Chapter Text
They hadn't talked in almost 5 years. Not really. They'd exchange the requisite "Good Game" utterances, a tentative wave in a hallway, sure. But they hadn't had an actual conversation, not about how things ended, never cleared the air. And certainly, they'd never been alone together.
That was the first thought on Persephone's mind, when she stepped into a quiet diner that night and saw Stoney hunched over a cup of coffee, a familiar sound and smell drifting from the flat top in the back.
It had been the offseason, fresh off a world series winning run for the Cascadia Kodiaks. They'd both played their parts. Persephone new her hitting was less and less consistent. She between injuries, and mojo, she'd only managed to step up to the plate in 67 games that year, and when she did, she struggled to make quite the impact she had in her rookie year. She knew that Coach Anarchy was frustrated, so she wasn't surprised to get cut to free agency. Hurt, but not surprised. She'd gone to Stoney's apartment that night and cried. They'd tried to talk about making things work, but she'd been afraid to commit, and Stoney hadn't pushed.
But when Stoney was cut from the Yaks, it shocked the league. She was a fan favorite, a solid leadoff hitter, a menace on the base paths. Rumor had it she'd offended management, but nothing was ever confirmed.
Stoney got picked up right away by The Kyoto Baseball Club, and had been in Japan within the week, and with that, any hope Persephone had had of saving what they had, had left on that early morning flight.
In the present, today's game had been a great game for her. The Toucans had shut out the Chicago Dogs, Stoney's latest team. Persephone herself had fielded well, and it had been her Home Run that put 3 runs up for Sao Paolo and won the day. She'd been so proud to see Sao Paolo fans holding up "Crystals Charged" signs as she trotted the base paths in the Dog Park. The team had gone for drinks, they'd laughed, she'd been the hero of the day, at least to some, though she knew more credit belonged to the bullpen than the batters on this one.
As the team filtered back from a bar to the hotel, Persephone had slipped away from the group, and went for a quiet walk. Which is how she wound up in a quiet diner, and felt the air rush from her lungs. Her ex, the person who lingered in her mind on sleepless nights, slumped over the counter.
Persephone took a deep breath, gathering five years of courage, slid onto a stool further down the counter, caught the servers eye and ordered. "Can I get a cup of coffee, and a fried bologna sandwich? Mustard, no cheese."