Work Text:
in a secured area of the Tampa Bay Rays offices, 2010-07-30
"I'm sorry, Andrew, but couldn't you have found anyone else to trade for but Qualls? I know that Dipoto's running the fire sale over there--well, maybe not a fire sale, more like a smoldering cigarette butt sort of sale, but Qualls?"
"It's all we could get on short notice, Joe, and we're getting him practically for free. You've got to understand that. He was the best fit we could find for our specific needs. You know how important he is to our plans, after all."
"I guess. Damn, but why did that have to happen to Grant right now? I had thought everything was under control...."
"It's your clubhouse, not mine. I just supply you the players."
Joe Maddon thought that sometimes his GM could have done better than to supply him with a reliever with a probable unresolved knee injury and...the other things that Andrew Friedman had decided to supply him with in the Rays' recent successful runs in the AL East. He wasn't about to say anything, however.
Rays' clubhouse, 2010-08-01
Chad Qualls was feeling good about himself and his situation. The previous day he had been part of a team mired in last place; today he was part of a team whose win that afternoon had positioned themselves into one game out of first place. He had managed to get Lance Berkman to hit into a double play, too. The gods of ground balls had been very good to him. Things were looking up.
"Hey, Chad, can you come into my office for a bit? We've got to talk about some things."
"Yeah, sure." There hadn't been much time to get him oriented that day. He arrived at the park, got his uniform (name spelled correctly, you can never be too unsure about those things) and went out to the 'pen. His manager was obviously going to need to talk to him. It wouldn't have been about his pitching...right?
He arrived at Joe Maddon's office only to find an entire crowd in there. As much of a crowd as you could get into the manager's office, at least. He thought the short guy was the GM, and he knew that the very tall redhead slumped in a chair was one of the Rays' starters. Jeff Niemann? He had looked like death warmed over all afternoon, just hanging there in the dugout listlessly. He knew that it sucked when you were so damn sick that you had to go into the clubhouse, and it just looked bad anyway to stop watching the game when it was an important rivalry game. The major thing he had picked up on upon his arrival was that series against the Yankees were a Big Deal, especially now that the Rays were chasing them for first.
The short guy stood up and offered his hand. "Andrew Friedman, Director of Baseball Operations. I'm sorry that I wasn't able to brief you on your arrival, but we've some very important things to discuss right now."
Qualls looked at the two other men in the office. Niemann still looked sick as hell, but Maddon also was looking queasy. Like there was bad news coming up. What was going on here? "Important? Like with my role in the bullpen?"
"Well, yes. You're going to be very important in the bullpen. We've had to put Grant Balfour on the disabled list. We've looked at your performance this season and we just believe that you've run into a stretch of ill luck on the field and that you'll have every chance of turning it around here with us."
The other guys still looked wary. They weren't just here to tell him that Balfour had got hurt again and that the ground ball gods had deserted him in Arizona. In his recollection, Balfour got hurt a lot; they shouldn't be that surprised. They also shouldn't be surprised by balls flying out of Chase Field, either. "And? You really don't need this three-man show to tell me that, do you?"
Now Friedman looked surprised. He sighed. "Yes, there's more to tell you. You're valuable for another reason."
Niemann whined, "I didn't mean to do it, I know how much Grant means to us, but I couldn't help it." He looked seriously out of it.
"I know, Jeff," Maddon said. "We've got Chad here to help us out on that."
Qualls was really nervous now. "Help out on what?"
Friedman continued. "It's a long story. Suffice it to say that Balfour met one of our needs here. Something happened to Jeff during the '07 season and we've been giving him as much assistance as we can, but it's been a chore keeping him on the field. We've had great cooperation with our players here and we're hoping that you can fill in. We've been scouting pitchers for this for a while."
"I'm hungry!" Damn, that ginger was being a pain in the ass. The postgame meal had been set out hours ago; what was his problem that he couldn't eat it?
"Jeff, we'll get you settled soon. Don't worry." Maddon was calm about it. This looked like a situation that had happened before.
"What in the hell is going on here?" He was watching Niemann out of the corner of his eye. He'd got out of his chair and was moving towards him, looming. His mouth was open and there was a certain sparkle to his eyes, and oh shit, were those teeth?
"He smells delicious. Can I?" Niemann was looking at the brass, just pleading, and Qualls finally realized why Balfour was out and what he was really on the team for.
"Just let him get into the side of your neck, he's not going to drain you with both of us here; he just needs something to eat before he dies. It's been a few days."
Qualls could barely nod his terrified consent before he felt the touch of hands trying to stroke him into calmness and the softness of lips and sharpness of needles on his neck.