Title: A Complicated Truth

Author: Sockie1000

Summary: Steve wasn't exactly sure where he was. But he knew he didn't want to be there. So he ran.

Genre: Drama, angst, suspense, mystery

Rating: PG-13

Warning: Darker than my normal stories. Later chapters deal with some not-so-pleasant situtations. Nothing graphic and I'm sure you've seen worse on TV, I just thought I should let you know.

Author's note #1: This story is for Cokie. I told her back in the summer I'd write her a H50 story to thank her for being an awesome friend and for beta'ing all the other fandoms I dabbled in (that she didn't even watch) since S2 killed my H50 muse. So here it is, January and mid S3, and this puppy is just now going up. Needless to say, I'm working on the "better late than never" principle.

Author's note #2: Thanks to my wonderful betas, the aforementioned Cokie316 and also to Rogue Tomato. I'm still not sure how I got two great writers to agree to read my work but here's to hoping they never figure out that I got a much better deal than they did. So thank you, ladies, for your time, input, and encouragement. I couldn't do it without you. Well, I could, but my stories would be full of typos and misspellings not to mention they might not make sense and people would magically start wearing impeccably tailored suits when they never stopped by to pick them up in the first place. And the grammar would probably suck, too. So, yeah. You guys rock. (And for those keeping score at home, yes, that does mean someone will wear an impeccably tailored suit at some point in this story. You're welcome.)

Author's note #3: This story is longer than normal (not quite 50k and 15 chapters). I'll post every Tuesday and most Thursdays as well, depending upon RL. You know how that goes.

Author's note #4: I like cliffhangers. A lot. You've been warned.

And now, the story…

Memory is a complicated thing, a relative to truth, but not its twin.
- Barbara Kingsolver

Chapter 1

Steve wasn't exactly sure where he was.

But he knew he didn't want to be there.

So he ran.

It was hard to see in the dim moonlight. The slim crescent in the sky barely allowed him to see the shadows from the trees as they whipped by him.

He was running fast, pushing forward even though he wasn't sure which way to go. He headed downhill, thinking it would be the most likely way to a road. The incline added to his momentum and soon he was going even faster than he thought possible.

Until his foot caught on a rock and he fell.

Steve tumbled downhill and rolled head over heels several times until he was finally stopped by a tangle of vines. He landed hard on his stomach and the wind was knocked out of him. He gaped, mouth open, struggling to take a breath like a fish out of water. He blinked sightlessly, the underbrush so thick that the moonlight could not penetrate it. He struggled to hear something, anything. But all he could hear was the sound of his own labored breathing.

Steve wasn't sure how long he lay there. Time had lost its meaning.

But gradually, his breaths came easier. He heard the sounds of animals scurrying in the night. He held his hand up, an inch from his face, and could almost make out its shape.

And his ability to think returned.

He had been running. Running fast.

He couldn't remember if anyone was after him or not. He was guessing not, since he'd laying there for quite a while and nobody had killed him yet.

But he had been running for a reason. And until he could remember that reason, he would have to keep going.

Break time was over.

He had to get up.

Steve rolled over onto his back and hissed back the pain. He panted deeply a few times, trying to breathe through it, then gritted his teeth and pushed himself into a seated position. After a moment, the dizziness passed and he realized the big toe on his right foot hurt. He couldn't see it in the dark so he reached down and noticed, for the first time, that he was barefoot. His feet were scraped and muddy and slick from what he hoped was rain but presumed was blood. He gingerly felt his big toe and stifled a cry of pain when his touched raw flesh. The toenail was gone, evidently ripped off by the rock when he fell.

Steve quickly tore a strip of cloth from his outer shirt and wrapped it around the toe several times, tying it off with a knot on top. It wouldn't protect his toe as well as a boot, but it was all he had.

And all he had time for.

Steve pushed himself up and untangled his body from the vines. Then he oriented himself by feeling the ground with his feet, the moon having now disappeared altogether. After finding which direction was downhill, he began running again.

*H50*

The darkness began to dissipate.

The pitch black gave way to charcoal and then to grey. He could see finally see the rocks that jutted out of the ground, which had caused him to stumble and fall numerous times. He dodged the vines that hung from the trees like spider webs as he continued running. Always running.

Steve thought he should have reached civilization a long time ago. Which just went to show he was farther into the jungle than he thought.

Either that or he was running in circles.

But no. He had been running downhill. That should have kept him going in the same direction, right?

He thought it should. Was positive it should.

He was going the right way.

Unless he was running down the wrong side of the mountain.

The light continued to increase, the sky now streaked with the first pink rays of sunlight. A light breeze began to blow as the dawn broke.

Steve stopped for a moment, turning northeast into the wind, and inhaled. The wind didn't smell salty, like the ocean. Apparently, he was too far away; which meant he was on the leeward side of the island.

This was good news and bad news Steve thought as he began to run again.

The good news was he had been running in the correct direction.

The bad news was fewer people lived on this side of the island.

It would take longer to find help.

*H50*

Steve was almost surprised when he broke through the trees onto a narrow dirt road.

He stopped for a moment, stunned. Then he sank down to his knees on the red earth and laughed.

He had made it.

To where, he didn't know.

But he's made it to a road and a road meant people. All he needed to do was find someone.

Steve instinctually reached for his cell phone before he realized it wasn't in his pocket. Whether he'd lost it during one of his falls in the dark or never had it to begin with, he wasn't sure. But it was doubtful he was in cell phone range anyway.

As far as Steve could tell, he was on a pineapple farm. The red dirt was prized for its ability to grow the fruit with a high sugar content and low acidity, therefore driving up the desirability and price. The field across from the road was empty, but evidence of a recent harvest abounded.

And a recent harvest also meant workers.

Steve turned left on the road and began walking.

It wasn't long before he heard the rumble of an old engine. He turned around and saw a faded blue pick-up truck approaching, field workers riding in its bed. Steve waved his arm to signal although it really wasn't necessary.

The driver stopped the truck next to Steve and looked at him, perplexed.

"Thank you," Steve said with a grin, surprised at how hard it was to get the words out. Then he remembered he hadn't had anything to drink all night, too afraid of getting sick from potential bacteria in the streams he crossed to stop and take a drink. He licked his cracked lips but his dry tongue stung and felt like sandpaper.

The driver seemed to notice and called over his shoulder in Hawaiian to one of the men in the truck bed. The man promptly got up, filled a small cup from a water cooler, and handed it to Steve.

Steve gratefully gulped it down, not even caring that the water was too warm and tasted like plastic. He nodded his thanks and then handed the cup back to the man, who filled it again. Steve drank that water, too, and found it much easier to speak afterwards.

"Do you have a cell phone I could borrow?" he asked.

The driver shook his head. "No reception out here. Mauna," he added, jerking his head toward the mountain Steve just descended.

"Could you take me to a phone?" Steve asked.

The driver looked at him doubtfully.

Steve knew he looked bad. He was covered in mud from head to toe, his face and arms were cut and scraped everywhere from his falls, his shirt was torn, and he was barefoot with a dirty cloth wrapped around his big toe. Not to mention he has appeared out of nowhere in the middle of a pineapple farm. He wasn't exactly "take home to meet the family" material.

But maybe his badge would help…

Steve reached down to his waistband for his badge and noticed it, too, was gone.

Of course. Just like his phone, just like his gun, just like the last of his patience for this whole situation.

He looked back up at the driver. "Look," he pleaded, "I know I'm a mess, but I need to get back to Honolulu. I'm Commander McGarrett with 5-0."

The driver's eyes narrowed. If Steve didn't know any better, he'd think the driver was looking at him like he was crazy. And maybe he was. Steve really didn't care as long as he got a lift to a phone.

Finally, the driver nodded once. "Hop in the back with the men," he said. "I'll drop you at the work shed. There's a phone there you can use."

He didn't have to be told twice. "Mahalo," he said and then he climbed in.

*H50*

The work shed was only a few miles down the road.

The driver parked and the workers grabbed their hoes and piled out of the truck, ready to begin a tedious day of caring for thousands of pineapples by hand. Steve climbed out of the back as well just as the driver slammed the door on the cab.

"Phone's in there," the driver said, pointing to the small wooden structure.

Steve nodded his thanks, then made his way into the building and easily found the phone on a rickety metal table. It was an old, yellow rotary style straight from the 1970s covered in an inch of dust and grime. But when Steve picked up the handle, it worked, which was all he really cared about.

He quickly dialed Danny's cell phone and was relieved when it was picked up on the third ring.

"Williams."

"Hey, Danny it's me. Can you come get me?"

He was answered by silence. So much so that Steve wondered if the connection had been lost. Getting cell signals was always tricky on the islands and there was no telling where Danny was at the moment.

"Steve?" Danny finally replied, sounding uncertain.

"Yeah, Danno, it's me. Look I'm stranded out on some pineapple farm. I must have hit my head or something because I can't remember how I got out here. But I need you to come get me. Can you do that?"

"Of course," Danny answered much more quickly this time. "Just let me get a pen. Do you know where you are?"

Steve shook his head reflexively, even though he knew Danny couldn't see him. "No, but I can ask one of the workers."

"You know what, don't bother," Danny answered. "I'll call Chin and get him to find your location from the phone. Are you on a landline or cell?"

"Landline."

"Ok, don't go anywhere. I'll be there soon."

*H50*

"Soon" turned out to be almost an hour.

But Steve was so happy to see Danny drive up that he didn't complain.

Danny parked the Camaro in the shade of the building, right beside where Steve was waiting on the make shift porch. He got out slowly, shutting the car door behind him, as he took in Steve's appearance.

"I know," Steve said, holding his arms out from his sides with a half-laugh. "I'm dirty and sweaty and I need a shower. So go ahead and lecture me about how you're going to have to buy a hundred air fresheners to get my smell out of the car once we're back at the office."

But Danny didn't laugh back. Instead, he just stared.

"What?" Steve asked, walking towards Danny, thinking he must look a lot worse than he thought.

Then Danny closed the gap in two strides and embraced Steve in a bear hug.

"Ok…" Steve replied, unsure of what to do as the hug went on… and on… and on. Finally, he just patted Danny on the back.

That seemed to bring Danny to his senses and he stepped back, blinking rapidly.

"Wait…" Steve said, looking at him closely. "Are those tears?"

Danny blinked again and hastily wiped at the corners of his eyes. "Yeah. You stink."

Steve laughed. "Yeah, I know. I already warned you I needed a shower."

"And a shave," Danny added.

"You think?" Steve asked. He reached up to touch his stubble.

Except it wasn't stubble.

It wasn't stubble at all.

It was more like… a beard.

A beard that took more than one weekend to grow.

Steve looked up at Danny, eyes wide and uncomprehending as he tried to make sense of things.

"Danny…" his voice trailed off.

Danny cleared his throat and looked down at the ground before looking Steve in the eye. He pursed his lips for a moment, apparently trying to figure out what to say.

"Steve…" he hesitated, "you've been gone over a year-and-a-half."

To be continued…