For the first bit of the meal, they don't really talk. Steve pours the wine – because of course there's wine, and of course it's Danny's favorite kind of red, because why on earth wouldn't Steve have gone through that trouble, too? – and Danny dishes out the pie, and there's a little bit of light conversation. Mostly, though, it isn't until they've each polished off most of the pizza and the first bottle of wine that they really start talking.

"So, you used to be a cop, huh?"

Danny nods, and washes down his last bite of pie before actually speaking. "Eight years, and then I moved to Wall Street for six."

"You worked on Wall Street? I don't see that at all."

Danny actually thinks he'll take that as a compliment. That said, "Oh, I was actually very good. You would've been impressed."

"Really?" Steve says. He's working on cracking open the second bottle, and Danny wonders if Steve's got something up his sleeve, bringing all this booze. Except it feels kind of wrong to call wine this good 'booze.' "How'd you get the pet store?"

It's an understandable question. Bit of a leap from cop to pet store owner, he guesses.

"Well, actually, I got it through my dog, Jensen. I bought him about three years ago at this fancy pet store near my house. Cutest little bugger you've ever seen. Six months later, he almost dies. Turns out, they were running some sort of exotic animal smuggling ring through the store. The exotic animals carry diseases, the other animals get sick…poor guy was just kinda of falling apart."

Steve pours them both some more wine. "What'd you do? Did you sue them?"

"Nah. I let a buddy of mind back on the force know about the smuggling ring, quit my job, and used the money from the stock options to buy the place. I figured the city needs at least one legitimate pet shop, and it turns out I wasn't really cut out for the Wall Street scene, anyway."

For a second, Steve just kind of stares at him, before leaning forward over the table. "I can hit a target from seven hundred yards. That do anything for you?"

Danny laughs, because he thinks for a second that Steve's kidding. But then he realizes that the guy is, in fact, a SEAL, and actually, that's entirely possible. "That…that is impressive," he says, because it is. The longest distance at the ranges at the station was twenty-five yards, so yeah, twenty-eight times that is pretty damn astonishing. "Scary, a little bit, but impressive."

Either Steve missed the little caveat, or he just doesn't care, because he leans back with a pleased smile on his face and crosses his arms. "Can I ask you a serious question, Danny?"

"Fire away, Super SEAL."

"Did you buy that shirt to wear for me tonight?"

Danny smirks and very deliberately wipes some imaginary pasta sauce from the corners of his mouth with his napkin, and when he thinks he's made Steve wait long enough, he leans forward and gestures for Steve to do the same.

And when he's close enough, Danny smiles and whispers conspiratorially, "I will never tell."

"Really?" Steve whispers back. There's mischief in his eyes again, and Danny watches as he pushes up out of his chair, leaning further over the table. "Because, you know, I worked Naval Intelligence for five years before I became a SEAL. I have ways of making you talk." Judging by the way he's moving in, Danny thinks it's safe to say these aren't the tactics they taught him in the Navy.

Steve's close, now. Really close. Danny can feel the warmth of his breath on his face, and damn, he thinks, have Steve's eyes always been this blue? And then he stops thinking, because Steve's lips are barely inches from his, and—

There's the sharp clamor of glass falling, and suddenly, Danny flinches just in time to feel something wet splash all down his front. He jumps up at the same time Steve jumps back, and he looks down to see his whole front covered in red wine from the bottle Steve had apparently inadvertently knocked over.

Before he can go for a napkin, Steve's already got one. "Let me get that," he says. "Let me get that." His voice comes out in a rush, and Danny starts laughing, if for no other reason than he's never seen someone look so alarmed before. Steve's eyes are wide, and he's patting the towel frenetically over the front of Danny's shirt. "I'm s—"

"Okay," Danny interrupts him. He'll put the poor guy out of his misery. "I got it."

Just as he takes the rag, though, there's a burst of heat and light from the table, and Danny turns to see a huge flame rising from it. In hindsight, he'll reason that the wine and candles might've gotten to close, but for the time being, he's a little too busy worrying about making the fire stop to think about how it happened.

Steve's arm appears in front of his face. He's pointing to something. "Hose," he says. "Hose over there by the plants."

"There's plants everywhere," Danny retorts, but nevertheless, he's running off in the direction Steve was pointing. Being that there are plants everywhere, after all, he's thinking it's probably not a good idea to let the flame spread.

"You see it?" Steve calls. "You get the hose?"

"I'm working on it." He's got the damn thing; it's just a matter of getting the nozzle turned the right way around and getting it away from the wall.

He starts back towards the flaming table, and he sees Steve coming at the same time. He's got a plant in his hands, and Danny's kind of confused for a second, until he dumps it out on the table. The dirt smothers some of the fire, and Danny aims the hose at the rest and lets it loose.

He doesn't stop until the fire's out. Then, and only then, does he raise his eyes from the table, and then, and only then, does he see the massive black-brown splatter of topsoil all over his front.

For a second, they just kind of stare at each other. Danny can practically hear the gun song from The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly echo in his head.

And then Steve breaks the stalemate.

"This means war," he says, and then he's bolting not around, but over the table like a streak of greased-freaking-lightening.

On reflex, Danny squeezes the trigger on the hose nozzle, but the spray does nothing to deter Steve. He reaches for it, and Danny tries to keep it away, but Steve's like a damn octopus with his crazy long arms, reaching around Danny.

"Hand it over," he saying through gritted teeth around these easy, happy laughs. "Give it!"

He's strong, too. Danny's no pushover, and he still manages to get his hands on the nozzle. They fight over it for a second, both laughing and shouting, and he can only imagine what the people out on the street must be thinking, but he's having too much fun to care.

He tells himself that he lets Steve get the hose turned around, but the next thing he knows, he's getting blasted with the damned thing, too.

It actually goes downhill from there.

About a half hour later, after they've cleaned up what they could of their warzone and left it behind, they're walking down the street back to Danny's place. It's late and the chill's starting to set in, and they're both soaking wet and filthy. Steve's hair is sticking up kind of funny, and Danny doesn't even want to know what he looks like, but there's big grins on both their faces, and Danny doesn't think he's ever had a better time.

"It was like a fight to the death," Steve's exclaiming as they walk. "You weren't even—you weren't even pointing at the fire! You were pointing at my face!"

"You soaked me!" Danny retorts. "I wasn't even trying to soak you, I swear!"

Steve throws his head back in a deep, rich laugh. "Oh, whatever! I looked into your eyes; I saw you—you had this crazy look in your eyes. You were like a crazy person."

"Not true." Even if it is kind of, but he's enjoying their little back and forth too much to let Steve win this one.

"Is too," Steve says. They're coming up on Danny's apartment, and Danny thinks this might be the first time he ever wished his apartment was in a less convenient part of town. "And you know what else? I think I owe you another shirt."

They reach the stairs, then, to Danny's apartment, and Danny stops against the rail while Steve comes around to face him.

"And I definitely owe you another date."

Danny feels his heartbeat ratchet up a few BMP's, and he's pretty sure a grin can't actually split a face, but his kind of feels like it's working on it.

"Think so?" he says.

Steve nods, putting his hands on his hips, and he's suddenly got that intense look again. It's not one of his faces just yet, but Danny thinks it might have to become one. "Why don't you come to the farm with me next weekend?"

Danny wants to say yes. God, he wants to. But reality's knocking again, and there are things he has to think about. "I'll call you," he says finally, because that seems like an okay compromise.

At the very least, Steve seems happy with it, because his smile comes back. "I'll wait by the phone."

If the night had ended like that, with those words, Danny would've been happy. But Steve doesn't turn to leave, and neither does Danny, and the next thing Danny knows, Steve's closing the distance between them and sealing their lips together.

Danny's hands automatically go to rest on Steve's hips, and Steve's come to rest on either side of his face. His fingers curl in his hair; he pulls them closer together.

But then he backs away, and Danny finds himself staring into the deepest, most intense pair of blue eyes he's ever seen. And the way Steve's looking at him….

"What?" What's that look? What does it mean?

But instead of an answer, Steve just leans in and presses his lips to Danny's, and Danny thinks he can be okay with that. Because, as it turns out, Steve was right: this is definitely the best kiss he's ever had.

It's over too soon, but at the same time, he thinks it's probably just about right for a first date. And as Steve starts to back away down the street, he fishes out his phone from his pocket and holds it up for Danny to see with a big, goofy grin, before turning around and setting off.

Danny watches him go, pretending it's Steve's height that makes him so easy to pick out from the crowd, and nothing more…clichéd. He waits until he gets across the next street down to turn back and head inside.

He's still smiling when he closes the door of his apartment behind him, and he bends down to give Jensen a good rub on the head before continuing on to his room

En route, though, he something catches his eye. There's a light blinking in the office, and he doesn't remember leaving anything on, so he wanders in to see what it is.

It's the fax machine.

Danny's heart leaps into his throat, and he can't get the lights on quick enough. His eyes rove the page at mach speed, until they zero in on a single line that somehow simultaneously makes his stomach do a happy flip and drop like lead to the soles of his shoes.

By the determination of the New York City Family Court, Mr. Daniel Williamsis hereby granted full custody of Grace Williams.

Granted full custody.

Full custody.

Holy shit.