*peeks out from behind wall* Is it safe to come out?

No?

Okay... *slinks back into hiding*

Just kidding. :p
I realise its been a while but I fully intend to keep working on this over the next few weeks. The last thing I wanted was for this to end up sitting unfinished so I figured I'd better force myself to sit down and actually write something. As always, thanks for taking the time to review, favourite and follow. :)

Author's warning: this chapter discusses subjects that could be a little upsetting so read on at your own risk.

The Watch Commander on call – a middle-aged Hispanic woman named Carla - is surprisingly understanding when I turn up at the depot at the crack of dawn the next day but I suspect that's mostly down to how pathetic I look, with my red-rimmed eyes and a face so pale I make Betty Boop look positively tanned. Beckoning me into her office, she sits with her hands bridged beneath her chin while I tearfully explain my dilemma and when I've finished, she leans back in her chair, and eyes me sympathetically.

"Oh, dear… you're not having the best week, are you?" she says, clucking her tongue, and I can only huff in reply before ducking my head to wipe at my hot, gritty eyes. That's an understatement if I ever heard one – what with my argument with Steve, being suspended from work and now this, I'd say I'm more than overdue a little bit of a break. Right?

There's a long silence before Carla speaks again and when she goes to open her mouth, my heart starts beating so hard against my ribcage that I'm scared it's going to burst straight out of my chest, because what if she says there's nothing she can do to help me, that the only way I'm going to be able to go home is to quit? And if that does turn out to be the case, what's the likelihood of me being able to get my job back when – if – this whole thing is resolved? Would they even want me back?

Ugh… Sometimes I wonder how I even get myself into these situations.

Hands clenched, my fingernails digging almost painfully into the palms of my hands, I let out a full-bodied sigh of relief when Carla finally puts me out of my misery by telling me, "I think we should be able to work something out. Just give me a minute to check a few things, okay?"

Pushing her chair away from her desk, she heads out into the hallway, leaving me in the large corner office she shares with the three other shift supervisors with nothing more than my thoughts and a blossoming, pounding headache – no doubt the result of spending the majority of the last ten hours sobbing semi-hysterically into my pillow - for company.

I can't bring myself to look at the smiley, happy family photos that have been so proudly displayed on the single shelf behind Carla's desk so I keep my gaze routed firmly on the carpet by my sneaker-clad feet until she returns around ten minutes later, clutching a wad of paperwork in one hand. Sitting, she peels the top sheet from the pile, pushes it across the desk towards me and then sets a pen down on top of the proffered vacation day request form.

"Alright, here's what we're going to do…"

"So what happens once you use up all of your vacation days?" Katie asks, glancing over her shoulder before signaling and taking the up-coming exit slip.

It's later that evening and she's driving me to the airport, having managed to get me a last-minute seat on the red-eye to LAX. Earlier, she spent twenty minutes on hold with United to see if there was any way they could change the date on the ticket I bought for the trip I'd planned in November and thankfully, the answer was yes – for an administrative fee of $50, which she'd paid before I could even reach into my bag for my purse. Sometimes, I wonder what I ever did to deserve a friend like her, I really do.

"Hello? Earth to Chloe…"

Startled, I whip round from where I've been staring out of the window at the jumble of postage stamp-sized lots below the Queen Liliuokalani Freeway in a sort of trance to find Katie watching me with a concerned look on her face.

"Sorry," I mutter, unconsciously clenching my fist around the printed booking confirmation I've been clutching to my chest like a precious firstborn so I don't lose it before I'm physically on the plane and taxiing down the runway. "What were you saying?"

Katie rolls her eyes at me. "I asked what you're going to do if you use up all of your vacation days?"

"Right." Shifting in my seat, I force myself to unclench my fist before I speak. "Umm, I'll have to take unpaid leave, but with the way my shift pattern works, I'll be good for just over five weeks. Or I will be once they reinstate me."

"And how long will that take?"

I shrug as we pull up to the curb outside Departures. "It could be anything from a few days to a couple of weeks. Either way, my vacations days won't start until the day I'm supposed to go back to work."

I let the 'if I do go back' that's been playing on repeat inside my head for the last 24 hours go unsaid and instead focus on grabbing my carry-on bag from the trunk, and checking I'm still in possession of my travel documents. Passport and boarding cards all present and correct, I turn to offer my best friend a watery smile.

"I'll call you when I land," I promise before adding, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, okay?" which makes Katie laugh.

Stepping forwards, she wraps me up in a bone-crushing hug and by the time I pull away, both of us are blinking back tears. Wiping carefully at her eyes so as not to smudge her makeup, my best friend goes to turn back to her car and then pauses mid-step; looking back at me over her shoulder, her brow furrows and she opens her mouth to speak but whatever she was about to say she obviously thinks better of it because the little wrinkle between her perfectly manicured eyebrows disappears just as quickly as it arrived, and she forces her mouth up into a pale imitation of her natural smile.

"Have a safe flight," she says quietly and with that, she turns back towards her car and proceeds to get in and drive away, leaving me standing alone on the concourse wondering what the hell just happened.

Thirteen weeks later.
Willard University Airport. Champaign, Illinois.

I spot Katie standing outside the terminal building as I manoeuver my dad's ancient SUV up into a gap between two waiting people-carriers. She's using a folded-up newspaper to shield her hair from the fine drizzle that's been falling since early this morning and it takes her a few seconds to spot me waving at her over the top of the car, but when she does her face breaks out into a wide smile and she hurries over, pulling her leopard print trolley case behind her. Pulling the key from the ignition, I hurry around the front of the car to meet her.

"You have no idea how happy I am to see you," I breathe, hugging my best friend tight. "Thanks for coming. I know it was short notice but there was a cancellation and Mom always said that she didn't want us to wait when…"

I break off when I'm hit by a sudden intense wave of emotion that threatens to knock me sideways.

Katie's brow furrows and she squeezes me tightly. "Don't cry, Chlo," she whispers, "You'll set me off, too, and we both know that I'm a seriously ugly crier."

I snort in spite of myself, because it's unfortunately true. While Katie is a solid nine in the looks department even on a bad day, she tends to take on the look of a mildly hysterical toddler whenever she's upset. And it doesn't matter what causes it – even happy tears make her look like she's having some sort of emotional breakdown. It really is quite something.

"See, now that's more like it," Katie says with a tight smile, releasing me from her embrace. "And seriously, what kind of friend would I be if I let you sit through your mom's funeral alone, huh?"

"A really crappy one?"

She cocks her finger at me. "Exactly," she says, turning to feel for the handle of her trolley case. "C'mon, let's get on the road. I'm in dire need of Starbucks and a shower after that last flight. Preferably in that order."

It's a thirty-minute drive from the airport to the town where I grew up and my family still lives, even in the middle of morning rush hour, and Katie and I spend the first fifteen or so catching up on everything that's happened since we last talked a few days ago. I've been too busy helping my brother and his girlfriend plan Mom's funeral to have anything of interest to add to the conversation but Katie fills me in on everything that's been going on at home, from the wealthy businessman that's been trying to woo her with fancy gifts and expensive jewellery, to bumping into a certain former SEAL and his partner at a recent charity event her company was sponsoring.

"He came round to the house. Did I tell you that?" she asks, momentarily glancing away from the silage fields that line both sides of I-72.

The mere mention of Steve sends the butterflies in my stomach into overdrive. I'm not proud of the way I left things between us but the truth is, I just couldn't face having that conversation, especially when I'd only just found out that my mom's cancer was, in fact, terminal. The thought of losing not only my mom and possibly my job but Steve as well was just too much to bear.

Biting my lower lip, I shake my head, keeping my eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead and Katie breathes out noisily before continuing.

"It must have been a week or so after you left. I came home from work one night and he was sitting on the steps outside the apartment, waiting. He said he hadn't been able to get in touch with you and did I know where you were?"

"Did you tell him?" I ask, causing Katie to level me with a look that could melt ice.

"Of course I told him. The poor guy was starting to think something awful had happened to you. I had to tell him," she exclaims defensively, eyeing me with something akin to annoyance as she hunkers further down in her seat. Folding her arms over her ample chest, she questions, "Have you seriously not talked to him at all since the hospital?"

I shake my head again and my best friend sighs noisily.

"Well, you're going to have to face him eventually," she tells me bluntly, propping an elbow up on the doorsill before turning back to stare out of the window. "Oahu is a small island and the man is a former Navy SEAL. He's going to catch up with you sooner or later, so if you have decided that you don't want to be with him any more, then the least you can do is have the balls to tell him that."

As far as funerals go, Mom's is pretty much perfect. The service is being held at the church where my parents got married thirty-two years ago and when we arrive with the main procession we're greeted by literally hundreds of candles lighting up the portrait that's been placed on the steps behind the altar where Mom's casket will sit. It's honestly just… it's so beautiful. I think Mom would be pleased with how everything turned out in the end.

While we're waiting to file into one of the pews behind Mom's siblings - Auntie Sheila and Uncle Matthew – Katie seeks out my hand and gives it a small, reassuring squeeze as Father Quinn follows the last of our small group of mourners into the church and continues up the aisle towards the altar.

It was Dad's idea to keep the service short and sweet, and, in his words, 'just like Mom'. There are more than a few tears - of joy and laughter – during the eulogy but it's not until the opening bars of Israel Kamakawiwo'ole singing Somewhere Over The Rainbow fill the church and the slideshow Jack, his heavily pregnant fiancée Marissa and I spent hours deliberating over is projected onto the stonework above the pulpit that my composure finally breaks.

It's a picture of Mom with Jack and I as babies that does it, and in an uncharacteristic display of brotherly love Jack wraps an arm around my shoulders while Katie grips my hand so tight I'm sure there's going to be a mark when she eventually lets go. On his other side, Marissa links arms with Dad just as the photo on the screen changes to one of my parents standing on the steps just outside on their wedding day.

Two weeks later.
Arrivals lounge, Honolulu International Airport.

"Chloe, over here!"

I look up from my phone when I hear Katie shout and quickly abandon the text I'm in the middle of typing out to throw my arms around her when she pushes her way through the crowded arrivals hall to meet me. In true Katie fashion, once I've been released, she holds me at arms' length and runs a critical eye over me before raising a questioning eyebrow at my hair, which, thanks to a spur-of-the-moment decision, now sits just below my chin.

Okay, maybe it was more that my long hair combined with a seven or so pound weight loss made me look almost gaunt (thanks, Auntie Sheila) that was the driving force behind deciding to throw caution to the wind. Either way, when the stylist at the hair salon asked what I wanted done, I told him to go wild and the result was a messy, textured bob. It took a few days to get used to the new, much shorter style but I absolutely love it now.

"It's different, right?" I say, reaching up to tentatively finger the tips.

"Different is one way to put it," Katie says with a shrug. A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth when I look at her the way Puss In Boots looked at Shrek and, needless to say, she quickly ends up folding like a cheap suit. "Okay, okay," she relents with a full-on grin. "I like it. It suits you. Now come on, I'm starving... My stomach's about to eat itself."

Slinging an arm around my shoulders, she marches me towards the exit and as she continues to complain about her rumbling stomach, all I can think is that it feels really, really good to finally be home.

The Five-0 gang will be back in the next chapter. Promise...