Chapter Text
Steve McGarrett was a man with a family tradition to live up to. Going back as many generations as you could count, the McGarrett clan had been serving in the military around the world. Once, he’d asked his father how many McGarrett men had gone off to war, and his response made eight-year-old Steve queasy. “We’ve lost more McGarrett family members than any can count. Men and women both. We all find our wars, Steven.” Two years later, Steve found out what his father had meant.
The Kimesoke family had moved to Oahu last year and purchased the infamous Fong Gardens property, which had been sitting, sallow, for over fifty years. Once upon a time, the property had been seven-hundred acres of lush greenery and farmland, dotted generously with grass hales that were open to the public for use during storms. Two months after moving in, they’d announced they were hiring one hundred people to help clear the land and repair the hales. Everyone hired was an individual, no companies or teams, and the family paid twenty-eight hundred dollars a week, net. Dad had volunteered a few hours, and brought Steve with him, which is where he’d first seen Sonya. She was tall with short, cropped dark hair and bright, green eyes. It wasn’t uncommon to find family members working alongside everyone else, and Sonya was there, pulling weeds beside his Dad. From the first moment Sonya smiled, Steve had been smitten. He took every possible opportunity to go back with his father, always angling towards partnering with Sonya. She was consistently warm and welcomed him to hang around.
It happened that they became so friendly, Mom and Dad invited her to babysit Steve and Mary a few times. Steve always looked forward to the nights Sonya would babysit because she’d order pizza and let them watch scary movies (but not too frightening, because of Mary). She made sure they got their showers and homework completed, and they were usually in their beds by eight. The night Steve discovered the truth, Mary had been in California visiting their aunt, and he was staying at the Gardens instead of Sonya coming to the McGarrett home. Right on cue, around seven, Steve found himself tucked under a blanket, a huge bowl of popcorn in front of him (extra butter), and Sonya was starting the movie he’d chosen. Because Mary wasn’t there that night, she’d let him choose from a scarier selection of films and his eye had caught on The Exorcist. A few of the other boys at school had talked about it, and he’d known there was no way his parents would ever let him watch it. She flopped down beside Steve, reached into the popcorn bowl, and nudged his hand out of the way.
“Remember, brah, you asked for this,” she teased. Steve rolled his eyes at her in response and grabbed his handful of popcorn.
At seven thirty, he was regretting picking this movie. He was terrified, and every time he got a scare, he jumped, which caused the popcorn bowl to shimmy. The first time, Sonya had giggled a little but tried to keep it quiet. By seven forty-five, he wished he’d never picked it because his heart was beating so hard in his chest, he couldn’t think straight. He was fighting against turning the movie off; he didn’t want to seem like some scared kid. He promised himself if he were still this scared in a few minutes, he would tell her he was bored and could they watch something else, but he felt his eyelids getting heavy. There was a light breeze blowing in the window, which only made him more tired, and when Sonya pulled the light blanket up over his shoulder, he gave up fighting how tired he was.
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Steve woke in his bedroom, and it took him a moment. The last thing he remembered was taking a shower at Sonya’s house and had no recollection of coming home, but here he was. He could hear his mother and sister singing along with The Boss somewhere in the house. He took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of pineapple, and plumeria, but also the smell of Dad’s cigar smoke. Steve smiled as he threw his sheets back from his body and jumped to his feet. He frowned when he was knocked back onto his bed by dizziness. That wasn’t normal, and it took a minute for the room to stop pitching like it was riding rough chop. When he stood the second time, he moved much more carefully and was thankful the room stayed even. He rushed through his morning shower, brushed his teeth and dressed, and straightened up his room before heading to the kitchen to say good morning to Mom and Mary.
“Hey, Mom, hey Uku,” he greeted them from the doorway. Neither turned or even acknowledged him, but he assumed it was because they were “born to run.” He turned his attention outside to where he could see his father on the lanai; something spread out in front of him on the table.
As Steve got closer, he noticed he was looking at his father’s knives, though not every knife; just the special ones. The same collection he’d found when he’d gone into his Dad’s work area without permission two days ago. When he’d first noticed the open door, he’d only meant to close it to be helpful, but his eye had caught on the contents of the cabinet. There were guns, knives, swords, daggers, bags, and bags of stuff that had words written on them in his Dad’s distinct block printing. He couldn’t make out what the tags said unless he climbed higher than where he was currently perched, standing on the stepstool Dad used to reach some of the books up near the top of his shelves. His eyes, however, never strayed from the knives, some of which looked old enough to have been First Nation weapons, or older. It was all so cool, but at the same time, a solid rock of queasiness took up all available space in his gut. Looking at the display, these weren’t just swords and knives; these were weapons. Steve wasn’t sure why, but his fingers itched to reach out and pluck one of the blades from its display sheath. It was older, but not as old as others, and was carved from a single piece of koa wood. When he closed his hand on the hilt, he was surprised by how light the weapon was. He’d just begun to admire it when Dad snatched it out of his hands. What had followed was a very tight-lipped lecture about not touching things that didn’t belong to him, especially out of this room. It wasn’t the lecture that had scared Steve, so much as it was the look of disapproval in his father’s eyes.
And now, all those weapons were in the sunlight, the sharpened edges gleaming like pearls, and something about them made Steve deeply uncomfortable. He noticed, in particular, the knife he’d been touching was closest to his father’s hand, appeared freshly treated so it, too, gleamed. Steve swallowed hard, his steps faltering as his heart began to thunder in his chest. He caught a sarcastic smirk at the corner of Dad’s mouth, and Steve felt his body flooding with adrenaline. Instead of running, which is what every instinct in his body was telling him to do, he forced himself to sit down.
“I’d like to ask you, son,” his father smiled as he picked up the wooden blade, “did you truly believe that your mother and I liked you? You’re old enough, now, that I think it’s time we just stop the charade. Especially after the other day.”
Steve looked at his father, shock searing its way through his soul. He couldn’t breathe for a minute as he tried to process what kind of joke Dad was playing. His heart stopped beating when he looked up into his father’s face, and he saw contempt. He felt his mouth open a few times, but no sound came out.
“Oh sure, now you have nothing to say. Usually, I can’t shut you the fuck up. Do you realize last night was the first time I was able to go out with my wife without having to worry about taking you with us because you just ruin the mood? I was thankful to get away from having to look at you across the table for another night.”
Steve couldn’t stop it. He started crying, hiccupping between sobs as his face flushed red. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Where had this come from? He caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye, and he saw his mother coming out with Mary beside her, both wearing matching expressions of disdain.
“I thought you said you were taking care of this?” Mom asked, looking at Dad.
“I was about to. I figured the least I could do would be to let him eat before he goes,” Dad answered, as patiently as ever.
“I swear, you get so soft around him, you'd think you carried the little parasite around for nine months. I don’t know why. He’s been nothing but a waste of time. At least now he’ll be good for something.”
Steve looked from his mother to his father, his mind unable to focus on anything as the emotions assaulted him from both sides. The smile on his mother’s face terrified him, however, and he pushed back from the lanai table. “Wha-,” he tried to croak out, before coughing from having no liquid in his throat.
“What? Well, I promised my husband that if he dug the imu pit, I’d get him a long pig.”
Steve’s entire body twitched as adrenaline flooded his system for the second time, and he looked at his parents, terrified of their twin expressions, before turning to Mary. Mary was his baby sister and he had always looked out for her. She walked past him, pointedly giving him a wide berth as she walked towards their mother.
“I’m so glad I don’t have to worry about telling people about my lame, useless brother anymore. It’s so embarrassing for people to think I’m related to you,” Mary spat.
He heard the familiar sound of someone stretching chicken wire, the kind that for imu pigs, and his heart turned to ice. They were going to do it. They were going to do it! He had to get away! Run as far and as fast as he could get. Except, no matter how fast or long he ran, he never made it to the door leading back into the house. His parents were there, Dad behind him and Mom in front of him, lifting him. He couldn’t hear what they were saying to him, past the slamming beat of his heart. His head was aching from how fast his heart was beating, and now they had him, they were going to cook him. He kept running, his legs never strong enough to pull away from them. Always they were there, matching him stride for stride, as he endlessly tried to get away. His legs were burning, his calves so tight, he didn’t think he would ever be able to walk again after this. Not that there was an ‘after this’ to consider. When he heard the sound of steel sliding against steel, his head whipped to the side to see his mother sharpening a knife. She was calling his name as he watched his father stand from the table. The wooden knife was in his fist, and there was a hungry look in his eyes; for a moment Steve didn’t recognize him. He ran, feeling the sharp wooden blade catch his shoulder, but he refused to stop. He was going to run until his body gave out.
He could hear his mother screaming his name, but his mother was beside him, her butcher’s knife sharp as ever. And Dad was behind him, the wood knife racing towards his throat. He couldn’t believe it. He was going to die! He had to get away!
Cold water slammed him into consciousness, and he sat straight up, eyes wide and gasped for air. His hands went right to his throat, feeling for the blood he knew would be there. His hands came back clean. He turned his head, finding his mother beside him, her tear-stained face full of relief, and beside her, Dad. Steve couldn’t stop the flinch when their eyes found one another; he also couldn’t stop the sadness that came with that flicker of hurt in his father’s eye at the comment.
“What happened?” Steve asked, looking between them.
“Son. We have to talk about a few things. A few things that maybe I should have taught you about long before now, but what’s done is done. You go on with your Mom back to the car. I have something I have to do, and then we can go home and talk.” Dad’s voice was kind but authoritative. It was the Marine voice, commanded respect and inspired obedience. Which is how Steve found himself following his mom out of Fong’s Gardens, still not fully grasping anything.