Disclaimer: This story is "fan-fiction", based on the Television programmes: Hawaii 5-0 (2010 reimagining) which remains the intellectual property of creators/producers et al Peter M. Lenkov, Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci and CBS channel. It is not owned by "The Cat's Whiskers"; no money is being made, and it is purely for the enjoyment of fans of the show, etc., etc. Legal counsel has advised that "fan-fiction" falls within the bounds of "fair use" as defined by UK law (1740) and US law (1976). All 'Original characters, plots and story-settings remain the intellectual property of 'The Cat's Whiskers' and may not be reproduced or continued or expanded without her express permission to reproduce, continue or expand same. The Cat's Whiskers may be contacted at any time via Private Messaging for this purpose. All excerpts of and reference to on-screen dialogue and aired episodes (including deleted scenes, episode commentaries, gag reels, additional content) and on-screen named characters remain the property of the screenwriter(s).

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Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin…Danny explains why to Wo Fat…

Credit/Shout-out: Inspired by and for 'Angelofjoy' for her vignette story series: Danny's 642 Things to Rant About.

(Other inspiration: Season 3 Episode18 "Na Ki'i" [Dolls], where I am sure it was intentional by the show's writers/wardrobe department to draw attention to the fact that, out of his usual brown/green/beige cargo pants and T-shirt/over-shirt combo attire and dressed in black pants and black dress shirt, Alex O'Loughlin's Steve McGarrett character has obvious visual similarities to Mark Dacasco's Wo Fat character).

Explaining Why to Wo Fat

"Seriously, Detective Williams," Wo Fat drawled out the words in open amusement despite having just been taken out of the back of a Crown Victoria HPD patrol car by a uniformed officer and having his hands cuffed in front of him, "you think I will be here for more than an hour…if that?"

"I have no idea," Danny answered the very valid question.

Valid because the uniformed officer had let go of the man's bicep and was standing there nervously like a new parking valet at a swank hotel almost as if waiting for Wo Fat to give him orders, and the cuffs were not behind his back and tight white plastic ties that impaired the cut of that several-thousand-dollar hand-tailored bespoke suit, but old school metal cuffs in front of his torso which were more comfortable…and a variety of officers and general officials and passers-by on the steps of HPD's Central Precinct were watching with varying degrees of surprise, curiosity and concern at the sight of Danny Williams the haole outsider cop pulling a 'perp walk' scene with the confident and insouciant Wo Fat.

"And I don't care, because that isn't the point of this."

Wo Fat didn't so much as twitch from his mildly amused smirk, uninterested in the supreme confidence that the bleatings of the little man in front of him were as dust in the wind for all their impact on him.

Unless you got a few motes blow straight in your eye.

"The point here…" Danny began to conduct with his hands as he talked because he was physically incapable of speech otherwise – incredible that a long line of criminals and cops convinced of their own superior intellect to everyone around them had never worked out the simple block that if you clasped Danny's wrists together in your hands, held them still and then told him to speak, he was instantly and effectively rendered unable to speak.

"The point right now…is that you are the only one who has never lied. Over the past four years on this pineapple infested hellhole, you are the one person on the goddamned planet who has always been honest with Steve; you are the only person who has always told him the truth."

Having been watching the hands conducting the invisible orchestra with a mildly amused lip-curl, that did get a couple of uncertain blinks and a head tilted slightly over, now actually listening to him.

"And believe me, the vast and bitter irony that you are only person in the world who has never hidden things from Steve, even though trying to act for his own good, who has never lied to him, even to protect him, does not in any way shape or form escape me. But that is why you are quite literally here on this spot."

He waved his right hand in a circle encompassing the HPD HQ and its frontage and then pointed down at the pavement Wo Fat was standing on, elaborating, "That is why you, Wo Fat, have had one free pass, from Detective Daniel S. Williams, that is why you stand here in your customary suave, sartorial sophistication, instead of wincing out of that Crown Vic looking like you've gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson in his Angry Heyday, that is why you stand and smirk, breathing free, and are not, instead, being dumped on a cold slab in HPD's morgue after being shot to death on the way here whilst 'trying to escape.'"

Ah, now there was an actual focus on him, Danny Williams, as an individual, as a person, as a human, not just a blah-blah blob.

"And that is the point of this, Wo Fat, that you have squandered a card you may have needed to use later on, because you stood there and smirked at the little people yapping at you, at the dumb New Jersey short-ass who's not significant enough to swat and decided to take a car right to HPD for the amusement value."

"Really." And Wo Fat wasn't smiling anymore. He wasn't even remotely unnerved, true, but he was looking at Danny Williams with definite reassessment.

"Really – because this, right here? Delivering you alive, whole, unharmed and still pretty in an entirely masculine way, ends my obligation to grant you that one free pass because of what you have done for my best friend. You might get your fancy lawyer to spring you by the time I've driven down the block. You may have to arrange your escape from a Super-Max because the justice system has actually done its job and convicted you on counts of…everything. And that's the point – because from this day on, the next time I lay eyes on you where you aren't protected by six inch Perspex and bars and concrete, I will. Just. Kill. You. Walking through the International Market, I will shoot you in the face; sat outside at the Side Street trattoria, I will shoot you in the back. Run you down on a golf course with a souped-up golf buggy I'll get SEAL Team Nine to teach me how to spontaneously jury-rig on the off-chance I spot you – stab you with a filet knife at a Sushi Bar, spot you at a museum and take you out with an exhibit blowpipe and darts dipped in Henriettum Dangerousia. Whatever…no warning, no declaration, no officer of the law, just see-kill…and even though I've been electrocuted – deliberately, for torture – so even though I know how much it hurts…when the judge sentences me to the electric chair, I will sit there like the best of silent lambs while they strap me in and down and I will fry with a smile."

And he nodded sharply to the hovering uniform officers, wafting his right hand up the steps in a 'take him away from all this' gesture, before turning on his heel and getting back into the Crown Victoria and pulling away from the kerb with deliberation.

Through the rear view mirror he saw Wo Fat standing on the steps, flanked either side, but all three looking after this car. It would only take him a few minutes to drive to where he'd left the Camaro upon being approached by the HPD uniformed patrol car and asked to check out the bad guys 'across the way'…and Wo Fat, large and in charge and foolishly unconcerned about strolling around downtown Honolulu…had been amongst them.

He parked up the Crown Vic and took the keys into the cop bar, run by a retired sergeant who was Chin and Kono's cousin Coolie or Coco or Kiki, to be picked up.

Because none what he'd said was the point at all…the point was Stephen John McGarrett. Because over the past four years on this this too-hot, too-humid, too-sunny rock five hundred miles from anywhere he had had a ringside view of how Steve was increasingly consumed by his obsession with revenge against Wo Fat…He'd seen Steve that morning, when Steve stopped off briefly at HQ on his way to meet up with Cat on the Waterfront after Doris had been burgled; after Steve had told him that Cat had confessed how Doris had dragged her into their conflicted dynamic by persuading her to not tell Steve about Menghosta.

And after Steve had left 5-0's office, his footsteps rattling down the stairs rather than take the elevator as a good SEAL did, keeping up his cardio, he and Chin had exchanged a long, silent look of unease at those black dress pants and that black silk shirt and that tight, taut face, and the unwitting but definitely visible resemblance to Wo Fat, like Luke Skywalker losing his hand in The Empire Strikes Back and the prosthetic limb with it's too-close-for-comfort similarity to Darth Vader.

And so that was the point of this. Because those cops and public defenders and passing citizens, hell the meter maids and the guy servicing the water coolers, had heard every word, and cops were amongst the best worst gossipers in the world, so the tale would spread – even without the nice full audio and video recording from the HPD security feed aimed down the front steps from above the entry doors…

And the point was, that from this day on…if Wo Fat died without at least a dozen impeccable unimpeachable witnesses to the naturalness, or the accidentalness or the righteousness of the kill, then the first thing that would happen would be that Daniel S. Williams would be arrested on a charge of pre-meditated, pre-arranged Murder in the First Degree, based on pre-existing publicly witnessed threats to do just that.

And Daniel S. Williams would exercise his Fifth Amendment Rights and remain silent in the best 'I neither confirm nor deny' example ever that would have SEAL Team 9, 4, 3, all numbers in between using him to illustrate how it was done to the BUD/S wannabe tadpoles…

And not all the threats and pleading and yelling and ordering in the world by Steven J. McGarrett would get him to talk, and not all the confessions of murder himself would work, because everyone would 'know' McGarrett was trying to save his friend.

And he would, indeed, be sent to the electric chair for a murder he…might…be innocent of. And that was the point of this, because word would get around, and as it did, it would get to Steve, and Steve would realise, without ever being ranted at, or pleaded with, or talked down, or directly confronted and argued with in any way by the people who cared and worried about him, exactly who would pay the price if he went that far off the reservation as what had been his desire for retribution was obviously becoming a more open lust for revenge…

And yes, it was subtle, but he was sure that behind the glass doors at the top of the steps into HPD, one of the poised, listening silhouettes had been Chin Ho Kelly shaped…and Chin was a very subtle man, who would ensure that Steve heard, and understood, probably in the guise of making sure Steve 'overheard' him telling Kono, or letting Steve 'catch' him 'trying' to erase the HPD video/audio security footage late one night at 5-0 HQ.

Because the point was that Steve was his best friend, but they were guys, and they didn't do feelings, or express anything emotionally, not even platonic affection, and so any direct approach, any urgent, ardent words and begging to see reason would just bounce off that emotional armour, because Steve was trained not just to shut down and compartmentalise but indoctrinated to see that approach as 'better' as a psychological defence mechanism and actually 'appropriate' as a life choice mode of operating.

And because Steve was his best friend, he couldn't bear to see him first shrivel, and then twist up inside like Rick Peterson had…not lost, but just given up on his own good points, refusing to get past his resentment over the partner everyone knew Danny still grieved for, becoming consumed by his jealousy and hatred for a woman murdered in the line of duty before he'd even joined the New Jersey State Police, never mind been partnered with Danny, purely because Danny wouldn't get over it and recognise the wonderfulness of Grace Tilwell's replacement.

He didn't ever want to see Steve accidentally resemble Wo Fat again…

But he was just an ordinary guy, an up-from-Jersey kid dropped in at the deep end in a beautiful but deadly place, caught between a rich and powerful psychopath and an obsessed, trained killer handed 'immunity and means' even now more often than not by a Governor who'd realised cutting off his nose to spite his face, like banishing Lori Weston, diminished the practical efficacy of 5-0 and just made him look egotistical and petulant…so he had no money, no political influence or shady powerful friends, no counter-crazy ninja skills to block any McGarrett mayhem…all he had available to him to use to protect Steve from himself was…him…

Despite the heat of the day as he slid into the driving seat of the sweltering hot Camaro, a slight shiver danced up his spine, because the point was, all he could do was hope that would be enough, to for Steve to save both of them…

© 2013, The Cat's Whiskers

All rights reserved

Author's Note:

I did it! I did it! I wrote short. I wrote a complete piece, with a beginning and middle and an end, in 1800 words!

(Brief intermission whilst author does the a-ha-a-ha dance and the oh yeah, oh yeah chant around her study)

For the first time this is epic in scale, not content. Itry to write short stories and then…I dunno, some git gives the plot bunny Viagra…and steroids. I was trying to write a humorous, short piece as a gift-fic for .Vee, inspired by her Fluffy Hair and Nosy Bosses series…that plan went pear-shaped because I'm currently up to four chapters with no end in sight…My 'The Blood Will Tell' series in the Angel fandom? Was supposed to begin and end with The Scroll of Niamh…seven years ago! Walking With Dark Angels expanded like a gas into a vacuum to take up 12 chapters…my Harry Potter 'epilogue' is now a 16-chapter novella, The Orb of Oroborous and is only half-finished.

(Brief intermission whilst author bangs head rhythmically on study desk).

My BETA, Shallan, at Wolfpup's Den, would roll around on the floor hysterically at the notion of me and 'not waffle'…I try and I try yet somehow a minor plot bunny develops themes and subtext and introspective angst by the crane load. And yes, this was original going to be a 'drabble', then a double drabble, then a triple drabble…But I did it…whole, complete, an actual, for-real vignette by me!