Just a little something for the spring; only two chapters, I'm afraid.

Sergeant Norm Haseejian circled the dark blue sedan, frowning at the ring of keys in his left hand as he tried to find the one that opened the trunk. His thick pasty white legs protruded from the blue and yellow Bermuda shorts; a much-laundered grey t-shirt with faded blue lettering under an unbuttoned red and green Hawaiian shirt, thick grey socks and dirty white sneakers completed the ensemble. A beat-up black Giants cap was stuffed into a back pocket.

Finding the right key, he opened the trunk and was reaching inside when a deep booming voice floated over the chirping birds and nearby traffic. "Geez, Norm, don't you think it's a little chilly out for shorts."

Grunting as he straightened up, six wooden baseball bats in his arms, Haseejian glanced over his shoulder. "We go through this every year… As long as the weather's still good enough to play softball, I wear shorts. I can't help it if you guys are too… sensitive. Cripes, you're all natives, aren'tcha?"

Sergeant Dan Healey and Inspectors Bill Tanner and Lee Lessing had joined him at the back of the sedan, taking turns reaching into the spacious trunk to remove the rest of the gear. The Armenian detective was already on the other side of the fence, where he dropped his load of bats on the ground and was picking them up one at a time and leaning them against the wire backstop.

Lessing, his arms laden with three dirty white canvas bags, walked past homeplate on his way to the field. Tanner, his Rawlings glove tucked under one arm, arrived with a bag of softballs, which he dumped out onto the dirt. Healey brought up the rear with a cooler, dropping it heavily onto the ground beside the long bench. The sound of ice sloshing against cans and bottles could be heard even over his not-so-subtle groan.

Haseejian had straightened up and was looking at the other side of homeplate; he frowned, pursing his lips. "Geez, I hate it when we play the DA's office. They all got those matching t-shirts and caps. They look like a team." He glanced at Healey and his frown deepened. "We just look like a bunch of out of shape, middle-aged…cops!" he finished lamely.

"Hey, speak for yourself!" a fresh voice cut through the growing din, and all three homicide detectives looked up as Steve Keller, wearing jeans, Nikes, a black-and-white checked shirt over a pristinely white t-shirt and a broad grin, strode up to Tanner, who grinned back. The two younger man slapped hands and embraced each other with a laugh; Tanner beamed and cackled at Haseejian, who growled and glanced over at his partner, sitting on the end of the bench and opening the cooler. Healey chuckled.

Steve pulled the dark glasses down from his hair and settled them over his eyes. He looked across the diamond at the opposition and smiled appreciatively. He glanced at Tanner and his smile got even wider. "I do so love it when we play the DA's office. They have some pretty nice looking women over there, don't you think?"

Tanner laughed. "Yeah, that new co-ed rule they put in last year… the best decision this league has made in years…"

Steve nodded, bobbing his eyebrows. "You can say that again." He took the black Rawlings mitt from under his arm and slipped it on his left hand as he picked up one of the balls from the ground. "Stay out there, Lee!" he yelled as the young black inspector began to jog in from where he had just dropped third base.

"Yeah, I'll bring your glove out to you," Tanner added as he picked up the brown Wilson mitt Lessing had left on the ground near the bench and jogged to the outfield. The three inspectors spent the next ten minutes playing catch and warming up as they waited for the rest of the teams to show up.

For as long as Steve had been in Homicide, and even before in Vice, he had, when able, played in the ad hoc softball league that had formed years before. Games were irregular, as were the teams, but between the DA's office; City Hall; Robbery, Vice and Homicide from the police department, and various teams from different fire stations, they managed to get in several contests every summer.

Though some softball did get played, it was mostly an excuse to spend an afternoon or two outdoors, getting a little exercise and relaxing with colleagues a world away from their daily grinds. And though drinking was, by and large, prohibited, a blind eye was always turned and many a beer consumed before the day was over. But no one ever drove home drunk and a good time was had by all.

Steve and Lee jogged in from the outfield and Steve dropped his glove onto the bench, reaching into the cold water and ice in the cooler and snagging a beer. As he popped the top, he glanced over at Healey, sitting on the bench with a clipboard and a pen in hand. "Where do you want me today?" he asked, taking a sip of the cold brew and looking over Healey's shoulder at the line-up.

Healey glanced up from under the brim of his Giants cap. "How about second today. And I want you batting third, behind Bill and before Lee. That okay with you?"

Steve swallowed the beer. "Sure." He glanced around. "Why haven't we started yet? What's the delay?"

Healey stared at the clipboard, frowning. "Oh, the, ah, the umpire isn't here yet."

With a frustrated sigh, Steve looked over at Lee. "Wanna do a little BP while we're waiting?"

The younger man nodded. "Sure," he agreed, reaching for a bat and tossing Steve the ball.

"Wait, wait," Haseejian's voice stopped them, "the umpire's here. Let's get this started. I got a hot date tonight!" he cackled, and everyone within earshot laughed.

Steve dropped his glove onto the bench and picked his beer up. He was just about to sit when he looked towards the umpire, who was slipping the chest protector over his head. He froze and his face fell; he shook his head slowly. "No… no…no, no, no," he whined quietly in disbelief.

Healey, who had glanced at the umpire, looked up at his colleague and, feigning confusion while trying to rein in his grin, asked innocently, "Oh, did I forget to tell you Art wasn't available… family wedding or something… so Mike volunteered to ump today...?"

Steve stood stockstill, staring at his partner who, settling the protector into position on his shoulders and clipping it into place, put the Giants cap back on his head and smiled benevolently. "Hey, buddy boy, surprised to see me here?"

A dead silence settled quickly as the partners stared at each other, one with a broad open grin, the other with trepidation. The other pairs of nearby eyes, all colleagues, glanced rapidly from one to the other, trying not to chortle at the lengthening standoff.

Finally Mike raised his eyebrows and held out his hands, palms up. "What? You don't like the way I ump?"

"You called me out on strikes the last time, if you remember correctly? In the bottom of the seventh… with the bases loaded."

"Yes, I remember," Mike said carefully, "and that was because you stood there looking at a ball that was low and away but definitely in the strike zone."

"It was low and inside, and not in the strike zone."

"It might not have been in your strike zone, but it was in my strike zone. And mine's the one that counts." Mike picked up the mask from the bench and put it on top of his cap, then clapped his hands loud enough to attract everyone's attention. Ignoring his partner, who continued to stare at him with open-mouthed disbelief, he crossed towards homeplate and, bending down, he took a small brush out of his back pocket and dusted the base.

With a backward glance, Steve walked over to the bench and sat heavily between Healey and Haseejian, ignoring their smirks and muffled chuckles.

"Oh, yeah," Haseejian said quickly, trying to sound nonchalant, "I forgot to tell you, Mike's gonna be umping today. Art can't make it."

Steve turned to him slowly, his eyes narrowing behind the dark glasses, staring long enough that the sergeant's goofy grin wavered and slowly disappeared. Shifting uncomfortably, Haseejian leaned forward and towards Healey, pretending to look at the clipboard.

Clearing his throat, Healey handed the line-up to his partner and got to his feet. "I, ah… we have to flip a coin." Openly chuckling as he glanced at the miffed inspector between them, Healey walked towards homeplate where ADA Mills was standing patiently beside Mike.

The lieutenant looked from the ADA to his sergeant, then he flipped the quarter and caught it on the back of his left hand. "Tails," Mills said, and Mike revealed the coin. He looked at Dan questioningly.

"We'll take the field," the Homicide sergeant said confidently, then returned to his team.

Mike bent down, dusted the plate one more time then turned towards the field and pulled the mask down over his face. "Play ball!" he yelled.