Chapter Text
He’s curled on the floor, cursing his stupidity, Danny’s voice saying ‘Wait for backup,’ ringing in his ears. ‘If I've told you once, Steven, I've told you a thousand times...’ but Danny’s not here.
Here is a refrigerator way out back in a big food store.
Steve was only planning to check out a lead on a drug runner called Marcus Rogers, a man they’d been after for months. It was nothing really risky, just going round the back, checking out who was on the premises, maybe taking him into custody. And if Danny had to be in court, if Chin and Kono were across the island working on another lead on the guy, well, Steve’s never been a man to sit on his hands. And if the call came in when he was on his own, well, it was time critical, so of course he went. And if it was a set up and he was on his own and they got the jump on him...
He catches himself: you don’t have to justify yourself to Danny, man, he’s not here. And actually, Danny was right, not that Steve’s going to say this out loud. There’s no-one to say it to.
He rubs his face: it’s going to be one hell of a bruise. He thinks someone must have kicked him. He remembers seeing three men, black clothes, hats pulled down, heavy boots. After the taser, though, everything is fuzzy where it isn't a complete blank.
Steve forces himself to stand up, wincing as his hands touch the cold of the walls, as he feels his ribs, his thigh, the other places where those boots must have connected. He struggles to focus, to plan. He’s shivering. Refrigerator, dark, must be between zero and five degrees. He could survive just fine at that temperature, but he’s not in the right gear. His shirt is damp where he’s been lying on the floor, and he’s dressed for the Hawaiian summer. ‘Move, man!’ he say out loud to himself. He steps up and down, cautiously, in the space available. Keep moving, keep warm.
Steve feels in his pockets, all of them, but the guys who took him down have been thorough. No phone, no gun, no wallet, he’s only glad they left him with his boots ... and that means he does have a knife. He bends down to retrieve the blade he’s got concealed, but his head objects to the movement and he finds himself leaning heavily on the floor.
He doesn't know how long he leans there for, doesn't know how long he was unconscious for, but before he starts moving again he’s shivering. He stumbles as he pushes up again, forgetting why he bent down. He puts hands out and paces, trying to scope out the size of the space he’s in. There’s no light, but within two paces he can feel the walls. He feels his way round the edge, and gropes for the doorway. He has little hope that he’ll be able to do anything with the door: it’s sealed tight. He expends a little energy banging on the door, then takes a break. His head is throbbing badly now, and he turns his back to the door. If he just rests a moment...
Steve leans back against the door, then slides down into a heap.