It's not fair that this happens to him twice. It just isn't! The first time it happened, the first time his life fell apart his brother was there, his best friend, his rock. Now his rock is on the FBI's CIA's and whoever the fuck else's most wanted listed. So who the hell is supposed to be there this time around?

He takes another swig; straight from the bottle he couldn't be bothered with a glass. He won't need one anyway.

At least the first time he was spared the indignity of seeing his wife with another man in their bed. He only heard about it after she walked out on him and left his life in shambles to marry the same man she brought to their bed while they were still married and move with him and their daughter half way across the country. At least he didn't have to see it. He wasn't so lucky this time.

It's a stormy night, the wind howled as rain battered the window in the dead of night. Even though the cracking sound of thunder was everywhere, the silence was deafening. If his head wasn't spinning and his hands weren't shaking - be it be from the alcohol or the image ingrained in his head- he would appreciate the symmetry of it all, the poetry. Pathetic fallacy it's called and pathetic it is. He is.

He looks out the window and sees the palm trees swaying violently, a constant remainder of how far away he is from home, from the people who're supposed to have his back, from his family. He takes a deep breath and chocks back his tears because he thought he finally had that here, family. He thought he had Steve.

He'd just gotten used to being divorced, gotten used to Hawaii with its weather and its food and its weirdass language. Gotten used to how different it is from everything he knows even begrudgingly started to like it. He'd just started to heal after Rachel ripped his heart out of his chest and stomped all over it. Just when he'd gotten his feet back underneath him, the universe says 'Screw you Danny' and bitch slaps him.

He remembers the drive to Steve's house, remembers stopping for some groceries and a bottle of red wine that cost more than an arm and a leg. The bottle of wine that's currently staining Steve's carpet, a pool of blood red on the perfectly white carpet. The carpet that he picked out when he insisted they redecorated because they couldn't keep living in the ghost of Steve's dad, it wasn't living, it wasn't getting them anywhere. If only he knew why they weren't getting anywhere he wouldn't have bothered with the carpet.

He remembers parking his car, picking up and groceries and heading in the direction of the house. He was going to cook Steve a nice, romantic appreciation dinner and maybe take him up to bed afterwards. He knows he's not the easiest person to be in a relationship with, he's abrasive, loud, annoying and he comes on way too strong. He knows that, he does. So he figured he'd make it up to Steve in little gestures like that knowing what a romantic his goof of a boyfriend secretly was. Ex-boyfriend now.

He steps into the house and looks around, something's different yet nothing is but still, something is different. He stands there for a while and he just knows. There are moments like these, life-defining moments when he just knows what's going to happen next. He takes the groceries to the kitchen and opens the bottle of wine.

He pours himself a glass and goes upstairs feeling oddly numb as he walks down the hall and prepares himself for what he's going to see when he walks into his bedroom. He steps into a jacket; he recognizes it immediately it's a military jacket. Navy. He can see a name, Rollins sewed on in block letters. He keeps walking until he reaches the bedroom door. He can hear two voices talking in urgent hushed tones, two people shuffling and moving around. Someone's trying to cover up their dirty little secret. Secret's out. He takes a deep breath, wraps his hands around the knob and turns it.

Even though he knows what's behind the closed door, even though he's prepared for it, it still feels like a punch to the gut when the door opens to reveal Steve, his Steve half naked fumbling with his pants. He looks up when the door opens straight at Danny his eyes sad, regret painting his features but Danny can't bring himself to care because Steve is flushed; red painting his cheeks all the way down his neck, his pupils are blown wide darkening his irises and his hair is ruffled in all too familiar way.

He turns his head to see a flustered Catherine pulling her top over her head, desperately avoiding his eyes. She reaches the door with her eyes on the floor and tries to walk past him but he turns and walks. He picks up the jacket he stepped in -merely seconds ago but still feel like hours- turns around again and hands it to her. He stares at her but she still won't raise her eyes from the floor, she tries to walk away but he blocks her path. He doesn't know why he so desperately wants her to meet his eyes in the end he just turns around and walks down the hall and the stairs.

He's standing in the living room staring out the window when he realizes he's still holding his glass of wine. He takes a sip it's good wine, really good. He hears hurried footsteps behind him but he doesn't turn around

"I'm so sorry Danny." Catherine says, her voice soft. She actually does sound sorry but Danny doesn't care and he doesn't acknowledge her. He hears her shut the door softly behind her.

He hears the familiar sound of Steve's bare feet as he makes his way down the stairs. He hovers, keeping his distance from Danny. Danny's acutely aware that he's not reacting the way he should, he's pretty sure he's supposed to be yelling and screaming and smashing things instead of just standing there and calmly sipping wine. Danny's knows he has to say something sooner or later he just prefers it be later.

"Danny." Steve says his voice thick and if Danny didn't know better he would say he sounds like he's about to cry. He takes another sip from his glass and ignores him.

Apparently Steve doesn't want to be ignored, "Danny, please say something." He pleads.

"This is really good wine." Danny replies without turning around, he's surprised at how flat his voice sounds to his own ears because this isn't who he is. "You want a glass? I did buy it for you you know."

"Danno."

The moment Steve opens his mouth to say that it's like all hell breaks loose because he has no right to call Danny that anymore. He has no right to sound so pitiful and ask for sympathy or forgiveness or anything else. He just doesn't. Danny glass falls from his hand and lands on the plush white carpet, wine splashes everywhere. Turns out Steve was right white is a stupid color for a carpet. Danny turns around and stalks to where Steve is standing. He gets in his face and he wants to scream and scream at him but instead he draws his open palm back and lands a stinging slap on Steve's cheek.

Steve staggers backwards and Danny can't be sure if it's because of the impact or the shock. His hand darts to his cheek -where a reddened imprint of Danny's now resides- and he clutches it like he'd been shot. Tear tracks run down his cheeks, emotion swirling in his big blue-grey eyes. Emotion doesn't care to discern right now no matter how sincere.

So he walks away because there's nothing else to be said or done here.

"Danny, please."

He ignores that.

"Please." Is the last thing he hears Steve whisper before he's out the door.

The buzzing of his cell phone brings him back to the present and he looks at his cell phone to see Steve smiling that wide goofy smile of his. He presses ignore. He knows he has to deal with this. Not tonight though, tonight he's going to drink himself to a stupor. He can deal with his ex-life later.