(no subject)
"Glad y'could make it, buddy."
"Yeah, yeah. Traffic was murder. Had to take two detours just to get here."
"Well now yer here, so lace up and let's go."
Don could always count on Danny to remind him of what was important in life; it didn't matter that they'd just closed two cases and that the trial for both was gonna be open and shut. What mattered was that Don was late for hockey.
Over the years they'd worked together, the two had made it something of a ritual. When the first snowfall turned green to white, they'd head over to the rink and play a pick up game or two with the usual rag tag team made up of FDNY and NYPD's finest.
He played goalie since he could remember, and over the years the position had aided in his current job. It was hard to pull a muscle running after a perp if you routinely did something akin to the splits every night after work. Girl didn't seem to mind it either; stamina and all.
Gearing up took a good few minutes longer than it would take in a months time, his equipment feeling foreign as he hadn't used it all year. When he finally managed to get his jersey on, he knew the rest of the guys weren't gonna let him hear the end of it after the game.
The air was crisp, just biting enough to make him feel alive, though not enough to freeze him up to the point where he couldn't play. Sliding out for the first time in the season was always exhilarating and there was nothing and nobody that could take the smile off Don's face as he skated out towards his net.
Before he knew it, they were in the thick of the game, Don doing his part, keeping the boys in red away from the net whenever possible. His team played hard, and he saved more than a few would-be goals for the guys.
After a jersey-soaking game, a hot, insult-exchanging shower, and a change into something other than a suit, Don stepped out with Danny and the boys only to see what everyone living in the Northeast loves to see, even if they'd never admit it.
Big, fat flakes, falling slowly over the city that never slept, blanketing the light sprinkle they'd gotten earlier in the day with a perfect velvet carpet of white.
Licking his lips, Don looked around him and quickly bending down, packed up one wallop of a snowball. Rosalez would knock him into the park bench, McManus would probably duck out of the way at the very last minute without even realizing what he was ruining; Carter would just get huffy and ruin the night for all of them (he was sort of a bitch that way) and Jones would probably pull his gun and scare half the block. No, there was only one target that would work out perfectly, only one that would have the perfect reaction to his little plot.
Don squeezed one eye shut and took aim, going for the sweet spot at the back of the head. The fact that he was taller than his intended target only served to make things easier. Arm cocked back, he unloaded, the swift sound of the snow propelling through the air nearly as satisfying as the TWAP! of the ball hitting the back of Danny's head.
All of the guys (FDNY included) were rolling in mere seconds as Danny looked left, looked right, looked up and finally realized that the cold wet sliding down the back of his shirt collar was caused by his best friend.
"Y'rat bastard! Yer so gonna get it!"
And so began the annual snow fight, an unintended but no-less thrilling part of the winter tradition that two boys in blue had started nearly six years ago.
Character: Don Flack | Fandom: CSI:NY | Word Count: 645
"Yeah, yeah. Traffic was murder. Had to take two detours just to get here."
"Well now yer here, so lace up and let's go."
Don could always count on Danny to remind him of what was important in life; it didn't matter that they'd just closed two cases and that the trial for both was gonna be open and shut. What mattered was that Don was late for hockey.
Over the years they'd worked together, the two had made it something of a ritual. When the first snowfall turned green to white, they'd head over to the rink and play a pick up game or two with the usual rag tag team made up of FDNY and NYPD's finest.
He played goalie since he could remember, and over the years the position had aided in his current job. It was hard to pull a muscle running after a perp if you routinely did something akin to the splits every night after work. Girl didn't seem to mind it either; stamina and all.
Gearing up took a good few minutes longer than it would take in a months time, his equipment feeling foreign as he hadn't used it all year. When he finally managed to get his jersey on, he knew the rest of the guys weren't gonna let him hear the end of it after the game.
The air was crisp, just biting enough to make him feel alive, though not enough to freeze him up to the point where he couldn't play. Sliding out for the first time in the season was always exhilarating and there was nothing and nobody that could take the smile off Don's face as he skated out towards his net.
Before he knew it, they were in the thick of the game, Don doing his part, keeping the boys in red away from the net whenever possible. His team played hard, and he saved more than a few would-be goals for the guys.
After a jersey-soaking game, a hot, insult-exchanging shower, and a change into something other than a suit, Don stepped out with Danny and the boys only to see what everyone living in the Northeast loves to see, even if they'd never admit it.
Big, fat flakes, falling slowly over the city that never slept, blanketing the light sprinkle they'd gotten earlier in the day with a perfect velvet carpet of white.
Licking his lips, Don looked around him and quickly bending down, packed up one wallop of a snowball. Rosalez would knock him into the park bench, McManus would probably duck out of the way at the very last minute without even realizing what he was ruining; Carter would just get huffy and ruin the night for all of them (he was sort of a bitch that way) and Jones would probably pull his gun and scare half the block. No, there was only one target that would work out perfectly, only one that would have the perfect reaction to his little plot.
Don squeezed one eye shut and took aim, going for the sweet spot at the back of the head. The fact that he was taller than his intended target only served to make things easier. Arm cocked back, he unloaded, the swift sound of the snow propelling through the air nearly as satisfying as the TWAP! of the ball hitting the back of Danny's head.
All of the guys (FDNY included) were rolling in mere seconds as Danny looked left, looked right, looked up and finally realized that the cold wet sliding down the back of his shirt collar was caused by his best friend.
"Y'rat bastard! Yer so gonna get it!"
And so began the annual snow fight, an unintended but no-less thrilling part of the winter tradition that two boys in blue had started nearly six years ago.
Character: Don Flack | Fandom: CSI:NY | Word Count: 645