Chapter Text
Al had always hated the quietness of hospital corridors, how damn still and peaceful they were. Even before Anna got sick. Even before that. Too many nights spent wedged in an uncomfortable chair, holding a tiny hand and praying for a fever to go down. Too many visits to players who had just blown their arm and any chance they had at a pro baseball career.
Hospitals felt like the front office telling him they were trading a key player to keep the budget down, no matter how it would affect the team’s mojo. It was like hearing Oscar tell him to start considering the next phase of his life or Charlie thinking that numbers told the whole story. Doctors and nurses smiled, teeth gritted, in the face of terrible, life-changing news and then went on with their day. He didn’t blame them for it, for doing their job, but he didn’t like it. He didn’t trust it. Like he said. He hated the damn place. Too much hiding beneath shiny linoleum floors and industrial bleach.
No, hospitals meant his team dynamic would shift. They meant another player that would need home cooked meals and hard-won wisdom to get his ass in gear and rise above the emotional sink-hole he was about to experience. (Or, in this case, he supposed, she was about to experience.) The orthopedic wing wasn’t any less depressing than the rest of the hospital, though it lacked the fatalistic urgency. It was brighter. The docs and nurses were somehow younger and more attractive than those on the other floors, too. Still, it was just the same old story in a well-tailored suit. Deaths of dreams and careers ushered in by silk ties and white lab coats.
It was depressing as hell.
Ginny Baker’s room wasn’t any different. Al expected wall-to-wall flowers and balloons and other tokens of well wishes. Mike had sent a group text out late last night saying that under no circumstances were players to send Ginny flowers: BAKER HATES FLOWERS. The next asshole to send her roses answers to me. Then, a slightly more pleasant: But she has seen woefully few baseball movies so pony up. I have the blu-ray player covered. After that, Al had received a non-stop barrage of texts from different players arguing about what movies to get or if she’d like books or magazines too. He’d finally had to call his granddaughter up at UC Berkeley just to figure out how to make his damn phone stop yelling at him. Emma was the only person who was nice to him about things like that.
Al followed Mike’s moratorium on the flowers but only because he knew first hand how depressing it was to cart them all home from the hospital. And the smell ...well, too many flowers in a room and suddenly he was at his wife’s wake all over again. He understood how that smell was too much for someone who had lost a loved one. So Al had erred on the side of a universal hospital truth-- the food was terrible. In his hand, he clutched a heavy, greasy bag containing one Dino’s famous meatball sub, extra sauce and cheese, as his offering and paused in the doorway of Ginny’s room.
Ginny looked small in her hospital bed. Nothing like the often cocky rookie who had such a large presence on his team. The room’s overhead lights were dimmed for the evening, a small reading light illuminating the Sudoku puzzle book she worked at with a pen as she bobbed her head to a beat only she could hear. Al watched her for a moment as she struggled to ink a number in with her left hand, her tongue curling against her lip in concentration. She let out a little grunt of frustration after a few failed attempts before tossing the book aside and flopping back onto her pillows and ripping off her headphones. She reminded him of every one of his daughters in that moment and something tightened in his chest. Probably it was the meatball sub he’d already consumed.
“That puzzle offend you in some way, Baker?”
Ginny’s face lit up as she observed him in the doorway. “Skip!” She scrambled to turn off the music still wafting from her headphones.
“Mind if I…?”
Ginny scooted herself upright in her bed, wincing only slightly, and gestured to a vacant chair near her bed. “Please. Have a seat.”
Al plopped the white bag he’d brought onto her tray table, letting it fall open so the enticing scent of marinara filled the air. Ginny’s eyes widened. Her stomach grumbled.
“They not feeding you enough in here?” Al worried as he lowered himself into the chair.
Ginny shrugged and did her best to maneuver the sandwich out of the bag with her one good arm. “I hate jello.”
Al snorted. He took in the room. It was sparse compared to what he was expecting (didn’t a multi-million dollar Nike contract warrant at least a color scheme?) Someone had already shut up the blinds for the night, though he was sure Ginny would have quite the view of the city lights if they’d let her. On the windowsill was a big bouquet of sunflowers surrounded by a few handmade cards with scribbled crayon drawings: Get well soon, Aunt Ginny one read in blue block letters and To our favorite pitcher! We love you! on another. A few more cards were scattered about, though none of them possessed quite the sentiment as the cards from, he presumed, the Sanders twins. There was a tidy stack of DVDs on one end of the sill, sitting next to a shiny new player.
Al watched Ginny as she got to work on the sandwich. She popped a stray fry in her mouth and considered the mess in its styrofoam container.
“What’s the verdict on the elbow, kid?” Al folded his arms across his chest. He gave a pointed look to her arm, braced closely to her body.
Ginny gave him a look right back. “Like you don’t know, Skip.”
“I want to hear it from you.”
With a sigh, Ginny stabbed at her sandwich with a plastic fork. Al considered asking if she wanted help; he honestly hadn’t considered that maybe a sandwich wasn’t the best option for her tonight. He figured he’d let her work it out, though, or learn to ask for help. That’s what it would take these next few weeks and she had to start sometime.
“Doc says I got lucky-- a grade 1 UCL sprain. No tearing yet so no need for surgery. Just rest and rehab.” Ginny rattled off each sentence like she’d said it before. Of course Al knew her exact prognosis, probably knew it before she did, and what it meant for her future. She did get lucky this time. What he wanted to know was where her head was at-- was she up for the work? He didn’t doubt she had it in her. She had already worked harder than any other schmuck on his team. But coming back from an injury, and after her roller coaster first season, well-- it was a different mindset.
“So you’re looking at being a lefty for the next six weeks or so, right?” Al teased. Bored of watching Ginny struggle with her plastic fork against the formidable sandwich, Al swatted her hand away, grabbed a plastic knife, and began to cut her some bite sized pieces.
“Can’t wait,” Ginny muttered, looking embarrassed at his help. “You know I can…”
“No, Baker,” he waved a knife at her. “You can’t . Not right now. And if you’re going to get through these next few weeks and come down to Peoria even better than before, you’re going to need to rely on others for help. Got it?”
Ginny’s cheeks flushed a little and she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah, Skip. Got it.”
“Good girl,” he nodded and passed Ginny back her fork. In the silence that ensued, he contemplated apologizing for that remark because he realized it could be interpreted as misogynistic or condescending or whatever but, dammit, he was a father before he was a manager and Ginny needed a dad right now.
“My mom’s coming to help,” Ginny offered up, almost as if she read his mind, after she swallowed a bite of meatball. “She’ll be in town the day after tomorrow.”
Al nodded. “That’s good.Let her help. Who’s your ortho?”
“Crawford.” Wiping her mouth with a napkin, Ginny frowned slightly. “I thought he was the guy the team sent over?”
Biting back a smirk at the name, Al leaned back in his chair and interlaced his hands behind his head. “The team has a whole host of approved doctors they can offer up. Sometimes players have their own preferences.”
“Oh. Then how did--
“Lawson,” Al chuckled. “Doc Crawford is the one responsible for keeping Lawson relatively intact these past few years. Good man. I don’t know of any other players that have used him; he’s relatively new to the field, into all that cutting edge stuff. Probably earned half his income from Mike’s busted knees.”
Ginny bit her lip. “I just assumed the trainers or Oscar or someone sent him… He got here so quickly.”
“Lawson probably had him on the horn before he left the field yesterday. He can be pretty persuasive when he’s not being an asshole.” Al studied Ginny’s face. She seemed to be struggling to keep her expression neutral as she connected various dots. As it was, he clocked a flutter to her eyelashes and the way her good hand adjusted the pillows under her immobilized arm. He wasn’t exactly surprised Lawson had called his man up to see Baker; players took recommendations from one another all the time and it wasn’t like Ginny had been around long enough to have an ortho on speed dial. But Ginny seemed to be putting a lot of thought into the revelation. Of course, she had a tendency to overthink everything. “Relax, Baker, Lawson set you up well. He’s your captain and, even worse, I think he kind of likes having you around.”
Cheeks tinging pink, Ginny just nodded and went back to eating. As they sat in silence, a sudden thought struck Al.
“Hey. I’m surprised that bulldog agent of yours isn’t standing guard here.”
If Ginny had been struggling to keep her face neutral before, now it was positively stone. “Amelia? I fired her.”
“You fired her?”
Giving her head a shake as if to shrug off his opinion on the matter, Ginny stabbed at her food with more force than necessary. “She wasn’t listening to what I wanted. She was all about selling my brand and making me money and sticking her nose into my family business when I explicitly told her to leave it alone .”
Al frowned. “Making you money is sort of her job, Baker.”
“Yeah. I know . But she just kept crossing the line-- it’s not her job to worry about my brother and what he’s doing!” Ginny slammed her good hand on her tray table, nearly upsetting her dinner.
Leveling his rookie with a look, Al chose his words carefully. He knew he wasn’t in on the full story here but he’d also seen this play out many times before. “I don’t know what you’re specifically talking about, Baker, and maybe Amelia did cross a line. But I’ve seen her work her ass off for you and always in your best interest. That’s hard to find. Let me tell you. I’ve seen it go the other way far too many times. Talk to her. Set down some boundaries. But hire her back because it is her job to deal with the bull crap in your life so that you can focus on healing and rehab and getting your ass back on my roster!”
Ginny wiped at her mouth. Al watched her foot tap underneath the blankets. He assumed that if she wasn’t currently stuck in bed with a bum arm, she’d be pacing the room.
“Listen to me, Baker,” Al offered in his most humble voice, the voice he used to sway his daughters to his side of the family arguments for years. He rested his hand on her bed, just inches from her hip. “I’ve been in this show far too long. I know you want to be just another ball player, Baker, but you’re not. You’re something special.” Al paused and waited for Ginny to swallow back the emotion that had sprung up on her face. “You’re going to need people on your side who understand that, who know what it takes to keep you afloat in the great big ocean of garbage you’re going to have to deal with. You have Blip and Evelyn, I know. Lawson, too, for whatever that’s worth. And me, Baker. You definitely have me on your team. But you need an agent, a good one.”
Ginny let out a deep breath and swiped at her cheek. Al averted his eyes. He swallowed hard.
“Thanks, Skip,” she whispered. She shifted on her bed and it was then Al noticed the plush teddy bear wedged under her braced arm along with the pillow. He didn’t recognize the bear from the merch booths though it wore Padres apparel. He thought again of his daughters and how no matter how big they got they were still, in so many senses, his little girls. Well. There he went again, getting all sentimental.
“You like that sandwich?” Al cleared his throat.
Shaking her head at him, Ginny dug back into her dinner. “Mmmhmm. Beats the rubber chicken they tried to make me eat for dinner. This is delicious.”
Rolling his eyes at her less than impressive table manners, Al had to chuckle. “Dino’s meatball subs are the best. Always get extra sauce and parm. It’s the only way.”
They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes-- Ginny doing an admirable job of polishing off the meal with just her left hand and Al squinting at all the strange devices in the room. He noticed that her phone kept lighting up with alerts, though Ginny didn’t seem bothered to check it. It was then he realized they hadn’t had any interruptions since he’d arrived.
“Expecting any other visitors tonight?” He probed, standing so he could clean up her dinner. She nodded in thanks.
“Either Blip or Ev are going to spring me in the morning so I told them not to bother tonight,” Ginny shrugged. “Most of the guys stopped by earlier today. I told Mike to tell them I really didn’t need more company. Salvi and Sonny kept trying to get pictures of me in my hospital gown.”
Al chuckled as he ambled over to the trash can.
“Don’t worry, rook. I threatened itching powder to jock straps if anyone so much as thought about a photo.” Mike Lawson’s big frame imposed on the doorway. Glancing back at Baker, Al couldn’t help but notice that the smile that lit up her face was of a much higher wattage than the one he’d earned earlier.
Lawson continued to lean against the door jamb, chomping his gum, backlit by the fluorescent hallway lights. Baker shifted in her bed, sitting up straighter and adjusting her blankets. Her braced elbow nudged the teddy bear that had been wedged under it off the side of the bed and onto the floor. Al frowned and went to retrieve it.
“Dropped this, Ginny,” he said softly, joints groaning as he bent to pick up the toy. It was then he noticed that the Padres bear wore a #36 jersey. Using one hand to push up off his knee, he slowly stood up and tossed the bear back to Baker, who looked a little flustered. Still, she gave the bear a gentle pat and tucked it under her injured elbow again.
“Makes a good arm rest,” she said, her voice light and teasing. “Nice and fluffy.”
Lawson’s eyes twinkled in a way that made Al distinctly uncomfortable but maybe that was just the florescent lighting.
“Well, I’ll leave you kids to it,” Al muttered, not quite sure what he was leaving them to do. Only that he could read a room and knew it was his time to go. As he waved goodbye to Ginny, winking at her dimpled smile, Lawson stepped into the room and produced two pints of ice cream from behind his back.
Ginny squealed in delight. “That better be cookies and cream, old man!”
Al did a double take, thinking for a second Ginny was addressing him, but the young pitcher only had eyes for her catcher in that moment. She held her left hand up and easily caught the plastic spoon Mike tossed at her. Mike, who under normal circumstances would unleash his crankiness on whomever had the audacity to call him old, just let Ginny’s remark roll off of him and was even smiling at her. Smiling !
“And I had them crush the chocolate chip cookies and brownie bits inside the ice cream. Special treat.” Mike slid into the chair Al had recently vacated like it was the most familiar thing in the world.
“You went to The Baked Bear for me?” Ginny’s voice was oddly high as she grabbed for the pint Mike slid in her direction (though not before popping the lid for her.)
“They have a stand at Petco, rookie. Don’t let it go to your head.” Mike kept his gaze on his own ice cream, a similarly crushed concoction instead of the company’s usual ice cream sandwich.
Ginny’s eyes wandered over to Mike’s treat. “Did you get yours with Fruity Pebbles?”
“Bug off, Baker,” Mike growled, holding his pint closer to his chest. Though Al noted his ice cream did in fact contain the children’s cereal speckled throughout. He winced. Didn’t sound like something Mike would like…
Yeah. He really needed to leave.
With one last thought, Al sighed and stopped at the door. “Baker.”
Ginny looked up from her dessert, almost surprised to see him still in the room.
“Sunday night. My place for dinner. 7 o’clock. Don’t even think about bringing anything.”
Nodding at him, Ginny gave him another radiant smile. “Sounds good, Skip. Thanks again. For everything.”
“Sunday dinner? What about me?” Lawson frowned at the rookie pitcher, knowing exactly what response was coming from his manager.
“Cook your own damned dinner, Lawson.” Al left the room with a wave in Mike’s direction. He couldn’t help but smirk at the strangely musical bark of laughter that trailed out the door after him.