Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Opinions herein represent those of the author and not necessarily
those of the players.
Summary: More talk after WTC.
The four veteran pitchers stood side by side along the first base line,
watching their fellow teammates take batting practice. Chipper was
currently in the cage, and they were silent as they watched yet another
ball sail towards the seats. "He's hitting the shit out of the ball,"
Smoltz observed, shaking his head.
"He's angry," Maddux murmured.
"Yeah, they're all hitting the hell out of the ball," John Burkett added. "I
hope every team's not doin' this."
"Yeah, my ERA's looking kind of abused."
"Smoltzie, if you separate out reliever and starter ERA, you're below 1.00,"
Greg said, glancing at him.
"Yeah, well, they don't usually separate them, do they?"
"Hey, Glav, you doin' ok?" Burkett asked, noticing Glavine's unusually quiet
manner, even for him.
The lefty seemed to break out of whatever stupor he was in. "Oh, yeah, yeah,
I'm cool. Just...still in shock, I think."
"Don't think we'll be getting over that feeling anytime soon," murmured
Maddux, resting a comforting hand on his lover's shoulder.
They were all quiet a minute more, silence only broken by the crack of Chipper
Jones' bat as another ball headed for the fence. In front of them, Marcus
Giles walked by with the newly acquired Wilson Betemit. "Shouldn't you
guys be working out or something?"
"Since when do rookies give orders to vets, Marc?" Smoltz threatened, without
malice or seriousness.
"Hey, last time I checked I was on the team. I'm still playin' to win."
"Somehow, kid, winning's not nearly as important anymore."
Giles looked at Burkett, closing his eyes briefly. "Yeah, maybe. But if I
don't find something important, if I'm not doing something to keep my mind
otherwise occupied, I'll go fucking insane, ok? I don't think slacking off
at the one thing I do well is going to accomplish anything." He stalked
off, followed by an awed-looking 19-year-old shortstop.
"He's right, you know," Glavine sighed. "We can't quit. We've gotta keep
playing good. Maybe we can help our fans take their minds off things, if
only for a few hours a night."
"Yep," Smoltz replied with a grin. "Good thing we have those youngsters around
to keep us old people in line. We'd really suck a lot if the three of you
weren't pitching."
"Um, yeah, and figure yourself and your 0.84 ERA into that equation too,"
Maddux said, rolling his eyes. It earned him a chuckle from Smoltz and
Burk and a small smile from Glavine. "We're ok guys, you know? As a
country. We'll be ok."
"Yeah. Yeah, we will be. For now, though, the kid's right and we need to get
some work done."
The conversation, naturally, didn't end there. "D'ya think we'll go to war?"
asked Burkett, as they headed out of the locker room that evening.
Smoltz shrugged. "I suppose so. War on terrorism at the least. I can't decide
if it's a good or bad thing."
"Good," Glavine said, emphatically, and the hand Greg had resting on his
shoulder squeezed momentarily. "We have to do something. If we don't
retaliate, we're facing the fact that it will happen again, and we can't
let it, whether it's to us or someone else."
"You're right," Maddux muttered. "Absolutely right."
"It would mean a lot more American lives lost."
"It could save a lot more human lives."
"You're pretty emotional about this, aren't you, Glav?"
The lefty turned an icy stare on his friend, and Smoltz looked away.
"I'll give you a ride home, Tommy," Maddux offered, in an attempt to keep the
peace. It worked, as Glavine turned to Maddux's car.
"See you tomorrow," called Smoltz, in an obvious peace offering, and Maddux
was glad that Tom replied.
Once in the car, Glavine covered his face in his hands, sighing deeply. "You
ok?" Maddux inquired, his thumb gently stroking over the back of his neck.
Tom looked at him, allowing a small smile. "No. Not at all."
"Will you be?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I will be."
"That's good," Maddux said, kissing him, "because I wouldn't do so well
without you around, you know."
"I just...you know those scouts that died, right?"
"Yeah. Hockey, right?"
"Right. I...well, I knew them. I've met them."
"I'm sorry," was the murmured reply. Glavine didn't often discuss his hockey
background or ties, and Maddux didn't really know what to say.
There was silence for a long moment, as Maddux stared ahead, mindlessly
maneuvering through the Atlanta streets. "Maddy?"
"Yeah, Glav?"
"Can you...can I forget? Can you make me forget? Tonight?"
"Yes," came the hissed response, as the other pitcher closed the garage door
behind the entrance of the car. "Anything. Anything you want. Anything to
help. I love you, Tommy, you know that." He pulled Glavine into a
comforting embrace as they cleared the doorway, kicking the door shut
behind them.
"I know," Glavine whispered into his neck. "Love you. Thank you."
In response, pushed him away a little, entangling his fingers in the soft
brown hair and kissing him, fully, passionately.
And they forgot.