Notes:
This one is completely JazzieG's fault, she urged me to write it… ;-)

Thanks:
As always: a big thank-you to JazzieG for the fast betaing! :-)

"Among Real Men, there has always been one simple rule:
Never settle with words what you can accomplish with a flamethrower."
(Bruce Feirstein)

"Oooooops."

Steve said slowly while he struggled to his feet, carelessly wiping a bit of blood from his cheek where a sharp piece of flying metal had barely missed his right eye.

The huge flamethrower he had used moments ago to chase the bunch of baddies out of their hiding place was lying on the ground next to him, hissing quietly and sputtering out a few tiny flames before it died down completely with a last little puff of smoke.

"Ooops?" Danny asked dumfounded, his gaze darting between McGarrett, the flamethrower and the huge cloud of black smoke that rose to the bright blue Hawaiian sky not far away.

"Ooops?" he repeated, a little bit more angrily this time, before he also got up, leaning heavily against one of the large wooden cargo boxes behind which the two members of Five-0 had sought cover only a few minutes ago when the firefight with the group of barely grown up gang members had threatened to spin out of control. Breathing out a hoarse groan Danny winced in pain when he clutched his right thigh, pressing his hand on a nasty gash that was bleeding sluggishly.

"Ooops?" Danny asked a third time, reluctantly tearing his gaze from the burning wreckage to stare at his partner. His blue eyes darkened dangerously when he limped closer to the other man, using his left hand to support himself on the wooden boxes until he was sure that his right leg was able to carry his weight.

"Ooops?"

Danny's voice became more angrily with every repetition of the word and he vigorously waved his hands through the air before he accusingly stabbed the index finger of his left hand against Steve's chest, knowing exactly how his friend cherished his personal space.

"Ooops?" Danny roared as he shifted his weight to his left foot, once more clutching his injured right thigh. "Is that all you have to say? Ooops?" He briefly looked over his shoulder at the burning remains, the result of Steve's latest demonstration of creativity when it came to the use of arms, before he turned his attention back to his partner.

"Uhm," Steve started hesitantly, flashing the other man a sheepish grin as he tried to gauge the level of Danny's anger. But before he could voice an explanation he was interrupted by a second loud explosion that was sending even more pieces of burning metal in their direction. Both men reacted instinctively, keeping their heads down and ducking behind another large cargo box until the noise had died down and it was safe to emerge from their cover.

"Well, Steven, don't you have anything else to say?" Danny asked impatiently, slowly limping around the boxes without waiting for an answer. Approaching the gout of flame until the heat was too much to bear; he stopped reluctantly and stared gloomily into the orange-red wall of fire.

"Uhm," McGarrett repeated hesitantly, coming to a halt at Danny's right side. He once more wiped his hand across his cheek, staring silently at the smear of blood on the back of his hand. Taking a deep breath he finally turned toward his partner and said cautiously, "But my plan worked, didn't it?" He pointed at the other end of the abandoned shipyard area where a SWAT team was just arresting the small group of gang members that Steve and Danny had chased earlier.

The words had barely left his lips when Steve knew that he had obviously said the wrong thing and he quickly snapped his mouth shut. To be on the safe side he took a small step back when he saw Danny narrowing his eyes in anger before he slowly turned around.

"Excuse me?" the blond detective asked grimly, gritting his teeth when he stared at his partner. "Your plan worked?" he asked furiously, waving his hands through the air in wide circles. "And this inferno," he briefly jerked his head toward the flames, "was that part of your plan too?"

"Uhm," Steve said once more, grinning lopsidedly at the smaller man. "Not really."

"Oh good," Danny retorted cynically, glaring icily at McGarrett as he slowly limped back toward the wooden containers. "I'm relieved to hear that," he added, grimacing in pain as he leaned his back against one of the boxes and shifted his weight to his uninjured, left leg.

Following him slowly, Steve bent down to pick up a slightly twisted piece of metal, fiddling around with it as he asked tentatively, "How was I supposed to know that the ground was covered…"

"Was covered with what Steven?" Danny interrupted him angrily. "Fuel? Oil? Other highly combustible substances you usually never find around a shipyard?" he added, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he gestured toward a few rusty oil drums only a few feet from their position. "Well, I tell you what, you idiot. You could just have opened your eyes. Or you could have listened to me. You could have listened to me just once, because I told you that it was a bad idea to use that flamethrower."

Breathing heavily, Danny stared at Steve for a long time before suddenly all tension seemed to leave his body and he slouched his shoulders, turning his head to look at the cloud of thick, gray smoke that darkened the sky.

Still playing nervously with the piece of metal in his hands, McGarrett stepped closer until he stood by Danny's side, mirroring his position as he also leaned his back against the wooden box. "Sorry?" he tried timidly after a long period of uncomfortable silence that was only disturbed by the crackling and hissing of the fire in front of them but he immediately fell silent when he saw his partner sharply waving his hand through the air to cut him off.

"Seriously, Steven? Sorry?" Danny asked quietly, shaking his head in disbelief as he turned his head to stare at the other man as if he was out of his mind.

"Sorry?" he repeated a little bit louder, obviously having gathered enough energy to start a new rant. "No, no, no, no, no, you trigger-happy moron. You apologize if you get someone shot," he explained angrily, using expansive gestures to emphasize his words. "But if you blow up someone's car…" Danny's voice trailed off as if he was at a loss for words, something that usually didn't happen very often.

Looking at his partner out of sad blue eyes Danny gloomily shrugged his shoulders and slowly slid down until he was sitting on the ground, his back resting against the rough wood. Grabbing his right thigh, that was still stubbornly bleeding, once more; he tiredly heaved a deep sigh and stared into nothingness. "Oh man, that really hurts," he said bleakly, not really sure if he was talking about his injured leg or about the loss of his beloved Camaro.

Danny looked again at the flames that still licked hungrily at the remnants of the silver roadster before he squeezed his eyes shut in defeat. After a few seconds he felt movement next to him and without opening his eyes he knew that his partner had sat with him.

"I'm really sorry, Danny," Steve said sincerely after another long moment of silence. Giving his friend a gentle dig with his elbow, he added solemnly, "I'll buy a new one, okay?"

"Hell yeah, Steven," Danny answered forcefully without bothering to open his eyes. "That's the least you can do." He sighed deeply, trying not to think about the fact that the pile of burning metal was all that was left of his beloved car.

"Maybe you have a use for this," McGarrett murmured tentatively, placing the piece of metal he had been fiddling around with in Danny's lap.

Reluctantly opening his eyes, Danny first looked at his partner before he dropped his gaze and stared at the item that Steve had just handed him, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. "Thank you," he whispered, taking a deep breath as he pressed the twisted license plate to his chest, knowing that it was the only thing that remained of his car.

The two friends sat side by side, staring silently at the burning wreckage until the very last of the flames had finally died down hours later.

"Come on, let's go," Steve said hoarsely, nodding his head toward Danny's ripped and bloodstained pant leg. "I think you might need some stitches there." He struggled to his feet and stretched out his hand to help his partner stand up, immediately placing Danny's right arm around his shoulders to take some weight off the injured leg.

Slowly limping toward the waiting squad car that would take them to the hospital, Danny suddenly stopped dead in his tracks and turned around to face the taller man. "One more thing," he said sternly but with a hint of the usual cheerful glint in his blue eyes. "Make sure the new Camaro has a decent color. If it is yellow like Max's, I will grab that flamethrower and show you what I'm capable of, do you hear me, Steven?"

Note:
So, that was my take on how Danny got his new black Camaro – I would love to know what you think about it :-) I'm not sure if I like the black one, I think I'm already missing the silver Camaro.