Mau Loa

MAU LOA

**Synopsis: After the events of "Ha'I'ole", Victor Hesse gets a second chance not too far away. **

**This is an "alternate universes" tale and it may not be completely in canon; though I hope I captured the flavor of the characters. I apologize if my Irish is off in any of the words spoken in that language.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Hawaii Five 0 is owned by L. Freeman's estate, CBS, and all partners and subsidiaries. "Buffy" is owned by Joss Whedon, Warner Bros., 20th Century Fox, and all subsidiaries and partners**.

CHAPTER ONE

Victor lay on the small bed in his prison cell, feeling increasingly uneasy when he finished eating his meal that afternoon, the book he was reading by his side. He thought about his final family member in his life before she'd died last year: his Grandmother, Callie.

He'd always considered her to be an odd individual, but the last year of her life on Earth, she'd been certifiable.

On her deathbed the previous summer, she'd summoned Victor to her side, telling the persons looking after her that it was urgent that she speak with him. He'd come reluctantly a day later to stand by her tiny hospital bed.

"Hello, Grandmother," he'd said, his blue eyes gazing upon her small frame.

Callie O'Sullivan looked at her favorite grandson, her onlylivinggrandson, and she smiled. He was such a devil, that boy, his concealed evil personality hidden behind his deceptively calm blue eyes. They were cut from the same cloth, she knew. She also knew what Victor had thought about her, but it didn't matter. Family was family. Victor's expression was unreadable while he considered her.

For one corrupted with the ravages of cancer, Callie still had the embers of youth burning in her blue eyes. They were like Victor's: sharp, shrewd, never missing a trick or an opportunity to outwit a foe. They measured him, and then, as she sighed, Callie passed judgment.

Victor said in a disinterested voice, "Grandmother, tell me what this is all about. I must be about my business."

Callie coughed a little, saying in her soft Irish brogue, "This _is_your business. The war you are about to engage in with Commander Steven McGarrett is one you will not win."

Victor's eyes widened. He had never told his Grandmother about Steve and his preoccupation with him. In fact, he'd never told Callie about any of his deeds post meeting Wo Fat. He knew his mother had spoken about her female parent being a _cailleach,_a witch, in his native tongue of Gaelic but he'd never believed the tales, not even when his grandmother had accurately predicted his parents' deaths in a car crash five years ago.

"Is this another claim to you bein' a _cailleach?__" _Victor asked with a derisive note in his voice. "If it is, Grandmother, save your breath."

Callie looked on her grandson not with hatred, or even annoyance, but with disappointment. When she spoke, her voice was tinged with sympathy.

"I am," she said simply. "You would do best to respect that."

"If you are," Victor retorted, with anger in his eyes, "then why didn't you save my parents from their untimely end, eh? Why didn't you save my brother? _Why __didn__'__t __you __warn __me __about __Steve?__"_

"I cannot change what's meant to be..." Callie said calmly.

"So, what are you gonna tell me now?" Victor flung at her. "Are you goin' to tell me that all of this can be prevented with the wave of a magic wand?"

Callie shook her snow white head. "No," she said in a voice laced with conviction. "You will battle each other, and you _will_ die not too far in the future. But things can be repaired. I have spent the latter years of my life doing everything to make things better for you. The Spirits of Vengeance have shown it to me, and now is the time to reveal it to you!"

Victor laughed scornfully. "Right..." he said.

Callie gripped his hand so forcefully that Victor paused to listen. She tugged him down to her dry lips and whispered, "Among my things, in my apartment, is a book...my book of spells that I have written over the years. On page 117, the last page I wrote on, is one I made for you. Read it, then speak the ancient words aloud _three __times._Believe what I say, in your heart, and in your soul, and when he comes for you on September 19th of next year, you _will _have your revenge!"

When Callie released his hand, Victor's brows drew together in bewilderment. "I don't understand," he said. "Who are you speaking of?"

He thought, _is __it __Wo__Fat,__or __Steve...?__She __**must **__be __crazy..._

Aloud, he asked, "Who do you mean? And, if you're right, why can't I just work some magic on Steve or my other enemies?"

Callie shook her head, saying, "The magic only works for the females in our family, but I've done this especially for you. One time, one spell. It will protect you, and it will give you what you've always wanted."

"And, what's that?" Victor wanted to know.

"_Sioraicht,__" _Callie revealed. Then, her hand slipped away.

After her funeral, Victor had gotten his grandmother's things and simply put them away in a strong box inside his apartment in Hawaii. Then, he plotted, just as he always did, and he waited. He fought Steve McGarrett and led the Naval Commander to believe that he had died when he'd jumped into the frigid waters off the pier in Oahu. Later that year, Victor had removed the book his grandmother had left him two days before encountering Steve once again during the _Mele __Kalichimocha_ season.

Callie had mentioned revenge, but she didn't know her grandson very well. Victor was simply about getting out and moving on with life, with the best treasures it had to offer. With Steve, though, it wasn't even about taking money or anything else from him. It was about the pleasure of the hunt, not necessarily the satisfaction of blowing someone away. When push came to shove, his philosophy was about the steps one took during the journey, not the end result from it.

Hadn't he told Steve that much, saying to him when Victor's enemy had tried to define their dance with death as a simple vengeance trip for blowing away Steve's father in retaliation for his brother?

"_Eye-for-an-eye__'__s __just __not__'__s __my __style, __Steve,__" _Victor had said.

As he had read the spell book, waiting for some news, Victor had realized that his viewpoint hadn't changed. He had hoped that word of his employer Wo Fat's death would have reached his ears by now, that was true. But it was about survival and living to see another day.

He'd watched both Steve and his father closely for many years. Both had the same mindset; the same cunning, skill and speed. Their methods of fighting were second-to-none and Victor considered Steve to be a worthy opponent. In his cell, that September 19th, Victor had waited for some news; waited, and hoped. If anyone could kill Wo Fat, it would be Steve. Still, something in his grandmother's eyes made him get the book the day she'd died. Something made him read her last words.

"...when he comes for you on September 19th of next year, you _will_have your revenge!" she'd said. Victor thought about that. He thought long and hard.

Although he tried to deny it, he knew Steve would be the one to take him down eventually.

Victor had high hopes that Steve would be the one to vanquish Wo Fat thusly, and insure that he would be alive to kill another day. That was why he didn't know what was taking his inside partner, Chino, so long to tell him the good news.

Cursing in Gaelic, Victor whispered nervously, "Damn it to hell! What's taking so blasted _long?__" _He opened the spell book, and he read the sacred words aloud three times: "_cé__air__seo, __an__lá__a__fhaighim__bás, __caitheadh__mé__an__litriú, __de__réir__agus__de__réir!__Labhairt__mé__na__focail__seo, __agus__beidh__sé, __chun__cónaí__le __haghaidh__ga ch__síoraíochta...__Sioraicht!__"_

He heard soft footsteps falling on the cement floor in the prison and put the book he had memorized by now away. Victor was muttering to himself, closing and opening his eyes as he said unintelligible words. A pant leg came into view first, followed by a dark haired officer.

Victor sat up on his cot and peered out from the shadows he'd receded into. "You'll pardon me, office—" he started saying; then, shock registered in his blue eyes as he saw who the policeman was.

"What's wrong, Victor?" the silky voice the other man thought he would never hear again asked, his tone mocking. "You don't look happy to see me."

Victor swallowed, banking down his fear as best he could before querying, "Why are you here…sir?"

Wo Fat's eyes looked at the orange suited prisoner with disappointment when he said, "I'm here to hear the story about Steve McGarrett, and to confirm that he is truly dead."

His boss's eyes said that Victor better not lie to him. Hesse found the words, "he escaped."

Wo Fat raised a brow. "Really?" He replied with mild skepticism. "Was he _that_hard to dispose of or were you not trying hard enough?"

Victor then grew defiant, his Irish accent more pronounced as he defended, "Was a real fight, it was! But he got the better of me."

"Or perhaps…" Wo Fat said softly, withdrawing his 45 calibre pistol from his pocket and putting a silencer on it, "you did him one better and allowed him to escape."

Before Victor could protest, Wo Fat told him, "Please don't bother to deny it. You know it, and I know it." The man in the cell didn't back up or struggle. He was between sheer terror and calm resignation; his cerulean eyes finally pleading for another chance.

Victor saw the life he'd led flashing before him as Wo Fat aimed the trigger at the Irishman's head, and fired. As Wo Fat slowly left the cellblock to catch up to his ride outside, the last thought Victor had was about eternity.


End file.
