A few days after that traumatic experience, Dan found himself wandering aimlessly around the block close to where he lived. The days draining events played over and over again in his emotionally clouded brain... Meeting Harry beforehand, talking to Archie, the funeral itself, going back to work, meeting Harry... Dan shook his head violently, attempting to break out of the monotonous routine of his thoughts.
As he meandered down the street, heading aimlessly towards the park without really knowing it, he failed to notice a dark figure on the street corner, piercing eyes fixed on him behind thick-rimmed glasses.
Falling uselessly onto a swing in the local playground, Dan scuffed the toes of his boots against the rough gravel as he watched the street lamps begin to flicker into life, their light illuminating the cracked paving stones underneath. He rested his head against the cold twisting chain, mulling back over the events of the past few days, but this time focusing solely upon the mysterious Gene Hunt.
Even though Dan had barely known him for a fortnight, he had seen so many different sides to his DCI: some good, some definitely not so good. When he'd arrived in this world (if that's what it even is, he mused) he'd been ready to beat up the scum, do anything to see a criminal behind bars, so worked up he was about Malone getting away with murdering a young girl. He'd wanted someone, anyone to agree with him, police like he thought the streets should be policed. Gene was that man, his ideal DCI, the one who used these methods on a day-to-basis. This had been Dan's dream, and he wasn't sure if his imagination had just created this scenario to help him towards recovery.
Right now though, he felt worse, completely destroyed, not recovered. Yes, he'd seen Hunt's way of policing, and he had to agree that his way of dealing with criminals was almost to be admired... But his skills as a human being, they weren't so admirable. Even on Dan's first day here, Gene had shown what his DI presumed to be his true colours, though Dan now shook his head angrily to clear those cutting comments out of his mind: it still hurt too much to think about Woodall.
In all Dan's years in the police force, up to 2010, he'd never seen a fellow officer die. Sure he'd heard about them on the news; caught up in rioting or stuck in the crossfire of a particularly heated argument, but he'd never had to face the death of a colleague so close to him. Even though he'd barely been at the station a week before Woodall was abducted, it had still hit him hard.
After finding himself stranded in this strange new world, Dan had had to cling on to anything that was remotely sane in order to survive, and Scott Woodall had been the first person to offer a friendly shoulder, despite not knowing whether this strange man that had tuned up out of the blue was friend or foe. Dan only had Woodall to thank for getting him through those first difficult few days, so despite only knowing him for that long, he still felt a rush of gratitude towards the younger man, followed by a swift and sickening surge of guilt at not being able to act fast enough to save him.
This guilt was preceded by an uncontrollable, and, Dan thought, maybe an entirely unfair tremor of anger towards his DCI for not doing anything to help either. The anger had built up during the last few days, bubbling slowly under the surface, and Dan was surprised that he hadn't hit out earlier, especially at Gene for his entirely inadequate speech to the team just after Scott's funeral. He knew he shouldn't, considering this was his boss, his team member, and the man he had to trust in order to stay alive, but right now, Dan was beginning to doubt Gene Hunt and question why he was even here at all.
After another half an hour, Dan felt truly cold to the bone, the freezing chain leaving an icy imprint that clawed up his cheek when he carefully prized himself off the twisting metal. Rising to his feet unsteadily, he began his weary trek homeward.
Dan had no concept of time or feeling as he slowly traced the familiar steps back to his poky flat; he'd spent many a night at that very same park, trying to make sense of everything; instead he found himself in a dream-like state, half asleep as he wandered down the street. He only realised this when, at one desolate corner, a man stepped into the ring of light cast by the street lamp overhead, making him jump violently and jolt backwards slightly in fright of this extremely sudden appearance.
Struggling to get a clear view of the man's face in the sudden brightness, Dan squinted at where he thought the man's eyes must be.
"Um, hello," he began awkwardly. "Is there anything I can, erm, do to help you?"
He ran his fingers through his hair nervously, relieved when the mysterious stranger stepped out of the light so he could see him better now his eyes had adjusted, soak in his appearance.
The man said nothing, his piercing gaze boring into Dan as he looked him up and down, cocking his head interestedly as he took him in, weighed him up. The half-light cast eerie shadows that flickered and danced across his face when he tilted his head, as his eyes met Dan's with a fierce intensity.
"Gene Hunt must be pretty desperate if he's recruiting the likes of you," the stranger commented dangerously.
Dan glared at the trench-coated figure before him, his brain kicking into gear as he registered the man's words.
"How do you know I work for Gene Hunt?" Dan growled angrily, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, warning him against this man.
"I know a lot more than that Daniel Hartley," the man jeered. "I know the truth."
Dan narrowed his eyes slightly at the man's first words, wondering how the hell that stranger knew his name. His suspicion increased, but his resolve wavered slightly as the last two words sunk in.
"Who the hell are you?"
The man grinned wickedly, though Dan was too caught up in his whirring thoughts that he didn't compute the implication.
"DCI Jim Keats. I look forward to working with you."