Tale As Old As All This Island Bullshit. Or, Why Danny Feels His Hatred Of Coconuts Is Justified
~*~
Grace has a stack of fairy tale books taller than she is, and Danny’s never been one to deny his little girl anything, so he’s read all of them multiple times. He knows about the magic slippers and the poison apples and, the fairy tale fix-all, True Love’s kiss.
Trust him, all of that is pretty much burned into his brain. And if you really wanted to know his opinion, he blames shitty parenting for any of that every happening, but that’s beside the point. He knows all the fairytales; he just never thought any of them were, you know, real.
He’s still not sure that he believes it, and that’s in the face of smashed-open coconut leaking all over Steve’s kitchen floor, the gnarled finger shoved into Steve’s chest by the old woman who seems to have appeared out of thin air, and the promise of some sort of mystical sleeping fit until forever and a day or some other bullshit. Steve hits the deck after that. Well, he starts to, but his fall is halted halfway down and he fucking levitates to rest on the table, hands folded atop his stomach.
Then the old lady— witch, Danny corrects himself— disappears in a puff of smoke. A goddamn actual puff of curling purple smoke, for chrissakes. Danny is not cut out for this shit.
The first thing he does is call Kono. Okay, no that’s a lie. First, he checks Steve’s pulse— so, sue him, like he’s going to trust the word of some gnarled sea hag when it comes to his partner’s life, okay?
“Alright, okay, first of all, I just want it to be known that I am not the crazy one here, are we clear on that? I am the sensible, sane one, who upholds things like due process and doesn’t get old women popping up in my kitchen and magically whammying me into a hundred year long-sleep, or whatever bullshit fairytale we’re after here. That shit doesn’t happen to me.” Danny runs his hand through his hair, tugging at loose strands and completely destroying the grip of the gel he’d combed in so carefully this morning. This morning. Way back when he thought today was going to be—well, not normal, but at least normal for them. This? This was in no way normal.
“Danny, what are you talking about? Is everything okay?”
“No, nope. Nuh-uh. Everything is not okay. Our resident crazyass SEAL apparently pissed of the magical powers that be and reside in fucking mystical palm trees in the middle of nowhere. And, let me tell you, pissing off those particular powers leads to old women popping out of coconuts and said crazyass SEAL taking a nap on the kitchen table after some handwaving shit. And then the smoke! Purple, curling smoke. This doesn’t happen outside of Disney movies, Kono, it just doesn’t!”
“Okay, Danny, just—try to calm down. Chin and I will be there soon.” Kono’s tone is filled with more than a little disbelief underneath all the heavy sounds of worry. She probably thinks he’s fucking lost. Hell, maybe he has.
Danny sinks down onto one of the kitchen chairs and glares at Steve’s snoring body. “I blame you for all of this, just so we’re clear.”
Steve snores louder, probably just to spite Danny, the jerk.
tale as old as all this island bullshit. or, why Danny feels his hatred of coconuts is justified 1/?
Tale As Old As All This Island Bullshit. Or, Why Danny Feels His Hatred Of Coconuts Is Justified
~*~
Grace has a stack of fairy tale books taller than she is, and Danny’s never been one to deny his little girl anything, so he’s read all of them multiple times. He knows about the magic slippers and the poison apples and, the fairy tale fix-all, True Love’s kiss.
Trust him, all of that is pretty much burned into his brain. And if you really wanted to know his opinion, he blames shitty parenting for any of that every happening, but that’s beside the point. He knows all the fairytales; he just never thought any of them were, you know, real.
He’s still not sure that he believes it, and that’s in the face of smashed-open coconut leaking all over Steve’s kitchen floor, the gnarled finger shoved into Steve’s chest by the old woman who seems to have appeared out of thin air, and the promise of some sort of mystical sleeping fit until forever and a day or some other bullshit. Steve hits the deck after that. Well, he starts to, but his fall is halted halfway down and he fucking levitates to rest on the table, hands folded atop his stomach.
Then the old lady— witch, Danny corrects himself— disappears in a puff of smoke. A goddamn actual puff of curling purple smoke, for chrissakes. Danny is not cut out for this shit.
The first thing he does is call Kono. Okay, no that’s a lie. First, he checks Steve’s pulse— so, sue him, like he’s going to trust the word of some gnarled sea hag when it comes to his partner’s life, okay?
“Alright, okay, first of all, I just want it to be known that I am not the crazy one here, are we clear on that? I am the sensible, sane one, who upholds things like due process and doesn’t get old women popping up in my kitchen and magically whammying me into a hundred year long-sleep, or whatever bullshit fairytale we’re after here. That shit doesn’t happen to me.” Danny runs his hand through his hair, tugging at loose strands and completely destroying the grip of the gel he’d combed in so carefully this morning. This morning. Way back when he thought today was going to be—well, not normal, but at least normal for them. This? This was in no way normal.
“Danny, what are you talking about? Is everything okay?”
“No, nope. Nuh-uh. Everything is not okay. Our resident crazyass SEAL apparently pissed of the magical powers that be and reside in fucking mystical palm trees in the middle of nowhere. And, let me tell you, pissing off those particular powers leads to old women popping out of coconuts and said crazyass SEAL taking a nap on the kitchen table after some handwaving shit. And then the smoke! Purple, curling smoke. This doesn’t happen outside of Disney movies, Kono, it just doesn’t!”
“Okay, Danny, just—try to calm down. Chin and I will be there soon.” Kono’s tone is filled with more than a little disbelief underneath all the heavy sounds of worry. She probably thinks he’s fucking lost. Hell, maybe he has.
Danny sinks down onto one of the kitchen chairs and glares at Steve’s snoring body. “I blame you for all of this, just so we’re clear.”
Steve snores louder, probably just to spite Danny, the jerk.