Danny Williams

The night had passed in pretty much a blur and by the time Danny's on his way home -- tie loosened, jacket in hand -- that tumultuous turning in his stomach has gone from a background pang to something right in his view. He wants to be happy for Helen and he is. God, he is. He's always happy that his friends are continuing with their lives with all the happiness they deserve, but there's something that harkens back to Rachel and Grace with Helen in particular that catches him off-guard.

He tries to shake it off, managing a little better once he gets back to the hut and Zulu seems more than eager to greet him. "Hey, buddy. Your Dad home?" he asks, scratching under the dog's chin. "Steve?" he calls out. "Babe, you back yet?"

Danny continues the slow trudge to the bedroom, exhausted with just enough alcohol in his system to make him feel like he's lagging. He only bothers with the first three buttons of his shirt before he sinks down onto the edge of the bed, sprawling onto his back with a long exhale.

As far as cake-baking attempts go, Danny's not the master. Sure, he can do a simple birthday cake, but Steve's? No, he'd needed the big guns for that, which is why he'd showed up to work on one of his days off. The result is worth it -- it's so worth it. He's got a grenade cake, made of chocolate and buttercreme wrapped up. It's only a week into the marriage, but Danny feels like not getting the right gift is pretty much a great way of starting off a marriage in a difficult way.

When he gets back, he makes sure it's tucked away in the ice box. When that's done, he strips down to his shorts and grabs his surfboard, waiting outside for Steve to get back. A surf, a swim, and a cake -- he figures if that's not what Steve wants (outside of some breakfast), then he's just out of luck.

It's been one hell of a long day and a half. Danny's been retracing his steps for so long that he feels like this ought to have a case file, but he's found out just enough information to know that he'd acted like a real jackass the day before and somehow, he got the idea to chop the hell out of his hair. He's been left with a shaved head the likes he hasn't had since his early twenties and while it's not the end of the world, it's one of those things that he would've at least liked to do when he was aware he was doing it.

When he made sure Savannah was settled away, Danny headed back for the house, grabbing a bottle of wine from the Hub as he went, a blanket, and a bunch of cookies from the bakery, making a spot on the beach with the dog. He's watching the tide come in, trying to eat and drink away the day while he ignores the real regret -- a part of him, after all, just wanted to spend a quiet evening in with Steve, but somehow that never happened. He still doesn't even know how that's possible.

He rubs a hand over his head again, getting used to the lack of hair. It'll grow back brighter, bleached by the sun, and in about six weeks no less (given that it's mostly gel that does the trick). Until then, he's probably going to develop the bad habit of rubbing it, more than a little.

Danny's taken Kate's gift as a sign from the island not only to her, but as a message to him as well; step it up. He'd been happy to leave her to her classes and procedure books, but there were practical lessons that never hurt to have. There were also a lot of them and Danny was only one person (with only so many hours in the day). It meant that he wanted to get started. "So, we'll do a crime scene mock-up next week," he's telling Kate as he guides her to their hut. "But I figured we'd start today's lesson with some interrogation techniques," he says. "I even hauled in a perp."

He gestures to the door, knowing Steve's probably ready in the spare room. "Now, this guy's been charged with being a public menace by dangling a tourist off a hotel roof. Your job," he says, "is to try and get information out of him first, a confession second. You ready for this?"