Chapter Text
In the whole history of stupid fucking things that Mike Lawson had done, giving Ginny that gift at Evie and Blip’s Christmas party topped the damn list.
He’d overthought the whole gesture. He should have just slipped it to her at the end of the night, or had it sent to her house. He probably shouldn’t even have wrapped it. He had people to handle this type of thing, people who picked up boxes of his belongings from his ex wife's house, people who bought the holiday cards he hastily signed when his manager managed to corner him. A team Secret Santa gift exchange should have fallen comfortably in the category of things he let other people handle. But then Blip had passed the hat over to Mike in the locker room, and he’d drawn Ginny’s name. Suddenly, the event had taken on a whole new meaning.
Mike scoured store after store for a gift that meant something, barely allowing himself to question why he was putting such effort into it. If he’d drawn anyone else’s name, he’d be taking them to a steak dinner. And though the idea of taking Ginny out to a restaurant in public (just the two of them) had more appeal than he cared to admit, that option was clearly off the table. Blip would have made a good ally, but he couldn’t trust Blip not to tell. Mike could have asked Evie for an idea, but that was tantamount to confessing something he hadn’t even admitted to himself. So Mike took to the internet, researching like he was writing a college essay, searching for any clues.
An interview with Teen Vogue yielded better results than Mike could have possibly anticipated. He squinted at the screen, reading a story in Ginny’s own words about her father, about her first gift from him: a new baseball glove. The tribute was touching, a clearly passionate recollection of memories of a man that Ginny loved to distraction. Within minutes of reading it, Mike was on the phone, putting his gift in motion. It was innocuous enough once it arrived in a nondescript cardboard box. Like a fool, he’d gone to the store for wrapping paper, determined to make it pretty for her.
Mike regretted that decision now. If the meticulously constructed golden glitter box didn’t give him and his idiotic feelings completely away, Ginny’s scream when she saw what was inside definitely did.
Blip met Mike’s eyes with a kind of pitying sympathy, like he too knew intimately what it was like to be in the hot seat. Blip’s wife, Evie, had much less tact. She saw right to the quick of him, letting Mike know that as far as she was concerned, he was as transparent as clear glass.
He was also pretty sure he’d turned blood red in the face, but the lights were blessedly low, and his beard disguised most of it.
A well-placed joke distracted the team, as usual, and when Blip started pouring shots, no one could care less about their captain’s lapse in judgment. Evie had dragged Ginny somewhere, leaving Mike next to Ginny’s date. The two men exchanged loaded eye contact for a moment before what’s-his-face excused himself to the bar. Blip patted Mike bracingly on the back, and Mike, sensing his out, took it. He’d cursed himself on the whole drive home, only calming marginally when he got into his garage.
Mike kicked off his shoes, walking past the decorations the housekeeper had strung up in an attempt to get him out of his grinchy mood, and headed for the couch and the familiar comforts of an old friend.
If there was one person in the world that Mike could count on, it was Han Solo.
He was aware that he was being dramatic, but the sad truth of it wasn’t far off. Mike would have liked to say that he could at least always count on himself, but like tonight, he’d fucked things up six ways to Sunday on more occasions than he could remember. As a kid, his largely absent parents left him to his own devices. Christmases meant quiet mornings of mom sleeping off her hangover and dad forever winning his game of hide and seek. Mike grew up, left home, and rarely looked back, determined to do better for himself. For a while, Mike thought he could count on his Rachel, on the safe place he’d forged.
But Rachel was gone, getting remarried, and Mike was alone, on his couch, watching the Empire Strikes Back on cable because he was too lazy to go dig out his blurays.
Sighing, he leaned into the cushions, loosened the knot of his tie, and set about ignoring his darkened Christmas tree in lieu of taking another pull of cold beer. On screen, Han Solo was busy putting the moves on Leia. Mike reached for the remote, turning it up.
The buzzing of his phone nearly gave him a heart attack, threatening to send the bowl of chips near his thigh scattering to the floor. Mike groped around the cushions for the phone, intent on silencing it and going back to his loathing thoughts and nighttime commercials for Peloton. He located it, tilting the screen to peek at the name. Mike’s treacherous heart stuttered when he saw Ginny’s name and the accompanying selfie she’d programmed in herself glowing up at him.
The phone silenced and Mike exhaled in relief. It was short-lived. A series of texts began to pop up in rapid succession.
“ Captain pick up.”
“You can’t ignore me.”
“Well, you probably can, but I’m going to keep texting you.”
“And you know how fast I can type.”
“I’ll kill your battery with this...bwahahahaha”
He stared incredulously, hearing Ginny’s voice echoing in his head with every progressive message.
“Ok, but seriously, Mike, please, I wanna talk to you.”
“Why’d you leave without saying goodbye?”
He contemplated flipping the phone over, ignoring it completely.
“The gift was so nice, I can’t believe it. I wanted to thank you. But you rushed out.”
“Was it Josh? Did he say something? He’s a friend of my brother’s…”
“Kinda boring, tbh, but everyone else brought their wives.”
“Except you.”
“Oh GOD, I did NOT mean it that way.”
Mike chuckled despite himself. Couth was not his Rookie’s strongpoint.
“Mike...seriously, where are you?”
“Everyone’s asking about you like I’m in charge of you somehow.”
“And I know i’m not but I’m worried about you.”
There was a beat, and Mike thought for a moment that she’d eased up. He turned his attention reluctantly back to the movie. His phone buzzed twice more.
“ Mike,”
“Please?”
The next text was an image. Curious despite his better judgment, he unlocked his phone and opened it. Ginny was staring at him through the lens of her camera, her lip poked out like a kid pouting. Her hair was free and wild, the curls stark against the bright lights of some Christmas decoration or another behind her.
Before he knew it, Mike was hitting call.
“Captain!” she greeted, all bright excitement. “I want to see you! I’m switching to Facetime.”
“Baker…” Mike groaned, regretting this already.
The damn millennial was too quick for him. In a moment, his phone was glowing with her cheerful face. His stomach gave a funny kind of lurch.
“There you are,” she smiled, charitably ignoring the fact that he was sitting in the dark. “Why’d you leave?”
“Look, Baker,” he began, “I know a minute without laying eyes on this chiseled, beared face is a minute wasted in your book, but--”
She snorted, unladylike as ever. “Where are you?” she ignored, tilting her head at him.
“I’m at home,” he answered, grumbling somewhat. “Where are you?” It clearly wasn’t Evie and Blip’s anymore. What’s-his-face was nowhere in sight either.
“Outside of the hotel,” she said. “About to go inside. What are you doing?”
“I’m enjoying some peace and quiet. I think you burst my eardrums tonight,” he hoped he sounded grumpier than he felt. It was hard to even look at her when she was like this, dimple on display, admiration in her eyes, like she didn’t know what a hot fucking mess he was.
Ginny smiled again. “That gift, Mike…” she shook her head. “That’s the nicest gift I’ve gotten in years.”
“The bar is low,” he said, sipping his beer. “Seriously, Baker, it’s no big deal.” He was going scarlet again, his damned heart stuttering while she fawned at him through the phone screen.
“Mike,” Ginny cut him off, scowling the way she did when she was on the mound and sick of his bullshit. “You embroidered a glove with all my first year stats. It’s beautiful.”
“It’s practical ,” he corrected, cursing the blush creeping up his neck. He’d special ordered it, chosen the font for the embroidery himself. It’d come from her hometown, from the place she started. He’d outlined that all in a handwritten card, like some sort of idiot. He bet Ginny had showed it to Evie, and if Evie saw it, then she knew. Mike was playing a dangerous game.
Ginny wiped her face. “Say what you want, Captain,” she sighed, her smile softening. “But thank you.”
“Well, you need a good one,” Mike swallowed. “If you hurt yourself again next season, I’m going to kill you Baker. Maybe that glove will remind you to listen to me.” Physical therapy had gone better than he could have hoped. He’d lost a week of sleep over her elbow, stopping himself from looming over her while she saw doctor after doctor by sheer willpower. It helped that Ginny kept him in the loop with a steady barrage of phone calls and texts, going so far as to enlist him as her chauffeur to and from the doctor.
“Probably not,” Ginny said matter-of-factly, dimples popping. “But I can’t wait to break it in.” She looked enthused at the mere prospect. “Maybe we can toss a few around, if your knees aren’t bothering you.”
“My knees are fine,” Mike shook his head. There wasn’t much to do in the offseason besides workout, and he was hoping he could stretch his career a few more seasons.
“Good,” Ginny looked off, tucking her hair behind her ear. “So,” she repeated. “What are you doing?”
She was interrupted by a fan recognizing her. Mike waited, listening in amusement as they clamored for autographs and pictures. He’d gotten used to that kind of thing, to stepping out in public and being swarmed. It was funny listening to his Rookie navigate it. For all her confidence, charm sometimes eluded her. She was doing all right now though, if his ears were to be believed.
In minutes, she was back. “Sorry,” she breathed, flustered.
“Christ, Baker,” Mike teased. “You really need to find a place of your own.” People knew she was at that hotel now, waited for her there. It wasn’t safe.
“I could use some help with that,” she admitted. “I’m only pretending to be a grown up.”
“I know,” Mike snorted. “Ask your agent.”
“No,” Ginny stuck her tongue out. “I like Amelia, but...I want to pick something that I would like, not something that has great optics for whatever shoot she wants me to do next.”
Mike chuckled. “Feisty tonight, aren’t you?” he teased. She wasn’t wrong about Amelia. Mike would always have a soft spot for the blonde, but her forceful nature lost its charm a while ago.
“Tipsy,” Ginny corrected. “They made me take a shot when I got back from the bathroom.”
Mike’s stomach clenched again. No doubt Evie had dissected every possible meaning of his gift with Ginny, had probably convinced her that--
“Ouch!” Ginny’s shout startled him. “Ugh, stupid dresser.” She stumbled into her hotel room, flipping on the lights. Her bed was covered in clothing. The offending furniture was hanging half open, and Ginny was rubbing her elbow.
“Careful with that,” Mike cautioned. “Didn’t you just fix that thing?”
She slammed the door shut with her hip. “It’s fine,” she grumbled.
“You’re a pig,” he told her affectionately, shaking his head at the mess.
Ginny unceremoniously shoved a space clear, flopping down. “I needed a dress for tonight. Dresses aren’t my strong point.” She pointed the camera down at herself.
Mike privately disagreed. Judging by the way that fabric was clinging to her, dresses were not something Ginny had an issue with. Half the team had swallowed their tongue when she’d come inside in that plum colored number. What’s-his-face looked like he was king of the damn world with her on his arm.
“Where’s that date of yours?” Mike questioned, praying he sounded like he was teasing.
“I don’t know,” Ginny shrugged like she couldn’t care less. She stretched out on her bed, sitting her gift box beside her.
“You gonna sleep with it?” Mike asked, laughing.
“Maybe I will,” Ginny fired back. She was blessedly looking down when Mike choked on a mouthful of beer. “So,” she continued, raising the camera back to her face. “What are you doing? I can barely see you.”
“Watching TV,” he said. He shouted at his Google device to turn the lights on. The brightness hurt his eyes, but he blinked his vision clear.
“What are you watching?” Ginny asked. “I’ll watch with you.” She began to scramble for the remote.
“Rookie, maybe I wanted some alone time,” Mike pointed out, shaking his head at her.
“Tough,” Ginny said. “It’s Christmas Eve, and you bailed on the party, so I didn’t get to see enough of you.”
“You see me practically every other day,” Mike argued. Once she learned that he could cook, she was like a shadow around his house.
“Besides,” Ginny continued, her voice going curiously soft. “You’re supposed to spend Christmas with people who care about you.”
“I’m sure you’ve got some of those, Gin,” Mike said, his voice a deep rumble.
“So do you,” she said simply. She worried her lip between her teeth, her eyes falling away from his on the screen.
A silence hung between them, charged with a million things that Mike found it increasingly harder to not say to her. He wished she was here, beside him, in his house instead of a hotel room downtown. He drained his beer, putting those thoughts away from him. Ginny was off-limits.
For now, at least.
“Ok,” Mike said, straightening up. His heart was doing that annoying thing where it started racing, his mind calling up scenarios he had no business imagining. “ Star Wars ,” he instructed. “TNT.”
She snorted. “God, how old are you?”
“Just old enough to be sexy, Baker,” Mike didn’t skip a beat, his face pulling into a grin.
“Is this the one with the bikini?” Ginny wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want to ogle boobs with you.”
Mike laughed. “First of all, you should be so lucky,” he deadpanned. “Second of all, that’s Return of the Jedi , Rookie. Educate yourself.”
Ginny grumbled, setting her phone in front of her. “Fine,” she said without venom. “What part is it on?”
“Get to the channel and you’ll see for yourself,” Mike set his phone in front of him, leaning against the chip bowl on the coffee table. Ginny smirked from the screen, then immediately began to pout again.
“Oh damn,” she stuck out her lip. “I missed the kiss. That’s my favorite part.”
Mike smiled, setting his beer aside. “You’re a sap, Baker,” he told her.
Ginny only smiled, leaning back against her headboard, her eyes not on her TV, but on her phone screen. “Don’t tell anyone, Captain,” she said.
Mike didn’t think his favorite movie could get any better, but he found that Ginny’s appreciative gasps and nonstop commentary improved it greatly. By the time the credits rolled, he knew all of her favorite commercials, which Leia hairstyle she most enjoyed, and exactly why Darth Vader had scared her so badly as a child.
Now she yawned, snuggled into her bed in her dress, her smoky makeup smudged. The gift box was still by her side. Ginny glanced at it.
“Thanks again, Lawson,” she yawned a second time.
Mike smiled at her. “Get some sleep, Rookie,” he said. “Santa’s not going to come if you’re awake.”
She grinned. “You too, Mike,” she said. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you too, Ginny. Drink some water,” he added as a parting shot.
“Maybe we can get breakfast tomorrow,” she offered, eyes fluttering shut. “If you don’t have plans.”
He didn’t, and he would have been happy to cancel them if he did. “Lunch I can do,” he told her. She was going to be too hungover by far for anything in the morning. “I’ll come pick you up, ok?”
“Ok,” she said. With a wink, she was gone, his phone screen going blank.
Return of the Jedi started up, the Star Wars theme blaring in the living room. Mike leaned back against the couch, watching Leia save Han from his carbonite prison.
As far as Christmases went, this one wasn’t bad.