AN: Wassup! I know it's been a while but I'm not dead yet. Anyway I recently became obsessed with Hawaii Five-0 so I decided to go ahead and do a few little diddies about them. First of all I love Max (Masi Oka is adorable) and Steve (Alex O'Loughlin is smoking hot) and so I figured why not write a few Steve/Max fics. The pair could use a little more love so here goes.
Complicated Melody
Dr. Max Bergman was not normal. In fact he was quite odd—a matter not lost on him. He had never been conventional even as a child. While the rest of the children were outside during summer he preferred to remain inside, sharpening his mind. The neighborhood children always teased him for being so glaringly different. But he could not change. He was just hardwired differently. So instead of conforming to the rest of the world's concept of normality he did the exact opposite: he let his freak flag fly.
He had never possessed many friends—only that one goth guy in college. However now in his adulthood he found himself with a cluster of friends. Like him each member of the Hawaii Five-0 task force was exceptional in some form, which was why he could relate to them.
He gave a microscopic smile when he thought of the officers.
Now as related beforehand, Max's brain was hardwired differently. And, because of his love affair with music he tended to apply the different genres to people. He bumped into Kono upon exiting McGarrett's office to turn in his report. She gave him a warm smile and greeting before returning to her office.
He observed Kono briefly.
Kono to him was pop. She was a fusion of traits with an eclectic mix of skills. She could be playful like Katy Perry, wild like Lady Gaga, and fearless in her rawness like Pink. When he looked at Kono he saw dance clubs and pulsing strobe lights. Technophonic harmonies waltzing across the diatonic scales with free-floating tonalities reminded him of Kono.
She was the epitome of the female's dual persona. She could be a self-confident golden goddess that rivaled Aphrodite one minute and using a roundhouse kick or sniper to fell criminals like dominoes the next. She was fearless, classy, athletic, and intelligent. Ultimately she was a modern woman.
Max sat in his office playing a rendition of Georgia on My Mind by Ray Charles. Masterful fingers danced upon the keys, his thoughts one with the melody.
"Max." He heard a faraway voice address him.
He stopped when someone cleared their throat. Turning on his bench he regarded Lieutenant Kelly and greeted him with a bland manner. He took the file the man handed to him, looking over it with meticulous eyes. Upon detecting the problem, he pointed it out to the dark-haired man.
Chin merely gave a sheepish smile and patted his shoulder gratefully.
Max watched the man's retreating back thoughtfully.
Out of the other three, Chin Ho he liked the most. He remembered Kono stating that the lieutenant was Zen. She couldn't have spoken truer words about her cousin. Chin ho wasn't reckless like their beloved commander or volatile like Detective Williams.
He was like a spring shower in April. Chin ho reminded him of jazz. He was a polyrhythmic melody gliding fluently over a syncopantic note. Chin ho was smooth with a demeanor like velvet.
When he thought of Chin ho, he envisioned small jazz clubs off the beaten path. He reminded him of small rooms with hints of cigar smoke in the air, of muted lighting, of saxophones, and a breathe easy atmosphere. He reminded him of Louis Armstrong, relaxed and subtly driven one minute and the next wielding a shotgun like the famed Dizzy Gillespie played his trumpet.
He squinted and pushed his glasses upon his nose. Yes, Lieutenant Kelly was definitely in his top two.
Max entered Five-0's headquarters, a Big Gulpie in one hand. At the insistence of his empty belly he had reluctantly taken his lunch. He sucked on the fruity slush, knowing he would need the sugar if the double homicide was any indication. He scoured the main room seeing Steve and Detective Williams discussing the case, the chemistry between them painfully evident.
Detective Williams was like day to his night. The man wore charisma like a well-fitted glove. A memory of the blonde looking sorely out of place wearing his necktie rose in his mind. He chuckled softly.
The detective was East Coast swag. He reminded him of the grittiness of hip hop, of augmented bass drums, hard-hitting lyrics, and volatility that spanned the genre. He thought of Williams and he saw fly style, outrageous block parties, of pop-locking, and breakdancing. Williams was multi-syllabic, able to switch between several roles seamlessly and remain the same.
He thought of Notorious B.I.G. growling through a lyrical collage when he considered the detective. Detective Williams reminded him of Limp Bizkit, a kinetic force affecting all in his vicinity. Like hip hop he could switch and fuse with different genres, crossing barriers while remaining firmly grounded in his roots.
Detective Williams also attracted everyone's attention (everyone's!) when in the vicinity, making it hard for others to assert their existence. He would be lying if he said he wasn't slightly jealous of the Jersey boy.
Max stood next to the autopsy table, cleaning the blood from Steve's wound. He sighed when the brunet shifted on the hard surface while bickering with Detective Williams. He poured a small amount alcohol onto a swab and held it to the small yet deep cut. He couldn't help the prick of satisfaction that rippled through him when the commander hissed from the acrid burn. He stitched the wound carefully, making sure they were neat before stepping away.
Steve looked at Max's handiwork with something akin to fascination. He petted Max, giving his shoulder a bump and threw him an appreciative nod before exiting with Detective Williams.
Max cleared his self-titled cave of the contaminated items and began cleaning. His mind drifted to their commander.
Steve McGarrett was… Steve was a force of nature. He was a storm. He was thunder and lightning. He was like the weather in the Deep South: a cool summer breeze and cloudless sky transforming into a severe thunderstorm that spouted tornadoes in minutes flat. He was the rock, grounding you with unwavering strength and loyalty while retaining insufferable stubbornness that drove one insane.
Steve reminded him of rock in all its facets. He was electric guitars, pounding snare drums, and power vocals. He thought of sold-out arenas with thousands of screaming fans, speakers loud enough to blow one's clothes clean off, quiet coffee shops, and acoustic guitars when he thought of Steve.
Steve was high-octane like AC/DC and Guns 'N' Roses with blasting choruses and drastic crescendos. Between those crescendos he reminded him of The Script, gentle and mellow; hardened edges smoothed and the dominating electric guitar a faint high-pitch.
"Yo Max!" A voice jerked him from his reverie. "You passed out in there?"
He blinked down at his cargo: three bottles of Samuel Adams, one Khalua, and a Miller Lite heaped up on a tray. "Oh." He strode into the living room where the other members of Five-0 sat in front of the large Hi-Def television. "What are we viewing tonight?" He sat the tray on the coffee table so they could retrieve their preferred beverage and dropped down on the sofa between Steve and Danny.
"The new Mission Impossible," Kono answered with evident anticipation.
"Ah." He settled into the couch, reaching into his own bowl of popcorn.
Danny stated that he'd brought a great feature for them to watch which resulted in Steve saying:
"No one wants to watch an alien dude give birth." He opened the bottle and took a swig.
Danny glowered at Steve for a few beats. "What the hell? He was a hermaphrodite meaning he could both make and have babies."
"He had a baby."
Danny pinched the bridge of his nose. "Listen to my words. Her-maph-ro-dite."
Steve regarded the other man blankly. "His shit swung, Danny."
Kono sighed at the bantering duo. "We can't hear the movie you guys."
Danny scowled at Steve. "You see that Steve? They can't hear the movie because of you."
"I'm not the only one talking Danno," he returned.
"I brought the House of Flying Daggers," Chin stated serenely.
"What?" Danny asked, forsaking his bantering with Steve for curiosity.
"It's a Chinese made movie, subbed though."
"Yeah, I remember that one. Zhang Ziyi was in it right?" Kono asked, eyes still glued to an image of Tom Cruise's character kicking someone's ass on the screen.
"Yeah."
Just like that the argument was diffused. Max smiled inwardly, eternally grateful for the Zen master known as Chin ho Kelly.
Max lay on his back, gazing up at the popcorn ceiling, thinking. He hummed a tune, counting the beats by drumming graceful fingers along the mattress. He felt the bed dip, then the rustle of covers. A warm body smelling of soap nestled next to him and strong arms wound around his waist.
He turned, automatically melting into the embrace. The hand on his waist traveled upwards, tracing a trail over his jawline before coming to a rest in his inky black hair, and velvety lips pressed a kiss to his forehead. He hummed in appreciation of the gesture of affection. He tilted his head back, chocolate eyes melding with aquamarine.
"You've been humming that song all day babe." He stroked Max's hair distractedly.
"It is a song composed by India Arie."
"Who?"
"India Arie."
"Never heard of her." His eyes wandered to Max's delicious little mouth before returning to his coffee brown depths. "So, sing it to me."
"You wouldn't know it."
Steve gave Max 'the look.' Max hated 'the look' because it always managed to make his resolve crumble like rice paper. Sighing, he sang the song watching his love's face.
At the end of the song Steve pressed a tender kiss to his mouth that left him breathless. When the kiss was over Max's face was red from blushing and oxygen deprivation. Steve only gave a smirk at his love's dazed expression. "You are aware that not everyone can hold their breath for two minutes."
The brunet gave the Asian man a fond look. "Really? Hadn't noticed." He leaned over and shut off the lamp sitting atop the bedside table, settling into the covers. "Good night babe."
Max observed Steve as he fell into slumber. He flashed a full-watt smile heart actually fluttering. Steve looked so innocent when he slept. If one only saw Steve while he slept they would never know he was a decorated Navy SEAL with extensive training in close combat. He snuggled closer. Steve was a pleasantly balanced amalgam of similarities and contradictions.
But if he were a song,
He'd be a complicated melody,
That complicated fellow he,
I almost cannot sing it on key.
But he means the world to me.
He crooned softly against his love's lips before capturing them in a tender kiss. He rolled to his opposite side, laying his hand atop Steve's. He hummed the song once more before giving himself over to sleep.
And that's it. I hope you guys enjoyed it and if you did please Review.
Next Chapter:
Take Me by the Tongue