A little short, sad thing inspired by a Persons of Interest fic I read a million years ago. It doesn't feel quite done so it's possible there will be future edits, but for now, I think it's simmered long enough! Set late season 1, when Rachel & Danny are back together (kinda) and before the whole baby thing. WARNING for minor character death.
Title is from Tightrope by The Score.
I don't own the song or the show.
P.S. Present tense is not my usual, so sorry for any slip ups.
Fighting With Gravity
"Stop, Danny, stop!" Steve shoves against him, trying to bodily retrain Danny without doing him any harm. And Danny knows, he knows he's not going to like what he finds, but he needs to see, to know for sure, just in case Steve made a mistake…
There's a part of him that knows they're way too late. Steve would never being wasting precious time arguing with him if there was any chance she was still alive, but the other part of him clings onto hope because what else does he have?
"Danny," Steve whines as he tries to duck around. He can just make out a pair of wayward feed, the brown Mary-Jane shoe hanging askew off one in a way the collected woman would have never allowed.
"She's gone, Danny, I'm sorry, but Rachel is gone." He fights harder, tears building in his eyes, denial and raw anguish warring within his chest leaving a painful ball. Doesn't Steve understand? He just needs to see her, to hold her, just once more… Steve manages to catch his eye for a moment, and Danny unknowingly lets his struggles weaken because there's something there and why is Steve looking at him like that? "He…he took his time with her, Danny." Please understand, please stop fighting, his voice begs, but Danny can't, he just can't, doesn't Steve understand?
There are no pretty crime scenes, no way to end someone's life that doesn't scream of chaos and pain or at least something to say that on this day, something went wrong. But that's not to say some crime scenes aren't worse than others because Danny has seen some god-awful, depths of depravity levels of shit in his time, both in New Jersey and in Hawaii. He knows. Steve knows he knows.
But this is not just any crime scene and not just any victim and god why? And maybe, just maybe, if he can see her, he can save her…
It's only when Steve speaks again does Danny realize he's given up the good fight entirely. "You don't want to remember her like that, Danny."
His curiosity is burning. He needs to know what she went through, if only for someone to bear witness to the pain that filled Rachel's last earthly moments. No one deserves to die like that, alone and in agony. Besides, he thinks, there's no reality worse than what the gruesome imaginations of his mind.
He can only be grateful that his beautiful baby girl will be spared the knowledge of how her mother left this world.
"Grace," he croaks, now holding Steve tight for answers instead of trying to shove him away.
"Kono's picking her up from school now. Chin's trying to get ahold of Stan."
Who the fuck cares about Stan? But Grace, his poor baby girl. She's going to hurt so, so much when she finds out. "We'll take care of her, Danny," Steve insists and Danny lets go entirely, shoulders slumping and head dropping against Steve's shoulder. There are arms around him in an instant, but they feel distant compared to the ice shredding his insides. The gaping pain reminding him that Rachel is gone and he'll never see her again, never fight with her, or laugh with her, or see her smile light up a room; he'll never be a family with her again.
Steve shoves him slowly, moving him so incrementally that Danny doesn't realize they've started until they finish and he's pushed to sit on the bedspread. It's an ugly orange thing at some random hotel they'd told Rachel to stay at. Where they told her she'd be safe from the nut-job following her. But he'd been smarter than they'd thought and they'd followed his decoy trail right to the end, only to realize their mistake too late. And Rachel never knew she'd signed her death certificate the day she turned down the man in the coffee line behind her but it was the beginning of the end and who could have known?
Not Danny. Not for all his anxious preparedness and overprotectiveness in the world because look what it got him. Shit all and a dead ex-wife and a little girl whose world is about to be crushed.
There is something warm and heavy on his shoulder and he has to look to find out what because everything is so far away and insignificant but oh, it's Steve's hand. Grounding him, telling him stay here with me.
"Steve," he whispers because even words are too much. There's no word for this empty agony, no way to paint a picture of this lonely hurting.
"I know, buddy, I gotcha you." Danny lets himself believe it as he falls into Steve's strong hold because he has nothing, nothing left to give. There's no fight and no strength and certainly no damn idea what's next.
But he trusts and he knows Steve will pick up his slack and guide him right and that'll have to do for now.
~H50~
Usually Max emails them his final ME reports. Sometimes, if a rookie cop or unoccupied intern is heading their way, he'd deliver a paper file if requested. Mostly he preferrs to deliver his results in person, with the unfortunate victim cold on the slab between them.
Naturally that isn't an option with this case. It's still a surprise when Max himself, looking uncharacteristically grim, shows up in his office late the next day. The manila folder in his arms is unassuming, but it is both a death sentence and a saving grace for Danny.
"I want you to know, Detective, that Commander McGarrett specifically requested I not allow you to see this information. And, frankly, I agree with his assessment."
"Please just give me the folder, Max."
Max stares at him for a moment more, boring holes in Danny's head with his black eyes, before finally placing the folder not in Danny's extended hand, but on the desk beneath.
"I would advise you to think carefully before you proceed," Max states stiffly, disapproval writ clearly across his face. He turns to leave, but stops at the door and glances back. Danny wishes he'd just go already. He's tired of Steve and Max and everyone and their constant crusade to protect him from the reality of the situation.
They don't understand what it is to lose the only woman you've ever loved, the only women you ever will love.
"I'm so sorry, Danny, truly I am," Max whispers before slipping out and around the corner. Danny barely registers the use of his first name from the particularly formal ME, but there isn't time to think on it.
The folder is rough under his fingers as he lets them trail along the edges. Now that he's here, he's not sure he's ready. He can't reconcile the beautiful, graceful woman, the mother of his child, with that pair of pale feet, strewn carelessly across the floor.
Why, why, oh why, did this have to happen? A few months ago, when he'd first come to this forsaken island he would have been glad for Rachel to suddenly cease to exist, but never, even in the ugliest moments of their divorce would he have ever, ever wished this upon her. He wouldn't with this upon anyone.
Did she ever tell Stan about the affair? Danny doesn't know, doesn't care much at the moment. He can only lament how well things had been going between them these last few weeks, how it'd finally felt like life might be getting back to the way it should be.
Ha, he thinks, so much for that.
What a fool he was to ever think things would go well for him.
He lets his thoughts drift to when he'd first met Rachel, when he'd seen her unfold herself from her car after rear-ending him…Danny didn't believe in love at first sight, but this had been something damn close. It was moment when you knew your life was about to change entirely, that this person would be important to you.
God she was pretty back then. She still was, but Danny could see their divorce had taken a toll on her just as much as it had him. Stress lines on her face, a little grey hair here or there. It was in the way she carried herself too, not quite as sure of herself, not quite as commanding in her presence. She was a bird who'd flown too high and was forced to face the fall down.
Do you regret it, he wanted to ask sometimes. When all was said and done, after their phone screaming matches and vicious custody arguments…did she ever regret it? Did she long for those first few years of marriage when everything seemed beautiful? When Grace was a newborn and they were sure their love for her would hold them together through anything?
Steve was right, he thinks regretfully as the folder nearly gives him a papercut. This, this black and white generic body outline filled with notes about agonies endured…it's not how he wants to remember the most important woman in his life.
He wants to remember the amazingly intelligent and willfully strong woman who had so brazenly demanded his attention back then. The woman who'd bore his child and once looked at him with so much love it was hard to fathom.
Maybe someday when the wound is old and covered with scar tissue, maybe then he'll look, but for now he slips the folder under old piles of junk in his bottom desk drawer.
He lets his gaze linger for only a moment more before grabbing his wallet and keys and leaving, flicking off his office light as he goes.
He finds Steve leaning against the hood of his car, arms crossed and face serious, trying to judge Danny's emotions. Danny walks up to him, knowing Steve is taking his ques from him, and tries to clear the fog of emotion and nostalgia and hurt that is swirling inside him.
With a deep breath, he meets Steve's eyes and asks, "Wanna get a beer?"
Steve looks old and worn, like a beaten dog staring down his last chance, as he looks over Danny's slightly hunched form. His calloused hand comes up to grasp Danny's shoulder. "Sure, buddy, of course I do."
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