haolehothead | (no subject)

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Danny's starting to wonder if he'll have any hair left come the end of the month. The fourteenth of January is fast approaching and the snow's still around. Hell, he's starting to think it's never going away and at this rate, he's never going to be able to give Steve the goddamn beach wedding he wants. He's not lying, but he thinks that he might just call the whole thing off if he gets one more sign from a higher power that this isn't meant to be.

As it is, he's hanging around some of the market stalls to look for some fresh food to bring back and add to a healthy heaping of pancakes for Jack. If he's staying the night, Danny wants to have something ready for him in the morning.

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"Just please don't make me be a maid of honor," he begs, hands together in a desperate clasp. "I'll do whatever you want. Just no dresses. And I get to babysit your kid even more if you get married, so you two can go out on married people dates. Steve and I just need married-people stay-ins."

"I'm not promising you shit," she scoffs, laying his hand on her rapidly growing belly. It's finally gotten to the point where it's too big to see her feet easily and it's just still so strange. "By the time you get married I'm going to be the size of a house."

"You better promise me whatever you want," Danny scoffs. "I'm gonna be babysitting that kid any time you call, I'm gonna be giving you parental advice, and I'll change the diapers when you can't stand it anymore. You are gonna give me that kid so I can break Steve in."

"Fine," she huffs, pointing a finger at his face. "But if I give birth in the middle of your wedding, don't say I didn't warn you."

She shifts as she gets a lazy kick in the ribs, moving Danny's hand over the spot. "That never gets less weird."

"If you give birth in the middle of my wedding, you're absolved from needing to bring a present," Danny jokes, closing his eyes when he feels the kicking. "God," he exhales with a rueful laugh. "I miss that. It's been nine years since I last felt that, but god, do I miss it."

"Because it's not your bladder he's stepping on," she says softly and not at all unkindly. She knows it's hard for Danny in ways she can't understand. And it means more than she can say that he takes this so well.

"It is pretty crazy. Hey, you know what it means to me that you're being so sweet about all this, right?"

Danny shrugs, trying not to think too much about the details. If he does, he starts to miss Grace more than he can say and there's no reason to go down that walk of depression again. "Why wouldn't I, huh?"

"No reason," she says, not willing to go there if he's not. "Just wanted you to know I appreciate you. Enjoy it, it's probably all these lovey baby hormones. Once the kid's out I'll be a raging bitch, again."

"Hey, I'll take whatever you want to give me," he promises, popping a couple blueberries into his mouth as they talk. "I'll take the raging, I'll take the sweet. I'll take anything you have to give. Besides, you're never going to be worse than my Rachel."

"Aw, baby, you're giving the better or for worse speech to the wrong girl," she says, stealing a few blueberries for herself. "You're thinking of that really tall, GI Joe girl."

"What, that plain Jane?" Danny smirks as he rolls a blueberry around in his fingers. "I dunno. She's kind of too grenade-happy for me. I mean, do I really want to marry someone who can field-strip a gun in twenty seconds? Think of our children."

"That actually sounds kind of hot," she decides, pausing to picture it really clearly. "The hunting thing is gross, but Raylan looks super hot when he's getting his guns all ready. I'm actually a decent shot, you know. I totally shot that crazy Army toy after it tried to kill us."

Danny's a little distracted, but he shakes himself out of it. "Sorry, I had this whole disturbing place where he was actually a GI Jane type and there were tattoos and..." he waves a hand in the air, perilously close to babbling. "And why are you a decent shot? Do I even want to know?"

"Raylan taught me," she says, taking a sip of the tea out of the stupid, dainty cup. "And honestly, for all my bitching, that thing would have killed him if I hadn't done something. He's always trying to teach me survival shit."

"I'm glad he taught you to shoot, but, for my heart and my sanity, can you please just try not to wield a gun while I'm around?" he begs, hands clasped together. "I'm an old-school cop. I'd rather guns not be fired at all."

"Yeah, you see Raylan's problem is he considers himself an old-school lawman which equals shooting all kinds of shit," she points out with a grin. "Although he's lost most of the opportunity."

"To which, I am grateful for," Danny points out, shaking his head because he doesn't want to think about all the bullets he's seen since Five-0 started. "Especially now that you're pregnant and you're about to become Mrs. Raylan Shooty-Pants."

"I'm glad you're amused by my angst," she says flatly, flicking at his ear. "It's not going. to. happen. Okay? This isn't gonna become a thing."

"You said you wanted to marry him!" Danny protests, letting out a scoff as he lifts both hands to protest his innocence. "I'm just going along with what you said!"

"I said I wanted to marry him and that it was a secret and we aren't going to say anything!" she flails. "Okay? Because if you slip up and say something I will actually have to murder you."

"I'm not saying anything to anyone but you! That's still keeping it a secret unless you think the ghosts are gonna turn on you and start whispering to Raylan? And if you do think that, just don't tell me, okay? Please?" he pleads.

"No, not even me," she corrects. "Because it's not going to turn into a thing where you tease me and make comments and then I get sad."

"Why sad?" Danny asks, a flicker of confusion passing over his face. After all, he's not sure what's sad about wanting to get married. In fact, he'd think it's a pretty damn good thing.

"Because I want something I can't have," she huffs. "Raylan doesn't want to get married. He got married and it didn't go well and that's just the end of it. And I don't want him agreeing to it just to make me happy."

"And you don't know this," he counters, always argumentative when the situation calls for it. "Okay? It's like me and Steve all over again. You were the one blabbing on about how he wanted me and I should stop getting depressed. We talked it over and look at us. So talk it over."