Five-0 had been having a perfectly normal grill-out at McGarret's place. The day had been beautiful (although, it was Hawaii, so when wasn't it, really?), they were relaxing, taking a day to just hang out together.

And then, of course, Steve's phone had sounded and within about two minutes, he and Danny had piled into Danny's Camero in their usual seats, heading toward another case that they had caught. Danny heaved a sigh, giving a long-suffering grimace and a small shake of his head.

"Is Gracie rubbing off on you?" Steve asked.

Danny looked over at him in confusion, narrowing his eyes almost as if in suspicion. "What? What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you, exuding the pissed-off teenager attitude," Steve replied, "we can always grill out again some other time."

"I am not pissed that we caught a case in the middle of a perfectly nice cook-out," Danny shot back, "it's my job and I have come to expect it to bite me in the ass whenever it can. Besides, you were well on your way to ruining the experience anyway."

"Are you still on the burgers!?"

Danny held his hands out in front of him, gesturing forward as if holding something. "You, my friend, are a menace to food," he said, "is there nothing that is sacred? Is there no food upon which you will not put fruit?"

"That wasn't fruit," Steve said defensively, "it's was barbecue sauce."

"A fruit-based barbecue sauce!"

"Danny, what do you think tomatoes are?"

"Specifically, it was a pineapple based barbecue sauce," Danny continued, clearly undaunted by Steve's protests, "which you proceeded to slather all over my perfect grilling job."

"Yes, yes I did," Steve replied, "and then I topped it with a nice big slice of sweet onion and I enjoyed the hell out of it because it was delicious."

"It was sacrilege!"

"It was a burger, Danny!"

"Yes, a burger," Danny said, flapping a hand at Steve in clear frustration, "a perfect, medium-well, juicy on the outside, pink on the inside burger. And then you proceeded to destroy it with your ice cream toppings. A burger is meant to have only a select few things topping it; cheese, mustard, onions, relish, bacon if you like. Tomato ketchup if you absolutely have to and maybe some mushrooms if your cheese is swiss. Fruit juice is right out!"

"It wasn't fruit juice," Steve said with a roll of his eyes.

"It doesn't matter how long I live here," Danny forged onward, shaking his head anew, "I will never understand the obsession with putting a candy coating on everything."

"It's not that sweet!" Steve countered. "How would you even know, anyway? You won't try it."

"It's right there in the name, Steve," said Danny, "'sweet onion,' remember?"

"I thought we were talking about the sauce."

"No, we're talking about the horrible things you do to perfectly good burgers."

"Yeah, well, what about Germans?" Steve asked.

"What do you mean? What about the Germans?"

"I noticed that sauerkraut wasn't on your tiny, non-adventurous, little list there," Steve went on, "and in Germany and several parts of the upper midwest, you'd get chewed out for not offering it."

"Sauerkraut is disgusting and that, too, is a crime against burgers," Danny affirmed, "whoever thinks that pickled cabbage is good at all, let alone on a burger, is clearly out of their mind."

"So that's you, now?" Steve needled. "The burger police?"

"The burger... I'm not the burger police!" Danny shot back. "I'm just saying, you are wrong and a horrible person and you should feel massive guilt for ruining my perfect grilling job with your Christmas ham glaze."

Steve let that hang in the air for a moment, pondering the best response. He could only think of one.

"You wouldn't think that way if you tried it."

"Not a chance!" Danny snapped back.

"You're just scared," said Steve.

"I am not scared!"

"Oh yeah?" Steve said, giving him a sidelong grin. "Then I triple dog dare you."

"Six years old!" Danny exclaimed, throwing up his hands. "The man is six, freaking years old!"

"This is why Kono and Lou rode with Chin," Steve muttered.

"You're welcome to join them," Danny groused as they pulled up outside the Palace, "I'd love to drive my own car. Seriously, triple dog dare?"

Steve gave Danny a shrug, shifting the car into park and opening the door to get out. Danny just rubbed a hand over his face before following.