Summary: A little bit of humor, a little bit of hurt/comfort and a whole lot of stinky, sweaty men. Just another Five-0 story in which one or the other of the Bromantically Challenged Duo may or may not be…a fruit.


THE RIPEST FRUIT


"Shit," Danny swore, grabbing his towel from the nearby stationary bike's handlebar-like contraption and mopping at his sweat-covered face and neck. "Why is it always when I'm in the middle of a workout?"

There wasn't time for a shower if the urgency in Steve's tone was any indication. Which meant that once again, Danny was going into a situation where he could be on-the-job for twenty-four hours or more until this latest kidnap victim was found, all without a shower to start it off.

He sighed and raced to his locker, where he threw on a clean pair of dress pants, grimaced as he pulled off his sweaty white exercise socks and shoes and put on his work ones, peeled his white V-neck tee shirt away from his body and reluctantly slid his arms into one in a long line of long-sleeved work shirts that he always rolled the sleeves up on.

"Why don't you just get short-sleeved ones?" Chin had asked one day when they'd been in the locker room together.

"I'm not going out and buying a whole new wardrobe for the sake of a state that can't even realize it's supposed to have four distinct seasons," was Danny's very typical and acerbic reply.

Luckily, Chin didn't give him shit about things like that. Not like Steve did.

Steve. This was all his fault. Danny didn't know why or how, but he was blaming the fact that he was hot, sweaty and now griming his work clothes up within thirty seconds of having put them on, on Steven J. McGarrett.

Just because.

"Fuck," Danny swore, pocketing his wallet and phone and realizing he didn't have his keys.

Which meant Steve had the Camaro.

Which meant Steve would be swinging by the palace to pick him up.

Which meant Steve would give him hell for his appearance.

Danny ran a hand through his hair. It had curled up pretty well during his workout – or what part of it that he'd gotten through anyway. Wouldn't lay down nice and neat for nothing.

Which meant Steve would be giving his 'do come-hither looks all damn day and night.

Danny sighed. How was it his life, he wondered, that he got saddled with the likes of a partner who at times was the girl in their work marriage, and at times was such an Alpha Dog that Danny just wanted to pull out his gun and shoot him?

He raced out of the basement gym locker room, up the steps and through the halls 'til he reached the front door. He burst outside into the hot afternoon sun, blinked, heard a familiar horn honk, and got eyes on his car.

His car.

That Steve was driving.

Of course he was.

Growling, he ran to the vehicle, opened the passenger door and slid inside, with Steve pealing out of the lot before he'd even gotten the door closed properly.

"Whoa," Steve said, then deliberately sniffed the air.

"Not one word, McGarrett," Danny said, holding up his left hand as he tugged at the seatbelt with his right. "Not one word."

Steve smirked.

Danny scowled.

Ah, just another day for the two figureheads of Five-0.

Danny sulked all the way to the crime scene.


Of course it turned out to be an extraordinarily hot day. Temps skyrocketing way too close to ninety when you had eighty percent humidity, in Danny's not-very-humble opinion. How the hell Steve managed to stay looking like he was encased in his own personal air-conditioned bubble was beyond him.

Especially when, after interviewing the fourth witness-slash-suspect of the day, the sun began to set and Danny looked like something the tide washed in.

Oh, God, now he was even thinking in island-dweller metaphors. He facepalmed.

"Danny?"

"Yes, O Maddening Partner of Mine," Danny deadpanned, looking up at the beanpole standing in front of him.

"Anything wrong?"

That smirk. Danny would love to wipe that smirk off Steve's face. "Nothing at all if you don't count the fact that my clothes are probably ruined by my own good sweat, plastered as they are to my flesh."

"Well, I wasn't going to mention it, but you are pretty ripe."

That was the last straw.

When, five minutes later, Chin and Kono approached Steve asking why he was standing there looking a little flummoxed and a lot abandoned due to the absence of both his partner and his partner's Camaro, Steve's only response was, "He needed to go home for a shower."

He didn't bother telling them that Danny had executed a ninja move even Steve was in awe of to remove the car keys from Steve's right thigh cargo pants pocket in less than five seconds flat.


Danny looked nice and fresh.

Well, as fresh as he could for six in the morning standing at the big touch-screen computer table with far-too-chipper teammates, that was.

He took a couple long pulls from his large cup of coffee courtesy the nearest Starbucks and Kono being sympathetic to people who weren't necessarily morning persons, gave her a grateful look and received a brilliant Kono Smile in return.

Okay, he liked Kono just fine. She was good people.

It was already eighty-five degrees outside. At six in the morning. So Danny, of course, felt the best course of action was for him to remain in the office chasing down leads and information by phone while the weirdoes who thought Hawaii was Paradise and called it Home chased people outside on foot in the heat and humidity.

This, he felt, was a brilliant plan.

Never mind the Kicked Puppy Look he got from Steve, as if to say, "But…but…you're my partner, you're supposed to…you know."

He had the ability to ignore Kicked Puppy Looks like nobody's business, did Danny Williams, and had largely become immune to his partner's various faces he liked to pull out and wear whenever he thought they might get him what he wanted.

Ha. Danny would not be swayed. Someone needed to be making all the phone calls, and there was no reason it couldn't be Danny, was the logic he used. Chin tried to diffuse the situation by telling Steve he'd be happy to go with him for the day, but Steve set his jaw, folded his arms over his chest and stubbornly announced he'd go alone, and in his own truck.

"Well," Danny said smugly as Steve stalked out of the bullpen, "I think Hell just froze over."

"I think you hurt his feelings, brah," Kono said. Danny shot her a look and she held up her hands defensively. "I'm just sayin'."

"Pfft," was Danny's eloquent reply. "I am not going out there in that heat with a man who's as likely to make me run twelve miles after his stupid ass chasing a suspect as he is to get me shot or thrown off a cliff. I will stay here nice and cool, safe and sound, free of your disgusting Hawaiian weather."

"You just don't like it when your hair gets wavy," Chin said sagely. "Trust me, I know what that's like."

"Yeah, but on you it looks hot. On me, it looks Twink."

Kono burst out laughing as Chin tried desperately to keep the Oh-No-He-Didn't look off his face. The cousins made their way to the double doors, Kono wiping tears of laughter from her face. "Good one," she threw back over her shoulder as they left.

Danny grinned. He had a whole backpack-full of one-liners like that. After all, he was from Jersey, Capital of Sark. He clapped his hands together and headed to his office, perfectly happy to be the guy doing paperwork today.