I don't own Divergent.

Heylo. Sorry this is late an unedited. I have to go. Sorry. Enjoy. Will update more and ADD ASAP. If you don't get the baseball terminology (I did explain some of it...) just look it up.

I have to say, when I first met him, I never imagined him to be a cuddler. Then again, I also never imagined that he would propose…or that I would say no.

I really didn't mean to hurt him. I do love him - enough to marry him, even. I just don't want to do it yet. I just wish he could see how much I love him.

Ew. I sound like a lovesick teenager. Do all people have weird, immature thoughts before they fall asleep?

Mmmm… Tobias still smells like baseball. I've always loved that smell. Tobias smelling like it just makes me like it more, though his cologne doesn't smell at all like baseball.

He wraps his arms around me in his sleep, and I succumb to the feeling washing over me, closing my eyes.

Tobias wakes me the next morning. "Hey," he says simply, a neutral yet intrigued expression on his face.

I press my face into his chest. "Hi, handsome."

He rubs my back gently. "In a good mood?"

I yawn. "Why do you ask?"

"Just 'cause, I dunno, this feels right. Not awkward like it has for the past few days," he replies, smiling.

I smile back at him and kiss the corner of his mouth. "Looks like I'm not the only one in a good mood."

Tobias nods. "What can I do to make you say yes?"

I look down. This conversation took a quick turn. "Let's talk on the bus," I suggest, standing.

Tobias pulls me down into the seat next to him by grabbing my arm and literally pulling me. I squeal in protest.

"We're on the bus," he commands, eyes dark and demanding.

I look out the window at the dismal gray sky. I think it will rain; Tobias and the Yankees will play even if it does. The stadium roof will be shut.

Tobias grasps my arm and pulls me back to face him, not roughly, but almost. My heart falls at the look of pain and desire in his eyes. "Please, Tris." His voice is rough.

I take a shaky breath. "Tobias…"

He takes my hands. There is no sign of the laughter I can usually detect; there's not even the toughness others usually see. There's only pain in his eyes.

"Tobias, just give it time," I whisper. "Give us time." A burning sensation races through my body, settling behind my eyes. The tears threaten to spill over, so I bury my face in his shoulder.

His soft, large hands find their way to my back, rubbing it soothingly. "And you'll still live with me?" he murmurs.

"Of course."

The Yankees stretch and toss the ball around for a bit before gearing up for batting. Uriah is first on the lineup. He throws his gear on, goes up to the plate, and promptly swings at and misses the first ball. He hits the second, but it's thrown to first before he can get there.

I shrugs at him when he jogs in.

Each player batting goes once - the order is finished and next inning will begin with Uri. Two runs are scored. The team gets ready to take the field, Uri strapping the protective gear on.

Tobias smiles at me as he makes his way to the mound. Uriah nods at me from behind the plate.

Howie Kendrick steps up to bat. He has an average of two-eighty-nine this year - there's a good chance he'll hit off of Tobias. Tobias glances at Uriah, who studies the batter for a second and signs for a fastball. Then he winds up and throws a straight, even fastball. The pitch's speed is ninety-five. My eyes widen.

Uriah tosses it back, grinning. Tobias glares at Uri's glove and nails another one in there. Both have been strikes. Both have been about ninety miles per hour; the second was ninety-eight.

Tobias winds up again, and the batter prepares to swing. Kendrick thinks Tobias is going to throw another fastball. No. Tobias smirks just slightly, signs to Uriah, and throws a knuckleball that, at its fastest, is as fast as the second pitch - ninety-eight miles per hour. Damn.

Kendrick is out, shaking his head as he hands his batting gloves, bat, and helmet to a bat boy.

Tobias soon strikes another batter out. Then he gets two strikes on the third before the batter hits a pop that Uri easily catches.

The team jogs in and those batting gear up. Uriah's going first this inning again, and he gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing.

I clap him on the back. "Uri, you'll do great. Remember, you just need to FUCKING SLAM IT!"

He jumps, because I shouted the last part in his ear. "Okay, okay."

I grin, hand him his helmet, gloves, and bat, and shove him towards the stairs. He pulls them on and walks to the warmup circle, taking a few swings with the extra weight and then stepping up to home plate.

The pitcher throws his first ball: an eight-nine-miles-per-hour strike. Uri doesn't swing at it. He swings at the second, and it's a foul tip. Then a third pitch… Uriah swings and slams it far into left field, getting a double. I grin as the crowd grumbles.

Tobias sits on the bench beside me. "Hey."

I hug him. "Good pitching."

"I was thinking of you," he admits, leaning closer and whispering. "Thinking of some of the things I'd like to do to you."

I flush, thinking of those things, too. "Better not get too turned on," I whisper back. "I don't want the whole stadium seeing your boner."

He chuckles. "No, I'd rather that not happen."

We banter as the rest of the team bats - Uri even goes twice. Damn, the Angels are not doing well.

When they finally get a second out, Tobias grabs his glove and begins to stretch. I automatically step close to him and do it for him, stretching exactly what should be stretched so he won't get hurt. Then I release his arm and smile.

The Angels finally get their third out, and Tobias has a quick chat with Uri and Max before jogging back out onto the field. Uri quickly joins him and stretches his legs before squatting down. Tobias throws a few soft pitches to loosen his arm and then allows the batter to step up to the plate.

Tobias strikes the first batter out with two curveballs, one of which the batter tips, and a fastball. None of his pitches have dipped below ninety-two miles per hour.

The second batter foul tips on the first ball, and Uri catches it.

The third batter drives a ball down the first base line. Tobias fields the ball and tosses it to Mark Texiera. The out is made easily, and the Yankees head into the dugout to begin the top half of the third inning.

Tobias sits next to me, yawning. He adjusts his cup and then puts his arm around me. I giggle.

"What?" he asks.

"Shauna told me a story," I gasp, "about a woman who fan-mailed the Yankees. She offered her services as the 'official crotch-adjuster' for the Yankees. Shauna started laughing, but replied with, 'Thank you for your email, Yankees fan! Would you like a complimentary prize bag? If so, email us your address!' because she had to."

Tobias chuckles. "The only person I want adjusting my crotch is you," he murmurs suddenly.

I elbow him. "What is it with you and sexual innuendos today?"

"I dunno. Maybe I'm extra horny. If I play a good game, will you -"

"Shut up," I order, smiling. "I don't have sex for bets."

He pouts. "Not even with me?"

"Nope."

"What about a deal?" he asks.

"Nope."

Tobias gets down on his knees. "Please? I'm extra horny!" He waggles his eyebrows for extra effect.

I just about fall off the bench laughing. Zeke walks by, sees me laughing and Tobias on his knees pouting, and chuckles. "Did you just beg to bang and she said no?"

I nod, still laughing. "He waggled his eyebrows after he said he was extra horny," I gasp, and then begin to laugh again.

Zeke shakes his head. "Damn, man. I really thought you were above that."

Tobias frowns and bites his lip. "I am. I'm just really horny."

"We can see that, teenaged boy," Zeke says and walks into the door in the dugout.

The Yankees get a few more runs in the bottom half of the third. Then Four and Uri are back on. The first batter, a righty, drives one down the third-base line. Jeter quickly fields it and throws it to Texiera. Tobias strikes the second batter out. And the third one hits a pop that is easily caught by Brian Roberts.

The next four innings progress in much the same way. It's currently eleven-zero, Yankees, and the bottom of the seventh. Four strikes the last batter out, and the team walks in.

The seventh, eighth, and ninth guys on the lineup all get on base, and Uriah steps up to the plate. I can see a trickle of sweat making its way down the back of his neck.

Uriah doesn't swing at the first pitch, and it's called a strike. Uriah ripples the muscles of his forearms. Then he stands straight, holds an arm out to the pitcher, and walks toward the dugout and Max. I jog up the stairs, leaving Tobias behind, to hear.

"- bat lefty," Uriah says firmly.

"Your lefty batting average is significantly lower than your righty average," Max argues.

"Their right fielder has a slight limp. They were stupid to play him injured," Uriah counters.

"Uriah is right, Max," I say. "Their right fielder has a sprained ankle at the least, I'd say. Perhaps a heel injury. Let him bat lefty."

Max sighs. "Fine." He turns to a bat boy. "Get his lefty helmet, boy."

The boy scurries off and returns with a helmet. Uri hands him the other with a smile and puts the new one on.

Uri grins at the pitcher as he takes the other side of the plate. I know the pitcher will aim for low inside pitches, and I suspect Uri does, too.

he readies himself to swing and does. I hear a satisfying crack as the ball flies into the outfield. The right fielder jogs after it, but it makes no difference - the ball is caught by a fan. Uriah hit a home run - a grand slam, really!

Uri grins, tosses his bat to the side, and runs the bases. His teammates all clap him on the back, grinning.

After Uri's grand slam, three batters get out.

Four strikes three batters in a row out easily.

We get three more runs - all home runs - and Tobias goes to pitch again. It's the bottom of the eighth. Two more innings of good pitching and Tobias will have pitched a perfect game. I just hope he can do it - only twenty-three pitchers ever have. The most recent was Mariners pitcher Félix Hernández, who did it in August twenty twelve. (A/N: In case you aren't as well-versed in baseball as I am [that's a nice way of saying I'm a huge baseball nerd], a perfect game is when not a single batter of one team gets on base. For example, in Félix's perfect game, not a single Ray got on base. Félix struck most of them out, but some of them hit and were consequently gotten out at first.)

Tobias strikes two batters out and Jacoby Ellsbury makes a catch for the third out. Tobias is on his way to adding his name to the list of perfect-games. He'll be the twenty-fourth. How appropriate.

I don't dare mention this to him. Instead, I punch him in the arm.

"OW! What was that for?" he asks.

"I dunno. I was just annoyed and felt like punching something and you were there," I reply, grinning sheepishly.

Tobias shakes his head and kisses mine. "You are one strange girl, Tris Prior."

I smile and nod. "Yes, yes I am."

The top of the ninth goes quickly. Three people are gotten out in quick succession.

Tobias steps up to the mound for the bottom of the ninth - his deciding inning. He strikes a batter out.

He throws a ball to the second batter. Then another ball. Then a strike. None of them are under ninety miles per hour. He throws another ball, and Max signals for Uri to call a time-out and go talk to Tobias.

Uri has a quick conversation with him, ending it by saying something that makes Tobias redden and chuckle. He waits for Uri to get back in position and throws a curveball - a strike. Then a knuckleball - another strike. One more out, and this will be a perfect game.

The third batter hits a line drive down the first-base line. Texiera dives for it and makes the catch. It's a perfect game!

The entire teams rushes onto the field and engulfs Tobias. I worm my way through them and hug him.

"I'll have sex with you," I whisper.

His grins widely and nearly runs off the field. The entire team looks at me curiously, except Zeke, who just smirks and shakes his head.