Author's Note: I had this little plot bunny hopping around in my head for a few months and finally decided to put it on paper. Steve and Danny's views on firearms and their uses is, I think, well documented through out the series. Every few seasons, we get a nugget of information on how each man approaches firearms in their career and in their private life. So, I had the thought to have Grace want to go to the range and learn how to shoot a gun and explore a bit of how our two favorite guys may feel about firearms in general, and about their Gracie learning how to handle them.
I am of the opinion that everyone should have at least a basic understanding of gun anatomy and firearm safety, because we live in a world where you never know if, or when, the moment will come where you're in a position where you need to protect yourself, or where a gun has entered the situation or comes into your possession. In those eventualities, everyone should know the basics – how to handle a gun, how to load, re-load, how to hold a loaded weapon. I've taken my own experiences with firearms and channeled them into this story, so, regardless of how you may personally feel about firearms, I hope you can enjoy this bit of fiction.
Of course, none of my stories would be mine without a little bit of #McDanno mixed in. As always, comments are my chocolate, so you guys enjoy!
Disclaimer: Hawaii Five-O, as well as the characters found within the series, are owned by CBS Productions, K/O Paper Products, and 101st Street Productions. No profit is being made off of this work.
Hawaii Five-O
Grace held the gun tightly in her hands, eyes front, finger on the trigger, body tense and ready to spring like a tightly wound coil. She was nervous, intimidated even. Her lips were pursed, and an annoying heat kept flaring up about her neck, but still, she stood her ground. She could feel the presence behind her, strong and sure, ready to assist if needed. But she could do this, she could. She could point the gun down range with a perfect grip and pull the trigger, she could-
"I'm – I can't, I'm too nervous," Grace let her left arm fall, the right still holding the gun at the ready, a Glock 19 9-millimeter semi-automatic, her finger no longer attempting to squeeze the trigger. The figure stepped up to stand behind her and slid his hand towards her left one, encouraging her arm back up to recreate the ready grip she'd initially had.
"S'okay," Steve leaned into her just a little, enough to make sure that his voice carried through the protection that she wore over her ears. The front of his ballistics vest brushed the back of hers, the Velcro catching just a bit, one vest against the other. "You're nervous, Gracie, that's okay. It's understandable. If you want to wait, if you don't want to do this today-"
"No," the girl cut him off, "I want to, I'm just – the kick, you know?" She swallowed. "I'm kind of afraid of what it'll feel like."
"Then I'll shoot the first few rounds with you," Steve brought his right arm up to join his left, gripping the weapon securely around her smaller hands. "Take a few deep breaths, okay? Center yourself. The gun is a tool, Grace; that's all. Respect what it can do, understand that you are in control of this weapon at all times. It will not do anything that you don't tell it to do." He felt her nod more so than saw it. "Relax your stance, bend your arms a little, that's it, put your left foot just slightly in front of your right for balance… there you go," he nodded as he watched her follow his guidance to the letter. "Breath in deep, let it out slow. After you breath out, before you take another breath, that's when you're going to fire, okay?" She nodded. "Alright, on three; one, two,-"
A round fired off as soon 'three' left Steve's mouth and a surprised 'oh!' followed from Grace almost immediately after. He grinned, feeling her shake a little from the adrenaline. "You okay? How'd that feel?"
"Good," she answered after a moment, still holding the firearm at the ready, pointed down range, a neat if slightly off target hole marking the outline of the 'person' she and Steve were firing at. "It wasn't as bad as I thought it was gonna be."
"It'll get better the more you practice. You want me to shoot with you again?" Steve made to grip the gun around her hands again, but she shook her head, a little firmer this time, a lot more certain. "No, no, I can do it this time."
It was a sight to behold, to watch Grace square her shoulders, turn her eyes to the target in front of her, and line her sights up with where she wanted the bullet to land.
"We'll work on sighting later; for now, just get used to firing the gun, learn how it feels in your hands when you do, how the kick flows through your arms and into your shoulders and down your back when you pull the trigger. Embrace that feeling, Gracie – own that." Steve spoke directly into her ear, loudly enough to penetrate the ear coverings again, and then stepped back, crossing his arms and giving her the space she needed to find her own way in the lesson. He was standing off to the side just enough to see that her finger was on the trigger, and she was squeezing it, but understanding the amount of pressure to put on a new guns' trigger, not to mention when the trigger finger belonged to someone who had never held a gun before in her life, was a learning process. The trigger pull was six pounds – Steve would have easily fired off ten rounds in under five seconds, but it would likely take five seconds just between rounds for Grace to find the appropriate amount of pressure, and that was fine by him. He was a patient firearms instructor; he could wait.
The firearm went off suddenly and Steve grinned, all pride and happiness. "Nice, Gracie, good job! Fire off another round!"
Soon, Grace was firing the gun like she'd been doing it all her life, relaxing into a ready stance, her shoulders easing down from their previously hunched up position and her arms bending at the elbow just a little bit more, affording her hands more grip and her arms more control over the weapon in her hands. Her legs bent at the knee just slightly and her left foot rested about a foot in front of her right, giving her that forward stance and allowing her body to absorb the recoil that came after firing every round in the gun.
For a second, for just a brief moment, Steve saw Danny in the 18 year old young woman, her stance mirroring his partner's almost exactly as she fired the final round in her magazine and stepped forward to place the gun on the lane table, facing down range just like Steve had taught her before turning around to face her uncle, a wide, happy grin on her face as she removed her ear muffs and eye protection, Steve doing the same. "Good?"
"Great, Gracie. How do you feel?"
"Good – shakey, a little, but good. Can I shoot again?"
"Yea, you can shoot again; what do you think we're here for huh? You only get better at this by doing it a lot and we're not gonna stop at just one magazine," Steve tweaked her pony tail and moved towards the Glock. "You remember how to reload?" When Grace bit her lip, Steve waved her over. "This is a Glock 19, a Generation 5; it's a semi-automatic firearm, you remember what that means?"
"One trigger pull, one bullet, right?"
"Exactly. In most semi-automatic pistols, once you've fired the final round, the slider, this part here," he picked up the Glock and handed it to Grace, wanting her to get used to holding the weapon at rest as well as when she was firing it, and laid his finger against the top of the barrel, "will lock in the open position. You see how there's an opening right there? If there were still a bullet in the chamber, that's exactly where it would be, and you would know that the gun was still loaded, that it still had another round to fire off. But because you've fired all of the rounds, the slider is locked open, and we know that the chamber is empty." He looked at her. "Does that mean your magazine is empty?"
"Uh…yes?" Grace looked at him sheepishly. "That sounds like a trick question." Steve couldn't help but snicker a bit.
"Yea, it's a trick question – the answer is actually no. If you cycle your weapon and no bullets come into the chamber, what that means is that your magazine should be empty, but sometimes, tools malfunction, right? It's like a car; sometimes you put the key in the ignition to turn over the engine, but the car doesn't cut on because the battery doesn't have a charge. Sometimes the magazine won't feed the bullet into the chamber correctly, so that's why you always need to check, and it's one of the many reasons why you always, always treat every single gun as if it were loaded. You never take anyone's word that a firearm isn't loaded, Gracie, alright? No one's – not mine, not Danno's, nobody's." Grace nodded her head, following along quietly, gun still in her hand and pointed at the floor while Steve's fingers moved around the exterior of the firearm, pointing out various things to her.
"That button right there is your de-mag button; push that, and the bottom of your magazine will pop out." He nodded at Grace to do so, and it took a bit of finagling on her part as her hands were small and her fingers weren't yet used to the anatomy of a gun, but soon enough the button was being pressed and the magazine was popping out. Grace slipped it out the rest of the way and placed it on the table.
Steve took her through the motions; turning the safety on, showing her a full magazine, watching as she inserted it and then pressed the button to de-mag a few times, practicing loading and unloading. When her finger slid off the side of the gun and onto the trigger, Steve stopped her, pointing it out.
"That right there is why the safety is always on when you're loading or not using your weapon," Steve slid her finger back to the side of the gun. "Your finger never goes on the trigger until you're ready to shoot, and you're never ready to shoot until you've put eyes on your target and cleared everything behind it, alright?" At her apologetic look, he tugged on her pony tail again. "You're learning, Grace, okay? This is a lot of information to take in and you're not going to get all of this in just a few hours. Gun safety, firing a gun, loading it, cleaning it, maintaining it on the range and off – these are all things that come with a lot of time and a lot of practice. You'll get there; okay?" His hand touched her cheek and she nodded, smiling back at him and not looking quite so abashed. Steve nodded firmly. "Load it."
Steve watched carefully as Grace loaded the magazine and packed it against her palm firmly once or twice to ensure it was snugly inserted within the firearm before racking the barrel back and placing the gun on the table. She slipped her eye and ear protection back on and looked at Steve, who did the same and gave her a nod of encouragement along with the 'okay' sign, and it was off to the races after that.
Grace went through three more magazines before she was ready for a break. Her hands were slightly stained with gun residue and both she and Steve smelled of cordite (which was sure to bring on a headache for Grace later since she wasn't used to the potent odor), but they were both grinning like idiots as they stepped off the lanes and into the corridor of a gun club frequented by Pearl Hickam and HPD personnel, making sure to secure all of Steve's gear, including his firearms, in the locker they'd been allotted.
"I'm really glad I came here with you, Uncle Steve," Grace tugged at the Velcro on her vest, pulling it off as she spoke while Steve left his own vest on. At this point, wearing protective gear was like wearing normal clothing to him, and he didn't see the point in shrugging it off when he was just going to put it back on in an hour or so. "I'm glad you came here too, Grace. Learning how to handle and shoot firearms is a good thing to know; are you liking it so far?"
"Yea," she shrugged, "I mean, I feel a lot more comfortable around a gun now than I did before we started today. Whenever I saw Danno's gun at home, I just… you know, I tried to stay away from it." She followed Steve into the club café and folded her vest against her middle as she looked at the sandwiches before choosing one, Steve doing the same. Once they were seated and had gotten a few bites into their lunches, Grace bit her lip.
"Did Danno say if he was going to stop by at all?" Her voice was hesitant. Steve didn't blame her. Grace might be here with him at the range learning how to shoot guns, but it was with a blessing given very, very begrudgingly by one Danny Williams, who was steadfast and resolute in his opinion that his daughter had no need to ever know anything about guns, let alone shoot them. It was more than enough for Danny that Grace had to see him with a gun when they were at home. "I mean, he told me he might be able to stop by, but…" she shrugged, and Steve swallowed his food, sighing inwardly.
"This is hard for him, kiddo." Steve's voice was gentle, and infinitely understanding. For all of Grace's kindness and sweetness, and for however much she was a girl who wore dresses and got her nails done every week and hated bugs, her stubborn streak was as vicious as her father's, and that was fine when she and Danny were on the same page. It was when they had different points of view that it became a contest of wills. Steve could say with a straight face that at least half of the time, he had no idea whether father or daughter would bend first in a disagreement between the two.
"I don't understand why; it's just a gun," Grace shrugged, "he uses one for work, he carries one every day, he's used lots of different guns and rifles. I don't get why he's so against me learning how to use one. If anything, I thought he'd be happy that I'm trying to learn how to protect myself, especially at UH."
"I think it's more about just the gun," Steve snagged a chip from her plate. "You know, Gracie, your dad has seen a lot of things. He's watched a lot of people get hurt by guns, he's seen a lot of people killed by guns. He knows the damage they can do, how quickly a life can be taken by a gun. It's irreversible, you know? And it's so quick," he snapped his fingers, "once that bullet is out of the chamber, you can't take it back."
"But I'd be using it to defend myself," Grace reasoned, "I'm not going to take it out and show it to my friends at a party or let them shoot it, you know?"
"I know," Steve nodded, "but I think Danno has always regarded guns as a necessary evil. You know, your father is as comfortable with a gun or a rifle as I've ever seen anyone, but he doesn't like them. They're a tool to him, an essential part of his job so that he can go home to you and Charlie every night, but I think if Danny had the choice, if the world allowed it, he wouldn't carry one. Me, on the other hand, I love guns; always have. I grew up with them, I was around them from a very early age, me and Mary both. When I went into the Navy and then SEAL's, it got worse – or better, depending on your view point – from there."
"Yea, Danno told me about the time when you blew up a pawn shop with a grenade," Grace rolled her eyes. Steve grinned; he held that as a fond memory for a number of reasons, not the least of which was Danny's sputtering offer to pay for a therapist if only Steve would go see one. "I still say that was necessary, and it got us what we needed in the end. Anyways," Steve cleared his throat, "you and Charlie are the most important people in Danny's life, but more than that, you two are the purest things in his life. And I think he doesn't want to taint that purity, that innocence, by placing a gun in your hand. You know, Gracie, it's one thing to own a weapon, to have it sit in your gun locker, waiting for the day when you have no choice but to use it. It's a different thing all together to actually draw down on someone and mean it when you tell them that you will kill them to defend yourself."
"I don't want to kill anyone," Grace murmured, looking down at her plate. Suddenly, she wasn't feeling all that hungry.
"Of course you don't; you're a good person, a gentle person with a good heart. People like you don't want to hurt anyone, let alone kill them," Steve explained, "and Danny knows that about you. You get a lot of that from him. He never wants you, or Charlie for that matter, to have to make that decision. It's hard to live with, kiddo. You can justify the kill from here to the Mainland – you were protecting yourself, you were protecting your family, the person that broke in would have hurt you if you hadn't shot them – but if the day comes where you have to go for your gun, if the day comes where you have to shoot someone to save your life or the lives of your family, all of the rationalization and logic in the world won't save you from having to live with the knowledge that you ended a life." Steve watched as Grace digested his words, rather than the food she was currently nudging around on her plate. When he'd agreed to bring Grace to the gun range, when Danny had, with a great amount of hesitancy, given him permission to do so, Steve had made the decision to be brutally honest with Grace about what it meant to not only shoot a firearm, but to own one should she ever make the decision to do so. He refused to sugar coat any of the dangers or responsibilities for her. In his opinion, playing down the danger of guns and not properly instructing individuals about firearms and the real-world consequences of using them was a major contributing factor to the carefree attitude permeating the modern-day culture regarding guns.
"How do you deal with it then?" Steve looked up at Grace, her question surprising him. "Killing," she clarified, looking him in the eye. "I mean… I know you have," she swallowed and scratched idly at her arm. "But you don't seem – you don't act like you have."
Steve was so not ready to have this conversation; not with Gracie, not with anyone, really, no one except-
"Well, well, well, look who decided to show up," Steve nodded at something behind Grace and the girl lookd over her shoulder to see her Danno striding towards her, gun on his hip, a hint of apology in his swagger as he approached with his hands in his pockets. Grace, clearly surprised, turned around and smiled, the previous conversation obviously forgotten, and Steve was quite thankful for that. Danny's hand landed on the back of Grace's neck and she leaned into it, happily so. "You came," was her quiet exclamation as she lifted up an arm to hug Danny, who leaned down to kiss her cheek. "Yea, I came, Monkey," he pulled out the chair next to Grace at sat down. "I just needed a little while to get my head out of the sand is all."
Steve mouthed the word 'ass' to Grace, who laughed. Danny scowled. "Animal," he muttered, "no using that language around my daughter please. She's a lady, alright?"
"Technically I didn't use any language since I didn't say anything, but point taken," Steve grinned. "The lady has a heck of a shooting arm, by the way."
"Well of course she does, she's a chip off the old block," Danny beamed, certain that he had everything to with how well Grace had done so far.
"Do you want to watch?" Grace's question was a cautious one, and Steve couldn't say that he blamed her, but Danny just nodded readily and stood up, grabbing her vest for her and her plate. "I do, very much. I want to make sure that this Army brat is teaching you proper mechanics."
"It's Navy SEAL, actually, and my mechanics teaching is just fine, thank you," Steve got up to follow them out, dumping his and Grace's trash right after Danny as the trio headed out of the café and back to the firing lanes. A brief stop by the lobby's front desk to pick up some eye, ear, and vest protection for Danny, and they were soon back on the firing line, Steve hanging back while Grace showed her father exactly what she'd learned in the few hours she and Steve had spent at the range together. Danny was resolved to show nothing but interest and pride, and Grace did her best to forge ahead and ignore his discomfort. They were both trying, Steve could tell, and when Grace finally turned her back and stepped up to the line, assuming a ready stance, Danny was able to show some of the apprehension he'd been holding in. Steve didn't say anything, but he saw his partner start just a little when the first shot rang out.
Steve leaned in close to Danny. "We just worked on getting her comfortable with firing today," he said, a way of explaining Grace's wide shots. "I showed her the sights, told her the theory on how to line them up, but today isn't about hitting the target. It's just about getting comfortable with shooting."
"Yea," Danny murmured, watching his daughter with rapt attention while his jaw clenched over and over. Grace finished with one magazine, flipped the safety on, and pressed the button to de-mag the Glock before processing a full clip into the firearm, cycling the barrel once to load the chamber, and flipping the safety off. Gun shots blasted once more, and Danny huffed a breath, tilting his head up towards Steve's ear. "I should have been the one to take her and teach her. I should've swallowed any issues I had and been a man and taken my baby girl to the range and taught her how to shoot so that she could feel safe." He felt Steve shrug against the back of his shoulder. "What?"
"You're being too hard on yourself," Steve answered.
"No, I am not being too hard on myself, Steven. My daughter, who trusts me, who should be able to rely on me to teach her things like this, important things like how to fire a gun, had to go to her uncle and ask him to teach her because I flat out refused," Danny wagged his finger as he continued. "And then, that same uncle had to come to me and ask my permission to take her to the range because her own father was too hung up on the image of his little girl holding a firearm that he couldn't do it himself. No, I am not being too hard on myself." Danny sagged a little, leaning into Steve, who took his weight just as easily as he'd brought Grace to the range; willingly, with no complaints. "My kid asked me to teach her to protect herself and I told her no."
"Danny come on, you didn't tell her that," Steve watched as Grace went through the motions of unloading and reloading the gun again before firing off once more. "How you feel about guns – you understand them better than most people. Guns are quick, they're easy, they're empowering, but they're also final. You understand that. You don't want Grace to ever have to make that choice and live with the consequences after. There's nothing wrong with that, Danny."
Steve didn't have to say the name that he knew was rattling about in both his and Danny's heads. Marco Reyes would haunt Danny for the rest of his life, not because Danny had killed him, but because Danny had executed him. It was needed, it was necessary, it was wholly justified, but Danny had taken the law into his own hands and had signed Reyes's death warrant. He'd been judge, jury, and executioner. It was the only way it could have ended after Grace's name had passed through Reyes's lips one too many times, and after Reyes had murdered and dismembered Matt, Danny could not and would not take the chance that the same would happen to his daughter. So, he'd shot him, point blank range, right through the forehead, had ordered Reyes to look at him as he did.
Grace depleted her final magazine and after she'd fired the last bullet and gone through the de-mag routine, she put the Glock on the table facing down range and turned to the two men standing behind her. Danny instantly plastered a smile to his face and held out an arm to wrap around her as Grace stepped into him for a hug. "How do you feel, Monkey?"
"Good," she nodded, wrinkling her nose, "I mean, I smell like… what's that stuff you said before, Uncle Steve?"
"Cordite," he supplied easily.
She nodded. "I feel a lot more comfortable now, and I'm not afraid of the kick anymore."
"Recoil," Danny grinned, "if you're gonna start shooting guns, you're gonna have to start using the correct terminology." He planted a kiss on her head. "I guess while I'm here I can get some range time in too."
"Which one of you is better?" The question was sudden, but if Danny wasn't mistaken, he saw a glint of mischievousness in his daughter's eyes.
"I'm wounded, Grace, that you could even ask such a question. I'm your father, I've been a cop for 20 years, I've scored no less than 98 percent on my quals for the last 18 years, and you're asking who's better," he snorted, shaking his head. "Me, okay? I'm better than GI Joe over here any day."
"No doubt that you are better than GI Joe, Danny, but he was Army, and I'm Navy, and, well," Steve shrugged, tossing Danny a challenging look, "our standards are just a bit higher."
"Yea? Alright, well, run up to the lobby and grab two fresh targets and we'll see about those standards of yours." The request was a subtle one for Steve to take a hike for just a few minutes, and once he was off the line and the door had closed, Danny slipped his hands in his pockets and stuck his bottom lip out, the way he often did when he was contemplating how to say something that needed to be said. Grace bit her lip, and Danny could see immediately that she thought the problem was her; her being here, at a gun range, learning how to shoot a Glock. That wouldn't do.
"I'm sorry, Grace." She looked confused, so he pressed on. "I should have been the one to take you here, to teach you when you asked."
"Dad, it's fine," Grace shook her head, but Danny did the same. "No, it's not fine. You shouldn't have had to ask Uncle Steve to bring you and Steve shouldn't have had to come to me to ask for permission. You're my daughter; it's my job to teach you these things when you ask, and I was so caught up in my own feelings on seeing you with a gun in your hand that I just…" he shrugged, words failing him for a moment. "I live with some pretty hard memories, Grace. I don't want you to ever have to know some of the things that I know. And I guess I thought that telling you 'no' when you asked me to bring you here, to teach you, was my way of protecting you from that, but what I was really doing was taking away the choice for you to make on how you think it's best for you to protect yourself."
God bless his daughter, but she was perfect, and Danny to this day had no idea how he and Rachel had created two such amazing, flawless children. Grace walking over to him and hugging him, telling him softly, "It's okay, Danno," was the best absolution he could hope for, and he breathed deeply and held her tightly. They were probably quite a sight on the security cameras, but hell of Danny gave a damn. He pulled away just a bit, enough to look at her. "You know that you shouldn't just rely on a gun, though, right? The gun, Grace, that should always be your last resort, the choice you make when you have no other choice, okay?"
"Uncle Steve said he had friend who boxed when she was in college and that he'd ask her to show me some moves."
"Ellie?" Danny wrinkled his brow as Steve walked back in, two targets in tow and grinning like a mad man, because of course he was, of course Steve McGarrett was chomping at the bit to have a shooting competition with his partner. "You're gonna get Ellie to get Grace in a boxing ring?"
"Yea," Steve walked to the line and punched a button, bringing the target rack forward on one lane and snapping the large paper into place, then doing the same for the next lane over. "Ellie boxed in college, and she was really good at it; gives me a run for my money any day. She's perfect to teach Grace."
"Uh-huh," Danny ambled up, unholstering his own service pistol and setting it on the lane table in front of him. "What happened to you being so pro UFC?"
"You want Gracie in the octagon, Danny?" Steve gave his partner an incredulous look. "Boxing will teach her how to move, how to throw different punches, how to block, all that good stuff. You should be happy; Boxing is actually useful right now, be grateful."
Grace wisely put her eyes and ears back on, which blocked out part of the incessant arguing that her father and uncle seemed to engage in on an hourly basis and slotted her fingers in the 'v' of her vest as the two men in front of her put on their own protective gear. "Gracie," Steve racked the barrel of his trusty Sig back. "Call out a stand by and then a three, two, one, fire."
"And pray for Uncle Steve, Grace, that I don't embarrass him on this line today." Danny grinned, his own firearm at the ready, waiting for Grace to count them down.
"You got the H&K or the Smith and Wesson today?"
"Doesn't matter, Steve," Danny refused to be deterred from his mission, and his mission currently was to make Steve McGarrett cry like a little girl when he ran up the score. "Either one, I can still kick your ass."
"Hey, there's a lady present."
"She's wearing ear protection, you-"
"Fire!"
For the rest of the afternoon, nothing but banter, gunshots, and laughter came from the firing line, and even Danny had to admit as they packed up at the end of the day that it had been pretty perfect time. He'd even been able to teach Grace about sighting and had watched her put ten bullets center mass and two bullets in the center target with his guidance. To say he was proud was an understatement, but more than that, it was an absolute joy to see a new brand of confidence take root in his daughter.
"Can we do this again? Soon?" Grace was so hopeful, and this time Danny didn't hesitate to tell her that, yes, of course they could do this again, whenever she wanted. Steve hung back, happy to watch father and daughter finally come to a meeting of the minds, and once Grace drove away, back to her dorm room with her first target packed up in her backseat, he stepped behind Danny and nudged him with his shoulder. "You did good, Danno."
"Yea, I guess it all worked out in the end. Thank you, for bringing her here, teaching her. I owe you so much ammo, but thanks all the same."
"You don't owe me any ammo, Danny, please, alright?" Steve shook his head. "You of all people should know how much ammunition I have at the house." He said it as if it were the most normal thing in the world, but Danny blinking at him like a guppy fish made him second guess that belief. "What?"
"I thought you bought her ammo here, you lunatic! What do you mean I should know how much ammo you have at your house?! I've never done an inventory of your place, are you kidding? What, does your house double as a beach front property with a munitions dump in the basement? You got an asset tagging system in place I don't know about?"
"Danny, don't be ridiculous, I don't put my munitions in the basement. It's not climate controlled down there, and it gets too clammy and moldy." At this point, Steve was having some fun at Danny's expense. He knew it. Danny knew it. It was how they were. "Hey, if you want, I can take you home and show you my guns over a beer."
Danny turned red. "That better not have been a pick-up line," he eventually managed. Steve just offered another cheeky grin. "Would you rather it was?" He laughed when Danny turned right around, shaking his head and walking towards his Camaro as Steve reached for his driver's side door. "See you back at my place, Shnookums!"
Danny flipped him off as he got in the Camaro.
Steve snickered as he climbed in his truck, heading for home.
All was right in the world.