Hawaii 5-0 fic: Honestly...!
Rating: gen
Warning: none spring to mind
Spoilers: 7.02
Disclaimer: writing for fun and not for profit
Unbeta
Comments
- sorry?
Honestly.
By Sealie
‘The Queen of England,’ Steve thought, ‘and we got George Crosses. I’ve been adopted by the Queen of England and her people.’
“Babe, is there a Garden Party or something?” Danny asked. “Isn’t a Garden Party normally associated with this sort of thing?”
Langford rolled his eyes.
“Yes, Danny, there’s a reception,” Steve said. The invitation had been very detailed, and had included instructions on when it was appropriate to speak to the Queen and shake her hand. The CliffsNotes were: don’t go there.
“I doubt there’s fish and chips,” Danny said morosely.
“There will, however, be champagne,” Langford said, all his vowels executed precisely.
“Pity that neither of us can drink,” Danny pointed out.
“Oh, is that for religious reasons?”
“Nah.”
Steve deliberately wandered off before Danny could expound on the whole I gave this stupid doofus part of my liver.
Waiters and waitresses deftly circled the guests, balancing silver trays with thin stemmed glasses or trays of canapes. Poetry in motion; every other waiter was a trained military member. Steve raised his chin in acknowledgment, but they were too well trained to return the nod.
Jetlag-wise, Steve didn’t have a clue where his head was, but his stomach was telling him food wouldn’t go amiss. He scooped up a plate and a napkin and planned his route for maximum efficiency. He angled by a young waitress snaffling up smoked salmon on toast and something pink -- piped mousse on a slice of cucumber. Munching, it tasted of salmon - possibly, or crab. Then he hit the veggie waiter selecting roasted tomatoes and olives on bruschetta and creamy stuffed mushrooms. As he turned to scope out his next target, a young man presented him with a tray.
“Yes?” Steve said in the face of puff pastry.
“Coronation prawn vol-au-vent, sir?”
“Why not?”
“Are you well, sir?” The waiter regarded him.
“Yeah? Sure. Why do you ask?” Steve glanced down, checking that he hadn’t spilt any crab on his suit.
“No reason, sir.” The waiter slid away.
The crab thing was a little weird. He headed to the bar to order a sparkling water with a slice of lemon to wash it down.
The barman smiled and took his order, turning to get the lemon slices from the fridge at the back of the bar.
What the Hell happened to my tie? Horrified, Steve stared at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. It was a travesty.
In the mirror, Danny peered around Steve’s shoulder, eyes bright blue. He grinned, toothily.
“You said that my tie was fine!” Steve spun around.
“I couldn’t resist.” Danny shrugged a shrug that was almost a preen. “These opportunities only come around once in a lifetime.”
“I don’t believe you. The Queen!”
Steve threw his coronation prawn vol-au-vent at Danny’s head - at Danny in the centre of Her Majesty the Queen’s celebration of the George Cross recipients.
Honestly, Danny said afterwards, you can’t take him anywhere.
Danny’s riposte -- with a tiny sausage on a cocktail stick with a cube of cheese and a pickled onion -- miraculously missed Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II by some Harry Potter-esque something or other, but hit the Duchess of Northumberland smack dab in the centre of her forehead.
“Food fight!” Prince George yelled, joining in.
And Steve and Danny both ended up on the front page of the Daily Mail.
The end
Warning: none spring to mind
Spoilers: 7.02
Disclaimer: writing for fun and not for profit
Unbeta
Comments
- sorry?
Honestly.
By Sealie
‘The Queen of England,’ Steve thought, ‘and we got George Crosses. I’ve been adopted by the Queen of England and her people.’
“Babe, is there a Garden Party or something?” Danny asked. “Isn’t a Garden Party normally associated with this sort of thing?”
Langford rolled his eyes.
“Yes, Danny, there’s a reception,” Steve said. The invitation had been very detailed, and had included instructions on when it was appropriate to speak to the Queen and shake her hand. The CliffsNotes were: don’t go there.
“I doubt there’s fish and chips,” Danny said morosely.
“There will, however, be champagne,” Langford said, all his vowels executed precisely.
“Pity that neither of us can drink,” Danny pointed out.
“Oh, is that for religious reasons?”
“Nah.”
Steve deliberately wandered off before Danny could expound on the whole I gave this stupid doofus part of my liver.
Waiters and waitresses deftly circled the guests, balancing silver trays with thin stemmed glasses or trays of canapes. Poetry in motion; every other waiter was a trained military member. Steve raised his chin in acknowledgment, but they were too well trained to return the nod.
Jetlag-wise, Steve didn’t have a clue where his head was, but his stomach was telling him food wouldn’t go amiss. He scooped up a plate and a napkin and planned his route for maximum efficiency. He angled by a young waitress snaffling up smoked salmon on toast and something pink -- piped mousse on a slice of cucumber. Munching, it tasted of salmon - possibly, or crab. Then he hit the veggie waiter selecting roasted tomatoes and olives on bruschetta and creamy stuffed mushrooms. As he turned to scope out his next target, a young man presented him with a tray.
“Yes?” Steve said in the face of puff pastry.
“Coronation prawn vol-au-vent, sir?”
“Why not?”
“Are you well, sir?” The waiter regarded him.
“Yeah? Sure. Why do you ask?” Steve glanced down, checking that he hadn’t spilt any crab on his suit.
“No reason, sir.” The waiter slid away.
The crab thing was a little weird. He headed to the bar to order a sparkling water with a slice of lemon to wash it down.
The barman smiled and took his order, turning to get the lemon slices from the fridge at the back of the bar.
What the Hell happened to my tie? Horrified, Steve stared at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. It was a travesty.
In the mirror, Danny peered around Steve’s shoulder, eyes bright blue. He grinned, toothily.
“You said that my tie was fine!” Steve spun around.
“I couldn’t resist.” Danny shrugged a shrug that was almost a preen. “These opportunities only come around once in a lifetime.”
“I don’t believe you. The Queen!”
Steve threw his coronation prawn vol-au-vent at Danny’s head - at Danny in the centre of Her Majesty the Queen’s celebration of the George Cross recipients.
Honestly, Danny said afterwards, you can’t take him anywhere.
Danny’s riposte -- with a tiny sausage on a cocktail stick with a cube of cheese and a pickled onion -- miraculously missed Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II by some Harry Potter-esque something or other, but hit the Duchess of Northumberland smack dab in the centre of her forehead.
“Food fight!” Prince George yelled, joining in.
And Steve and Danny both ended up on the front page of the Daily Mail.
The end