6
His introduction to professional baseball was a rough one.
The first series against Summerhall was spent in totality in the bullpen, learning from the bullpen coach and trying to get along with the other minor league relievers. Some treated Gendry all right, but others glared at him, even to his face, as if they thought he didn't belong there. His bullpen sessions only seemed to make their scowls worsen, and with every fastball he threw he felt as though he was making more enemies. It wasn't exactly an inspiration to his success, but he'd be damned if he let a few angry eyes from his teammates divert him from his road to destiny.
The pitching coach was a one-eyed man named Jack, who all of the relievers had nicknamed "Jack-Be-Lucky", for how unusual and inconvenient that sounded. Gendry was beginning to wonder if Ned Stark made it a point of only hiring one-eyed coaches at his Single-A level. He unfortunately got off to a poor start with Jack-Be-Lucky, who nearly vomited on seeing his throwing motion, velocity notwithstanding.
"Are ye trying to snap your bloody elbow, boy?" he slobbered, offering various and admirably colorful complementary words. "It's a wonder it hasn't broken in two and fallen off in the dirt with how you're throwin'."
Jack's bickering and swearing resulted in two days of back-breaking, repetitively irritating tossing in the bullpen that Gendry thought would harm his arm with their intensity more than they would help with his throwing motion. When Jack was finally satisfied that he at least had an idea of how he was supposed to actually throw the ball he returned to his normal bullpen routine, chucking a session where he and his arm could spot on, hoping Dondarrion would give him his shot soon enough. He wasn't the most patient person in the world, and he was quickly losing what serenity he had watching the Thunder battle their opponents from the infuriating safety of the pen.
Word came down from the manager in the third game of their second series, however, an away game against the Lions' affiliate in Lannisport after another disconcerting plane ride, that Gendry should be prepared to pitch that day. After Jack told him, he felt nothing but satisfaction and excitement at first that all at once turned to frantic anxiety only a few minutes before gametime. He'd thrown live to a few batters in the cage, but never in a game scenario... never like this! The entire first inning was spent nervously bouncing on the balls of his feet, wondering if he actually wanted to go into the game or not.
What the hell are you thinking about? he chastised himself as soon as that thought crossed his mind, angry that he'd even had the idea. Of course you want to do this. This is your shot, your chance to do this. You're not going to get another one. Swallow your goddamn nerves and focus.
For all of his talk, they returned in full force the moment the bullpen coach looked up from the phone in the sixth inning and called, "Waters. You're up."
Gendry released his breath in a whoosh from where he stood next to the bench, and self-consciously felt every eye of every reliever sitting on the bench swing to face him as he unsteadily removed his team-issue jacket and picked up his team-issue glove from the cubby marked with sharpie-drawn masking tape labeled "Waters". His heart began to beat prematurely and heavily as he trod the distance to the fake rubber set on the short and only hill in the bullpen, catching the ball the bullpen catcher tossed him. A billion thoughts raced through his head as he stretched his arm out with lazy warm-up throws, most of them angry voices putting down the pitiful voices that made him want to run away from the game. He wasn't even making attention to the meltdown the starter was beginning to endure on the playing field, so occupied was he with the bullpen catcher and his miserable thoughts.
"You're on, Waters. Hustle out there."
At first, Gendry did not realize what the bullpen coach had said, and when he finally did he missed catching the ball the catcher had tossed back. He froze for a moment in shock before recovering, if only for the sake that no one would see him hesitate in his fear. He forced his legs to carry him off the mound, two strides to the stair, three lunges down to the open door of the outfield and then he was jogging across the field, nearly running twice into his Blackhaven outfielders as they rushed out to take the field between innings.
He was shaking when he arrived at the mound, so nervous he couldn't think. He steeled his muscles to control himself, and picked up the baseball with an overly strong grip. He tried taking several deep breaths to calm himself, smacking the ball into the mitt, and then stepped onto the mound to begin his on-field warm-up.
It was a giant relief that he didn't throw his first practice pitch to the backstop, only having it end up a foot high and a foot outside instead. His second one spiked a foot in front of the plate, and the following three all missed the strike zone. He tried to force away his anxiety, to make his arm throw how he knew it wanted to, how he knew it could. By the eighth and final pitch, as the ball was thrown through to second base and around the horn, he was able to nick the corner of the strike zone, which he considered a monstrous victory.
When he turned back from receiving the ball anew from the third baseman, the catcher had walked out to the mound and had removed his mask. Thoros was a middle-sized man who must've been in his mid-thirties, making Gendry wonder what he was doing at the Single-A level. They had not interacted, but from the mutterings of the other relievers Gendry wasn't sure he was the type of man to become fast friends. His long hair was restrained by a band, his mask clutched in his hands, and the expression on his face was a mixture of some strange apathy and intensity.
"Hey, kid," Thoros growled, in way of greeting. "First time, eh?"
Gendry nodded, and felt his hand clench on the baseball in trepidation. "I'm ready."
"Eh, well..." Thoros appeared unconvinced, his large hands patting his mitt uneasily. They both glanced at the scoreboard, finding the Thunder down three runs, before turning back to face each other. The unkempt catcher shrugged. "Let's just do your thing. Fastball, slider?"
"Yes."
"Just relax. We'll get 'em."
Thoros turned and jogged awkwardly back to the plate beneath all of his catcher's equipment, Gendry watching him go with narrowed eyes before digging his cleats against the rubber. He released his breath again in a hiss, trying to lose his anxiety with it and focus on what mattered. It's just baseball. This is baseball. You love baseball. Throw the damn baseball.
The first hitter stepped up to the right-side of the plate and smacked the dirt of his shoes before settling in. Thoros crouched behind the plate and signaled for the fastball. Gendry came set and delivered. The ball sailed in and curved beneath the batter's left knee, inches low and inside.
"Ball one!" the umpire called as Thoros chucked it back.
Gendry made the catch and returned to the mound. "One pitch," he whispered to himself aloud. "No big deal. That's why they give you four balls, so you don't do it more than once."
Thoros called for a fastball again, and though he set up over the heart of the plate the pitch missed by over a foot outside, the aging catcher having to lunge to bring it in before it skipped away to the backstop. The Lannisport crowd laughed and jeered loudly, shouting insults and slanders and making Gendry grit his teeth. As Thoros lobbed the ball back, he waved his arms lightly at Gendry in the universal pitcher/catcher message of "Calm down".
Down two balls already, Gendry threw the next one belt-high and inside for ball three, and in his growing anger at himself he spiked ball four. He swore under his breath as he stabbed to catch Thoros' return toss, the crowd roaring with glee as the batter tossed aside his bat and trotted down to first. From the corner of his eye, he watched Dondarrion climb to the top step of the dugout, rubbing a face over his hand with as much uneasiness in his expression as was roiling in Gendry's stomach.
"We're fine!" Thoros called, clapping against his mitt. "Keep throwing the good stuff!"
Keep throwing the good stuff, Gendry repeated to himself, stepping onto the rubber as a left-handed hitter stepped up to the plate. Throwing upper nineties is no good if you can't hit the strike zone. He soothed his racing heart with that thought in mind, zeroing in on Thoros' mitt as the fastball was called for. He eyed the runner's lead on first and came set, waiting a heartbeat longer than he wanted to.
With a tiny exhale, he strode out like a leap and hurled the baseball at the plate. It careened right down the middle, where it found the hitter's bat as it arced around in a gigantic swing.
Gendry was helpless to move as he watched the ball fly up, leaving behind little hope it would ever come down again. The crowd was roaring before the batter had even left the box next to home plate, and the ball landed beyond the cheap fence in right field before he was halfway down the first base line. Gendry cursed under his breath again and kicked the dirt on the mound viciously. For a moment, he wished he was back in Tobho Mott's shop, where he could rear back and slam something with a hammer as hard as he wanted.
The game's not over, he told himself through his anger. The inning's not over. You have three outs to get. Refocus.
He took a new ball back from the umpire and turned his back as the two runners crossed the plate, high-fiving one another. Ignoring the jeering crowd made his jaw set angrily, but he didn't want to show more negative emotion than he already had. He realized that kicking the dirt had not sent a great message to Dondarrion about his mentality, and resolved not to do it again. No matter what happens, do not lose your cool.
The first pitch to the next hitter hit the batter in his thigh, despite his earnest attempts to avoid the incoming ninety-nine miles per hour fastball. The man grunted loudly in pain, and the crowd erupted, booing Gendry profusely as the batter threw away his bat and began to limp down to first base. Thoros called time with the umpire and trotted out to the mound, handing a new white baseball to Gendry as he did so.
"You all right?" he asked Gendry, who nodded. "We're still going here. Get us a ground ball, we'll have two outs. Let's just keep the heat low, shall we?"
"Yeah," Gendry replied, and Thoros clapped him on the shoulder before rushing back to the plate. A side-glance at the dugout told him that Jack-Be-Lucky was on the phone, and he couldn't help but glance at the bullpen to confirm that two other relievers were already warming up.
That set him in a fine mood of glumness as he took the sign for his fourth hitter. He managed to deliver the first pitch, another fastball, for a knee-high strike across the heart of the plate, which the batter let go, evidently trying to gauge Gendry's speed and find a way to catch his bat up to it.
That last hitter didn't seem to have a problem with it. Throw harder.
He did, and missed the strike zone by a few inches outside. The runner aggressively left the bag as the pitch went in, he noticed, and he started as he remembered that he had to hold the man on first base, as well.
Thoros called for another fastball, tapping his left leg to show he was setting up inside, and waited, crouching low and holding out his glove. Gendry came set, his eyes low over his left shoulder, watching the runner at first shimmy another step away from the base. One step more and I can pick him off... if he only takes one more step...
The runner didn't move, and Gendry prepared to make the pitch. Then a flicker of moment in the corner of his eye distracted him, and he halted, trying to cover the beginning of his motion to the plate.
"Balk!"
For the third time, Gendry swore, closing his eyes as the two umpires on the field held up their arms. His movement had been small before hesitating, but more than enough for professional officials to pick up on, and the runner calmly trotted to second base as his infraction was called. Dondarrion, on the top steps of the dugout, hung his head and muttered something Gendry was too far away to hear.
"On me!" Thoros called. "Let's go!"
Anger at himself, at the damn catcher for speaking, at the baseball for not doing what he wanted it to do, made Gendry come set roughly. When he strode forever, the hitter made contact with the fastball, behind the pitch and driving it foul down the right field line with a lot of velocity. It buried itself in the stands and the crowd gasped in alarm, but all that Gendry cared about was that it was strike two.
With an oh-two count and a runner on second, Thoros dropped down the sign for Gendry's slider. Glad the catcher still had confidence in him to throw offspeed after the start to the inning he'd had, Gendry readied and then delivered the pitch. The arc was true, as was its curve, but his release point had been low and he knew it. The batter half-swung before successfully checking his swing, and the ball bounced only a few inches behind home plate. Thoros had to leap to his knees to block the pitch off of his chest protector, and leaped to his feet to retrieve the ball before the runner could advance to third.
Gendry was still up in the count, but Thoros called for an outside fastball. No. I can throw the slider for a strike. I can. He shook his head, and Thoros hesitated before signing for the slider again, to which Gendry nodded.
This time, as his arm came forward the release point was true, and he felt the beauty of the arc as the slider left his hand. Crossing the plate, however, dropping from the batter's elbows to his hips, the hitter threw out his bat blindly and smacked the pitch straight over Gendry's head.
He swung around and watched the ball fall freely into center field, swearing as it did so. It took him a second to realize the runner on second was rounding third, the center fielder scooping the ball off of the outfield grass and wheeling as he slung it home. Gendry realized he was supposed to be backing up home plate and turned to do so only after Thoros caught the throw at head level with a look of disdain at his pitcher, the runner cleanly sliding in safe behind him. The crowd cheered as the run scored, and collectively, Gendry imagined, the Thunder players and coaches swore.
Dondarrion was on the top step and on his way to the mound before the play had ended, calling time as he stepped over the foul line en route to Gendry. Thoros was on his way out, as well, and the infield was collapsing on him, as customary on a pitching change. Gendry seethed inwardly, furious with himself, as the six individuals walked up to him at the same time.
Despite the obvious discomfort on his face, Dondarrion nodded towards the dugout indifferently and clapped Gendry on the back, just as Thoros had moments before. "Don't sweat it. There'll be other chances."
Gendry didn't reply, ripping his glove off his hand and stalking towards the dugout, leaving behind his failures. The crowd roared in approval for him, approval for him giving their team the clear win, and he hated them for it. Instead of bashing his glove against the dugout fence like he wanted to, he kept his head low and his face blank of the effect their jeers were having on him. Once safely under the cover of the dugout overhang, Gendry dropped his glove on the bench instead of tearing it in two and sat as far away from anyone else as was possible, which wasn't an issue, seeing as they were doing their best to sit as far away from him, as well.
For the rest of the game, as he watched the other Thunder relievers grapple and finally regain control of the hitters, the pitches he'd thrown began to run over and over again in his head, like a constantly looping instant replay tape. He seemed to recall them more vividly than he had noticed them at the time, and as such each mistake in his mechanics or his placement was blatantly obvious. Caught in this never-ending review of his mistakes, Gendry sat in the dugout alone, reliving his professional debut mournfully, as the Thunder lost and the team filed out of the dugout into their clubhouse on the other side of the concourse. He was the last one out of the showers, and the last one onto the bus back to the motel. That night, he couldn't sleep, the memories of the game haunting him as fiercely as they had postgame in the dugout.
He seethed quietly for three days, as the Lannisport series concluded and they flew to Moat Cailin for a four-gamer. Nothing seemed incredibly amiss around him, but all Gendry could think about was the disaster that had been his previous outing on the mound. The majority of relievers still regarded him coolly, although he managed to get along with a few enough not to feel awkward around them, and Jack-Be-Lucky still went about their sessions with the same bitter eagerness and motivation.
"What the hell is this, then?" Jack said, holding up a hand to halt Gendry's pitches in the bullpen one day. "You're holding back. You're not throwing like you can."
"I'm trying to tone it down," Gendry replied after a moment, meekly. "I just want to be in control of my pitches."
Jack scratched at his beard and watched Gendry with his one eye for a long moment before sighing and shaking his head. "Lad, no pitcher got great from throwing stuff he didn't have. You're not here to 'tone it down', and I say that in the most positive manner there is. You're here to throw the ball hard, and gods be damning it, you're going to throw the ball hard until you hit your damn spots throwing the ball hard! Understand?"
Gendry was so surprised by the gruff outburst that he only nodded. It took several moments for him to return to the mindset of the fireballer he had been signed to be, instead of the precision pitcher he was trying to be. Jack-Be-Lucky watched silently as Gendry pulled back for more pitches, forcing himself to pretend he was still in a street in King's Landing, and Arya was catching him, and Ned Stark was watching. Every pitch for the remainder of the bullpen session buried itself in the catcher's mitt without the man having to move it, most of them in excess of high nineties on the speed gun.
That session was major in getting some of Gendry's confidence back, and perhaps enough to inspire Dondarrion to put him back in the game again. In the second game of the series, with two outs in the seventh and runners on second and third, Dondarrion took the ball from the starter and called Gendry in from the bullpen.
"Get us out of here, Waters," Dondarrion said, handing him the ball. "Just do your thing, and we'll be good."
Gendry nodded and took his warm-up pitches half-dreading, half-excitedly anticipating the impending at-bat, eager to prove himself and fearful of failing, once again. Don't be a craven, fool. Just throw the baseball.
The right-handed batter stepped up to the plate and Gendry calmly delivered pitch number one to him. It was a fastball down the heart of the plate, the batter swinging behind the pitch, Gendry noticed with glee. My speed is with me, today.
The second pitch missed the plate by only an inch on the outside corner, another fastball. On the third, the batter was still behind it and swung at a high pitch that may have been called a ball had he let it go, catching a piece of it just enough to spending it spinning foul towards the first-base dugout.
Up 1-2, Thoros called for the slider, and Gendry nodded. His mechanics were true, and the ball left his hand well. The batter, adjusting from a ninety-nine mile per hour fastball, was out in front and just managed to nick the ball, fouling it down between Thoros legs instead of into his mitt. Thoros called for another slider, and this time the batter took it down and away.
With the count even at two apiece, Gendry hurled a fastball, which the batter again—somehow—managed to foul away back to the screen. As he stalked back to the mound, Gendry was beginning to get frustrated. Five strikes I've thrown this hitter. Just swing and miss, buddy, or, better yet, don't swing at all. I need this.
The next fastball missed low. Thoros framed the ball for a full second before it was apparent the umpire wasn't going to give Gendry the benefit of the doubt, and then tossed it back. With a full count, Thoros glanced up at the hitter waiting quietly in the box and then dropped a sign for a slider again. Gendry paused, remembering what Jack had said in his turnaround bullpen session, about being there to throw heat . With that in mind, he shook off the sign, only to have Thoros give it again, more insistently this time.
Disgruntled, Gendry stepped off the rubber, moving his right foot behinds. The runners retreated to their bases and he wiped sweat his forehead as Thoros slumped angrily behind the plate. Pitcher and catcher exchanged a glance that didn't seem to do anything to resolve their situation, and when it was apparent Thoros wouldn't come out to the mound to discuss their differences Gendry stepped back on the rubber.
Just sign the damn fastball, Gendry prayed silently. Blow him away and let's go home.
Thoros relented in light of the full count, despite first base being open for the walk, and Gendry came set. He reared back and fired, Thoros snagging the inside pitch at the batter's knees. The bat never let the hitter's shoulders, and he made to toss it back towards the bullpen to trot down to first with a walk. As Thoros framed the pitch, however, the umpire stepped back and wrung the hitter up on strikes, and Gendry heaved a sigh of relief and triumph.
The Thunder sprinted into their dugout as the crowd gasped and booed, and Gendry met Thoros at the top step. Touching his catcher's arm, Gendry said, "Hey. Thanks for going with it. It worked in the end."
For a moment, Thoros just stared at him darkly, and then tucked his catcher's mask under his arm while pursing his lips. "Next time," he growled, low and threatening, "just throw the damn pitch I call for, okay."
He turned his back on Gendry and slouched into the dugout, leaving Gendry on the top step looking after him. He stared, surprised and confused, for a long moment before turning his gaze slightly to the left and finding his gaze locked with Beric Dondarrion's. The manager regarded him with cool, narrow eyes for a long moment, until he was smart enough to stir himself into motion, bustling himself down the stairs and into the dugout, as far away from Thoros as was possible. A few of his teammates congratulated him on his first professional strikeout, which he accepted gratefully. Dondarrion didn't send him back out for the eighth inning, and for the rest of the game Thoros kept his distance, clearly refusing to look at Gendry, who wondered if he'd made a serious mistake.
The days began to blend together. One series ended and another began. His arm was hurting more than usual today, his elbow feeling some days as though he should just tear it off of his arm. Jack-Be-Lucky was fiercely intent on pushing him forward, however, and though he was reluctant to cross paths with Thoros after their confrontation outside of the dugout, Gendry was beginning to become comfortable where he was. Some of the relievers were warming up to him and he began to actually have a good time just spending the games with them out behind the outfield fences, laughing or critiquing or watching the game with trepidation.
One night, when they were back in Blackhaven, Gendry returned to the apartment complex the team rented out for temporary use by its players and turned on the TV, finding a late major league game still going on. Lying on the couch the two-room living quarters he shared with a teammate, his arm buried to the bicep in ice, he watched the two teams play and found himself thinking of Arya.
He had no idea where the thought had come from; neither of the teams playing were the Direwolves and nothing had been said by the commentators that should have reminded him of her. Nevertheless, all of a sudden there was a feisty little brown-haired wolf girl in his head and, with a stubbornness her real-life self would have admired, she refused to leave his thoughts. He found himself dwelling on the almost-intimate moments they'd shared in the mall, and the predicament that started it all back in Mott's shop on a late Friday evening... the moment that began it all, he realized. If not for that moment, he wouldn't be in Blackhaven.
I wouldn't be professional. I'd be nobody. He blinked. She changed that.
Pulling out his phone, he scrolled through all of the five contacts he had and glared at her name for a long time in the dark evening, staring at the illuminated screen. His finger paused over the button to place the call, and with shock at what he had been about to do, he flung the phone away from himself.
"That was too close," he growled to himself, staring at the TV screen without seeing. "I mean, why would you even think about doing that? You have nothing to say to her. You have absolutely no reason to call her. She's probably forgotten about you already, she was a busy little thing. Why are you even thinking about this?"
Half-frustrated with not knowing the answer to the question and half-disturbed that he was talking to himself alone in the darkness, he turned off the game, retrieved his phone, went to bed, and tried to bury any further thoughts of Arya Stark as deep as he could in his mind. He thought he succeeded, but for the next week his dreams were always invaded by a huge, dark wolf with startling grey eyes.
His third outing with the Single-A Blackhaven Thunder came on a cloudy day in Blackhaven, against the Gulltown Flames. He was brought on to pitch the seventh inning of a game in which the Thunder led by two. Thoros regarded him coolly, their episode of the previous week not forgotten, and warmed him up indifferently, throwing through to second base with perhaps a little more force than he would usually employ.
Gendry noticed with glee as he stepped onto the mound that the nerves he had nearly died from during his debut seemed to have left him completely. This was his domain; his battleground. He wasn't perfectly at ease, but he was quite comfortable where he stood, in control of the game with the ball in his hand.
The first hitter he faced was the Flames' leadoff hitter. Thoros called for an inside fastball and Gendry complied, delivering the pitch with the customary motion he'd worked hard with Jack-Be-Lucky on for the past several weeks to refine. To his surprise and disorientation, the batter squared around and dropped a perfect bunt down the third-base line, though seeming quite surprised by the pitch's speed as he did so. Dropping the bat, the hitter tore off towards first as Gendry sprinted off the mound, towards where the ball was rolling softly in the grass.
The third baseman had no play on the ball. It only took Gendry three strides to reach it, but the quick runner was already halfway down the line when by the time he was there. Dropping to his knees, he slid into the ball, seizing it with his bare hand. Knowing he had no time to set himself, he dug a cleat into the turf, using his momentum to pop back up to his feet, and then whirled and hurled the baseball towards first base as quickly as he could.
It was possibly the best fielding play he'd ever made in his life, but it still trailed the runner by a half-step, and the umpire rightly called safe at first.
The crowd roared in disappointment and booed at the umpire as Gendry walked back to the mound, sighing, catching the ball back from the first baseman and watching the runner on first to gauge the man's willingness to steal.
After taking the sign from Thoros—another fastball—Gendry came set up, watched the runner at first over his shoulder, and then delivered the pitch. The batter swung at it, looking partially lost, and popped the ball straight up. Thoros threw off his mask and took three steps to the right of the plate, turning his back to the pitcher's mound and waiting patiently for the duration of its flight before it landed in his mitt for the first out. The runner was forced to remain on first.
The next hitter looked more comfortable than either of the first two in wake up Gendry's fastballs—and Gendry recalled that the double he'd hit in the first inning had come on a high heater from the starting pitcher—but still took the first pitch for strike one. Gendry executed a pickoff move for the express purpose of keeping the runner on his toes and then looked in to get the second sign. Thoros called for a slider on the next pitch, and Gendry nodded, coming set. He strode forward and released the ball as the first baseman screamed, "Runner!"
Thoros caught the pitch outside, seized the ball from his mitt and hurled it over Gendry's head. The throw was off-target, and Gendry heard Thoros swear angrily as the runner was able to slide in safely with a stolen base. Irritated that despite his efforts the man had been able to steal, Gendry was happy when Thoros called for another fastball, which he slung home happily for strike two. The hitter swung right over the top of it, abruptly looking at his bat as though expecting to see a hole in it.
Fastball was the call again on pitch number four, and Thoros set up right over the heart of the plate, closing his glove once to signify his desire for Gendry to just blow the hitter away, as they had done in his previous outing. Gendry obliged, and the hitter, now looking far less confident than he had when he approached the plate, watch it sail by helplessly for strike three. Gendry couldn't help but grin as he received the ball back from Thoros, not at the batter's incredulity but that he finally felt in-control of his game.
He missed the plate with the first pitch fastball to the next hitter, and the second one also failed to land in the strike zone. The euphoria of the previous moment had begun to slip away, and in his eagerness to feel it again he threw the next pitch directly down the heart of the plate. The moment he released it, he knew it was a mistake, and the resounding crack of the bat didn't disappoint him.
When the ball landed, it one-hopped off the left-center field fence, and the runner from second was already rounding third to score easily. Gendry half-heartedly, disgustedly, took three steps to back up home plate before he realized it wouldn't be needed, and then stalked back to the mound to retrieve the baseball as the hitter trotted to second with a double.
Damn it.
He took the rubber again, frustrated, and eagerly prepared to throw the next pitch. Thoros gave him another 'calm-down' gesture, which only tweaked Gendry's nerves further, especially considering his current standing with the catcher. He was further surprised and irritated when Thoros called for a slider on the first pitch, which he immediately shook off. "No messing around," he hissed aloud. "We gotta get out of here. Just the heat, like Jack-Be-Lucky said. Not to mention," he recalled, "this guy doubled to right on an off-speed in the second, he's looking for it all day.
Thoros, however, thrust down the same sign after being shaken off, his jerky movements clearly signaling Gendry that he expected to be obeyed. Gendry, after a long sigh, came set and checked the runner, having a bad feeling about what he was throwing. Nevertheless, he stepped and hurled the curving pitch, which just barely grazed the corner of the plate for strike one. The batter appeared unfazed by the count, and stepped back in confidently.
For the second pitch, Thoros again called slider, and Gendry, realizing he was stepping into the danger zone, again shook him off. Eyes blazing behind his mask, Thoros put up his hands to call time, and the umpire granted it. Gendry stepped off the mound, expecting a visit, but instead Thoros just lifted his mask and stared at Gendry with stone-cold fury for a few seconds before dropping the mask again and slamming his fist into his mitt with clear intent.
He called for the slider, and Gendry cursed under his breath. The batter's sitting on it. He's going to crush it a mile. Thoros wouldn't let him throw it, but he knew he had to. He came set and gripped the ball as his fastball instead of the offspeed. Knowing he was playing with fire, Gendry nevertheless reached back and threw a fastball while his catcher was expecting the slider.
Thoros reacted with the pitch as though it were supposed to curve, and when it didn't, had to bring his glove across his body to snag the heat. Gendry's pitch was too fast, and Thoros completely missed it. The ball sailed past hitter, catcher, and umpire, untouched, hurtling back until it slammed against the screen behind home plate, startling the first four rows of spectators there.
Gendry swore at the same time Thoros bellowed a much more colorful word, sprinting back to retrieve the ball. The runner jogged up to third lazily, the base easily taken, as the catcher seized the ball and muttered a thousand curse words under his breath. It took a great deal of courage on Gendry's part not to look away from Thoros as the catcher walked back to the plate, looking as though he would like nothing better than to kill his pitcher. He knew he had called for slider, knew Gendry had thrown the fastball, and knew that the mistake had been intentional. The ball he slung back at Gendry would have taken the pitcher's head off had he not had quick reflexes.
For his part, Gendry was realizing that he had made a grave error in crossing up his catcher, and was only imagining what Thoros would try to do to him later when the umpire called out for time again and he looked up to see Dondarrion crossing the foul line, on a murder march for the mound.
Oh, shit.
Thoros smacked his glove suggestively and took three furious steps to the mound when Dondarrion waved him off violently, glaring daggers at Gendry. The infield, which had also when jogging in, froze in their steps and backtracked, wanting nothing to do with their manager when he was on the warpath. Gendry was helpless, with nowhere to hide, no excuse to cower behind, no words to speak as Dondarrion bared down on him, his lips peeled back in a silent snarl, the only eye he had left bright and furious as the sun.
Dondarrion slowed as he approached the mound, climbing with slow steps to where Gendry stood rigidly, nearly quaking atop it. Gendry fought hard to stare into the shorter man's eyes as his manager stepped closer than had him uncomfortable, so close that the brims of their hats were touching and Gendry could have counted the numerous scars on Dondarrion's face.
They stood like that for several moments, and Gendry thought the manager might actually punch him. Or worse. He knows what just happened. He saw what went down between me and Thoros the other day. He cursed inwardly, his heart dropping. He gave you another chance after that first blowup, and you wasted it.
When Dondarrion finally spoke, his voice was low, expressionless, and deadly in its uniformity. "You have talent. You have intelligence. What you don't have is respect, and respect is earned. I have been around this sport for longer than you've been alive, and I can tell you right now that no good teammate—no good player—would ever leave another out to dry like you just did."
Gendry swallowed. "Sir, I—"
"I don't care," Dondarrion snarled. "I don't care what you did, or what you thought. "What do you think this is? Some bloody tryout? You're already on the fucking team, Waters. I know you can throw hard. Ned Stark fucking knows you can throw hard, that's not why you're here! You're here because making it in this game is not only about the stuff you throw, but about the head you throw it with. Right now, you are not impressing me one bit with your head, and your head—not your bloody arm!—is what it will take to get you to the next level."
The manager stabbed a finger towards the plate, where Thoros was still glaring murderously. "I hate a pitcher who blindly follows every sign his catcher gives him, like he's got no mind of his own, but Thoros has been here a hell of a lot longer than you, and when you have earned his respect, then you can stand there and talk to be about your arm, and what pitches you want to throw. When I look at him, I see a man who I trust to make a call, even if it turns out to be wrong one, and I do not see that when I look at you. All I see right now is a stuck-up kid who thinks he's got the whole game of baseball figured out. Nothing else. Not yet." He grasped Gendry by the arms, tightly but not painfully, staring the pitcher in the eyes. "Prove to me that I'm wrong. Prove to me that you're a bigger person than this. Show everyone that you're not just someone with a giant arm, because a lot of people in the world—in the minor leagues—have arms just as good as yours. What I need, though, that none of those other pitchers have, is a pitcher who is tough enough to compete when his arm isn't enough. I see that in you. Don't disappoint me... don't disappoint yourself."
"All right, guys." The home plate umpire had arrived, checking the watch in his hand. "Are we all ready to finish up here?"
"We're finished," Dondarrion said coldly, and he turned around, stalking for the dugout with the same ferocity that he had left it. Gendry was left gaping on the mound, hardly believing what had just happened. The umpire only glanced at him wryly before returning to the plate, pulling his mask on and ordering the game back into motion. Thoros slammed his glove again.
Don't disappoint yourself. The words reverberated in his skull, the impact deep into his soul. Ned Stark knows you can throw hard. That's not why you're here.
The batter was already standing in the box again, looking amused about the exchanges that had occurred. The smirk boiled Gendry's blood, but Dondarrion's words hot in his ears inspired him to force down his anger. "You are better than that," he whispered to himself. "You do have the head it takes. Show them."
Thoros called for a slider, half-heartedly, as though expecting Gendry to wave it off. Knowing that the batter was sitting offspeed, especially on an even and early count, Gendry's first instinct was certainly to throw a different pitch, but knew that Dondarrion was watching, and knew the course of action that he had to take, bad as a feeling that he had about it.
With extreme reservations, Gendry came set and threw a slider.
The batter kept his hands back, exactly as he had in the first inning, and lined the pitch into right field for a single. The runner on third calmly ran home and touched the plate, tying the game, much to the chagrin of the crowd.
Gendry gritted his teeth as he watched the scoreboard record the tie, but realized that the score was not the point. He took the mound again, careful not to make any sign of incriminating gesture in Thoros' direction. The catcher, for his part, had stopped looking as though he would love to skin Gendry alive and roast him over a fire, although the anger in his body language now seemed directed towards the scoreboard.
The next hitter, Gendry recalled, was also a slap hitter, and after the first fastball hit the strike zone Thoros once again called for a slider. Why is he messing around with the offspeed? The batters this low in the lineup will never catch up to the fastball.
But he didn't shake his head. He came set and delivered the one-strike slider, and the batter swung at it.
The ball cracked off the end of the bat, and the bat shattered, sending sprays of splinters and one long slab flying across the infield. Gendry ducked the larger piece and watched as the ball squeaked its way over the first baseman's head, just out of his reach, and rolled slowly into right field. He sighed and sprinted behind third baseman to back up the throw, but the right fielder merely lobbed it into second as the runner from first slid into third, and now there were runners in the corners with two down.
Thoros had his mask up and was chewing his lip when Gendry got back to the mound, not looking at anything, seemingly frustrated. When the next batter stepped in all signs of his previous anger were gone, and he signed for a fastball. Gendry delivered it for strike one, the batter forced to watch it fly by without protest. The second pitch called was also a fastball, and the batter swung through it, easily. Thoros hesitated on the third pitch, glancing at both of the runners and then flinching in the fingers before putting down a third fastball sign. Gendry nodded and came set, and delivered strike three on a silver platter. The hitter's bat missed the ball by half a foot.
Gendry sighed in relief and disappointment as the Thunder rushed back in from the field. He glanced up at Thoros, who was in no hurry to get away from him but also not eager to speak with him as they entered the dugout one after the other. Gendry glanced up at the scoreboard and acknowledged that he'd given up the two tying runs. Dondarrion's speech flashed back to him, and he breathed deeply.
It's not about the score, Gendry reminded himself. It's about your bounce back and your competitiveness.
As he walked past Dondarrion towards the bench, the manager caught him by the arm and swung him back around. Expecting a firm rebuke or an additional tongue-lashing, Gendry was immensely relieved when all his manager said was, "You're going out for the next inning, too. Be ready."
Gendry nodded and Dondarrion released him. Two innings of relief. Good. I want to go back out and show him who I am.
He turned around, and stopped dead as he found himself eye-to-eye with Thoros. The big catcher seemed in much the same predicament, having just swung around in the midst of removing his gear. The two stood, frozen and awkward, regarding each other with a mixture of discomfort and acknowledgement.
It was a tense moment, finally broken by Thoros diverting his eyes and clearing his throat. Gendry expected him to growl something about continuing to follow his lead, but what the catcher really said was, "My bad. About the last two hitters. Should have thrown heat."
Gendry's jaw fell open in shock, and he immediately covered it by turning it into words. His mind rushed to all of the nasty and furious things he desired to say regarding Thoros' attitude and inability to cooperate, but all that came out of his own mouth was, "No worries. Let's get 'em this inning."
Thoros nodded, albeit stiffly, and Gendry stepped around him, moving along the bench until there was an open space where he could sit down. Removing his cap and setting it next to his glove beside him, he ran his hands through his sweaty hair and reran the conversation he had just had in his head to make sure he hadn't completely gone mental.
He was still puzzling over the encounter when Jack-Be-Lucky dropped in beside him, slapping is shoulder with a backhand to catch his attention and dragging him from his reverie. The gruff coach stared him in the eye for a moment to make sure he was truly attentive and then grunted. "How do you feel out there?"
"Okay," he answered, glancing down at his elbow. It was numb, meaning it would begin aching an hour or two after the game in the worst way. "How many pitches have I thrown?"
"Not nearly enough to worry about," Jack replied. "Are you calm? Relaxed?"
"Sort of," Gendry said, rubbing his hands together. "More so than I was."
Jack stewed for a moment, his jaw moving from side to side as he looked Gendry over. "Never cross up your catcher, boy. Bad things happen. Long memories, they have, and they're the ones that look silly and foolish when it's done."
"Yeah," Gendry sighed, gesturing towards where Dondarrion stood, leaning against a knee propped on the top step, watching the game with a quite expression. "Beric already gave me the talking-to on that one."
"What'd he threaten you with?"
Gendry wracked his mind, replaying the conversation they'd had and shaking his head. "I don't think he threatened me with anything. He just told me to get a better head. Basically, throw what Thoros wanted, because he trusted Thoros more than me and because he wanted to see if I had a good head." He paused. "He seems to want to know if I can follow people other than me, as well."
"He's trying to see if you can see past yourself," Jack-Be-Lucky clarified. "Or if the only thing in your line of vision is your own fat head. Sometimes—especially at Single-A, where, let's face it, it just doesn't matter—it's okay to give up a run or two to prove something your character, eh? Besides, if Dondarrion didn't threaten you out there, that means he likes you. And he doesn't like many. Sometimes I don't even know if he likes Thoros, but there's something of a life debt there, so he's loyal, in that regard."
"Life debt?" Gendry repeated.
Jack-Be-Lucky grinned and shook his head, but it seemed as though the gesture was intended inwardly. "Thoros has been here in Blackhaven for over ten years. He came from Myr, overseas, to play ball, but it turns out he's never really had it in him to cut it at any level but this. Some say, though, that Thoros has singlehandedly resurrected Beric's career six times."
Gendry glanced at his pitching coaching narrowly. "How is that?"
"Many of those seasons he's been here, Blackhaven's been doing horrible, and players are just plummeting," Jack told him. "Putting a really bad look on Dondarrion's name, you know... like he's ruining prospects and so forth. A load of malarkey, if you ask me, but you can understand how it would look. In any case, almost to a science, whenever the Blackhaven slumps really begin to hit their troughs, all of a sudden Thoros goes on a tear at the plate. Just rips up pitchers, no matter who they are or what they're throwing. Simply crushes them. Blackhaven does better around him, Dondarrion keeps his job, and Thoros gets a promotion to Double-A. Then, also routinely, he gets even worse than usual at the next level and gets dumped back down here at Blackhaven to do the whole thing over again. Usually drinks away his paycheck in the process, too."
Gendry listened in silence, taking in the story with surprise. He glanced over to where Dondarrion stood watching the game, a few paces away from where Thoros was pulling on a helmet, passing a bat between hands with a distant expression on his face. The two men didn't acknowledge each other, but Gendry could almost see the bond that was present in the air between them. "That's one of the strangest things I've ever heard."
"The baseball gods work in strange ways," Jack-Be-Lucky said solemnly, as though he were quoting scripture. "In any case, they just have this unspoken understanding. And, even though he's not a great player, Thoros usually has a good head about him. When he's not in his cups, that is."
Only half-listening anymore, Gendry watched Thoros, climbing the top step to the on-deck circle as the second out of the inning for the Thunder was recorded. "That seems like a cruel life, spending an eternity down here, at the bottom of the minor leagues, watching dozens of rookies come through and advance without you."
"It is what it is," his pitching coach replied, shrugging indifferently. "For some people, it's destiny. In others, it's their own determination to change their stars. You can't really tell the good from the great just by looking at them. You have to know their heart, too." He tapped Gendry's arm. "I think you've got a pretty damn good heart going, boy. Just take care that you keep a good head, too."
Jack-Be-Lucky clapped him one last time on the shoulder and then stood to be off to better places in the dugout, leaving Gendry alone with his thoughts. He thought about the last piece that Jack had said, about not being able to differentiate between ability based on surface worth but instead on heart and intensity. Thinking of heart and intensity drew a particularly aggressive Stark girl to mind, and he couldn't help but grin as he imagined how Arya would tear apart the league if only she were a few inches taller and a mild amount stronger. Pitchers would beg not to leave the bullpen. Fielders would cower at their positions.
He was so caught up in this startling image that he almost didn't realize the innings were changing. No one said anything to him as his teammates leaped out of the dugout to retake their positions, giving him his space to seethe, as they probably thought he was doing. He flinched and realized what was happening only when Thoros ducked back into the dugout and tossed his helmet into a cubby, quickly beginning to put his catching gear back on. The native of Myr glanced up at him questioningly as he didn't move and Gendry jumped, seizing his glove and hat and hurrying back up onto the field for his second inning of work.
The warm-up pitches seemed to breeze by, his mind already focusing on everything Dondarrion and Jack-Be-Lucky had told him, keeping his head, proving his worth, trusting in his catcher and showing he was above himself. He barely noticed when the ball was thrown through, and almost dropped the return throw from the third baseman before he toed the rubber again, fully focused in now.
Thoros, behind the plate, glanced up at the hitter and seemed to hesitate, finally dropping down a tentative fastball. Gendry obliged and delivered strike one, satisfied as the batter took the dead-center fastball looking dazed.
After a similar hesitation, as though he were trying to meld their minds, Thoros called for another fastball. Gendry nodded, came set, and threw the pitch hard, slinging it for the inside corner. The hitter's bat was quicker, but still nowhere close to touching the baseball.
Way up in the count, Thoros patted his mitt twice, then left a long, pausing moment of thought before he put down the sign for a third fastball. Gendry stared at it long and hard for a very long time, contemplating everything Dondarrion had said, everything Jack had told him. Sometimes, he told himself, turning his eye up from the sign to stare into the eyes behind the catcher's mask. You just have to cooperate.
Wary of what storm he might begin by doing so, Gendry shook off the fastball. Thoros didn't hesitate, obliging him with a slider sign before setting up for the pitch. Gendry didn't even need to nod as they reached an understanding.
He released the pitch, watching it arc with a fantastic spin. When the batter began to swing, the ball was at the letters of his uniform; when he finished, the barrel of the bat missed the ball by a foot, and Thoros was swiping it away from the air at the batter's kneecaps. Before the batter has finished swinging, Thoros was slinging the ball to third base for the throw-around, the umpire announcing the strikeout loudly.
Gendry looked up at his catcher, and Thoros lifted his mask. The wry old occupant of Single-A Blackhaven gave his pitcher a scarred smirk and dropped his mask back into place. Gendry stepped back onto the rubber and hid his answering smirk behind his glove.
Now they were playing baseball. Now... Gendry Waters could truly begin.