FIC: the curve you thought was there
the curve you thought was there, 1/2
See Notes for ratings, warnings, references, etc.
~
Bare-handed reach
to catch
April's
incoming curve.1
~
Jensen gave the idiots in front of him, who were apparently incapable of signing their names and writing down their email addresses, five more minutes before he took the clipboards from them. In the meantime, he enjoyed the 180-degree view of the valley at dusk.
Nice view, if you wanted to make the trek up here for it. Jen supposed that if his cubicle were on upper campus, he'd spend his lunch break up here. As it was, he was enjoying the panorama while he waited, and he'd make an effort to come to the next organizational meeting. Unionizing his fellow grad students and teaching assistants was low on his list of priorities, but it could be bumped up for an hour of this scenery. Plus, for a guy looking forward to a few more years of school for his MBA and Masters in Economics before finding a job in a professional sports organization, a little bit of labor relations experience never hurt.
"Jen, we're heading to the Pi for beer and pizza when we're done here. You wanna come?" Sophia broke into his musing.
"Hmm? No, thanks. Opening game's tonight. I already missed batting practice, but if I'm lucky I'll make the first inning."
Sophia smiled indulgently. "I've got your email; I'll add you to the list and the Yahoo group. Get out of here." She waved her hand dismissively.
"Lunch on Saturday?"
"One-thirty, as usual. Oasis or the Iguana?"
Jensen just looked at her.
"Okay, fine. Mexican it is."
He headed for the elevator, which took forever to arrive. He dragged his fingers through his short, spiky hair restlessly as he waited. The campus shuttle would never get him back to the parking lot in time to get his car and get to the park in time for the first pitch, even with opening day festivities.
~
Leap higher than you thought you could and
Hold1
~
Jensen received a casual greeting from the guy at the gate; he hadn't been around when Jen was a minor league pitcher, but Jensen supposed other staffers might have mentioned him. Or maybe the guy was just a serious Angels fan and remembered Jensen's stellar rookie (only complete) season with L.A.
Sandy had held his ticket for him in the box office, and she had known his preferred seating when she set up his season ticket package: he was right at the end of the home dugout, even with first base. Jensen headed down the aisle, checking out the other spectators. Opening game always drew a decent crowd; he'd be surprised if these folks came back for the second and third game, and impressed if they made it to mid-season, especially if it was a losing one. The seats next to him were empty, but Sandy'd join him by the end of the inning, as soon as the ticket office was quiet enough to leave in the hands of the intern.
He settled into his seat and took out his scorebook and the program, noting the numbers of the players at each position. There was a River Cat on second base with two outs.
The pitcher blew out a deep breath, went into his windup, and cut loose.
"Woo."
Fastball. It had to be over ninety miles an hour. Jensen looked to the scoreboard, to see if the Bees had the radar working. Yep. "FASTBALL 95" was lit up for the entire world to see.
Too bad it had been so high that the tip of the catcher's glove barely touched it. And he had jumped.
Thirty minutes later, Jensen had reached a few conclusions: the pitcher had good speed with not-so-good placement on his fastball, an iffy sinker, and no curveball whatsoever. The team's fielding was lackluster, but he thought the short stop had potential. Some of the other players were new faces for Jensen, but others had been in the PCL before Jensen had hung up his glove. He'd withhold final judgment until he'd seen them play together a bit more, but at the rate they were going Jensen expected that less than half of them would ever see the Show.
All in all, it was likely to be a long season for the Salt Lake Bees.
By the time the game was over, the sun had set and the early April night was cold, and Jensen was happy to leave the Bees and their problems to Jeffrey Dean Morgan. He had papers to grade and reading to do, and thinking about how he'd shuffle players around and things he'd have the young pitcher (because no experienced pitcher, even in the minor leagues, had so many problems finding the plate) work on wouldn't get either chore finished.
~
Spring,
Solid,
Here.1
~
"You look all shiny and happy. Should I even ask what you've been doing?"
"Ass. Not what you think. After all, you weren't around, were you?" Sophia smirked at Jensen as she planted herself in the seat across from him. "Where's mine?"
"That was just once, and when I woke up you were gone. I felt so… used." He grinned, just to let her know he was kidding. "And get your own margarita, woman. The waitress'll be back in a minute."
Impatient, she lifted his glass and took a sip, licking the rim before she put it back down. "Mm, salt. And I wish I could have stayed for that awkward morning after moment or a rewind-repeat, but some of us don't have work or class schedules that start at 11 am. I left you a note, didn't I?"
Jensen eyed Sophia mournfully, using his big green eyes to advantage. "You never call me anymore, though, baby. Wasn't it good for you?" He batted his eyelashes flirtatiously.
"Do you want a play by play analysis of your performance?" One finely shaped eyebrow arched upward.
Jensen was a pretty secure guy, but he didn't think his ego was ready for a scathing critique from Sophia, who had ample experience dealing with sexist pigs. She had, after all, spent her grad school years as the lone female in her lab, and she pulled no punches. He redirected.
"So, this morning?"
"What? Oh, I was up at Snowbird. My boss had some half-day passes-his neighbor or somebody works the PR department up there, and gave him some extras-so the lab did a group activity. The snow's for shit this late in the season, frozen hard in the morning and turning to slush in the sunlight, but four hours of skiing for free never hurts."
"You still got time to go to REI with me and then see the game, or do you have stuff to do since the boss unshackled you from the lab this morning?"
"Hah." She snagged his glass and took another sip. "Yeah, I'm giving up on the weekend work for a while. Too much to do here in the spring and summer to spend weekends at work, no matter how ambitious I am. And we are finding the perfect mountain bike for you today, so you won't have any excuses when the crew plans an outing. This way you'll be able to bike around the city and Red Butte first, get used to it before we take you up-canyon. I talked to Chad, and he said he'd fix us up."
Chad was one of Sophia's house-mates, a guy who'd moved to SLC for grad school, fell in love with the place, and decided to stay on after he was finished. He was possibly the best educated ski bum, bike mechanic and sales rep in the valley; given the referrals from the ever-changing grad student population and the U's outdoor rec program, he was also possibly the best known, a circumstance that Chad knew and used to his advantage. Jensen was ninety-five percent certain that Sophia was in love with him, but she refused to talk about it.
"Sweet."
Just then, a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman in a white peasant blouse and embroidered skirt came back, a basket of hot tortilla chips and salsa in hand, and all attention turned to the menus.
Since Jensen had walked to the Blue Iguana, they took Sophia's Toyota to REI. She had even remembered to switch out one of the Yak rack's ski clamps for a bike mount, which made it that much easier to get Jensen's new Marin hybrid home.
They parked in front of his two-story blue Victorian, and he lifted the bike out of the rack, rolling it up the steep yard past the scrub and cacti-the upstairs tenants, whom he'd inherited when he bought the place, were hardcore environmentalists who refused to condone unnatural grasses-to the porch. He propped it on the rail and unlocked the front door, pushing it wide so Sophia could wheel the bike into the hallway.
"You gonna leave it here in the foyer, since it's locked?"
"Nah." He opened the inner door, and she preceded him into the living room. "It'd be a violation of fire-code or something, I'm sure. I've got some hooks-I'll hang it in the other bedroom once I've got them installed." He took the handlebars from her and pushed the bike into the spare room, which held his desk, a bookshelf, and a bunch of unpacked boxes. When he returned to the living room, Sophia was flopped on the sofa. He grabbed a couple of Diet Cokes from the fridge, handing her one before sitting down and cracking open his own.
"So. Chad had a lot to say to you."
"He had a lot to flaunt, you mean." She took a big gulp.
"I know it's none of my business, but-"
"Unless you want to talk about your last date with Rick, you really should stop now."
"It sucked. He's not out, and he made a big deal about 'appropriate public behavior', but then he overcompensated in private." Jensen sighed. "I think I'm going to give up on men for a while. At least while I live here, anyway. Besides, women are so much easier-I just accept that I'll never understand them."
"Men are pigs. Present company not excepted."
Jensen bumped their shoulders together.
"In the meantime, we've still got each other, right?"
Sophia grunted companionably and clinked their soda cans together. "Always."
They finished their drinks in silence, watching the world go by through the picture window. Although he had rationalized it as an investment, the people-watching view was one of the reasons Jensen had decided to buy the house: trendy couples strolled by on their way to the Gateway Center or the Temple Square, yuppie moms and dads took their kids for walks, bikers and hikers and joggers started from the hills higher up behind the Avenues, and they all headed right past his unadorned window.
"What a pair we are. C'mon, Jen, isn't it time to head out?"
He stood and stretched, glancing at his watch as he did. "Yeah. Pre-game warmups'll be starting soon. Let's go."
They brought an armful of popcorn and drinks with them-he'd had to nix the hotdog idea, suggesting that they wait until after the third inning had started to get any-and Sophia settled onto the hard plastic seat, practically bouncing with excitement. Jensen's attention was split between paying attention to the field and answering her questions and explaining the way the minor league teams work in the framework of professional sports.
He watched the starting pitcher warm up in the stretch of dirt at the edge of right field that served as the stadium's bullpen. Jensen noted that the guy in the mask was not the same catcher he'd seen the past couple of nights. Different stance, a bit more muscular.
They'd called someone up from AA already?
It was too early in the rotation for the starter to be the opening-night guy, but Jensen saw him, too - he was so tall, he was hard to miss-fielding groundballs with the infielders. He watched the run-scoop-toss-tag routine, heard the echo of their shouts, and Jensen felt a sharp stab of longing, worse than any he'd felt since his orthopedic surgeon and physical therapist had told him he would never pitch a fastball again.
He looked away. When he turned back, the catcher and starting pitcher were approaching the dugout. Jensen felt something clench in his stomach, in a way he could decide was pleasant or not, when he recognized the way the catcher moved.
"I didn't know he was back in the minors."
"What? Who? Somebody you know?"
"I know half the team. If you want, I'll see if Jeff'll let us tour the dugout and locker room sometime."
"So who're you talking about?"
"Christian Kane." He gestured toward the man, who was crouched behind home plate now. "I figured he was still in L.A., playing for the Dodgers. Didn't know he'd been traded. Or sent down."
"You know him? I didn't think you played for the Dodgers. "
"No, we didn't play together. Same city, two different teams. Different leagues. But we had a mutual friend. And we met a few times." And hadn't been comfortable, even with Steve there as a buffer. There had been tension present from the beginning, and it had only gotten worse the more time they shared company. Jensen had thought it was jealousy: his presence had taken Steve's time and attention away from Chris and their music since their brief downtimes had usually coincided.
"I don't know him as well as I know Tommy, there." In an effort to distract her mind from its single track, Jensen pointed at the right-fielder, who was stretching his hamstring carefully. Tom Welling had broken his leg in a car accident in the off-season, and the Angels organization wanted him to rehab in the minors now that the cast was off. He'd missed preseason ball entirely.
Jensen started a story about a lost hotel key card and a mishap on the El when he and Tom had roomed together on a trip to Chicago, and that kept his mind and his mouth occupied until the announcer came on to introduce the starting lineup and the high-school student who would be singing the national anthem.
~
Baseball will take our people out-of-doors, fill them with oxygen, give them a larger physical stoicism… Repair these losses, and be a blessing to us.2
~
The only good thing about Salt Lake City was that its farm team was associated with Los Angeles. Chris could have flown, but instead he'd piled his stuff into his truck and driven up I-15 through the desert. As demoralizing as it was to be sent down, there was also a sense of relief, after the limbo of last minute trade deals and roster shuffles. He'd checked into a hotel downtown (such as it was) and slept for eight hours straight before dragging himself to the field and introducing himself to his new bosses. They'd thrown a new uniform at him and pointed him toward the locker room, and that was it. He'd be playing that evening. Nice.
At least he'd be seeing some game time. He'd been afraid he'd been sent down to be a backup; that his season was collapsing into dust before it even started.
Chris'd been through SLC before, but he'd had no interest in staying: too remote, too quiet, all the weird drinking laws and churches. But the baseball diamond was like any other, nicer than some minor league fields, really, and the view was spectacular. He could see snowcaps on the mountains in the distance, but it was sunny, dry and warm enough that he didn't think he'd need a long-sleeved shirt under his uniform.
He found the empty locker with his name on it and tossed his gear into it. Pulling off his spanking new Salt Lake Bees cap, he threw it in as well, sitting down on the bench and resting his elbows on his knees. His hair fell like a curtain, blocking out the activity in the rest of the room. A few guys were already in uniform; one guy he thought he recognized was getting a pre-game rub-down from a trainer; a couple of guys were paging through Sporting News and watching ESPN. Instead of joining their speculation about Barry Bonds and Jason Giambi, he decided to go over the scouting report for tonight's opponent. He knew he'd have to meet the pitchers and other players he'd be working with, but figured it could wait until the team meeting.
He was only half-way down the page of notes when a booming laugh distracted him, and he looked up, up, up at the guy hanging a shirt on the hook in the locker next to his.
"Christian Kane! You caught Bud Smith's no-hitter in 2001. I was still alternating between pitching and fielding for my high school team, and that was the game that made me decide to focus on pitching."
Brilliant white teeth and dimples flashed at him, and Chris thought he might hate this kid. Really.
He was all too aware of the irretrievable passage of time. Christian Kane had been playing baseball professionally for almost fifteen years, and held a somewhat dubious honor: he had the second most RBIs in AAA history. He'd gone from high school to the Carolina League and worked his way up from there. He'd been up to the majors and back to the minors and then back to the majors. This year was the first time in five years that he'd started the season off the MLB roster, and the longer this stint went on, the more likely it was that it would become permanent. Maybe this season would be the end of his baseball career, maybe it wouldn't. Unlike some men, who didn't think beyond their time in the spotlight, Chris had plans for life after baseball; he just wasn't quite ready to give up on the sport yet.
But this kid, who looked like he was barely of legal drinking age, made him feel old.
"I’m Jared, Jared Padalecki. Nice to meet you, man. Welcome!" The kid extended a hand - a gigantic mitt, really - for Chris to shake. He stood to do so, realizing belated that even upright he was still looking up at the guy. Christ, the kid was huge; he had to be close to six-and-a-half feet tall.
"Call me Chris." Tip-tilted hazel eyes shone even brighter at Chris's invitation.
Sasquatch's outburst had drawn the eyes of others in the locker room, so Chris gave up on the scouting report and introduced himself to the guys who wandered over, shooting the shit until it was time for the pre-game meeting.
Chris's first game with the Bees went well enough: the team won, and he ended up 2-for-4 with one RBI, in addition to scoring a run.
He'd had a weird moment when he'd thought he'd seen Jensen Ackles in the stands. Chris knew Jensen had settled in Salt Lake City after his surgery and rehab had failed, but that was purely gossip learned while hanging out with Steve, who kept up with the man even though they'd parted ways. It'd been amicable, according to Steve. Chris's overprotective instincts weren't sure he bought that, but Steve refused to discuss their relationship. The first and only time Chris had tried, when Jensen was still playing and was unwilling to be public about it, Steve had asked why it mattered to Chris if it didn't bother Steve. After all, Steve's record-label would not have been thrilled if Steve were out and proud.
"Would you be willing to go public if it would almost definitely cost your career?"
They had both known the answer to that. Most of the time Chris didn't even admit to himself that he sometimes wondered about himself. With men. A man. Usually that sort of thinking led him to drinking and picking up a girl so he could screw himself straight.
Steve had mentioned that Jensen had adjusted fairly well, all things considered, but hadn't seen him lately, not since Christmas. Chris had headed to Dallas to spend some time with his sister's family, so he'd missed all but the first few days of Jensen's trip to L.A., and he'd tried to keep his sarcasm to a minimum. No matter how often the guy pinged Chris's very last nerve, nobody deserved to be alone for the holidays.
The team was scheduled to leave on a road trip Monday morning, so Chris used his Sunday to find an efficiency apartment - there was a studio in a high-rise down in SugarHouse available when he called the number Sandy-from-the-front-office had given him - and get out of the hotel. He had enough time to unpack his duffel-bag, get a good night's sleep, then repack his bag for the trip.
Over the next two weeks, he had plenty of time to get to know his teammates: on the plane, on the bus, at the ballparks, at whatever hotel they'd all been shoved into. In Tacoma, their first stop, he had a room to himself - his last minute arrival had screwed up the usual room assignments - but when they moved on to the Holiday Inn near Cheney Stadium, he'd been stuck in a double with Padalecki.
He didn't mind. He figured half the reason he was there was to educate the kid. Jared wasn't hard to like; he was loud and cheerful, and in some ways he reminded Chris of a Labrador retriever, he was just that friendly. If anything he was almost too nice. Chris figured that was because he hadn't been stuck in the minors for very long. He'd only been in the minor leagues for a couple of years; this was the start of his third season, the first time he'd been up as high as AAA, and he'd played for his community college for a season before that.
On one level, Chris wanted to hate him: Jared had an arm like a lightning bolt, but he didn't take his talent seriously, didn't realize what a gift it was. As a guy who had to work, to hustle and learn and use his brain as much as his body to get where he was after years of struggle, Chris could admit, at least to himself, that he was a bit jealous. He knew, as sure as he knew the sun rose in the east, that Jared would make it to the major leagues, and the fans and the PR reps and the cameras would love him and his dimples and his fastball, if only he could learn some ball control.
~
The people swarm into the stands
To watch their favorite teams3
~
Tacoma Rainiers 5, Salt Lake Bees 3
Salt Lake Bees 2, Tacoma Rainiers 1
Tacoma Rainiers 4, Salt Lake Bees 0
Salt Lake Bees 3, Portland Beavers 1
Portland Beavers 4, Salt Lake Bees 2
Salt Lake Bees 5, Sacramento River Cats 4
Salt Lake Bees 3, Sacramento River Cats 1
Fresno Grizzlies 1, Salt Lake Bees 0
Fresno Grizzlies 4, Salt Lake Bees 1
Fresno Grizzlies 7, Salt Lake Bees 5
~
And munch their hot dogs when their lungs
Are not engaged in screams3
~
The trip ended on a sour note, and Chris was glad to get back home, such as it was, so he could collapse. He had every intention of becoming one with his pillow, but just as he stretched out with the remote in hand and Skinemax on screen, his cell phone rang. He might have let the call go to voicemail, but he recognized the number flashing on the LCD.
"Are you back in Salt Lake? My gig in Park City fell through, so I'm in town, man." Steve sounded like he was wired enough for both of them.
"Where are you, bitch? You owe me a beer!"
"I stopped in at the Bayou to see who they had playing tonight. C'mon over."
~
I see great things in baseball.2
~
The Bees first road-trip was a ten-game monster that had them visiting four different cities. Jensen was sorry to miss seeing the games live, but he managed to listen to a handful of them on the radio. He felt old-school, sitting with a beer in hand, the sound of the game without the visuals. Most evenings, though, he was busy with the rush toward the end of term, with a couple of project deadlines looming, in addition to the hassle of grading for Econ101. Sophia's nagging had him sorting out priorities and strategies for the Teaching Assistants Union, also.
Two weeks flew by almost without him realizing it. One weekend was spent biking around the city, but the second Saturday, Sophia picked him up and they joined a group of cyclists out on Antelope Island. It was sunny and hot and dry, and Jensen enjoyed the physical exertion. Sophia was oddly quiet, and she spent most of the day keeping Jensen as a shield between herself and Chad; the few times she'd directed comments at Chad, they'd been more insulting and less teasing than usual. Jen wasn’t sure what had happened, but he really hoped he wasn't going to have to kill Chad, who was all right except for being a total dog when it came to screwing anything that breathed.
By the time he got home, he was filthy and exhausted, but high on adrenaline. When he checked his voicemail, he saw that there were two messages, both from a number he recognized as Steve's mobile. He meant to listen to them, he really did, but he'd promised Sophia he'd pick her up and they'd go to the Bayou with the rest of the group they'd spent the afternoon with. Without knowing what had caused her behavior earlier, he wasn't about to risk leaving her alone with Chad now.
A handful of beers - the good stuff, not the watered-down crap most places in Utah served - later, Jensen and Sophia were losing at pool to two students from her department.
"The young'uns are beating us. This definitely calls for more beer-it'll help my coordination."
Jensen was sure Sophia's logic held a fault, but he wasn't going to argue because Sophia was smiling again, flirting with the poor guys. They looked stunned by their good luck; Jensen didn't burst their bubbles, but he was fairly sure that the big eyed "you're so good at this" act was just that: an act, to soften them up for the next round.
"Smithwick's and a Celis Pale Rider."
"On your tab?" Jensen nodded, leaned his hip against a stool, inhaling the cigarette smoke and beer perfume of the place while he waited for the bartender to return. When someone came up next to him, he shifted a little bit to allow them access to the bar, but didn't turn.
"What the hell are you doing, losing to those kids, Jen?"
"Wha-Steve!" Jensen jerked around in surprise. "What're you doing here?" But of course he knew; he could see Chris standing behind him, smirking as he took a pull from his bottle of Shiner. That didn't stop him from giving Steve a quick squeeze/backslap in greeting.
"Had a show set up in Park City, but that place is too expensive for me, so I thought I'd crash here."
"That's great, man. How long're you staying?"
"Coupla days, maybe. Definitely for tomorrow's game."
The bartender returned with his beers, and Jensen put a couple of bucks down on the bar as a tip.
"Sweet. You already got tickets?" He assumed Chris would set Steve up, but if not, he was sure Sandy would be willing to take care of it. Even though he wasn't part of the team anymore, she still treated Jensen as if he were.
Steve was about to answer when the sound of breaking glass and a ringing slap stopped all conversation at their end of the club. Somehow, even without looking, Jensen knew whose beer was spilled and whose cheek was red. He grabbed the beers and gestured toward the commotion.
"That's us. Come meet the people I gave up baseball to hang out with."
Sure enough, Chad's cheek bore an imprint of Sophia's hand. Sophia was staring fixedly at the pool table, watching grad-school-boy-A rack the balls, ignoring Chad's attempts to apologize.
"Here, Soph." He handed over her beer. "Y'alright, or do I need to defend your honor?" he teased. He meant it, but he knew Sophia wouldn't like the idea that she needed defending by anyone.
"No problems here. Just Chad being… Chad." Her eyes slid past Jensen's shoulder. "Who have you found?"
"Sophia, this is Steve Carlson. We've known each other for years. And this is Chris Kane."
"Nice to meet you." She smiled, aiming the wattage at Chris, then Steve. "You play for the baseball team, right? We caught a game a while back."
And Sophia was off, chattering, abandoning the pool table and Chad and whatever had caused the ruckus, pulling the three of them to a booth and settling in beside Jensen.
Jen just shook his head and went along. He was fairly certain that she gave him the outside spot on the bench to keep Chad away, and he knew she'd have endless amounts of blackmail material weaseled out of Steve before the night was through, but that was fine. He relaxed into the booth and let the two parts of his life, past and present, meet.
~
The fastball
that you hope to poke
is smoke4
~
The scent of coffee woke him. Jensen lay there for a minute, thinking about the previous evening, about Sophia draped across his lap, Steve laughing at her antics, and Chris's silence, his sharp blue eyes taking everything in without comment.
Eventually the need for caffeine overcame his need for introspection. Jensen rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweatpants. When he stumbled out to the kitchen, he found Sophia sipping from an oversized mug that declared "chicks dig the long ball", seated at the counter, the paper dismembered and scattered. She was wearing one of his old jerseys and a pair of his boxers, and her dark brown hair was a messy nest created by last night's styling product and contact with Jensen's hands and pillows.
Jensen looked at her and wished that he were in love with her. Life would be so much easier for both of them that way.
He filled a mug for himself and went to stand next to her, bumping their shoulders together companionably. He sipped his coffee, watching as she filled in the crossword, waiting until she put her pencil down before speaking.
"You want to talk about whatever Chad did?"
"Nah. Chad's an ass. I should get over it."
"Not that I object in any way to having a hot chick-am I allowed to call you that?-come home with me and screw me blind, or anything… I just want to be sure you're okay."
"I'm fine. I'll be fine." She sounded a bit fragile to his ears, but he didn't argue.
"Wanna go get brunch?"
"Can't. I promised Kristin I'd go shopping with her at the outlets, and I only just have time to get home and get cleaned up if we're going to be up there when the stores open."
"'Kay. Gimme a minute to find my keys and I'll take you home."
When he got back, Steve was leaning against the porch rail. He opened the door and waved him inside.
"Sorry. Had to take Sophia home."
"S'alright, I should've called. Chris had to get to the ballpark early for the afternoon game, so I thought I'd see what you were up to," Steve said, following Jensen to the kitchen, where he dumped out the dregs of coffee and started a fresh pot brewing.
"Is the thing with Sophia serious?"
"Not like you think. She's got a thing for Chad, the ass who caused the ruckus last night. She's maybe my best friend, though." And didn't he feel like a sixteen-year-old girl, saying that?
He shrugged it off.
"I'm gonna take a shower. Bagels in the freezer, eggs and fruit in the 'fridge."
When Jensen re-emerged, Steve had eggs scrambled, fruit washed and cut, and bagels toasted. They talked about everything and nothing until the food and coffee was gone. Jensen sort of wondered if Steve was looking for something, waiting to hear something, but he wasn't sure what until the conversation had shifted to Chris and the day's game.
"You ever miss it?"
"Baseball? I miss being part of a team. I miss the way it felt when I blew a fastball right by somebody, or when my changeup fooled 'em into striking out. I don't miss the way it felt to blow a win. Or how I'd spend all night after a start with IcyHot on my shoulder, and still wouldn't want to lift my hand above my head the next day." Jensen paused. "But I think I made the right decision. I could have kept pushing the rehab; it wasn't mechanics, it was arm-strength that was the problem. It's what my dad would have done. I just needed some time to realize that I don't have to be just like my dad."
"You doin' okay on that front?" He and Steve had been together when his parents were killed in a car accident, only a few months before Jensen had torn his UCL.
"I miss 'em. I always will. But I can't live my life in order to win their approval. And I'm content here. It was always my plan to do this eventually, you know? The injury just made it happen sooner than I expected."
Steve hummed his acceptance.
"What about you, Steve? What's going on?"
"I've got a new record deal in the works. And maybe a collaboration set up. Wrote a couple new songs since I saw you last."
"Who's the subject of the latest ballad, you sappy bastard?"
"Hey, just because Jensen got turned into Jamie for your serenade, there's no reason for rudeness!"
~
The curveball
that you thought was there
is air 4
~
Later that week, after a couple of days riding the bench, Chris was behind the plate again, catching for Jared. He'd glanced out at the audience during the national anthem and seen Jensen in the stands. Sophia wasn't with him. Later, on his way back out of the dugout, when Chris had time to look again, he saw the little brunette from the front office, talking Jensen's ear off. He refused to speculate why Sandy didn't ping his Jensen-radar the way Sophia did. But that was all he had time to think. Jarhead (he'd taken to calling him that, and the kid just smiled and told him it was better than Sasquatch) was having a bit a trouble. They'd been working on developing his curve, but the pitch was just hanging for him each time he tried it, and he'd had to fall back on his fastball and sinker after giving up a couple of deep hits to right field; when he got frustrated, he was more likely to lose the plate, and he was throwing some of the wildest pitches Chris had seen from him yet. Chris had all he could do to focus on calling Jared's pitches, catching them, keeping his eyes on the base runners.
When they returned to the dugout in the middle of the third inning, the batboy, Jimmy, had a couple of notes in his hand. He gave one to Jared and delivered the other to Jeff. Jeff gave his a cursory glance before stuffing it into his pocket. Jared, who slumped on the bench dejectedly, just stared at the paper blankly, running his finger over the ragged edge where it had been torn from the back of the program booklet.
"Go on, Jarhead. Who's sending you love notes today?"
He didn't object when Chris took the note out of his hand and unfolded it.
Your curve is hanging because there's not enough spin on it. Bend your elbow and pull your hand into your body more during the release. Keep your shoulders on the line. If you're interested, I can show you a grip that won't telegraph your changeup to the batter. Jensen Ackles.
Although part of Chris was glad someone was watching - Jeff was too busy now as the general manager to do the hard-core pitching analysis, and the new pitching coach wasn't as good as Jeff had been before he was promoted - something about the idea of Jensen helping Jared nagged at him. Which was stupid, because he didn't even think the kid was aware of any possible subtext or ulterior motives. Not that he thought Jensen had any ulterior motives. Really.
Jared was irritated enough with himself, and he wasn't stupid, so when they went back out at the top of the fourth, he took Jensen's advice during his practice tosses. A minor shift in foot placement had him squared up, and bringing his hand in closer during the release looked like a more natural motion from Chris's view. The most important thing was that his curve, although still not as deep as he'd like, didn't hang high over the plate like a meatball, waiting for the batter's best shot.
Part 2
See Notes for ratings, warnings, references, etc.
~
Bare-handed reach
to catch
April's
incoming curve.1
~
Jensen gave the idiots in front of him, who were apparently incapable of signing their names and writing down their email addresses, five more minutes before he took the clipboards from them. In the meantime, he enjoyed the 180-degree view of the valley at dusk.
Nice view, if you wanted to make the trek up here for it. Jen supposed that if his cubicle were on upper campus, he'd spend his lunch break up here. As it was, he was enjoying the panorama while he waited, and he'd make an effort to come to the next organizational meeting. Unionizing his fellow grad students and teaching assistants was low on his list of priorities, but it could be bumped up for an hour of this scenery. Plus, for a guy looking forward to a few more years of school for his MBA and Masters in Economics before finding a job in a professional sports organization, a little bit of labor relations experience never hurt.
"Jen, we're heading to the Pi for beer and pizza when we're done here. You wanna come?" Sophia broke into his musing.
"Hmm? No, thanks. Opening game's tonight. I already missed batting practice, but if I'm lucky I'll make the first inning."
Sophia smiled indulgently. "I've got your email; I'll add you to the list and the Yahoo group. Get out of here." She waved her hand dismissively.
"Lunch on Saturday?"
"One-thirty, as usual. Oasis or the Iguana?"
Jensen just looked at her.
"Okay, fine. Mexican it is."
He headed for the elevator, which took forever to arrive. He dragged his fingers through his short, spiky hair restlessly as he waited. The campus shuttle would never get him back to the parking lot in time to get his car and get to the park in time for the first pitch, even with opening day festivities.
~
Leap higher than you thought you could and
Hold1
~
Jensen received a casual greeting from the guy at the gate; he hadn't been around when Jen was a minor league pitcher, but Jensen supposed other staffers might have mentioned him. Or maybe the guy was just a serious Angels fan and remembered Jensen's stellar rookie (only complete) season with L.A.
Sandy had held his ticket for him in the box office, and she had known his preferred seating when she set up his season ticket package: he was right at the end of the home dugout, even with first base. Jensen headed down the aisle, checking out the other spectators. Opening game always drew a decent crowd; he'd be surprised if these folks came back for the second and third game, and impressed if they made it to mid-season, especially if it was a losing one. The seats next to him were empty, but Sandy'd join him by the end of the inning, as soon as the ticket office was quiet enough to leave in the hands of the intern.
He settled into his seat and took out his scorebook and the program, noting the numbers of the players at each position. There was a River Cat on second base with two outs.
The pitcher blew out a deep breath, went into his windup, and cut loose.
"Woo."
Fastball. It had to be over ninety miles an hour. Jensen looked to the scoreboard, to see if the Bees had the radar working. Yep. "FASTBALL 95" was lit up for the entire world to see.
Too bad it had been so high that the tip of the catcher's glove barely touched it. And he had jumped.
Thirty minutes later, Jensen had reached a few conclusions: the pitcher had good speed with not-so-good placement on his fastball, an iffy sinker, and no curveball whatsoever. The team's fielding was lackluster, but he thought the short stop had potential. Some of the other players were new faces for Jensen, but others had been in the PCL before Jensen had hung up his glove. He'd withhold final judgment until he'd seen them play together a bit more, but at the rate they were going Jensen expected that less than half of them would ever see the Show.
All in all, it was likely to be a long season for the Salt Lake Bees.
By the time the game was over, the sun had set and the early April night was cold, and Jensen was happy to leave the Bees and their problems to Jeffrey Dean Morgan. He had papers to grade and reading to do, and thinking about how he'd shuffle players around and things he'd have the young pitcher (because no experienced pitcher, even in the minor leagues, had so many problems finding the plate) work on wouldn't get either chore finished.
~
Spring,
Solid,
Here.1
~
"You look all shiny and happy. Should I even ask what you've been doing?"
"Ass. Not what you think. After all, you weren't around, were you?" Sophia smirked at Jensen as she planted herself in the seat across from him. "Where's mine?"
"That was just once, and when I woke up you were gone. I felt so… used." He grinned, just to let her know he was kidding. "And get your own margarita, woman. The waitress'll be back in a minute."
Impatient, she lifted his glass and took a sip, licking the rim before she put it back down. "Mm, salt. And I wish I could have stayed for that awkward morning after moment or a rewind-repeat, but some of us don't have work or class schedules that start at 11 am. I left you a note, didn't I?"
Jensen eyed Sophia mournfully, using his big green eyes to advantage. "You never call me anymore, though, baby. Wasn't it good for you?" He batted his eyelashes flirtatiously.
"Do you want a play by play analysis of your performance?" One finely shaped eyebrow arched upward.
Jensen was a pretty secure guy, but he didn't think his ego was ready for a scathing critique from Sophia, who had ample experience dealing with sexist pigs. She had, after all, spent her grad school years as the lone female in her lab, and she pulled no punches. He redirected.
"So, this morning?"
"What? Oh, I was up at Snowbird. My boss had some half-day passes-his neighbor or somebody works the PR department up there, and gave him some extras-so the lab did a group activity. The snow's for shit this late in the season, frozen hard in the morning and turning to slush in the sunlight, but four hours of skiing for free never hurts."
"You still got time to go to REI with me and then see the game, or do you have stuff to do since the boss unshackled you from the lab this morning?"
"Hah." She snagged his glass and took another sip. "Yeah, I'm giving up on the weekend work for a while. Too much to do here in the spring and summer to spend weekends at work, no matter how ambitious I am. And we are finding the perfect mountain bike for you today, so you won't have any excuses when the crew plans an outing. This way you'll be able to bike around the city and Red Butte first, get used to it before we take you up-canyon. I talked to Chad, and he said he'd fix us up."
Chad was one of Sophia's house-mates, a guy who'd moved to SLC for grad school, fell in love with the place, and decided to stay on after he was finished. He was possibly the best educated ski bum, bike mechanic and sales rep in the valley; given the referrals from the ever-changing grad student population and the U's outdoor rec program, he was also possibly the best known, a circumstance that Chad knew and used to his advantage. Jensen was ninety-five percent certain that Sophia was in love with him, but she refused to talk about it.
"Sweet."
Just then, a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman in a white peasant blouse and embroidered skirt came back, a basket of hot tortilla chips and salsa in hand, and all attention turned to the menus.
Since Jensen had walked to the Blue Iguana, they took Sophia's Toyota to REI. She had even remembered to switch out one of the Yak rack's ski clamps for a bike mount, which made it that much easier to get Jensen's new Marin hybrid home.
They parked in front of his two-story blue Victorian, and he lifted the bike out of the rack, rolling it up the steep yard past the scrub and cacti-the upstairs tenants, whom he'd inherited when he bought the place, were hardcore environmentalists who refused to condone unnatural grasses-to the porch. He propped it on the rail and unlocked the front door, pushing it wide so Sophia could wheel the bike into the hallway.
"You gonna leave it here in the foyer, since it's locked?"
"Nah." He opened the inner door, and she preceded him into the living room. "It'd be a violation of fire-code or something, I'm sure. I've got some hooks-I'll hang it in the other bedroom once I've got them installed." He took the handlebars from her and pushed the bike into the spare room, which held his desk, a bookshelf, and a bunch of unpacked boxes. When he returned to the living room, Sophia was flopped on the sofa. He grabbed a couple of Diet Cokes from the fridge, handing her one before sitting down and cracking open his own.
"So. Chad had a lot to say to you."
"He had a lot to flaunt, you mean." She took a big gulp.
"I know it's none of my business, but-"
"Unless you want to talk about your last date with Rick, you really should stop now."
"It sucked. He's not out, and he made a big deal about 'appropriate public behavior', but then he overcompensated in private." Jensen sighed. "I think I'm going to give up on men for a while. At least while I live here, anyway. Besides, women are so much easier-I just accept that I'll never understand them."
"Men are pigs. Present company not excepted."
Jensen bumped their shoulders together.
"In the meantime, we've still got each other, right?"
Sophia grunted companionably and clinked their soda cans together. "Always."
They finished their drinks in silence, watching the world go by through the picture window. Although he had rationalized it as an investment, the people-watching view was one of the reasons Jensen had decided to buy the house: trendy couples strolled by on their way to the Gateway Center or the Temple Square, yuppie moms and dads took their kids for walks, bikers and hikers and joggers started from the hills higher up behind the Avenues, and they all headed right past his unadorned window.
"What a pair we are. C'mon, Jen, isn't it time to head out?"
He stood and stretched, glancing at his watch as he did. "Yeah. Pre-game warmups'll be starting soon. Let's go."
They brought an armful of popcorn and drinks with them-he'd had to nix the hotdog idea, suggesting that they wait until after the third inning had started to get any-and Sophia settled onto the hard plastic seat, practically bouncing with excitement. Jensen's attention was split between paying attention to the field and answering her questions and explaining the way the minor league teams work in the framework of professional sports.
He watched the starting pitcher warm up in the stretch of dirt at the edge of right field that served as the stadium's bullpen. Jensen noted that the guy in the mask was not the same catcher he'd seen the past couple of nights. Different stance, a bit more muscular.
They'd called someone up from AA already?
It was too early in the rotation for the starter to be the opening-night guy, but Jensen saw him, too - he was so tall, he was hard to miss-fielding groundballs with the infielders. He watched the run-scoop-toss-tag routine, heard the echo of their shouts, and Jensen felt a sharp stab of longing, worse than any he'd felt since his orthopedic surgeon and physical therapist had told him he would never pitch a fastball again.
He looked away. When he turned back, the catcher and starting pitcher were approaching the dugout. Jensen felt something clench in his stomach, in a way he could decide was pleasant or not, when he recognized the way the catcher moved.
"I didn't know he was back in the minors."
"What? Who? Somebody you know?"
"I know half the team. If you want, I'll see if Jeff'll let us tour the dugout and locker room sometime."
"So who're you talking about?"
"Christian Kane." He gestured toward the man, who was crouched behind home plate now. "I figured he was still in L.A., playing for the Dodgers. Didn't know he'd been traded. Or sent down."
"You know him? I didn't think you played for the Dodgers. "
"No, we didn't play together. Same city, two different teams. Different leagues. But we had a mutual friend. And we met a few times." And hadn't been comfortable, even with Steve there as a buffer. There had been tension present from the beginning, and it had only gotten worse the more time they shared company. Jensen had thought it was jealousy: his presence had taken Steve's time and attention away from Chris and their music since their brief downtimes had usually coincided.
"I don't know him as well as I know Tommy, there." In an effort to distract her mind from its single track, Jensen pointed at the right-fielder, who was stretching his hamstring carefully. Tom Welling had broken his leg in a car accident in the off-season, and the Angels organization wanted him to rehab in the minors now that the cast was off. He'd missed preseason ball entirely.
Jensen started a story about a lost hotel key card and a mishap on the El when he and Tom had roomed together on a trip to Chicago, and that kept his mind and his mouth occupied until the announcer came on to introduce the starting lineup and the high-school student who would be singing the national anthem.
~
Baseball will take our people out-of-doors, fill them with oxygen, give them a larger physical stoicism… Repair these losses, and be a blessing to us.2
~
The only good thing about Salt Lake City was that its farm team was associated with Los Angeles. Chris could have flown, but instead he'd piled his stuff into his truck and driven up I-15 through the desert. As demoralizing as it was to be sent down, there was also a sense of relief, after the limbo of last minute trade deals and roster shuffles. He'd checked into a hotel downtown (such as it was) and slept for eight hours straight before dragging himself to the field and introducing himself to his new bosses. They'd thrown a new uniform at him and pointed him toward the locker room, and that was it. He'd be playing that evening. Nice.
At least he'd be seeing some game time. He'd been afraid he'd been sent down to be a backup; that his season was collapsing into dust before it even started.
Chris'd been through SLC before, but he'd had no interest in staying: too remote, too quiet, all the weird drinking laws and churches. But the baseball diamond was like any other, nicer than some minor league fields, really, and the view was spectacular. He could see snowcaps on the mountains in the distance, but it was sunny, dry and warm enough that he didn't think he'd need a long-sleeved shirt under his uniform.
He found the empty locker with his name on it and tossed his gear into it. Pulling off his spanking new Salt Lake Bees cap, he threw it in as well, sitting down on the bench and resting his elbows on his knees. His hair fell like a curtain, blocking out the activity in the rest of the room. A few guys were already in uniform; one guy he thought he recognized was getting a pre-game rub-down from a trainer; a couple of guys were paging through Sporting News and watching ESPN. Instead of joining their speculation about Barry Bonds and Jason Giambi, he decided to go over the scouting report for tonight's opponent. He knew he'd have to meet the pitchers and other players he'd be working with, but figured it could wait until the team meeting.
He was only half-way down the page of notes when a booming laugh distracted him, and he looked up, up, up at the guy hanging a shirt on the hook in the locker next to his.
"Christian Kane! You caught Bud Smith's no-hitter in 2001. I was still alternating between pitching and fielding for my high school team, and that was the game that made me decide to focus on pitching."
Brilliant white teeth and dimples flashed at him, and Chris thought he might hate this kid. Really.
He was all too aware of the irretrievable passage of time. Christian Kane had been playing baseball professionally for almost fifteen years, and held a somewhat dubious honor: he had the second most RBIs in AAA history. He'd gone from high school to the Carolina League and worked his way up from there. He'd been up to the majors and back to the minors and then back to the majors. This year was the first time in five years that he'd started the season off the MLB roster, and the longer this stint went on, the more likely it was that it would become permanent. Maybe this season would be the end of his baseball career, maybe it wouldn't. Unlike some men, who didn't think beyond their time in the spotlight, Chris had plans for life after baseball; he just wasn't quite ready to give up on the sport yet.
But this kid, who looked like he was barely of legal drinking age, made him feel old.
"I’m Jared, Jared Padalecki. Nice to meet you, man. Welcome!" The kid extended a hand - a gigantic mitt, really - for Chris to shake. He stood to do so, realizing belated that even upright he was still looking up at the guy. Christ, the kid was huge; he had to be close to six-and-a-half feet tall.
"Call me Chris." Tip-tilted hazel eyes shone even brighter at Chris's invitation.
Sasquatch's outburst had drawn the eyes of others in the locker room, so Chris gave up on the scouting report and introduced himself to the guys who wandered over, shooting the shit until it was time for the pre-game meeting.
Chris's first game with the Bees went well enough: the team won, and he ended up 2-for-4 with one RBI, in addition to scoring a run.
He'd had a weird moment when he'd thought he'd seen Jensen Ackles in the stands. Chris knew Jensen had settled in Salt Lake City after his surgery and rehab had failed, but that was purely gossip learned while hanging out with Steve, who kept up with the man even though they'd parted ways. It'd been amicable, according to Steve. Chris's overprotective instincts weren't sure he bought that, but Steve refused to discuss their relationship. The first and only time Chris had tried, when Jensen was still playing and was unwilling to be public about it, Steve had asked why it mattered to Chris if it didn't bother Steve. After all, Steve's record-label would not have been thrilled if Steve were out and proud.
"Would you be willing to go public if it would almost definitely cost your career?"
They had both known the answer to that. Most of the time Chris didn't even admit to himself that he sometimes wondered about himself. With men. A man. Usually that sort of thinking led him to drinking and picking up a girl so he could screw himself straight.
Steve had mentioned that Jensen had adjusted fairly well, all things considered, but hadn't seen him lately, not since Christmas. Chris had headed to Dallas to spend some time with his sister's family, so he'd missed all but the first few days of Jensen's trip to L.A., and he'd tried to keep his sarcasm to a minimum. No matter how often the guy pinged Chris's very last nerve, nobody deserved to be alone for the holidays.
The team was scheduled to leave on a road trip Monday morning, so Chris used his Sunday to find an efficiency apartment - there was a studio in a high-rise down in SugarHouse available when he called the number Sandy-from-the-front-office had given him - and get out of the hotel. He had enough time to unpack his duffel-bag, get a good night's sleep, then repack his bag for the trip.
Over the next two weeks, he had plenty of time to get to know his teammates: on the plane, on the bus, at the ballparks, at whatever hotel they'd all been shoved into. In Tacoma, their first stop, he had a room to himself - his last minute arrival had screwed up the usual room assignments - but when they moved on to the Holiday Inn near Cheney Stadium, he'd been stuck in a double with Padalecki.
He didn't mind. He figured half the reason he was there was to educate the kid. Jared wasn't hard to like; he was loud and cheerful, and in some ways he reminded Chris of a Labrador retriever, he was just that friendly. If anything he was almost too nice. Chris figured that was because he hadn't been stuck in the minors for very long. He'd only been in the minor leagues for a couple of years; this was the start of his third season, the first time he'd been up as high as AAA, and he'd played for his community college for a season before that.
On one level, Chris wanted to hate him: Jared had an arm like a lightning bolt, but he didn't take his talent seriously, didn't realize what a gift it was. As a guy who had to work, to hustle and learn and use his brain as much as his body to get where he was after years of struggle, Chris could admit, at least to himself, that he was a bit jealous. He knew, as sure as he knew the sun rose in the east, that Jared would make it to the major leagues, and the fans and the PR reps and the cameras would love him and his dimples and his fastball, if only he could learn some ball control.
~
The people swarm into the stands
To watch their favorite teams3
~
Tacoma Rainiers 5, Salt Lake Bees 3
Salt Lake Bees 2, Tacoma Rainiers 1
Tacoma Rainiers 4, Salt Lake Bees 0
Salt Lake Bees 3, Portland Beavers 1
Portland Beavers 4, Salt Lake Bees 2
Salt Lake Bees 5, Sacramento River Cats 4
Salt Lake Bees 3, Sacramento River Cats 1
Fresno Grizzlies 1, Salt Lake Bees 0
Fresno Grizzlies 4, Salt Lake Bees 1
Fresno Grizzlies 7, Salt Lake Bees 5
~
And munch their hot dogs when their lungs
Are not engaged in screams3
~
The trip ended on a sour note, and Chris was glad to get back home, such as it was, so he could collapse. He had every intention of becoming one with his pillow, but just as he stretched out with the remote in hand and Skinemax on screen, his cell phone rang. He might have let the call go to voicemail, but he recognized the number flashing on the LCD.
"Are you back in Salt Lake? My gig in Park City fell through, so I'm in town, man." Steve sounded like he was wired enough for both of them.
"Where are you, bitch? You owe me a beer!"
"I stopped in at the Bayou to see who they had playing tonight. C'mon over."
~
I see great things in baseball.2
~
The Bees first road-trip was a ten-game monster that had them visiting four different cities. Jensen was sorry to miss seeing the games live, but he managed to listen to a handful of them on the radio. He felt old-school, sitting with a beer in hand, the sound of the game without the visuals. Most evenings, though, he was busy with the rush toward the end of term, with a couple of project deadlines looming, in addition to the hassle of grading for Econ101. Sophia's nagging had him sorting out priorities and strategies for the Teaching Assistants Union, also.
Two weeks flew by almost without him realizing it. One weekend was spent biking around the city, but the second Saturday, Sophia picked him up and they joined a group of cyclists out on Antelope Island. It was sunny and hot and dry, and Jensen enjoyed the physical exertion. Sophia was oddly quiet, and she spent most of the day keeping Jensen as a shield between herself and Chad; the few times she'd directed comments at Chad, they'd been more insulting and less teasing than usual. Jen wasn’t sure what had happened, but he really hoped he wasn't going to have to kill Chad, who was all right except for being a total dog when it came to screwing anything that breathed.
By the time he got home, he was filthy and exhausted, but high on adrenaline. When he checked his voicemail, he saw that there were two messages, both from a number he recognized as Steve's mobile. He meant to listen to them, he really did, but he'd promised Sophia he'd pick her up and they'd go to the Bayou with the rest of the group they'd spent the afternoon with. Without knowing what had caused her behavior earlier, he wasn't about to risk leaving her alone with Chad now.
A handful of beers - the good stuff, not the watered-down crap most places in Utah served - later, Jensen and Sophia were losing at pool to two students from her department.
"The young'uns are beating us. This definitely calls for more beer-it'll help my coordination."
Jensen was sure Sophia's logic held a fault, but he wasn't going to argue because Sophia was smiling again, flirting with the poor guys. They looked stunned by their good luck; Jensen didn't burst their bubbles, but he was fairly sure that the big eyed "you're so good at this" act was just that: an act, to soften them up for the next round.
"Smithwick's and a Celis Pale Rider."
"On your tab?" Jensen nodded, leaned his hip against a stool, inhaling the cigarette smoke and beer perfume of the place while he waited for the bartender to return. When someone came up next to him, he shifted a little bit to allow them access to the bar, but didn't turn.
"What the hell are you doing, losing to those kids, Jen?"
"Wha-Steve!" Jensen jerked around in surprise. "What're you doing here?" But of course he knew; he could see Chris standing behind him, smirking as he took a pull from his bottle of Shiner. That didn't stop him from giving Steve a quick squeeze/backslap in greeting.
"Had a show set up in Park City, but that place is too expensive for me, so I thought I'd crash here."
"That's great, man. How long're you staying?"
"Coupla days, maybe. Definitely for tomorrow's game."
The bartender returned with his beers, and Jensen put a couple of bucks down on the bar as a tip.
"Sweet. You already got tickets?" He assumed Chris would set Steve up, but if not, he was sure Sandy would be willing to take care of it. Even though he wasn't part of the team anymore, she still treated Jensen as if he were.
Steve was about to answer when the sound of breaking glass and a ringing slap stopped all conversation at their end of the club. Somehow, even without looking, Jensen knew whose beer was spilled and whose cheek was red. He grabbed the beers and gestured toward the commotion.
"That's us. Come meet the people I gave up baseball to hang out with."
Sure enough, Chad's cheek bore an imprint of Sophia's hand. Sophia was staring fixedly at the pool table, watching grad-school-boy-A rack the balls, ignoring Chad's attempts to apologize.
"Here, Soph." He handed over her beer. "Y'alright, or do I need to defend your honor?" he teased. He meant it, but he knew Sophia wouldn't like the idea that she needed defending by anyone.
"No problems here. Just Chad being… Chad." Her eyes slid past Jensen's shoulder. "Who have you found?"
"Sophia, this is Steve Carlson. We've known each other for years. And this is Chris Kane."
"Nice to meet you." She smiled, aiming the wattage at Chris, then Steve. "You play for the baseball team, right? We caught a game a while back."
And Sophia was off, chattering, abandoning the pool table and Chad and whatever had caused the ruckus, pulling the three of them to a booth and settling in beside Jensen.
Jen just shook his head and went along. He was fairly certain that she gave him the outside spot on the bench to keep Chad away, and he knew she'd have endless amounts of blackmail material weaseled out of Steve before the night was through, but that was fine. He relaxed into the booth and let the two parts of his life, past and present, meet.
~
The fastball
that you hope to poke
is smoke4
~
The scent of coffee woke him. Jensen lay there for a minute, thinking about the previous evening, about Sophia draped across his lap, Steve laughing at her antics, and Chris's silence, his sharp blue eyes taking everything in without comment.
Eventually the need for caffeine overcame his need for introspection. Jensen rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweatpants. When he stumbled out to the kitchen, he found Sophia sipping from an oversized mug that declared "chicks dig the long ball", seated at the counter, the paper dismembered and scattered. She was wearing one of his old jerseys and a pair of his boxers, and her dark brown hair was a messy nest created by last night's styling product and contact with Jensen's hands and pillows.
Jensen looked at her and wished that he were in love with her. Life would be so much easier for both of them that way.
He filled a mug for himself and went to stand next to her, bumping their shoulders together companionably. He sipped his coffee, watching as she filled in the crossword, waiting until she put her pencil down before speaking.
"You want to talk about whatever Chad did?"
"Nah. Chad's an ass. I should get over it."
"Not that I object in any way to having a hot chick-am I allowed to call you that?-come home with me and screw me blind, or anything… I just want to be sure you're okay."
"I'm fine. I'll be fine." She sounded a bit fragile to his ears, but he didn't argue.
"Wanna go get brunch?"
"Can't. I promised Kristin I'd go shopping with her at the outlets, and I only just have time to get home and get cleaned up if we're going to be up there when the stores open."
"'Kay. Gimme a minute to find my keys and I'll take you home."
When he got back, Steve was leaning against the porch rail. He opened the door and waved him inside.
"Sorry. Had to take Sophia home."
"S'alright, I should've called. Chris had to get to the ballpark early for the afternoon game, so I thought I'd see what you were up to," Steve said, following Jensen to the kitchen, where he dumped out the dregs of coffee and started a fresh pot brewing.
"Is the thing with Sophia serious?"
"Not like you think. She's got a thing for Chad, the ass who caused the ruckus last night. She's maybe my best friend, though." And didn't he feel like a sixteen-year-old girl, saying that?
He shrugged it off.
"I'm gonna take a shower. Bagels in the freezer, eggs and fruit in the 'fridge."
When Jensen re-emerged, Steve had eggs scrambled, fruit washed and cut, and bagels toasted. They talked about everything and nothing until the food and coffee was gone. Jensen sort of wondered if Steve was looking for something, waiting to hear something, but he wasn't sure what until the conversation had shifted to Chris and the day's game.
"You ever miss it?"
"Baseball? I miss being part of a team. I miss the way it felt when I blew a fastball right by somebody, or when my changeup fooled 'em into striking out. I don't miss the way it felt to blow a win. Or how I'd spend all night after a start with IcyHot on my shoulder, and still wouldn't want to lift my hand above my head the next day." Jensen paused. "But I think I made the right decision. I could have kept pushing the rehab; it wasn't mechanics, it was arm-strength that was the problem. It's what my dad would have done. I just needed some time to realize that I don't have to be just like my dad."
"You doin' okay on that front?" He and Steve had been together when his parents were killed in a car accident, only a few months before Jensen had torn his UCL.
"I miss 'em. I always will. But I can't live my life in order to win their approval. And I'm content here. It was always my plan to do this eventually, you know? The injury just made it happen sooner than I expected."
Steve hummed his acceptance.
"What about you, Steve? What's going on?"
"I've got a new record deal in the works. And maybe a collaboration set up. Wrote a couple new songs since I saw you last."
"Who's the subject of the latest ballad, you sappy bastard?"
"Hey, just because Jensen got turned into Jamie for your serenade, there's no reason for rudeness!"
~
The curveball
that you thought was there
is air 4
~
Later that week, after a couple of days riding the bench, Chris was behind the plate again, catching for Jared. He'd glanced out at the audience during the national anthem and seen Jensen in the stands. Sophia wasn't with him. Later, on his way back out of the dugout, when Chris had time to look again, he saw the little brunette from the front office, talking Jensen's ear off. He refused to speculate why Sandy didn't ping his Jensen-radar the way Sophia did. But that was all he had time to think. Jarhead (he'd taken to calling him that, and the kid just smiled and told him it was better than Sasquatch) was having a bit a trouble. They'd been working on developing his curve, but the pitch was just hanging for him each time he tried it, and he'd had to fall back on his fastball and sinker after giving up a couple of deep hits to right field; when he got frustrated, he was more likely to lose the plate, and he was throwing some of the wildest pitches Chris had seen from him yet. Chris had all he could do to focus on calling Jared's pitches, catching them, keeping his eyes on the base runners.
When they returned to the dugout in the middle of the third inning, the batboy, Jimmy, had a couple of notes in his hand. He gave one to Jared and delivered the other to Jeff. Jeff gave his a cursory glance before stuffing it into his pocket. Jared, who slumped on the bench dejectedly, just stared at the paper blankly, running his finger over the ragged edge where it had been torn from the back of the program booklet.
"Go on, Jarhead. Who's sending you love notes today?"
He didn't object when Chris took the note out of his hand and unfolded it.
Your curve is hanging because there's not enough spin on it. Bend your elbow and pull your hand into your body more during the release. Keep your shoulders on the line. If you're interested, I can show you a grip that won't telegraph your changeup to the batter. Jensen Ackles.
Although part of Chris was glad someone was watching - Jeff was too busy now as the general manager to do the hard-core pitching analysis, and the new pitching coach wasn't as good as Jeff had been before he was promoted - something about the idea of Jensen helping Jared nagged at him. Which was stupid, because he didn't even think the kid was aware of any possible subtext or ulterior motives. Not that he thought Jensen had any ulterior motives. Really.
Jared was irritated enough with himself, and he wasn't stupid, so when they went back out at the top of the fourth, he took Jensen's advice during his practice tosses. A minor shift in foot placement had him squared up, and bringing his hand in closer during the release looked like a more natural motion from Chris's view. The most important thing was that his curve, although still not as deep as he'd like, didn't hang high over the plate like a meatball, waiting for the batter's best shot.
Part 2