Summary: Steve meets Catherine's father with embarrassing consequences.

Note: Prequel to Made It to Dinner. Thanks to everyone who read that one and requested I write this meeting. I had so much fun with this – I hope it's at least half as much fun to read as it was to write.

First Impression

Captain Rollins approached the apartment door, raising his fist to knock but stopped suddenly at the sounds coming from inside. He heard the familiar voice of his only daughter, in a decidedly unfamiliar and rather breathless tone, "Higher, higher, there, there, yes, come on, almost, yes," interspersed with an unmistakably masculine series of grunts.

Without another thought he grabbed the doorknob, surprisingly unlocked, and burst into the room to see said daughter clad in a sports bra and shorts along with a shirtless man attempting to maneuver a large futon into the hallway that led to the bedroom.

"What the hell?" Captain Rollins exclaimed.

Catherine's head whipped around, though she managed to keep her grip on the futon. "Dad?!"

Completely shocked, Steve dropped the metal frame on his foot.

"Oh, f–" he swallowed a string of expletives, falling into the wall but managing to stay upright. "Mmmmmm!"

"Steve!" Catherine instantly set down her end of the futon, climbing onto it to reach him. Pushing her hair back she bent over to take a closer look. "Oh my God, I think you broke your toe."

"Mmmhmmm!" Steve grunted in agreement, bending at the waist and hitting the metal frame with a closed fist. She put a hand to his shoulder but glanced back at her father who had stayed in the doorway, taking in the scene.

"Dad, I didn't think you were getting in until tomorrow."

"Decided to surprise you," he said, stepping into the apartment and closing the door behind him.

"Mission accomplished," Steve muttered under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, sir," he gritted out.

"So this is the SEAL?"

"This is Steve," Catherine sighed. "He's on leave."

"Lieutenant Steve McGarrett, sir." Bracing himself against the wall, Steve stepped up onto the futon, cringing as he put weight on his injured foot.

"Get over here, Lieutenant," the older man instructed. Steve maneuvered around Catherine as she tried to steady him with a hand on each side of his waist. Once Steve had reached the other side of the futon, Captain Rollins pointed to a recliner in the corner of the room. "Have a seat. Catherine, you take that side," he continued, motioning to the far end of the futon.

"Sir," Steve began, "I'm fine, I can–"

"Have a seat."

"Really, I–"

"Stand down, sailor," he barked.

Steve straightened automatically at the tone.

"Sit," Captain Rollins ordered.

Steve glanced at Catherine who just gave a small shrug, motioning toward the chair with her head. Swallowing his frustration and embarrassment, Steve hobbled over to the recliner and sat, watching as Captain Rollins stepped up to the futon.

"Ready?" he asked his daughter who had taken Steve's former place.

"Yeah," she said, bending her knees and gripping the frame once again.

"One, two, three."

Together, they lifted the futon and after a series of precise movements coordinated by Captain Rollins, they managed to get it into her bedroom.

"Where do you want it?" he asked.

"Sort of in the middle, so I can unfold it without hitting the walls or the dresser."

They set the futon down in the center of the room and straightened.

"Thanks, Dad," she said, smiling at him.

He returned her smile, watching as she walked to her dresser and opened a drawer. She pulled a clean shirt from inside, closing it before turning back to him.

"What was with the entrance?" she asked, pulling the shirt over her head.

"I heard . . . that is, I thought you were . . ." he cleared his throat, deciding too late not to finish the sentence.

She sighed in realization. "And obviously we weren't doing what you thought we were doing." She straightened, her hands going to her hips. "But even if we were, I'm an adult. This is my apartment. You showed up unannounced," she said, pointing at him.

He avoided her eyes, instead looking at the sea bag in the corner that definitely didn't belong to his daughter.

"Wait a second," Catherine continued. "If you thought we were . . . why would you just come in?" she asked, incredulous.

He had the grace to look a little embarrassed at that, but quickly deflected. "Why was your door unlocked?"

It was her turn to look embarrassed. "We had to," she motioned awkwardly, "take some stuff to storage."

"What stuff?"

Rather than answer, Catherine went to the doorway, calling out, "Steve, do you want some ibuprofen or Tylenol or anything?"

"No, it's fine," he called back. "Thank you."

"Stubborn as well as clumsy?" Captain Rollins asked her.

"Don't start," she warned.

"At least he's polite."

Catherine rolled her eyes and they walked back down the hallway to the living room. Steve, who had put his shirt back on, stood as they entered, clearly favoring one side.

"We have reservations for lunch tomorrow," Captain Rollins said. "I assume you'll be joining us, Lieutenant."

"I will?" He flinched at the nearly identical looks he received. Nodding, he quickly amended, "I will. Thank you, sir." He stepped forward, unable to completely conceal the pained look as he did. "Captain, it's an honor to meet you, sir," he said, offering his hand.

Captain Rollins sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Why don't we save all that for tomorrow? Assuming you'll be mobile."

"Yes, sir," Steve agreed, letting his hand fall to his side.

"Get some ice on that toe, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir."

Catherine shook her head, looking between the two. She followed her father as he walked to the door. After opening it, he turned back to her.

"Bye, Dad," she said, kissing his cheek.

He glanced over her head at Steve. "Your mother will be sorry she missed all this," he said quietly, looking back at her.

"I'm sure you'll tell her all about it."

He gave her a small smile, acknowledging she was right. "I'll call you in the morning with the details for lunch."

"Okay."

With a final glance at Steve, Captain Rollins turned, shaking his head slightly as he walked away. Catherine shut the door behind him, locking it. She turned and leaned against the door, smothering a chuckle.

Steve dropped back into the recliner with a groan. She walked over and sat on the arm of the chair, leaning her elbow against the headrest and propping her chin on her fist.

"Are you sure you don't want any ibuprofen? I know that has to hurt."

"It's fine, Cath," he said, leaning against the other chair arm and looking up at her. "My pride hurts more than my toe."

She shook her head. "You never have been good at first impressions."

"Yeah, so you've said."

"Don't worry," she assured him, running her hand through his hair. "You improve upon further acquaintance."

Steve rubbed his head. "I'm just glad he didn't ask why we were moving the futon in the first place."

"What? You didn't want to explain to my father how you broke my box spring?"

"Absolutely not. Although, I don't know," he said, shaking a finger. "I think you come off worse in that story than I do."

"It was a very old piece of furniture," she said defensively.

"If you say so," he countered doubtfully.

"And who was throwing who? That certainly wasn't my idea."

"I was provoked," he insisted.

Catherine scoffed, rolling her eyes.

Steve sighed, looking down at his foot. "It had to be the little toe." He looked up at her, pointing. "If you ever tell anyone . . ." he trailed off, seeing the look on her face.

"What?" she challenged. "Oh, go ahead. I'd love to see how you're going to finish that sentence."

Instead he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her down into his lap. He moved to kiss her but stopped, glancing around her head.

"What are the chances he comes back in?" he asked, nodding toward the door.

"Slim to none."

"I'll take those odds." He kissed her, pulling back after only a moment. He sighed again, once more looking down at his foot.

She smiled, putting a hand to his cheek to bring his gaze back to her. "Don't worry, sailor. Your secret's safe with me."

He cocked his head, regarding her. "Is that so?"

"Mmhmm."

He paused. "I believe you." He moved to kiss her again but she stopped him with a hand to his chest.

"I can't say the same about my dad, though."

"Understood," he said with a nod. "Now, how about you distract me from the pain?" He suggested, kissing her again.

"Mmm," she tried to talk between kisses, "we need to . . . mmm . . . get some ice on that toe and–"

"It's fine for now," he interrupted, dropping his lips to her neck.

". . . tape it to the next one before you start moving around too much," she finished, a little breathless.

He straightened, looking at her. "Later. We have unfinished business."

Catherine grinned. "I know." She winked. "That's what the futon's for."

Note: Thanks as always to Sammy for the enthusiastic encouragement throughout!