Fic: Of High-Socks & Baseball Cleats (Jeter/Rodriguez, PG-13)
Title: Of High-Socks and Baseball Cleats
Author: bellumbella
Characters: Jeter/Rodriguez, Joe Girardi
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This really happened. I saw it . . . and then my alarm clock went off and I woke up.
Word Count: 1,400
Summary: Joe Girardi hears the darndest thing in the middle of a World Series.
----
“You know that I still love you, right?”
When Joe Girardi had spied a free seat in the hidden nook between the Gatorade cooler and the wall in the dugout, he’d ambled on over to grab some peace and quiet - even though he expected to be interrupted by one of the anxious base coaches as soon as his butt touched the bench.
What Joe hadn’t expected was to overhear a whispered declaration of love from his shortstop to his third baseman.
Holy shit.
The manager’s dizzy thoughts were interrupted by a voice that had been carefully scrubbed clean of its Dominican accent. “No, Derek I don’t know that you still love me. I’m not even sure that you ever loved me.”
Cleats could be heard scraping harshly against cement and he could see that Derek had moved to stand in front of his teammate who remained sitting on the bench. “Dammit, Al. Don’t you say that.” He hears the soft, fleshy, thud of a fist hitting concrete and then, “Dammit! You know better.” By the end of the statement, all of the conviction had deflated from Derek’s voice like air hissing out of a balloon.
“Yeah,” Alex chuckled bitterly, “I know better. You love me so much, you couldn’t even forgive me the first time I made a mistake and said something stupid to reporters.”
As soon as the third baseman stopped speaking, Joe had the ironic thought that if Alex’s post season hits were as sharp as his words he’d be hitting constant homeruns and the Yankee’s would have this Series in the bag.
“What do you want me to say, Al? I fucked up, you fucked up. We moved on.”
“You’re right. We moved on. Things have been a lot better lately. We’ve even been friendly. Both of us are in a good place. So why are you telling me this now, in the middle of the World Series?”
“It’s because we’re in the World Series that I’m telling you!” Their verbal exchange is executed like one of the pair’s well practiced double plays - seamless, sharp, and deadly.
“So, what? You tell me you love me and I’m going to go out and score a home run because of it?”
Well, if that’s what it takes for Alex to hit some homers then I’ll tell Derek he can kiss the man as much as he wants. Thankfully, before that ridiculous thought can manifest into an uncomfortable mental picture, Derek started speaking.
“No! No, I’m trying to tell you that life is going really well. The team is doing great and for the first time in years, we’re serious contenders in the Series. Everything is finally coming together . . . and it’s not enough for me.”
There’s silence now and Joe can hear the sounds of the rest of the team warming up filter down into the dugout.
He doesn’t know what to do with what he’s hearing. Joe’d always thought he was pretty observant - that as a manager he knew his players like the back of his hand - but he’d never seen this coming. Never even had a clue that it was going on.
How the Hell had he missed it?
Joe knew that Alex and Derek had some kind of a past, that they’d been friends and then there was Alex’s very public tailspin conducted in full view of the media which led to an infamous freeze out by Derek. It hadn’t effected their ability to play ball though, and they’d gotten warmer towards each other as the years passed. But . . .
Jeter and Rodriguez?
He didn’t think that Alex had the ability to love anyone but himself, and Jeter had a lifelong mistress- her name was Baseball.
There’s another shifting sound and Joe can see a pair of Yankee blue, high-sock clad legs stretch out until they nudge at the short stop’s cleats. “Deej,” he hears Alex murmur the nickname softly, “You’ve always had higher standards than everyone else. Nothing will ever be enough for you. That’s just how you’re built. It’s what makes you a great baseball player.”
“No, you don’t understand. It’s you, you’re what’s missing. Nothing will ever be enough to make me happy if you’re not in my life.”
“You see me every day, what more do you want Deej? I can’t . . . I can’t go back to before. We can’t go back to the way things were.”
“I know, I know. I don’t want to go back to how things were, look at how that turned out - we destroyed each other, Al. So, I want to go forward . . . I want to go forward with you in my life. Things are different now. We can do better. We can be better, together.”
Joe hears an alarming hitching start midway through Derek’s statement, and if he didn’t know better he’d be thinking that the big, brawny, “A-Rod” was holding back a sob.
Derek seemed to have the same opinion because the manager could see him step forward until his cleats were on either side of a high-socked leg. “Al . . . Alex please. Tell me to leave and I will. I’ll never mention this again,” the man pauses to clear his throat or gather his courage before continuing on, “but if there’s any chance then please, please give us that chance.”
“Do you remember, that’s exactly what I asked you to do after I said all of the stupid shit in that article? A chance.”
“Yeah,” and Derek’s voice sounds shredded by defeat as if it was a physical thing that had been dragged over the sharpest of rocks.
A moment passes and then Joe hears Alex let out a breath in a deep whoosh of air. “Okay.”
What?!
“What?”
“You ruined me, you know? I really tried with my ex-wife, I did, but I’m not fit to love anyone but you. I built too much of myself around you and when you broke it off - I knew I’d never be whole again. So, okay. I’m not gonna turn down the chance to be happy again.”
“I really am sorry, Al. I was so young, and my pride -“
“Yeah, I know all about your pride Deej and we have a lot of talking to do before we can be . . .well . . . us again. But,” and Joe sees the toe of Alex’s shoe hook around Derek’s ankle and draw him closer between his long legs, “you’re gonna make it worth it aren’t you?”
Over the top of the Gatorade cooler he can see the shortstop’s head bob furiously, “Whatever you want Al, just name it.” And this time his voice is hoarse with desire and not defeat.
“I want you to put a ring on my finger.”
Joe considers it a testament to his incredible self-control, learned through years on the diamond against some of the filthiest hecklers, that he doesn’t reveal himself in his little hidey-hole then and there.
“You . . . uh,” a skeptical pause, “You want me to marry you, Al?”
“Maybe,” and Joe can hear the teasing smile in the third baseman’s voice, “but for now I want a World Series ring.”
Derek moves forward a bit more until Joe is certain he must be practically straddling Alex’s thigh and he really - really - hopes that those top of the line hi-def cameras that the new stadium has are focused somewhere else. Then, he’s straining his ears to understand the warm, intimate words that follow. “So, you tell me you can’t love anyone but me and, what, you think I’m gonna go out and win a Series for you, Al?”
A bright laugh that sounds like the crack of a bat that's just hit a grand-slam rings through the dugout, “Yeah, Deej. That’s exactly what I think.”
The End
Author: bellumbella
Characters: Jeter/Rodriguez, Joe Girardi
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This really happened. I saw it . . . and then my alarm clock went off and I woke up.
Word Count: 1,400
Summary: Joe Girardi hears the darndest thing in the middle of a World Series.
----
“You know that I still love you, right?”
When Joe Girardi had spied a free seat in the hidden nook between the Gatorade cooler and the wall in the dugout, he’d ambled on over to grab some peace and quiet - even though he expected to be interrupted by one of the anxious base coaches as soon as his butt touched the bench.
What Joe hadn’t expected was to overhear a whispered declaration of love from his shortstop to his third baseman.
Holy shit.
The manager’s dizzy thoughts were interrupted by a voice that had been carefully scrubbed clean of its Dominican accent. “No, Derek I don’t know that you still love me. I’m not even sure that you ever loved me.”
Cleats could be heard scraping harshly against cement and he could see that Derek had moved to stand in front of his teammate who remained sitting on the bench. “Dammit, Al. Don’t you say that.” He hears the soft, fleshy, thud of a fist hitting concrete and then, “Dammit! You know better.” By the end of the statement, all of the conviction had deflated from Derek’s voice like air hissing out of a balloon.
“Yeah,” Alex chuckled bitterly, “I know better. You love me so much, you couldn’t even forgive me the first time I made a mistake and said something stupid to reporters.”
As soon as the third baseman stopped speaking, Joe had the ironic thought that if Alex’s post season hits were as sharp as his words he’d be hitting constant homeruns and the Yankee’s would have this Series in the bag.
“What do you want me to say, Al? I fucked up, you fucked up. We moved on.”
“You’re right. We moved on. Things have been a lot better lately. We’ve even been friendly. Both of us are in a good place. So why are you telling me this now, in the middle of the World Series?”
“It’s because we’re in the World Series that I’m telling you!” Their verbal exchange is executed like one of the pair’s well practiced double plays - seamless, sharp, and deadly.
“So, what? You tell me you love me and I’m going to go out and score a home run because of it?”
Well, if that’s what it takes for Alex to hit some homers then I’ll tell Derek he can kiss the man as much as he wants. Thankfully, before that ridiculous thought can manifest into an uncomfortable mental picture, Derek started speaking.
“No! No, I’m trying to tell you that life is going really well. The team is doing great and for the first time in years, we’re serious contenders in the Series. Everything is finally coming together . . . and it’s not enough for me.”
There’s silence now and Joe can hear the sounds of the rest of the team warming up filter down into the dugout.
He doesn’t know what to do with what he’s hearing. Joe’d always thought he was pretty observant - that as a manager he knew his players like the back of his hand - but he’d never seen this coming. Never even had a clue that it was going on.
How the Hell had he missed it?
Joe knew that Alex and Derek had some kind of a past, that they’d been friends and then there was Alex’s very public tailspin conducted in full view of the media which led to an infamous freeze out by Derek. It hadn’t effected their ability to play ball though, and they’d gotten warmer towards each other as the years passed. But . . .
Jeter and Rodriguez?
He didn’t think that Alex had the ability to love anyone but himself, and Jeter had a lifelong mistress- her name was Baseball.
There’s another shifting sound and Joe can see a pair of Yankee blue, high-sock clad legs stretch out until they nudge at the short stop’s cleats. “Deej,” he hears Alex murmur the nickname softly, “You’ve always had higher standards than everyone else. Nothing will ever be enough for you. That’s just how you’re built. It’s what makes you a great baseball player.”
“No, you don’t understand. It’s you, you’re what’s missing. Nothing will ever be enough to make me happy if you’re not in my life.”
“You see me every day, what more do you want Deej? I can’t . . . I can’t go back to before. We can’t go back to the way things were.”
“I know, I know. I don’t want to go back to how things were, look at how that turned out - we destroyed each other, Al. So, I want to go forward . . . I want to go forward with you in my life. Things are different now. We can do better. We can be better, together.”
Joe hears an alarming hitching start midway through Derek’s statement, and if he didn’t know better he’d be thinking that the big, brawny, “A-Rod” was holding back a sob.
Derek seemed to have the same opinion because the manager could see him step forward until his cleats were on either side of a high-socked leg. “Al . . . Alex please. Tell me to leave and I will. I’ll never mention this again,” the man pauses to clear his throat or gather his courage before continuing on, “but if there’s any chance then please, please give us that chance.”
“Do you remember, that’s exactly what I asked you to do after I said all of the stupid shit in that article? A chance.”
“Yeah,” and Derek’s voice sounds shredded by defeat as if it was a physical thing that had been dragged over the sharpest of rocks.
A moment passes and then Joe hears Alex let out a breath in a deep whoosh of air. “Okay.”
What?!
“What?”
“You ruined me, you know? I really tried with my ex-wife, I did, but I’m not fit to love anyone but you. I built too much of myself around you and when you broke it off - I knew I’d never be whole again. So, okay. I’m not gonna turn down the chance to be happy again.”
“I really am sorry, Al. I was so young, and my pride -“
“Yeah, I know all about your pride Deej and we have a lot of talking to do before we can be . . .well . . . us again. But,” and Joe sees the toe of Alex’s shoe hook around Derek’s ankle and draw him closer between his long legs, “you’re gonna make it worth it aren’t you?”
Over the top of the Gatorade cooler he can see the shortstop’s head bob furiously, “Whatever you want Al, just name it.” And this time his voice is hoarse with desire and not defeat.
“I want you to put a ring on my finger.”
Joe considers it a testament to his incredible self-control, learned through years on the diamond against some of the filthiest hecklers, that he doesn’t reveal himself in his little hidey-hole then and there.
“You . . . uh,” a skeptical pause, “You want me to marry you, Al?”
“Maybe,” and Joe can hear the teasing smile in the third baseman’s voice, “but for now I want a World Series ring.”
Derek moves forward a bit more until Joe is certain he must be practically straddling Alex’s thigh and he really - really - hopes that those top of the line hi-def cameras that the new stadium has are focused somewhere else. Then, he’s straining his ears to understand the warm, intimate words that follow. “So, you tell me you can’t love anyone but me and, what, you think I’m gonna go out and win a Series for you, Al?”
A bright laugh that sounds like the crack of a bat that's just hit a grand-slam rings through the dugout, “Yeah, Deej. That’s exactly what I think.”
The End