When they first get together, it's weird.
Not the sex. The sex is great. From the moment they first met, the chemistry shared between them has been damn near ablaze. The kissing and touching and the sweet wordless murmuring into ears as night turns to day and calloused hands interlocking beneath soft Egyptian cotton sheets- that part is easy.
It's the rest of it that's kind of… maybe weird isn't the right word. It's more like… no, that's it exactly. It's foreign and uncomfortable and unusual and, to be honest, scary as hell.
The morning after their first night together is filled with mumbles and fumbles of body parts and zero eye contact all while trying to process the reality of what the hell just happened. Until finally after nearly an hour and two ignored cups of coffee the middle-aged catcher finally makes an announcement.
"This is fucking weird."
Ginny's head snaps up from the floor tile she's been eyeing the last seventeen minutes.
"It is. It's weird." He repeats. "And it's awkward and… kind of terrifying. And if we let it turn into anything more than what it already is, it's gonna be really freaking hard and probably a little miserable sometimes."
The words hit Ginny like a fastball right in the heart when she wasn't even aware she was on the field. It wasn't like she expected him to be giddy about their night together, but given the fact that he'd invited her to stay and made breakfast did bring along the assumption that he wasn't completely abhorred by the idea.
Mike doesn't seem to notice the look on her face, though, because he continues on without even the smallest pause.
"I think we should go for it."
This time it's a knuckleball that strikes her chest.
"You what?"
He shrugs. "I mean hell, why not right? We're already used to doing the impossible. God knows a challenge isn't anything new." His voice lowers to that just above a whisper, bringing an unadulterated sense of honesty to his tone. "There is also the small but rather significant detail that after the events that took place last night, I am never going to be able to go back to just being your teammate ever again."
He finally raises his gaze to meet hers, allowing Ginny to see the rare spark of vulnerability within his eyes. For quite possibly the first time since they've met, his guard is one hundred percent down.
"I didn't mean to." He says quietly, a small shake of his head accompanying the words. "In fact, I tried really fucking hard not to. But it didn't work. And here we are." He allows another few beats of silence before putting everything he has out on the table.
"This is me telling you that I'm all in, Baker. I don't know how or why or what's gonna happen, other than the fact that it's gonna be really hard. But I'm here." Rising from his seat at the kitchen table, he spares one last look at her, declaring, "It's your move, Rookie."
-PITCH-
As expected, the team doesn't take well to the news.
It doesn't help that they find out nearly four months after the fact, and that it's by walking in on them half naked on Mike's couch when the team barges in for an impromptu belated birthday celebration.
There's a lot of yelling in the clubhouse the next day, by all parties. The team for Ginny and Mike's betrayal and liability to the team as a whole, Ginny and Mike defending themselves and each other, Mike demanding respect for Ginny for saving their asses with her wicked arm and himself for his role as captain, a lot of name calling back and forth, a particular slur that requires Ginny and four assistant coaches plus two medics to hold Mike back, and a single stray jockstrap flying through the air that goes unclaimed.
(It should probably also be noted that during this entire ordeal Blip is sitting in the corner re-lacing his sneakers with laser focus akin to that of a brain surgeon. Because of course within less then twelve hours Evelyn, with her terrifying yet incredibly impressive feminine superpowers, was not only able to figure out the entire thing, but with such detail you'd think she'd singlehandedly planned it herself.)
When Al walks in silence finally falls, allowing his hushed words to be heard far and wide as he takes his time to look every single person right in the eyes.
"You're a team. Singular. You play as one, you win as one, you lose as one. That's the way it's always been, and it's never gonna change. Figure it out." Turning on his heel, he heads in the direction of his office before adding witheringly, "This ever happens again, every single one of you is done."
(They all wind up back at Lawson's place that night to do just that, which includes nearly four hours of screaming, threats, debates about issues spanning from yesterday to the moment baseball was invented in its entirety, a heartfelt speech from Blip, and a few of Mike's words that damn near bring a tear to everyone's eye, before finally making some headway.
When Al walks onto the field for practice the next morning he pretends not to notice Lawson's busted lip or Miller's black eye.)
-PITCH-
Things change. And yeah, it's kind of fucking weird because nobody really knows how any of this works. But they try.
Still. Sometimes things happen and you sort of just have to face them head on simply because there isn't another option.
Like the time they're in the clubhouse after a particularly good practice and she once again stresses to him through gritted teeth that the slapping of her ass is not appreciated.
"Shit, I forgot I left a mark last night. Sorry Gin." The words fly out of his mouth before he can even process what's happening, and within seconds the entire room has fallen to silence.
He lets out a long breath, muttering to himself, "This is the part of the movie where the Genie shows up and lets you wish to erase the last fifteen seconds," before loudly offering, "My bad, fellas."
(Mike turns back to his cubby a few seconds later and narrowly dodges a sneaker hurling towards his head. It's never mentioned again.)
-PITCH-
Ginny loves to dance. Mike has shitty knees, no rhythm, and likes to see her smile. So they often compromise and do six songs at the club (three fast, two slow, and one of just her flailing around all on her own) before moving on to his selected dining establishment. Everyone wins.
They're at a new steakhouse just off the highway one rare vacant Saturday, laughing over cold beer and a plate of appetizers, when three familiar faces walk through the door.
It's Ginny that makes the first move.
"Hey guys," she acknowledges the trio with a small wave and hesitant hint of a smile.
For a moment, all anyone can do is revel in the overwhelming amount of tension between five bodies before, of all people, Miller extends a hand.
"That any good?"
Everyone's gaze instantly flies to where his finger points to a frosted mug filled with liquid.
"Yeah," Mike finally answers. "Pretty decent, actually. Beats the usual shit, anyway."
Tommy nods, accepting his answer and appearing to take the words into careful consideration before giving a shrug.
"Cool." He shoves his hands into his pockets and shoots them a final glance before uttering, "See you at practice."
(When Ginny and Mike walk into the locker room Monday morning they're given a mix of head nods, four mumbled verbal greetings, and Blip's small solute.
This might just turn out okay after all.)
-PITCH-
Time goes by and, slowly, they begin to get the hang of it. The fuck-ups are less frequent; it stops being weird at a level of DEFCON 5.
When they make it to the playoffs, there's an entire day of media held at Petco Park, with interviewers from far and wide culminating in a press conference for the entire team.
For a while it goes great. A good portion of the questions are about or directed to Ginny, but the men take it in stride because by now it's pretty clear that she's one of the best things to ever happen to them.
But then someone makes a mistake.
"How does it feel for the rest of the team to know that your careers are being put in jeopardy due to the carelessness of a sexual relationship between the pitcher and a captain thirteen years her senior?"
Welcome to DEFCON 6.
Within half a second every Padre is on their feet, obscenities flying left and right while Shrek catapults himself into the audience. Reporters scatter in every direction, some in fear and some to get closer to the action for a better sound bite, and by the time everyone has been corralled back to the clubhouse Al is certain these people are, no question, going to be the death of him.
Silence has already fallen by the time he enters, pure exhaustion and a lot of annoyance filling his tone as he finally says, "Explain."
For a moment no one says anything, though Al notices that almost every pair of eyes turns to a particular duo sitting side by side on one of the benches, knees just barely brushing. A moment later, Tommy Miller clears his throat.
"We're a team." He says simply, the others around him nodding in agreement. "Singular. We play as one, we win as one, we lose as one. That's the way it's always been, and it's never gonna change."
Apparently they finally figured it out.
(Yeah, it's all gonna be just fine.)
end.