And then leaves, taking the argument with him, and leaving Danny with nothing to do but try to rub the sour taste of hatred out of his mouth and ignore the flash of red at the edge of his vision as his hand drops; nothing to do but go back to the little table holding Grace's photo and his badge and gun, to pick up the latter two.
He doesn't doubt McGarrett got him reassigned, doesn't doubt that it's all been worked over by the Captain, because he's that kind of guy, apparently. The kind that heads into a taped-off crime scene and steals first evidence, and then the scene itself, phoning in an oath to pick up the title of "cop" for a day, and has now picked him up, too, like he's no harder a thing to get than that damn toolbox.
Just a piece of equipment.
Danny hadn't thought he could be treated any worse than what HPD was already giving him, with the cold shoulders and the glares and the desk that's practically an island, but once again, as always when he thinks things can't get worse, he's wrong.
His keys are on the table, too: he snatches them up and swings outside to follow, slamming the door shut a little harder than is strictly necessary. "My car's over there," he says, flat, heading to the stairs and pointing at the dull gray Mustang in the lot as he moves, smiling thin and angry. "Or did you already know that, too?"
no subject
And then leaves, taking the argument with him, and leaving Danny with nothing to do but try to rub the sour taste of hatred out of his mouth and ignore the flash of red at the edge of his vision as his hand drops; nothing to do but go back to the little table holding Grace's photo and his badge and gun, to pick up the latter two.
He doesn't doubt McGarrett got him reassigned, doesn't doubt that it's all been worked over by the Captain, because he's that kind of guy, apparently. The kind that heads into a taped-off crime scene and steals first evidence, and then the scene itself, phoning in an oath to pick up the title of "cop" for a day, and has now picked him up, too, like he's no harder a thing to get than that damn toolbox.
Just a piece of equipment.
Danny hadn't thought he could be treated any worse than what HPD was already giving him, with the cold shoulders and the glares and the desk that's practically an island, but once again, as always when he thinks things can't get worse, he's wrong.
His keys are on the table, too: he snatches them up and swings outside to follow, slamming the door shut a little harder than is strictly necessary. "My car's over there," he says, flat, heading to the stairs and pointing at the dull gray Mustang in the lot as he moves, smiling thin and angry. "Or did you already know that, too?"