The Five Times The Five-0s Didn’t Know they were dealing with Burberry McGarrett (and One Time they Did) Masterpost.
Total Word Count: 8,952
Rating: PG-13 for language, people pointing guns at each other, gratuitous touching, bromantic banter
Characters (in approximate order of appearance): Burberry McGarrett, Lori Weston, Max Bergman, Danny Williams, Chin Ho Kelly, Joe White, Steve McGarrett, Kamekona, Kono Kalakaua and Malia Waincroft with Mentions of: Gabrielle Asano, Grace Williams, Vince Fryer, Charlie Fong, Jenna Kaye, Catherine Rollins and Adam Noshimuri.
Things you need to remember about Burberry McGarrett:
1) He’s Steve’s identical twin, separated from the McGarrett family in infancy and raised by an incredibly wealthy Australian crime family
2) He has all the same tattoos as Steve McG (what can I say, the twin bond is mysterious)
3) At the point when this story begins, he knows about the Five-0s but they don’t know about him
4) His full name is Shelburne McGarrett…
The Five Times the Five-0s Didn’t Know they were dealing with Burberry McGarrett (and One Time they Did)
Quick Links to the Chapters:
The First Time They Didn’t
The Second Time They Didn’t
The Third Time They Didn’t – inspired by Annie Oakley (Refugee)’s comment at H50 Sardonic
The Fourth Time They Didn’t – inspired by all of H50 fandom’s blogs, thoughts, tweets and comments ever made during the beginning of Season 2
The Fifth Time They Didn’t
The One Time They Did
The First Time They Didn’t
Burberry McGarrett sighed dramatically as he readjusted himself for what felt like the twentieth time that hour. He was starting to lose feeling in his arse. The lounge chair he’d set up on the exclusive North Shore beach (to which he’d surreptitiously gained access earlier in the day) was comfortable enough – but he had two problems.
First, his swim shorts – they were a little tight. They’d looked alright when he’d ordered them online from internationaljock.com, but he either had the sizing wrong or they’d shrunk — or something. They were riding frighteningly low on his hips and dangerously high up his thighs. The more he moved around in his seat the greater danger of a “wardrobe malfunction” and, well, that was best avoided on a high-end resort beach such as this.
His second, and frankly, more distressing problem, was that he didn’t want to leave his deck chair until he found a way to apply sunscreen to his back. Having been raised in the semi-tropical climate of eastern Australia and indoctrinated at an early age to Slip!Slop!Slap! with a high-level SPF sunscreen to prevent skin cancer, he couldn’t in good conscience expose the central area of his back to direct sunlight without protection.
He’d spent a good portion of the morning applying the sunscreen himself, where he could reach. Starting with his face and being sure to get behind his ears, he’d moved on, massaging into the back of his neck and tops of his shoulders, taking extra special care with the skin decorated by his tattoos, colorfully shimmering in the sunlight. Moving on down each of his arms, he finished up by rubbing his hands together to rid himself of the excess lotion before he picked up the bottle again. Squirting a fresh dollop of cream into his palm, he gently slapped it onto his chest, and began rubbing it into his skin in slow circles. Running his fingertips along the ridges of his collarbone, he let the pads of his fingers glide smoothly up and down the sinews of his neck before heading back down to his sternum. He huffed out a breath as he moved the palms of his hands across his pectorals, moving slowly down his sides towards his hips. He hated this part, really, and he hoped no one was watching. It just wouldn’t do to have anyone realize how incredibly ticklish he was.
Fighting to keep the corners of his mouth curled down as he worked, he firmly stroked at the muscled area between his ribs and made a quick swipe over his belly button. He looked down at his stomach as he idly smeared the lotion around his hipbones. The muscles of his lower belly, long and lean from his new workout regimen, bunched slightly as the cool lotion slid over his skin. He shrugged, pondering his abs. Though well-defined, they weren’t as prominent as they used to be, but it hadn’t hurt his success with the ladies, he thought with a smile.
Finishing up on his hips, he turned his palms in towards his stomach and slipped his fingertips under the waistband of his shorts. He easily slid his hands around his sides until they touched at the small of his back. Pulling his fingers back out of his trunks and shaking them, he rubbed the leftover sunscreen on his knees and grabbed the bottle. Once again filling his palm, he began the long job of evenly applying the lotion to his legs. His thighs and knees were easy enough, a few quick passes of his hands over each of his thighs, but he felt awkward, not to mention highly mistrustful of his body-hugging, colorful swim trunks, as he folded his leg up towards his chest in order to apply the sunscreen to his calves and feet. Wrapping his large hands around his muscular calf muscle and pushing down towards his ankle, he took his heel in one hand and pushed his fingertips down the top of his foot, curving around his arch, and back up, spreading his fingers and sliding them gently over and between his toes. Finishing up, he thought about trying to twist his arm behind him to attempt to get his back, but he wasn’t about to make a fool of himself in public – and again, there were these skintight swim shorts to consider.
Disgruntled, he flopped back on the chair and surveyed his fellow beach-goers behind his silver ray-ban aviators. There weren’t many others on the beach this time of day. A slender blonde out jogging caught his attention, but he kept his face still and forward as he tracked her progress across the beach, only moving his eyes. Her sporty two-piece and water-socks were a dark navy blue and the look on her face was one of grim determination as she ran awkwardly through the sand. As she passed him, she slowed to a stop and he noticed her cat-like blue eyes widen as she looked right at him, her hands fluttering up to her hair to straighten her scraggly ponytail. For a minute it looked like she would bolt, but she took a deep breath, straightened her slim shoulders, and steadily approached him. Burberry’s mind was flying – it was obvious this woman thought she knew him – but he had no idea who she was.
“Steve, hi! I didn’t expect to see you until we were back in the office on Monday. I didn’t know you hung out at this beach. It’s kinda more for tourists.” She paused, as if waiting for him to say something. At his lack of response, she suddenly gasped, bug-eyed. “Ohmygosh you probably come here to avoid locals and… People you know..?” she trailed off, looking sheepish. Throwing her hands up in the air she rolled her eyes. “And here I am, totally..” she sighed, “Way to go, Lori!” she finished, obviously flustered.
Reminding himself to keep his voice in a flat American accent like his brother, he dived right in. “No, no, it’s ok,” Burberry said to her. So this was the Lori Weston he’d heard so much about – the newest member of the Five-0 team – perhaps he could use this chance meeting to his advantage. Struck by inspiration, he held up the bottle of sunblock and gave it a little shake. “You got a minute?”
Approximately twenty seconds later…
Burberry sighed happily to himself. The lotion felt wonderfully cool on his overheated skin. Lori’s hands were soft and gentle (no gun callouses on her dainty hands, he happily observed) and she was obligingly chattering on about the latest facial recognition software the CIA had developed – and that the Five-0 task force was beta testing.
Lori had started with his shoulders, hands trembling slightly as they spread slowly over his shoulder blades. As she took the opportunity to knead the large muscles that lined his ribs, her eyes drifted downwards towards the elastic of his swim trunks. She blinked once, again, and then shook her head. Was that a tattoo on his lower back poking out of those shorts? Her eyes widened, and as she mouthed “OH MY GOD,” her hands stilled.
“You OK back there?” Burberry’s question interrupted her reverie.
“Uh… yeah… ok, Steve, yeah. Thanks. Great. I mean. Just fine!” She winced at her own awkwardness. Her hands, moving of their own volition and slick with suntan oil, slipped over the vertical mountains of muscle lining his back from his shoulder blades down to his waist and crashed into each other in the valley of his spine. She jumped in surprise and cleared her throat, attempting to re-focus on the task at hand.
Burberry chuckled to himself. Seems as if Officer Weston was developing a bit of a crush on her boss. How interesting.
They made some small talk on the weather as Lori finished up, and Burberry thanked her politely, but added, “probably best if we don’t mention this back at the office, ok?”
Her face fell a little, but she nodded firmly, meeting his eyes. “Roger that.”
Waving as she jogged off, Burberry stretched contentedly and watched her go. This little encounter might make his brother’s work life a little more complicated (not to mention any lasting effects on Ms. Weston herself) but he felt so good, it was really hard to care. Flipping over onto his stomach, he pulled down his shorts as far as he dared, and soaked up the rays.
The Second Time They Didn’t
As Max fussed over the autopsy report of Five-0’s latest John Doe victim, he considered the possibilities. The victim had obviously had extensive surgical work — but unlike the typical victim of murder in a high-end Waikiki neighborhood, this surgery was all internal — not cosmetic. Finding the surgical markers he was looking for, he tutted to himself, casting a sidelong glance at his upright piano. His fingers twitched and he wished he could play for a few minutes. He’d have to make a call — to the mainland — and he mistrusted phones (and the mainland). But the research had to be done. Commander McGarrett and Detective Williams would be striding through the door in an hour looking for an update and Max knew he could not disappoint. However, he did have alternatives to using the phone he so disliked.
He gently pulled his laptop from its case and connected the office WiFi. Clicking on Skype, he began to enter the number of his contact on the East Coast. Little did he know that his call would not make it to the intended target, instead, a sophisticated hack of the Medical Examiner’s server re-directed his message to a hotel room on the other side of Oahu…
…On the other side of Oahu… Burberry McGarrett cleared his throat as his computer chirped and alerted him to the incoming Skype chat. Adjusting his stolen lab coat, he fussed with the clip of his forged ID badge and slipped a simple wedding ring on his finger. The monitor was facing the interior wall of the hotel room which Burberry hoped was bland enough to pass for an office.
Quickly moving to stand in front of the computer, he undid the top two buttons of his pale blue dress shirt and ran his fingers through his hair, mussing it slightly on the top. Accepting the chat request, he smiled openly into the screen.
Max cleared his throat. “Doctor Yablonski?”
“Doctor Bergman! Nice to meet you. Thanks for agreeing to the Skype request.”
“My… pleasure, Doctor Yablonski,” Max nodded in agreement. “I find Windows Live Chat to be highly overrated and…”
As the conversation continued, Max flipped through the file on his contact, Andrew Yablonski. The top page contained a photocopy of a Three Rivers Medical Center security badge which displayed the friendly the face of the man he now conversed with via the internet. Doctor Yablonski provided some pertinent details on the transplanted heart of the murdered man, and in return, Max expounded on the Five-0s current theory of where the victim may have been hiding nearly 10 million dollars worth of rare jewels.
Burberry grinned, hardly able to keep himself in character. He’d have his hands on those gems in no time thanks to this valuable intel. “We don’t see a lot of missing jewelry in my line of work,” he shrugged. “It’s so fascinating though, Doctor Bergman. Thank you.” The chat concluded and the Skype window closed with an electronic pop.
Max filled out the paperwork on the murder victim’s identity as provided by Doctor Yablonski. Commander McGarrett appreciated it when Max filled out the medical examination forms neatly and completely. Detective Williams appreciated it when Commander McGarrett read him the highlights, so he didn’t have to interpret them himself. Max knew his contribution to the Five-0 Team was an important one.
Across the island, Burberry loaded his Walther PPQ, chambering a round noisily. He’d get to the cache of jewels before the Five-0s and make a clean getaway. Grinning widely, he thought, “Some days, I love my job.”
The Third Time They Didn’t
“Some days, I hate my job,” Burberry thought angrily. He wasn’t sure what the point was, being undercover in a tailor’s shop in mid-town Honolulu. This was certainly not the place he’d ever get a suit made — but then again, not everyone had his fabulous couture taste and unlimited resources. But he had to trust his source that this would be the place to gain the valuable intel he’d spent the better part of the last month looking for.
He was about to give up when a group of five men walking through the storefront made everything clear — and made Burberry happier than ever before that he was an internationally renowned master of disguise.
Not five minutes later, Burberry was kneeling behind Danny Williams, measuring the man’s inseam as the detective bantered with his friends, gesturing wildly, barely keeping still long enough for Burberry to note the needed pants length.
His disguise for this operation was a good one. A hairpiece, slightly greying, raised his hairline. Well-placed makeup for wrinkles and bushy eyebrows added about twenty years to his face. Some rubber latex, skillfully applied to his jawline, gave him the illusion of sagging cheeks and a weak chin. Slumped shoulders completed the look. A simple, but classic cover. As long as he avoided any prolonged eye contact with his marks, he’d be just fine.
The groom, Chin Ho Kelly, Burberry mentally noted, had already mentioned Hugo Castillo’s prison transport schedule to Joe White, the oldest of the group and Burberry had recorded the details. Burberry eyed the Navy veteran suspiciously. There was obviously more to Joe White than the man let on. Burberry knew from his inside contacts that White associated with the highest levels of Yakuza leadership. That the highly intelligent officers of the Five-0 task force had invited this man into their inner circle was puzzling, but Burberry didn’t let those thoughts distract him from the task at hand. Leaning back slightly on his heels to avoid placing his face directly against Danny Williams’ prominent yet shapely rear end, he completed his measurements and motioned to Detective Williams that he was done. Upon being released, the restless Detective wandered off towards the corner of the shop that housed suit accessories.
Maneuvering to stand behind his brother, he heard the large native Hawaiian groomsman, Kamekona ask, “So what you guys think? Butter cup, cabernet, or paisley lavender sunset for the vests?”
Looking wryly at the fabric swatches Kamekona held, Chin Ho was quick to jump in, “No no no, Malia was very specific: there are no vests, no bow ties and no paisley lavender… anything.”
Keeping his head down, Burberry measured the width of Steve’s shoulders – and with a grin noticed he wouldn’t have had to – it was exactly the same as his own measurement. However, he did have to keep his cover, so he dutifully pulled out his tape, holding it to the back of his brother’s neck and smoothing it down his spine to his waist – noting again the length matched his own – as his customers debated the relative merits of cummerbunds and suspenders.
Burberry ducked his head and stooped his posture to further his disguise as Steve entered the conversation, saying, “Here, hold on, hold on – isn’t this a beach wedding, Chin?”
Chin Ho replied, “Yeah,” and Burberry made a note of that, mixed in among his measurements. Always helped to know when the Five-0s would be out of the office and otherwise preoccupied.
“So what’s wrong with boardies – and slippers?” Steve asked, and it was all Burberry could do not to roll his eyes at his apparently-in-name-only brother’s lack of class. He knew (from looking in the mirror) that the man would be dashing in a tux – but apparently, getting him into one would be something of a challenge.
Luckily for Burberry, this wasn’t a fight he would have to enter, as Chin Ho replied quickly, “what’s wrong with them is that they do not match the bridesmaid’s dresses.”
“Ahhhhh…” sighed Steve, rubbing his hands together in defeat.
“Show him the Jersey Slip, Danno,” murmured Steve, casting a teasing look towards his partner.
“I offered to shoot em off,” laughed Joe.
To Burberry’s amazement, Kamekona wiggled the necklace off from around his substantial neck, saying, “No key? No problem, brah. Bring, bring, bring.” Finished with Steve’s primary shoulder, back and bicep measurements, Burberry took the opportunity created by Kamekona’s distraction to attach a small tracking device into the hem of Joe White’s pants. “You never know when it might come in handy,” he mused silently. Burberry kept his head down as Kamekona popped open the handcuffs with his makau pendant to the amusement and astonishment of the group.
However, the laughter was short-lived. Steve’s phone rang and he answered with a curt “McGarrett.” The faces in the room turned his way, so Burberry knelt, ostensibly to measure his brother’s inseam, but with the benefit of avoiding their sight lines.
In response to whatever he heard on the other end of the phone, Steve stepped forward, as if raring to go fight crime in a sample tuxedo shirt and pants held together with pins. Ending the call, Steve growled, “yeah, be there in twenty,” into his phone and disconnected. Since Steve had moved from out in front of him, Burberry stood, but kept his shoulders slumped and head down as Steve announced, “Guys, zip it up, we got a body.”
This spurred the men in the room into action. Kamekona, already dressed in his loud blue print shirt and board shorts, moved away from the main fitting area to the front of the shop as the other men searched for their own clothes. Joe White found his first, in the neat pile where he’d placed them, a simple grey shirt with black slacks, both crisply folded. He moved behind a wheeled display cart to change.
Stepping around the edges of the room to avoid attracting attention, Burberry worked his way towards his brother. If the Five-0s were leaving the shop, this may be his only chance to observe them and glean the information his contact had told him he would find here. He had to keep his eyes open.
As his Steve turned to find the clothes he’d worn into the shop, he suddenly stopped, leaning towards Danny, grasping his arm and whispering something in his partner’s ear. Burberry didn’t catch much at first, but after a few moments, eventually caught a reference to Pearl City and an old bunker. This “body” didn’t sound like anything he’d be interested in – murder was not usually in his repertoire – so he kept moving about to make it look as if he wasn’t listening and he found himself in the corner of the fitting room, out of the line of sight, coming to stand behind Chin Ho Kelly.
Chin Ho sighed softly, the only sign that having to re-schedule the tux fitting caused the groom any worry. He’d already changed from his dress shirt back into the pale blue button up he’d worn in, though he hadn’t closed it yet, revealing his smooth and well-built torso. He looked around for a place to sit. Finding a chair, he pulled at the front pleat of his tuxedo pants. Holding the waistband as he sat, he pulled them down to his knees in one fluid motion. Lifting his right leg and gently removing the fabric, he exposed the lean muscle of his thigh covered by smooth and evenly golden skin, then repeated the process with his left leg. Taking a deep, calming breath, Chin stretched his brawny biceps towards his blue jeans. Getting them into position, his prominent calf muscles flexed, displaying amazing tone, as he pointed his toes and slipped his legs into his jeans. Burberry noted with a hint of jealousy the man’s naturally smooth legs had an undeniably masculine quality that he surmised had been hard-won on surfboards and hiking Hawaii’s abundant and mountainous nature trails.
Chin was lacing up his shoes just as Danny, through conferencing with Steve, picked up his blue and white striped dress shirt from off the chair where he’d laid it, and slipped it on. The man’s body was an enigma, Burberry mused. While earlier in the fitting, Burberry noted Detective Williams was nearly bursting the chest level buttons off of his dress shirt and could barely get his beefy arms through the standard sized sleeves, Burberry almost couldn’t believe the amount of fabric he’d have to take in to fit the man’s trim waistline so he didn’t look as if he were wearing a tent.
Whereas Chin Ho’s body reflected a zen-like symmetry, elegance and balance, Danny William’s body was like his personality – uneven, unique and in-your-face. From his broad shoulders, his torso tapered to a slim waist and kept telescoping down – his muscular legs coming to a point at his ankles. However, the front view didn’t tell the entire story, as Burberry’s measurement pad revealed: Detective Williams’ hip measurement reflected the man’s frankly incredible posterior, and Burberry was man enough to admit that was the case. He made a mental note to surveil Williams’ sometime – to determine just what the man did to work out his glutes to achieve such results. He figured the seamstress who worked on Williams’ slacks had her work cut out for her.
Danny quickly switched shirts as he and Steve continued to converse, apparently already debating a case they’d barely begun. Distracted by their conversation, Danny closed up his shirt a button off, but he just shrugged, giving Steve the stink eye, switching topics to loudly complain to no one in particular about disruptive and distracting partners. Grabbing up his navy blue work pants, he let the dress slacks drop to the floor and hopped out of them, shaking his right foot a few times to disentangle the cloth from around his ankle. Burberry rolled his eyes at the man’s frankly egregious knee-level tan lines and made a note about the faint scar on Danny’s left leg – the man must have had ACL surgery at some point in his past.
Danny continued to shake his right foot and the motion caused him to overbalance on his left side. At the sight of his partner awkwardly hopping across the fitting room floor, Steve put his hands on his hips and laughed, an open, appealing sound, and for the first time Burberry felt a connection to his brother. Burberry shivered and shrugged it off. It might be unavoidable, but the first rule of undercover ops was “don’t get too close to your target.” Burberry began to wonder if coming back to Honolulu was such a good idea after all.
As Danny straightened his plain white boxers, Steve paused a moment before he quickly began searching around for his wrinkled green polo and ratty tan cargo pants. Burberry shook his head, almost feeling pity for his brother. He’d been raised by loving, if criminal, parents who taught him about the finer things in life and provided lavishly for him. He’d had his first tuxedo jacket as a present for his fifteenth birthday, complete with cuff links and two proud parents showing him how to tie a bow tie. The only thing he knew for sure about his brother’s fifteenth birthday was that it was the last one for which their biological mother was alive. Burberry shrugged again.
Across the room, Danny found an empty seat, and idly scratched a knee as he watched Steve, still in his dress shirt and slacks, impatiently stride around the room. “Steven. What is going on over there?”
“I can’t find my pants, Danny.”
“What do you mean you can’t find your pants? Look, look, I told you, they’re over by the desk…”
The men continued to bicker back and forth as Danny pulled his pants up over his boxers. Leaving them hanging open, sagging low on his cut hipbones, he unbuttoned his shirt top to bottom, revealing exquisitely well-defined pectoral muscles overlaid with whorls of light brown chest hair. Pausing to continue his teasing of Steve, he idly scratched his stomach before grabbing hold of the placket of his shirt. Having done so, he re-buttoned it, correctly aligning the buttons this time. Pulling open the fly of his pants, he quickly stuffed the tails of his shirt down and around his back, tucking them in.
Having finally located his cargos and polo shirt, Steve began to strip with military efficiency, tuning out any potential distractions around him. Within seconds, he had unbuttoned his dress shirt at the wrists and down the front, revealing his muscular chest, which Burberry noted with a hint of dismay was practically hairless. Though the manscaping did help to define his brother’s pectoral muscles, which were incredibly pronounced, Burberry just couldn’t condone that level of hair removal. As Steve shrugged off his shirt, Burberry noted with amazement his brother’s shoulder tattoos that exactly matched his own. Although he had known about the tattoos from his review of Steve’s military file (not to mention his arrest records) seeing them in person was another thing altogether – incredible and stunning.
Steve’s shoulder and back muscles flexed as he made quick, short movements, stretching his arm through the polo and pulling it over his head. Moving too swiftly, the hem of the shirt bunched up under his arms and Steve’s abs rolled, showing off their chiseled and defined lines as he bent his head down towards his stomach so he could see to smooth out his shirt from where it was stuck under his arms.
Burberry ran his hand through his hair, still observing. This has been a successful operation. He’d learned invaluable details about the personalities and interactions of the Five-0 team. Details like the cut of his twin brother’s abdominal muscles were probably not critical, but Burberry smiled as he remembered the European mythology professor he’d once romanced who’d told him his abdominals were “Adonis like” so he supposed his brother’s were the same — although, Steve didn’t seem like the type to date professors, Burberry chuckled to himself.
Standing deep in the shadows of the room, Steve didn’t notice Burberry at his five o’clock. Thinking he was alone, he dropped his dress slacks and bending at the waist, reached forward for his cargo pants on the floor in front of him.
Burberry stifled the irritated groan that rose from his throat when he realized his brother wasn’t wearing any underwear. ”Although,” he thought upon reflection, ”it was good to know he wasn’t the only one with a rather large dark freckle just on the left side curve of his ass.”
The backs of Steve’s long, lean thigh muscles stretched, tendons popping out as he tipped forward, grasping for his pants. Burberry stared at the ceiling for a second, but needing to stay aware of his surroundings, looked back around the room. As the other men had dressed, they’d moved out of the fitting room towards the front of the shop, and with the exception of Steve they were all out of sight, waiting by the door. Burberry would rather have been overhearing their conversation, but had effectively cornered himself in the room with his brother. At this point, keeping still was probably the best strategy, he decided.
Having finally located his pants, Steve pulled up the cargos (“no belt?” thought Burberry, aghast) and did a quick pat check of his many pockets, before grabbing up his shoes and taking a seat. Pulling a mid-sized knife, sheathed in a fine leather holster out of one of the shoes, Steve quickly wrapped it around his left ankle and hastily shoved his large feet into the now empty shoes.
Having finally laced up, Steve took quick, long strides towards the door, anticipation and excitement evident in his body language. “Danny, come on, let’s go. I’m driving.”
Chin Ho chuckled. “Well, you don’t have to look so excited about getting out of your tux fitting – we are talking about having to go into work here,” he said, raising his eyebrow at his boss.
“Are you kidding?” laughed Danny. “McGarrett loves work like a fat kid loves cake,” he quipped, casting a mock-guilty look in Kamekona’s direction. “No offense buddy, it’s uh, just a turn of phrase…”
“Oh I see how it is, haole,” Kamekona grumbled, and the banter continued all the way out the door.
Burberry sighed. Well, it was over. His source had been right – this shop had been the place to get some good intel. He was about to congratulate himself on a successful operation, when the door to the shop reopened.
To Burberry’s astonishment, Kamekona reappeared. Motioning to Burberry, he said in a low tone, “Ho, brah – almost walked out of here with these fabric samples – and I’m a parolee, brah. Wouldn’t do to walk off with any company property,” he said, with a knowing wink.
With a swiftness belied by his large size, Kamekona was out the door and down the street before Burberry could think what to say in response. He looked down at the the colors. Butter cup, cabarnet, paisley lavender sunset. Shifting the swatches from his right to his left hand, he noticed they were fraying. He turned them over to attend to the loose threads when some writing, in a hand he didn’t recognize, caught his eye.
Burberry chuckled to himself. He’d finally met his contact and could leave this undercover gig behind. Things in Honolulu were looking up.
The Fourth Time They Didn’t
The fragrant breezes of the warm Hawaiian night drifted past the outdoor patio of Hilton Hawaiian Village. Danny’s friends were sitting at a beach-side table as he played with Grace and Gabby out on the beach. At one end of the table, Chin Ho, Max and Kamekona reminisced about their childhoods on the islands, while at the other end, Kono and Steve watched Danny in silence.
Interrupting Steve’s reverie, Kono observed, “Danny sure was anxious about tonight, wasn’t he Boss? He asked me like ten times if I was coming.”
“Yeah, but it turned out ok, huh?” Steve mused as he listed starboard in his patio chair.
“Sure thing, Boss.” Kono smirked, “don’t know why he was so worried.”
Perhaps it was the alcohol that loosened Steve’s lips, but he turned back to Kono and said, “it was because you never – um, you didn’t — reply to his invite on, on, on Facebook.”
“On Facebook, you know, Kono, you set up an event and invite all your friends…”
“I know what a Facebook event is, Boss — what are you saying?”
“Danny invited you, but you never replied. So he was worried you weren’t gonna be here tonight.”
Kono leaned her elbows forward on the table and shook her head. “Why does this keep happening?” she asked the air in front of her. Turning to Steve, she raised her eyebrows and emphasizing every word, she said “I never got the invite – swear to god!”
….about six months earlier…
Burberry McGarrett slunk into the shadows of the large plumeria bush near the house he’d been casing for over a week and readjusted his reflective sunglasses. The occupant, Kono Kalakaua, lately of Five-0, rented the postage-stamp of a house and had spent the majority of the last week on the beach or on her couch. Neither place gave Burberry easy access to his ultimate prize – her cell phone. Even though Officer Kalakaua was ex-Five-0, the information he’d be able to gather would be invaluable.
Today, he had an opportunity. Burberry had seen a large man with a square jaw and short dark hair competently jimmy his way through Kalakaua’s locked front door, and gently close it behind him. The man looked to be law enforcement, with his collared shirt and suit jacket. And Burberry could see him through the window, perusing the books and knick-knacks on a tall display shelf in the corner of the front room. He certainly didn’t look as if he were there to steal anything.
Burberry pulled distastefully at the waist of the dark blue jeans he wore. They weren’t his usual style but needing to fit in like he was “just hanging around the neighborhood,” they helped him look the part. The jeans were perhaps half a size too small and on a hot day like today, clung to his legs like a second skin. The light grey cotton shirt he wore was comfortable, unbuttoned down to his sternum, allowing the faint, humid breeze to cool him. The shirt was actually very nice, he thought, the perfect shade of grey to coordinate with both his favorite silver ray bans and the nearly-authentic novelty dog tags he loved to wear. “Maybe I’ll wear them next time,” he thought, rubbing his stubbled jawline with long, calloused fingers.
His hope was that Kalakaua’s intruder would provide the distraction he needed. Kono’s routine was to drop her beach bag full of wet towels and swim suits on the porch, take her surf board inside, and return immediately for the bag to hang the damp contents on the line to dry. The phone was in the bag. Assuming the intruder could distract Kalakaua for long enough, Burberry could make his move.
Kono arrived as she usually did, on her bicycle with its custom surf rack. Burberry moved in as she dropped the kickstand on her bike and hauled up her board. Entering the house as per usual, Burberry could just see through the corner of the front window as Kalakaua pulled her gun on the intruder, leaving her beach bag unattended by the door, finally…
Working quickly back in the shade of the plumeria he hung his aviators in the vee of his shirt and pulled up the email and phone records on Kalakaua’s phone. Noting what he needed, he craned his neck to listen in on the conversation between the Five-0 and her intruder. The discussion seemed to be continuing, with a good deal of back and forth on both sides. Burberry turned his attention back to the phone.
Passing by at least twelve surfing and seven local weather apps, he came to her social networking apps and contacts. Quickly scrolling through her Facebook friends list he found entries for Max Bergman, Charlie Fong, Jenna Kaye, Steve McGarrett and Danny Williams. He unfriended all of them and hit “block.” Exiting the application, he quickly blocked their home and cell phone numbers from her contact list, and then tampered with the entries so outgoing calls wouldn’t connect. Finally, he blocked the numbers for the landline of Five-0 Headquarters and all HPD offices. “No more calls or texts incoming from Five-0,” Burberry thought with a smirk. He considered adding Chin Ho Kelly’s numbers to the blocked list — but didn’t want to push his tampering so far that it became obvious.
Peering back around the corner, he saw that Kono had lowered her gun and appeared deep in conversation with the swarthy, suited man. Recrossing the yard, he slipped the phone back into the bag by the door where he’d found it, replaced his custom aviators with a grin, and darted away into the balmy Hawaiian afternoon…
Back to the HHV…. Later that night…!
The Fifth Time They Didn’t
“What the hell is the matter with you?” Danny Williams’ voice rang out, sing-song fashion, across the bookstore, attracting disapproving attention from the other shoppers — which he didn’t seem to notice.
Burberry froze momentarily, knowing instinctively the outburst was meant for him. He’d been caught in a moment of self-indulgence. He was a published author and been perusing the shelves, looking for his latest book and had been pleased to see it recommended by the staff of the independent bookstore. He’d paused to read their hand-written review on the index card taped to the display when Detective Williams voice had interrupted.
Published anonymously of course, Burberry’s memoir of his early years learning the ropes of the international high crime scene was called “Criminality for Dummies” and sat at the top of the New York Times Best Seller’s list of non-fiction for a couple months back in 2006. His second book, also published anonymously, resulted in an Oprah’s Book Club selection entitled “Living & Loving on the Down Low,” a guide to conducting simultaneous love affairs, operating various criminal enterprises in multiple locations whilst avoiding local law enforcement, and performing an assortment of esoteric Australian sexual techniques. Oprah had stridently panned it as a shocking throwback of male Neanderthal behavior (while GQ, Maxim and Playboy had praised it for all the same reasons). As a result, “Living & Loving on The Down Low” entered the cultural mainstream and Burberry had received the largest legitimate pay day of his entire life. The royalties alone would keep him in Bentley sedans, Rolex watches, and a variety of secret, exotic locales in perpetuity.
But before he could enjoy that glorious future, he had to get out of the situation in which he currently found himself: Trapped in a Honolulu bookstore with Detective Danny Williams bearing down on him.
“I said what is the matter with you! You send me a text telling me to get to HQ on the double and I turn around to find you standing in the self-help section of the — which, let me tell you, I am pleased to see — acknowledging your need for help, because you need it my friend, truly you –”
“Danny,” Burberry interrupted, doing his best to keep his face straight and his voice flat. He had learned enough from observing his brother and Danny bickering in the tailor’s shop to know that his best strategy here was to deflect insults, answer questions with questions and generally be a smart-ass while using the least amount of words possible. He crossed his arms. “What are you doing here?”
Detective Williams didn’t respond immediately, also crossing his arms while gesturing towards the copy of “Living & Loving” that Burberry held in his hand. “You buying this book?”
“I’m not gonna buy this book, Danny.”
“Why not, you seemed very interested in this book; you are, in fact, still holding this book.” Danny took the hardcover from Burberry’s hands and paused for a moment. When Burberry didn’t respond, Danny shook his head. Reading the title, he raised his eyebrows, nodding. “Hmm. I see…”
“What does that mean? You know, Danny, you don’t see…”
“No, no, I think I do — I think –” Danny leaned in to emphasize his point and suddenly stopped, his hands and face well into Burberry’s personal space. He sniffed. “Wait, wait a– are you wearing cologne?”
Burberry threw up his hands in frustration – this was not going well. “We need to get to work-”
“Is Catherine in town? But you don’t wear cologne when Catherine is in town.” Danny glanced back down at the book in his hands and quickly back up into Burberry’s eyes. “Are you, are you stepping out-”
“Aw, crap” thought Burberry. “Who the hell is Catherine?” He rubbed his eyes in frustration. “No Danny, I’m not ‘stepping out’…” Burberry said, in what he hoped passed for his brother’s exasperated tone.
Danny took a deep breath. Burberry could almost see him mentally counting to ten. “Now, uh, I know I’m not exactly the, right person to uh, I mean, I don’t have a lot of room to- ”
“But, you’ve, you’ve given me some good advice in the past–”
“And, as your friend, really, as your friend, I’d hate to see you–”
“Please stop talking,” Burberry dropped his head into his hands. “I will literally pay you cash to stop talking.”
Danny grinned ruefully at him. “Is that where we are now, this so bad you’re pulling out the greatest hits?”
Burberry looked balefully back up at Danny. “Didn’t you say something about going in to work?”
That got Danny’s attention and reanimated him. “Yes, I get a text from you, on my day off, when I’m out shopping for Gracie’s birthday present, a very nice text from you that states, ‘get 2 hq stat’ so what do I do, I turn to go and there you are, standing in the self-help section of Auntie’s Bookstore holding the how-to manual on cheating and getting away with it, wearing a suit, my god, what sort of detective am I that I just now noticed you are wearing a suit? And you’re wearing cologne and …. are those glasses in your handkerchief pocket?”
“Just vanity frames…” Burberry interjected meekly but wished he’d kept his mouth shut when Danny’s response was to flap his arms wildly back and forth in front of him and continue to yell.
“Are you having a mid-life crisis? Vanity frames? Are you kidding me? That’s not you. Steve McGarrett doesn’t wear…” Danny trailed off with a defeated expression on his face, gesturing weakly towards Burberry. “This… this… you didn’t even make a ’book ‘em Danno’ joke and I gave you the perfect set-up earlier… Just tell me you don’t have cancer, please, babe. Help me out here.”
Burberry sighed deeply. Less than two minutes with Danny Williams and his cover was so blown. His only chance now was to bluster his way out of this situation and do a better job of staying off the grid in the future. No more endless rounds of cosmos for the girls in the VIP lounge at the Pearl. No more Porche rentals and late night cruising down Ala Moana. No more trips to the bookstore. Deciding that the best defense was a good offense, Burberry took a deep breath and pulling himself to full height, crossed his arms across his chest and flexed in such a way that even through his suit jacket it communicated, “play time’s over, bitch.” He huffed out a breath through his nostrils, flaring them slightly.
Putting a little edge into his voice, he challenged, “Danny, I’ll bet that even if we both leave right now, I will beat you back to headquarters. I’ll even have changed back into my work clothes by then-“
“What do you mean work clothes you just mean clothes right? Your work clothes are your clothes clothes… You don’t wear, what is that, a Prada suit? Every day. Any day!”
“Ha ha very funny. And this is a Fendi, really Danny.”
“Fine, fine, whatever – but we are talking later – about all this, this is not over.”
“No, Danny. No, it’s not.”
The One Time They Did
Steve McGarrett stared in disbelief at the records Chin Ho had pulled up from the Interpol Database and spread across the many monitors of the Five-0 bullpen. He opened his mouth, closed it, rubbed his face. Turning towards Danny, he spread his arms wide. “A twin brother? Really?”
“Apparently so,” Danny said slowly. Steve glared back at the monitor, like he could force it to make sense with the power of his stare. “Don’t do that,” Danny ordered. “Don’t blame yourself. Who was gonna assume ‘evil twin’ was part of the equation?” Steve didn’t have a response for that. As he shifted to rest his hip on the side of the tech table, Danny continued, “It still doesn’t explain why – you remember that tourist, the other month, the Italian grandma who witnessed the bank robbery in Kalihi Heights? We took her statement and she was convinced you had liberated her village during World War Two…”
The skin between Steve’s eyebrows furrowed. “That lady was practically senile, Danno.”
“Her witness statement checked out. What about Stan’s business associate from LA? That guy thought you were a private investigator back on the mainland!”
“That guy had just finished a three martini lunch.” Steve quirked his head to the side and attempted a scowl. “And I just have one of those faces.”
Danny chuckled, “Suuuure you do, buddy. Just how many versions of you are there?”
Steve gave a small smile, looking back at the computer table, his eyes crinkling with the confused emotion Danny had come to recognize as Steve’s default response to the questions he couldn’t answer about his family. Ever since that Friday afternoon when Steve had called Danny into headquarters and Danny had come in, yelling his head off about suits and books and partners with split personalities, it had set off a manhunt of epic proportions and resulted in this briefing Chin Ho had prepared.
According to the highly classified documents, Burberry McGarrett had been born in Honolulu on the same evening in March that Steve knew was his birth date and time. Burberry McGarrett’s birth certificate was an exact match to Steve’s own, except for the notation that Steve had been born first – so his certificate was labeled “Baby A,” whereas Shelburne Burberry McGarrett was “Baby B.”
There was no explanation for why the McGarretts had given up the infant almost immediately and sent him out of the country. The next paper in the file was the form authorizing Burberry’s transfer into the Australian foster care system. The records went on to show Burberry McGarrett had been raised in Sydney and schooled in Canberra. Chin made sure Burberry’s extensive alleged criminal record – including art thefts, jewel heists, money laundering, drug trafficking and gun running – were up front and center, in case Steve was getting any sentimental ideas about how this family reunion would go down.
In truth, there had never been any hard evidence that Burberry was part of any criminal enterprise at all. Just a lot of hearsay, conjecture, and well, enough circumstantial evidence that even the Federal Judges most cynical of the Five-0’s usually far-fetched warrant requests granted everything they asked for.
They needed to collect evidence Burberry was indeed involved in illegal activity, so would have to catch him in the act. A tip from Kamekona pointed them in the direction of a warehouse in a quiet corner of Honolulu Harbor. The Five-0s spent the greater portion of the next work-week researching Burberry and planning a sting operation. Everything had to be perfect so was planned down to the smallest detail, incorporating HPD, military and the local federal agencies interested in questioning Burberry once captured. The raid was planned for first light, the next Sunday morning…
Burberry strolled into the Five-0 Headquarters on Saturday night, dressed to the nines, and introduced himself — kissing the hands Kono and Malia (who had stopped by to bring Chin and the team some dinner) and nodding a polite “g’day” to Max, Chin, Danny and Steve.
For a moment, nobody moved, or said anything.
Eventually, Kono cleared her throat and broke the silence. “Nice accent,” she offered, a suspicious glance in her eye. She was the only one of the Five-0s currently wearing their sidearm and her hand twitched towards it, but she settled it onto her hip instead.
“Yeah. Sexy.” Malia squeaked out.
“Indeed,” chimed in Max, “the subtle accent of the residents of Southeast Australia has been shown to produce a beguiling effect within a significant portion of the North American female–”
“Thank you. Max.” Steve ground out, still frozen in place, staring at Burberry.
Danny and Chin briefly made eye contact, unsure if Steve wanted them to try arrest his prodigal brother or see how this played out. There was another moment of awkward silence.
Suddenly laughing sharply, Kono broke it, saying, “I agree with Malia. And Max.”
“Why thank you, Officer!” Burberry exclaimed brightly at the same time Steve gives Kono an eye roll as if to say “not now, Kono,” but whatever effect he hoped it would have – didn’t. Kono gets Max to continue his explanation and he quickly launched into an extended discussion of a recent study showing how American women found Australian accents attractive.
Burberry sighed happily. “Such a relief to finally be able to use my accent, mate,” he said, addressing Danny. “It’s haaad word imper-” he paused, chuckling before he continued, “speaking with an American accent.”
“I could arrest you for impersonating an officer of the law,” Danny volunteers, knowing it’s a weak play. They didn’t have any proof Burberry had done that. They didn’t have any proof Burberry had done anything.
“Naw, mate, I wouldn’t- I would never!” Burberry sidled up to Danny, smiling broadly. “I may ‘ave been mistaken for my brother here a time or two, but never in… an official capacity.” He smirked and looked around the room. “Speaking of… where’s um…” he snapped his fingers a couple times and quirked an eyebrow. “Blonde Sheila, skinny bird, excellent with her hands…”
“Lori?” Danny and Chin chorused at the same time Kono and Max exclaimed “Ohhhh!!” and shared a significant look.
Steve, who’s rocking his constipated face pretty hard at this point, takes a deep breath like he’s about to say something, but nothing comes out. Everyone turns towards him and he shrugs a little and swallows, hard. Burberry goes quiet, only a slight quiver in his jawline betraying any emotion at all.
“So,” Steve finally gets out. “Australia? You like the Crocodile Hunter or something?” Everyone laughs a little too hard, out of relief.
Chin Ho smiles, “Seriously, brah, you can tell the difference between his accent and Crocodile Hunter can’t you?” Steve smiles again, a little bigger this time, rolling his eyes.
“Really, Steve,” Danny piles on, “you must know something about Australia.”
“Sure, sure,” Steve conceded. “I’ve been to Australia before.” His tone is such that the Five-0s know there’s no point in asking when or where or why Steve’s been to Australia before.
Burberry, however, has no such compunction. Steve his shocked to see that in response to his terse, “It’s classified” reply, Burberry seems to know all about “Operation Thirty Odd Foot Of Grunts” anyway.
“That’s a rubbish name for an operation,” Burberry challenges, “you know that, right?”
Steve, his forehead vein bulging dangerously, is unable to stop himself from responding, “we called it Toe-Fog. T – O – F –” He waved his hands dismissively. “It worked just fine.”
“You know that wanker Crowe isn’t even Australian?” Burberry huffed out.
There’s a long pause. Steve scratches the back of his neck, looking sheepish and asks, “he’s not?”
Burberry is horrified to learn that his long lost brother’s knowledge of Australia is all from American popular culture, annoyingly starting with “blooming onion,” irritatingly progressing into “it’s Australian for beer” and finally degenerating (in true McGarrett fashion) into “THIS is a knife” at which point they need to be physically separated for as long as it takes the ambulance to arrive. Danny gets Steve into one corner of the room, loudly lecturing him about maybe finding his topper switch and setting it to “off” sometimes. Burberry lets Kono manhandle him into the opposite corner a little more roughly than is strictly necessary. Their shirts are in tatters, but no stitches are required anywhere below the belt. This doesn’t prevent Burberry from removing his Gucci slacks anyway, ostensibly to protect them from blood stains, but with the added bonus of showing off his intricate and colorful tribal back tattoo. Danny takes one look at it and starts spluttering, pointing back and forth between Steve and Burberry, unable to get a coherent sentence together. Steve is beside himself, blushing to the tips of his ears. Chin takes Malia (who’s been intently checking Burberry for cuts and bruises) by the hand and heads for the exit. Max and Kono are suddenly very busy at the tech table.
The Five-0s go ahead with their raid at the warehouse the next morning (the other agencies involved insisted) but they find nothing. Burberry hangs around, answering everybody’s questions, but the trail runs cold. The other agencies depart for the mainland and Five-0 is assigned other cases.
Burberry becomes a frequent visitor at Five-0 Headquarters. Whenever he drops by, he’s wearing glasses – Burberry quips he wears them so people “can tell him apart from Superman” – which Steve finds incredibly frustrating as his boy scout honor code prevents him from hitting a guy with glasses, even fake ones.
At first, things were touch and go between the brothers. Burberry would show up, he and Steve would have a good conversation, and then Burberry would be seen in the general vicinity of a break-in or a shoot-out and it was back to square one. Eventually, and without any of the professional help Danny kept offering to pay for, Steve and Burberry did make peace with each other, in their way. Burberry managed week-long stretches where he wasn’t linked to any criminal activity at all. And at the end of those weeks, he would ask Steve if he and Danny wanted to go out and grab a drink with Adam and the guys and Steve would say, “okay.”