"I'm the backup."

Said to himself, in the brief quiet of the car. It's not disbelief. On the contrary, it's the only goddamn thing that could possibly happen, right, because the world hates Danny, and this is exactly why he hates the world right back.

And. "I hate him. I hate him so much."

It's honestly perfect, it really is, this culmination of everything that has ever gone wrong in his life, with Rachel, with the divorce, with Hawaii. Of course he's been handed this, on a platter, just to make sure his face really gets rubbed in it, this mud pit he can't seem to crawl out of, that he keeps getting kicked back into.

There's nothing for it; he's got to go after him, this idiot who's just headed straight to Doran's address without looking back or around or calling HPD to let them know they got there, so Danny does, gets out of the car and makes a quick call to dispatch, shoving his phone in his pocket by the time they get there.

(He's never going to depend on a lucky, unrelated and unrequested siren again.)

"Hey," he says, steps quick, catching up to Steve's longer, ground-eating ones. "Hey, slow down, huh?"