Danny has a secret.

Danny was barely started on his second cup of coffee when Steve decided it would be a good time to run down a lead or five. That's when all the potential good in his day disappeared down the drain like the pink Foofa clip-on Grace had flushed when she was six and had decided she was too old for Yo Gabba Gabba.

(Also available here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/180316)

If it ain't broke, fix it anyway.

In which you'll find a bar fight, misunderstandings and a pink elephant.

On the day Steve's badass, tire-squealing, hard-cornering driving-fu went to hell, there were two drug-running killers in the SUV ahead of them, and Danny could tell it was important to Steve that they catch them. Really important, because if he drove any faster, the car was going to catch air and take flight.

Of course Steve is enjoying himself. They're bait for a serial killer who has some sort of serious hangup about tattooing loved ones' names on their skin -- of course Steve thinks this is practically like a vacation, but better, because the chances of collateral damage are higher.

“You know how to whistle, don't you, Steve? You just put your lips together - and blow.”

Steve and Danny get thrown into a storage locker. Steve gets bored.

Danny is about 80% certain that there are deep waters buried somewhere in there.

The speed of Steve McGarrett's age regression as a function of time exposed to Danny Williams, chart to follow. Plot is tenuous, snark is aplenty.