Disclaimer: See initial chapter.
A/N:This story is more heavily fluff than anything else. Cholo's Homestyle Mexican (they have a facebook page with wonderful pics/vids of the North Shore - check it out) is a nice place for lunch or dinner, the Li Hing Mui Margaritas are good – huge, but good – and so is the food. Visit Hale'iwa if you're ever on island.
Danny has inherited his mother's precognitive abilities, and while he supposes that he should be happy that he's the first male recipient in a long line of female ancestors to receive the 'gift', it isn't exactly one that he feels really comfortable having.
If it was normal, everyday precognition, Danny's sure that he'd embrace it with greater enthusiasm. But, it isn't your run-of-the-mill precognition that he's been gifted with, and, having to make a call to his cousin Claudia, or some distant relative to confirm what he's dreamt, can sometimes be very annoying, and at others, downright embarrassing.
He remembers one call in particular that he'd had to make to his Aunt Rose a few years back. Well into her fifties, she hadn't been too thrilled to receive, 'the call,' and had adamantly refused to believe him, stating that it was unnatural, and an abomination for a male, firstborn or not, to carry on the gift she herself had coveted from her sister.
Two weeks later, after visiting her doctor, she'd called back and apologized for all of the names she'd called him and announced that, yes, she was pregnant…with twins. Just as Danny had dreamt – a boy and a girl, their tiny pink faces screwed up in mewling cries, dressed in cute little ducky outfits as they were packed into Uncle Carl's new sedan.
They'd both been named after him, even though he'd been vehemently opposed to it. But, the twins were dubbed Danson and Danica, and Danny was made their godfather. Considered blessings from heaven, the twins could do no wrong. They were twin terrors is what they were.
He'd made countless calls over the years, because, his family was downright huge, and apparently they multiplied like bunnies. There were an inordinate amount of children running around with his namesake, whether a cleverly fashioned version of the name Daniel, or just the use of Dan or Daniel as a middle name. He pitied them, but his mother, and grandmother assured him that it was just their way of paying homage to him. That, and elaborate gifts he received on his birthday and Christmas from family members and their kids.
He was named after his grandmother, Daniela, who predicted his birth a full year before his mother conceived. It was solely his grandmother's dream which kept his mother from despairing when it appeared that she couldn't have children.
Most of the time his dreams only involved family members, and mostly consisted of those which would be considered 'miraculous' (and, seriously, how many 'miraculous' births could one family have?). They were births which were completely unexpected due to age, medical condition, because both partners were of the same gender, and so on and so forth. For Danny it felt like an endless stream of reasons for whatever deity had deemed fit to gift him with this 'ability' to predict future births , but his mother and grandmother were tickled pink by it all, especially when he told them that he sometimes dreamt of pregnancies that were non-family related.
He never really knew what to do when that happened, because he really had no desire to be viewed as a 'freak' by the public at large, and he usually got these precognitive dreams while working a case, or shortly after wrapping up a case. All he had to do was meet a person once, and he could be subjected to a psychic baby dream, and the overwhelming desire to tell the prospective parents about their upcoming bundle of joy, because apparently he'd inherited his mother's do-gooder conscience as well.
A police detective, who could tell you that you were going to be the proud parent of a bouncing baby boy in a year and a half, and not to give up hope on the clinics and the treatments, was not exactly common in New Jersey. Well, not really anywhere for that matter.
More often than not, when he told the almost complete strangers about the dream he'd had (and no, he wasn't stupid, he didn't actually mention that he'd dreamt of it, just alluded to a 'feeling' or some such malarkey that he hoped the couple or individual would buy), they scoffed. A few had remembered him after the birth of the child that he'd predicted and that added to the pile of gifts and the number of children in New Jersey named Daniel or Danielle.
He learned, though, to tamper down on the pull to tell prospective parents. It hadn't been easy at first, but now, when he had dreams related to cases, he kept it to himself, because it really wasn't his business, and he was starting to question why the Universe would trust him with this knowledge in the first place. Surely there were far better candidates out in the world at large who would do a much better job at whatever the heck it was that he was supposed to be doing with this rather, in his opinion, useless, gift.
"Danno." Steve's voice breaks through Danny's internal musings, and for once he's kind of grateful, because he can't seem to shake the images, courtesy of his latest dream, from his mind. "Wanna go grab some lunch?"
"Yeah, sure," Danny says, and he grabs his wallet and keys from his desk drawer and follows his partner out into the unseasonably warm afternoon air.
The heat's oppressive, and Danny can see a thick layer of vog hovering over the tops of the mountains. That, rather than his recurring dream of a tattooed man gripping the hand of a little dark-haired, blue-eyed boy, is probably what's been causing his headache.
The sound of laughter echoes in his head, vestiges of what he's taken to thinking of as 'the dream,' as he settles into the passenger seat of his car. He tosses Steve his keys; because that's just the way things are between them, and, really, he isn't in the right frame of mind to be driving right now. Not while he's trying to puzzle out the why of the dream that he'd first started having five years ago of a tattooed man, a little boy and him. All of them holding hands and laughing at something that was said, or maybe that they're seeing. The real kicker in all of this is that not only is he sandwiched in this picture with the boy and the man, but so is Grace, not as she was five years ago, but as she is now. And the dream has never wavered once, not in the five years that he's been having it off and on. Not once is he allowed a glimpse of the man's face – just the tattoos.
Danny casts a sidelong glance at Steve whose mouth is moving, and he realizes that he hasn't heard a word the man's been saying. He's been too preoccupied with his thoughts, with the resurgence of this dream that he'd thought was a thing of the past.
He hadn't had the dream for well over a year. He'd thought he was free of it, and whatever connection there was between himself, the little boy, the mysterious man, and Grace, until it started up four days ago, plaguing him every time he closed his eyes, even just to rest them. That hadn't happened the previous times that he'd had the dream – usually it was just a one-shot thing, and he'd puzzle over if for a day and then his thoughts would move onto other things.
"And you haven't heard a word I've just said, have you?" Steve turns to him and Danny feels guilty, because he has been ignoring his partner.
Danny shakes his head and digs a finger into his ear in an attempt to dispel the laughter that he can still 'hear' ringing in his head. "Sorry Steven that I cannot attend to your every whim; I've just been a little preoccupied lately."
Steve turns to face the road again, and Danny would be relieved if it wasn't for the way the muscles in Steve's jaw pop out. His partner's a study in tension. A tightly coiled cobra, ready to strike at the slightest provocation, and Danny's got to be the careful snake charmer, or he's going to be on the receiving end of a powerful bite – well-chosen words that will sting only because they'll be laced with cold, hard truth that Danny would rather not face right now.
Truths that he's been steadfastly ignoring for years, because of his grandmother and his mother assuring him that his dreams are a gift, and not a sign that he's suffering from a mental illness. Illusions of grandeur – godlike ability to predict the future, albeit an ability which is limited solely to that involving the propagation of the species – check; losing sleep because of recurring dreams – check; seeing faceless people – well, technically the man in his dreams was also headless, it was like he only got a clipped view of the stranger, like a picture that had been cropped wrong – check.
Everything points to something like schizophrenia or borderline personality. He knows, he's done the research into it, had started it in response to his first dream in spite of his mother's and grandmother's reassurance that he was perfectly normal.
"Preoccupied?"
Danny's certain that if Steven was facing him, he'd see the spark of anger in his partner's eyes. As it is, he can feel the tension coming off of Steve.
"I'd say that you've been more than just a little bit preoccupied lately Danny. This isn't the first time that I've tried talking to you, only to have you completely ignore me. What's going on? Is it Rachel? Grace? Me?" Steve does face him then, and Danny's taken aback by the hurt that he reads in his friend's eyes. "Is it because of what I told you about..." Steve just gestures in the space between them.
Danny shakes his head. "No, no it's not that. I mean, I have no idea how I feel about that particular revelation, and it's not every day that one's very masculine, not to mention, macho, partner comes out to him as bi and interested, but honestly this," Danny gestures to his own head, "has nothing to do with that." He swings his arm in Steve's direction, regretting that he's inadvertently let it swing lower than it really should have, so that it looks like he's pointing toward the man's groin, which, given the circumstances is more than a little awkward and blush inducing.
"So, this new thing you have of ignoring me has nothing to do with the fact that I asked you out on a date?" Steve's voice drips of disbelief, and he catches Danny's eyes in the rearview mirror, daring him to say differently.
"I'll have you know, Steven, that you are not the first man who I've turned down for a date. As a matter-of-fact, there've been…"
"So, you're saying there've been others, and you've turned all of them down?"
"Not all of them," Danny says, mostly to himself, and he's thinking about one man in particular – persistent, dark-haired, and olive-skinned, good kisser – but Steve has ears like a bat's radar, and if the downward turn of his lips is anything to go by, the big guy's pouting.
"Well, that's different."
"I told you, I had too much on my plate to give you an answer right now," Danny says, and he leans back in the seat and pinches his nose, because his headache has gotten worse.
When he glances at his partner's reflection in the rearview mirror, there's a hint of a smile on the man's lips, and Danny inwardly groans, because that means that at some point in time, he's going to actually have to go on a date with the man. Not that he's opposed to it, but he's just not sure it'll work out all that well.
They're like oil and water, rather more like electricity and water. There might be sparks, but in the long run, someone's going to end up getting burned. And, he suspects that someone would be one, Daniel Williams, and he isn't quite sure what would be left of him in the wreckage if he and Steve crashed and burned.
"So, that means that you'll be able to give me an answer…"
"Steven, don't press your luck," Danny interrupts his partner before he can go any further, because his headache's bordering on a migraine. "I realize that I'm irresistible, but…try to keep your hands off of me, would you?" Danny bats at Steve's hand when the man places it against his forehead.
Steve's hand stays right where it is, and Danny rolls his eyes when his partner frowns. "No fever." Thankfully Steve pulls his hand away, but manages to squeeze Danny's shoulder before his hand returns to the steering wheel.
"Stop pawing at me," Danny says, brushing off his shoulder, because he wasn't quick enough to slap Steve's hand away, "we haven't even gone on a date yet, and here you are, trying to get to second base."
"So, where do you want to go?" Steve asks, and his voice is way too happy.
Danny glances in the rearview mirror and sees that Steve's grinning like a baboon – all teeth (long incisors that Danny imagines would leave an impressive mark on lightly tanned skin), pink gums, and the man's completely insane. He quirks an eyebrow and shrugs. Truth is that he hasn't really given much thought as to where he wants to go for lunch. Usually Steve makes a suggestion, or Kono or Chin shouts out an order, but, now that he actually stops to think about it, when Steve asked him out to lunch, both Kono and Chin had been strangely absent.
"Wait a minute," Danny says, fanning his hands out, "this isn't…" and really, he's got to be wrong about this, because Steve wouldn't stoop this low, would he? "This isn't supposed to be a date is it?"
The look on Steve's face is a little too innocent to be believed and Danny points a finger at his partner's reflection in the mirror and shakes his head when Steve shrugs his shoulders and says, "Maybe…no, uh yes, okay, not really, I just, well, I, and actually itwasKono'sidea, to you know, get you out of the office on my own and…"
Danny laughs, and the look that Steve turns on him is a mixture of hurt and embarrassment. The man's actually blushing – the tips of his ears are full on red, and his cheeks are a little flushed – but he's doing his best to pull off nonchalance, and it's rather endearing. Danny thinks that, maybe, he just might be willing to forgive the man, after he's ripped him a new one, that is.
"And what, you'd just have your wicked way with me, or maybe I was supposed to fall madly, deeply in love with you like I'm the female lead in some silly romantic sitcom, and you're the leading man? Was that the plan Steven? Because I've got to tell you if that's the best that you and a scheming Kono have got up your sleeves, it's a safe bet that you and I will not be going down that road anytime soon."
And now Steve is pouting, Danny can see it out of the corner of his eye, and he feels just a little stab of remorse, but seriously? Kono and Steve working together to bamboozle him to go on a date, that' just a little over the top, even for his boss and their eager to please rookie.
"Look…" Danny sighs, raises his hand mid-way between them, because he's kind of not sure how to phrase this next bit, and he doesn't want to let Steve in on that little secret, that he doesn't always have the right words for each and every occasion.
"It's not that I don't…like you, or anything. And, I'm not offended by you asking me out, but this, what you and Kono have cooked up, babe, it borders on kidnapping, and, while I'm flattered that you want to, how did you phrase it, 'give us a go,'? I've just got a lot, as I said, on my plate right now, and…" he makes the mistake of catching the reflection of Steve's eyes in the mirror, and discovers that, sadly, Grace is not the only one gifted with irresistible puppy dog eyes which means that, if anything does happen between Steve and him, he is a goner.
"Fine, I'll go on a date with you, but not now. I want a real date, with flowers," he holds up a forestalling finger when Steve opens his mouth, "okay, no, no flowers, because I'm not the girl in all of this. I want a real date, at a fancy restaurant; scratch that, burgers and beers at some place on the North Shore." Danny finishes with a flourish of his hands and a stab of his finger that doesn't quite hit Steve in the chest.
"Burgers and beers?" Steve asks, smiling. "You sure Danno? No big bouquet of roses and a box of chocolates, maybe a teddy bear with a blue bow? Not some fancy restaurant on Maui where they serve lobster and veal, or something exotic like water buffalo?"
"Water buffalo? Do they have places that actually serve water buffalo in Hawaii?" Danny turns to look at Steve. "And who in their right mind eats water buffalo?"
"Lots of people Danny," Steve says seriously, but he's smirking.
"Okay, so say there're an indeterminate amount of connoisseurs of water buffalo cuisine currently living on the island of O'ahu. I, Steven John McGarrett, am not one of them."
Danny crosses his arms over his chest, and realizes that his headache's now just a light buzz at the edges of his temple, and that, somehow, his partner has managed to take his mind off of that stupid, chronic dream that hasn't got a chance in hell of coming true, because he doesn't know any tattooed men that he's even remotely close to, other than Steven. And there's no way that he and Steven are going to adopt a five year old boy. Not in this lifetime.
"So, burgers and beers," Steve says, "how's tonight sound? Nineteen hundred hours?"
Danny shakes his head, plucks at a piece of black thread on his shirt and frowns as he dangles it from his fingers and lets it fall onto the floor of the car before he turns his gaze to Steve once again. "Not one of your Army buds here Steven; you've got to speak plain old American English if you want to date me. What time is that by normal standards anyway, five or six?"
"Subtract twelve from nineteen and you get seven. Seven o'clock, Danny. And, it's Navy, not Army, but you already know that, because god knows that I've said it to you a million and one times if I've said it once," Steve says around a frown. "And, if you're not dead-set on burgers and beers, there's this Mexican place in Hale‛iwa, Cholo's, that's got a pretty mean Li Hing Mui Margarita."
"Cholo's?" Danny mouths, "You planning on getting me drunk so that you can take advantage of me? On our first date?" Danny raises an eyebrow and shakes his head. "And, tonight?" Danny rubs at his temples, hoping to get rid of the rest of his headache. "A little short notice don't you think?"
"We can do this another night if you aren't feeling well."
Though Danny's no longer looking at Steve, he can feel his partner's eyes on him. He can picture the look on the man's face, and knows that Steve's wearing his, deep-frown-of-concern-face, or something Danny would totally cleverly name were this ongoing headache a little less clingy.
"No, no, I'm fine, just a headache, it's better now," Danny says, and even though his headache isn't completely gone, he musters a tight smile, and looks at Steve. "You know, we're supposed to be going to lunch, and here we are talking about dinner. How about if we make it through the afternoon first and then I'll go to dinner with you, alright?"
Steve nods, but Danny can tell that there's something else on his partner's mind in the way the muscles of Steve's jaw tense. "You're sure that it's just a headache? Because seems to me that 'round about the time I asked you out, you've been oddly preoccupied…"
Danny cuts in before his partner can get to the crux of the matter, because he really doesn't want to let Steve in on his odd family secret, or the fact that he could possibly be mentally ill. "Steven, look, what's on my mind has nothing to do with you. Believe it or not, my world does not revolve solely around you and your various agendas. I had a life before I met you, and…seriously, we're going to Kamekona's shrimp truck for lunch today? Someone sure knows how to wine and dine the object of their affection. "
"Look, you don't want to go out with me, just say so Danny. I like Kamekona's shrimp; you didn't tell me where you wanted to go for lunch, so I made an executive decision." Steve's face is an emotionless mask.
"Executive decision," Danny repeats, and he puts his hands on the dashboard, blinks at the too bright sunlight streaming in through the windshield as his headache spikes. He should've known that it was too good to be true, that his headache would disappear. "Executive decision, see, that, right there, Steven, is why this," he gestures between them, "won't work."
"Fine, it won't work. Do me a favor and forget I even asked you out in the first place. I'm going to get out of the car and get lunch. If you want to join me, you know where I'll be." Steve pulls the door open and steps out of the car in one, jerking movement, and then he strides, with purposeful steps, toward the truck.
Danny deftly removes his seatbelt and scrambles out of the car after Steve, because, "Hey, I didn't mean…"Danny's hurried words, shouted at Steve's retreating back, are cut off by a sudden, high squealing sound of tires screeching against asphalt.
Thoughts? And yeah, Danny's kind of being a jerk right now. Please be kind and review (hmm... I am reminiscing about videotapes right now).
