Title: Incredible, Inedible Eggs

Author: sockie1000

Summary: Who cares about how the team will get out of the murders and stealing $10 mil? This story answers the *real* burning question from the season 1 finale: when did Steve eat some of Danny's eggs? :D

Author's notes: I wrote this story for Rogue Tomato, who was the "random review winner" from "And Your Enemies Closer." (and before you ask, no, the "contest" was not rigged. the fact that she's half of my beta team is pure coincidence. I swear... even pinkie swear. it was not rigged. honestly... it wasn't. please believe me...)

Anyway, for her prize, she wanted a story about when Danny cooked eggs and ate them with Steve. So, here you are, Rogue Tomato. Hope you like it.

Thanks to Cokie316 for the beta and input, as always.

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"You stink, you know."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Danny."

"Just sayin'. You smell like fish. Speaking of which," Danny gestured towards the right front pocket of Steve's soaking wet cargo pants, "is that a fish in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

Steve looked down at his pocket, which was wiggling, and reached his hand inside, pulling out a small fish by the tail. He then unceremoniously threw it over his shoulder back in the water.

Danny grinned.

"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you jump into the ocean to catch a perp," Steve replied. "Not that you would know anything about that, since all you do is stand on the pier, supposedly waiting with a dry towel. Speaking of which, where is it?"

"Where's what?"

"My towel."

"Oh. I don't have one." Danny shrugged. "Unlike you, I never was a Boy Scout. So, all that 'be prepared' mumbo jumbo is your motto, not mine."

"You're prepared enough to keep a box of Hello Kitty band-aids in the car," Steve pointed out.

"I have those band-aids in the car because I am a father. To a child. Which, I guess, really doesn't help me make my point," Danny said, waving his hand dismissively towards Steve. "Besides, you'd think that if you had enough foresight to pack a grenade in my car, you'd also think of a towel."

"Well, there is a higher likelihood of needing a grenade," Steve replied simply as he looked over at the HPD patrol car, where his swimming buddy and perp, Raoul Martinez, was being loaded into the back seat.

"A higher likelihood?" Danny exclaimed, incredulously. "What world do you live in that the odds of needing a grenade in the middle of a city are higher than needing a towel on an island?"

Steve opened his mouth to respond, but Danny cut him off, waving his hand in the air.

"You know what? I don't want to know."

Steve shrugged. "Suit yourself."

They both watched as the patrol car drove off, headed to the Oahu jail.

Then Steve turned towards Danny and clapped his hands, rubbing them together. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Let's get some breakfast."

Danny raised his eyebrows. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Steve looked genuinely confused. "What?"

"You're soaking wet."

"And we've already established you don't have a towel, so what's the problem?"

"The problem is you'll get the car seat soaking wet. And then my car will smell, too."

"So, what do you want me to do about it?"

"I don't know," Danny replied, flapping his hand toward Steve. "Shake yourself off or something."

"I'm not a wet dog, Danny."

"Well, you smell like a wet dog."

"I thought I smelled like fish. Now I smell like a wet dog?"

"You smell like an entire wet zoo."

Steve sighed and jumped up and down a few times, ridding his clothes of some of the excess water. "Happy now?" he asked.

Danny looked at the wet pavement extending away from Steve in an irregular circle and smirked. "It's better. I'll let you in the car if you promise not to actually sit on the seat. Which means I get to drive."

Steve was too hungry from their all night stake-out to continue arguing, so he walked to the Camaro and opened the passenger door. "Fine. Whatever. Let's just go get some food."

Danny climbed in the driver's seat, noting with satisfaction that Steve had indeed braced his feet on the floorboard and was doing his best not to actually sit on the seat of the car.

"We'll have to swing by your house to let you get a shower and some dry clothes first," Danny said as he started the car.

"It's Hawaii, Danny. Nobody cares if my clothes are a little wet. Or if I've been swimming in the ocean."

"I care," Danny replied as he pulled out of the parking lot and started the short drive towards Steve's house.

Steve sighed, remembering why he always liked to drive. If he was behind the wheel, they'd already be half-way to a restaurant, not stopping by his house so he could get pretty first. "Fine. But after that, we're headed to Zippy's for a Loco Moco."

Danny wrinkled up his nose. "I never understood that dish. Why anyone would want to eat an egg on a hamburger patty with rice covered in brown gravy is beyond me. Especially for breakfast. And what kind of a name is Loco Moco, anyway?" he asked, his rant just getting started. "It sounds like one of those spinning rides at the carnival. Or that really annoying song from when we were kids. Remember that one?"

"'Locomotion' by Kylie Minogue?" Steve asked, looking over at Danny and grinning.

"Yeah, that's it," Danny answered, surprised. "How did you remember that? You don't strike me as the 'pop song' kind of guy, the evil Dr. Hook notwithstanding."

"Well, she was cute." Steve shrugged. "And Australian."

"And…" Danny prompted, raising his eyebrows.

Steve hesitated a moment before finally answering. "And I like Australian accents. There. Are you happy now?"

"Yes, I think I am," Danny laughed as he pulled into the driveway at Steve's house.

They got out of the car and walked to the front door, both of their stomachs growling loudly.

"Tell you what," Danny said as Steve opened the door and they walked inside. "I'm starving too, and I really don't want to wait in line at a restaurant, especially not if you're going to order that Loco Moco mess. It turns my stomach to even think about it. So, why don't I make us some eggs while you get cleaned up and we can just eat here?"

Steve turned to look at Danny, surprise evident on his face. "You can cook?"

Danny looked irritated. "Yes, I can cook. I wasn't raised by wolves, you know. My mom is fantastic in the kitchen. She can make eggs that are so good, they make you cry. So, I'll go whip them up while you get presentable." He pointed over his shoulder to the kitchen. "You do have food in there, don't you? And I mean real food, not just tofu and bean sprouts."

"Yes, I have real food," Steve sighed. "Knock yourself out," he called as he climbed the stairs.

Fifteen minutes later, Steve stepped out of the hot shower. As he got dressed, the smells from the kitchen wafted upstairs, making him even more hungry. He jogged down the stairs, two at a time, and bounded into the kitchen, ready to devour his breakfast.

"You're just in time," Danny replied, as he dished up breakfast from the stove. He turned and brought over two plates to the table, where Steve had already taken a seat. He set one plate in front of Steve, the second in front of himself, as he pulled out a chair and sat down.

"I thought you were making eggs. What's this?" Steve asked, wrinkling his nose and looking at the plate before him with clinical observation.

"It's eggs. And not just any eggs, but the best eggs in the world. Also known as Poached Eggs Alla Romana. It's my mom's special recipe."

Steve looked at the "eggs" doubtfully. "Um, Danny… did your mom make up this recipe?"

Danny shook his head. "No, she did not. I'll have you know that back home, Poached Eggs Alla Romana is a very popular dish. Whenever my dad's fire station put out a 'Fireman's Wives' cookbook, there would be knock-down-drag-out fights over whose version of this recipe would be included."

"Competition was that fierce, huh?"

"Never underestimate the willingness of a New Jersey woman to defend her superiority in anything."

Steve raised his eyebrows and peered at Danny, amused. "That's only a trait of New Jersey women?"

Danny shrugged. "Ok, maybe that's a trait of everyone from Jersey," he conceded. "But we can't help it if we're right. Anyway," he continued with a wave of his hand, "the point is everyone thought they had the best recipe. Eventually, they just started putting everyone's version in the book so the wives would still speak to each other."

Steve stared back down at the dish, which looked like a clumpy, red mound. "Well, I hate to tell you Danny, but this just looks like a red version of a Loco Moco."

"Bite your tongue. This is way better than a Loco Moco. For many reasons."

"Such as…" Steve prompted.

"Well, for starters, this recipe is from New Jersey."

Steve rolled his eyes.

"And it doesn't have rice in it. Or icky brown gravy."

"Icky?" Steve asked, looking up with a grin.

"Got an eight year old daughter, Steven. Remember?"

"So, what does this have in it?" Steve asked, as he picked up a fork and cautiously poked at the dish, trying to discover its contents.

"Eggs, of course. But eggs the right way. Basically, it's Adam and Eve on a raft, which is…"

"I know what Adam and Eve on a raft is; it's poached eggs on toast. But poor Adam and Eve..." Steve's voice trailed off as he held up a forkful of chunky red sauce. "It looks like you… murdered them."

"I did not murder them," Danny huffed. "That's spaghetti sauce, you moron. Now, back home, I'd use my mom's homemade sauce. She would cook it for hours, letting it simmer on the stove, until it was perfect. But, since my mom is not here, I just used a jar of sauce you had in the pantry. It won't be as good, but it's the best I could do with your pantry's meager resources."

"Let me get this straight…" Steve peered up at Danny with a disbelieving half-grin. "You Prego-d my egg-os?"

"Ha, ha. Very funny." Danny smirked as he loaded a forkful of the dish. "Don't knock 'em 'til you try 'em." He shoved the fork in his mouth and closed his eyes, sighing with blissful happiness as he chewed.

Steve looked back down at his eggs, skeptical. He really didn't want to hurt Danny's feelings, especially not after he went to all the trouble to cook breakfast. But still… the eggs, or, more accurately, the red, erupting volcano of food, looked very unappetizing.

Danny seemed to notice his reluctance. "Go ahead," he said, gesturing toward Steve's fork, "dig in."

Steve could not justify stalling any longer. He cut into the dish and scooped some of the food onto his fork. He brought the fork up to his mouth and held it there, pausing for a moment to fortify both his stomach and resolve.

Then he quickly shoved it in.

And his eyes began to water.

"What'd I tell you, huh?" Danny asked, smiling proudly. "So good they make you want to cry, right?"

Fin

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