"Lots of people." Off the cuff, easy, with one hand lifting from the wheel and taking a turn through the air. "I'm thinking of starting a club."
It's a joke. He can joke, sometimes. All the time. Plenty of times. He doesn't always hate everything -- even if, no, really, he truly can't stand pineapple most days. Too sweet, too prickly, too hard to cut, too expensive. "What's wrong with an apple? I ask you. Oranges. Fruit that's easy to eat. But no. They're everywhere, here. They're on tours. In salads -- regular salads, I must clarify, not even those terrible fruit salads you get on buffets that are all pineapple and green grapes and cantalope -- on fish, in salsa, it's insane. It's an epidemic."
And it makes him feel better to ramble about, because Steve's looking out the window, and Danny has to tackle the impulse as it lifts, strangle it back down his throat, but the first few words still slip out: "Well, maybe --"
Because it's actually a perfect opening. Would be. With those numbers on his wrist. The ones he can't see underneath Steve's watch. It would be all too easy to suggest they go. Together. Like a date, if he weren't on the wrong side of thirty-five and unsure about what a date even looks like anymore, or what one with someone like Steve McGarrett could possibly entail.
Or, not even a date. Just to do it. Hang out. Get to know each other. Except he's pretty sure this isn't the moment for either suggestion, and he's also pretty sure he wants to burn the first option to the ground and forget it exists, so he swallows it down in a hard knot and shakes his head, mouth turning down in a why not? sort of shrugged expression. "You could check it out, if you stick around."
He's got no idea if that's the plan or not. They have an office space. Steve called him his partner. Said on the phone he was transferring to the Reserves, and would run the task force for the Governor, whatever that means, but Danny has no idea if that means just for this case, or as a career move.
And if it's just for this case, then that means those zeroes mean absolutely nothing. He can't do that. Not to Grace and not to himself. "I hear it's a good tour."
no subject
It's a joke. He can joke, sometimes. All the time. Plenty of times. He doesn't always hate everything -- even if, no, really, he truly can't stand pineapple most days. Too sweet, too prickly, too hard to cut, too expensive. "What's wrong with an apple? I ask you. Oranges. Fruit that's easy to eat. But no. They're everywhere, here. They're on tours. In salads -- regular salads, I must clarify, not even those terrible fruit salads you get on buffets that are all pineapple and green grapes and cantalope -- on fish, in salsa, it's insane. It's an epidemic."
And it makes him feel better to ramble about, because Steve's looking out the window, and Danny has to tackle the impulse as it lifts, strangle it back down his throat, but the first few words still slip out: "Well, maybe --"
Because it's actually a perfect opening. Would be. With those numbers on his wrist. The ones he can't see underneath Steve's watch. It would be all too easy to suggest they go. Together. Like a date, if he weren't on the wrong side of thirty-five and unsure about what a date even looks like anymore, or what one with someone like Steve McGarrett could possibly entail.
Or, not even a date. Just to do it. Hang out. Get to know each other. Except he's pretty sure this isn't the moment for either suggestion, and he's also pretty sure he wants to burn the first option to the ground and forget it exists, so he swallows it down in a hard knot and shakes his head, mouth turning down in a why not? sort of shrugged expression. "You could check it out, if you stick around."
He's got no idea if that's the plan or not. They have an office space. Steve called him his partner. Said on the phone he was transferring to the Reserves, and would run the task force for the Governor, whatever that means, but Danny has no idea if that means just for this case, or as a career move.
And if it's just for this case, then that means those zeroes mean absolutely nothing. He can't do that. Not to Grace and not to himself. "I hear it's a good tour."