Wang/Chamberlain drabble
Req: 24_centuries
Rating: PG
Challenge: Chien-Ming Wang/Joba Chamberlain, related to that picture. This has been done for awhile. I kinda forgot it was there. Oops x_x
Joba likes to talk. But sometimes all the words in the world aren’t good enough.
This game sets guys up to fail. As soon as they think they’ve figured it out, it all goes to hell. Maybe that’s looking at the glass half-empty, but Joba already knows there’s no such thing as perfection. Even a perfect game is only that - one game. Scoreless streaks end. A team can’t win forever.
That’s why he celebrates success; why the old-timers come down on him and the media call him immature. Winning is brief, like life. Joba’s learned plenty from his old man, but that’s the most important lesson. Don’t take anything for granted. Live in the moment. Learn, but don’t regret. Life’s too short for that.
Tonight’s game is a total laugher. Joba sits back and watches. He can learn from this too - not how to pitch, but how to wear it.
There’s no grace to a loss like this. All that follows are mutters about rain that didn’t come.
Nine innings are over, and they have a day off tomorrow. Tuesday, it begins all over again. Except for Wanger. He has to wait.
He’s on one side of the elevator, and Joba is on the other. They don’t look at each other, and they don’t say a word. Chien-Ming knows more English than he lets on, but after a game - win or loss - he keeps to himself.
They have apartments on the same floor. Wanger steps off first, and Joba ambles behind. He takes one side of the hall, and Chien-Ming takes the other. They pass Joba’s apartment, but he doesn’t stop.
Chien-Ming unlocks his door. He doesn’t hold it for Joba, and he doesn’t slam it in his face.
The apartment is a decent size for New York, but it’s small for a Yankee. Joba wonders, now that Chien-Ming’s gone through arbitration, whether he’ll move out on his own. He could stay or go, neither choice would be surprising.
Wanger motions to the side. The television - and, next to it, the door to the kitchen. They’re Joba’s to use if he wants them. Wanger won’t serve him, but he won’t say no. That night’s start is absent from his eyes.
Then, Chien-Ming turns his back again. Joba can see his head move from side to side. Maybe he’s evaluating the space. Or wondering what to do.
Joba follows, even though Chien-Ming never moves. He winds arms around him and clasps hands over his chest. Chieng-Ming doesn’t protest. Joba puts his cheek between his shoulders.
This isn’t the first time he’s done this, but the first time was different - a moment on the field, cold enough for sweatshirts. Joba rises with his inhales and feels his heart beat. His pulse is strangely soothing. Joba didn’t know he needed that. If anyone should have, it’s Chien-Ming.
But he doesn’t seem to. He’s not proud of that night’s performance, but he won’t hide from it. Chien-Ming wears the loss because he has no choice.
Joba feels a hand cover his. Chien-Ming stares straight ahead.
He’s still learning. But even without asking, Joba thinks he understands.
Rating: PG
Challenge: Chien-Ming Wang/Joba Chamberlain, related to that picture. This has been done for awhile. I kinda forgot it was there. Oops x_x
Joba likes to talk. But sometimes all the words in the world aren’t good enough.
This game sets guys up to fail. As soon as they think they’ve figured it out, it all goes to hell. Maybe that’s looking at the glass half-empty, but Joba already knows there’s no such thing as perfection. Even a perfect game is only that - one game. Scoreless streaks end. A team can’t win forever.
That’s why he celebrates success; why the old-timers come down on him and the media call him immature. Winning is brief, like life. Joba’s learned plenty from his old man, but that’s the most important lesson. Don’t take anything for granted. Live in the moment. Learn, but don’t regret. Life’s too short for that.
Tonight’s game is a total laugher. Joba sits back and watches. He can learn from this too - not how to pitch, but how to wear it.
There’s no grace to a loss like this. All that follows are mutters about rain that didn’t come.
Nine innings are over, and they have a day off tomorrow. Tuesday, it begins all over again. Except for Wanger. He has to wait.
He’s on one side of the elevator, and Joba is on the other. They don’t look at each other, and they don’t say a word. Chien-Ming knows more English than he lets on, but after a game - win or loss - he keeps to himself.
They have apartments on the same floor. Wanger steps off first, and Joba ambles behind. He takes one side of the hall, and Chien-Ming takes the other. They pass Joba’s apartment, but he doesn’t stop.
Chien-Ming unlocks his door. He doesn’t hold it for Joba, and he doesn’t slam it in his face.
The apartment is a decent size for New York, but it’s small for a Yankee. Joba wonders, now that Chien-Ming’s gone through arbitration, whether he’ll move out on his own. He could stay or go, neither choice would be surprising.
Wanger motions to the side. The television - and, next to it, the door to the kitchen. They’re Joba’s to use if he wants them. Wanger won’t serve him, but he won’t say no. That night’s start is absent from his eyes.
Then, Chien-Ming turns his back again. Joba can see his head move from side to side. Maybe he’s evaluating the space. Or wondering what to do.
Joba follows, even though Chien-Ming never moves. He winds arms around him and clasps hands over his chest. Chieng-Ming doesn’t protest. Joba puts his cheek between his shoulders.
This isn’t the first time he’s done this, but the first time was different - a moment on the field, cold enough for sweatshirts. Joba rises with his inhales and feels his heart beat. His pulse is strangely soothing. Joba didn’t know he needed that. If anyone should have, it’s Chien-Ming.
But he doesn’t seem to. He’s not proud of that night’s performance, but he won’t hide from it. Chien-Ming wears the loss because he has no choice.
Joba feels a hand cover his. Chien-Ming stares straight ahead.
He’s still learning. But even without asking, Joba thinks he understands.