A/N: Yes, yes, I am indeed an evil person. Hooray! We're coming to the end of the line pretty soon, so things will, I promise, become resolved.

Also, in defense of myself: This fic has sort of been an exercise in self-control. I am, and always will be, a Yankees fan. They are, without a doubt, the greatest sports franchise in America. I hate the Red Sox with a passion – mostly because they trade away their older guys (unlike the Yankees, who generally let a guy finish off their career with them if he wants), but also because they treated Johnny Damon badly (your loss, our gain with that one), because Ortiz threw bats at umpires – and hit them – and no one cares. And they're losers. That said, I love Duo and Trowa, and since they didn't want to cut their hair… they had to be Red Sox. So, there we have it. Also, they dumped Garciaparra – wtf? And… well, back to the story.

Out on Strikes 12/?

Someone was trying to break down the door.

Duo found that he didn't care that much. Still in bed, tangled up with the sheets and with Solo, he was plagued with the sort of after-sex languor he hadn't felt in weeks. Months, even.

He rolled over and looked at Solo, who was grinning slightly in his sleep. It was the same expression that Duo had seen on his face thousands of times before. And before, Duo had always felt the urge to grin back – even though Solo couldn't see. Now, however, the expression made him frown.

What the hell – did this constitute cheating on Heero? Was Heero really his boyfriend, as he had said the night before? Was Solo now trying to – go back to what they had? And who was STILL trying to break the door?

Duo now scowled. At this point of his mental tirade, Heero would usually wake up and force his mind onto other, pleasanter topics. But Solo didn't seem to have the connection to Duo's subconscious that the Yankees' catcher did.

Now Duo was really angry. He was comparing them again – but now Heero was coming out better. Heero who wasn't here, Heero who would probably never be here again. Heero, who needed time to think about the game. Heero –

"Duo! Open the door already! I need to talk to you! You've got to call Trowa! He's about to make a huge mistake!" The shouting was punctuated by more pounding, and Duo reluctantly pulled himself out of bed.

Solo stirred, slowly opening his eyes and blinking up at Duo.

"Hey," he drawled, stretching sensuously.

Duo glared down at him.

"Stay in here – and keep quiet, I've got company."

Duo pulled on a shirt and boxers from the pile of clothes on the floor before he left the bedroom.

"Duo –"

"I mean it! Keep quiet." Duo shot a warning look over his shoulder before closing the door.

He took the stairs two at a time and reached the front door a few seconds later. He opened it just as Quatre was preparing to knock again.

"Mornin'," Duo greeted, leaning against the frame.

Quatre glared.

"I've been out here for fifteen minutes – what took you so long to get – oh." The blonde trailed off and looked down at Duo's attire.

Duo also looked down.

"Shit."

He was wearing Solo's Massachusetts State Trooper shirt, which he could have explained away. He was also wearing Solo's boxers. They were the pair Quatre had given as a Christmas present this past year, decorated with polar bears wearing red socks.

"Um –"

"Don't even try to tell me you took it when you moved out," Quatre warned.

"Well –"

"How many times have you complained about Solo wearing your clothes? How many times have you said you NEVER wear his clothes?"

"Well –"

Quatre pushed past Duo into the house.

"Solo! I know you're here, don't bother hiding!" He shouted.

"Okay," came the muffled reply from the bedroom.

Quatre turned and advanced on Duo as he closed the door.

"You – I can't believe you!"

"Like you're one to talk," Duo shot back, angrily crossing his arms.

Quatre started to retort, but then shook his head.

"Not important. Right now, Trowa's about to come out – at a press conference – on ESPN – because he's convinced it's the right thing to do."

"Well, damn. I never figured he'd do that."

"Exactly! We've got to stop him!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. We've got to stop him? Why?"

Quatre started to pace.

"Because he's about to ruin his life! If he goes public, they'll connect him to you – and then you'll both go down I flames. And he thought he could – I don't know, somehow get me back if he did this! It's all wrong, Duo."

"Huh."

Duo crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter in the kitchen.

Quatre turned, suddenly realizing what he had said.

"Duo –"

The braided man held up a hand.

"No, no. Go ahead. If my career is ruined – according to you – then it's ruined. No need to dance around it."

"Duo –"

"Look, Quatre, I get that you feel… responsible for what Tro's about to do, but you aren't. He made this decision without you, right? So… he's gonna do it. Just – look, if it matters to you, then support him. Don't try to stop him."

Quatre frowned, considering the words.

"But –"

"Seriously, Q. If you care, then back him up. That's all you can do."

Solo started down the stairs, wearing Duo's boxers and nothing else. They were a bit tight across his thighs, and Quatre smirked slightly.

Duo flushed, looking between the two.

Quatre cleared his throat uneasily.

"Well, I guess… I've got a press conference to get to – starts at ten, if you're interested in watching it…." He made a speedy escape, leaving Duo and Solo to stare at each other.

Solo started to chuckle and crossed the room to Duo, hugging him from behind.

"Not exactly a romantic morning," he murmured, biting at Duo's ear.

Duo pushed him away and turned to look at him.

"No. This –" he gestured between them, "this can't happen. I'm with Heero and you're – you're with fucking Sullivan, right?"

Solo arched an eyebrow.

"Heero didn't seem to be under that impression," he said, approaching Duo again, who backed away.

"Yeah, well, he was pissed. Which is sort of… well, whatever. But – no – no, Solo!" Duo walked around the couch, putting it between them.

Solo smirked.

"You're acting like a kid," he said, grinning.

"Yeah. Well, look, Solo, we're not – we've moved on, right? We're with other people, now. And – damn it, Solo, stay the hell away from me. You know I can't argue with you when you've –"

"When I've?"

Duo glared at him, then sat down on the couch.

"Solo, I just got over you. I'm with Heero now, I'm happy with him. He – he pushes me. We're a team."

"We're a team," Solo argued, sitting down beside Duo but keeping his distance.

"Not like – you were right, Solo, about me. About us. I need someone who challenges me, and he does that."

Solo scowled, clearly unhappy to have his own words thrown back at him.

"He might challenge you, but does he support you? Think about what you just said to Quatre – does HE have your back?"

Duo frowned.

"I'm just saying, Duo, he's not here right now. He doesn't want to talk to you until the season's over. That… isn't exactly supporting you. And right now – you've thrown yourself to the lions, David, you could use a little support."

"Solo –"

"Fine, okay. We're done, if that's what you want. But – these past few months have been hell, Duo. Even if we're not together, we're still us, right?"

Duo couldn't help but grin.

"Yeah, well…"

"Doesn't mean I don't miss the sex," Solo added, stretching back against the couch.

Duo kept his eyes riveted to the ground in front on him.

"Yeah, well…"

"Also doesn't mean I'm not going to try to get you back," Solo added, standing suddenly.

Duo looked up at him, shocked and annoyed.

Solo just smirked and, leaning down, kissed him.

"I'm gonna need my clothes back!" He called over his shoulder as he left the room.

Duo sat staring after him.

Wufei sat in the bullpen, watching as Heero hit a grand slam and resigning himself to a night off-duty.

Trant sat down beside him, chewing his gum loudly and smirking.

Not bothering to look over at the rookie, Wufei shook his head.

"Can you believe it, man? Fuckin' queers – bet they're screwin' each other," Trant muttered.

"Excuse me?"

Trant looked over at Wufei.

"You know, those Boston guys – Maxwell and Barton. Queers, both of 'em."

Wufei arched an eyebrow at him.

"And?"

Trant flushed.

"And – it just figures. The way Barton acted when I hit Maxwell. Probably afraid I'd messed up his pretty face or something."

Wufei briefly debated whether or not Trant could be convinced of his own stupidity, and decided it was a lost cause.

"I mean – gross, right? Who the hell wants to get fucked up the ass? I mean, maybe they've got small dicks. That might not hurt as much, right? Or maybe –"

Disgusted, Wufei glared at the rookie, who promptly shut up, but continued to look thoughtful on the subject.

When the game ended twenty minutes later, Wufei left the bullpen and made it to the clubhouse in record time.

Heero was swarmed with reporters asking about how much competition he thought Duo Maxwell was. One reporter was even bold enough to ask for his comment on the recent "coming out party" the Red Sox seemed to have.

Wufei listened closely to his response, smirking at the anger in Heero's voice.

"To be honest, I don't see the point in either Barton or Maxwell making their announcements. Their sexual preferences are their own, and it's a private matter. It shouldn't matter to anyone whether or not they prefer men to women. Judging them based on that is about as bad as judging them based on race – or their age – or what flavor of ice cream they prefer. As long as they keep it off the field, who cares."

Most of the reporters were shell-shocked. This was probably the longest any of them had heard Heero talk. It was also probably the most ANY player had said or would say in reference to Maxwell and Barton.

"I've really got to shower now," Heero said, abruptly ending any attempts at a follow-up question.

Wufei casually started stripping as the reporters looked his way, so they instead headed off to attack Jeter. Heero and Wufei exchanged smirks at the fleeing reporters before each heading to the shower stalls.

Once clean and dressed in street clothes they headed for the player's entrance.

"I think we broke up," Heero confided after checking to see if anyone was within earshot.

Wufei arched an eyebrow as he considered this.

"Is that where you ran off to yesterday?"

Heero nodded.

"Went up to Boston. Solo was already there. It –" Heero shook his head and stopped himself. "It's more complicated than I thought."

"And you don't want complicated?"

"Not in September."

Wufei chuckled and let the conversation lag as they stood with the press of people waiting to board the subway.

Both were silent for the ride, speaking only when approached by fans who wanted autographs. They both got off at Wufei's stop, having made prior plans to get slightly drunk and indulge in Thai take-out.

"How is Hilde?" Heero asked.

Wufei shrugged, uneasy with the shift in conversation.

"She's… still pushing me away bit by bit. We're going to have a family dinner in Boston next weekend, after the final game."

Heero nodded thoughtfully but didn't pursue the topic.

Wufei called in the order and passed Heero a beer from the fridge.

"You said Solo was already there?" Wufei pressed.

Heero scowled.

"He was already there – already inside."

"He has a key to Duo's new apartment? Wait, I didn't think you had been there yet."

"I haven't. And I didn't think he did."

"You think he wants to…"

"Could you blame him? It's only through his stupidity that I had the chance to be with Duo at all. Figures he's come to his senses now." Heero shook his head and stared at the beer in his hand, tracking the perspiration down the side.

Suddenly he chuckled mirthlessly.

"I told him it was my job to hold his hand, and then I told him to leave me alone until the end of the season."

"Nice, Yuy. That's classic."

Heero saluted Wufei with his beer and then took a healthy swig.

"When are you going to call him and start groveling?"

Heero shrugged.

"I'll wait until we go up to play next weekend. He's always in a better mood after a game."

Wufei nodded.

"I just hope Solo hasn't made his move before then."

The look on Heero's face was dark as he considered that.

"Yeah."

Trowa had finally convinced Catherine that he didn't need her to come visit and offer moral support. He mentally rolled his eyes. Sisters were fine – except for the part where they felt the need to completely restructure your life and protect you from everything.

The press conference had gone easier than either he or Dorothy expected. After Duo's set-up, the press seemed to have had the chance to recover and do their research before Trowa confronted them with his own announcement.

It didn't make it any less exhausting, and the following debriefing by the Red Sox front office had been hellish. He could only imagine how painful it had been for Duo, who was already on the General Manager's, Theo Epstein, shit list for refusing to get his hair cut to a more manageable length.

Epstein had been frank when dealing with Trowa.

"You're an outstanding pitcher. We want to keep you. But if I get any word of… anything, we're going to have to trade you."

" 'Anything'?" Dorothy had questioned, injecting enough sarcasm into her voice that Epstein actually flinched. "What exactly do you mean by that, Mr. Epstein."

"Ms. Catalonia, this is a very new situation for the management team. We'll try to be as accommodating as possible, but…"

"But?" Dorothy clearly wasn't going to let him off easily.

"But it would have been nice to have some advance warning," Epstein was starting to get angry.

"It isn't as though this changes his ability to pitch," Dorothy said.

"Yes, but –"

Dorothy had efficiently and painfully steamrolled over Epstein. Though she had probably done the same the day before, for Duo, it was still impressive.

Coming home to his apartment had been a bad idea: his voicemail was full and Duo had somehow managed to break into his apartment and had left a "condom bouquet" as the tag said. It was a bouquet, much like a floral arrangement, but instead of flowers it was multi-colored, multi-scented, and multi-featured condoms. The attached note had also been classic Duo.

'Glad you've joined the club. You can be VP, I've already called dibs on President. – Duo'

Quatre and Catherine had left the majority of the messages and Trowa had deleted most of them without listening, saving only the latest from each and playing those before calling Catherine.

The message from Quatre had been painful. Full of promises, a few excuses. Everything Trowa had wanted to hear from the blonde weeks ago but now, after finding him with another man, seemed meaningless. In the end, Quatre had asked to meet with him and talk.

Trowa frowned as he thought that over. He couldn't imagine how talking with Quatre was going to make anything better, especially if he had to look at Quatre and the seeming sincerity in his eyes.

He picked up the phone and dialed, rethinking each number as he did so.

"Trowa?" Quatre answered on the third ring.

"When do you want to talk?"

"Anytime! Whenever you want to."

"Next Friday, after the Yankees game?"

"Sure. That sounds – thank you, Trowa."

"Yeah."

Trowa hung up before the conversation could become more involved.

He knew that he wouldn't be able to resist Quatre, not if the blonde really tried to win him back. That didn't mean he was convinced Quatre loved him, however.

TBC….

Winding down – maybe two or three chapters left.