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Dave didn't really know what to do with the goodwill baseball tickets he got from the company he worked at to try and stop them from unionising. He was never really all that into sports, besides the Astros games he had had forced down his throat in bars and the games he went to in high school. It all largely went in one ear and out the other, finding the game long and hard to get through and the rules too confusing for him to ever bother.
So when he got given two tickets near to home plate from his place of employment, for his apparent hard work from the past year, instead of a raise or bonus which he was vying for, his first thought was to sell them, which was basically a bonus if he twisted it one way or another. Dave decided against it, if only because he didn't have anything to do during the day the game was on, and it felt a disservice to the various coworkers eyeing him jealously when he received them. So America's pass time here he came. Time would be passed and he would make sure of it. He is the time passer, it is him.
So, with a very disinterested Dirk and two tickets that he won for commitment to the old ball and chain that is capitalism in tow, he walked into the great Daikin Park, ready to watch nothing happen for the next three to four hours.
Dave left Dirk to stew in his seat, going to get a hotdog and a packet of peanuts, because he was feeling festive, and he wanted to see what all the fuss in the song was all about. Surely something that had been so indented into the minds of the great American population needed a reason to be so. He was going to open a third eye with this one. His chakras were aligned and he was ready.
He settled back into the seat next to Dirk, with his steaming hot dog, trying to settle into the plasticky chairs, looking across the field. The stands were relatively empty, with the upper stands having a handful of people, who seemed to be getting ready to migrate down to the lower chairs at their first opportunity.
"What the fuck even is a crackerjack." Dave asked, eyeing the people around him, "I was fucking scouring the food up there looking for some so I could complete the Odyssey and get this ballpark experience perfected, and win at baseball. I just wanted to win at ballparks, and they fucking took it from me, in the form of whatever a crackerjack was. All I saw was like 15 types of brisket. It's brisket city up there Dirk, left right and fucking centre,"
Dirk raised one eyebrow at Dave. "Is it not just some type of popcorn." Dirk said turning back down to his phone, clearly texting someone. Dave tilted his head. "Is it? Fuck me man why are we getting all up in arms over some fucking popcorn," He asked leaning back, checking the time quickly, he sighed, waiting for the first pitch, resolving himself to the game.
The players for the Astros started to congregate on the field, filling out their positions, getting ready for the game to start. The pitcher walked onto the mound and the first batter walked up, his thick curly hair, forced into the batting helmet, eyes resolutely on the pitcher, and immediately recognisable to Dave, even without the giant screen opposite him flashing up the name.
Karkat was always good at baseball, Dave knew this, when they were still together in high school. He had gone along to a couple of the games, when he had time, but they were long endeavours, and he never bothered to learn about the game outside of those few opportunities. He would also catch the end of some of Karkat's practices, watching ball after ball fly off the end of his bat, over the mass of greenery making up the baseball field. So he wasn't exactly uninformed in Karkat's overall baseball ability. He also, however, wasn't exactly expecting to see him at a random Major League Baseball game, least of all as a player.
They were still together when Karkat had gotten into some fancy college across the country, on a baseball scholarship, leaving Houston in his wake, and when they broke up, less than amicably, Dave stopped hearing updates on what he was doing. He was left to only really seeing Karkat show up in the background of pictures from people he knew in high school, what with his unending hatred of showing up in photos, often leaving him to be delegated to the role of photographer, rather than photographee. He was surprised though, that he didn't hear news as big as this, even online, but Karkat was also clearly playing outside of Texas, and Dave wasn't exactly invested enough to even hear news about the baseball team in his own city. He wasn't expecting to see Karkat here, especially with all this talk of finishing college and the degree in English he was clearly desperate to get.
So no, he did not expect Karkat to be the first up to bat, and he said as much at Dirk, when he looked over, to Dave expectantly. "No dude, I did not know my ex boyfriend who I haven't seen or spoken to for about two years was going to be a Major League Baseball player, I thought that was obvious."
"You knew he was a baseball player."
"Yeah but one who was going to play at college and finish his degree and go do something like teach, or whatever the fuck you do with an English degree," Dave hissed, chewing on the inside of his cheek.
He watched intently, as Karkat missed the first ball. He then missed the second ball, swinging at it. The third pitch went out, and Karkat made contact with the ball, and Dave watched it fly over the field, into the glove of one of the outfielders.
"Well shit." Dave said, "That fucking sucks."
"Not rooting for the home team?" Dirk asked, "You're investment in completing the song doesn't extend so far as that?"
"Of course I'm rooting for the home team man, what do you even think of me, the quality of my day is completely dependent on how good the Houston Astros are at hitting a ball. If they lose I'm going to cry one singular tear, and think about what could have been." Dave said largely checked out now that he didn't have any dark, twisted and deeply personal connection to the players.
********
The game had been going on for about two hours, and Dave kind of got the appeal at that point. Something about the team that he cared more about hitting the ball slightly more often than the team he didn't did something to his dopamine receptors, and he found himself swept up in the atmosphere. He was sipping on a can of beer that he got from a man walking through the stands, which, granted, probably helped. It was the bottom of the 7th and the Astros were leading 4-2, and Karkat was up to bat again. Dave watched as Karkat tapped his bat against the ground, swinging it up against his head. Dave couldn't see his face, but they were together long enough for Dave to be able to see the dark eyes singled in on the pitcher in his mind, staring calculatingly at the ball.
The first ball fell slightly below the bat, leaving Karkat swinging at nothing. The second ball is where Dave's careful peace behind this wall of plexiglass was broken. Karkat hit a foul ball off the top of his bat, and it flew up and behind him, only to be picked up swiftly by the catcher. Karkat turned around slightly to see where the ball had gone and in scanning the field behind him, caught Dave's eyes. Karkat's movements faltered, ever so slightly, he shook it off, and resolutely teared his view away to return to staring at the pitcher in front of him. He then missed the ball, and finally hit a ball across the ground, just past the second base, and Karkat ran up to first.
This was, of course, for nought when the next batter struck out. Many such cases.
Dave looked over to Dirk, and hissed "Did you fucking see that, he totally saw me, I didn't even think we were close enough to be seen in the crowd, I thought it was theatre rules, why can't we always be abiding by theatre rules Dirk. Life would be easier, and more fulfilling if we did so."
"We're like, so close to home plate. I would be fucking shocked if Karkat didn't see us man."
Dave groaned, too dramatically for what could possibly be happening right know, sinking lower and lower into his seat, slapping his palms up to his face.
"Dude." Dirk said, "Come on, don't do something pathetic."
**********
The Astros won, obviously. They were the best team in the league. Dave knew this and he said it often. That's why they won the World Series, very uncontroversially, in the past.
He was looking for baseball tickets again the same night, for these reasons. He was the biggest baseball fan, it was him. This was the only reason.
"Jesus Christ, who is buying these." Dave mumbled, looking at the price. "Why can't my good work ethic be rewarded more often."
It didn't matter, he was buying them, he tried not to think about it too hard, as he added a ticket to the game the next day into his basket.
*********
He walked into Daikin park, alone this time, clutching his phone in one hand, walking around the upper levels of the ballpark, waiting for the game to start. He was trying to decide what out of the 15 different brisket options he should eat, finally deciding on a loaded brisket and mac and cheese hot dog, with a stupid name. He was going to fucking guzzle this bad boy down. He held his precious cargo in his hands, making his way down to the lower levels of the seats. He wasn't as close as before because he didn't have the luxury of daddy's money this time, instead paying his own dollar, but close enough that the shapeless blobs of the players formed something more complete. A whole person, even.
He watched the teams warm up, trying to figure out how to eat his mess of a dog. Two equally difficult endeavours he was sure.
The game started and someone new from Karkat's team that Dave didn't recognise was up to bat. They scuffed the bat in the dirt at home plate, swinging the bat up, missing several of the next pitches. Dave wasn't sure why missing seemed to be such a large part of a game that entirely relied on hitting, but he was sure there was more to it than that. He watched the player at home hit the ball, and watched it roll through the bases, as the player through themselves over to first base.
The game went much of the same, and Dave watched intently while the opposing team slowly cycled through the at bats, leaving two on base when Karkat walked up to home plate. Dave locked in on Karkat, staring at his face, which he could see this time. Karkat tapped his bat against the ground, and swung it back up to his shoulder, bouncing lightly on the heels of his feet, before planting them in the dirt.
Dave stared as he watched the pitcher wind up his throw, and released it, quickly flying towards Karkat, who didn't swing. A ball went recorded on the giant TV. Then two strikes followed, and Karkat was back to gripping his bat tightly watching the pitcher throw the ball towards him. He swung and hit the ball and watched it soar through the air, over the heads of the outfielders and out into the stands.
The Astros were losing 3-0 and Dave couldn't be sadder. Between the innings, where the team didn't score any runs, he went and bought a hat. It was bright orange, and the most hideous thing in that store, and wouldn't go with anything he wore, and he knew it was perfect. He put it on his head and walked back to his chair.
It reminded him of when he went to Karkat's games, in high school, when Karkat would drop a hat on Dave's head and direct him to one of the seats in the stands, before running down to join his team, and get ready to start the game. Dave would run his finger over the embroidery on the front, and the giant logo of Karkat's baseball team, waiting for the game to start, wrapped in his shitty little jacket, in the brisk Texan nights.
Dave, similarly, was running his finger over the giant H on the front of the hat gently, staring as the game went back into gear for the next innings.
**********
As it came onto the 9th inning, the Astros weren't doing so well. They were lagging 3-4 as they had been since the 3rd inning, and Dave was having a third beer, to celebrate their three points. He was getting tired, with some sort of ballpark related fatigue, which he could only chalk up to being there for two nights in a row, which probably wasn't good for anyone.
He was kind of ready for the game to be over, and the team was moving from Houston for the next few games, so Dave wasn't able to watch their next games anyway, probably for the best. He was baseballed out, he couldn't keep watching these games, he didn't have baseball kind of time anyway.
************
He was sat on the bus back to his apartment after the game, where the Astros did not win, and was curled up against the window with his phone open on a video in front of him, watching Karkat talking to a reporter, giving some carefully worded answer on how he thinks his team can prepare for the next games following a three game losing streak. Dave stared intently at Karkat talking, the way he kept running his hand through his hair, obviously due to it growing too long and just brushing the top of his eyes, and how he smiled ever so slightly near the end of the video, up at the reporter, thanking her for her time.
The video ended, and Dave promptly put his phone away, because he realised Dirk was right, he was being pathetic. This was maybe the most pathetic thing he had ever done, going to this baseball game, watching the interviews, all of it. He resigned himself to going back to staring blankly out the window for the rest of the journey, the baseball cap laying heavy of his head, and also shining brightly against the bus lights, with its garish orange, and accented H's over the entirety of the hats body.
*************
The third baseball game he ever saw, he didn't mean to see, a few days later. He was sat in a bar with June, kind of flagging after a long day, however, she came all the way to visit him, and he wasn't the kind of cheap host to invite his main squeeze over only to leave her for his soft bed. Instead he got up, put on his good hosting boots, and walked with her to a shitty little hole in the wall bar not far from his apartment, and bought them both a fruity little cocktail, which was too sweet and came with far to many accoutrements for any one person to be content with and they enjoyed it goddammit.
They were tucked away in a little booth, with June recounting some weird situation she had back in Seattle, which involved a lizard, a pet shop and an unfortunate amount of money.
"So I have a lizard now, which is cool, but I wasn't really looking for something to look after. I don't know if I'm ready for motherhood." She said, mixing her drink with her straw, sipping at it. "I named it Casey jr though, just thought it fit him."
"What happened to Casey Sr" Dave asked
"You don't want to now man"
Dave went to answer before catching his eye on the little TV across the room, and the baseball green which suddenly filled the screen.
"Hey dude are you okay? you usually never miss a chance to talk." June asked.
Dave turned back to June, leaning on his hand, "Oh yeah, just didn't realising we were getting all sportsball up in here,"
June followed his view point up to the screen at the bar. "Oh yeah, huh, didn't realise." She said, before launching right back into her discussion of the lizard she managed to find herself caring for.
Dave listened intently to June, interjecting when he saw fit, but he still let his vision stray towards the screen, watching the players cycle through. When he looked up, the Astros were up to bat, and Karkat was sat behind home plate. He forced his vision back down to June, and continued sipping his drink.
"I didn't realise you were into baseball." June said, tilting her head slightly at Dave.
"I'm not, I got these tickets for a game from work like a couple days ago. That was crazy," Dave mumbled, "I took Dirk along, who like, absolutely did not want to go. That is not a man who likes team sports."
June grinned, angling herself to be facing the screen a little more. "I don't think that's a man that likes anything besides his weird horse show and robots."
"My little pony is not a weird horse show, it's a thrilling cartoon about the power of friendship which has captured the minds of many." Dave said, more out of principle than anything.
He looked back up at the screen, both teams were tied, and it was just reaching the 8th inning.
Some tall lanky fucker from the other team was pitching, and threw a ball, which Karkat caught, and then threw over to second base, seemingly getting the other player out, ending the 8th inning.
He watched Karkat pull his helmet off, shake out his hair, and start walking towards the dugout, before the screen cut to commercials.
June finished her drink and went to stand, "Well, we better start going."
"Wait they have one-" Dave started before trailing off.
"What do you want to watch the final inning?" June asked
"Lets just go." Dave said, getting his things together, and going up to pay the tab at the bar.
June grinned, shaking her head at Dave, before following Dave out of the bar.
************
This was getting ridiculous, he couldn't keep watching baseball games. He didn't have baseball time, he didn't have baseball money, he didn't have baseball love in his heart.
He was at a Yankees game, up in the nosebleeds this time. It was humid and grey, with the gathering of clouds promising rain. It was deep into spring at this point, while baseball season clawed its way through May.
He was visiting Rose who found herself, unfortunately, too busy to entertain him for a day, forcing him to find his own fun. His own fun, apparently, consisted of him nursing another sweet sweet dog at the top of the ballpark, watching the tiny dots on the field warming up.
This leisure activity decision, of course, had nothing to do with who the Yankees were playing.
This is what he kept telling himself, upon the next inning when he saw Karkat walk up to home plate. Dave had learnt several facts about Karkat's batting style in his pathetic two months upon learning Karkat played professional baseball, which he already kind of knew from what Karkat would tell him about when they were still together. It just seemed to be a less obvious problem now.
He had old fuzzy memories of Karkat finishing practice, complaining loudly about his coach's criticism of his at bats
("Who fucking cares if my plate discipline is shitty, there's a ball flying at my fucking face, I am going to swing at it, and if it lands 6 inches out of the strike zone why should that be my fucking problem!")
That also didn't seem to matter here, when Karkat hit a ball out to left field, and watched it bounce against the wall, while the left fielder struggled to pick it up. The Yankees were lagging, badly, losing a 4-1 game in the third inning, which was probably bad for them. Dave wasn't sure, he had very little stake in this game, he had decided from the beginning.
A loud boo grew from the bottom of the stands and he just sunk back into his seat, staring down at the game below, trying to figure out where the ball actually was, he was sat very far away from the field. It wasn't easy out here.
*********
The Yankees lost, with a very resounding 8-1 loss, and Dave recounting as much back to Rose who he saw that evening, once they had both come back from their respective activities.
"I'm sorry, I'm sure you had some like, massive investment on how this baseball team did in the game today, and I'm sorry you had to find out from me, that unfortunately you lost, and it was a bloodbath. An absolute bloodbath Rose, no bouncing back, the Yankees found dead in the water."
Rose nodded. "I've truly never been more saddened by this information, thank you, Dave, I'll go and weep by their grave when I next find the time."
Dave shrugged impassively. "Yeah man, break out that black veil and white lace handkerchief, we need to get our mourning on up in here."
Rose turned back to Dave with a singular eyebrow raised, "So does your newfound interest in baseball have no link to a certain new player."
"I have no idea what your talking about Rose." Dave said, raising an eyebrow back at her, in an act of intimidation.
This of course, seemed to have no effect on her. "Dude why did everyone know this about Karkat except for me." Dave then complained after a few minutes.
"Kanaya talks to him sometimes," Rose said, stirring her mug of tea, bringing it to her kitchen table, which was covered in wires, and stacked with plates, and maybe five other cups of cold tea.
"No, there is no link, this is the great American pastime. God forbid I find some love in my heart for baseball!" Dave groaned, trying to shift the takeaway containers littering the surface, trying to find space to drop his head down dramatically
"So who was on the other team?" Rose asked
Dave of course, threw an empty container at her head.
**************
This was the final game Dave was ever going to watch he decided, his seats, were kind of near the side of left field, and he had his Astros hat on his head, because of his hometown pride, obviously.
The Astros were just leading with the other team up at bat at the moment.
Karkat.
Karkat up to bat.
The pitcher wound up his arm and threw the ball at a whopping 94mph, right at Karkat's bat, who hit it, forcing it to fly over the entirety of left field, over the bullpen, and right at Dave.
He put his hand out to shield his face, which was probably a mistake, as he felt it bounce off his finger, and he felt something akin to a crack happen to it.
He moved his hand down from his face, watching the ball roll away and get scooped up by a child, who walked away with it, probably for the best.
Dave then looked down at his hand, watching the steadily swelling finger. He clicked his tongue disappointingly. "Well that's just not ideal." He mumbled, looking around, before getting up and starting to look for a first aid station. He caught the attention of a worker at a hotdog stand, and held up his swelling, purpling hand. The worker grimaced at him, pointing in the direction of where he ought to be heading.
He walked to the first aid station, and sat on their uncomfortable chair, while getting poked at by a medical personnel.
"Give it to me straight doc, am I going to live." Dave asked.
"You're going to be fine, it isn't even broken," The doctor said, "Just bruised really bad."
Dave nodded, looking out at the field, the game was steadily coming to a close, with Karkat's team just eking a win, and everyone was steadily streaming out of the stadium. That's when a familiar face came to darken the door of the first aid office.
"Hi, apparently I hit someone with a base.." Karkat trailed off.
Dave just waved his non swollen hand at Karkat.
"Since when did you like baseball?"
"Since when did you play baseball?"
Karkat just raised an eyebrow "Since, always, you fucking knew this Dave, you saw me play baseball," he said, walking over to where Dave was sat, he kind of towered over Dave from this position, and his arms were kind of sick now, not that Dave was all that invested.
"I fucking knew I saw you at that game, Jesus, I thought I was hallucinating, because you never liked baseball, why would you go and get, can I say, insanely expensive, seats for a game you aren't even all that invested in.
"Won them at work, for my capitalism prowess, Karkat. I got them in exchange for my lifelong promise that my soul will be given to this company. Obviously"
"God you're still such a dick." Karkat sighed, chewing the inside of his cheek. "Why come to another game then, and be all patriotic about it then?" He asked, sending a look at the hat balanced on Dave's head, which Dave thought was a bit hypocritical, seeing as Karkat was also wearing a hat. "Also why did you pick such an ugly one."
"Because of my love of the Houston Astros obviously." Dave said, "Surely you'd understand that Karkat, I only want to see good things for this team."
Karkat rolled his eyes. "How many baseball games have you seen then Dave."
He paused at the question, before mumbling out the number.
Karkat blanched at that "Five?" he asked incredulously. "You complained all the time about how long they were, and how cold it was, and how nothing was happening the entire game, how did you end up at four games."
"One was in a sports bar but whatever."
"Do you even know the rules?"
"Hit the ball and run around the bases it's not fucking rocket science Karkat, It's baseball. How much to it can there be."
Karkat just shrugged, before producing a baseball from his pocket, and looking to the doctor pleadingly for a sharpie, who was staring at their computer, clearly pretending to not have heard their conversation.
Once the sharpie had been procured, he signed his name on the side of the baseball, "Anyways, It's been like, nice to see you," Karkat said shifting his line of site around nervously, "I obviously wasn't expecting to run into you here, I have to go um. Sorry for hitting you with a baseball, but you're fucking warned about it so," Karkat trailed off, before handing Dave the baseball. "I have to run, I'm seeing my family while I'm here, but I'll like, see you around,"
Dave watched as he turned around and walked out looking down at the baseball he had been handed. He was then finally let out from the first aid centre, with an ice pack. He climbed onto the bus, a little at the loss from the interaction he had just had, before finally looking at the baseball he was handed, with Karkat's familiar scrawling signature on it, and just below it, a similarly scrawled phone number, different to the one he used to have in high school.
Dave looked at it uncomprehendingly, before shaking his head slightly, pulling out his phone.
TG: your handwriting still sucks by the way