Steve McGarrett x OC

- 13 -

I opened my eyes, feeling super groggy. What time is it? What had woken me up? I checked the clock beside the bed and groaned as the bright numbers read 2:34 in the morning. I sat up and rubbed my eyes, listening hard. Something had woken me up. Then, I heard it again, a muffled yell. I leapt out of bed, gun in hand, and crept into the hall. I heard it again, followed by what sounded like a small sob and my heart pounded as I turned toward Steve's door. 

I quietly knocked. "Steve? Steve, you awake?" When I didn't hear a response, I carefully pushed the door open a crack and peered in. My heart broke a little as I took in the situation. There was no threat, but Steve was shifting around on his bed, whimpering in pain. I approached him slowly and set my gun down on his nightstand. I leaned over him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Steve? Hey, wake up. It's just a nightmare."

He shot up and grabbed my wrist, twisting it until I had to bend with his grip to keep my wrist from dislocating. "Ouch! Steve, it's me! It's Jess!"

Immediately, he dropped my wrist. "Oh my gosh, Jess. I'm so sorry. I had a bad dream and I just reacted..." He started, his face full of regret and lingerings of fear.

I sat on the edge of his bed and put a hand on his cheek. "Shhh, Steve, I'm okay. I promise you didn't hurt me." I hesitated. "Are you okay?"

He leaned into my hand slightly and nodded, his slight stubble tickling me. "I'm sorry I woke you," he whispered. I just shook my head in response and we sat in silence for a couple of seconds. 

Steve sighed and leaned over to turn on his lamp. He gasped and grabbed my wrist gently. "Jess," he whispered and I grimaced as the light revealed an already purpling bruise. Steve stood up and carefully holding my wrist, he pulled me off the bed and guided me downstairs into the kitchen. He pushed me onto a stool and grabbed an ice pack out of the freezer. I watched in silence as he sat on the stool next to me and held the ice gently to my wrist. 

I observed his face. He didn't meet my gaze but I could tell he was dead tired. The nightmare must've been bad. "Do you want to talk about it?" I asked quietly.

Steve didn't respond for a couple of minutes until I didn't think he would, then, "Wo Fat had me again. I couldn't get away and then he told me he had killed my whole team. There was nothing I could do. You were all gone." His voice was quiet and I was surprised when he looked up at me briefly and I caught a glimpse of his teary eyes. 

"Oh, Steve," I whispered and pulled my wrist out of his grasp in order to wrap my arms around him. He leaned into me, his head on my shoulder and I felt a few tears leak into my pajama shirt. I slowly carded my good hand through his short, soft hair. "Shhh, it's okay. You're okay, we're all okay, we're safe," I repeated. 

Finally, Steve pulled back. "Sorry," he said, wiping his face. 

I shook my head. "Don't, Steve. You have to let someone in. You can't keep bottling everything up forever. I am willing to be that person if you want me to be." He just looked down.

After several minutes in silence, I stood up and clapped my hands together. "Steven McGarrett," he looked up at me with a confused look. "We are going to make chocolate chip cookies."

His mouth fell open, comically. "Right now?"

"Right now." I nodded.

"J, it's 3:00 in the morning."

"I'm well aware of that Steven. But I'm craving chocolate chip cookies and you owe me since you hurt my wrist." I pouted at him, and he let a small smile cross his face when he could tell I was kidding. 

After a minute, he stood up and faced me with his arms crossed over his chest. "Teach me your ways, Chef Jessica."

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If you had told me a year ago that I would be dancing in a kitchen in Hawaii, at 3:30 in the morning, in my pajamas, with my boss who had become my best friend, screaming to Bon Jovi songs, and making chocolate chip cookies, I never would've believed you. 

I was laughing so hard that tears were streaming down my face as Steve danced around singing into a wooden spoon. He snatched the bowl of cookie dough that I was mixing out of my hands and spun me around. I giggled as he pushed me away from him in order to maneuver me into a fancy dip that he quickly pulled me up from and spun me towards him again. I didn't want to admit it, but Steve was a dang good dancer. 

I finally pushed him away from me to keep stirring the mixture and Steve grabbed the flour from a cabinet. He filled a measuring cup to the brim and went to pour it into the bowl, however, he wasn't paying attention and turned around, bumping into me and sending flour all over me. We both stopped singing and stared at the mess. 

Steve made a gasping sound that clued me in that he was trying not to laugh as he stuttered out an apology. "Jess, I am so, so sorry..." but he had a smirk on his face that he was trying to hide. I just nodded, not letting my face betray anything as I moved over to the sink. But instead, I grabbed the flour bag from right next to the sink, whipped around, and threw the contents of the bag straight at Steve. 

I busted out laughing at his shell-shocked face and his black t-shirt that had turned completely white. He finally couldn't keep the grin off of his face and grabbed my arm, pulling me towards him and trying to shake his hair full of flour on me. I resisted and tried to get out of his grip, but the action had us both slipping on the floor that was covered in flour and we fell to the ground. 

I groaned softly as most of Steve's weight landed on me. He immediately pushed himself up on his elbows to look down at me. "Are you okay? Did you hit your head?"

I shook my head. "No, I mostly caught myself." Then I opened my eyes and couldn't stop the small gasp that left my mouth. Steve was directly on top of me, his blue eyes intense as he gazed into my own. I expected him to notice the situation and immediately roll off of me, but he stayed right where he was. In fact, his face seemed to draw closer to mine. I made no effort to move or stop him as my eyes swept over his entire face. His short, brown hair that still had flecks of flour in it, to his deep blue eyes, down to his mouth. I suddenly realized what I was doing and forced my gaze back up to his eyes, however, his eyes had also zeroed in on my lips. He flicked his gaze up to mine and back down, leaning even closer so there was barely any space between our lips and sliding a hand under my head to cushion it against the kitchen tile. He met my eyes one last time as if asking for permission, but I don't think I could make a conscious thought at the moment even if I wanted to. With that, his lips softly brushed mine and I sighed, reaching up to put a hand on the back of his neck. That seemed to encourage him and he leaned in again, pressing his lips firmly to mine.