He misses yet another shot and curses out loud, glaring at the ball as it rolls defiantly back towards him. He resists the urge to kick at it, since he'd probably miss anyway, and picks it up, tossing it from hand to hand as he tries to pull himself together. A few calming breaths, visualising the target; all that calming-zen-jedi-master crap that Mac's so good at. He focuses, makes sure his grip is tight and his footwork is solid, and then shoots. It slams against the side of the rim, ball and basket clattering loudly, though not nearly as loudly as Danny's swearing.
"You know, you're supposed to get the ball in the basket," says a voice behind him, and Danny can hear the goddamned grin on Don's face and it infuriates him. It shouldn't do, but it does.
"Fuck off, Flack," he says flatly, not bothering to look up as he goes to retrieve the ball. He moves back, still not looking at Don as he lines up another shot. He means to take his time with this one, focus and concentrate and not miss, but he can feel himself being watched and it's putting him off. He sighs and straightens up; he's not giving Don yet another open invitation to take the piss. "You're still here," he says, a bit more sharply this time, wondering if even Mac could pull off his Obi-Wan act with Homicide's finest staring at him.
"I'm a detective," Don says with a slight smirk. "Here to investigate the murder of the fine sport of basketball."
Danny finally looks up at Don and raises an eyebrow as the taller man shrugs his jacket off and tosses it onto a nearby bench.
"Come on, let me show you how a real man plays," Don says, gesturing as he rolls his sleeves up.
"What, taking me home to meet your mom already, Flack?" he says, throwing the ball with a little more force than necessary. Lame cheap shots, but he knows Don knows better than to take it personally.
"You're a funny guy, Messer," Don sniffs, bouncing the ball idly against the concrete. "If your basketball career doesn't take off, you should try the circuits."
"You wanna shoot some hoops or just shoot your mouth off?" Danny almost-snaps, watching the ball move back and forth so that he doesn't have to actually look at Don, who he knows has already taken in the impatience in his voice and the line of tension in his shoulders. Don doesn't say anything, but the smirk has gone, and even that manages to annoy Danny.
"Thinking whether or not to give you a head start," Don says, tossing the ball back over. "Think you'll need it."
Danny just scoffs, moving away from Don and taking the ball with him. This time he aims too high, and the ball bounces off the backboard straight into Don's hand, and Don barely has to jump over Danny to drop it into the basket.
"So you have the distinct advantage of being taller than me," Danny scoffs in response to Don's smug grin.
"I also have the distinct advantage of not being crap at basketball," Don smirks, spinning the ball and tossing it just wide of Danny, who has to stretch to catch it, nearly losing his footing. "Real smooth, Messer."
"You ain't seen nothing yet, Flack."
It goes on for less than an hour; Danny's game is all over the place and they take more shots at each other than the basket, but it's something to focus on and Don doesn't once ask why Danny's so touchy, or why he's dunking the ball so hard he's in danger of breaking the basket, or even why he was out here in the first place, and Danny appreciates that. He doesn't appreciate the fact that Don's kicking his ass, but then he isn't the one suffering from the less-than-attractive side-effects of a ten year long twenty-a-day habit.
"Tired already, Donny-boy?" he smirks, catching the ball as it bounces off of the rim.
"Not even close," Don says, watching Danny with his hands on his hips, chest rising and falling as he breathes deeply.
"Really? Just you sound like an asthmatic hippo. Don't want you to have a heart attack on me, y'know?" Danny's grinning now. He hasn't forgotten anything, but here and now none of it mattered so much. Don flips him off and he laughs, returning the gesture and dribbling the ball back away from him. Don barely manages a few steps before he hears his pager going off, and Danny can barely hear the muttered cursing as Don wanders off to the bench to answer it.
"You bailing on me?" Danny asks as Don returns, rolling his sleeves back down.
"I got a better offer," Don says, slipping the jacket back on and running a hand through his hair.
"Yeah, yeah. You don't get a better offer than one-on-one time with the Messer."
Don chuckles and finishes straightening himself up, and for a moment Danny wants the mussed hair and loose tie back. He doesn't want to stop playing, and he doesn't want Don to leave him alone with his thoughts again. Hell, he doesn't want Don to leave full stop.
"Catch you later, Messer," Don says with a wave, turning and walking towards the gate.
Danny watches Don walk away for a moment, twisting the ball in his hands and trying to focus on the dimpled leather against his palms, rather than the growing knot in his stomach. "Hey, Flack!" he calls, in a voice that doesn't quite feel like his own.
Don turns back, a little too quickly, not that Danny's in any state to notice. "Yeah?"
Danny hesitates for a moment, his insides squirming under the weight of Flack's gaze and the awkward silence. "Thanks, man," he says weakly.
It's Don's turn to hesitate, and he glances at the floor before looking back up at Danny with a faint smile. "Anytime."
Don turns and walks away. Danny sighs, and watches him go.