For Steve

She swears. She swears she wasn't snooping. She was minding her own damn business and watching fucking Housewives of Beverly Hills and then it was just there. She thought it was just a regular episode of the Steve and Danny EyeFuck Parade and had half thought about going to find Danny, to point to at least five instances that to her at least, proved those two were screwing back home. That was before it all went to shit. Before Danny's kid was kidnapped. Before she made herself sit through the whole damn mess because she had to know what happened. For Danny's sake. 

But now what? She can't just leave the thing lying around. But she has no idea if Danny should know. It would torture him. It would absolutely ruin him and he's happy and Grace turned out to be okay so it doesn't even seem worth it. If there's been any maturity gained in the past two years, however, it;s that she knows it's not really her decision to make.

So she runs off to find Steve, instead. It's probably disturbing that she knows their schedule this well but she speeds over to his office, reel stuffed into her bag. 

She quickly shuts the door behind her, and pushes sweaty hair off her face before Steve can even say hello.

"We need to talk," she bites out, letting out a shaky breath.

For Danny - Post Amnesia plot

Rachel doesn't know what the hell that was all about. Steve kept trying to cut her hair off or something and Danny kept fucking trying to rub her head or some shit and it was like everyone was shitfaced or on something or God knows. She's at least grateful she was spared because knowing her she'd end up face first in a pile of coke and fuck the kid up on some permanent basis. 

But anyway. She feels like it's her best friend duty to go make fun of Danny relentlessly and warn him about the ramifications of fucking up her hair again. Right now, the hair's about the only thing that still looks good. 

She waddles her way over to Danny's place, vaguely thinking about what she's going to do if she goes into labor this far away from the compound before looking for a familiar mop of blonde hair.

That's when she realizes everything is very, very wrong. Because there's just a head. No hair. Just a fuzzy head. What. The. Fuck.

"What the hell did you do?" she cries, marching up with as much authority as she can muster in her condition.