A/N: So, I got a review suggesting that I include a list of terms for the baseball terminology that has popped up (pun intended) so far in Freddy Ballgame. I went back to the previous two chapters to do so as I've done at the end of the chapter with this one. Well, I hope you enjoy the second inning.

Second Inning

"I'm okay!" Alfred announced to the lingering eyes still on him.

He felt the foul ball firmly secure within his glove as the area above his left eye began to pound. He tried keeping his right eye and hands from twitching as his body was apt to do when something hurt like a bitch.

Alfred could already feel the bruise forming as he forced a grin on his face. The pain momentarily subsided when he caught a group of college-age girls "ooo-ing" at him two rows back, probably impressed at his heroic act. He tested the waters by flashing a wink at them and wouldn't you know it, the women giggled and together, blew five kisses at him.

Alfred "caught" each of them with his free hand and elicited a low volume of laughter from everyone.

"Everyone" not including a clearly peeved Belarusian woman.

The happy American noticed this and plopped down on the seat directly next to her. Alfred would push the limits and wrap a comforting arm around her, but he rather liked keeping the piece of anatomy that distinguished him from the "fairer" sex.

"There's no need to be jealous, Natty," Alfred beamed, "There's a whole lotta me to go around, don'tcha know?"

"Of course, I know," Natalia turned to face him, lips firmly pressed. "That is why you're in the Middle East right now, is it not?"

The American winced and immediately forced a grin to cover it up, but it noticeably failed. The man shifted in his seat away from her, crossed his arms, and focused his attentions on the game as he clenched his jaw.

Anyone listening in to the last few minutes between the two would have observed that Natalia had pressed a wrong button.

She hated the nature of the American, but that did not necessarily mean that Alfred F. Jones did not interest her. His film industry, for example. It was notorious for churning out movies full of explosions, natural disasters, expensive CG effects, car chases, ect. Frankly, it was a miracle the man was not a deranged pyromaniac and the world was lucky for it.

Another point of interest was the American's demeanor when matters were serious. She remembered in particular, how intimidating the man became in the Security Council during the height of the Cold War when she was allowed to sit in the meetings.

"Vendor!"

Natalia took her eyes from the center fielder awaiting for the ball to come down when she heard the American's voice assume a different tenor. Jones raised an arm to call over the man supporting a large ice box on his head, one hand stabilizing the box and the other gripping on to the hand rail as he made his way up the stairs.

When the vendor got to them, he set the box down and let out a quick breath.

"So, what'll it be today?"

The American lifted two fingers. "Is there a discount for veterans?"

The vendor nodded. "Fifty percent off. Can I see an ID?"

As Jones lifted himself off his seat long enough to retrieve the wallet from his back pocket, he curtly asked Natalia if she wanted a beer without turning to face her.

She really had pressed a wrong button.

Not that it was of any concern to her. Her brother had told Natalia to spend the weekend in the United States while he was off at an undisclosed location. She knew Ivan's plans and whereabouts for the next few days had been kept secret from her for a reason. That said, she considered having Jones as her personal tour guide for the duration of the week a minor sacrifice on her part. Of course, no where had Ivan indicated that she ought to be friendly towards the American.

Natalia could be friendly.

Just the other day, she had walked by the local park and had spotted a family having difficulty getting the piñata to burst open. One leap and several stabs and slashes to the purple dinosaur later, the grass lay covered with its candy innards.

"The man's busy, Natalia," the American deadpanned, "Well? Do want a beer or not?"

She could tell that the vendor had gotten uncomfortable watching the polarity at work between the two. The Belarusian gave no indication if she desired a beverage- she simply sent a glare in the American's direction and returned to watching the game.

Jones grunted as he handed the bills to the vendor and began nursing the first of the bottles.

The silence would have likely continued for the remainder of the game had the American's phone not gone off.

The man muttered "restricted" and excused himself as he left his seat in search of a location far from the noisy crowd.

"Hello? Who is this?"

Alfred did not normally answer restricted phone calls, but this was an exception: he really needed to get away from that woman even if the call was a short one due to the caller being a machine or a telemarketer.

"EEEY~!"

Alfred pulled the phone away. This had better not be-

"You taking care of my sister?"

He blinked. "Ivan?"

"Who elsh would I be? Nikita Khrushchev?"

"You sound… drunk."

"What if I yam?" Ivan raised his voice, "Well, you taking care of my sister?"

The last comment confirmed his suspicions: the Russian was clearly under the influence. After all, the man in a sober state would not normally ask about his sister's welfare.

He had to raise an eyebrow when he heard Ivan choking on the other end as if he were about to vomit. The Russian was one of the hardest drinkers he knew, and to hear him making retching noises through the phone made him question three things: what the man had drunk, how much, and for how long.

"Ivan-"

"It's not 'Eye-vihn' you stoo~pid American," the Russian drawled, "Did I give you permish… permission to use my name? Did I? No, I did not. I most shertainly did not."

Alfred shook his head. "Ivan, put someone else on the phone."

"Erghgh..."

Some more dry heaving.

The American waited for the phone to be transferred. In the background, he heard the rumbling that is usually created when a gathering is held. Was Ivan in a bar? He wouldn't be surprised if he were.

"EEEY~!"

For the second time, Alfred pulled the phone away, and left it there when the speaker remained loud.

"ALFREDO! COMO ESTAS?"

"Alejandro?" He asked surprised, "What the hell is Ivan doing there?"

"Party!"

Alfred blinked several times. A party? Ivan had been invited to a party? Had hell frozen over and Feliks come out of the closet as being straighter than the distance between two points? Had Vash called it quits and stopped shooting at other countries when they tried to write their names on the Alps in urine? Before he knew it, Lovino would be handing out "Free Hug" tickets at the next world meeting and giving a bagful to the Spaniard. Alfred shook his thoughts away to concentrate on the matter at hand.

"A party for…?"

"For lovers of beer and liquor!"

If Alfred blinked anymore, he'd have to go to the optometrist for uncontrollable squinting. Nonetheless, the Mexican's last outburst explained why Ivan was currently south of the border and why Natalia had not tagged along: it appeared that Alejandro's home had been selected to host this year's "Friends of Booze n' Liquor" gathering.

The group originated when a handful of countries got together to celebrate the fall of the Berlin Wall. The participating countries had enjoyed the binge drinking and shenanigans that went down and from there on out, the FBL had met every year in the summer without fail. As far as he knew, membership was by invitation only.

"Hahaha! Listen here, Alfredo!" The sound of Ivan's vomiting was amplified by what he could only attribute to Alejandro holding the phone very, very close to the inebriated Russian, "The fucking guy threw up on Nora's shoes!"

"The hell're you laughing at?"

"Santa Madre de-! I thought you were passed out!"

Alfred, much to his own surprise, managed to keep a straight face throughout the entire ordeal. Listening to the Mexican and the Irishwoman's drunken shouting match coupled with Ivan's loud groaning and the start of a garbled song in the background being sung in German, Alfred closed his phone and pretended the last ten minutes of his 400+ year life had not occurred.

Terms

Foul Ball: Any ball NOT hit between the first and third base lines (a.k.a. the foul lines) is foul. Foul balls landing in the stands can be kept by whomever catches it. Though, if a player catches the ball while in foul territory without the ball having touched the ground first, the batter is out.

A/N: I'd be confused after receiving a call of that sort. XD Please review ladies and gents!