordinates to your phone."

When he turns to leave, she realizes she's failed to answer him. Though, in her defense, it's a bit awkward being around him again, for the first time without Chin or Danny, since that night in her office.

"I - uh," she stammers, moving to stand from the bench, hands sliding into her back pockets. "My car's at my house, I caught a ride with someone here."

He pauses in his retreat, glances at her over a tensed shoulder. "A ride? With who?"

"A friend," she deflects, easing around him, towards his truck.

He follows close behind, but doesn't drop the apparent 'issue'. "Well, what friend? Andi? Uh - what's that other girl's name? Erika?"

She scoffs. "How bout none of your business?" And she's climbing in the truck, ignoring his curious face as he looks at her through the window, making no move to the driver's side.

"Was it Amy?"

Kono rolls her eyes and looks out the windshield, continues to avoid his face when he finally makes it to his side. He starts the truck and pulls away from Kamekona's, and through her annoyance with his nosiness, she recognizes the close proximity, the fact that, yep, they're definitely making a twenty minute drive, alone, in the confines of the cab of his truck. To her greatest luck, he seems to notice her discomfort, and pulls his phone from his pocket, hands it to her.

"A local sent the picture to P.D. from a prepaid cell. We got the carrier, but can't track the phone -"

"- as usual," she grumbles, shaking her head. "You'd think that with all our technology and advancements, we'd have found a way to track those damn phones by now."

He smiles. "No kidding." She's looking at him strangely when he casts a sidelong glance, but he leaves it alone, moves along. "Anyway, the body is facedown, so we couldn't try and pull an I.D. from the photo, though it's obviously male. Danny and Chin are gonna meet us there with Max, hopefully we'll be able to figure it out pretty quick, get back to our day off."

"Here's hopin'," she agrees, grinning. "So where's the body located? In the picture it looks as if the person taking it is standing over, like on a platform of some sort."

"That's the catch, actually," he's saying, turning in his seat to check the other lane, flipping his blinker on. "Apparently it's in an old World War Two bunker."

"Underground?"

"Partially. It's mountainside, so some of it was worked into the hill of the mountain, built into it rather than flattening or molding the land to accommodate the structure. A good portion of it was tunneled underground, though, later. According to the blueprints that P.D. has for the place, the ground level is older, but sturdier than the lower levels."

"They can measure stability on blueprints?" she wonders skeptically, raising a brow. "That doesn't sound right."

"Not by the blueprints," he murmers, letting his arm drop to the rest between them. "After some kids got trapped in there a few years back, the Governor ordered a check of the place, and P.D., alongside Honolulu Fire Department, were front line on the assignment. They took records of most everything and stored them with the place's file in the Veteran's Assembly Historical Monument Division."

"So this place is owned by the museums?"

"Not completely," he drawls, brows furrowing. "A few of the veterans that wanted to memorialize the place, also disagreed with anyone actually owning it. Said that it was built and manned by soldiers, and shouldn't be subjected to the remodeling a museum would surely heap upon it. They accused the museum director of trying to make it into a tour stop, and they wouldn't stand for it."

"So who won that argument?" she asks, eyes unintentionally resting on his face, despite her mind's warnings not to. "I would assume the state sided with the museum, considering the amount of income the place could rake in."

"I thought the same thing, but was informed upon catching this case that nobody's won, at least not yet. The Governor hesitated when the veterans began to rally, showing both she and everyone else that they wouldn't back down. Fighting with the public over a parking lot is a lot easier, and less complicated, than fighting with War Veterans over a tool used by them while fighting for their country."

Kono nods, turns eyes to the countryside moving passed, the ground slowly disappearing behind them as Steve weaves the truck around the mountain road, trees hovering in abundance above them, casting a cool shade over the vehicle. "So, basically, it's no man's land. For now."

"For now," he agrees quietly. "Which is how locals are still able to 'break in', though breaking in only consists of unlocking the door and propping it open to keep from being locked in."

She chuckles. "I'm sure the kids get a kick out of that."

"Yeah, and I'm pretty sure that's who sent P.D. the picture. Adults aren't so drawn to dark, damp places in the middle of the mountains."

"But kids with a dare -"

"- will do just about anything," he agrees with her unfinished declaration. "Luckily none of them have fallen down our vic's hole."

"A hole we need to avoid, yeah?"

Steve shrugs. "We have to go down there and get the body. Max'll have to examine it before being moved to try and get any residue that could be wiped away during transport. I guess we'll be hanging with him for a while, if we can find a safe way to get down there."

Kono nods, but doesn't comment. How can she, when her attention's been drawn away from the conversation, away from the case, by his arm on the rest between them, comfortably pressed to hers. He doesn't seem to notice, but then he seems to be completely absorbed with their surroundings, focused on getting them to their end destination. Unfortunately, she doesn't have such distraction, and is eyeing their arms on that stupid rest with such an uncomfortable distress that she's surprised he doesn't feel her gaze, melting like acid through his skin. His hand twitches and her breath halts, noting how with just a small arch, her fingers would be in his palm and it would be way too much like a normal couple, riding in the car, holding hands. She shakes her head, fights against a face palm. Jesus, what has gotten into her? Constantly thinking of him is bad enough, but letting something as simple as his hand's proximity to hers get under her skin is just pathetic. How many times have they ridden like this in the past? Like, a gazillion, and this one should be no different. Still, as they pull off road and Steve moves his arm, getting a better grip on the steering wheel, she feels a bit of disappointment at the loss. They've been steadily avoiding one another for months now, not so much conversation, but anything remotely close to touch has been evicted from their interaction, and it was nice to feel it again, even in such a small dose.

"It should be right up here," he says into the silence, glancing her way. "You alright?"

She blinks. "Yeah. Just tryin' to figure out why a grown man would be in a WWII bunker alone, with no supplies or a shirt, if this picture serves right. You'd think that if he wanted to explore -"

"- he'd have brought someone along, or at least a lunch, and there's no sign of either in the picture."

"Right, and the kids got a pretty good shot of his surroundings, so if he'd had a pack with him, even if he'd fallen, it'd be somewhere near where he landed."

"True enough, but let's save this for when we get there," he's saying through a smile, shaking his head. "We'll drive ourselves crazy trying to figure this out without all the information."

She nods. "Very true."

Steve weaves the truck through a tight gathering of brush, through a clutter of trees that only seemed to last for a short distance, and when they break the tree line, she blinks against the sun's vengeful reappearance and finally spots what they're looking for. Seemingly a part of the mountain, the bunker's door is really all that's to be seen upon approach. He parks the truck a decent distance away from the large double doors and they waste no time in hopping out, making their way across the small field. Kono is forced to reflect on her choice of outfit for the day; a tank that continues to rise up her back, shorts that refuse to cover enough of her legs to protect from the high grass, and sandals that are now caked in grassweed residue. She frowns as they near the large entrance, noting the graffiti splattered along the front in various colors.

"They could at least be creative," Steve grumbles, eyeballing the artwork. "How many times, and in how many places, must you declare your love for someone? Tammy loves Drew? These kids are probably, what, twelve?"

Kono grins. "And now you know why Danny's always stressin' over Grace."

"Boys, sure, but that guy will seize out over an untied shoelace." Her laughter is almost foreign after so long, but he welcomes the honesty of the sound. He's smiling for reasons he'd rather not acknowledge. "Speaking of Danny, I wonder what's taking him and Chin so long."

"Probably had to stop and get Max," she's saying through softening chuckles, hand pressing to her aching stomach. "Or they might have had to swap out their service vehicles for something that could make it up here."

Steve sighs. "I forgot about that."

"Should we go in without them?"

There's something in the way he glances at her; it makes her thighs burn. He's watching her with a raw sort of uncertainty, his eyes asking her things his mouth is too chicken shit to voice. Among the millions of scenarios that play in her head as to how it could wind up, she stumbles upon the horrid notion that they could keep this up - this easiness they've reacquired. There's been no argument, no crossing of boundaries, and she wonders if, choosing to enter that dark bunker together, it would be possible to continue on this way. Would they be able to brush aside all the things they left hanging up in the air, or allow them to strike a match, threaten their peace with notions of truth and finality. She's as unsure as he looks, because there's just something about being in a closed, dark space that makes things so much more real, so much more inviting. She thinks her stomach has mistaken this for Steve's bedroom, if the wild flips and jumbled function is of any indication.

"I -"

And she prepares herself for the rejection, though she hadn't realized this had become some sort of secret date - thing until he was getting ready to answer.

"Yeah," he finally answers, moving a hand over the large bolt in the center of the doors. "Hold this open until I find something to stick in front of it."

She watches him open it with wide eyed surprise, suddenly under the impression that she'd truly lost her mind. And maybe he had, too. 'Cause according to her calculations, she'd suggested that they, 1: begin an investigation without backup and, 2: that they allow themselves into an enclosed room, alone, after everything that's happened between them. And to her utmost horror, he'd agreed. She steps up and grabs hold of the door, surprised to find that she has to strain to keep it from slamming closed.

"I'll be right back," he mutters, attention already drawn to the area around them.

Kono can only nod her silent confirmation. Christ, what the hell is goin' on? She blinks a few times, thinking maybe she'd dreamed this whole thing up because, let's face it, she had been pretty adamant about steering clear of situations such as this, and until now, had succeeded. Nothing good could possibly come of it but, again, she's pretty sure she'd been the one to offer it up. Then, as she's watching the broad expanse of McGarrett's back as he picks up a few different sized boulders, she thinks maybe she's reading too far into it. They're partners, right? Co-workers. Sometimes friends. They could surely get through, at the most, thirty minutes of working alone. Danny and Chin and Max should be here soon and… - yeah, they can do this. She can do this.

"This should work," he says through a grunt, hefting a boulder, one that could have easily weighed twice what she did on a good day, across the short distance and plopping it at her feet. "Let it go. I doubt it'll move that."

She quirks a brow. "I don't see how you moved that."

"Well," he drawls, a grin that makes her kneecaps melt tugging at his lips. "I suppose it is pretty heavy…"

"Oh my God," Kono breaks in, rolling her eyes. "I should have known better than to feed that ego of yours."

She brushes passed him with the slightest of smiles, ignoring the way he's smirking and looking at her as if nothing between them is amiss. It's nice; being around him again.

"So should we start looking up here first, or go straight for the body?"

He doesn't answer her at first, and just as well, 'cause she wouldn't have heard him. Her eyes drift lazily up and around the massive room, noting with an appreciative intake of breath how much work this place must have been. The entirety of the space is blotched, shadowed by darkness and heights too far for her eyes to adjust - but what she can see is just as astonishing. Metal frames are worked into the side of the mountain, still visible, and serving as the back wall, the other three sides constructed of materials just as sturdy, if not more impressive. It angles a bit, she realizes, as she moves forward, the roof of the front much higher than that of the space furthest from her, and the sides are amiably spaced, leaving a floor of such footage that she's at a loss of what to do upon first venture. Running across it just to see how long it takes crosses her mind, maybe adding a theatrical slide at the end, when she notices the slick material beneath her feet. It'd probably be fun, given the amount of room, but her attention is diverted when she sees two rails protruding from the spacious area towards the back, nearly hidden by crates and trunks and cardboard boxes. Sifting through the stuff would probably be interesting - she makes a mental note, thinking that sneaking in here would be of some entertainment, after all. The thought is squashed, though, when she moves farther in and the fresh air of outside is replaced with something thick and putrid. It moves into her nostrils with an angry sort of determination, and it's in her throat, choking her, reminding her why they've come here.

"My God," Steve grumbles, the back of his hand pressing to his nostrils. "That is horrible."

"I know," Kono concedes, face crumpling. "Worse than it usually is when we find em'."

He comes up behind her, chest pressing into her shoulder, looking over her head. "It's not unusual. I wouldn't be afraid to say it's a hundred degrees in here. I doubt the body's in very good condition."

Though she knows it's probably not a hundred degrees in the place, his exaggeration feels about accurate, if the sweat gathering at her hairline is of any importance. "I guess it's a safe guess that they weren't so worried about proper ventilation."

"No," Steve mumbles distractedly, moving ahead of her, towards the rails she spotted before. "There is some ventilation, but nothing near to what you'd hope for, and most of them have been weathered over the years, clogged with mud and dirt. The wind up here on the mountain is a lot worse than below. They'd need someone to check and clean the vents daily to keep them open."

A little disheartened by the heat, Kono only nods and follows him to the ladder, standing shoulder to shoulder with him when she reaches what's obviously the entrance to the lower levels of the bunker.

"Well," she sighs, "there he is."

And with only a moment's hesitation, they took the rusted ladder down to whatever might be waiting below.

.

If the ground level of the bunker was magnificent and spacious, the underground was a damp, muddy mess. Her sandals had sunk almost immediately when she'd dropped from the last step of the ladder and she's been up to her calves in grime since. Steve didn't seem too impressed, either, but if it was bothering him, he didn't let it show. His eyes and full attention had found the victim, whose license she's just discovered a few feet from the body names as one Alexander Rebou. Steve's face draws a little at the name.

"Rebou? That sounds….odd."

Kono nods. "His license was issued in New York." She shrugs. "Maybe he hasn't had it changed over."

"Maybe he wasn't planning on staying."

"If he was here on business, what the hell brought him all the way up here? How would he even know about it? There are locals that are still oblivious to this place."

Steve shakes his head a little, crouched close to the head of the body. "No. Someone would have had to lead him here, or tell him about it. I don't think he'd have stumbled upon it, like you said, what would have brought him so far out." He pauses, watching the scattered pattern of insects crawling in and out of parted flesh along the man's cheekbone. "Is there anything in his wallet? Anything of use?"

Kono sifts through folded receipts and business cards, pulls apart the largest fold of the wallet and grunts, pulling Steve's attention. "He's loaded, for one thing," she says with a grin. "At least three thousand in cash."

"Alright," Steve grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Someone either brought him or led him out here, obviously confronted him, and then, what? Left three thousand dollars cash on the body? This isn't adding up."

"Maybe it was more personal than money."

"Like?"

Kono's attention peaks at a card, folded neatly behind the money. "Guess somebody's back in action after our last go-round."

Steve's eyes narrow at the writing she's trying to show him but cant from such a distance, their only light source being an entire level up, at the far end of the room. "I'll be right back."

She starts, watching him move across the dark space. "What? Where are you going?"

"To get a flashlight." He pauses halfway up the ladder, glances at her. "And some water. It's hot as hell in here."

She nods and watches him go, warding the shadows off with an easy shrug of indifference. It's not in her to let something as silly as darkness creep her out, even if she is in an ancient bunker, underground, with no way out if something should happen. Her thoughts fog too quickly for her to help and she's glaring around the room as she waits, noticing the smallest of things. Like how the framing down here seems to bow, unstable, against the harder, less weathered conditions of the mountain. How there's a constant dripping of water in several different places, coming from….where, exactly? Or maybe the continuous crumbling of rock and dirt around her, unseen but definitely heard, making her wonder just how safe it is for them to be down here. It's like they've literally climbed into a poorly dug hole, and the jagged edges of the surface above do nothing to quell her bit of anxiousness when she glances up, searching for McGarrett. There's a small rumble beneath her, and she's just stood, ready to climb the ladder when he appears, slides down, hands her a bottle of water.

He turns the flashlight on with a click and the shitty conditions are amplified. "Jesus," he nearly whispers. "I guess they didn't feel the need to finish this part."

"Finish?" she asks, laughing. "Looks like they just dug a hole and hoped for the best."

He nods but doesn't comment, and she nearly jumps out of her skin when his fingers close around her wrist, turning the card she's holding so he can see it.

"Devero," he bites, irritable. "Well there's our connection."

Kono frowns. "Still, what would they have been doing up here? Devero is a crook, a murderer, an asshole - but he's classy about it."

Steve snorts. "Classy?" and he seems as if he's on the verge of laughing. "Seriously?"

"Well, yeah," she says, smiling in spite of the incredulous look on his face. "He's not the type of guy to come trudging through the forest, using a friggin' hot-box for his business meetings. He's more wine and dine. Honestly, I don't think he can live without his champagne."

There's a moment's pause. His hand on her wrist, eyes on the card, so close she can smell the remnants of his body wash, the faintest hint of perspiration beginning to poke through. His chest presses to her shoulder when he draws in a deep breath, small strands of hair, fallen from their places in the band holding her ponytail in position, softly carried across her cheek as he exhales.

"Though I hate the guy, I think you're right." He says quietly, still huddled close. "Doesn't seem like his choice venue. I doubt the same can be said for his guys, though."

She looks up at him. "If this guy knew something and Devero wanted him to stay quiet, he wouldn't be against getting one of his little lackey's hands dirty. Maybe he wouldn't entertain the idea of hanging in a place like this -"

"- he wouldn't be so picky if someone else was doing the work."

They both smile, satisfied with their evaluation, and her breath catches a little when he takes his hand from her wrist and throws his arm over her shoulder, squeezing shortly before letting go.

"I'm callin' Danny," he says through a sigh, moving back towards the body. "After I send some pictures to Max."

The silence is thick, but not uncomfortable. She thinks what little distress she does feel has a lot to do with the smell, and the conditions of their current residence. She watches him as he moves around the body, snapping shots, grunting all the while in that satisfied way of his. It makes her smile; how alike they are sometimes. She knows that feeling, after all. Stumbling upon a mystery, dissecting it, finding the possible reasons for it. Maybe they don't know the whole story yet, but they've got a few clues, and she's pretty sure they've got the gist of it. Finding that card in Mr. Rebou's wallet was a Godsend, considering the other evidence they are so lacking. Fingerprints don't seem very likely, thanks in part to the dampness, and in part to what the guy's face down on. Dirt and rubble and who knows what else doesn't leave much space for something as sensitive as a fingerprint, and can even hinder finding substantial residue around the wound if it were a gun that killed him. She hasn't taken the time to look too closely at the decomposing body. Since descending into the lower level, she's found that her stomach isn't at all accustomed to such devastating surroundings, and the smell coming from Steve's current focus is enough to send her running back up that ladder and outside. So she busies herself with the crime scene, careful not to disrupt anything that could be of importance, casting the flashlight in every darkened corner, every small hole, anything that could harbor something that could help recreate what happened here. She's eyeballing a small clump close to the body, near where she found the wallet, when Steve's voice cuts through the quiet.

"Danny," he's saying, still surveying the dead man's head. "We think this man was connected to Devero somehow - yeah, Alexander Rebou - no.. - stop interrupting me! What do you mean return of the Neanderthal? I have not been acting like a woman on her - what? Yes, Kono is with me."

Kono smiles in spite of the mud now caking her fingers, temporarily ignoring Steve's voice as she pushes the muck aside, finally grasping the object in question. She rubs a finger gently over the surface of the object and her eyes widen when it reveals a smudged cell phone front. "Hey Steve," she calls excitedly, using the bottom of her shirt to free the device from it's thick, disgusting coat. "I got a cell."

It takes McGarrett a second to realize what she said, through his obvious focus on whatever Danny's griping about now, but when he does, he smiles. "Danny, we got a cell. - wha - how would I know what's on it? I haven't looked at it yet. Would you give me a second! I'm - no, I'm not. She's right in front of me, what do you mean I need to -"

Kono is smiling up at his face, reddened with irritation, when she hears something that really resembles the sound of footsteps. She freezes, and so does Steve, when there's a soft thud just above the ladder. He's holding a hand out to her, signaling her to stay still, quiet. They're staring up at the opening, half expecting someone's head to pop out, but are rewarded only with an eerie silence that has the invisible hair on her neck and arms standing on end. Steve must have felt similar, if that narrow-eyed look was of any inclination. The silence drags on and she can tell McGarrett's getting restless, defying his own orders to stay put and moving slowly, quietly, towards the ladder. He's stuffed his phone in his pocket and has his gun drawn, one hand reaching for the rail, when they hear it. The force of the door closing sends a surprisingly strong gust through the large building, the scent of outside briefly reaching her as darkness descends upon the vast space. She's still frozen in place, but can be silent no longer.

"That boulder," she says to Steve, pointing the flashlight in his direction. "You don't think -"

"- there's no way that door moved it," he answers quickly, pulling himself up the first step of the ladder. "Someone's here, and I doubt they locked themselves in."

Her stomach lurches at the notion, her breath suddenly heavy with fear of being trapped inside this place, in the dark, with little to no ventilation. She's never been claustrophobic, but in a situation such as she finds herself in, the feeling isn't so improbable.

"But the lock," she begins, shaking her head.

"Is on the outside." He glances at her, eyes squinting against the small beam of light. "There's no way for us to open it from in here. But -" and he sounds absolutely sure "- Danny and Chin are on their way. We wont be in here long."

She's nodding, though she knows he's already turned back to the ladder, and he's halfway up when the thought smacks her in the gut. "Steve," she whispers, "if it's the same person," and she cant help but glance at the body. "They'll know that."

He pauses, looks back down over his shoulder. "Stay here, I'll be right -"

Before she has time to blink, everything seems to implode. One second, she's looking up at him, listening to what he's saying, and the next - everything's just dark. There's a sharp blast and she loses her grip on the flashlight, on the cell phone, on her balance. She's thrown back and all at once her breath is gone, replaced with an intense feel of suffocation as mound after mound of dirt is piled on top of her; in her eyes, on her face, her chest, her legs. Through the chaos that has become the lower level of the bunker, she's aware of very few things. The dusty air she's trying to breathe, the building panic suddenly poisoning her rational thought, and bulk after bulk pressing down on her. She can hear the crumbling of earth, the bending of metal, the thunderous rumble of unsteady structure vibrating all the way through her as she closes her eyes, tries desperately to clam herself. She can't breathe, can't think - it's all she can do not to kick and flail and scream, beg for someone to pull her out of the growing amount of rubble.

Kono manages to take in a small breath when the reverberations slow, another when the shifting of dirt begins to fade out and the last of whatever rocks and pebbles are loose clack down the piles made to the floor below. She tries to move her arms in the dusty silence that follows; to no avail. Her legs and arms are pinned to her beneath globs of earth larger and heavier than she is, her head trapped between ground and dirt, slowly becoming mud as the drips she'd heard before hasten, fall over her face in steady streams. Panic flares again when she hears no sign of Steve, when silence stretches and swells until her eyes are wide and her chest heaving. She begins to struggle against the weight, cries out unintentionally when it all shifts, only to be replaced by more, heavier than before. Despite extensive field work, undercover ops, near death's that were as painful and frightening as they come - she can feel her entire body shaking, unable to move away from the source of her distress, unable to free herself, no escape in sight. It starts to close in on her, oppressive, restricting, and her heart wont stop pounding, wont slow down, until she's absolutely positive that her chest is about to cave in on itself, lungs constricting, stomach lurching, quivering, rolling. She can hear her own breathing, loud against the enclosed space, desperate in the harsh, frightened way that they heave from her throat. It hurts; how helpless she feels. And just as soon as she starts whimpering, short, sobby sounds, something moves above her, and she falls completely still.

"Kono?"

She nearly screams with relief. "Yes! I'm under here. Get me out, it's friggin' crushing me."

Kono hears Steve grunt, the only affirmation she'll get, surely. Her mind begins to whirl around her injuries; where it hurts, where it doesn't, where she cant feel anything at all. She wiggles her toes a little, just to be sure she can, and does the same with her fingers. Her shin is burning, and her right elbow is numb - uncomfortably so. Both shoulders hurt from being crunched together, her collar bones and neck throbbing from the pressure, as well. It's hard to tell, still compacted the way she is, but nothing seems to be too devastating. She can feel most everything, and that's what's important. She'd rather feel pain any day than that tingly, far-off numbness that accompanies broken bones, or crushed nerves. The thought disturbs her, and she fights against the anxiety trying to prickle it's way back to the surface. A small beam of light shines through as rocks and clusters and dirt are moved away from her prone form, falling around her in a dusty, heaping mess. She coughs; raspy and dry.

"Are you alright?" Steve's asking, before she's even been freed. "Is anything broken? Try to move everything, see what -"

"I'm okay," she answers slowly, calm. "I've already tried to check… everything seems alright, so far." She hesitates, glances up through the small hole he's made, watches as his fingers grasp the large globs and yank. When she can finally see his face, she frowns. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," he mumbles, and she doesn't quite believe him.

Kono doesn't say anything, lets him keep digging, but watches him closely. There's a hitch in his left shoulder, and his fingers are bloodied, more so than she'd have expected. His face is dark, a color than can only be made with earth and blood, and she can see a large gash above his right eyebrow. His hair is matted, seems wet, darker than usual. She wonders if it's blood, if it's mud, if it's water… the situation seems to worsen as seconds pass.

"Give me your hand," he finally says, face hollow. "When I pull, try to get your feet under you."

She does as he says, wiggles her arms free, puts her hands in his. It sounded a lot easier when he'd said it, 'cause when he pulls, her whole body feels like it's been twisted, coiled for hours, and slowly being unwound, muscles tense and sore. She groans when she pulls her legs under her, puts a little weight on them. It hurts like hell, and she's no trouble admitting it to herself. Her eyes pinch closed when he starts pulling harder, taking hold of her around the waist when she's far enough out, and she does let out a very unattractive sound when he yanks her the rest of the way. They tumble to the ground in a heap, Kono on bottom. Her first thought is to berate him for pulling her out from under a bunch of boulders, only to drop her and proceed to press all his weight atop her, as if he's light or somethin'. But her thoughts are frozen all at once when she opens her eyes and he's there, nose so close that she can feel it grazing the tip of hers, eyes open and questioning and worried. It's funny; how fast things shift.

"Kono," he breathes, and she's unnerved in a matter of seconds. Because it's honest and it's quiet and sure. He's defenseless again, and part of her is ignited, knowing it's her that does this to him.

He's bloody and dirty and he smells like sweat and outside and mud - it's the sexiest thing she's ever seen. "I'm alright," she assures, watching him in his silent exploration of her injuries. "Really. I'll be fine. It's nothing serious."

He exhales slowly, as if he's been holding it in all this time, and gives her a short nod. But he doesn't move, doesn't even pretend as if he has any intentions of moving, and she lies beneath him in a shivering heap of nerves, mind conjuring up all kinds of different situations they could be in, in this exact position. Her eyes close when he leans a little to the side, exposes her torn tank top, the swell of her breasts way too prominent beneath the white material. At least he has the decency to feign interest elsewhere.

"Let me see your elbow."

She lifts the arm and turns it to him. "What's it look like?" If asked, she'd surely blame the lack of attention on her inability to see her elbow, and leave out the nerves that had played a large part in her refusal to look at it.

"Pretty bad," he mumbles honestly. "Keep it still. I cant tell if it's broken or shattered or.. -"

She opens her eyes and watches the series of conflicts play across his face, watches him go back and forth with himself over something he obviously doesn't feel comfortable with. She keeps quiet, though, and lets him work it out, because the last time they were in such a predicament continuously pricks at her conscious thought, reminds her of what happened last time they were this close. This alone. Why it frightens her to such levels is beyond her, and it's as annoying as it is strange.

"Steve," she whispers, moving her head so that she's looking up at his face, strategically turned to the side. "We're alright."

"Your stomach -"

She glances at where his eyes have fallen, and restrains the horror, doesn't let it surface. He's already worried, probably finding some way to take all the blame, and she's not in the mood to watch him tear himself apart. Her shirt is torn from just under her bra, to the waistline of her shorts, most of the material just… gone. There are deep cuts in straight lines down her midriff, uneven and, well.. ugly. She fights the urge to pout - she's always been very proud of her stomach.

"They're just scratches, Steve."

He frowns. "I shouldn't have pulled you out like that, I should have dug the rest of the way."

"For the love of -" she growls, rolling her eyes. "It's not your fault! I was trapped under all that shit and you pulled me out, just like I wanted. Give me a break, Steve, your fingers are torn to shreds. You couldn't have finished without losing em'. I'd rather have a few scratches than have to sew your fingers back on."

It doesn't sate him, though. He's in that mode. Playing what Danny proclaims the McGarrett-Self-Blame-Game. It's a vicious cycle, and one she doesn't fully understand, even to this day. To be such an imposing, dominating figure, he's surely the most unappreciative of his own actions, skills, so on, and she cant for the life of her imagine being so talented, and still unable to find an inch of self worth. She pauses in her musings, sheepishly thinking of her own unfortunate thoughts about herself the night of Gretzkin's bust, and frowns. Alright, so maybe she can understand to an extent, but still, this guy's got medals fallin' out his ass and he's still content with heaping every bit of drama and fault upon his shoulders, with no thought to how it may effect him. Her frown deepens. Again, their likeness is as thick as the tension between their bodies, wet and grimy and so close right now it's almost painful. She cant remember a time when she'd taken the time to dissect even one of his personality faults, and now, after doing so, she finds that she shouldn't have put the effort in. One of his many issues are one in the same with her own, again, and it's unfortunate that she's come to this realization now; underground, sopping wet, trapped, and injured. Why is it that they're incapable of being together unless it's a life threatening situation?

"Maybe there's a gap in the rubble," he's saying thoughtfully, glancing around the effected area. "If so, we could probably dig our way out. It'd take a while, but I think we could manage until Chin and Danny get here and figure out what's going on."

She's watching him, silent, because what the hell is she supposed to say now? Now that she's effectively filled her head with thoughts of this man above her, someone she respects, someone selfless and strong and admirable in more ways than she could ever count, and softened the shell she'd put around herself to avoid him until it's nothing but mush, only assisting in the stupid, gooey feelings that permeate every defense she's got. It's maddening, and annoying, and she wishes she had the strength to shove him away, smack him around and pretend this moment of epic 'realization' never took place. What these realizations are, she's still wishy washy on, because she's always known how good a man he is . . . . - maybe she's just been avoiding the subject to keep from furthering her dilemma with him. A dilemma, she's decided, that effects both of them more than she'd previously admitted. Glancing back, she wonders just how much their situation bothered him. How much he thought about her, about that day in her kitchen, about how it ended, about the time spent apart, about her walking away from him…

"You don't give yourself enough credit, ya know," she says quietly, effectively jarring him from whatever he was thinking. "It doesn't always have to be your responsibility, or your fault."

He looks down at her for only a second before pushing up and away from her, plopping to his butt, scooting away towards a surprisingly large gathering of dirt where the wall used to be. Reaching in his pocket, he pulls out his cell and moves to ignore her.

She laughs; a loud, incredulous sound. "Nowhere to run to this time, huh?" and the honesty of it is both thrilling and terrifying when she realizes that she's initiated this… again. "Funny how we seem to keep making the same mistakes. Only, now you're stuck in here with me, and I can say whatever the hell I want." She shrugs, smiles up at the crumbling structure above. "I wonder how long before you stick your fingers in your ears? Or maybe you'll just bash your head into a rock until you've rendered yourself unconscious?" Her eyes fall lazily to where he's seated, watch with amusement as he stares, seemingly horrified at her perception of their situation. "Which were you thinking? I'm gonna go out on a limb and say the rock."

Horrified surprise quickly morphs into indifference, which is far worse. "I was thinking you must have hit your head harder than you realized, and was just about to call our backup and see if they've arrived."

"Mhmm," she hums, unperturbed. "And I'm sure you were going over all the ways this could have been prevented, thinking you should have never agreed to come in here without our backup, shouldn't have made such a rash, unorthodox decision without notifying someone, blah, blah, blah. Don't pretend like you're all calm and collected, McGarrett, I know better."

If he's bothered by her deduction, he doesn't show it, doesn't let it spill into the words that tumble out next. "Sure you do." He glances at her and frowns for a moment, as if truly judging her for the first time, eyes narrowed and sharp. It makes her squirm a little. "You know everything, don't you? Got it all figured out, right? Why am I even here? I'm sure you would have cracked this all on your own, without any help. Maybe you'd have even got out without a bullet hole, who knows?"

She sits up on her good elbow, the other cradled to her stomach, and is scowling with all her busted up face is worth. "Don't turn this into an argument about my abilities. Insulting me, making jabs at me, it's not going to distract me from what I've said. You don't give yourself enough credit, and you cant control everything, Steve. Running yourself into the ground, trying to bust everyone at once isn't going to do anyone any good. When you're dead, what happens then?"

So, turning this into a question of his professional intentions, and the motivations behind them, wasn't what she originally planned, but it's having the desired effect, anyway. He's turned his eyes from her, obviously still fairly surprised with what she's done with their conversation, and tries to feign interest in the phone, cradled in his hands. It's not that his personal problems and what's caused them are her main focus, given where her thoughts turned to upon being drug from her own special form of hell, quite literally, but it's an issue that's been lingering, long before she decided that falling, disgustingly so, for her boss was a good idea. Danny complains incessantly about it, Chin broods silently over it, and Steve tries his hardest to ignore it, but it remains ever present in their workplace, no matter the case or community disaster that's taking place. McGarrett is a good man, and watching him suffer in silence, over something nobody quite grasps, is a difficult feat, even for someone as socially stunted as Kono.

She blinks when he stands up, unable to mask the surprise as he moves across the small, cramped space, pushing against the mess, searching for a weak spot. The clearing of her throat draws him back, if only a little.

"We're trapped in the lower levels of a bunker, with no good form of ventilation, probably a limited air supply, one bottle of water, a flashlight, and, oh! a dead body is hidden somewhere under all this shit that's now on top of us, one that we we're responsible for, and you want to bring up personal shortcomings? Now?"

Her small grunt, one of both pain and embarrassment, doesn't deter him. She frowns when he continues.

"We've barely spoken, hardly glanced in the same direction, for so long now, that I can barely remember what we're so angry at each other for -"

She winces. That hurt.

"- and the first time we work together after alllll this time, we end up not only breaking protocol, but endangering ourselves, and completely destroying the crime scene and any evidence we may have had. You'll probably need to go to the hospital, hell, maybe I will too, and -"

She regretted this conversation as soon as he opened his mouth, or maybe it's as soon as she actually said something that got to him, but she doesn't think it really matters. He's ranting and spouting off every single thing they've done to muss this up, and part of her knows he's only doing it to draw her away from the things she'd brought up, but who cares? 'cause it's working, and somewhere between the things he's saying and the truth of what she'd broached, she's a little more upset than she'd have expected. He purposely brought up why they've been on the outs with one another, purposely said that he hardly remembered it, trying to imply that, no, he doesn't think of what happened at all and, no, he doesn't care like she wants him to. It should have hurt her feelings, made her want to crawl under one of those rocks and wait with excruciating impatience until Danny n' Chin show up… should have.

"Hardly remember, huh?" and she says it as if she's just realizing exactly what he meant, and she can see the uncertainty flicker through the storm in his eyes, though he never stops pulling at the disheveled mass of rubble, trying to pretend he's not all that interested. "Maybe you'd remember better if I dyed my hair blonde and dressed like a desperate hooker at work? Or maybe if I was, I dunno… crazy?"

He stops immediately, and she doesn't dignify any of it with further comment, just lays back and stares up, away from him. Perhaps it'd been a little far; to bring up Lori. But, c'mon, that chick's interference in their already crumbly situation was less than welcomed, and she'd never got to say anything about it. She hadn't even complained about the unfortunate position she and Danny had seen the two of them in, which, secretly of course, had grated on her nerves for days. Even though she was sure she'd despise his response, if he ever decided to give her one, it was worth it. That's what she was telling herself, but when she hears his boots, shuffling towards her, her resolve slowly crumbles, and she finds that she's as capable of being nervous as anyone else… though she's ever diffident to admit it.

When he kneels beside her, her stomach falls to her feet, and she cant take laying idle on a muddy floor while he either breaks her heart or says something far worse than she could imagine, like, maybe that Lori was just something to distract him from her, and that her kitchen is a committed venue in his imagination. That, above all else, would be devastating. Because, what then? What would they do? Nothing? Could she live and function in their mingled lives knowing how he feels, but unable to have what that would offer? No. She doesn't think she could. When his hand reaches out to her, she moves away, and lifts herself to sit up against one of the larger boulders, squinting her eyes under the small driblets of water still leaking from above. She doesn't dare look at him, but cant help but hear when he speaks, remembering the unfortunate statement she'd made earlier, you know, about having nowhere to run.

"What do you want me to say?" he asks, and she's sure he doesn't realize how small he sounds. "That I'm sorry? I'm not. You know nothing good could ever come from… from - well, from you and I. Your career would be a joke once everyone found out, and we couldn't hide it forever, as much as I'd like to. You said you wanted to pretend, for Chin and Danny's sake, and I told you that I would, even though we both know it's impossible. Working together… it's only manageable when the others are around. These kinds of things happen, and now what? We're both angry and…. I don't know what you want me to do. What can I do?"

She doesn't want to talk about it. Not so directly. She hadn't imagined he'd let go of the defenses and come to her, all honest and open and shit, expecting her to say something. Thinking of what he might say was a lot easier than actually hearing it, and it's a lot more than she'd anticipated. Both vague and blaringly informative, his little spiel had effectively dislodged previous uncertainties, only to plant new ones. So, he did want her, but what? Wouldn't be content with a relationship unless it could be hidden? All because of her career. When she glances up at his face, half hidden in the dark, half illuminated by flashlight, her stomach is in knots, her chest tight, resolve chipped and unstable. She has to respond, has to finally get this conversation over with because, my God, they couldn't keep doing this. Not when the circumstances only seem to keep escalating. And their relationship, professional or no, would be destroyed should an incident like the last one take place without proper precautions set and pronounced. She knows that, but her mouth doesn't want to cooperate, and she sounds like a different person when she finally speaks.

"I would have 5-0," is her proverbial fatality as far as this conversation, and she doesn't look away when he stays put, doesn't interrupt her. "What else would I need? Opportunity? Where? Everywhere else is a step down from what we do. I don't need anyone to see me a specific way, because I have a team, and I'm alright with that. How long do you think we'll last if we keep going on like this? I cant forget, Steve," and she cringes at the honesty, at things she knows she has to say to keep this from ending like the last time. Despite the necessity of it, none of it's easy coming out, and receiving it obviously isn't a walk in the park, either, if his face is of any indication. "I doubt you can, either, so why do we keep trying so hard? What if we just…"

.. Give in?

.. Stop fighting?

.. Relent, let it carry us wherever it's supposed to go..

She blinks when his fingers grace her cheek, a baited blush creeping up her neck. What the hell is she saying? She honestly has no clue. Because there are several ways that hanging line could be interpreted, and she doesn't remember where she'd been taking it before she'd trailed away, let her mind wander to things she shouldn't. Not when he's here, in front of her, as uncertain as she is about whatever they've created between themselves - now just isn't the time for wobbly suggestions. But he's taken it some way or another, because he's scooted too close to her to suggest anything other than resignment, to what, she's yet to figure out, but the proximity is unnerving.

"What if we just.." he repeats, quiet. ".. just once."

She knows what he's saying, doesn't need an interpreter, but is surprised all the same. The same man that ran from a kiss is taking her suggestion in the most drastic direction imaginable, and seems completely at ease when he's running his fingers down her neck, brushing the fallen hairs from around her face, behind her ear. How did they get here? From silence to anger and back again, to avoidance, to a stressed decency, somehow to a comfortable working air, and now this. This. What is this? She's never thought this far ahead. What she'd do should they end up in this situation, one that she'd imagined so many times, just out of curiosity, and is now being forced to face for real. She never thought… not after what happened in her kitchen… not after Lori…

"What do you want?" she's asking through a heavy breath, a little lost in the way he's moved closer, the way his breath is fanning over her face, cool compared to the stifling air of the bunker. "Tell me."

Because she doesn't know, never really has. They've never talked about it before, never let any of it out farther than what it had been the day he'd taken her home, and even then, nothing had really been answered. She'd been too scared to ask, then too distracted, and after it had been such a sensitive game, she'd lost momentum and given up. Now - now they're here, and everything's heavy again, but it's so different because of the words… words they'd refused to use before… but here…

"You," he's whispering, lips brushing over hers, eyes hooded and heavy. "You already knew that."

… here he seems unafraid of the consequences, because he keeps using them, keeps answering her questions, though they both know his fears were quite logical, and there's few things that could come of this. Few good things, anyway. Still, she's smiling into his mouth when she leans in, closes the distance, because it feels pretty good to clear it up, and he's taking her hips in his hands, lifting her onto his lap, and it's oddly liberating to be in such a position. Her mind whirls around their predicament, the fact that this place could cave at any second, that they could run out of air, that they could die of dehydration or infection from their open wounds, exposed to such cruddy conditions. Though viable concerns, they don't bother her the way they should, not with his tongue slowly creeping between her lips, and his hands trailing softly up her bare back. They're idiots, she decides, because who the hell does this? They should be trying to find a way out, though likely impossible, and trying to contact Danny on what's left of McGarrett's cell, though service was shaky down here before everything collapsed. If it weren't for the intoxicating way in which he was tangling his fingers in her hair, pulling her closer, pressing her tighter - she may have been a bit worried about what they would do when it came time to, well, actually do something.

"You know I only did it to piss you off," he mumbles into her lips when he finally pulls away.

Her eyes flutter open just a hair, and she shakes her head.

"Lori," he clarifies, breathless. "I only spent so much time with her to make you mad. Figured you'd hate me after that."

"I did." and her eyes are closing again when his fingers come across the skin on her shoulder, push the ragged remnants of the strap of her tank top away, and he presses a kiss there, just above cleavage she'd forgotten about. "It was a jerk move."

She shivers when he kisses her neck, her throat, when his fingers deftly remove the other strap of her tank, and the mangled material simply falls away, down her arm, and his lips replace it, only growing bolder as her chest heaves beneath him. She lifts her arms out and away from her shirt, letting it fall around her hips, leaving her bare, and the darkness isn't much of a comfort, because he's watching her, eyes brilliant in blues and greens, an intentness that makes her skin burn focused solely on what she's just exposed to him. It was bold, and so unlike her in such a situation, but it feels good when a small, appreciative smile tugs the corner of his mouth up, lighting his face, making him seem almost careless. His hands lift slowly, up her arms, over her shoulders, and down the front of her chest until his palms are brushing over her breasts, and her skin, previously aflame, breaks into chilled gooseflesh when they stay there, pressed gently, tentative and careful. It's not how she envisioned it, because neither of them are very gentle, not usually, but are nothing if not thorough, and she figures this is his way of discovering her, though a thick contrast to his customary austerity. Her forehead falls to his and she's trying to remember what he'd said, why they shouldn't be doing this, but the memory is lost when his palms are gliding around her skin, feeling all of her, making her shorts feel about six sizes too small. And it's when she's reaching for the button on the front, tugging at the waistline, trying to get them loose, that he stops and pulls away, farther than before. She blinks at him as he catches his breath, and dreads what that look on his face will mean; uneasy, contemplative.

She groans when he tries to disentangle himself from her, and grips his shoulders, pulling them back together. "Are you seriously about to do this again?"

It stings…. again, because she'd been about three seconds away from baring herself to him completely, no reservations, no concerns, and he still cant seem to let go of whatever it is that keeps rearing it's head at the most inopportune times. For her, that is. She's starting to think he's more of a chicken than she is, considering her consistent fears regarding her sexual experience, and his refusal to even let it get that far. Insecurities resurface, the ugliness of them wedging between sweaty bodies and previously contented activities, though she's not sure just how content he was, now that he refuses to look at her, and has let tension work it's way into every muscle in the expanse of his shoulders and chest and face, his jaw ticking irritably when she lets all her weight fall on him, temporarily anchoring him to this spot.

"Answer me," she presses, moving to try and make eye contact; failing miserably. "I don't understand -"

He looks down between them and she follows, eyes widening at the large, dark stain slowly spreading across his shirt. It's easy to spot off the white of the material, and she wonders how she's only just noticing it. Her own shredded, one-time tank top, pressed between them, is unrecognizable in a shade only attainable in the shittiest of situations. She should know; been there, done that.

"Jesus, where is it?"

She tugs at his shirt, completely forgetting about what she was just trying to do, and he's shaking his head, holding it down. "Don't worry about it right now," he argues quietly, and she can see the paleness of his face in the dim glow of the flashlight, hidden somewhere amongst the crud. "You hear that?"

Although preoccupied by the growing amount of blood between them, she does hear something, shuffling above them, loosening some of the dirt from above. She blinks when it falls in her eyes, tries not to sneeze when she sucks some up her nose. "You think that's them already?"

It seems unlikely, considering her luck, but then it'd be a welcome oddity, so she watches his face intently as he nods and glances up, breath a little shallow. "They were almost here when I talked to him, and we've been down here for a while since then."

She can breathe a little easier knowing it's more than likely Danny stomping around up there, and not whoever it was that decided to lock them in here and blow them to shit. Though the memory of Devero's card in their victim's wallet is unnerving, and weighs heavy on her thoughts.

She hears voices above, more shuffling, and her chest is a little lighter when she looks back at him. "So I guess we're saved."

"Yeah, seems that way." He moves her slightly, takes her shirt in a bloodied hand, offers it to her. "You should probably put that on."

She grins. "Don't think it'll do much good."

She tries to keep her hips still when his eyes fixate on her chest again, and his fingers come up to brush against her nipple, the most tender piece of anatomy in the world, she's decided, because she's on fire again, and she wishes he'd just wrap this up already. Though Danny would probably die of a heart attack should he find them in such a position, underground, both beat to hell. Perhaps it can wait… a little longer.

She grunts when he pushes her back a little, frowns as he's pulling his shirt above his head. "What are you doing?"

"Well you cant go up there with nothing on, can you? I doubt Danny would be able to contain himself."

Kono can picture Danny's face, red and surprised, eyes glimmering with amusement. She nods. "You're right. Give it."

It's disgusting against her skin, heavy with water and blood, sticky, thick. But then it's comforting with the way it smells just like him, and she despises how the idea makes her all warm and fuzzy. As if.

The first ray of sunlight breaks through their little haze, but she doesn't look up, watches him with a sullen longing, thinking of going back to the way things were. Surely not after this…

"We'll talk when we clear this up," he says quietly, answering her anxiety with a kiss to her cheek. "We have to figure something out…even if just a temporary solution."

She nods just as the auger breaks through, and Danny's head pokes out, hair a mess, face a twisted mask of worry. "There you assholes are! God, we've been worried sick! Where's your friggin' cell phones! I swear, one day I'm gonna -"

Kono closes her eyes, smiling, and lets her head fall to Steve's shoulder as Danny continues his rant, mind a little contented, at least for now, with answers to she and McGarrett's weird little situation finally in sight.

.

Her ass is cold on the metal bumper of the ambulance, but she's able to hold the smile. She watches Danny's flailing arms from a distance, hears the muffled sound of his bitching through engines and other voices, and can see Steve's muted smile as he stares up at their friend. It's quite the sight; seeing him smile again. Maybe this whole thing turned out for the better, for them, anyway, because the easiness is still there, remained as they were pulled out, patched up, and so on. He glances her way and she raises a brow, stifles the amusement when he crosses his eyes under Danny's continuous gaze, and he's giving her this look; something a lot more impressive than what Lori got. Not that she's comparing or anything….

"How you holdin' up, cuz?"

She turns attention to Chin and gives a half nod, grinning. "I seem to be at least partially invincible."

He laughs. "Apparently so. Though I fear your luck may begin falling short should you continue on this way." He sits beside her and gingerly fingers the bandage on her arm, shaking his head a little. "What was the verdict?"

"Just cracked," she answers with a shrug, still smiling. "Nothin' too bad. They said Steve got the worst of it… he was on the ladder."

Chin nods, chancing a glance at their Commander. "So did the two of you settle it?"

Kono's eyes widen but she keeps her head turned away, trying to avoid her cousin's inquisitive gaze. "Well, uh -"

"- don't bother trying to cover it up," he intervenes calmly, allowing her a bit of space with the way he turns away slightly. "I've had a pretty good idea about what's gone on, and I want to know; will we be submerged in tension, or can I rest easy, knowing you two have come to some sort of compromise?"

She sighs. Chin and Danny are both nosey bastards. "We didn't have much of a chance, but we agreed to talk about it when this is cleared up."

He nods but doesn't comment further, changes the subject. "So, we found the body. Not much left, but Max confirmed that a gunshot wound was the C.O.D., to the temple, to be exact. We managed to dig out his wallet, found the card you were talking about. We're gonna run his license, see what's to be found about our Mr. Rebou, and what his connection is to Devero."

"Sounds good," she says, nodding appreciatively. "Cant wait to see him again. Pay him back for all that lovely time spent in the ICU."

"Be easy, cuz," he's chuckling, moving to stand. "Let's get you healed first. Then we can find our guy and ask him a few questions."

She nods and, for the first time in a while, feels comfortable moving to McGarrett's truck and climbing in the passenger's side. He fires it up and pulls off in the direction of HQ, only to change direction at the last second, and her nerves are revving in time with the engine, her breath cutting as soon as the truck does.

He turns to her against the setting sun, eyes brilliant in greens and blues… "Now, we can talk."

.

a/n. Bam! Only took 700 years, I know. This one was difficult, I'm sad to admit. Wasn't what I originally planned, either. When I said it was DEFINITELY rated M, I'd had something else in mind, but then… I had another idea for chapter 4 and, well, it didn't line up quite right. So, the next one will, of course be another case, but will have a connection to both the victim in this chapter and Devero. Most of the cases from now on will connect in some way to him, and eventually lead to his being found. Now, as far as rating, this whole thing has been tagged M for language, maybe some violence, suggestion, and as of next chapter, lemons. Dun dun dunnn! Just a reminder so nobody is caught off guard.

Thanks so much to everyone reading and reviewing! Gah, I'm still surprised at how much attention this thing has accumulated. As horrible as it is, I'm ready to get this fic finished, 'cause I have another 5-0 fic in the works, another Kono/Steve ship, and I'm excited about it! =)

Review!

Disclaimer: I don't own Hawaii 5-0, it's characters or original plot lines.