The sky is stained with a hundred thousand shades of flames: henna reds, muted oranges and neon yellows stark against the crisp blue of the atmosphere and its smattering of clouds. It's a beautiful view and reflects the passion of the man and woman standing in the middle of the beach, but the perfection of the Hawaiian dusk and the smiles of the bride and groom are lost on him. He sees only the sun's fading rays as night falls and the black of groom's suit.
If the man playing at being minister were speaking English, maybe he'd be able to enjoy it- or, perhaps, if he were at home with a cold bottle of rum in his hands instead of the touch-memory of a velvet ring box.
The flash of a camera reminds him of where he is, and he quickly slips his face into the now-familiar false smile that seems to have taken the place of every other expression. If anyone asks, he'll just say that his knee was acting up. They'll want to believe it, so the plausible lie will become a truth for them.
Another camera flashes, then another.
Soon he's half-blind but can't muster up the energy to complain, and when he watches the groom sweep his new wife into a dramatic kiss, he's vaguely happy to be free from seeing it in all its romantic glory.
His subconscious will be happy to create its own details.
A three week mess of violent crimes follows the ceremony, and during his partner's absence, he quietly and carefully closes twelve of the toughest cases the taskforce has ever been handed.
It doesn't surprise him the way it seems to surprise everyone else; he's good at his job and just as effective without his partner.
Suddenly the people around him- HPD and his own team, which hurts him more than he wants to contemplate- look at him differently. They look at him with a greater amount of respect than they had previously, as though they'd thought that he'd collapse without his partner and are surprised that he doesn't do that. Instead, he steadily solves case after tiring case, proving that he's a force of his own and doesn't need to rely on someone else's strength.
It only took losing the man to his honeymoon to prove it.
The three weeks end, and his partner returns to work- and brings his wife with him.
She's transferred to the Reserves and will be part of the team, now. The others welcome her warmly, as does he, knowing that if he doesn't, he'll be the one in the wrong.
He even ignores the itch that tells him to demand that his partner take her away, that having her on the taskforce is a conflict of interest and that the man's an idiot even to have thought about bringing her on. He doesn't say that, though, merely welcomes her and tells his partner welcome back- not that they're partners anymore, as it's obvious from their stances that the newlyweds will be pairing up.
Chin usually pairs with Kono and he doesn't want to interrupt that, so he trades his car for Chin's monster of a motorcycle- for the duration of the workday- and silently tells himself that it doesn't matter.
It new formation lasts for three months, and the feeling of acceptance has finally begun to settle itself on his shoulders- despite getting shot twice and no one having his back either time- when he accidentally stumbles across something that shatters the quiet truce he'd made with his emotions: stay quiet while he's working but feel free to make him tear apart his few belongings once he gets home.
He's making his way through a mountain of paperwork no one else had been willing to tackle when he comes across a page that requires his partner's signature.
Six minutes later, it's obvious that his partner isn't in his office or anywhere else he has any reason to be.
An angry part of his gut tells him to go down to the interrogation cells, and he decides that he may as well search there, not that there's anyone down there other than the suspect who'd invoked his Miranda rights and for whose lawyer they were waiting to arrive from the mainland.
The first few cells he checks are empty, and the angry part of his gut is overrided by the part that says that something bad is going to happen. He recognizes it as his cop's intuition and accepts its warning but chooses to continue his search regardless.
He finds them in the last cell: Steve, Cath and the suspect. More importantly, the suspect is bruised and bloodied- as well as currently passed out, judging by the strange angle at which he's sitting, to say nothing of the way his neck is leaning, which is going to mean a hell of a mess tomorrow- and the other two are at least half-naked and clawing at each other.
Danny doesn't stick around to find out how far things go. It's a sign of his recent personality switch that he doesn't choose to shout at them. It had hurt at first, when no one had felt it important enough to remark on the way he'd changed, but he's gradually gotten used to being forgotten and doesn't think that this pair of lust-crazed animals is a likely candidate to change that.
He makes his way back to the bullpen and wanders into Steve's "cubicle." A less emotionally flat man might be tempted to slam his badge down, maybe make a mess of the desk or kick the couch, but Danny doesn't have the energy for theatrics. He places his badge down carefully, respectful of its integrity if not for others who wear it, and scrawls a small note:
Who will protect the public when the police violate the law?
He makes his way back to his shabby apartment, glad for once that he lives alone. The door creaks when he opens it, and the floor protests the weight of his weary footsteps as he makes his way to the pull-out couch. For a moment, he lies back and indulges in the sensation of having something support him, before pulling his laptop from the bedside table. Still running from the night before, it boots up quickly, and he finds himself opening the internet and going through his favorites.
The page is easy to find, the number he wants easy to locate and easy to dial. Everything is easy where it should be difficult, but he's never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
A man picks up on the third ring.
"Hello? Is this Scott from Waikiki?... Excellent. My name's Danny Williams. I'd like to enquire about the mall security job you're advertising?"
A/N: This can be read as a standalone or as the beginning of The Innocent Bystander (which can be found on my account at AO3). The title comes from Warren Zevon's song Lawyers, Guns and Money.
Danny's note is a quotation attributed to Ramsey Clark.