WAHINE - d. williams

ØNE.

"THERE YOU ARE."

A woman, dressed all in black, blew out a slow, deep breath, focusing all over her concentration on perfecting her aim and adjusting the angle of her rifle as needed. She loaded the bullet intended for a 'McGarrett' into her rifle quickly and once again set her sights on her target.The price tag on this kill was by far the largest she'd even been promised—this time, her sights were set on killing the leader of Five-O, Hawaii's elite crime fighting force, Commander Steven McGarrett. She had been observing him for the last few weeks upon the request of her client; she'd done a handful of jobs for them already, but the price tag on McGarrett paled in the face of her long-since-present desire to kill him.

Having only arrived on the island within the last six months from the mainland, she was still unfamiliar with her surroundings, but because of her darker skin tone had little trouble fitting in with the locals. At least, that's what she thought, because she hadn't yet been called a haole.

But this was a different job. She'd never shot a cop before—and certainly not one as decorated and well-known as Steven McGarrett. If she managed to kill him, not only would she be one hundred thousand dollars richer, but she'd also have one less cop on her trail. Even better was that if she succeeded, the one man who had tirelessly hunted her down for the past 5 years would no longer be able to do so.

Aside from his dogged pursuit of her for the better part of a decade, she could not pinpoint the exact reason why she hated McGarrett as much as she did. In all her hours of work-related research on him, the only true conclusion she could make was that he was a despicably good man. The upstanding, cherubic sort. A navy man—fiercely loyal to a fault, and perhaps a bit single-minded in his pursuits. His career had not been a winding path, but rather was relatively easy to follow. The feeling she had in her chest when she read his name...it was akin to simply having woken up and choosing to despise the very epitome of good.

"Aloha, McGarrett," she whispered, waiting for him to walk into her crosshairs before firing the bullet. But he never did.

"Hands," said a voice in a firm, stern tone, "I want to see your hands."

She didn't lower her gun. Her sights remained trained on McGarrett—rather, where he had been only seconds before she'd lost her focus. A brunette woman had pulled him inside and out of her range. "I said, show me your hands."

The blond man standing behind her had a steady hand. His handgun was pointed straight at her, and his body language exuded confidence and caution in equal measure. He cocked his gun in the hopes of intimidating her into surrendering. She knew abrupt movements would startle him, and that he was likely wearing a bulletproof vest. If she didn't take him down, the hundred thousand she so badly needed would never be hers.

To be fair, the man had no idea what the woman would do. He was no stranger to dangerous situations, but something about her put him on edge. The woman stood up slowly, letting the rifle that hung from her chest by a strap fall from her hands.

"Who are you?" The blond man asked her, narrowing his blue eyes. She maintained deep eye contact with him but said nothing in response. Suddenly, she dropped to her knees, crying out in what appeared to be pain. Her arms clutched her stomach and her pretty face was contorted in agony. The man lowered his gun slightly and rushed forwards to help her, placing a hand on her shoulder and shaking her in an attempt to rouse her into answering his begrudging question of "What's wrong with you?"

He hadn't expected a gun to fly out of nowhere and hit him squarely in the forehead. Stumbling backwards, he clutched his head, trying to center his spinning thoughts and assuage the throbbing pain. He looked up only to watch the mysterious woman step off the side of the building—he darted towards the wall and looked over the side. She had landed on her feet and had her sights on Steve, showering the glass window that separated them with bullets. The woman and the rest of his team exchanged bullets for a few moments before he finally roused himself into action and took a few shots at her with his own rifle—but none of his rounds found their mark. She was too close to the wall for him to get a good angle, so the most he could do was shoot at her feet, which was effective in putting some distance between her and his team.

Then, she started to run. A leaner, well-built man took off after her, firing off shots at her with his shotgun. His authoritative shouts of "Freeze! Five-O!" did little to slow her down, but the single bullet that found its mark in her shoulder did plenty. She stumbled and tripped over her feet, landing hard on her gun and stunned into submission long enough for the man to walk briskly the rest of the way to her. He put a firm foot on her back to immobilize her as he waited for the rest of the group to catch up. She struggled against his foot, even making a grab for the shotgun that was strapped to her leg, but was stopped by a woman who also had a sniper rifle.

"Not on my watch," she said, snatching the handgun out of her reach and holding it with her index and thumb, "good work, Chin."

"Not too bad yourself, Kono. Bag that and send it for DNA testing, will you?" Chin replied, looking around. Kono nodded and walked off with the gun. "Where's Danny?"

"I'm right here," a blond man with a nascent bruise on his forehead answered, jogging up to them. He waved the handcuffs in front of him and sidled past Chin and Kono to put them on the woman, then helped her up, eliciting a grunt of pain from her. Their eyes met—hers, stormy, grey and almost white in color, and his, a piercing blue, like the sea at Lanikai beach. Unafraid, she held his gaze until he turned her around and marched her towards an HPD police car that had just turned the corner onto the scene. She flinched at the loud sound of the sirens as the car pulled up.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Danny asked her, smiling acridly, "not a fan of loud noises?"

She only glared at him. He tapped on the glass window of the car, and the officer inside rolled down the window. "Take this one straight to HPD," he said, then added, "and make sure to put the radio on as loud as you can—" He paused again a brief moment to assess her further, before concluding with a smirk, "—80s on 8. She's hard of hearing."

With that, he opened the car door and gently pushed her into a sitting position in the backseat, then took her rifle from around her neck and closed the door. As the car pulled away, Danny straightened up, smirking.

"Why do you look so satisfied?" Steve had come up behind him, hands on his hips and wearing his usual brooding expression. Danny rolled his eyes.

"What, am I not allowed to look satisfied? It's sunny, there's a breeze, we're heading out for drinks at the Hilton Hawaiian later...what's not to be satisfied about? My life is great."

Steve laughed. "Whatever you say, Danno. And don't think I didn't notice how you were checking out the perp."

He left Danny momentarily speechless where he stood. "What the hell makes you think that, you perv?"

There was no answer, only a sly grin from Steve in response. Danny sighed and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his trousers. "I guess I finally get to drive my own car..." he murmured, pulling the keys to his black Camaro out of his pocket and heading over to the area of grass just off the highway, where it was parked. He opened the car door and slid into the front seat, letting out a slow breath of relief and contentment. Danny's eyelids fluttered shut—the sun warmed his skin, soothed the throbbing pain of his forehead and lulled him into a light sleep.

Warmth.