For Love of the Game
Chapter 1: Let It All Begin
By Guinevere
Disclaimer: I don't own, nor do I have anything to do with Dawson's Creek, the WB, or anything associated with DC. Please don't sue, I'm just writing a simple fanfic. However, I do claim ownership of all characters that aren't owned by Kevin Williamson, or that aren't real.
Author's Notes: Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. Thanks go out to Holly and Becci and my brother Ryan, for without whose love of the game I could not have written this.
Bases are loaded with two outs here in the bottom of the ninth at Fenway. Witter is stepping up to the plate. With a .366 average and 32 home runs, he is almost certain to hit the game-saving grand slam," Tom White narrated to the listeners.
Meanwhile, Pacey Witter made his way to the box. He stopped just outside to gather his thoughts. The usual concentration he had during games had been shattered. Doc Pappas, the team's medical director, had just informed him of his test results from earlier in the day.
He had been to see Dr. Johnson that morning to have a yearly check-up. What transpired caused Pacey to think Johnson was a crazy, truly insane man.
Dr. Johnson had found an unusual lump in Pacey's right arm. After a few probes, the lump was upgraded to a tumor. Pacey knew he shouldn't waste any time, so he got a biopsy on the spot.
And now Pappas knew the outcome: a malignant tumor, which, more than likely, was cancerous.
Jimy Williams, the team manager, was the only other person, besides Pacey and Pappas, who knew anything. Pacey wanted to keep it that way.
But now, Pacey had to worry about something else: hitting a home run, and saving his team from an unpleasant 10-12 loss to the Yankees. For a confidence booster, Pacey looked out to the field. There stood some of his best friends: Shawn Becker, the second baseman, standing on first; Wilton Veras, the third baseman, edging towards third; and Trot Nixon, the rightfielder, with an eager gaze directed towards home plate.
Pacey stepped into the box, ready for whatever Hernandez would throw his way. He got into the stance and waited for the ball. Hernandez wound up, stepped, and threw; a dead-center fastball and a strike. Pacey decided it would be better to shut everything out; the noise, the glares - everything.
Hernandez released again; a perfect curveball and strike two. Now Pacey needed to pray Hernandez would give him a ball, and time enough to prepare.
Hernandez took off his hat, wiped his forehead, and replaced it. Nerves were getting to him now too. He threw the pitch, and thank God, it was a high one; ball one.
Pacey stepped back and stood tall. Nothing could save him now, except pure luck. He had to hit the next ball no matter what. Something caught his eye as he looked around. Just below the announcers' box was the number nine: Ted Williams' retired number.
Williams was, along with Carl Yastrzemski, Pacey's favorite Red Sox player. He had sat for days in the archive room of Fenway watching old newsreels just to see Williams play. It had always been Pacey's dream to meet him, but now he felt a unique connection. Sort of like having Ted Williams standing over your shoulder, telling you exactly what to do.
Williams had once said the players did not take hitting seriously. At this moment, there wasn't a thing in the universe, that could be altered, that would make Pacey miss this hit.
Hernandez wound up and released. Pacey could hear a voice saying, "If all else fails, count the laces son." Pacey counted; and counted; and counted some more, until the ball was directly in front of him. It seemed as though time was standing still. Pacey swung and connected with the ball. He extended, hoping to give it that extra edge, and dropped the bat. But he didn't run; he stood, and watched the ball glide through the air. It flew, as if it had grown wings. It didn't stop until it caught in the net above the wall that was so affectionately named the Green Monster.
Pacey could round the bases now, with a grin from ear to ear. He slapped hands with the base coaches as he passed them by. Rounding third, Veras, Becker and Nixon stood waiting for him. Pacey half-hugged all three, then jogged with them to meet the rest of their team. Hard-hearted Jimy stopped and waited for Pacey with open arms.
Pacey walked to him, and hugged him. Over the past four years, while Pacey was on reserve in the Pawtucket roster, so he could go to college, Jimy had become like a second father; making sure he was keeping up with his exercises, hitting at his usual average, even doing his homework. Now, with the grave medical news, Jimy was so proud of Pacey, that he could rise above this illness, even if it had just struck him.
Jimy released Pacey, and his teammates surrounded him. Pats on the back, high fives and shouts followed.
"Nice hit Witter," Brian Daubach said.
"I swear, the Golden Arm," Lou Merloni continued the running joke.
"You've got that right Lou," Jose Offerman agreed.
"Witter, you hit that ball like I've never seen done before," Jason Varitek put in.
"Nicely done Wit," Corey Bennett added.
"Let's hope you never get injured," Nomar Garciaparra half joked. Pacey froze, and Nomar noticed. "Hey, I was kidding. They said it to me all the time. But then, bad example. Look at me now." Nomar's right arm was out of commission for the entire season. He had needed a total elbow replacement, and had to sacrifice his position for the disabled list. Pacey had been brought up to replace him.
"Ease up kid, you did great," Troy O'Leary told him.
At that moment, the stands erupted in cheers of, "Witter, Witter!" Pacey took that as his cue to go wave to the departing crowd. He stepped back on to the field and they went crazy.
And then the reporters came. In hordes, they swarmed not only Pacey, but Nomar as well. The two stood side-by-side as Bob Lancaster, one of the most well-known sportscasters interviewed them.
"Nomar, we're all wondering, when will you be back on the field?"
"Well, the future where this season is concerned looks pretty grim. There is the slightest possibility that I may play by September, but I doubt it. This replacement will take time, not to mention the recurring hamstring problem." Nomar answered his questions perfectly all the time.
"And Pacey, how do you think your doing so far this season? That grand slam was amazing."
"Thank you. I'd like to think I'm doing pretty well so far. Believe it or not, that hit ended the hitting slump I was in." Pacey was nervous, trying to keep a straight face.
"Nomar, what do you think of your 'replacement'?" This was the question Pacey had been dreading since spring training.
"Pacey? He's phenomenal. I couldn't have hoped for a better person to take my spot. This kid is truly amazing," Nomar finished with a grin and put his arm around Pacey's shoulders. That wasn't the answer Pacey had expected.
"I wholeheartedly agree. Thank you both." The camera stopped rolling and Bob shook hands with Nomar and Pacey.
They both started to make their way to the locker room. Nomar looked sideways at Pacey and caught the twisted look on his face. "What's up Wit?"
Pacey looked up, jolted out of his own reverie. "Huh? Oh, nothing."
"No way, you're not getting off that easy. What did Pappas tell you before you went up to bat?"
"You saw that?"
"Well yeah. When your a long-term DL you notice a lot of things about your team. Are you hurt?"
"No, well, not really. At least I don't think I am."
"Then what made you so freaked after you talked to Pappas?"
"He told me I got my test results back from the doctor. That's it." Pacey wasn't giving it up that easily.
"Hey, I'm supposed to be your mentor, your father figure, even if I'm only eleven years older. You've got to tell me."
He couldn't hold it any longer; it was true, Nomar was like an older brother to him. "Pappas told me I've probably got cancer."
Nomar stopped and held Pacey back from the locker room. "What? Where? How long?"
"My arm. They don't know how long it's been there. Dr. Johnson wants me to come back tomorrow for some more tests."
"Good thing we're off tomorrow. You tell the girl yet?" By 'the girl', he meant Pacey' girlfriend. 'The girl' was the nickname all of Pacey's friends had given her.
"Yeah, she was with me. But she doesn't know it might be cancerous. Pappas just found out in the bottom of the ninth."
"Now that really sucks. Sorry if that's blunt, but it does."
"Yeah, it bites."
"You know you can tell me anything, right? I mean, if you can't handle it anymore and you need to talk, you know I'll listen."
"Yeah, I know. Thanks Nom."
"No problem Wit. Come on, put on a happy face," Nomar finished in song. They laughed and continued their trek to the locker room.
**********************
Pacey had changed quickly and dodged the many invites to go out and party. He jumped into his car, an old, beat-up Volvo which no normal Major League player would drive, and raced toward the freeway.
Twenty minutes later, despite the unusually heavy traffic, Pacey pulled into the driveway of the plush Beacon Hill brownstone he called home. He was immediately greeted by his next door neighbor, Walker Madison. The sixteen-year-old jumped when he saw him. "Hey, Pacey, nice game tonight."
"Thanks Walker. How's your mom doing today?" Walker's parents were both lawyers, and his mother was currently in labor with her second child.
"She's doing good. The kid is taking an awfully long time to get out though; thirty-seven hours and counting."
"Good Lord. I'm glad men can't have children. Well, tell her I said hi."
"I will. 'Night Pacey."
"Good-night Walker." Pacey opened the door, looked in, and was instantly glad he had tomorrow off.
The brown-headed beauty known as 'the girl' was sitting at her desk, her head propped up on her hand, diligently typing on her computer. She obviously hadn't heard the door open, or shut, so Pacey tapped on the wall behind her. She jumped and turned.
"Pacey! You scared me."
"Sorry," Pacey said grinning. "What are you writing tonight?"
"Nothing exciting, just an evaluation of one of the new actors I spotted today."
"What?!? No bestseller? No Pulitzer-winning speech? My God, I'm flabbergasted."
"Funny, very funny."
"I know, I should have been a comedian. So, how was your day?"
"Good, but certainly not as good as yours, Mr. Grand Slam, 33 home runs."
"Hey, all in a days work. But really now, did you cast the next Tom Hanks? Or even better, the next Kevin Costner?" Clearly this conversation was going good, and Pacey didn't want to spoil it with the bad news, so he went along as if everything was normal.
"I had screen tests all day, and no one was any good. But I met Jack at Hard Rock for lunch, and the kid two tables away just had this look about him. So I asked him to come down to the office, and I screen tested him, and he was perfect. His name is Derik Proctor, he's 16, and he has never acted before. He was brilliant; I wouldn't be surprised if he was making his acceptance speech at the Oscars by next March."
"That's awesome. And I can say I knew the famous talent scout who discovered Derik Proctor way back when." She was a casting director for Miramax, and a damn good one at that. She had gotten the job by a pure stroke of luck when she had interned at their Boston headquarters in the screenplay department. She suggested an unknown actor for a role in a film, and they had happened to be perfect, so she got a trial job. She continued to do well, so she was hired full-time.
"You know as well as anyone that I'd rather be known for my writing than my casting abilities."
"Okay then, I can say I knew the writer who was once a casting director who discovered Derik Proctor way back when."
"Not funny," she retorted with a grin, throwing a pillow at Pacey.
"All right, so I knew the extraordinary writer Joey Potter way back when."
"Thank you. And I knew the greatest baseball player of our time, Pacey Witter, way back when. Sounds good to me." Joey grinned, but Pacey's smile had faded. "What's wrong?"
"Well, I may not make it to be one of the greats."
"What do you mean?" Joey asked warily.
"Johnson called Pappas and told him that it was malignant. It might be cancerous."
"But their going to test some more, right?"
"Yes, we have to go in tomorrow morning. But you have to work, so I'll just call Doug, or Dawson, or Jack, or somebody to come with me."
"Not a chance, I'm coming with you. All the Derik Proctors in the world couldn't keep me away."
"Thanks Jo."
"No expressions of appreciation needed. Now on a lighter note, Jilly is walking."
"Really? When did this start?" Jilly, short for Jillian, was Jen and her boyfriend John's infant daughter.
"Yep. When John brought her home today, he sat her down and she started to walk away. They both called me up crying, they were so happy. Wouldn't that be so great?"
"Yes, it would, but you must remember that you said that, after Alex, you were never going to be within five yards of a baby again in your life."
"Yeah, but I've changed my mind. I don't know, I just want something that is you and me."
"And that's why we have a car: everything you want and everything I want, all in one." Pacey was joking, of course, because he wanted a child more than anything in the world. But they were only twenty-two, and they both had full-time careers. Having a baby had worked out for Jen because she owned her own store, and John was an internet advertiser, so they could both work at home.
"Pacey, you know what I mean. Can I be perfectly honest?"
"You always are," Pacey grinned.
"I was thinking about it, your tumor, and, this sounds totally morbid and weird, but I would want something to remind me of you if, well, you know..."
Pacey did know; he would want the same thing if there was a possibility of her dying. "Yeah. But look at it this way: what if I'll be fine? Are we really ready for this? If I am fine, then I'd be traveling from April until October. And could you take care of a baby on your own?"
"Those are things that are so trivial. Think about this: a brown-headed, blue-eyed, eight-pound, little boy or girl Witter."
Now she was going to drag it out of him; she wanted him to give in. "Joey, what about the hereditary cancer, the bad temper, the cynicism..."
"The optimism, the outspokenness, the really good genes. Pacey..." Joey pleaded.
"You don't have to sell me on this, because I'm already sold. I want a baby as bad as you, but I just don't think we could handle it, especially not with this. I could freeze sperm, but ethically, I don't like it. I just don't think right now is the best time."
"You know, you're right. But I think it would be so great Pacey."
"As do I. Come on, it's 11:15. Let's go to bed."
"You go, I've got one more line, and then I'm finished."
"Hurry up." Pacey started slowly up the stairs, knowing it was more likely one more page than one more line. But that would give him a little time to think on his own.
Deciding on a shower, Pacey turned the water on full force, stripped and got in. His thoughts started to lean towards the past, and how his life had come to this climax. He had been sixteen, and deeply in love with Andie McPhee. Joey was lost in her own world with Dawson, and Jen and Jack had made their own group of two. Then it all came crashing down.
Dawson and Joey broke up over trust issues, Pacey and Andie broke up over the always popular we-grew-apart issue, and Jen and Jack had their own falling out because of spending too much time together and ultimately driving each other mad. It was at that time that Pacey began to take his frustrations out with a bat. He spent hours upon hours at the Capeside batting cages, constantly hitting, pretending whatever it was that bothered him was tucked inside that ball.
At the same time, Joey branched away from painting to write. She wrote everything; her frustrations taken out on a piece of paper. She and Dawson, after a lot of work, couldn't make it past friends, so that is what they remained. Jack became her confidant, oddly enough, taking the place of Dawson.
And then came Jen and her place in this mess. After her issues with Jack were resolved, she began to hang out with Pacey more. By the time baseball tryouts came, she had convinced Pacey that trying out would be in his best interest, and even practiced with him. He made it, no surprise to the outsiders of his crew, and became quite the small-town hero, with Jen backing him up all the way.
Naturally, with Jack being Joey's chum and Jen being Pacey's familiar, Joey and Pacey were brought together. One or two nights a week hanging out with the other four gradually evolved into four or five nights alone together. When Junior prom rolled around, Joey and Pacey were the 'IT' couple of Capeside High. And so they remained for the next five-and-a-half years.
During the spring of Senior year, when scouts were checking out high school players, Pacey had noticed a man that kept coming to his games. He couldn't have possibly been a fan of the terribly bad Minutemen, so he must have been there for one player in particular. He introduced himself, in the last game of the season, as Roger Brock, scout for the Boston Red Sox.
This created a problem for the Boston University-bound Pacey. Roger thought Pacey was so good that he was willing to put him as a designated hitter on the major league team. But Pacey was determined to get a college degree, so he requested a meeting with Jimy Williams, Major League Manager for the team. Much to his surprise, he not only got the meeting, but Jimy met Pacey at the newly restructured IceHouse II. Jimy had seen tapes of Pacey, and wanted him on the team, no matter what.
When Pacey explained his desire to go to college, Jimy wholeheartedly understood. A deal was cut, saying that Pacey would sign with the Red Sox, and play on the Pawtucket triple-A team until he graduated.
And that's what Pacey did. He went to BU, with Joey close by at Harvard, and played baseball for the Pawsox. In the spring of 2005, Pacey struggled with the double-duty of his finals and spring training. Nomar had just had his operation, and it became clear that he wouldn't be able to play. Lou Merloni, his back up was also injured, so Pacey had been called in for the job. Exactly nineteen days before graduation, he played in his first Major League game as # 2, Witter, the shortstop, and third in the batting order. Pacey also finished up with college all right, graduating near the top of his class with a B.A. in English literature and Political Science.
Pacey had been playing now for two and a half months. The All-Star game was only two weeks away, and Pacey had been noted as most likely to be the starting shortstop. Players would be announced tomorrow morning.
Tomorrow morning, just before he had to be at the hospital. Of course, if he was picked, he would have to stop by Fenway on his way to the hospital to issue some sort of statement, but that was beside the point. Tomorrow would be a strange day; he would have the best day of his career, and the worst day of his life.
To Be Continued
