by me
Rating: ah, it's varied.
Summary: The Division series are over. Four teams moved on. Four didn't.
Notes: Just know that some of these were exceedingly difficult to write. Also note that this is being posted about 2 hours after the Braves/Giants game ended.
********New York*********
Mike didn�t want to talk to Andy. He didn�t want to talk to anybody. He wanted to sit in his seat on the plane and watch the clouds over the central United States and sulk.
But Andy was going to sit next to him anyway. �It�s ok, Mike,� the other pitcher muttered.
�We fuckin� sucked.�
�No we didn�t.�
Mike looked at him incredulously. �I did�and so did you.�
Andy shrugged, shifting his gaze so he was looking past Mike and out the window. �They just�they just hit.�
�Yeah, they did.� Mussina�s voice was uncharacteristically bitter.
�It�s ok, baby.� Pettitte�s voice lowered, his eyes focusing on Mike again.
With a sigh, Mussina lowered his head to Andy�s shoulder. He didn�t want to talk to Andy. But he was pretty happy to have Andy�s arm around him, his breath ruffling Mike�s hair. �I know.�
�I�m sorry I didn�t win for you, Mike.�
�Me too,� Mussina mumbled.
�We have next season.�
Mike burrowed deeper into Andy�s shoulder and didn�t say anything. He didn�t want to hear about next season. That was a long fucking time away. Andy took the hint, sighed again, and let Mike sleep against him.
************St. Louis************
It was well after the press left, well after the wives and girlfriends and parents and children and random administrative people that no one knew left. Some of the players were still around, absorbing the moment, and Rolen found Morris standing in front of Kile�s jersey.
The pitcher was wearing his uniform pants and socks, no shoes, and the t-shirt he wore under his jersey. His hair was sticking up, obviously stiff and sticky with champagne. He was soaked with it. But so was Rolen. The third baseman stepped behind Morris and wrapped his right arm around the pitchers waist, resting his chin on Matt�s shoulder. �You ok?� he murmured.
�Y-yeah,� Matt said, his voice thick, and Scott noticed the tears glistening in his eyes.
�Sure?�
Matt nodded and turned so he could kiss Scott gently on the lips. �Yeah�I just�I wish he were here so much, Scott. He deserves to be here�he deserves this��
Scott backed away and turned Matt so they were face to face, so he could pull Matt into his arms � well, arm, the left stayed safely tucked against his body. He could feel the pitcher�s tears against his neck. �You know how proud of you he�d be, Matty.�
He could feel Morris take a deep breath, and he raised his head and wiped his eyes. �I know.� He smiled, and his eyes shone. He was sad, Rolen knew, but even that couldn�t undermine the happiness he was feeling right now.
Just like the pain in Scott�s shoulder was insignificant. �You wanna go home?�
Matt smiled again and nodded. �Just a sec.�
�Ok.� Rolen went back to collect things from his own locker but watched as Matt trailed his fingers down DK�s jersey, his head bowed, his lips moving in a whispered prayer. But he was smiling when he came back to Scott.
�Your shoulder ok?�
�As good as it could be, I guess,� Scott sighed. He didn�t want to talk about it. It killed him that he hadn�t gotten to play for the St. Louis fans before it happened.
Morris nodded, wrapping an arm around his waist. �Good.�
Still champagne-soaked and sticky, they walked together into the cool night.
*********Arizona***********
They were sitting on the porch again. They hadn�t spoken on the plane ride home. But they didn�t have to speak much. They knew each other well enough. �It was a good season,� Grace finally said.
�Yeah, mostly.�
�With its ups and downs.�
�Like you pitching. Down.�
The piece of ice Mark lobbed at Steve was more half-hearted than usual. It still brought a smile to Finley�s face. �I wasn�t that bad.�
�Well, you were certainly entertaining. You do have a flair for that.�
Grace gave him a half-smile and stared across the sky, sighing and stretching. �I hate getting old.�
�Join the club.�
�I just�I hate the feeling of knowing that my seasons are limited.�
�I know how you feel, Gracie.�
Mumbling something under his breath, Mark stood up and went inside, and Steve could see him fiddling with his CD system just inside the sliding glass door. A few moments later, Bruce Springsteen�s latest CD poured out of the porch speakers. �I feel like depressing music,� Grace said, taking his seat again.
They sat in silence, listening to the rich sounds of the music, lost in their own thoughts. Sometime in the middle of Lonesome Day, their fingers entangled. Their thoughts weren�t so bad anymore.
**********Anaheim*********
David Eckstein was not looking forward to getting out of bed. He was about as happy as he could possibly be right now. Jarrod was awake and playing with his hair, their bodies close, their legs entangled. He knew when he got up he�d have to deal with the headache he�d have when he moved. He�d have the beer and champagne bottles strewn around his living room from the party he�d hosted. He had Benji Gil and Adam Kennedy in the guest room to get rid of before his parents showed up that evening.
But Jarrod�s mouth was so warm on his neck that he had no incentive to move whatsoever. He threaded his fingers through the soft hair and hugged him close. �You were so good, Jarr.�
�You too.�
�I can�t believe this season. I can�t believe we won.�
�I can, baby. I knew we�d win.�
�You rock.�
�Thank you,� Washburn giggled, kissing David firmly. �Now go take a shower. I�ll help you clean up and stuff.�
�I�ll clean up the trash,� Eckstein muttered, reluctantly moving out of Washburn�s embrace. �You clean up Benji and Adam.�
As it turned out, Washburn decided to conserve water and shower with David. Dressed and somewhat prepared, David opened the door to his bedroom, surveying the disaster with a sigh. �Fuck,� he muttered.
Jarrod came up behind him, ducking to bite his earlobe. �We�re going to the ALCS,� he whispered in David�s ear, �and I love you.�
Suddenly, the mess was nothing.
************Oakland**********
They had their own ways of dealing with things.
Zito had been in the corner of the living room with headphones and his guitar for hours now, his eyes still red-rimmed. He played things tonight that neither of the other men had heard him play before.
Hudson was lying on his back on the bed, his hands clasped behind his head, his eyes shut. He wasn�t winning the battle with the self-doubt he was feeling. He�d been given the Game 1 start. He�d fucked it up. Twice. He was the reason they lost. Another tear squeezed its way from beneath his closed eyelid. He ignored it. Like all the others.
Mulder sat at the kitchen table, an untouched beer in front of him. He couldn�t figure out how he felt, outside of the devastation of losing. He knew how well he�d pitched in Game 2. He knew how hard he�d fought in Game 5. But it hadn�t mattered. He couldn�t change the outcome. He just hadn�t been good enough. Slowly, he lowered his head to the table, letting his shoulders shake with the force of silent sobs.
Barry didn�t know how long he�d played before he felt the pain from his hand. Realizing muscle cramps as a pitcher were bad, he finally set the guitar down and slid the headphones off his ears, feeling his back crack as he sat back in his chair. It was the middle of the night. He�d been there for hours without even realizing it, letting the music calm him. Unsteadily, he pushed himself to his feet and wandered towards the kitchen.
He was surprised to find Mark there, sitting at the table, his head down. Somewhat uncertainly, he rested his hand on Mulder�s shoulder, squeezing a little. The lefty jumped and sat up, shooting a glare at Barry, who stepped backwards in surprise. Blinking, Mulder softened. �I�m sorry,� he said hoarsely, and Barry nodded and reached out a hand to pull him to his feet, continuing to pull until they were close.
�You were so good�� Barry murmured against his neck. �So so good��
Mark broke their embrace first. �I�m going to bed,� he said, his voice still hoarse. Barry nodded and followed him.
Tim looked asleep, and the only sign of his state were the hitches in breathing inconsistent with sleep. Mark slid up the bed and Tim migrated to him quickly, throwing his arm across the lefty�s waist and hiding his face in Mulder�s shoulder. �I love you, Tim,� Mark said, rubbing a hand across Hudson�s neck and the back his head.
He looked up and met Barry�s eyes, and Zito curled up on Hudson�s other side, kissing the back of his neck softly. �I love you too, Tim,� he said, in his first words since about 5:00 that evening.
And maybe they all felt a little bit better.
******Minnesota*******
As they should have expected, the A�s didn�t give up, even down by 4. The butterflies in Radke�s stomach were going to escape at any minute, his hands were sweating and shaking, and felt lightheaded. He didn�t always feel comfortable praying to God about baseball games, so he was directing all prayers in the direction of the baseball deities.
Koskie had it easier. He could focus on the pitch and not worry about anything else, he could quell his own nervousness. As that final popup soared into the air, he was bouncing on his toes, and he had to remind himself to stay in the general vicinity of third base. Just in case.
But he didn�t have to. The sound of the ball solidly colliding with leather seemed almost deafening. All at once, he could hear the simultaneous sigh of disappointment from the crowd. He could feel the rush of devastation from the A�s dugout. And he could see his jubilant teammates rushing from the dugout in celebration.
Radke was harassed by too many people to count, all screaming things he couldn�t understand, before he felt Corey�s arms around him, Corey�s voice saying, �You rock, you fucking rock,� into his ear. He hugged his third baseman back, feeling joy and exhilaration rush over him. Back in the locker room, champagne everywhere, people everywhere, Koskie was never far from his sight, and his smile got a little bigger every time their eyes met.
Once it quieted down, Corey found him again, carrying a half-full bottle of champagne this time. Putting an arm around Brad�s shoulders, he held the bottle to his lips, and Radke drank deeply, having never had anything more sweet than the taste of this beverage. But Koskie lowered the bottle and kissed him, and the kiss got deeper and Radke had to amend that earlier thought because the taste of champagne from Corey�s mouth was even sweeter.
�You fucking rock,� Corey said again, the same thing he�d said on the field. �You won for us.�
�We all won,� Radke muttered back, kissing Corey again. �We all fucking won.�
*********San Francisco*********
They were in St. Louis now, still drunk on success and victory, but knowing the next few games would not be easy ones. But that didn�t matter to Minor and Snow, entwined as they were, gasping in the recovery of breath.
�You were so fucking amazing,� Damon whispered. Snow eyed him and he giggled. �In the game!�
�Well, thanks.� JT sighed, completely content, unbelievably happy.
He had started a run scoring rally in the seventh. He had started the double play to end the game. He was in a hotel room in St. Louis in the middle of the night, still able to taste the champagne in his throat. He had the man he loved almost more than baseball itself curled around him. Life didn�t get better.
�Until we win again.�
Snow hadn�t realized he spoken his thoughts aloud until Minor replied. �Right.�
�And Barry finally won a postseason series.�
JT snorted. �Barry didn�t win shit. The Giants won a postseason series.�
�Damn straight,� Damon grinned.
JT rolled onto his back so could look at Minor, could kiss him again. �I love you, Damon.�
�I love you too. Thank you for playing so hard, JT. Even when it was tough.�
�That�s my job. I do get paid.�
Damon smiled. �I know�but��
�Yeah. I know. Go to sleep.� Minor sighed, and his body relaxed against JT�s as he fell into sleep.�
***********Atlanta*********
Greg didn�t want to think about the faces in the locker room. He was trying to forget the devastation of the bullpen he�d been standing in, hoping desperately for a chance to get the heart of the order out. He really wanted to forget Glavine�s broken, almost incoherent apologies to the team. That was difficult with Glavine sitting next to him.
They reached Maddux�s house, empty, and the right-hander pulled the lefty inside, blinking back tears as his eyes rested on the four Cy Young Awards on the wall, the one�s that meant absolute shit when you lost in October.
Glavine didn�t even try. The door shut and Maddux pulled him into an embrace, and whatever composure Tom had maintained until now was gone.
He was shaking, taking this harder than any Greg had ever seen him take before. �I�m sorry,� he was whispering, as Greg blinked harder and stroked his hair soothingly.
�It�s�it�s ok��
�It�s not�it�s my fault, my fucking fault, I�m so sorry�I let you all down��
Maddux didn�t reply. What could he say? Nothing to change Tom�s mind.
Glavine didn�t stop crying, overwhelmed with the self-doubt, the sorrow, the pain of losing. �This could be it�I fucked it up�our last season��
�Don�t think like that, Tommy.� It didn�t sound very convincing, even to himself.
�Sorry��
Standing there, in the foyer of his Atlanta home, Greg Maddux was holding his teammate of ten years and his lover of almost that tightly against him while said teammate sobbed. He felt so much right now�the complete devastation of loss. The uncertainty of what lay ahead. The fear of losing Glavine to whatever lay ahead. He lowered his head slowly, settling against Tom�s neck and shoulder, feeling his own tears overflow.
Never, in his entire life, had he felt more helpless.
TBC (with 4 teams) when the LCS conclude.