by me
Rating: R...language...
Summary: During Maddy's first inning struggles in Los Angeles on Friday.
Disclaimer: So fake.
Notes: I'm not sure I like it. It's a little weird. And different from my
norm, I think.
My heart sank in the first, as I charted. I could tell he was off, and so
could he. I could see it in his eyes from the beginning. It didn�t take 4
hits and 3 runs to tell me that. But if there�s anything else worse than
struggling on the mound, it�s watching him struggle. He does it so
infrequently. I almost winced when he realized the pitch was bad as it
left his hand, and I could see his lips move in an obscenity. I didn�t
need to see into his eyes to know that his carefully controlled features
were hiding a completely different picture as the ball landed in the
seats. �Fuck,� I muttered to myself, making a note on my pitch chart.
The inning didn�t get much better. Another homer. Another hit. He came into
the dugout livid, angry at himself and frustrated with his lack of
location. Leo herded him quickly into the tunnel towards the clubhouse,
hoping to avoid a dugout tantrum, and as he passed me he met my eyes and
nodded that direction.
I set aside the chart and went after him. His glove and hat were on the
ground, and he leaned against the wall, fingers entangled in his hair,
which was sweaty and sticking up. He looked defeated already. �What are
you doing?� I asked harshly.
�I have nothing,� he muttered, refusing to look at me. �Nothing. It�s like
batting practice. I can�t locate. I can�t do shit.�
�What, so you�re going to give up? Concede the game now?�
He looked at me, and I saw a flash of defiance in his eyes. For an instant.
But then, he just shrugged. �What�s it matter, we�re going to strike in-�
Something snapped, and I slammed my right hand into the wall beside his head,
causing him to jump. �Do not say that,� I growled. �Do not fucking think
like that, Greg. You�re better than that!�
This time anger flashed in his eyes, and he grabbed my shirt, shoving me
roughly away. �What gives you the fucking right to talk to me like that, huh?�
�Do you know what gives me the right, Greg? The fact that I deal with the
fucking politicians and lawyers all the time and you. Don�t. Ok? They try
their fucking best to kill the love of the game in me with their political
bullshit and I don�t let them. And you can be damned sure that I�m going
out there tomorrow to win. Not to be fucking apathetic. Because it could
be the last time in my CAREER that I do it in THIS uniform!� I placed my
hand not so gently on the �Braves� scripted across his chest. �And it
might be the last time you do it in THIS uniform.� He looked down,
blinking suddenly. We had this discussion in San Diego. �Don�t forget
that,� I said forcefully. �Don�t forget you�re playing for more than a
fucking paycheck.� I turned and left him standing there.
My heart was pounding when I sat back down and picked up the chart again,
though no one could tell. I don�t think I�ve ever spoken to Greg like that
in out entire relationship. Now I�m scared I�ve fucked up what could be
our last few weeks together. I swallowed my fear, making myself look out
at the field.
Two pitches later, he walked back into the dugout looking completely normal
and unaffected. And sat next to me. My heart jumped again, but I continued
looking at the field. �I�m sorry,� he muttered. It was pitiful.
�Are you?� I muttered back.
�Yes. You�re right.�
�Apocalypse. You�re saying I was right.� My tone stayed neutral.
�Tom.� I looked at him, and he looked scared too. �It could be.�
I blinked hurriedly and looked at the chart. �Bend your back more on your
follow-through. You seemed stiff.�
�Ok,� he said softly.
The top of the second ended, and our guys started towards the field. He took
his glove and slid off the bench, and got to the first step. �Doggie.�
He turned. �Yeah?�
�No more.�
It was something we�d said to each other a million times. No more runs, no
more hits, no more walks. But, today it meant so much more. I could only
have one more time to sit and chart his pitches. It could be the last time
we�re guaranteed to pitch back-to-back. It�s an overwhelming though, that.
He gave me a little half-grin and headed for the mound.
It got prettier and prettier. In the end, he pitched very, very well. And I
was so relieved to see it, and so proud to see it, that I barely noticed
our eventual loss.