ShakespeareIsMyMuse

This all came about because I was driving home from work and I saw a shiny blue Camaro. Inside that blue Camaro were two men that appeared to be arguing….are you getting where I'm going with this?

Yes?

Perfect.

You also know that I do not own Hawaii Five-0 right?

No?

Well I don't, but I'll leave the disclaimer anyway.

DISCLAIMER: I, ShakespeareIsMyMuse, do so solemnly swear that I do not own Hawaii Five-0 or any of its affiliates, which includes: any familiar story plots, creation of original characters belonging to the show, cast and crew –with the inclusion of Scott Caan and Alex O'Loughlin because it is illegal to either own or enslave human beings, such a pity, I would treat them so well. Rights, property and ownership belong rightfully and wholly to CBS and its Original Creator: Leonard Freeman (1920-1974), also to reboot creators: Peter M. Lenkov, Alex Kurtzman, and Robert Orci.

I, ShakespeareIsMyMuse, do however claim ownership of any unrecognizable characters and the formation of plot that follows. Any invention or similarity of any character or plot line that is seen here after represented really or fictitiously, alive or dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional.

*Exhales* I hope that about covers everything. *Cracks Neck* Now, on with the story.

SUMMARY: Danny once said that if Steve was 'going to be the shoot first and ask questions later type of a guy' that he would like to be consulted, so he knows when to duck. So, when such a situation arises, Steve consults.

Rule Number Two

In the time that they have known each other, Steve McGarrett and Danny Williams have learned a lot from one another.

Steve McGarrett taught Danny Williams that sometimes, if you want results from –not just common criminals but —terrorists (who have a way harsher agenda than the everyday common criminal) you may need to blur the line a bit.

Danny Williams taught Steve McGarrett that while he may have that 'G.I Joe thousand-yard stare from chasing shoe bombers around the world', when you enter the work force of civilized society, there are rules and these 'rules are what separate us from jackals and hyenas'.

Rule Number One: If you get somebody shot, you DO NOT wait for a special occasion, you apologize right on the spot.

Rule Number Three:A work partnership—much like a friendship, a relationship or a marriage—SHOULD NOT be like pulling teeth.

Rule Number Four: Trust, under any circumstance, is earned; it's not automatically granted just because you think you work for the same cause.

Rule Number Five: While you may have the utmost faith in your partner and depend on him for backup (which is fine); two sharp shot men, do not qualify as sufficient force against an militia of semi-automatic toting psychos—you call H.P.D (and on occasion, S.W.A.T) for assistance.

Perhaps the most important rule that Steve McGarrett had learned was rule number two.

Oh, you thought I forgot that one did you? Come on, would I do that to you?

No. Here it is.

Rule Number Two: If Steve wanted 'to be the shoot first and ask questions later' type of a guy, it was perfectly fine, the only thing Danny requested was that he'd be consulted, so he knew when to duck.

H50H50H50H50H50H50H50

Five-0 had been chasing this guy for weeks. He was a complete and total psycho—and I mean in ways worse than McGarrett when he goes into super hero mode— kidnapping and killing innocent people for, what looked like, absolutely no apparent rhyme or reason.

When people commit crimes, there is usually a reason:

-They might steal from their boss because they were fired or felt that they were treated unjust.

-They break out of prison to clear their own names because they may have wrongfully wronged and no one is listening.

-They might want vengeance for a personal wrong that committed against them or their family.

-Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

There is always something, but with this guy they were drawing a complete and total blank behind every lead, down every dark ally. None of the eleven victims—men, women and children all of varying race and age— had anything in common with one another. None of the victims knew each other or had ever appeared to have met before. None of them had the same work environment or schools. None of them lived in the same neighborhoods. None of them had the same dry cleaners, nail or hair salons, doctors, banks, hell, even their cars were all different colors, makes, and models, and none of them were purchased from the same dealerships. The exceptions that victims had in common were they were all dead, they were all killed in the exact same way—tortured, with several dozen knife cuts to the face and body and a single gunshot wound to the head— and they were taken at the exact same time every Tuesday, but each from different locales. It was crazy and to make matters worse, they didn't even know this guy's name, if he was in fact a he, if he worked alone or had a partner.

That was until today.

A thirteen year old girl went missing while walking her Chihuahua after school. Her mother had become worried and called the police when the dog came home, but her daughter didn't. The girl's mother said that it was very possible that her daughter could have tripped, fallen and knocked herself unconscious in the treed areas about half a mile from the house, because their dog, Kumo, was notorious for running off to play hide and seek among the trees.

Yet, after the events of recent weeks H.P.D's emergency command wasn't so certain about that and redirected the call to Five-0 for further investigation after the missing teen's cell phone had been found by the side of the road. So locating her by tracking her phone was now out; which pretty much left them up the creek without a paddle.

However, what made Steve and Danny's day upon arriving at the scene was that Danny had noticed the yippy Chihuahua was sans collar. When he questioned the mother about it, she was annoyed, angry and understandably upset that two of Hawaii's 'supposedly' best detectives were more concerned about her dog's missing collar and license than they were about finding her daughter.

"Yes, Kumo, slips out of his collar sometimes, who cares, I'll get him another license, I'll pay the fine, whatever, what about my daughter?" the woman snapped.

But one glance at the look in Danny's eye had Steve on the same page; the dog was famous for running off. As angry as she was Steve let Danny, and his soothing, gentle voice, press her further.

"Kumo, runs away a lot, is it always hard to find him?"

"Sometimes he comes home, what are you two going to do to find my little girl?"

"But the times when he doesn't come home, do you have to go out searching for him?" Steve tried this time.

The mother threw them both a glare and sighed heavily. She was obviously not going to get their help in finding her daughter until after she answered questions about the stupid mutt her daughter so desperately wanted. "After about the fourth time the little brat ran off we bought one of those collars with a G.P.S tracker inside of it so we'd always know where he was and could just go and get him."

And G.P.S is exactly what Danny had wanted to hear; after all that it what he would have done if he had a dog that kept running off.

H.P.D had searched the woods, just to be thorough.

They had found an acid green dog's leash about a mile up the road that mother identified as belonging to Kumo, but there was no collar attached to the leash. Furthermore, the clip that held the leash to the collar was missing as well.

If she still had it, if she had it at all, then they had her.

It was a suggestion that the mother hadn't even thought of. Handing his iPhone to the woman Danny waiting impatiently as she logged onto the G.P.S tracking site and hurried to type in the passcode. As they continued to wait for the internet to take its sweet, sweet time, the haole partners held a silent conversation, each praying that this kid was smart enough to play the part of Gretel and tough enough to withstand the evil witch. Sure enough when the blinking green dot popped up on the screen, it was moving.

Without sparing another word for the frantic mother, Steve and Danny were seated inside the shiny silver Camaro, sirens blaring, ignoring every traffic law known to man. If Danny, thought Steve was a maniac behind the wheel before, this time he was way past committable. However, Danny remained silent in the passenger seat only reaching over for Steve's gun from his chest holster; checked the chamber to if it was loaded and ready to go, they didn't have a second to lose with this nutjob. Reinserting it, he checked his own. Danny pushed in his ear bud and held Steve's out to him in the palm of his hand; after pulling the car straight from a turn, Steve popped his own into his ear.

Danny's silence continued, except when he saw the dot on the screen continue to blink steadily in one place. Tapping the screen he enlarged the view to reveal the address, it was an old cabin in a residential vacation block neighborhood. Then two words escaped Danny's lips, and they were two word's Steve had only heard when Grace had been kidnapped and thought he'd never hear again.

"Go faster."

Steve pressed harder until he felt his foot flatten the gas pedal as far as it would go to the floor.

Good thing that Camaro has a really good engine.

The outside landscape became even more of a blur, and five minutes later Danny flipped the sirens off and directed Steve down the maze of the vacation block which looked more like a ghost town this time of year. It was a true rarity that any of these cabins were ever used past September 1st.

The terrified screams of a young girl were coming from the cabin in front of the two men and echoed throughout the uninhabited hollow.

Leaving the doors to the Camaro flung open, both men were out of the car, guns drawn, sweeping the property. Danny stopped when he felt something underfoot; he moved the dirt with his sneaker. Mostly now black with earth was the acid green dog collar that was a perfect match to the leash H.P.D had found earlier, even the leash clip was dangling from the D ring.

"Steve," he called in a hushed whisper and held up the collar. Steve nodded, a determined look clouding his face.

Another terrified scream filled the air.

Both men crept up to the large window on the side and peered inside. Through the window they could easily see a large tall man, which had to be their target, his back was to them. The teen was down on her knees, her arms stretched out on either side tied at the wrists, her head was slumped forward, her body was shaking and they could clearly hear her sobbing. It didn't appear that anyone was occupying the cabin save for the victim and her attacker. The large window also gave view to the back door of the cabin, which line up directly with the front door.

"Back door," Steve whispered. Danny nodded and disappeared from view. Steve pushed his weight up onto the small front porch and lined his body with the front door.

"Danny, you ready?"

Another shriek came from behind the wood frame, followed by the scratchy crackle of his partner's voice through the ear bud, "Yeah, on three?"

"One..." Steve started and braced his weight backward ready to kick in the door.

"Two…" Danny continued while bracing his own weight.

"THREE!" they both shouted to each other. There were the loud crack and splitting sounds of wood, followed by two bangs of the doors hitting against the walls followed by two shouts of, "Five-0 drop your weapons, down on your knees, put your hands on your head!"

The man turned his head in surprise at the front and back doors; he staggered back, but still held the sharp pen knife in his left hand and a 9mm in in his right. The girl was still on the ground, sobbing, and upon closer inspection was soaked in blood with several large cuts over her face, arms, torso and upper thighs.

The manic man said nothing; he just stared between the two men.

"Drop your weapons!" Steve repeated.

"Do it now!" Danny demanded.

"You two drop your weapons," the man said to them. His voice eerily calm. He raised his own gun towards the teen, "Or, I'll kill her, right here, right now."

The man was serious, both partners knew that. He had already killed eleven people—that they knew of, for all they knew there could have been more victims, in other states, in other countries. What the hell was going to stop him from killing this little girl right in front of him?

Nothing…

"Put it down and step away from her."

Instead the man disengaged the safety, 'Click, click, click'

…well, there was one thing that would stop him.

Steve leveled his gun, looked past the manic man straight into the blue eyes behind him and said, "Danno, consult."

Those were the only two words that Danny needed; in the same second he let his weapon fall slack in his hand and dropped his bodyweight down into a push up position on the floor. The second that followed carried the 'bang' of a gunshot, the second after that the 'thud' of at least one hundred and eighty pounds of dead weight hitting the ground. There was another scream from the young girl followed by heavier sobbing.

Danny saw the river of red that flowed freely in a small pond around the (now) dead man's head. He pushed his weight up off of the floor, looked at Steve who simply re-holstered his gun, Danny copied, looked down at the dead man and saw the neat, clean single shot through the center of his head.

Danny said nothing, because he knew Steve had made the right call; that in that one instant dozens more lives had just been saved. They couldn't save those other eleven people, but they could bring their families some comfort to know that the man who brought so much pain to so many was finally wiped from this earth, that he could never hurt anyone, ever again.

The next instant Danny was on his knees again, his own knife out, cutting through the binds that held the girl to her spot. Steve was next to him pulling off his button up shirt; he put a gentle hand underneath the girl's chin and began mopping the blood away from her face.

"Shh, you're okay, it's okay," Steve tried to sooth in the softest voice he could find.

"He's right, sweetie, you're safe now," Danny's voice was just as gentle as he rubbed the feeling back into the girl's bluish looking wrists.

"Th…k …ou," were the only words the girl managed to stutter out.

"Oh, honey, you're welcome." Steve folded over his shirt and finished cleaning the girl's face.

"I'm sorry." The sounds were no more than a whisper.

"Why, sweetie?" Danny asked, worried. She pointed to their shirts. Danny's white t-shirt, his blue jeans and Steve's off gray wife beater and cargo pants were smeared with red streaks from the cuts along her arms, not to mention his button up which he had used to clean her eyes and face.

"Eh," Danny gave a simple wave of his hand, "in our line of work, clothes are practically like paper towels; sometimes you need to use them to clean up a mess. It's not a big deal," he looked over and saw his partner nodding.

"We're going to get you to the hospital, let them fix you up and look you over."

"Yeah, and your mom's going to be there, then she's going to take you home and Kumo's going to be there to give you lots and lots of kisses." Danny smoothed the girl's tangled hair and smiled at her.

"Kumo's okay? He hit him really hard."

Danny pulled out the filthy acid green dog collar from his pocket and handed to the shaking girl, she clutched it like it was gold while Steve answered, his voice, still soft and gentle, "Kumo's fine, he went home and told your mom that you needed help."

Danny smiled. When had Steve McGarrett become so sensitive? Danny was pretty certain that five years ago this semi-robotic man would have never told a little girl that her dog went home to tell her mother she was in trouble. Maybe Danny had let him watch too many Lassie reruns with Grace.

"He did?"

"Yeah," Steve nodded.

"Come on, let's go outside," Danny stood her up with him.

"Don't look at that," Steve put himself between the girl's view and the body that was growing cold with each passing second. The streaks on Danny's white tee were darkening as he buried the young girl's face into his chest and took her outside.

When Steve stepped out onto the front porch he saw that H.P.D had arrived; Danny was waving away the drawn weapons. Another officer was wrapping a blanket over the shaking girl's shoulders and sat her in the open back door of one of the squad cars.

Once he was sure the teen was calmer and comfortable Danny re-climbed the steps to the porch. He looked his partner in the eye and with the ghost of a smile over his lips asked, "Aren't you at least going to ask the bastard why he did it?"

Steve turned his head and looked at the dead man, then back at Danny, "I could, but it would probably be just as useful as me telling you to book'em, Danno," a grin pulling at the corners of his own lips.

Hands in his pockets Danny rocked back on his heels and let out a quiet laugh. "Hey, uh, thanks for the warning."

"Rule number two, remember? It's those rules that are what separates us from jackals and hyenas," Steve smiled.

Danny smiled and nodded; recalling all those days, all those conversations.

"You see, I listen," Steve told him as he bounded down the steps.

"It's hard to believe it to be true sometimes."

"What? That I listen? I have an excellent memory, Danny."

"I know, I've always said that I have an amazing respect for your memory. It's just, sometimes; you act as if everything I say goes in one ear and out the other." Danny followed him down the steps.

"When?"

"When?" Danny repeated, "When, what?"

"When have I ever acted that way?"

"When have you…?" Danny's eyes nearly popped out of his head as he sputtered and pretty soon his words were flowing just as freely as the blood from the dead man's head.

It had been a long and stressful day, the daily rant and banter had begun and was sure to continue long into the night; which was good, because Danny and Steve just needed to relax.

-It is with a light and open heart, along with a great deal of anticipation that you, my reader, enjoy my work, just as with all my writing, it really means a great deal to me.

-Reviews and/or constructive criticism are not required here, but are always welcome.

-Flames are not required nor are they welcome; and while I cannot stop you from posting them, I will warn you, I usually don't take them to heart.

Love, Hugs, and Kisses,

Muse.