A/N: Somewhere I read a snippet about Danny handing in his badge at some point towards the end of the season, and I found that so mind-boggling that it wouldn't let me go. My brain kept trying to come up with a likely explanation … but honestly, there is no scenario I would find very convincing, because IMHO Danny is a cop all the way through. BUT since the thought kept niggling at the recesses of my grey matter, I thought I'd give it a shot. So, folks, here goes my first fanfic in this fine fandom. WARNINGS: This is pure speculation, probably AU, but hopefully not OOC. Also, I saw a promotional photo for one of the next shows that sparked my imagination. Minor character death. Oneshot. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but that overactive imagination of mine.
Of Regrets and Unbidden Images
Sideways doesn't even begin to describe how the whole thing went. It should never have come to this. From the moment I met her I felt the woman was bad news. If I was a woman, I'd say it was female intuition. And if he knew what I am thinking right now, I'd never hear the end of it. I'll never forget the moment when he looked at me with a face I haven't named to this day and said, "If Oprah ever goes out of business, I'm sure they'll be headhunting you!" But I digress.
Turns out, my intuition – or whatever you want to call it – was right. How I wish it hadn't been. Maybe I wouldn't be standing here, then, handing over my badge and gun to Governor Denning.
"Detective, there is no need to do this", he says, almost pleadingly. "Take your time. With half the task force on medical leave for goodness knows how long, I will have to reassess the situation anyway. Get some rest. Regroup. Then come back when you feel ready, when the others are ready, too. But don't …" He looks down on his desk, as if the words he is looking for were written across the items I placed there a moment ago. "Please, do not do something you'll regret."
His eyes lock onto mine and I see the double meaning there. "Regret." I huff out a humourless laugh. "That I have had a lot of lately. I regret that I didn't warn Steve more urgently. I regret that I didn't stop him from going on that hare-brained black-op field trip with his mother. I regret that I couldn't do anything to prevent her death, because the next time Steve wakes up, I will have to tell him again that his mum is dead, and do you have any idea what it is like to see his reaction each and every time? There is only so much a man can take, and I think it's safe to say that Steve has reached his limit."
The image of Steve's devastated look upon learning that his mother died – died because she hesitated in shooting Wo Fat again, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it because he was unconscious with a skull fracture his own mother had given him with the butt of her gun – pops into my mind unbidden. Talk about regrets. The doctors say the memory issues will resolve over time, but until that, how often will he ask about his mum, and how often will someone … will I have to tell him that she is dead, actually dead this time, because Max has already finished the autopsy and provided DNA confirmation that the body on his table was really that of Doris McGarrett, not that there had been any doubt about that …
"Detective?" The softly spoken word interrupts my mental rambling. Maybe Steve was right about that Oprah thing after all.
"I'm sorry, sir." I take a deep breath and look at him for a long moment. "I would regret it if what I might or might not do in the future brought any negative consequences for you, or the rest of the team, or the fine police force of this state. So, for the sake of the others and for your own, please just accept my resignation."
He sighs and gives me a half nod. "I understand." Again with the double meaning. I seriously underestimated this man. "Just remember that you are needed here, Danny."
I nod my head and thank him before I turn to leave. More unbidden images come flooding back into my mind as I step out into the disgustingly beautiful day. Images of Steve's slack, uncooperative limbs in the capable hands of the physical therapists who are trying to prevent muscular atrophy, because the brain injury caused some serious damage in motor function. Images of Cath giving him CPR at the scene, crying and shouting at him to fight or else. Images of Chin on a respirator after surgery, because one of his ribs was fractured so badly when that shot hit his vest that it nicked a major blood vessel and punctured his lung.
Finally there is another image, one that I would never call unbidden. It is Grace at the Father-Daughter-Dance on that day, looking up at me with her big brown eyes and more worry and understanding in her gaze than she should be capable of at her age.
The Governor is right, I am needed here. And I fully intend to be around for a very long time. This vendetta has cost too many lives, has brought too much devastation. This ends here.