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[haole_cop]

 "Now it's my crime scene."

Those could have been, should have been, the last words he heard from McGarrett, and in a kinder world, they might have been, but the world hates Danny Williams, and he's not exactly feeling all that generous towards it, himself, so he's honestly not even a little surprised when the authoritative rap on his door comes attached to a too-tall, too-broad, too-aggressive Navy SEAL with revenge on the mind and Daddy issues from here back to the boardwalks of Wildwood.

He hates him. 

Because of this joker, he's home in the middle of the day, instead of at work, work, he might point out, where he's attempting to catch the guy who did this to McGarrett, Sr., which is normally what the child of a murder victim wants, right? They want the cops to do their damn job and haul the dirtbag in for justice.

They don't storm in and take over like it's their goddamn platoon out in fucking Afghanistan.

Except McGarrett, okay, he doesn't seem to have gotten the memo. There's a reason officers don't get involved if the deceased was a family member, and this is exactly why: it makes people angry, irrational.

(He hopes to hell this is McGarrett being irrational.)

It's too close, too personal -- and it's also not his case anymore, so he's got no idea why McGarrett, shirt sticking to his skin from the soaking rain that just hit, because it rains every goddamn day here, what a fucking miracle, Hallelujah, is standing on his doorstep, because it isn't that.

(And it's not that either, he refuses, it's not happening, and there's no possible way this whackjob noticed. It could be he doesn't even have a timer, or got his blown off while single-handedly stopping an insurrection with a couple of grenades and a can-do attidtude.)

So he just stands and waits, with one hand still on the doorknob, ready to slam it shut just as soon as possible.

 

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[haole_cop]

"I realize you probably got to play with all the really great toys while being all Black Hawk Down on the far side of the world, but, please, believe me when I say this: you don't get to touch my car. And I am an excellent driver."

He fishes his keys out of of his pocket, lets them jingle as they walk back down the blacktop to the parking lot, steps jaunty, and he's actually feeling a little less like murdering everyone on sight, which is a definite step up for him today.

And Steve -- Steve is actually loosening up. A little. A very little, okay, it's still basically like trying to bend a steel pipe into a pretzel shape, but every now and then, like just now, a slight crack in the facade appears. So maybe he's not just a tin soldier, then. Maybe he actually is human, with thoughts beyond revenge and how to most efficiently clear a jammed gun.

Danny's still not sure he's buying the line of zeros on his wrist, but it's a start.

[thebesteverseen]

"Already touched it," slides out of Steve's mouth faster than even he was expecting.

He rolls, the hell, with it. Because he's not about to be caught flat footed by his own mouth.

But it happened about on par with the second when he was having the thought itself. Just another volley to send over the wall, toward those keys being shaken in the air. Like he doesn't take in Danny's height and steps for a second, like an actual consideration, in the back of his mind, of how easy to would be to reach out, and snap then. Like a quick strike. He doesn't. But the assessment still plays out in his head.

Yeah, sure, maybe its grade school appropriate as responses go, but for a moment what it does is actually make him miss his men. Pokes the door so unexpectedly where that festering black stone in black of his heart and the back of his gut hides. Makes him miss Freddie. Wide smiling, always joking, son of a bitch. But that's too close, too real, too recent, too. Everything going still and cold the next second. Making him look back toward the buildings, for any sight of Chin, for the promise they can get rolling, keep rolling, back on schedule, staying on task, on the job, rolling toward Hesse.

[haole_cop]

"Fine. You don't get to drive it. That specific enough for you, wiseass?"

The Mustang is still sitting where they left it, heatwaves radiating in gentle wavering lines off its hood and roof, gray paint dully reflecting back the sun. It's not quite the silver he wants it to be, and it's not the newest model or anything, but it's fast and it's gruff and he likes it, and no, it is not going to be driven by anyone other than him.

Not now. Not ever, until he sells it, on the off chance that he might ever be able to afford a better car.

It definitely won't be handed over to the lunatic who stole Danny's crime scene and kidnapped him into partnership, okay, that's for sure.

He's just at the car, leaning a hip against the trunk door, as footsteps sound, and Chin Ho Kelly appears, steps quick and purposeful. "It's not far," he says, as he comes into earshot, before nodding to a sleek motorcycle parked nearby. "You guys okay with following?"

[thebesteverseen]

Steve's look toward Danny, pressed lips and barely a tug left at the corner of his mouth, is some far more like bare acknowledgement that the man spoke at all more than any kind of reaction to the words anymore. He needs to close this case. He needs to do it for both of them. Losing Freddie to Anton's capture, and his dad to Hesse's blackmail move. He knows he's too close, but he's one of the few who has been here for the last straight five years. One of only a few who might be able to not miss anything.

All the same he's grateful Chin finally reappears, striding across the parking, a lot, Steve can't help noting without any change to his face this time, like someone escaping. As much as he wouldn't compare this security job, waiting outside the Arizona, to a sinking ship, there's probably nothing about it that could hold Steve here for five minutes, no less a few years. If Chin's been here for years. It's not like Steve has the time to get his hands on even an employment file for Chin and know where he's been, what he's been up to.

He's going on gut and need this time. The means and the connections the man can make over the facts laid out.

"Yeah, we're good," Steve answered for Danny, in the middle of raising his eyebrows with a little surprise and compliment in it watching Chin walk toward a motorcycle. Not what he expected after that outburst, but it's so much more Hawaii in a way, too. Free and uninhibited from the elements. Even if Steve is quick to note the lack of anything looking like a helmet anywhere around the bike, themselves, or Chin's hands.

He'll just head for the passenger seat without asking, or waiting. Pulling the door open and be sliding inside. All fast, direct movement. Too aware of his blood beating through pulse points and drumming in the back of his hearing. Forward is the only direction that matters right now. Toward this CI, and the Snakeheads who smuggled the girl and Hesse on to the island. A bead on where they might be, now that Hesse'll be looking to use the same means to get off the island as soon as possible, too.

[haole_cop]

It's a cool ride, for sure, but then, it goes along with what he's seen so far of Chin Ho Kelly. Even in his absurd security guard get-up, with the tucked in polo shirt and shorts, the guy seems breezy and cool. No helmet, which is a dumb move for a cop who should know better, but he swings one leg over the bike with easy familiarity, so Danny can't say it doesn't seem like he knows what he's doing, and it's not like he's going to put on the flashers and pull him over.

Chin might not be a cop anymore, but call it a professional courtesy.

The Mustang's engine turns over with that deep guttural growl he loves so much, while Chin's bike kicks in with a roar, pulls out and away with a low purr that Danny has to say is pretty damn cool. He's always liked bikes -- who doesn't? -- but it's not like he has any complaints with his own ride.

He keeps an eye on Chin as they pull out onto the main road, chasing him along the oceanside pavement, wondering. If that no was a lie. How it all went down. Whether Chin left of his own accord, or was kicked out, or just pushed to the point where he couldn't stay anymore. "Seems like a good guy."

Steve doesn't seem like much for talking, and that's fine by Danny -- pretty much every time the guy opens his mouth it just makes Danny want to punch it -- but he's curious, and there is literally no one else to talk to.

It's got nothing to do with the line of red numbers glowing gently against his wrist. This isn't giving Steve a chance, or a break, okay, it's just trying to get through this trainwreck of a partnership in one piece. "You hear much about him from your dad?"

[thebesteverseen]

Steve couldn't really say where his head was before Danny's voice broke through. Somewhere between where he's sitting, and where he's watching Chin on the bike, and somewhere far across the world, as far as phone calls never stop being even when you're standing where the call originated.

The first words out of Danny's mouth make his line of vision slide that direction, toward the driver's seat and the man sitting in. He's really not going to go for it if Danny thinks he's anywhere above the slander that's probably been thrown around on Chin's name, and his family's. Which begs the question of how many Kelly's are even still on the force. If they had to turn tail with him, or if they're still clawing their way through.

No one liked a traitor, and most of the world couldn't give a damn about doing the good job to find out if it was true.

Which Steve didn't know. Couldn't know. Steve didn't answer those first words again, thinking about Chin's face and his outbursts. He didn't read like he was lying. Angry. Bitter. Hurt. Sure. Nowhere near letting it go however many years later it was. Yeah. Yet still capable of that wide smile this morning, and that gratitude toward his father mixed with the remorse for hearing about his murder. Had his ear to ground, or someone's ear, enough to know what was going on with his Dad's case and that Danny had been handed it.

But the question. That one stops him. Made him focus again on Chin's back in front of them, the wind rippling the fabric of that blue-green shirt as it pressed against him and he flew threw it, heading them toward the beach. "Not lately."

Is the easy answer. Because lately, or anytime in the last five to ten years, he didn't hear much from his Dad at all.

"Back when I was kid, my Dad couldn't shut up about him." It's even and flat, no hint of jealousy, because there was nothing like that in it. Then, when his dad fell into his work not to drown. Or now, when Steve udnerstood it so much better. Even if the man on the bike probably knew his father better than he ever did or could. "He was one of the rising stars of the rookies he trained."

[haole_cop]

"Yeah?"

Danny's got one hand on the steering wheel, the aching left arm relaxed at his side, hand in his lap because it hurts too much to stretch it all the way up to lean on the door, like he normally would. "I heard he was one of the best."

He doesn't add before, because it doesn't need to be added. The whole thing stinks, honestly, and he wouldn't trust HPD to back any guy who might step a little out of line. Maybe Chin accidentally pissed off a superior, or maybe he was butting heads with the higher-ups -- whatever it was, it's easy to accuse someone of taking payoffs and hard to prove it without actually finding a stash of cash or a suddenly plump bank account anywhere.

So it's none of his business. None of it. Not what Steve knew about him before, not Chin's past and definitely not Steve's, so he definitely shouldn't be asking "You knew him when you were a kid?" like it's anything he actually wants to know at all.

Goddammit.

He doesn't want to know. Wants to shove the cap on it, these questions, the ones that are slowly becoming less about Chin and more about Steve, who he is, what he was before. He doesn't need to know about Steve's childhood, or what he used to talk about with his dad. It doesn't matter, doesn't pertain to the case. Steve picked Chin, and that's good enough for him.

But he did ask. And he does, exasperation grating hard against his refusal to let any of this go past the barely speaking distance they'd sort of managed to find a truce at, want to know.

Goddammit.

[thebesteverseen]

It's like looking through a foggy glass. Not like the stupor of being drunk or battle rage, mission focus, losing it for a little while. It's like looking back through smoke and fog at a time he's spent decades not remembering, and not needing to remember, because it had no place in his life. The years after he let go it finally becoming so much easier and lighter than the ones he'd held on to them and raged helplessly about a touchable, unreclaimable, loss.

It's a different life, belonging to a different person, with a different family. There's a line in the sand and everything.

"Some." Steve hedged, looking across that line in his head. "I was young, then. There was some dinners, and seeing him at the station when I ended up there, once or twice for Dad, but it really wasn't on my radar to be watching out for what kinds of cops my Dad was rolling out on the press."

Which was true. He was a kid then. Obsessed with surfing, football, the newest cheerleader, his dreams of the Navy.

"But he'd been the last one, and he'd stuck around as my dad's partner up until his retirement."
He gaze shifted to the window and the man, again, voice shifting, just marginally.

"He said my Dad stuck by him even through everything."

Earlier. Before Steve had known exactly what everything entailed, when it was just a detail before a warning.

It wasn't that he was questioning it. If anything, it made sense. The only kind of sense his dad ever made after they crossed that line. Chin had stuck by his father through his wife's accident, sending the kids away, up until his retirement, so John stuck by him through whatever investigation and drum out Chin went through if there wasn't reasonable cause to doubt him.

[haole_cop]

"Well, good partners. That's what they do."

Stick by your side, no matter what. Always have your back.

Unless they really did betray you, and everyone you know and respect and work with.

But this isn't about Peterson, it's about Chin, and John McGarrett, and McGarrett's son, sitting here in the cab with him, trying to solve his own father's murder.

Danny's got no idea what kind of compartmentalizing ability that must take to even begin, let alone get through, but that's the kind of thing they train into SEALs that they don't into regular law enforcement officers, because regular law enforcement officers still need the ability to empathize. SEALs don't. They're weapons. He'd be better off reminding himself of that, instead of trying to figure out what amounts to a walking grenade with a pulled pin.

Except.

Except he's not sure he believes it. Not entirely. Maybe before, but -- he glances over, then back at the road -- Steve can be bruised. Steve can snap. Steve can, incredibly, even tell a joke, or get one.

So maybe, somewhere deep down, underneath all the training and the steel-jawed, stubborn fortitude, he's actually human.

[thebesteverseen]

"Supposedly." Steve turned his head, barely, to look that way, with the word.

Like he might have been making a point. Or pressure gauging the whole idea.

Might have been thinking about his saying I'm making you my partner. We're going to get along great.

It wasn't as if he hadn't had amazing men at his side and his six for over a decade now. Whether it was one other man, for a mission that never existed, and would never have a rescue from, or several platoons working in synch to handle a problem bigger than all of them, and taking more than half of them down to complete. That was what the Navy did, strung you together, standinging as one, falling as one, all for the mission and Steve supposed he could see that in the police force. If to a much smaller, and incredibly localized, degree.

But there was, also, the whole part where Danny Williams, with the yelling and the snapping, who no one had a good word about aside from his turnout and to whom no one even considered coming to the rescue of, when his face was nearly in the dirt, was talking about good partnership. In a very few words. Like he might actually have an idea of what that was like. Not in Hawaii, obviously. Though, supposedly, he didn't get on too badly with his partner. But before maybe. Since obviously he had a before.

Something that wasn't bemoaning Hawaii and living for a job where he hated everyone else working with him.

[haole_cop]

It makes him miss Grace.

Not his daughter, though he misses her on a near-constant basis, a low level thrum that's always under his skin. The woman she's named after. Grace Tilwell. Feisty, fiery, reckless Grace, with her wicked smile and unyielding sense of justice. He trusted her like she was an extension of himself, and she trusted him, too.

Look where that got her.

This is not going to be that kind of partnership, because Danny doesn't have those partners anymore. He and Meka get along fine, but they're not like two sides of the same coin, working together so seamlessly that it's like they've known each other all their lives. They don't talk about everything and anything. Sure, Danny's met the family, been over for dinner, they got out for beers, but there's always going to be a disconnect. It's not like Grace. They're friends and partners, but they're not the second or even third most important person to the other one.

Which is fine. He's not sure he wants another partnership like the one he had with Grace. They were too tight, maybe. Too close. And how many other people in the world are ever going to accept him as completely as she did?

Chin's signaling a turn, so Danny hits the blinkers, changes lanes to follow. "Well, it's good for us you know him. That was a good call."

[thebesteverseen]

It's good for them that Chin called him out this morning, but time will prove the rest of that.

There's no proof it was a good call yet. There's not enough time. Even the next situation is a big questionmark. Because it is curious if it'll work. Who the CI is. How Chin still has his ear to the ground about a lot of things. It's still a question of whether good work maybe more than a decade ago will still eek out to good work more than a decade of unused skills and festering wounds later.

Things he doesn't know. But risks he's willing to take to bring in Hesse.

Who could do worse left rampant than Chin and Danny and every one of Danny's misfit toys put together.
He's gone with so much longer odds though, and he's so close. Hesse is on this small spit of land somewhere.

But Steve's not entirely lost in his thoughts enough to realize, if several seconds late, that Danny just gave him a compliment. Light, normal, not thrown at his head, and not twisted to being mocking all over the words at the sametime, which he hasn't had a single problem with displaying so far. It makes him stay focused toward Chin over Danny. Watching the bike detour toward a beach.

Because the proof of that was still holding out, even if he could acknowledge hearing it there. The proof that still mattered more to him, even in something in just hearing it softened the edges of his mouth, even when all he said was, "Yeah. We'll see."

[haole_cop]

Well, it's a start, right? It's something. A few civil, if not actually friendly, words. Ones he didn't have to scrape up, reluctantly, and that Steve didn't immediately make him regret saying.

It's not great, but it's something. They can't waste all their energy attacking each other; it'll only make them make mistakes, and Hesse is not the kind of guy who'll wait around for the people chasing him to get their asses in gear and their priorities in order. He still doesn't like Steve, and he's pretty sure the feeling is mutual, but maybe they can at least work together.

Maybe.

Chin's pulling to a stop, parking his bike and swinging off it again in another smooth motion, while Danny pulls up nearby and parks, glancing out the window at the little shack nearby, beachfront park filled with kids and beachgoerss, squinting in the sun as he shuts the door behind him. "Waimea Shave Ice?"

[thebesteverseen]

"Could be worse." His voice has an odd dot of dry amusement, as he's snapping his belt off, getting out the car and shutting the door behind him in a smooth movement. Before he's off after Chin, already, expect Danny will follow.

It's crawling with people. That's the first thing Steve notices.

The kind of spot that has dozens on dozens of witnesses of every age and walk.

Which works well both directions really. It means no one could come straight at you here, without all those eyes. There's a modicum of safety in the utter lack of anonymity. As well as a shell of normality, soaked a place most people would visit and forget all about. Shave Ice. On the beach. Front area covered in benches, boards, and hammocks. It's a island paradise afternoon spooling out slow, with golden sun and high waves. A lot of worse places out there. Steve's would know.

"This way," Chin says when they get to him, turning to lead them up through the crowd of beach goers everywhere between them and it.

"Hey, Komekona!" Chin calls out, all loose easy shoulders, and broad smile you can hear all over his voice. Which, apparently, isn't entirely out of place. When he and the large guy behind the counter, clap hands and lean in for a shoulder bump and back slap, even through the wall and counter of the place. "Howzzit?"

"Good to see you, my bruddah." The other guy is saying as he pulls back, and Steve can helping think he blends about as well as the place. All bright, broad strokes, wide smile himself, and that powder blue shirt. That all changes, when Chin is leaning in, dropping his voice. Asking for a name, and changing everything about that face. The easy Aloha smile withering, for a look toward Steve and Danny, with an eyebrow cocked. Same with his voice, when he's nodding to the beach, and saying, serious and even this time, "They wait out there."

That's...annoying, but it's not all that surprising. Which is why Steve catches Chin's eye, when the man turns back, as though it needs relaying. But Steve is turning away , to walk off, because he doesn't really need another person to say it. He'd rather be hearing this discussion, but he'd rather have Hesse than split any hairs about how he got there. Not when there's a chance he might actually have a name.

"After they pay." Comes from over his shoulder and he turns back. That's not all that surprising either, when Steve's hands are already in his pocket, and that whale of a guy is turned back, talking to someone else in the beach shack. "Two cones. Two t-shirts. To go!"

"Medium," Steve adds, not arguing, as he pulling money off a stack he fished out of his pocket. Peeling a fifty off the pile.

"XL and up, brah," the guy -- Komekona -- is saying. Shirt stretched wide in front of him. About as wide and obvious as that glint of enjoyment he's getting from this. "My face don't fit on anything smaller."

But Chin is still smiling, so Steve doesn't feel any need to rock the boat. He folds the bills back holds them, willing to get along to get along. Sliding into words he hasn't used since getting back, since a long while back even. Short visits ages ago, his childhood. "How much kala, pupule?"

He's nodding, even though he doesn't look all that impressed. "You speak bird."

"Yeah." Easy. Natural. Falling toward something like a smile. "I grew up here."

"Doesn't matter," the guy says, with this short shake of his head. "You still look haole to me."

Steve doesn't let go of any of the words. It doesn't matter. Because it's not the first time. It's not like he didn't hear it all the time in his childhood before it wore through, thin and stupid and ultimately ignorable. Besides if a little insulting goes along with his shirt and snowcone, he can pay that too. He's not a thin skinned panty-waste who's going to take offense from a shave house shack runner, when the things on the line are more important.

He half-rolled his eyes but handed over the crisp bill. Watching the man, flatten it and look at it in his hand. "This one feels a little bit lonely, brah."

Which actually maybe does annoy him. It's more than the cost of the extortion of goods already, and he wants more for the name. Making Steve slide a sharper look at Chin, but he's half-easy, half at attention, and gives a nod, like Steve should just do as this Kamekona is saying. Like Steve wouldn't give nearly everything on himself for Hesse. Which he does. Pushes his hand in, without thinking or looking at it, handing over the rest of the cash in his hand.

Reminding himself one stack of cash for Hesse is still less than anyone else has ever paid, or had a chance to. "Cool."

But he's turning away, to go past Danny, toward the waves and sand. When that voice sounds again, smooth and smug and aloha broad even with that warning note already pinching the muscles in Steve's shoulders tight. "One more thing I need you two fine, white gentleman to do."

[haole_cop]

He's not quite sure how he got dragged into all this. Ending up standing by the Mustang, dismissed from getting any information, with a passionfruit shave ice in one hand, wearing a powder blue shirt that's about six sizes too big for him, over the button-down and tie he'd chosen this morning, with the words "Waiola Shave Ice" stamped over Kamekona's broad, beaming face.

Somehow it's Steve's fault. Right? He can make this Steve's fault.

Or maybe it's some joke between Chin and Kamekona. Humiliate the haoles, see how far they'd go to get information, and normally, okay, normally, he'd tell the big guy in the stand exactly where he can shove both this shirt and this cone, okay? It's bad enough being told to turn away, get out of earshot, but that's why they brought Chin.

But there's nothing for it. He'd held up the shirt with a skeptical expression, but a glance from Chin had him pulling it over his head, another layer in this sweltering heat, silent and resigned, while being handed a shave ice he doesn't even particularly like, okay, it's no water ice and this isn't Ocean City, but, fine. CI's need to be treated delicately, so he'll eat crow and passionfruit shave ice, and lean against the Mustang like this isn't basically the lowest point in an already crap day.

[thebesteverseen]

He's not actually eating or drinking the ice that's slowly making his fingers aware of the cold. He's not actually going to shift, and give the world the pleasure of the annoyance at the shirt. He's going to stare out at the milling people, and he's going to silently recite the top twenty scenarios that were more annoying, painful, dirty, and disgusting above this.

Maybe thirty. Or forty. Because this is peanuts compared some of the crap and hell he's been put through.

It is. Annoying, but not life threatening. Demanding his patience, even when what it has is his annoyance. Waves. People. Scenario's. Faintly cold fingers, holding an inert object he has no intention of eating. Maybe it had been something other than cotton candy. Maybe if he was holding it for any other reason than someone telling him to go be a billboard for the ice shack basically.

"Are you a cop?"

There's a confused look out one side, where there's no one, and down to where there's a little girl in a beach dress.

Even while the words are kicking across his brain with a kind of disgust that's taking no prisoners. Because he's nothing like a cop. Even if he said those words into the phone. Nothing like the man standing next to his side. He's a SEAL. There's nothing else on the planet he's ever wanted to be, or would want to change to being. "No."

"Well," She shifted on her feet, swaying a little, like gravity was just an option for her. "You look like a cop."

No, he didn't. He looked nothing like those guys. The guy standing next to him, all slacks and a tie. In Hawaii. And no he didn't need this distraction of this little person suddenly taking place in his op. Which meant the only course of action was getting rid of her. Fast as possible. Leaning down and holding out his neglected shave ice.

"Do you like cotton candy?" Please. Take it. Save him. For it. And her. "Go find your mom."

[haole_cop]

"I don't like cotton candy," she says, firmly, which, okay, the kid has decent taste. No one likes cotton candy flavor, all right? It is an abomination.

But Steve's floundering in a way Danny hasn't seen at all today, and honestly can't, for a second, believe he is seeing, while treating this small child like she's an international threat, asking for state secrets instead of curious about whether or not they're cops, and, frankly, people are starting to pay attention. He's too brusque, too sharp with her, too obviously trying to get rid of her, and, apparently, is even worse at damage control than he is about not causing the damage to begin with.

Which means Danny's up to bat, but that's fine, okay? He may not be a SEAL or the leader of some highly trained death squad, but he can handle a little girl. "I got something you might like, okay?"

It's a world of difference between Steve's tone and his. Steve's all blunt, interrogating, and Danny is relaxed, friendly without being too friendly (because frankly, as a father, he can't think of anything that would make his blood run cold faster than two grown men showing too much interest in Grace), but it's a moot point. He's already handing his cone to Steve so he can reach through the passenger seat window and search until his fingers encounter soft plush and floppy ears. "How 'bout --"

The rabbit's huge and pink and floppy, and she lights up like it's Christmas morning when she sees it, which hurts a little, because he didn't get to see that smile on Grace's face, but it's triumphant, too, when she says, eager: "Yeah. Thanks!"

Taking it without further invitation, the stuffed animal almost as big as she is, and running off, and it's a good feeling, too. Even if it aches a little.

It's easy to make kids happy, but that doesn't make it any less incredible to see or satisfying to do. "You're welcome," he says, as she scampers off to play, leaving him to put his empty hands in his pockets, smiling to himself a little rueful, before turning back to Steve to get his cone back.

Only to find the other man already watching him, an unreadable expression on his face, that makes Danny squint in the sun, trying to interpret. "What?"

[thebesteverseen]

The snowcone gets shoved in his hand and he takes it, since it isn't a bomb or anything problematic, staring at Danny's back in confusion when the man is already digging into the car after saying he said something for the little girl who is, seriously, not moving away from the car. Which is where Steve wants her to be. Anywhere away from the car. Away from situations that probably won't happen here, but have happened in too many missions past that he doesn't think on.

Almost ever. The ones he never thinks about. Except when he wakes up swinging, having watched worlds burn again.

But Danny is digging in the car, and they are both waiting on him. Waiting on him to turn around with. What. There is a bunny. Pink and fuzzy and Steve's not sure if soft has a look. Forget his looking toward the excited kid next to him. He's busy marveling that thing is basically larger than half of Danny's body. Where was he hiding that in the back of the mustang?

She's excitedly hugging the thing around its neck and scampering off, lickety split, the feet of it dragging in the sand behind her as she's runs off, like Danny might change his mind. And Steve can't even begin to know where to start with what he wants to ask. Who even carries that around in their car? Just. What? And that it actually worked. That Danny Williams is over there beaming like a lune about that kid running away like he might steal it back any second. What.

Which is the same question that comes out of Danny's mouth while he's staring. Trying to find a single question.

But it's broken with the laughter coming from beyond Danny, as Chin suddenly pushes out from the crowd, returning to them from Komekona. From the money, and the ice, and the shirts, and a little girl, and truly giant pink bunny. And seriously, the only thing to hits Steve's head rolls right out his mouth, "You better have a name."

Because after all that, Steve deserves a name, the name. And an eta on when this shirt comes off.

[fixingamistake]

They look so absurd it's impossible to keep from laughing, but the one that rolls out from his chest, easy and amused, isn't cruel. Why would it be? They look ridiculous, but they're still okay. He remembers little Steve McGarrett better than this stern-faced man, but that's okay, too. Everybody grows up. Some people get shoved into it faster and harder than others.

So he's not going to take it personally, but he's also not going to hide his amusement at their twin expressions of disgust at the situation. Kamekona, he might not want to deal with haoles, but he's got a sense of humor about it. "Yeah," he says, joining them, still smiling wide.

It's a pretty bad look. Makes them even more out of place than they were before. "Not here. You got a place I can access HPD's files?"

[thebesteverseen]

Chin Ho Kelly gets a pass. Call it faith, or familiarity. Ghosts on old graves. The return of that smile from this morning, that makes him look nothing like the man who snapping, made of rattler strikes and broken glass barely hanging on in one piece through super glue. It makes him look more real, too. More things Steve doesn't hate entirely.

Especially when it comes with him saying he has a name. Air and water vy for what is filling Steve head and lungs.

"We got a place," he nods, headed toward a trashcan to drop the untouched ices he's still holding.

Talking over his shoulder as he does it. Because he knows he hasn't even told Danny this much, because he wasn't sure he's need it even when Jameson and Fryer both mentioned it before he absconded with Danny. The details of the walls hadn't mattered to him, then. Just finding Danny, following up on Doran, which got them here in a twist of events.

"Second floor of The Palace, "All clacking like dominoes when he says it. " It's only a few hours old, but I can call and make-sure someone has a system up for us by the time we get there."

Even if the way he phrases it is nothing like it's going to be a request to whoever the poor person on the other end of the line ends up being. It won't be. Not if they have a name, and a name means they're going to need an intro, and Steve is not in the mood to slow down. Especially not for anyone handing out a line about IT builds.

If he has to, he'll find a way to requisition a different part of the building for it. He'll make it work.

[haole_cop]

"Got it," Chin nods, shifting back on his heels to head for his bike. "I'll meet you there."

Leaving Danny a little bemused, bewildered, not a hundred percent sure what that exchange was or what it meant. The only palace he knows is " -- Iolani Palace?"

The graceful building with that big gold statue in front, and the levels of modern office space? That Palace? There's already an office? When did that happen? He's watching Steve, dubious, wondering just what the hell it must be like to just say something, and make it true. "You're just picking things up left and right today, huh? Did you get us a dispatch desk, too? Are you hiding a newly-requisitioned training facility up your sleeve, somewhere?"

It's just -- it's so strange. A totally alien sensation, this whole possibility of actually getting people to do things, to work with him instead of fight him on every request. It hasn't been Danny's experience. Not at all. Not in years.

[thebesteverseen]

Danny looks. You know. Steve isn't sure. He doesn't have any clue what that is on Danny's face.

This pinched sort of confusion, that he's not sure what has to do with anything. But rather than make any sense of that questions just start firing out of Danny's mouth like bullets from an automatic rifle. Bang. Bang. Bang. Not waiting in the slightest for Steve to answer any of those questions, while he's just firing off more of them with those suspicious blue eyes and the hands that seem to be on a contact control with his mouth as well.

Makes it easier for Steve to just narrow his eyes a little at all of it, and jerk a thumb toward his door. "You getting in the car, or you just going to stand out here getting sunstroke?"

All that pale skin could not bode well for anyone. Tourist or hawaii hating new resident. Of course, he had a place. A place he hadn't wanted or cared about. But a place. What was Danny expecting? That they were going to work out of the shoebox of his car? Steve reached down to pull off the Shave Ice shirt with one hand as his other was reaching for the car door.

[haole_cop]

The shave ice gets tossed, and he's tugging his own shirt up and over his head as he heads back around the end of the car to the driver's side, rolling his eyes, because, fine. A non-answer is exactly the one he was looking for, right? It's not like this is the kind of information that would be good to share with your partner, no matter how newly requisitioned they are, no matter how poorly you get alone, like gasoline and lit matches.

But there's nothing to do, aside from getting back in the car and starting it up, casting a last glance across the beach, like he might actually see someone he knows, that's not quite searching for a little girl holding a pink stuffed rabbit as big as she is, before he's got a hand on the back of the passenger seat, and is looking over his shoulder to back out.

"Okay, well, they got about fifteen, twenty minutes to get something set up. Good thing you've got the Governor on speed-dial."

He's starting to think Steve could get it done on his own, actually, without bothering with things like proper channels and paperwork.

[thebesteverseen]

At least he follows direction well, Steve's thinking. Slipped into the seat, shirt tossed into the back.

When he's raising his eyebrows at Danny even while he's already looking for Jameson's number. He doesn't have many numbers. Hasn't acquired any for HPD. Or Danny or Chin for that matter, which he should rectify shortly, especially now that they are his team, and he might need them muster ready at anytime of days or night while on this case for Hesse. It's not like international terrorists care about anyone's sleep cycle.

If he had other numbers to call, he might call them. But the honest truth is, it's easier to annoy the top of the chain. Especially when she hasn't pushed back yet. She asked for him, and he said no. Vehemently, in the face of her begging and bribing. And then, he called and said yes. Took the case, took the officer, took someone else. She's already got one body count. And she knows he'll need more, that he could ask for everything. Keeps playing that face when she said Your rules, my backing, no red tap.

He's going to make her live by putting that on the table.

Which is exactly what he's doing when he's not giving Danny anything more than that look, while he's putting the phone next to his ear. When instead of answering questions that will soon be entirely obvious answers to the man in the driver's seat he's hearing Hello, Commander.

"We've got a lead," really didn't need any lead up. He's still nowhere near pleased he had a reason to get in bed with a politician. Especially one desperate enough to use his family against him, and to lay out promises of unending power. If something was too good, as the saying went. "I'm going to need a quick facelift on my HQ. We need access to HPD files ASAP."

The was a second of silence. "Fifteen minutes. Twenty, tops." Another, nodding to the phone and the window, as the scenery was starting to fly by. "Yes, Governor. I'll keep you updated if there any problems."

Which meant little more than that he'd send his problems to her if he had problems, even though he hadn't checked once with her to give an update on the people he hired, the choices he made, the body on the ground, the CI that had been paid. He was going liberal with his lack of red tape, and she could bring it up later if she had a problem with that. For now he had a name with Chin, and her word she'd get people on it right now, and that was all he needed as he hung up.

[haole_cop]

He wonders how immeasurably deep the hole he'd be tossed into if he tried speaking that abruptly to a superior would be, and how long he would be left there to rot, because he doesn't exactly mince his words with his Captain, and look where that's gotten him. Even if the guy hated him already, for absolutely no good reason at all, aside from his mistrust of haoles.

But that's just another difference between them, right? Steve gets the same treatment, but he still gets results, runs roughshod over the bigotry that Danny's drowning in, like sinking in the slow pull of mud. People might side-eye him, or toss out that word, haole, like they're sticking a tag on his forehead, but they do what he says, anyway.

Danny's been out here with a megaphone and billboard for six months, and he couldn't say he's gotten even one single person to listen to a damn thing he's said or wanted since he started. "Is that satisfying?"

It's curious. He's curious, lifts one hand off the wheel to let it turn in the air, a shrug of a gesture. "Me, I would find that satisfying."

Ordering around a high-ranking government official, with no fear of repercussion, but then, maybe Steve is just fearless. SEALs are supposed to be, right? And it's not like the guy has so much as batted an eye at anything they've seen or done today, not even when he was hanging around the scene of his own father's murder. Danny guesses little things like asking for equipment, or going through the proper channels don't even ping his radar.