Chapter Text
The last night before the new season starts, it’s just you, Zack, Edric, a good dinner, and a bottle of wine.
(It’s nice, calm, quiet. Too quiet, really. Too quiet for what’s about to come. You’ve been trying to soak it all up, these past few months; the peace and calm that you know can’t last. There was brunch with Rivers last week, lazing about with Declan yesterday. This, now; fleeting moments of stasis about to run out, a few good moments before the bad times roll in.)
“Well,” Zack says, raising a glass with a tired smile on her lips, “to us, my loves. To whatever’s about to come.”
The words slip out your lips before you can stop them. “I love you so much.”
“Jesus Christ,” Edric grimaces, swallowing down his wine in one swift gulp. “Save that until I’m gone, please?”
Two napkins fly and hit him in the chest in rapid succession; Zack and you turn to each other and grin.
This time Edric pouts. “Don’t know why I stick around when you two keep ganging up on me.”
“Oh please,” Zack laughs, “As if you’d survive without me.”
He takes her hand and brings it to their chest, all dramatics. “Zack, my love, my darling, the platonic love of my life–”
Now it’s your turn. “Oh my god…”
He shoots you a smirk, and then turns back. “Soulmate extraordinaire–”And now she’s laughing even more, hand still in his.“–We both know there is simply no way I’d survive without your effervescent light in my life.”
All three of you sober as the genuineness of the moment hangs in the air, earnest and almost painful. Zack swallows, and then reaches for your hand, bringing you into the fold.
“Oh, my boys…” She squeezes your hand as her voice cracks. “I love you both to the end of the earth, okay? We’ll get through this.”
You and Edric share a look, unsteady and unsure. “We can’t possibly be–”
“We can,” she says, final. “And we will.”
-
A kid grows up in a castle, solitary except for the living breathing walls that contain them, and a sibling made more out of metal than skin at this rate. They grow up alone, long hot days squishing through the vineyards of Northern California, frigid nights underneath the stars. A sibling that’s trying, hard but not hard enough, until it all inevitably implodes in the way families do; shattering into pieces neither of them are willing to pick up.
Ze’ll run away, one day, and then once again, and again and again until the only thing holding vem down is a brand new city and a bone-deep sense of obligation. Shi’ll stay there too long; for all hir running, xe will literally bend backwards to avoid change. When the world ends, it’s zem standing on the edge of it, shattered as much as the dying sun vi stands before.
He’ll come back to a new city and new regrets. The kid is no longer a kid, and by gods, it’s time to grow.
-
You wake up a smidge too early; the sun is just starting to rise as you slip out from under the arm Zack’s slung over your waist and pad into her kitchen. The espresso machine stutters on with a hiss, but you ignore it in favour of rifling through the fridge until you find what you’re looking for: eggs, salsa, and the corn tortillas you made last week.
Getting lost in the repetition of cooking is easy; by the time you get to the eggs, there's potatoes frying on the back burner and tortillas heating on the right. If it wasn't for how cold her hands are, you'd miss Zack's arms sneaking up to hug you from behind.
“Someone's been busy,” she says, voice muffled against your back.
“Couldn't sleep.” You don't turn to look at her, with three burners to keep your eyes on, but you wish that you could, wish nothing more than to kiss her right this second. “I was going to try and surprise you in bed but no luck, I guess.”
“Come on, Rue…” Her mouth pulls away but her hands stay glued by your hips. “We're domestic but we’re not that domestic.”
She’s already pulled away, frothing up milk as your filter breaks once and for all. “What if I want that, though?”
You can feel her still, even if you’re not looking, can perfectly picture the way her shoulders have tensed, the way she’s chewing on her lip. “Who are you and what have you done with Mx. Triumphant, huh?”
You risk the spitting oil to shoot her a glance. “I’m serious, Z.”
“I know,” they sigh. “Breakfast first, okay?”
“Babe–”
“Finish up and then we’ll talk.”
It’s final, like most things with Zack are, unambiguous. So you finish the food as she makes you both coffee, and neither of you say another word until you’re sat at her cramped kitchen table.
“So here’s the thing,” she starts, mouth full, “It’s not that I don’t want to. But we’ve gotta get through this season first, Rue, we’ve just gotta. I just don’t think– it doesn’t make sense for us to have this conversation until then, right? Because who the fuck knows what’s going to happen between now and then–”
It’s the answer you knew in your heart, and once again Zack Sanders is exactly fucking right.
“No, you’re right. It’s just… It’s going to be hard going back to living without this, you know?”
You gaze over the room, finding your shoes next to hers and jacket slung over the desk and so many pieces of yourself you’ve just let take root here; little saplings that have only just begun to grow. When your eyes meet hers, you know she sees it too, a life you could build together in a different world.
“Yeah, it will be.”
-
messages sent from baby triumphant to knight triumphant at the end of the world
ruthless: really bitch, i get a chunk taken out of my side and not even a text??? (read)
ruthless: look, i’m sorry about don, okay?? doesn’t mean you have to pull this shit (read)
ruthless: okay look i know i haven’t been the best sibling either knight but like. Jesus fucking christ (read)
ruthless: if i didn’t know better i’d say you hated me too (read)
ruthless: nothing??? (unread)
ruthless: well fuck you too (unread)
ruthless: fuck (unread)
-
One advantage of the two of you living on opposite coasts is the time difference— well, it's a blessing and a curse, but on days like this, it means you can linger until Zack has to go to her game before leaving for your own. Of course, it certainly helps that Siggy has been kind enough to manifest doors in both of your apartments, so all you have to do is sprint down the hall in between the two.
Hank laughs as you trip through the doorway, pointedly smirking at your dishevelled appearance. “Cutting it a bit close, are we?”
You flip him off as you leave to deposit your belongings back in your room and begin searching for your least hated jersey. Your voice carries to the living room, “You're just jealous because you don't have a shortcut to go see Bea.”
“So what if I am?” He calls back. “If you don't hurry I'm going to leave without you.”
“You know, I don't even technically have to be there.” Finally you find it, shrugging it on unbuttoned over your tank. “I don't pitch until tomorrow.”
“I mean sure, technically.” As you emerge back into the living room, Hank is already waiting by the front door, keys in hand. “But then you'd have to deal with the inevitable explosion of Mt. Susan.”
“Which is why I'm here, dickhead.”
Hank just shakes his head. “Come on, let's go. If we get there early enough, we might be able to dodge the press conference.”
“Now that's just wishful thinking.”
Seren’s waiting by the door when you get there. “You’re late, babes.”
“I know, I know,” Hank catches your eyes, shoves you through the door before you can hesitate. “It’s just that someone decided to stay in Boston till the very last second, didn’t they?”
“Fuck off, marshmallow boy–”
Seren just shakes their head with a grin. “Take it somewhere else, you two. Speaking of, I think Susan is waiting for you both in the green room.”
You turn to Hank, miming dry heaves until he smacks your arm. “Thanks, Ser.”
They’re already sprinting off towards the office but still shouts back over their shoulder. “Don’t thank me yet!”
You contemplate sneaking off, but Hank grabs your sleeve before you can even make the attempt. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
“Aw Hank, come on, do I really have to?”
“Yes, asshole. If you leave me to do this alone I’m making you do dishes for the rest of the damn season.”
“I don’t know, might be worth it–”
“You two are late!”
Just the sound of the voice makes you wince, and you grimace as you turn to face no one other than Timmy Vine.
“Thanks for stating the obvious, Timmy.”
Hank eyes you. “Rue…”
Timmy just smiles, wide eyed. “While you’re here, I have a show next week I was meaning to invite you to next week–”
“Sorry, since we’re so late, I don’t think we have time to stop and chat, do we, Hank?”
“...Right.”
Your wings itch to take off as you nearly sprint down the hallway, and even then Timmy’s voice still echoes across it.
“I’ll put a flyer in your locker then!”
Another twisting turn, another empty hallway. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”
This time it’s a jab to your elbow. “No, you’re not.”
You finally make it to the green room to see Susan by the couch, wearing her stupid fucking tailored jersey with phone in hand.
“There’s the two superstars I was looking for!”
A mutter this time, quiet enough that only Hank can hear: “Or maybe I’ll fucking kill her instead…”
He doesn’t dignify you with a response, just rolls his eyes. “Hi, Susan.”
She doesn’t look up from her phone. “Hank, you’re up for the post-game presser today–”
“Aw, seriously?”
“How many times do we have to talk about this?”
A knowing groan. “Legacy, I know. Fine.”
“Ruthless, you are too.”
You fling your arms in exasperation. “The fuck? I don’t even play today!”
“We’re doing all Discipline players today; gotta emphasize the history here, you know?”
You can’t say you do.
“So what, the two of us and Rivers and Hendrick? That’s…”
She brightens “Brilliant, I know, thank you dear. Hank, see you on the field! Oh, and Ruthless?”
You turn to her and deadpan, “What, Susan.”
“Clean up a bit, will you? Dishevelled can be punk, but this is a bit much.”
And much like she arrived, she’s gone again in a huff of glamour and piety.
“Maybe I can convince the two of them to kill each other…”
You’ve slunk down onto the couch, but Hank is already taking off towards the locker room.
His voice echoes behind him. “Give it a break, Triumphant!”
Agree to disagree, you suppose.
-
Well, the Seattle Garages have certainly started off their season with a bang, haven’t they? In a surprise to approximately no one, Baby “Ruthless” Triumphant was seen walking off midway through tonight’s press conference, after being asked about their absent sibling. PR Manager and Center Infielder Susan Witherspoon attempted to salvage the presser to no avail, with the rest of the team dispersing soon after.
While the Blaseball team passed muster last season, including making the postseason, the label has not found the same luck. Sales have stubbornly refused to return to the peaks they once held in the Expansion Era, and rumours of quiet discontent among the team continue to persist. Will Seattle’s titan of music production be able to regain their former crown, or is this a new era for them as well? Only time will tell.
The Seattle Tribune.
-
It’s a hot, sticky day in Miami when Bea shoots you a grin from across the field as she pitches yet another strikeout, officially pushing the game into extra innings.
(The sky is a gaping maw, not tinted blue. Extra innings here means a chance for someone like Lou to fall out of that hole, not more death. So you smile back, wind up your arm, and keep this game going.)
A loss like this doesn't hurt, not when it's only by two and against your friends in the bottom of the eleventh.
Sidling up next to Hank as you gather your stuff up from the dugout: “Staying at Bea’s again tonight?”
He grins, bashful. “Oh, as if you’re not going to do the same when we’re in boston.”
“It was a legitimate question!”
“Uh huh, I’m sure it was…”
“Fuck off.”
“What about you? Hanging out with Edric tonight?”
“I don’t know.” You haven't made plans, but knowing the two of you… “Probably.”
“Well, have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.”
“I'm pretty sure we only do things you won't do.”
Edric pops up by elbow, startling you both. “Things who wouldn’t do?”
“Oh, you know,” a grin spreads on your lips. “Hank has no fun.”
Hank doubles back from the exit, perturbed. “Hey!”
“Go find your girlfriend already, would you?”
“Yeah, yeah. See you both tomorrow.”
And with that he’s off, leaving just you and Edric left in the dugout.
“So, what’s the plan for tonight? I’m just assuming we’re hanging at this point.”
“Hmm…” He bites at his lip. “Sushi, maybe?”
“At your place, or do you want to go out?”
“Do you want to deal with the press?”
“Okay, point taken. Call it in while I shower and we’ll pick it up on the way?”
“Got it, boss.”
It isn’t until the two of you are laid up on his couch with four empty takeout containers in your midsts that you bring up what’s been sitting on your chest.
“I talked to Zack about moving in, like, for real.”
He raises a brow that says he knows more than he’s letting on. “Did you now?”
“Okay, maybe not in those exact words…”
“Mhm?”
“Oh, like she hasn’t already talked to you about it.”
“Didn’t I say when you two got together that I wasn’t going to get in the middle of this shit?”
“I’m not asking you to get in the middle of it, it’s just…” You’re biting so hard on your lip you can almost taste blood. “I really don’t want to fuck this up. Last time went so–”
Edric holds up a hand. “Woah, Ruthless, listen. You can’t be comparing this with the three of us, they’re leagues away from each other. You’re more mature now—I mean, we all are—and like, even then… Yes, okay, things were rough, for sure. But that didn’t stop you and Declan living together for like, two decades afterwards. It doesn’t erase the ten good years we did have, right? Nothing’s forever here, but the two of you are good for each other, and you love each other, and that’s about the best you can ask for right now. And this is coming from someone who maybe knows the two of you better than anyone else here. It’s just– you can’t get stuck in those what-ifs, Rue. You taught me that.”
You laugh, choked and wet. “I guess I did.”
The two of you fall asleep on his couch not much later, not for the first time and certainly not the last. It isn’t even three hours later when the vibrating of a phone wakes you up, and you're still in the haze of sleep as Edric answers it.
“Hello– wait, wait– Eddie, you've gotta slow down, I can't– Okay, do you want to pass me to Serge, then? Because I can't keep up right now, you've gotta– okay, why don't we do that, then?”
You try to drift back, curling in towards the couch, but he jostled, sitting up and pressing his palm against his brow.
“Serge, what's going on? Eddie wasn't–” A pause. “...Oh. Yeah, no, that makes a lot more sense. I think xe might be up, so– yeah, let's do that. You go get them some water, okay?”
He reaches for your shoulder; you shy away before sighing, cracking one eye open. “What?”
“Okay, grouchy…” He scoffs, “Looks like my rookies were partying with yours–”
“If Timmy did something I am not claiming responsibility–”
“Eddie's pretty high so I had trouble getting it out of her, but apparently Jo’s been trying to call you for a while? Serge said ze’s pretty freaked out–” You can hear muffled voices from his phone, and he reaches it out to you. “Will you?”
It's not as if you have a choice. “Hello?”
“Rue– oh thank god. I’m sorry, I’m just– They want– We were at this club and Susan called and they fucking– she found one of my poems in the green room last week and they want to– it wasn’t meant to be anything, I don’t want them to turn it into anything, I can’t let them, it was just–”
It’s your turn to rub your brow. “Breathe, Jo. Take a deep breath, okay?”
“Sorry, I just– I didn't know who to call, I mean, we both know Hank wouldn't answer, which like fair but– I needed to and you know none of the others get it and then Eddie asked me what was wrong but she was already fucked, you know–”
If only your twenty year old self could see you now. “You're fine, Jo. Just take a breath for me. I'll be right back, okay?” You cover the receiver, leaning over to Edric. “You think Bea would be willing to take a look at some contract stuff?”
He looks about as tired as you feel. “I mean, probably? We can ask…”
“In the morning, yeah.” You go back to the phone. “Listen, I'll have to check in the morning, but I have a friend who can look over your contract, okay? Even if there is some string she can pull on you, we can probably renegotiate, yeah? Obviously not anything Blaseball related, but I doubt even Susan is able to pull this out under you without consequence, right?”
“Yeah, yeah… Okay.” Ze pauses, holds hir breath for just a second, “That friend Hank’s girlfriend?”
“Maybe. Where are you now? Still out?”
“No, we went back to Serge’s.”
“Okay. Drink some water, get some sleep, and we'll get it sorted. Okay?”
“Thank you, Rue.” And then ze’s gone, before you even have a chance to respond.
“Jesus Christ.” You toss Edric his phone back. “How did we become these people, huh?”
“What, responsible?”
“I don't know if I'd go that far.”
“Yeah, I don't know if I would either.” He grabs for your arm, pulling the both of you up. “Come on. We should get some sleep on an actual bed, don't you think?”
You look at him for just a second, moonlight streaming in and tangling in his curls. For all that he doesn't look any older, it's evident in his skin, in the way he holds himself these days. Your eyes meet, and you're sure he's thinking the same about you, and you share a grin.
“Good call.”
-
rivers: okay so we should probably add caleb, right?
justice: obviously
Dec: have you talked to them yet rivs?
rivers: shot them a text, haven't heard back yet
you: I can't believe they're down
eds: me neither
justice: but Ike…
Rivers: something we can worry about another time
eds: guys
eds: just before we add caleb
eds: this probably shouldn't be how they find out about staj. and it will be if they scroll up like at all…
rivers: fuck, you're right.
Dec: im not up for it ngl
Mullen: I can do it.
Mullen: Once I find them, at least.
Mullen: Fucking infinite cities.
-
You’ve been trying—at least to the best of your abilities—to not check your phone during games you pitch. Mostly for your own sanity; it’s not worth the futile frustrations that come with learning the league’s latest calamity when you still have half a game to go through.
Still, when Jo pulls you aside as you’re all heading into the locker room, you know it’s not a good sign.
Ze grimaces. “You’re probably gonna want to check your phone, Ruthless.”
Leaning down as you change your shoes: “Okay, well, I’m assuming it’s not that bad, considering you’re stepping around it…”
“Chae was incinerated. Deshields, I mean.”
That has you straightening up. “Shit.”
You bite your lip. Declan, and Gabe, you have to–
“I’ll fend Susan off if you need to make calls…”
“Please. Thanks, Jo.”
Ze cracks a smile. “No problem. I’m on it, boss.”
It takes a few steady breaths for you to prepare yourself—moments like this never get easier—and by the time you're ready, the locker room has emptied out.
Good. You don't need anyone overhearing this.
The phone rings, once and then another. It goes on just long enough that you think Declan isn’t going to pick up, and you can’t help but give a sigh of relief when she does, barrelling straight in without a hello.
“Edric beat you to it, just so you know.”
“Yeah, well… He’s on the same coast as you and he’s not pitching, so.” You tug at the hem of your jersey absently. “How are you doing?”
“Um.” You can hear her swallow, can imagine the way her brow is furrowing as she tries to get her words together. “I mean, it’s not great. We all knew it was coming, but–”
She doesn’t need to say more, you know what she means.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know… I liked Chae. I like my team. I don’t want to lose anyone else– I mean, I didn’t want to lose anyone to begin with, but we’re past that now, aren’t we? First Ana, now this… I mean, I didn’t know Vela too well, but that’s a fucking mess– It just fucking sucks, Ruthless.”
“Yeah, it does.”
“I’m sorry, I just–”
“Hey, no, I called for a reason, right? Do you need anything? Is there anything I can do? I don’t play for another four days now–”
“No.”
“Are you sure? I really don’t mind–”
“You’ll take any chance to get out of Seattle, I’m not going to enable you, asshole.”
“...Ouch.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Nah, you’re good. If you do need–”
“I will, Rue. We’re trying to do better this era, right?”
“Yeah, we are.” You take a deep breath, trying to coalesce your frantic worry into something smaller. “I’ll call you in a couple days, then.”
“Sounds good. Love you, dude.”
“You too.”
Still sweat-stained and exhausted, you lean your head back against the locker, and try just to breathe.
-
No need to thank me, Ruthless. Jo was lovely, and we both know I love digging into a meaty contract– it seriously wasn’t a problem at all. Hopefully it helped!
(P.S. Edric and I were talking about a triple date getaway with the six of us once the season’s through. Could be cute!)
Beatrix McBlase, Esq.
-
You lose your first—(and only)—game in Boston. Given that it’s practically your third week on the road, you can’t find it in you to care much.
Zack sneaks up behind minutes after it ends, wrapping her arms around your waist despite the sticky sheen left on both of you from the summer heat. You close your eyes against the setting sun, letting yourself lean back into her for just a second.
“Missed you,” she mumbles, “it’s not fair that we have to go this long.”
You turn around, bringing your arms up to hang by her neck, closing in for a kiss. “We’re lucky we have a series at all.”
“Yeah,” she sighs, touching her forehead to yours, not ready to pull away quite yet. “Just wishing for better timing, is all.”
Your first series back in Chicago is next up on the horizon. You can’t help but feel nervous about it, and by now, she knows how to read you, of course she does. It’s a fool's errand to take the bait, though, and so you just lean in for another kiss.
Or, at least you try to before you’re so rudely interrupted by a voice to your left.
“Take it back to your place, Sanders.”
Both of your heads whip around to see Spears and Hank resting against the wall, over by where the hallway diverges to Home and Away. They both look far too happy with themselves.
You shoot Hank a glare, and he just shrugs. “If I were you, I'd get out of here before Sheev or Timmy spots you. Last I heard, they were trying to get the whole team out for karaoke.
“Oh, jesus fucking christ. Babe, what if we just showered at your place, actually?”
Zack laughs, and you think for the hundredth time it might just be your favourite sound in the world. “Yeah, we can do that. In fact…” She leans in, drawing her mouth up to your ear, “We can do a lot more than that.”
You grin.”Sounds like a plan.”
It's not until the next night, nestled in her sheets and her chest pressed against your back, that the subject dares to rear it's head.
“So,” she starts, voice tickling your shoulder blades, “How are we feeling?”
You suspect that your face would give you away if you turned towards her, so you don't, despite how much you might want to. “I'll make it through.”
“Yeah? If you need…”
“You'll do what? Miss a game you physically can't? What I don't need is kid gloves, Zack.” You rub your brow. “Sorry.”
“It's just– I worry, Rue. About you, and Edric, and Nerd, and Esme and everyone else. I worry about everyone so much it makes me sick, because it's like I'm finally at this point where I'm out of rope and I can't keep running anymore, you know? I mean, I know you do, it's just– we've just gotta get through this, right?”
Now, you can't help but turn over, bringing a hand up to cup her face. “And we will, okay? We will. I'm not going to make a promise I can't be sure I'll keep, but we're both trying, that's what matters.”
A tear hits your thumb, and you wipe it away. “I know.”
“I’m going to get through my games, and you're going to get through yours, and in less than a week I'll finally be back in Seattle and then we'll only be a set of doors and a hallway away, right? At least for a little bit.”
“Yeah,,, home stretch? You're so close to being back home.”
You shake your head. “I am home, Z. This is home– not Seattle, not Siggy, not Chicago, at least any more. You, and this apartment, and our stupid fucking friends… that's the closest thing I've got.”
She leans in, kissing you firmly. “Fifty-three days.”
“Something like that, if we're lucky. Or unlucky, rather.”
“If one of us gets into the postseason, we'll figure it out then. For now, just let me have my little countdown, okay?”
“No arguments here.”
You kiss her one more time and then turn back over, listening as her breaths even out and letting the weight of her arm over you lull to sleep.
-
“Hey, so I was thinking… maybe we try and do something for Caleb? When the season’s done, obviously, it’s just… They deserve something nice, and so do we. Anyways, it was good seeing you last week! Hope Chicago isn’t too bad, I know you’re still in the getting used to playing there but not playing there phase. It’ll get better, promise.
Okay, gonna let you go now, for real. Let’s get brunch again at the end of the season, okay? Love you.”
– Rivers Rosa, Day 36, Season 2
-
You can feel it before you actually hear about it; in the subtle rumble of the bricks beneath your feet, the way the rafters start to shake. It reminds you just a little too much of the day that Josh died, and that’s why you start to run.
On your way out of the dugout, you barrel into Hank head on, who stumbles back a few feet with the weight of you. Steadying your shoulders, you know he can see the panic in your eyes, the fear in your chest, and it stings even worse.
“Rue,” he says, voice low but steady, “what’s going on? Everything okay?”
You shake your head, unable to get the proper words out. “Something’s wrong, I can feel it.”
You don’t say the truth you know to be real at this point: by wrong, you mean dead.
He glances towards the field, uneasy. “I’m sure no one will notice I slip away for a minute,” he wavers, though you can both see the two outs on the board even from here.
The shaking’s gotten more noticeable in both you and the building, and you haven’t felt an urge to run this strong in many decades.
“No,” you say, slipping past him, “I’ll be right back.”
“Rue!” He yells, but you’ve already broken into a sprint and you don’t turn back because you need to get out of here before they announce it, you can’t– you need to see it for yourself first.
Here’s the thing. You know this building better than anyone on the premises; fifty-odd years will do that to a person. These are the stones and bricks you grew up with, in every sense but literal, and so your feet take you exactly where you need to go.
You barely make it to the door of the garage before you’re stumbling, tripping over your own two feet as a cry confirms your worst thoughts.
On the wall you see it: Rivers Rosa in shades of glass, sitting perpendicular to Tyreek Olive. You take one heaving breath, and then your legs are giving out.
And it’s that position Hank finds you in after the game, eyes still glued to the wall.