Yeah. Okay. That's actually fair, is the thought while Steve is pulling the shirt up over his arms. He's not even against quid pro quo, honestly. It's a fair question, and not one he would have answered the guy in his Dad's Garage. But Danny's not That guy anymore. Sure, he's still loud mouthed haole who got set on the case for twisted back politic reasons.

But he's, also, his partner now, and they guy who punched him, and the one who stayed to have a beer.

"Truth is I don't know yet." Steve pulled the shirt over his head, popping his head through and tugging it in a messy, fast swipe down his stomach, so he could go about leaning down to grab his beer, and follow it up with dropping in the chair the bottle had been resting in. "All I know--"

He looked out far into same ocean Danny was looking at. That one that never changed from looking back. That one that no other of the hundred shores he'd seen since would ever feel the way this one did when it appeared in the fucked up tilt-o-whirl of his dreams.

"--is my father wanted me to find it." Which was bent enough. Just that alone. Before the apologies and those three words. Before the blood and Hesse and Anton. (Freddie.) It wasn't like they'd ever been close. Him and his dad. It wasn't like they'd stayed in touch much. After. Or needed to know where the other was or how they were doing. There weren't ever cards and presents, and the rarest of calls had gotten even rarer over the last decade once he was in the field more than he was ever out of it.

Which made it....all odd. Awkward. Impossible to explain. All the history. Important, but not. Which made it even more so.

Making him look toward Danny, before looking away and raising his beer. "Right now, it's just a puzzle."