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[haole_cop]

 "Now it's my crime scene."

Those could have been, should have been, the last words he heard from McGarrett, and in a kinder world, they might have been, but the world hates Danny Williams, and he's not exactly feeling all that generous towards it, himself, so he's honestly not even a little surprised when the authoritative rap on his door comes attached to a too-tall, too-broad, too-aggressive Navy SEAL with revenge on the mind and Daddy issues from here back to the boardwalks of Wildwood.

He hates him. 

Because of this joker, he's home in the middle of the day, instead of at work, work, he might point out, where he's attempting to catch the guy who did this to McGarrett, Sr., which is normally what the child of a murder victim wants, right? They want the cops to do their damn job and haul the dirtbag in for justice.

They don't storm in and take over like it's their goddamn platoon out in fucking Afghanistan.

Except McGarrett, okay, he doesn't seem to have gotten the memo. There's a reason officers don't get involved if the deceased was a family member, and this is exactly why: it makes people angry, irrational.

(He hopes to hell this is McGarrett being irrational.)

It's too close, too personal -- and it's also not his case anymore, so he's got no idea why McGarrett, shirt sticking to his skin from the soaking rain that just hit, because it rains every goddamn day here, what a fucking miracle, Hallelujah, is standing on his doorstep, because it isn't that.

(And it's not that either, he refuses, it's not happening, and there's no possible way this whackjob noticed. It could be he doesn't even have a timer, or got his blown off while single-handedly stopping an insurrection with a couple of grenades and a can-do attidtude.)

So he just stands and waits, with one hand still on the doorknob, ready to slam it shut just as soon as possible.

 

Comments

[thebesteverseen]

It's been a good last hour, nearly two. He's got files, but mostly he's got the knowledge he used the wrong approach in his Dad's garage. He needs that cop with the mouth and permanent look like the sky is falling. Which he was good enough to get, with only one or two words from His Captain, probably didn't have anything to do with Steve. His download to hell and back is all about the fact he hasn't chosen honey over vinegar once here.

It's fine. Steve can use that. Needs this Danny Williams, more than he even needs to let himself care about the how.

The rain coming down, like he remembered from his childhood. Random showers out of nowhere, in the middle of a sunny patch of daytime. For the little care he gives it, he's mainly just glad it didn't happen while he was in his blues. That they are hanging safe and sound, untouched. He cares about them getting soaked. But not himself. Not in the slightest. Water will always dry. And he's got better things to gives his concerns to.

Namely the picture under his thumb, and the man before the door he's knocking on because Williams couldn't even end up back at his work. No he's holed up at some tiny rat trap tenement the looks like it's begging the big bad wolf to just blow it down with one breath. His face isn't much better when the door opens, and Steve has never been one to wait on p's and q's.

He's not here for that either. They can get over once they're in the rearview, after he's found out what he needs to find Hesse.
Directness is always the best is his mind. Lay it on the line. The facts, like he would with any of the men beneath him.

"Swung by your precinct, spoke to you Captain, he said you requested a wire be put on someone named Fred Doran." The tightening of the man's face as he was lining up what he'd done with the last hour, that wasn't hide in a rat trap, pushed Steve to take the next step, pushing in past Danny's side. Refusing to let there be any option he wouldn't get his answers, and Danny Williams, and Victor Hesse, with it. "Tell me about him."

He mumbled something as Steve passed, but Steve really wasn't paying all that much attention to it. His gaze bounced back and forth, left and right, taking in the apartment in fast case. If it could be called an apartment even. It wasn't. It was a room, bare walls, the kind of room you expected to find strung out junkies and college students who hadn't learned any better yet. Unmade bed and clothes hanging on the wall, and family pictures on the bed table.

"This your kid?" His captain had said something about that. Kid that was the reason he came out here. Little girl. Big eyes.