Blame it On the Love of Rock and Roll

Danny had bought him a guitar. And it was not a cheap guitar.

Danny had bought him a guitar, even though their bickering had a bit more bite in it at the time. He'd bought it just because he wanted Steve to have it, to work through issues that not only held him back when he was younger, but in some ways still were.

That was not something friends did for each other. Not even best friends, not even for birthdays or Christmases. Maybe Steve started to have hope.

But then Colombia happened, and Catherine had shown up and there was Charlie and Lynn and Deb. It wasn't until Danny had given him half his liver – another amazing over-the-top gift – that Steve had been ready to think about those feelings again.

When he'd got home the night Danny gave it to him, he hid it way where he couldn't see it. Just thinking about it brought back all those teenaged feelings and threatened him with a panic attack. The problem was: he couldn't stop thinking about it, or at least, he couldn't stop thinking about the look on Danny's face when he'd given it to him – nerves and hope and love.

Danny never asked about it, but Steve was sure he saw his friend looking around for it whenever he was at the house. He knew that was the case when, one morning before work, Danny's eyes landed on the shiny guitar displayed prominently in the living room on a guitar stand Steve had just purchased for it. His friend's grin had been contagious.

It wasn't long after that when Steve finally plucked up the courage to actually strum it again. He couldn't remember any of the songs he'd learned as a kid, could barely remember chords, but he spent many nights just holding it and strumming it and getting used to the feel of it in his arms. He started to develop calluses on his hands that didn't match his gun grip.

He watched YouTube videos and bought sheet music and by the time Catherine returned, he'd learned several songs – no coincidence that his new repertoire only included Jersey natives.

And, okay, maybe one or two of the most Hawaiian songs he could think of, just to piss off Danny.

He never played for Catherine.

She saw the guitar, asked him to play her something. He refused.

The first time Danny heard him play, it was an accident. Catherine had arranged a girls' night out with some of her friends – looking back on it, Steve wondered if that had been the truth; he'd never even met any of her friends – and not expected back until the morning. He'd brought the guitar out to the chairs by the water to practice his newest Bon Jovi song.

At some point, Danny had come by – Steve never did learn why – and found him out back, perhaps led there by the music. He'd been smart and not made a noise to let Steve know he was there until he'd put the instrument down in its case.

Danny had slipped into his chair, took a beer out of the cooler at Steve's feet. "Bon Jovi, huh? Nice."

It had been the first mention of the guitar since he'd given it to him and the last of that night.

After that, however, it was open season for Danny whenever he was alone with Steve at the beach house.

"Cheer me up, babe," he'd say when his team was losing. "Play me something."

And Steve would play him something.

"Learn anything new lately, babe?"

"Uh, yeah. Maybe."

"Show me."

And Steve would show him.

The first time Steve played for Danny without prompting was a joke. Literally.

They'd been together about a month and were horsing around when Steve thought what Danny needed most was to be serenaded. With one of those Hawaiian ditties he'd learned for just such an occasion.

Danny's look of disgust quickly morphed into a smile so bright it made Steve stop playing for a moment. Steve smiled back, looked down, and started to play a ballad.

It was another five months or so before his audience of one grew again, to where it would stay – three. The only three that mattered to Steve – Danny, Grace and Charlie.

After that, music was a regular occurrence in the McGarret-Williams household. Charlie would always sit next to Steve and try to strum along with him, getting his fingers tangled with Steve's and with the strings. Eventually, Steve would just put the guitar on the floor and show him more or less where his fingers should go.

Charlie had no stage fright. When the Ohana was over for BBQ or parties, Charlie would get Steve to help him pull out the guitar and put it on the floor so he could strum and bang away on it, making his own music to entertain their friends.

And then one day...

Steve closed the door behind him and placed his purchase on the floor, then started toward the sounds coming from the kitchen.

"Hey, babe, I thought we'd have—" Danny started, until he actually looked up at Steve. "What did you do? You have I-blew-up-the-Camaro face."

"I didn't mean to do it!"

"You blew up the Camaro!" Danny dropped the knife he was holding on the counter.

"What? No! Danny, I—Come here." Steve took his hand and led him out to the living room. Danny stopped when he saw the guitar case sitting by the door. It was too small to be Steve's.

"What did you do?" He asked again, but it was softer this time and a smile was forming on his face.

Steve winced and turned to face his fiancé. The look he found on Danny's face was not annoyance or anger, but amusement.

"I—I didn't mean to." Amusement morphed into the only-for-Steve Goof-but-love grin.

"And how does one not 'mean to' buy a guitar, Steven?" They were still holding hands and Danny tugged him closer, running his thumb over Steve's knuckles.

"Well, I had to go to the music store to get new strings and I saw this guitar there, perfect size for Charlie and I thought, I mean, I don't care about him playing with mine, but I thought he seemed really interested and maybe he should have one the right size for him so I could teach—"

Danny wasn't the only one who could be effectively silenced with a kiss.

"You're amazing, you know that?"

"Huh?" Danny gave him another quick kiss and left him so he could take the guitar over to the couch and have a look at it.

"Why are you freaking out, babe?"

"I'm not fr—" he sighed. "Because we didn't talk about it. I should have asked you. Maybe you don't want him to have it. I can take it back."

"C'mere, you goof." Steve went, sitting next to Danny on the couch. "Charlie's going to be your son, too, officially, in about 27 days." And 15 hours and 17 minutes, but who was counting?

"Yeah, but, with Stan..." Danny blinked, furrowed his brow and then seemed to realize what Steve was talking about.

"Babe, babe. You are nothing like Stan, okay? I was really angry back then—"

Steve laughed. "I don't know whether to go with 'I hadn't noticed' or 'only back then?'."

"Har, har, you animal. Yes, I was angry. Stan was married to the woman I was still in love with and he'd dragged me halfway across the world to this rock and he was buying my daughter shit to make her like and him and to prove to everyone he was better than me.

"But I know you, babe. You bought this because you love Charlie and you wanted to do something nice for him. I can't wait to see his face and watch you teach him. Besides, I'm used to this by now. It's not like you asked before paying for that weekend with the dolphins when we barely knew each other."

Steve grinned. Why does he ever worry about these things? "I love you."

"Love you, too, you big gooey marshmallow." Danny pulled him closer, kissed him long and slow over the guitar.

"Now, one of us wants to buy something that's gonna break the bank, or is alive, or will give me a heart attack, then maybe we need to talk about that first.