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A/N: The Parmesan isn't the only thing that's cheesy. ;) Just some pure, unmitigated fluff. :)

A/N: Based on the prompt "That is a staggering amount of Parmesan cheese." "There's no such thing."

"Dinner is served." Danny put the heaping platter of pasta on the table with a flourish and went back for the salad and garlic bread.

Steve rubbed his hands together. "This looks great, Danno. What is it?"

"Penne di Parma," Danny replied.

Sara poked at it. "It doesn't look like pasghetti," she said. She held up a piece of meat. "What's this?"

"Chin, you've got to broaden her food horizons," Danny said. "Teach her there's something besides SPAM in the world."

Sara made a face. "I don't like SPAM."

Danny clapped her on the shoulder. "A woman after my own heart. Meat should not be canned. And to answer your question," he continued, "that's prosciutto."

She wrinkled her nose. "What's that?"

"It's like Italian ham," Danny told her.

Grace, sitting next to Sara, nudged her. "Go on, try it. I promise, you'll like it."

"Yeah," Charlie piped up. "Everything Danno makes is good!"

Danny beamed at his son. "Thanks, buddy. That means a lot to me." He looked around the table. Everybody was digging in, making happy "mmmmm" noises. It warmed Danny's heart to see his ohana enjoying his efforts.

Then, Steve caught his eye. The SEAL was heaping Parmesan cheese on his pasta.

Danny stayed his hand. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. What do you think you're doing?"

Steve gave him a "duh" look. "I'm putting cheese on it. What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Babe, that is a staggering amount of Parmesan cheese," Danny said.

"There's no such thing," Steve replied. He reclaimed his hand and continued to pile on the cheese.

Danny grabbed his wrist, more firmly this time. "Stop, just stop. You're ruining it!"

"No, I'm not. This will just make it taste better."

"No, it won't! It won't make it taste like anything except cheese!" Danny let go of Steve's wrist to wave his hands in the air, then grabbed it again when Steve made another move towards the cheese.

Steve tried to escape from Danny's death grip without success. "Danno, a little cheese never hurt anything."

"That's not a little cheese!" Danny glanced around the table, looking for support. "Somebody tell him he's being ridiculous!"

"Actually, some Parmesan sounds like a good idea." Lou gestured for Steve to pass him the cheese. Danny grabbed it before it got there, hugging the bowl to his chest. "Neanderthals, both of you." He leveled a death glare at everyone else, daring them to ask for some.

"Danny, why'd you put the cheese on the table if you didn't want people to use it?" Steve asked.

"Because, Steven," Danny said, as though explaining things to a six-year-old—actually, Charlie and Sara were easier to explain things to, and they weren't grabbing for the cheese. They were happily shoveling in their pasta, even Sara, who seemed to have accepted that if Danny made it, it was good—"a little cheese, a very small amount"—Danny demonstrated, measuring a level spoonful from the bowl, then sprinkling about half of it on his pasta—"is acceptable. But that," he stabbed the spoon at Steve's plate, sending the remaining cheese flying—"is just a disgrace. And, it's my best Parmigiano Reggiano! Do you know how expensive that stuff is?"

"Just means it tastes better," Steve said. He reached for the bowl once more, but Danny turned away from him, clutching the bowl as if his life depended on it.

"That is enough, Steven! I am not slaving over a hot stove just for you to ruin my efforts! I don't know why I put up with you!"

"Because you love me," Steve said, matter-of-factly.

"No, no I don't," Danny said. "I hate you, I hate you very much."

"No, you don't" Charlie piped up. "You love him."

Steve gestured at Charlie with his fork. "See, even Charlie knows it."

Danny sighed in defeat. "Okay, fine, I love you. You're still a Neanderthal."

Steve just grinned and dug in.