Chapter Text
This was crazy. Utterly crazy. How had he, Whizzer Brown, ended up at a Junior League baseball game?
He really had never been able to resist Jason. Anything the kid said made him melt. So when he had called him (looking up his number in the fucking yellow pages, jesus, he had been dedicated.), Whizzer could do nothing but agree to coming to see his game. And of course, the fact that Jason’s father might be there made absolutely no impact on his decision to go.
He ran his hand through his hair again, checking his car mirror to ensure a perfect side part. Only because there could have been someone cute in the crowd. Not because he wanted to impress Marvin or anything. That flame had died long ago. Shrugging on his leather jacket (which he knew made him look hot) he jumped out of the car and began to jog into the seating area at the side of the pitch. He was late. Shit.
Not wanting to look too eager, he slowed his pace and made sure to stroll leisurely into the park, as though he owned the place. He scanned the congregation of people from under his sunglasses, thankful that they hid the fear and apprehension evident in his eyes. The park was half full with a sad horde of Jewish parents, fathers and mothers calling out meaningless encouragement to their children, who ran half-heartedly around the pitch. ‘Pathetic’, Whizzer thought, as he questioned yet again why he had bothered coming. Suddenly, he caught sight of an awkward, lanky young man with a mop of curly hair poking out from under his hat. His stomach lurched, and he couldn’t keep the smile from his face as he watched the kid failing to hit the baseball. Jason. Whizzer hadn’t realised how much he had missed Marvin’s child until he answered his phone call the previous weekend. And Jason wasn’t the only person he had missed over the past two years.
As much as he hated to admit it, Whizzer missed Marvin. It was the kind of thought he pushed away unless it was 3am and he couldn’t sleep. For months, he had replayed their final moments together, how reckless and irritating he had been, how angry Marvin had been, how scared the other man had made him feel. Scared, scared to lose him, scared to lose what they had. They had been so stupid, fighting and fucking, but never talking. Yes, Whizzer had grown sick of it, of the ever present question of what this all meant, whether they were just fuck buddies or maybe something more, of the lack of emotional intimacy, of Marvin’s internal need to make him into a housewife. And yet, there had been moments, after sex, when they would be cuddling in bed, pressing soft kisses to each other’s neck and shoulders and foreheads, when Whizzer had felt content, peaceful, and genuinely happy. He wanted it back. He’d even take back all the fighting, all the pain and frustration, just for those little secret, soft moments of bliss.
He was startled from his thoughts as rather indignant voice exclaimed ‘What are you doing here?’ to his left. Whizzer turned to see the shocked faces of Trina, Mendel, and two other women that he didn’t recognise. Great. He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts of Marvin, that he hadn’t even considered that his ex-wife Trina would be there too. In fact, where was Marvin? Surely he would be sitting with Jason’s other parents? Groaning internally, Whizzer accepted that his ex-lover wasn’t at the game, and that he had gotten all dressed up for nothing.
Confidence fading fast, he stuttered out ‘I, uh.. Jason…. Jason called and asked me to come, so… I came.’ Anger, confusion, and a little sadness mingled together in Trina’s expression. Sadness? That was odd. Mendel laughed awkwardly and stood up to shake Whizzer’s hand. ‘Nice to see you again Whizzer. I know Jason has missed you.’ He said, with a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. The two women sitting beside the couple exchanged a look that Whizzer didn’t understand, full of concern, something he couldn’t identify. Fear? Wistfulness? Contempt? The dark haired lady finally broke the silence again, introducing herself as Charlotte, and the other woman as Cordelia. The blonde simply continued to gaze at him for a minute more, before saying ‘Whizzer… That’s an unusual name. Can I presume that you were Marvin’s….’ she trailed off, looking down at her feet. Whizzer sighed and rolled his eyes a little, trying to give the impression that he resented being associated with his former lover. ‘Yes, you can. Marvin and I were… Well, it was complicated I guess.’
A sudden cheer from the stands interrupted the small groups stilted conversation. Whizzer whipped around to face the field again. One of the lanky, uncoordinated kids had actually hit the ball. And what’s more, the lanky, uncoordinated kid in question was Jason. Unfortunately, Jason seemed as surprised at himself as his makeshift band of supporters were, and he stood frozen like a rabbit in headlights, seemingly unable to move. Miraculously in time with Mendel, Trina, and their two friends, Whizzer shouted ‘Run!’ at the petrified kid, who proceeded to dart around the field, almost tripping over his open laces in his haste.
A little later, after the game, Whizzer stood stiffly by the Weisenbachfelds car waiting for Jason to appear. Soon enough, he was greeted by the victorious child as he ran into Whizzer, startling him with a tight hug. Whizzer wasn’t sure if he imagined it or not, but he swore he could see tears filling Jason’s eyes. As he pulled away, Whizzer ruffled his hair, pride filling his chest. ‘Hey buddy! Nice home run!’ The look on Jason’s face was priceless at hearing the man’s praise. ‘I can’t believe you came! And you actually saw me hit the ball! That hardly ever happens!’ Whizzer laughed and clapped him on the back. Jason had grown up a lot in the past two years. Adults tend to forget how much changes between the ages of 11 and 13, and puberty had clearly taken effect on Jason. Although he was still skinny and lanky, his shoulders had broadened a little and some of the boyish roundness of his face had been shed, leaving a rather defined jawline. His voice had even begun to deepen. Whizzer felt a pang of sadness in his chest. He should have been there to watch this, to watch him grow.
Realising that he had been just staring at Jason for a good 30 seconds, Whizzer laughed awkwardly again and broke the silence with ‘So kid, where’s your dad? Marvin still hates baseball, huh?’ To his dismay, Jason’s face clouded over instantly with sadness and he pulled away from the older man. Whizzer looked around at the faces of the other adults, each one painted with shock. Trina raised a hand to her mouth as tears filled her eyes. ‘He doesn’t know…’ whispered Charlotte ‘Oh my God…’ Mendel scratched the back of his neck and refused to meet Whizzer’s eyes as he stepped towards his stepson and slung an arm around his shoulders. ‘Uh, Whizzer….. Marvin is dead.’ What? ‘We thought… We thought you knew.’ Trina said faintly, wiping the tears from her eyes.
This couldn’t be happening. Marvin, dead? No, no, he was too young, too strong. How could a person so full of life, and passion, and vitality, and ambition be…. Gone? A million questions raced through Whizzer’s mind as his throat began to swell with grief. Marvin was dead. Marvin was dead. Marvin. Was. Dead. Each memory he cherished of the man came flooding into his brain, each bouquet of roses, each smile shared over a glass of wine, each word of praise about his cooking. Their passionate kisses, full of lust and sincerity, bruising and sweet at the same time. The man who had kissed him so fervidly, who had screwed him so mercilessly, who had screamed at him so violently, dead? Marvin, his Marvin, the first man he stuck around for, the first man he loved. The only man that Whizzer had ever… loved.
Eventually, Whizzer had calmed down enough to choke out a broken ‘H-how?’ An uncomfortable silence had settled over the group. Jason was clinging to his mother’s waist as Trina buried her head in Mendel’s shoulder. The lesbian couple weren’t showing much emotion outwardly, but Whizzer noted how tightly they clutched each other’s hands. Again, Mendel decided to be the one to break the news to Whizzer. ‘In a car crash, about two months ago. He was, ah, hit by a drunk driver, on his way… Oh God Whizzer, I don’t even know if I should be telling you this, but… Marvin was on his way to your apartment. To apologise.’ The pain was evident not only in Mendel’s voice, but in his eyes. Psychiatrist or not, he had always been bad at dealing with grief.
Whizzer hadn’t thought that he could feel any worse than he did two minutes previously, but he had been wrong. Marvin was dead, and it was his fault. Marvin had wanted the same thing he did - he wanted it all back. But now it was too late. Now Marvin was gone.
Marvin was gone.