Work Text:
“Met with asset S. McGarrett. Asset compromised. Asset is no longer fit to be a possible agent.” –R
“Explain.” –D.C.
“If you want an update on your son’s life, Doris, pick up a damn phone.” –R
She read the message again, still a little shocked and a little impressed by the girl's bravado. She could read between the lines easily enough: Catherine was out of her son's life, permanently it would seem, and someone else had stepped in that was not going away any time soon.
With Catherine being gone the information she had on Steve was patchy at best. She had heard about Deb's death, about the abduction of his Five-0 squad mates that had lead to his temporary reactivation, and that was the limit. Even with everything involving Wo Fat resolved (and oh, she was still surprised how much that stung), she couldn't just saunter into the nearest FBI/CIA office and demand Steve's file. She couldn't even Google him from her current local, or any of the ones before that. Safe houses rarely come equipped with modern wifi.
Well, it seems there were plans to be made. She stood, popping her back with a quick stretch before pulling out a phone. Joe wouldn't be able to pull strings for her, she was already on too thin of ice with the US government to call in any favors from them, so it seemed a trip to Hawaii was in order. She wondered who, exactly, had turned Steve's head so thoroughly. It would have to be someone he had already known for him to trust them enough that he would be so far gone within a year. Kono Kalakaua, perhaps? Her relationship with the Yakuza boy had almost certainly been doomed from the start and she had a deep enough history with Steve it wasn't outside the realm of possibility. Likewise the relationship would be easily undermined by bringing Adam Noshimuri back into the picture, if that were the case. All the better.
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The first thing she did upon landing in Honolulu was check the police ban. Nothing major going on, news was clear of recent tragedies that would lead Steve away from the palace: good. Casing out the house pricked that same bit of pain it always did. Happy memories, tinted with the anxiety of living on borrowed time in paradise. John had been so proud when they first bought the house.
The addition wasn't noticeable right away since it had been built primarily onto the back of the house and she found herself somewhat at a loss when she first saw it. Steve getting into a serious relationship wasn't unexpected – he had shown that he was heading in that direction with Catherine before she left for the second time – but she couldn't fathom why he would need the additional room. It was added onto one end of the upstairs sun room, windows facing the beach guaranteeing it would get a lot of sun.
She settled in, watching. It was 10:00 hours meaning it was very unlikely that anyone would be home, but with an unknown in the picture it never hurt to be cautious. After an hour with no signs of there being anyone home she decided to risk it. Ideally she'd stake the house out for several days, slipping in during a time when she was guaranteed several hours uninterrupted, but the second she set foot here the clock started ticking and days she did not have.
The driveway was devoid of cars, John's old car and a older motorcycle tucked in the garage. The car looked in better shape than last time she was here, the motorcycle possibly bought to rebuild once that one had been completed. Chin Ho Kelly rode bikes, something to work on with a friend maybe?
Inside she froze. Steve did not live here alone anymore.
The house was covered in pictures of children. Grace Williams was easily recognizable, most often mugging with her father in the frame. Lou Grover's children popped up in a couple, Mary's daughter in more than a couple (a prick of regret). The small blonde boy was likely Danny Williams's other child, Charlie Edwards, but the other teen and the infant that kept showing up were new. Maybe the new girlfriend had children of her own? The entire main living area of the house showed signs of children living there. A set of plastic cutlery patterned with sharks set in the sink next to a similarly styled cup and plate. Bottles stood in the drying rack, text books lay open on the coffee table, crayon drawings and grade cards were pinned on the fridge, there was a toy box near the sofa and a miniature chair next to the recliner. A baby monitor sat next to the TV.
She lost herself for a moment, slipping back into Doris at seeing her only home so filled with life again, and almost ran toward John's old room. Normally she'd invesitage further – check the names on the report cards and so forth, but nothing about this seemed to be going normally. She needed the comfort of the familiar, for just a moment, but opening the door was an even bigger shock. Steve had redecorated, and he definitely lived here with someone, and she felt her head spinning.
People are predictable. They follow patterns that can be easily altered at will. Trauma could be followed, controlled, used in a way that benefited whomever it needed to. Steve wouldn't intrude upon his father's room because when he was eight he had snuck in there without permission and received a spanking for it. He wouldn't go in there because he spilled her perfume in the bathroom and the wood of the cabinets still faintly smelled like it. He wouldn't go in there because he had laid on the bed, counting fake stars with her while his father slept by their side. He wouldn't go in there because it was a reminder of a happier past than the present he was living in.
The room was almost unrecognizable. That had to be intentional.
She swallowed down the unexpected nausea and bee-lined for the desk without looking too closely at the new furnishings. The top drawers contained nothing unexpected – pens, note pads, various random papers, and accouterments - while the middle was apparently used to store craft supplies. Another tick in the 'someone with kids' column. The important documents were in a fireproof safe in the massive bottom drawer, easily popped up with a pen knife and bobby pin, and oh. Oh, of course. Of course. Steve might as well labeled the box “Everything You Need to Know, Mom”.
On top was a family picture, taken at a party of some kind. Steve was standing with Charlie Edwards on his hip, holding him with one arm while the other rested upon the back of a chair. The little boy had one arm around Steve's neck and other up in a joyous little wave. Grace Williams was hugging Steve's free arm while obviously mugging for the camera a bit, and the teenage boy sat on the chair arm in front of her, smile much more timid but no less happy.
And in the chair sat Danny Williams, happy baby squealing in his lap, looking so pleased with himself that it made her teeth grind a bit. She had called that one correctly at one time, but had (apparently) egregiously assumed that nothing would ever come from the mutual attraction.
A few other pictures lie beneath the first – Steve with his arm around the teen in front of a banner reading “It's a boy!”, both absolutely beaming. Steve holding the baby on the couch with Danny Williams' head resting on his shoulder. Steve and Grace Williams standing on bleachers in baseball shirts screaming in outrage at the pitch. Steve standing behind Danny Williams with his arms wrapped around the other man's waist, pressing a kiss against his temple. Steve asleep in the recliner with the baby and Charlie Edwards both sleeping peacefully against his chest. Charlie Edwards, Mary's daughter, and the infant building a sandcastle on the beach. Steve practicing cheer poses with Grace Williams in the backyard, Danny Williams laughing hysterically in the background. Steve pressing an obnoxious kiss against Charlie Edwards' neck while the little boy squealed. Steve standing side by side with Danny Williams at the kitchen counter looking at the shorter man with adoration obvious in his eyes while watching him make sandwiches.
Bellow that were legal documents. All photocopies she noted with a bit of pride; the originals are stashed somewhere more secure she was sure. First were two sets of adoption papers naming Steven McGarrett and Danniel Williams as the legal fathers of Nahele Huikala, age 15, and Jack Smith (now Williams-McGarrett), age 13 months. This was followed by a custody agreement stating that Grace Williams and Charlie Edwards were living at the house full time, and lastly a domestic partnership form uniting Steve and Danny Williams legally. It wasn't just one “someone else”, she breathed a small laugh, it was five. That explained the extension.
At the very bottom was an envelope with “Doris” written on it. She opened it carefully, peeling back the top without any rips before pulling out a small note and another photograph. The photo was of Mary and her daughter, both smiling in sun dresses with the shoreline behind them. On the back it just said, “her name is Joan” in a hasty, looping scrawl. The note was in Steve's handwriting. “Take the pictures, don't come back. I can still love you when you're gone.”
She took the pictures. She didn't go upstairs. She left.
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Months later, Steve would open up the small safe to double check a date on a piece of paperwork. He'd find the pictures and envelope missing, a single yellow post-it note in their place. “I'm glad you're getting to be the parent I never got to. -Doris”. Danny would frown when Steve handed it to him before carefully pressing against the other man's side.
It's one thing to suspect that your mother would rather break into your house than simply call you, it's another to know that's exactly what happened. They put the note back in the safe and put it all away in the bottom drawer. Doris would never find pictures there again, if she ever deigned to come back, and Mary gave Steve the blandest look she could when he told her. "She was always running, Steve; why would you expect this to be any different?"
Steve sighed. "I guess I didn't." Mary smiled than, sadly. Yeah, he really didn't.