At thirty one the words finally appear on Danny's wrist.

And yeah, he's not fucking happy. Not at all.

He's drunk and miserable and wants to burrow himself into a hole and never ever come out.

His wife has just left him, because of the stupid cursive writing on her wrist, that showed up randomly one beautiful Sunday morning last month and it just isn't fair.

Instead of getting ice cream with Gracie and watching the newest Disney movie for the nth time, he's sitting in a shabby bar at midday on a Saturday afternoon like any other pathetic looser, while his wife and her new man are taking his daughter to a museum.

Isn't that just wonderful?

And because of what? Destiny. Fate.

Like that really exists.

Goddammit, they were happy before. They were married, still are actually. They have a family, a child together. Some words shouldn't change all that.

And the thing is, he and Rachel talked about it, wanted to make it work. Their relationship wasn't all roses and sunshine, they both have explosive tempers and occasionally need to let off some steam, but they had good times, too.

And Grace.

Lots of people don't marry their soulmates, why couldn't they be one of them?

That's when Stan Edwards, business man extraordinaire, swept in, (Danny wants to stab the bastard, but no he can't, he's a cop, he cannot stab his wife's soulmate) and met Rachel at one of those fancy art exhibitions, she loves to attend.

Rachel describes it like a fairytale, like their meeting was fated to be, although it can't be more than coincidence, everybody knows that. Danny listened to her tell their daughter one evening, one of the last days they spent living together. She was sitting at Grace's bed, stroking over her hair and smiling. He didn't mean to eavesdrop, honestly, but he couldn't stop himself when Rachel began to weave the story.

Apparently she'd been standing in front of one of those overpriced, modern paintings by some foreign artist with an unpronounceable name and admiring it, when Stan suddenly came up behind her and said the totally banal, but oh so romantic words:

"Beautiful painting, isn't it?"

She'd laughed (of course she did!) and answered:

"Yes, I love the colours!"

Then they'd both felt something, looked at their wrists and discovered the match. Soulmates. Rachel called it 'an indescribable pull to each other', but Danny has read up on that and it's supposed to be more of a sharp sting, so she can shove it with the romantic bullshit.

It was love at first sight, they both just knew that they belonged to each other. And dear Stan had bought the (ugly) painting right away, of course, to commemorate their love. Soon they were all going to Hawaii, just the three of them, Rachel, Stan and Grace, and 'aren't you happy, sweetheart?'

Danny still remembers Gracie, lying in her bed and looking at Rachel with big, confused eyes. "But Mum, what about Danno?"

Well, what about him? Obviously he's out of the picture, at least for Rachel. He knows he shouldn't, it's not her fault, just their fucked up biology, but sometimes he hates her a little for doing this to him. For taking Grace away from him.

Damn Stan and his business connections on Hawaii to hell!

###

'Jimmy's Corner' is almost empty at this time, not that Danny minds, he's here for the drinks, not the company. Nursing his fourth glass of whiskey, he already feels the pleasant buzz of intoxication take hold of him and he enjoys the sensation of brief distraction from the epic chaos in his life.

A vibration in his pocket alerts him to a new missed phone call, the eight one today and he should really call his parents back, let them know he's not passed out in a ditch somewhere. Which could technically still happen.

Danny chuckles a little to himself and downs his drink. The ditch-plan doesn't sound too bad right now, something to look forward to. With the alcohol in his system he feels quite content actually, if he avoids thinking even remotely about the people in his life. Maybe he'll get through this, make it work for his little girl.

Naturally this is the perfect, glorious moment fate has chosen to bestow him with another load of crap.

He could have lived being a 'blank', someone without a soulmark on his wrist, has lived like that for so long in fact, that this is more than a little unwelcome.

He's not a coward though, so maybe he really doesn't want to know, but he won't run away from it either. Danny steels himself, breathes in and out and finally takes a look at the thing that will invariably mess his life up.

They're really there, right on his skin. Strong, bold letters in a messy handwriting. Seeing it is different somehow, it makes it real, like this is happening.

A wave of nausea hits him and Danny wants to puke so badly, if only he wasn't sitting at the bar. The chattering guys to his right sure won't appreciate it.

His face drains of blood so quickly, he must look like a ghost, since he notices the bartender shooting him a worried glance and asking a friendly, "Alright there?"

"Sure", he says somewhat hoarsely and swallows, then clears his throat. His eyes are glued to his wrist though and he can't stop staring at the words.

Who are you!?

And yeah, who the fuck are you, he thinks bitterly. What kind of person even says that in an introduction? It's weird, that's what it is! The handwriting looks so unlike anything Rachel has ever produced, more like his own unreadable scrawl. That's when another revelation hits him like a brick to the head. This doesn't look like anything he's ever seen a female write and sure, there have to be exceptions, but he can't suppress the feeling that the mark on his skin is decidedly masculine.

Fuck. This.

No, he's not thinking about this, not opening this can of worms yet. No way.

So, anyway, he's a Detective, he should get his facts sorted. This person, his soulmate, must be freaking rude to greet someone like this, right? Danny can't think of one scenario where this would be appropriate. Rude or maybe...

Great, fan-fucking-tastic, his soulmate is a criminal.

With a groan he buries his head in his hands and wishes he could shut out the whole world and never meet this mysterious guy or girl (please let it be a girl) he's destined for.

To say it in the wise words the teen he's busted for dealing drugs this morning:

Life sucks.

A hand taps him on his shoulder and he looks up as an old man with a great grey moustache settles in the stool beside him.

"Everything okay, son?" he asks in concern and Danny's always a little surprised that there are still people like this who would care about a stranger.

"No", he says, because there's no reason to lie here. He's not fine and he doesn't have to pretend to be either, so he kind of blurts out, "My wife is leaving me for her soulmate and she's taking my daughter with her."

The man's rather impressive eyebrows rise up and he gestures to the bartender for a round of drinks. "That's rough", he acknowledges. "I'm Joey by the way." He holds out his hand and Danny shakes it.

"Danny", he introduces himself , while the bartender arrives with their drinks.

"I still love her", he says and there should be a limit of to the pitifulness allowed to be displayed in front of strangers.

"I'm sorry, son." Joey nods sagely and gazes at him with sad, old eyes. "In my time those scribbles, soulmarks they call them now, weren't so common. The scientists call it an... evolution, I think. But I've seen many a good marriage ruined by it and families torn apart. We managed without them for so long, why do we need them now?" Sighing he takes a sip of his whiskey.

"It's stupid", Danny agrees.

"Any plans now?" he asks with sympathy.

In response Danny laughs helplessly.

"Why, yes! I'm going to Hawaii!" he declares with fake merriment dripping all over his words.

"I guess it's not a vacation."

"Nope", he says, popping the 'p'. "My wife, then probably ex-wife, is going to settle down there, because of the work of her new partner", Danny fairly spits out. "I have to follow, because she's taking Grace with her."

"Ah", the other man murmurs. "Maybe that's good, a fresh start."

"I have enough of 'fresh' anything, thanks", Danny says, holding his uncovered arm up to show off the dark writing. He doesn't care about modesty, so what if he shows his words to a stranger. They're not an 'intimate gift' to him like the commercials call them. Danny never wanted to have them.

"I just got it today", he adds at Joey's slightly shocked expression.

The old man shrugs in a what-can-you-do-way and gives him a smile. "Lots of beautiful beaches on Hawaii, pretty girls, too."

Danny laughs, it's not bitter though, just resigned. "I'm not into beaches."

Joey joins him and jokes, "But the girls?"

"Yeah", Danny nods and feels a little lighter. They chat a little about random stuff mostly, their jobs, politics, sports.

When it's late afternoon Joey stands up and bids him goodbye, because his wife is waiting with pie. Before he leaves though he looks straight at Danny and admits, "I didn't marry my soulmate. I met her and she was a beautiful and kind woman, but I didn't love her. Not like Sarah. You don't have to let a mark decide your life, son." He hesitates a bit and continues, "But you should give it a chance. Maybe it can make you happy."

They both glance at the writing on his bare hand, until he selfconsciously tugs it under his shirt sleeve to hide it from view. A shopping trip to get a wrist band is definitely in order. Flaunting it openly would be vulgar.

"Thanks Joey", he says with a half smile appreciating the advice. Maybe it won't be so bad to leave New Jersey. He might even find someone, not necessary his soulmate, but someone.

"Take care, Danny." And with this the man is gone and Danny is left alone in the contemplation of his thoughts.

A fresh start, huh?

Well, it couldn't get any worse, right?

###

AN: Thanks for reading, reviews are appreciated! :)