Author's Note: With sincerest apologies to Marriage Missions International, because I'm 100% certain this is NOT at all what they had in mind with their article "100 Ways You Can Love Your Husband HIS Way" found here: .com/100-ways-you-can-love-your-husband-his-way/ but I am just sick and twisted enough to use it for my own nefarious purposes. I will keep going on this until I've run through all 100 of them, so enjoy the ride!
Summary: They're partners, and a partnership is like a marriage, right? So why not explore what it takes to love your husband HIS way…Steve-and-Danny-style. Yes, there's cursing because if you know anything about cops and/or military men? …and I'm not CBS.
100 WAYS YOU CAN LOVE YOUR HUSBAND HIS WAY
Respectfully communicate with him.
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
"Do not tell me how I feel."
"Well, you obviously don't know how you feel. I'm trying to help."
"You are not helping. You are making me hate you even more."
"You don't hate me."
"You are infuriating."
"You are insane."
"You have a death wish."
"I do not."
"I don't care. Because I hate you. And I will no longer follow you into seemingly innocent warehouses so I can get shrapnel lodged in my shins. I will also no longer leave the vehicle when you decide to go into a den of thieves all by yourself with one handgun and a couple pocketed grenades. Furthermore, I absolutely, positively, refuse to move one inch from my car, which you never let me drive, until the entire complement of the Honolulu Police Department is sitting right here behind my very, very nice car…that you never let me drive."
"You're being unreasonable."
"I'm—I'm being…I'm being what the…you, my friend, how many times have I offered you shrinks?"
"I don't need a shrink."
"Well, I don't care."
"Yes, you do."
"Fuck you, McGarrett."
"Where are you going?"
"Our suspect, Danny. He's in that house. That one, right there. With the black shutters and the pink siding."
"I told you already. No. Not going. Who the hell puts pink siding on a house?"
"Matches the pink flamingoes on the lawn."
"Do not go up there, McGarrett."
"Come on, Danny, it's one guy in a house."
"Famous last words."
"Why…did you just say 'please?'"
"I did. I thought maybe if I asked nicely that my partner would come to the door to interrogate a harmless suspect with me."
"How many grenades you got on you?"
"Four. I doubled up since last time."
"Fine. Fine. Asshole. Because if I don't go, you'll go by yourself, and you'll wind up with a hole blown through your skull which might be an improvement to your mental capacity, I must admit, and the paperwork from that will drown me and then I'll be out of a job, too, and…fuck it. I hate you so much right now."
"No, you don't."
Let him know he's important to you.
"You know, the last time you took me on a hike to a place that held a very special corner of your heart from early childhood years, you wound up with a broken arm."
Steve groaned. "Please, God, don't remind me."
"What makes you think this time will turn out differently? Trouble just follows you, McGarrett."
"Hm," Steve said thoughtfully, stopping for a moment along the jungle path. "So I should start calling you Trouble, then?"
Danny rolled his eyes. "Okay, you know, that is so not funny right now as I'm sweating through what's left of my soaked tee shirt and my socks are so damp that my feet are sliding along the insides of my shoes."
Steve grinned. "The clearing is only about half a mile ahead."
They continued walking.
"So what it is it again that's so damned important about this clearing?"
Steve's face took on a wistful look. Danny kind of liked that look, because it meant nobody was in imminent danger of dying for at least the next three-and-a-half minutes.
"This was where my dad taught me to shoot. No tourists come out here, and no locals. We had a bunch of targets and he taught me everything there was to know about taking care of the weapons and shooting them, and we did it out here where there were only birds to scare."
Danny was a little surprised, given that McGarrett didn't usually say that many words in a single day, let alone devoted to a single thought.
"I didn't bring my gun."
"Not the point, Danny. Ah, here it is."
"Then what is the point?"
Steve shrugged as they entered the clearing. On the other side there still stood the well-constructed gigantic wooden sawhorses Steve and his father had made by hand, although whatever tattered target practice papers might've been left behind were long gone. Steve walked across the clearing and touched one of the sawhorses, then returned to where Danny was standing and crouched down. He eyed the long grass and suddenly began picking a few items up off the ground.
"What you got?" Danny asked, crouching down in front of Steve.
"Shell casings," Steve replied with a fond smile. "Here," he continued, holding out his hand upside-down.
Danny lifted his palm up to the bottom of Steve's hand and let Steve drop five different shell casings into it. "Nice array," Danny said, quickly determining what type of gun each bullet had come from. "Yours and your dad's, huh?"
"Has to be," Steve said. "Nobody else knows about this place."
"Well, here," Danny said, stretching his hand out toward Steve as they rose their full heights. "I'm sure you want to keep these for posterity."
Steve looked down, holding Danny's gaze for a few moments before turning his face back up to look at the sawhorses. "Naw," he finally said, voice quiet. "You keep 'em, Danno."
Danny looked at his partner strangely, then closed his hand around the casings and smiled.
Steve looked at him once more. "Ready to go?"
Danny nodded. And held those casings in his hand all the way back home.