Work Text:
i.
Ego feels like getting shocked by a doorknob or plunging into a pool that’s 10 degrees colder than you thought it would be or getting off stage dizzy on adrenaline or none of those or all of them at once.. Agan had thought it would be like a rock in cir stomach or like missing the last step before a landing but it’s heady and light and it feels like the game again.
“That’s not good,” Pemmy says when ce brings it up. “That can’t be good.”
Agan nudges her shoulder. “Oh, c’mon Pem. What’s the worst that could happen?”
ii.
The Vault is blindingly bright in comparison to the Trench and just as bone chilling. The cold slides off cir back, borne away by the heat of incinerations past. Most of the people on the field and in the dugout are strangers to Agan. There isn’t even a crowd present. It’s just the echoing voice of one God or another and the knowledge that the game is being observed by millions elsewhere.
Agan tries to wave to Parker between innings when ce’s heading to the outfield but Parker’s eyes glance right over cir like they’re not seeing anyone at all.
iii.
The Sun explodes. Everything goes white and then dark. Cir ears are ringing when Agan can finally feel cir limbs again. Ce squints up at the ceiling. Off white and there’s tape marks. No speckles. No stars. There’s too much traffic outside.
“This isn’t my apartment,” ce tries to say but cir mouth feels like it’s full of cotton balls.
“You’re asking about the apartment?” says a voice ce doesn’t recognize.
Agan tries to focus on their face but can’t quite get there. “Mmmmhm.”
“Okay. Well. You know the New York Millennials?”
“Mmhm.”
“You landed here. After the Semi-Centennial.”
“Landed?”
iv.
Ce might be on the Mills but Returned is still on cir stat sheet so ce asks for a deli recommendation and goes for a walk. If ce’s going to die after Elections then ce might as well see New York before.
Ce doesn’t have makeup on and is wearing sweatpants that are too big and a shirt that’s too small and cir socks don’t match and cir shoes still have sod and turf on them and no one gives cir a second look when ce walks into the shop and orders the first thing ce sees on the menu.
v.
The Breath Mints go up like it's nothing, like the Immortals had. Ce watches hazy video of it uploaded in 244p on the flight to Seattle, scans back, and watches again, hunched over in cir plane seat. History repeats itself. History’s always fucking repeating itself. Ce opens the notebook ce had grabbed from a junk drawer in the apartment. There’s a schedule sketched out on the first page. The multiples of nine are already circled. Agan squares day 3 in bright red pen, heavy enough that it bleeds through to the next page like the bandages tight around cir arm.
vi.
The Fridays get instability first, after Parker roams to the Pies. Agan thinks about sending them tips or condolences or something but ce doesn’t know anyone there. It feels like it’d be an empty gesture. Instead ce walks two miles to get a pomegranate and cradles it in cir hands on the bus back to the apartment. It’s not a memorial. It’s not even to mark the occasion. Maybe it’s a statement that ce’s alive right now and ce can stand over the sink and tear apart the rind with cir bare hands, red juice spilling out over gray ash.
vii.
The second and third times Agan gets bit are at home, or at least in New York. Ce limps to the dugout after the third, hand pressed to cir side.
Bendie’s popping open the first aid kit before ce sits down. “Fuck dude, you gotta stop getting chomped.”
“What can I say. Sharks love my blood.”
“Work on having less tasty blood then.”
“How many bites do I got left in me?”
“One. Two if you’re lucky,” Beck says because she’s the kind of person who keeps track of this.
“You better get me an item before then,” Agan says.
viii.
The last time, Agan sees the Consumer before it hits. Patty shouts for cir to watch out and ce braces like ce does for an Umpire, one leg back, arms ready. The Consumer doesn’t care. It grabs ce by cir arm and drags cir under, into the immateria swirling at cir feet. It’s full of blood, full of cir blood, from three ripping, tearing bites in one game. All ce can think is this isn’t how it’s supposed to go, this isn’t how ce’s supposed to go out, as ce gets pulled down and down and down into the dark.
ix.
It feels like longer than it is, down in the tunnels. Ce tries to count heartbeats and hours but they all blend into a dark mass that pushes on cir lungs when ce breathes in too deep. Cir consumer bites have almost healed when ce gets batted back into the half light of the Shadows on day 13, two days after ce got redacted. Lou Roseheart drags cir into the dugout, sits cir down, asks a lot of first responder questions, and criticizes Bendie’s bandaging work all before Agan fully processes what has happened. The weight in cir chest remains.
x.
The Mills have cir on speakerphone as soon as ce’s at the Firehouse. At least three people are trying to talk at once but the voice that’s loudest is Patty’s.
“I cannot believe you left us for a city that doesn’t know how to make pizza. You abandon my teachings so quickly.” Ce can hear her smile through the phone.
Agan laughs, not quite hard enough to pull on the weight behind cir lungs. “Get better at defending next time and maybe I’ll stick around for longer.”
“Next time, have worse blood!” Bendie shouts from about ten feet behind Patty.
xi.
Forty days later, the ------------ touch down in the desert and the team is scattered to the wind. ---- keeps music blaring as loud as ce can in cir headphones while ce paces up and down the Fire House. Death hasn’t yet come to the ------------ but it’s only a matter of time until the umpires turn their gaze towards them. ---- practices even if ce fears ce’ll be unable to act in the moment, too clouded in shadows to prevent the inevitable.
Chicago gets hit with a torrential downpour and it’s still not enough to put out the fires.
xii.
“The Crabs’ve got a whole,” ------ gestures vaguely from where they’re sitting on top of a table, “a whole fucking thing with the black hole. And Chiclawgo or whatever.”
“Nah, this is out of their depth.” ---- is on the floor, hands behind cir head. The warmth and flame from incinerations defended against are orbiting cir heart. For the first time in decades, ---- feels well and truly cold.
Ce sits to look at the map, to see the path Canada Artists, a now empty team, have been traversing, and then away. “You got any bars you like around here?”