Second Chances, PG
Title: Second Chance
Author: soupypictures
Pairing: Actually, none. Barry Zito, though!
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The names of real people, institutions and organizations are meant to give the fiction a sense of reality and is in no way indicative of anything even resembling real life.
Warnings: … semi-abandonment? And no beta.
Summary: Barry Zito wakes up one day and there’s a baby.
Notes: Written for bats_and_balls for the prompt "It is never too late to be what you might have been." - George Eliot. I don’t even know what the hell this is. Well I do. I said you'd regret it! ;) Forgive me for any major oopsies -- it's about two hours past my bedtime and I just lived through a rollercoaster of a game.
She shows up a little more than a year later, a miniature version of him asleep in her arms. She's speaking so fast that he's unable to keep up. He remembers her vividly and thinks, "Why didn't I call?" He can't stop staring at the baby, and he's not so out of it that he doesn't put two and two together and get that this is his son.
He lets her into the house and she follows him in, a diaper bag over one shoulder and a car seat clutched in her free hand. "Barry, I − I can't do this. I thought I could handle it but−"
"Wait, okay, I can pay child support−" but she's shaking her head and it's not child support she's after, or any kind of money, but she needs him to take custody.
He can get his mind around the fact that he has a son, he can understand why it had taken her so long to come to him and he can understand why she would want money. But … taking the kid? That's beyond his comprehension. "But you're his mother−"
"I can't take care of him anymore. Look at me."
"I can give you money. I can − whatever you need," he says frantically, eyes locked on the baby.
"It's not the money, Barry."
"Then what is it?"
"He doesn't feel like mine."
He thinks that sounds ridiculous. He thinks there's got to be something in the female genes to prevent that, but he looks closer at the sleeping boy and sees himself. He shakes his head, instincts railing against that coming conclusion. The baby came from her, was there for nine months, she took care of him for another five months on top of that and what?
"Look at him."
He hasn't stopped.
"I love him, I do, but I can't do it anymore. And. I was okay there for awhile, but I'm −"
He waves her off and holds his arms out for the baby.
She hesitates.
He nods, takes the diaper bag and somehow knows that's all she's got. "Do you want−"
"I don't need anything from you."
He refuses, writes her a check because he knows she has to go to school, or find a job, or an apartment or something, because you don't just give up your baby if there's not something financial involved. She takes the check and he makes her promise to deposit it and then she hands over the baby and she's gone.
And he has a son.
--
That night, their first night together, he sits on the couch for hours, just holding him. He realizes, looking into his son's clear eyes, that he doesn't know his name. He doesn't have a birth certificate or anything. He panics again, his heart picks up and the baby squirms, starting to cry.
"No, shh, it's okay. It's okay, little Zito. We'll figure it out."
It comes to him in the middle of the night, as he lies awake listening for baby cries, to look in the diaper bag and he almost sobs in relief when he locates the folder. He finds tiny inked footprints and first baby pictures. He finds a snapshot of her, a note to their son written on the back. He finds the birth certificate with all of their names, the only tangible thing linking them all together. "Zachariah," he whispers, that unfamiliar name taking shape in his mouth. There are two letters in the folder, one to him and one to the baby. He opens his and there's her full explanation, in black and white for him to read.
Zachariah cries then and he puts everything back in the folder and cradles his son in his arms.
This is something he never thought he would have. Something he thought baseball had taken away from him. It only hits him a week later that he hasn’t been to the gym and this is going to be a lot harder than for a normal single father.
But this is a chance to be good at something. Knowing how few and far between those chances are, he won’t waste this one.
I tag owllover711 with the prompt "Love is the condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own." - Robert Heinlein
Author: soupypictures
Pairing: Actually, none. Barry Zito, though!
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The names of real people, institutions and organizations are meant to give the fiction a sense of reality and is in no way indicative of anything even resembling real life.
Warnings: … semi-abandonment? And no beta.
Summary: Barry Zito wakes up one day and there’s a baby.
Notes: Written for bats_and_balls for the prompt "It is never too late to be what you might have been." - George Eliot. I don’t even know what the hell this is. Well I do. I said you'd regret it! ;) Forgive me for any major oopsies -- it's about two hours past my bedtime and I just lived through a rollercoaster of a game.
She shows up a little more than a year later, a miniature version of him asleep in her arms. She's speaking so fast that he's unable to keep up. He remembers her vividly and thinks, "Why didn't I call?" He can't stop staring at the baby, and he's not so out of it that he doesn't put two and two together and get that this is his son.
He lets her into the house and she follows him in, a diaper bag over one shoulder and a car seat clutched in her free hand. "Barry, I − I can't do this. I thought I could handle it but−"
"Wait, okay, I can pay child support−" but she's shaking her head and it's not child support she's after, or any kind of money, but she needs him to take custody.
He can get his mind around the fact that he has a son, he can understand why it had taken her so long to come to him and he can understand why she would want money. But … taking the kid? That's beyond his comprehension. "But you're his mother−"
"I can't take care of him anymore. Look at me."
"I can give you money. I can − whatever you need," he says frantically, eyes locked on the baby.
"It's not the money, Barry."
"Then what is it?"
"He doesn't feel like mine."
He thinks that sounds ridiculous. He thinks there's got to be something in the female genes to prevent that, but he looks closer at the sleeping boy and sees himself. He shakes his head, instincts railing against that coming conclusion. The baby came from her, was there for nine months, she took care of him for another five months on top of that and what?
"Look at him."
He hasn't stopped.
"I love him, I do, but I can't do it anymore. And. I was okay there for awhile, but I'm −"
He waves her off and holds his arms out for the baby.
She hesitates.
He nods, takes the diaper bag and somehow knows that's all she's got. "Do you want−"
"I don't need anything from you."
He refuses, writes her a check because he knows she has to go to school, or find a job, or an apartment or something, because you don't just give up your baby if there's not something financial involved. She takes the check and he makes her promise to deposit it and then she hands over the baby and she's gone.
And he has a son.
--
That night, their first night together, he sits on the couch for hours, just holding him. He realizes, looking into his son's clear eyes, that he doesn't know his name. He doesn't have a birth certificate or anything. He panics again, his heart picks up and the baby squirms, starting to cry.
"No, shh, it's okay. It's okay, little Zito. We'll figure it out."
It comes to him in the middle of the night, as he lies awake listening for baby cries, to look in the diaper bag and he almost sobs in relief when he locates the folder. He finds tiny inked footprints and first baby pictures. He finds a snapshot of her, a note to their son written on the back. He finds the birth certificate with all of their names, the only tangible thing linking them all together. "Zachariah," he whispers, that unfamiliar name taking shape in his mouth. There are two letters in the folder, one to him and one to the baby. He opens his and there's her full explanation, in black and white for him to read.
Zachariah cries then and he puts everything back in the folder and cradles his son in his arms.
This is something he never thought he would have. Something he thought baseball had taken away from him. It only hits him a week later that he hasn’t been to the gym and this is going to be a lot harder than for a normal single father.
But this is a chance to be good at something. Knowing how few and far between those chances are, he won’t waste this one.
I tag owllover711 with the prompt "Love is the condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own." - Robert Heinlein