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"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Danny yelled, waving his hand in front of Steve's face while trying to keep at least one eye on the road. Steve stopped mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open. "Are you -- did you just -- do I need to send you on a sexual harassment training seminar, Boss?"
"What? No!" Steve said, horrified.
"Then what was that?" Danny said. Steve stared down his nose looking genuinely confused, but Danny knew it was just a ploy.
"Look, I'm your partner, not your boss. Sleep with me, don't sleep with me, it's entirely up to you," Steve said. "I was merely expressing interest to gauge if there was any reciprocity."
"Reciprocity? What are you, a word of the day calendar? And are you telling me 'we could fuck sometime' is expressing interest? We could fuck sometime? Have you dated at all in the last decade? Why do you always do this to me when I'm driving? Is this some kind of psychological conditioning you're doing so that I'll always let you drive?"
"I haven't," Steve said, looking remarkably relaxed considering that Danny was wishing his car came with an ejector seat.
"Haven't what?" Danny snapped.
"Dated much in the last decade. It's mostly been pretty casual, like with Catherine."
Danny sighed. "I guess that explains why your pick-up lines need work."
"Well, that was awkward. Thank you for that," Steve said.
"We're not even close to done, Commander McFlirt. Why did you think I'd be interested, anyway?" Steve just shrugged. "Tell me. What, you think I can't handle it?"
"You look at me," Steve said, as if that explained anything.
"I look at you? Of course I look at you. You're my partner. I look at you like I look at a person who is going to get me killed in some wildly stupid way some day, and who will probably put something completely asinine on my tombstone because your sense of humor is not humorous and also perverse. I look at you like I look at a person who wouldn't know the Geneva Conventions if they came up to him wearing nothing but an 'Hi, I'm The Geneva Conventions' name tag and a smile. Is that how I look at you?"
Steve frowned. "No. You look at me as though you find me sexually attractive, asshole."
Danny braked for a stop light. "Listen to me. I'm going to speak slowly using small words, and you are going to listen. I am not easy. I have a very smart and perceptive daughter. I do not put out on the first date. And aside from two regrettable experiences after my divorce papers were official, I haven't had sex with anyone but Rachel in a ridiculously long time. Do not fuck with me, Steven."
"What, you think I don't know all that?" Steve asked, spreading his hands.
The light turned, and Danny stomped on the brake when a pedestrian crossed the street against the signal. She was wearing a stripey sweater and a giant pair of headphones. Danny wanted to get out of the car, take her by the shoulders, and plead with her to be less careless.
"Jesus Christ," Danny said. "Hawaii has hipsters?"
"Of course Hawai'i has hipsters. Stop trying to change the subject."
"I'm not trying to change the subject. I'm genuinely baffled by this."
Steve sighed. "Fine. You're not trying to change the subject."
"Seriously, they live in paradise, and they choose to drink shitty beer and get shitty tattoos and wear sweaters when it's a million fucking degrees outside?" When Danny glanced over, he saw Steve looking at him with a goofy expression on his face. "What?"
"I thought you hated Hawai'i."
"It's growing on me. Like ringworm."
Steve narrowed his eyes, and after a moment he smirked. "So how long has it been since you've had sex?"
"I so don't want to talk about that with you right now," Danny said.
"Then you really shouldn't have told me, Danno."
"Why?" Danny asked. "Why now? Why me? I thought I'd already met my Waterloo, but I don't even know what to do with you, babe."
"I want you to want to be here," Steve said awkwardly. "I want you to want to stay, independent of or in addition to Grace being here."
"If you start quoting Cheap Trick lyrics at me, I am stopping this car," Danny said, because he heard what Steve was saying and didn't even begin to know how to deal with it. "You're my friend, okay? That's important, I don't want to lose that, because how can this possibly not end in a hail of bullets, bloodshed, and tears? Huh? You tell me that."
Steve grimaced. "Tears?"
"Tears from emotional distress caused by you, Steven. I'm from Jersey, where men are allowed to have emotions. Mostly the loud emotions, but emotions nonetheless."
"I have emotions," Steve protested.
"Your emotions are constipated," Danny said. He pointed. "You're making a face."
"My face is your fault," Steve said.
"My tone is your fault."
"So you admit that you have a tone?"
"I admit nothing."
"Exactly," Steve said.
Danny felt his heartbeat in his throat and thought that his anxiety level at the moment probably was not ideal. "Okay. You are an attractive man, and I occasionally have a tone. Happy now?"
"Was that so difficult?" Steve asked.
"Yes. Yes, it was."
"Stop the car," Steve said.
Because Danny had learned that it was best not to find out what bizarre shit Steve would do if he didn't, he pulled onto the shoulder and put the car in park.
"Bullets and bloodshed doesn't mean it has to end," Steve said, and then leaned over and kissed him. The kiss was warm and generous, and Steve kissed like he liked it, liked Danny, like he wanted to spend some quality time with Danny's mouth. Danny closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, Steve's grin was blinding. "My pick-up lines totally work."
"Shut up, you," Danny said.