#daniel harrelson

The door shut with that soft hydraulic sigh Hondo had come to recognize as the sound of home. He stood there a moment in the entryway, shoulders still squared as if he expected someone to shout orders from behind him. The faint hum of the fridge and the low city traffic beyond the windows filled the silence.

She looked up from the couch; legs tucked under a blanket, a book folded open but unread. One glance at him and the air shifted. His posture was wrong: too still and formal. His uniform jacket hung open, his badge clipped to his belt instead of his chest.

“Hondo,” she said quietly. Not a question.

He tried a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Hey.”

The way he said it told her everything she needed to know: something had gone wrong.

He crossed the room but didn’t sit right away. His hands found his hips, then his face and then just hung there uselessly. Finally, he sank beside her, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it might answer back.

“They pulled me from command,” he said at last, voice rougher than usual.

Her heart stuttered. “What? Why?”

He exhaled, long and slow. “Because I opened my mouth, because I told the truth about what’s going on in the department. They said it compromised the integrity of the LAPD.” He gave a humorless laugh. “Guess integrity’s only good when it stays quiet.”

She reached for him, fingers tracing the tension locked in his forearm. “You did what was right.”

“I know that.” He nodded once, jaw tight. “But it doesn’t make it easier. I’ve spent years building that team and watching every one of them bleed for the badge. And now...” He shook his head. “Now they’re gonna hand it to somebody else like it’s just a nameplate on a door.”

He didn’t cry; Hondo didn’t do that. But his silence throbbed with something close.

She leaned in, resting her hand on his knee. “You’re still their leader, Daniel; uniform or not. They follow you because they trust you, not because the department said so.”

He turned toward her then, eyes dark and tired, searching for disbelief but finding none. “You really think that?”

“I know that,” she said simply. “You fight for what’s right, even when it costs you. That’s who you are. That’s the man I fell in love with.”

The smallest flicker of warmth passed through him, a breath that sounded like a laugh. “You always make it sound so damn simple.”

“It’s not simple. But it’s true.”

He leaned back against the couch, letting his head fall against the cushion. For the first time that day, he allowed the armor to slip. She curled beside him, hand resting against his chest, feeling the slow drumbeat under her palm.

Outside, a siren wailed somewhere down the block, distant and fading; the echo of the world he couldn’t escape. He closed his eyes, the weight of the day finally sinking into his bones.

“Feels like the ground’s moving under me,” he murmured.

“Then stay still for a while,” she whispered. “You don’t have to fix it tonight.”

He let that settle, her words quieting the hum in his mind. The room was dim, just the glow from the streetlight cutting across the floor.

He reached for her hand, thumb brushing over her ring absentmindedly, grounding himself in something small and solid.

“You know,” he said after a long pause, “I thought telling the truth would feel like freedom.”

“And now?”

“It feels like losing.”

She lifted his hand and pressed it to her cheek. “Sometimes you lose before you win.”

That made him smile, tired but real this time. He tilted his head to kiss her forehead: a silent thank-you, a surrender. They stayed that way a long time, breathing in sync, the quiet stretching comfortably around them.

For the first time all week, Hondo didn’t feel like he was standing on trial. He just felt human and loved.

*

The city was still half asleep when Hondo woke. The faint blue of dawn leaked through the blinds, striping the living room in lines of light and shadow. His neck ached; he’d fallen asleep sitting up, her head tucked against his shoulder, the blanket half-slipped onto the floor. He didn’t move for a long time. The world outside hummed faintly: a bus sighing at a stop, someone’s music three buildings away, a bird trying to outsing the traffic. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he’d been until that quiet felt like mercy.

She stirred beside him. “You’re awake,” she murmured, voice still tangled with sleep.

“Yeah.” His voice came out low, rough-edged. “Didn’t mean to crash out on you.”

She smiled, eyes still closed. “You needed it.”

He watched her for a moment: hair messy, cheek creased from his shoulder, face calm in a way his never was. There was something grounding about that, something he couldn’t find anywhere else.

He sighed, leaning back into the couch. “They called late last night,” he said softly. “Said they’re making the transfer official; Hicks is backing me, but it’s done.”

She blinked fully awake, searching his expression. “So it’s real.”

“Yeah; guess I’m just Daniel Harrelson again. No Team Leader in front.” He let out a dry laugh, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Never thought I’d have to figure out who I am without that.”

She sat up, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. “Maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I mean,” she continued, “you’ve been Hondo for everyone else for so long; the guy with the answers, the one who fixes it all. Maybe it’s time you let someone fix you a little.”

He chuckled quietly. “You volunteering for the job?”

“Already signed up,” she teased, then softened. “You don’t have to know the next step right now. You just have to remember why you took the first one.”

He nodded slowly, eyes distant. “Because the truth mattered.”

“It still does,” she said. “Even when it costs you.”

For a moment, he just stared at the sunlight creeping across her face. He wanted to bottle that warmth; the steadiness of her voice, the simple faith she carried.

He rose, stretching, the stiffness of the night giving way to a new kind of resolve. “You know,” he said, turning toward the window, “my dad used to tell me the hardest fights aren’t the ones with fists. They’re the ones where you stand your ground when everyone else walks away.”

“Smart man,” she said.

“Stubborn too,” Hondo replied, smiling faintly. “Guess I got that from him.”

He walked back to her, resting a hand on the back of the couch. “You sure you’re okay being in this with me? It’s gonna be messy for a while.”

She reached up, took his hand, and squeezed. “You stood by me through worse. You don’t get to doubt I’ll do the same.”

He looked down at her hand wrapped around his: small, warm and certain. The tension in his shoulders eased, replaced by something steadier than optimism: trust.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “Then I’ll start figuring it out from there.”

She smiled. “Coffee first.”