Reason 7

They aren't shopping for a duvet cover, and they only help pick out polish only if it's for their weapon. Ironically, long fingernails can be among their weapons. Go figure.

He hears an Oooof! Figures it had to be from the bad-guy-of-the-week simply because even grunts and whooshes of air sound different coming from a Russian national.

Danny hates dark abandoned buildings. He really hates that a place like Oahu even has dark abandoned buildings, because really? Just...in the land of sunshine and pineapples. Yeah, serious non sequitur.

Of course, it doesn't help that it's nearly midnight, and then yep, right there, another Oooof!

Thing is, Danny's got no problems on the I'm-a-damn-good-cop front, not anymore. He knows he'd once told Steve that he likes to be reminded that he's good at what he does, and he does. The one thing that reminds him of that more than anything else, is Steve himself.

Danny ducks forward, peering around a corner. Coast is clear. Gun held out in front of him, he creeps down the hall. Two down courtesy of his partner, that meant three more to go. No problem.

POP! POP!

Two rounds, two more guys down. He's even on the body count. Danny smirks. Now it's a competition. Who'll take the last guy down, Steve or Danny?

He's aware on some level that the mere acknowledgment of the fact that this sort of thing has become a game to them should really, really bother him. Only he can't seem to make it, because either way, he gets a shit-eating grin out of Steve. Depending on which of them kicks the last guy's ass, he'll get either the Yes, I'm still a bad-ass mother fucker look, or the That's my partner look.

Danny likes them both, even though the latter's the better of the two since it's accompanied with the sort of pride Danny's used to seeing in his own face at Grace's piano recitals. Whichever he gets, it's a win all the way around. Another jackass off the streets of Hawaii so Gracie and all Hawaiians are safe; satisfaction that they're both good at what they do; and the grin...the reminder that Steve thinks so, too.

Yeah, round the corner, gun leveled, but the room's empty. Until he feels nails dig into the flesh of his arm, and in spite of the near-darkness, a glance down makes his breath hitch in his throat. And then he can't hold it in and outright laughs his ass off.

"Shut up!" Steve hisses, letting go of Danny's arm. "I thought you were the guy."

"I am the guy," Danny says, "just not the one you were looking for."

Okay, so Danny's wiping tear tracks from his cheek, but then he registers pain and looks down at his arm to find two tiny lines of red seeping through the sleeves of his dress shirt as Steve says, "Says who?" - only Danny can't remember what he said to prompt those two words.

"Really, Steve? You had to gouge my flesh with your fingernails?"

He can feel Steve's scowl as the two of them wait on either side of the room's doorway, guns raised. "It's not my fault your daughter talked me into polishing my nails with Sally Hansen Nail Strengthener!" he whispers fiercely.

Danny chuckles quietly. He hears a noise not too far away, and he knows their plan is working. "Well, after you spent thirty minutes helping her decide between the pink and purple duvet or the one with those kids from Shake It Up!, I think she figured she owed you."

Steve's huff makes Danny smirk as one black-shoed foot peeks its way through the door. Steve darts out and head-butts the unsuspecting felon. Danny moves in, using his right leg to sweep the guy off his feet. Good. Now he'd have a headache and his tailbone would be bruised.

"Think of it this way," Danny says, holstering his weapon as Steve does the same...and as the bad guy tries to crawl away from them. "Now you have a new weapon to add to your arsenal."

"New weapon?" Steve asks, cocking his head as Danny purposely falls hard onto the suspect's back, knee digging into his spine. Quick movements, snick, thwap, snap and the guy's wrists are cuffed behind his back.

"Yeah, Super SEAL," Danny says, levering himself up and yanking the bad guy with him. "Strengthened fingernails, courtesy of my clever daughter."

"You know," Steve says thoughtfully as they make their way down the hall, each of them alternately shoving the suspect ahead of them if he dares to slow down, "come to think of it-"

"And you will not tell my daughter about that new fact, thank you very much," Danny interrupts.

"On one condition, Danno."

He raises an eyebrow as they draw nearer the building's rear exit. "That would be?"

"That you never tell anyone I helped Grace pick out a fucking duvet."

Now Danny's laughing all over again. That's a promise he absolutely refuses to make.


Reason 8

They know that more important than the size of their weapon is how they use it. But they still like to carry big-ass weapons.

He's never seen anything like it.

It's big.

No...gigantic.

Who's he kidding? It's fucking huge.

He swallows hard as long fingers wrap around the hilt of the KA-BAR. He's absolutely certain he's never seen a knife that big, not even in his partner's hand.

Which is exactly where this one is.

And it's coming toward him.

Danny swallows again, eyes going wide. But he can't ask what Steve's doing because there are a couple pieces of duct tape preventing any sound except the grunt-snort he hears from his own nose.

That's when Danny sees his captor appear right behind Steve, fire ax raised high in the air. Danny jerks his head, his partner understands, and in a heartbeat a small Stinger Combat Dagger is unsheathed from the inside of Steve's forearm. Steve pivots and throws and the knife hits the spot right over his would-be murderer's heart.

The guy's face registers shock. The ax falls to the floor. The man's dead before he even hits.

Now Steve's turned and is walking toward him again, all business.

The KA-BAR and the hand holding it move quickly around to the back of the chair and without so much as a whisper, Danny's tied hands are free. The duct tape is ripped quickly from his stubble, and he thinks now he knows what Rachel endures getting her legs waxed.

Now the KA-BAR has sliced through the ropes at his ankles, and just like that, Danny's been rescued. He rubs his wrists and looks down at his still-crouching partner, face covered in black and green camo paint, a satisfied look in his eyes.

Danny has all sorts of questions, not the least of which was why use the biggest knife Steve probably owns...if you don't count the sword that goes with his Navy uniform as an even bigger form of one, that is...to free Danny rather than using it against the guy who'd kidnapped him to begin with.

Steve cocks his head and looks down at the KA-BAR. Danny wonders if Steve can suddenly read his mind, because as he sheaths the KA-BAR and rises to his feet, holding a hand out to help Danny up, Steve says, "It's not the size, Danno." Steve turns and funny enough, hasn't quite let go of Danny's hand. "It's how you use it."

Okay, that was just lame, Danny's brain supplies. He yanks his hand out of McGarrett's grip and shakes it like he's sure Steve must've broken every bone in it with his feather-light touch. "And you think it's always absolutely necessary," he grouses, "to use the largest weapon on your person at any given time, on me."

Somehow, Danny thinks, SEALs lose every bit of their scariness, even through camo face paint, when the face in question sports a sloppy, happy grin akin to that of a faithful Labrador Retriever. And then Steve just puts every I'm-trying-to-look-like-a-badass SEAL on Earth to shame when he waggles his eyebrows and says, "Don't I always, Danno?"

There's just no comeback for that one.