The benefits of being a closer were thus: minimum effort, maximum glory.
It was the perfect job, in Cat's esteemed opinion.
No one questioned her when she walked into the clubhouse after noon, carrying only her glove and a jacket slung over her shoulder. No one batted an eye when she waltzed into the bullpen and waved her hand for the nearest catcher to field her practice pitches. No one said a word when she left the clubhouse by two after throwing an easy number of unequivocal strikes.
Methods didn't matter. Only results.
As long as Cat continued to deliver results, she could continue to train by her own methods.
Unquestioned. Unmatched.
Unchallenged.
That was until a new player joined the club.
---
Mallory Crieff seemed to take all the air out of a room.
It was a confusing and unsettling sensation because every part of her appearance signaled soft, gentle, kind. She wore her red hair back in neat braids, most likely to ease the donning and removal of a cap and face mask but coupled with her soft knit jumper they made her look more like a teacher than a baseball player. The kind of teacher that gave extensions on homework and turned down the students who fancied her with a gentle smile.
How could she be leaving Cat breathless?
The most annoying part of the sensation was that no one else seemed affected. Carolyn, who had called the meeting, waxed on effortlessly about the (economic) value Mallory would add to the team, only occasionally slipping in mention of her defensive prowess. Theresa seemed pleased with Carolyn's choice and she spoke easily as she welcomed Mallory to the club. Linda also had no trouble introducing herself as she stated how eager she was to start working with Mallory.
"And this is Cat Richardson, our closer."
Carolyn's words turned Mallory's focus to Cat and the constriction in her chest tightened as she was pinned down by the intensity of Mallory's gaze.
Mallory held out her hand for Cat to shake.
It was warm and rough, as expected and not.
"Crieff," Cat said, coughing by way of explaining the rasp to her voice.
Mallory didn't bat an eye. "Richardson."
"It's a pleasure."
"We'll see."
—-
Mallory Crieff took up too much space.
Wherever Cat went in the clubhouse, whenever she went, Mallory was there.
The woman didn't seem to rest.
As a catcher and pitcher, respectively, it was understandable that their paths would cross from time to time but the regularity and the inevitability of Mallory's presence was beginning to wear on Cat's nerves.
When she entered the locker room Mallory was there, stretching her legs out in club-branded shirt and sweats.
When she went to the cafeteria Mallory was there, seemingly engrossed in a score book as she ate her lunch.
When she went to the bullpen Mallory was there, decked head-to-toe in gear, throwing balls and encouraging words to Linda.
It was ubiquitous bordering on oppressive.
She was like a shadow Cat couldn't shake.
Or a mirage she couldn't reach.
—-
Mallory approached her for the first time after the game against Bristol.
Another save for Cat's statistics.
She was standing at the clubhouse entrance when Cat arrived, glove in hand, jacket slung over her shoulder. She was dressed in a practice uniform, her hair braided as always, standing next to the reception desk when she could have been sitting, or at the very least, leaning.
She raised a brow when she checked her watch.
Cat nodded as she passed, not giving any thought to the air-sucking mirage.
"Richardson."
Cat stopped and turned. She felt Mallory approach, the gravitational pull she exuded drawing her back.
"Crieff."
"You have a good changeup."
Cat grinned at the expected yet unexpected praise.
Bristol had been their first game together, the first time Cat stood on the mound looking down at Mallory behind home plate. The first time Mallory caught her pitch and got to see the results Cat delivered every time she was called upon, without fail.
"Thank you," she said, leaning her elbow against the reception desk. "The papers like to call it 'The Ghost' because it-"
"It's predictable."
Cat pulled back, her arms dropping to her sides, her jacket low enough to touch the floor.
"It works," she argued, having no other words prepared for the criticism.
"It's predictable," Mallory repeated. "It has good speed and a good drop but it's the same every time. It's too consistent."
Cat scoffed, the breathless constriction gripping her chest.
Mallory didn't bat an eye.
"Once teams realize that," Mallory continued, "once someone notices, it'll only be a matter of time before they figure out the timing. Once that happens, it'll be useless."
You'll be useless.
"Unless you have other pitches."
"Of course I have other pitches!"
The words came out louder than Cat intended. They were sharp and aggravated as they bounced off the empty entrance walls. Walls adorned with larger than life images: the club logo; a bird's eye view of the field; Cat Richardson, indispensable closer.
Of course she had other pitches.
Mallory merely raised a brow.
"Could I see them?" she asked. "We could go to the bullpen and-"
"No."
Cat pushed past Mallory before she could say another word.
She stalked out of the clubhouse, letting her jacket drag along behind her as she sought out her car in the car park. She threw her glove and her jacket into the backseat and slammed the doors shut with her inside.
She wanted to scream.
She couldn't breathe.
—-
Methods didn't matter.
No one questioned Cat when she shoved into the clubhouse the next day at eight, bag on her shoulder and a scowl on her face, startling Arthur in the midst of hoovering.
No one batted an eye when she marched into the bullpen and demanded their rookie catcher follow her to the indoor grounds to work on her pitching.
No one said a word when she passed intentionally close to Mallory as she left the bullpen, meeting Mallory's unwavering gaze beat for beat.
Cat slammed her car door shut, the sound echoing over the empty car park as she pulled on her jacket and walked towards the clubhouse. She couldn't believe she was back. It was bad enough that she now regularly spent full days at the clubhouse; to be dragged back at the end of one of said days, after dinner, when she should be enjoying a nice glass of wine, was unbelievable.
And it was her own damn fault.
She flicked on the hall lights as she went straight for the locker room. It wasn't hard to find her mobile - it was right where she left it at the bottom of her locker. Dropped and temporarily forgotten, the screen seemed to mock her when she checked for notifications and read the time. It was half eight: three hours since she'd let the clubhouse and less than twelve hours until she'd be back.
She was training harder than she ever had at Fitton, working more than she had since her days as a rookie.
And it was all Mallory Crieff's fault.
Cat shoved away thoughts of Mallory - blame could be distributed tomorrow during practice - and started back to her car, turning the locker room lights off as she left. She killed the hall lights too, only then noticing the shadows at her feet being cast by light coming in from the practice field.
She stood in the darkness for a moment, wondering who exactly Carolyn would be killing for leaving the field lights on.
She slipped her phone into her pocket and walked down the hall, away from the clubhouse entrance and her car, away from her nightcap and out to the practice field.
The field was empty, the infield awash in a bright, florescent glow. Cat walked out to the mound without thought, her feet guiding her to the place where she belonged. She could see the whole grounds from up there, from the dugouts to the outfield, from the bleachers to the-
Crack.
Cat turned her head to the batting cages. She swore she heard a-
Crack.
She left the mound, crossing the field at a quick pace. Nancy frequently left the lights on before Carolyn traded her; maybe her ghost had returned to haunt the batting cages.
Reality was worse than a ghost.
Cat groaned as she approached the cages and the batter's stance came into sight.
Unbelievable.
"Crieff! What are you doing here?"
Why was she always here?
If Mallory heard her, she showed no sign of it. Cat could see her face as she stalked up to the cages, her unwavering gaze focused solely on the pitching machine opposite her.
"Crieff!" she shouted again.
Mallory didn't turn, didn't blink. Her gloved hands tightened around the grip of the bat. The machine threw another ball and she hit it back with a resounding crack.
"Why are you still here?"
Mallory swung without hesitation.
Crack.
"Does Carolyn know you're here?"
Cat came up behind her, a screen of netting all that separated them. Mallory's shoulders seemed to tense in her presence. She hit the next pitch but the timing was off and the ball bounced forward, an easy ground out. Cat grinned, no one around to chastise her for taking pleasure in Mallory's imperfection.
"Do you not get enough batting practice during the day?" she asked, watching for any other inconsistencies. "Or are you just a glutton for punishment?"
Mallory hit again, looking more relaxed as the ball flew into the netting. She stood in the furthest point of her swing for a moment before resetting in her stance. She didn't look back.
"You would be the type who thinks practice is punishment."
Cat grabbed the net with both hands. "What did you say?"
"Nothing," Mallory said, eyes still fixed on the pitching machine.
"Don't patronize me, Crieff!"
Cat had enough sense to wait until the next pitch was hit before she ducked under the net, inviting herself into the cage. She tapped the pitching machine off and stood in front of home plate.
"If you have something to say," she said, staring down at Mallory in the batter's box, "you should say it."
Mallory stood slowly, letting the bat come to rest at her side. Her cleats brought them eye to eye, her gaze unwavering in the face of Cat's intrusion.
"Can you please-"
"Say it."
"Some of us have to practice," Mallory said, her tone firm and harsh. "Some of us want to practice. We need to do well. We can't all be stars with our name and face plastered on every wall. Some of us have to do our jobs so we don't lose our jobs."
Cat scoffed. "Why would lose your job?"
"Because I didn't get a hit against Newcastle."
Mallory shifted back, away from her words, not a retreat but a pause. It was unnerving to witness.
"So?" Cat asked, feeling her bluster slip away. "It was one game."
Mallory's pause was unnerving but the fall of her gaze was outright distressing. Cat couldn't process the break in eye contact, the way Mallory's profile showed hesitation in a way her face never did.
This wasn't how it worked.
This wasn't the challenge Cat was promised.
She found it hard to breathe.
"Carolyn hired to me hit," Mallory said, quieter but not softly.
"I'm pretty sure she hired you to be a catcher," Cat said.
Mallory spoke to home plate. "On a team that already has three."
Cat had never considered that.
In hindsight, Mallory wasn't an easily explained addition to the roster. They already had skill and depth at catcher and good battery relationships in the bullpen. Knowing Carolyn, Mallory would only have been brought on if she was a bargain, something Carolyn could buy at cost rather than retail markup - like a strong hitter, something the team had been lacking for a while, for the price of a fourth string catcher.
That explained all the batting practice.
Cat shook her head, shoving away notions before they could become thoughts.
"You're not going to get fired over one game," she said, staring at the batting helmet Mallory wore.
It wasn't a comfort, merely a fact.
Mallory looked up and Cat found comfort in the frown set on her features. Her gaze was firm, if dulled.
"You're fortunate to have the inexperience to think that's true." Mallory waved a gloved hand. "Now, can you please move?"
Cat nodded and stepped out of the way, letting the net slide over her shoulders as she left the cage. Mallory waited until the net fell into place before tapping the pitching machine on again. She took her stance, hands wrapped tightly around the bat, her unwavering gaze focused on the machine.
There was no trace of their conversation in her movements but Cat couldn't unsee the hesitation of Mallory's profile.
She left the batting cages, walking through the lit practice field and into the dark clubhouse halls. Her hand drifted to her mobile in her pocket and her fingers typed out the search query of their own accord.
Mallory Crieff.
Catcher.
Bats: Right. Throws: Right.
Undrafted.
Four teams in five years.
Cat walked through the nearly empty car park, taking note of the other lone car sitting at the end of the row. She slipped into her car, closing the door as she let out a breath, shutting herself in while shutting the distant crack of a bat out.
She was training harder than she ever had at Fitton but she had never trained as hard as Mallory Crieff.
Cat drew in a short breath, staring down at the mitt on the other end of the bullpen.
This was her job, her proficiency, her world. She had made a name for herself by being near unhittable. More strikeouts than any other rookie pitcher in the league, more games saved as a closer than any other pitcher in Fitton's history. It was impossible to be perfect - Cat would never admit to the impossibility - but she was nearer to the inconceivable than anyone else currently playing the game.
There would be no asterisks next to her name in the history books. No ifs, ands, or buts.
Not if she had anything to say about it.
Cat pitched, throwing her arm down in a comfortable and familiar fashion. She had phased her fastball out of rotation by choice. It was easier to throw her changeup and the results were nearly the same so she hadn't seen a need to keep an abundance of pitches around.
Until Mallory Crieff suggested she couldn't throw anything else.
Of course she had other pitches.
The ball hit the mitt with a satisfying sound. Janice, the club's rookie catcher, rocked back a little on her feet from the force of the impact. She caught herself and settled before throwing the ball back to Cat.
"Nice pitch!" Janice called. "The speed is incredible."
"Thank you," Cat said with a grin.
She turned the ball in her hand, running her thumb along the seams. She could almost feel warmth coming off the surface, residual heat from cutting through the air.
Nothing had changed.
"Go get Crieff."
"What?" Janice asked. "What was that?"
Cat looked up, raising her voice, eager to set the record straight.
"Go get Crieff," she said again. "Bring her here."
Janice stood slowly. "I... don't know where she is right now."
"Then find her," Cat said as if it was obvious, which it was. Rookies. "She never leaves before five, she has to be here. Find her and bring her here."
Janice took off her face mask, looking back at Cat from behind the representation of home plate. She seemed unsure, as rookies often were, but she finally moved when Cat waved her hand in the direction of the bullpen entrance. She had the decency to leave in a light jog as she went out to search the clubhouse.
Cat took a break once Janice was out of sight. She tossed her glove onto the bench behind her and stretched her arms up into the air. It had been a while since she'd pitched this much. Mild aches made themselves known in protest to the sudden change in training regimen. She tried to rub the soreness from her muscles.
It would be worth it. She could cut back again once Mallory saw what she was capable of, once she acknowledged Cat's skill.
Once Cat proved she would never be useless.
It took longer than she expected for Janice to return with Mallory Crieff in tow. Cat was in her second round of stretches, arms pulled over her shoulders, when Janice reentered the bullpen.
Mallory looked anything but interested.
"You summoned?" she asked, tone as flat as her expression.
Mallory rested a bat over her right shoulder, still standing beyond the threshold of the bullpen. She was wearing gloves, elbow guards, and a batting helmet, the club green accessory covering her presumably braided hair.
Cat turned to pick up her glove.
"You asked if had other pitches," she said despite both of them knowing Mallory hadn't asked.
"And?"
"Watch."
Cat waved her hand and Janice hurried to the opposite side of the bullpen. She waited until Janice was in position before looking back at Mallory.
Mallory stood still for a full minute. She sighed and stepped into the bullpen, letting the bat rest at her side.
Cat nodded at Janice and pitched.
When there was no reaction from her audience of one, Cat pitched again. And again. And again. Fastball after fastball hit Janice's mitt, the sound of impact still echoing in the air when the next pitch landed. Cat pitched over and over again, in faster succession than she would if there was a batter at the plate.
After ten pitches, she turned to Mallory, breathless.
"Well?"
Mallory was looking in Janice's direction.
"They were all balls."
"What?!"
Cat moved without thinking, stomping into Mallory's space. She had freckles scattered over her cheeks and nose, presumably from being out in the sun during practice. She remained still, unfazed by Cat's sudden proximity.
"They passed high at the plate," Mallory said, only then bothering to look at Cat. "They were all balls."
"You can't tell that without a batter in the box!" Cat argued.
She stared at Mallory, unwilling to back down from her unwavering gaze.
Mallory turned away first and Cat grinned at the victory until she realized Mallory was walking towards Janice, not the exit. Mallory smiled at Janice, exchanging a pleasant word with the other catcher before taking her place in the box.
She stared at Cat, a new level of intensity radiating across the bullpen.
"Well?"
Cat scowled and stalked back to the rubber.
It was Mallory's choice to stand there. It was her choice to stand in the box across from Cat. It was her choice to voluntarily fight an unwinnable battle.
Cat would make her regret that choice.
She nodded at Janice and pitched.
To Mallory's credit, she showed no fear at the plate. Cat had seen stronger, more powerful batters flinch away from her fastball, shaken by the speed. Mallory stood still as one, two, then three pitches passed her, not even making an effort to swing.
Struck out looking.
Cat smiled as Janice threw the ball back.
"How did it look from there?" she asked loudly, knowing she would be heard.
Mallory stood at the question, letting the bat come down from her stance.
"They were all balls," she said, matching Cat's volume. "Do you want to throw another and walk me?"
"They were not-"
Cat cut herself off when Mallory raised a gloved hand and held it level with her shoulders. She wanted to argue, she wanted to scream, but the gesture seemed to knock the wind out of her, causing her to stoop forward and brace herself on her thighs.
Mallory wasn't right.
She couldn't be right.
Cat closed her eyes. She felt like she was falling.
"Can I go back to batting practice now?" Mallory asked.
"I don't care," Cat muttered with no regard to whether or not she could be heard.
She left the bullpen, glove in hand, dropping the ball somewhere along the practice field. She didn't look at anyone as she headed to the locker room. She didn't acknowledge the looks when she took her glove off and threw it into her locker.
Cat fell to the floor, hands at her face, trying to scrub the image of Mallory's gloved hand from her mind.
Cat turned from the mirror, moving towards her hat as she secured the last button on her jacket.
Mallory watched her from their bed where she sat nestled in the center of pillows and duvet. Her red hair - soft, wavy, and lovingly tousled - fell over her face, obscuring some but not all of her hopeful expression. It was so subtle, so forgiving; it made Mallory both guilty and guileless as Cat conceded with a grin and a groan.
"If I get fired," Cat said, shedding her jacket in exchange for Mallory's embrace, "it's all your fault."
Cat drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, feeling the restlessness she associated with long flights filling the void of activity.
They'd barely moved in the last hour. Cat could still see the same tread marks of the car in front of them in the snow. She had counted and traced and memorized the pattern of the tire tread in an attempt to keep her focus on the road. Just in case. Just in case there was a miracle and the traffic instantly cleared up, allowing them to have even a hope of making any part of Christmas dinner.
She glanced up through the front windshield.
Perhaps God was busy helping her dad.
A movement in the passenger seat caught her eye. Cat looked over at Mallory just as her girlfriend stuffed her mobile into a cup holder.
"It's like this all the way to Bristol," Mallory sighed. She turned slightly towards Cat, curling in on herself as she sunk down in the seat. "It's going to take hours for us to get there. We won't make dinner. We might not even see my dad; he'll probably be asleep by then."
Mallory's disappointment was restrained - it barely registered above a three on a scale from no disappointment whatsoever to utter heartbreak - but Cat knew how much she valued her traditions. Mallory and her dad had clung to each other after her mom died, a desperation that grew into one of the strongest family units Cat had ever known. It had been just the two of them but that alone had been everything they needed.
For every weekend, birthday, and... Christmas.
Cat opened her mouth to say that it was okay, they would eventually arrive and see Mallory's dad on Boxing Day, but she knew deep down that it wasn't. She had promised Mallory that they would make Christmas dinner with her dad even with Cat having to fly on Christmas Day. She couldn't break that promise. She couldn't bear to think that Mallory might lose faith in her word.
She didn't want to set that precedent.
She glanced up through the front windshield again.
Perhaps the next best thing.
Cat waited for Mallory to fall asleep before she reached for her mobile, easily texting her dad in the non-moving traffic.
It took longer than she thought.
It cost more too, including the promise of unpaid flying hours on Cat's part, outside of her job for MJN.
But the look on Mallory's face when Martin knocked on their car window was worth anything and everything Cat could give.
Inspired by this prompt: Character is cursed to forget their loved one.
AU: Urban fantasy)
---
It was frustrating, to say the least.
Cat paced the snow-covered streets of Fitton, being careful not to bump into any of the local people running their errands or doing their Christmas shopping. Complete strangers smiled at her and offered, more than once, to help her find what she was looking for because she was, apparently, obviously lost. No matter how kind the Fitton residents were, Cat couldn't ask them to help her.
Even she didn't know what she was looking for.
Cat felt like she was chasing a ghost; it wasn't exactly the worst way of putting it. She had forgotten something - someone - the result of a curse put on her by her mother. It was petty and cruel and the curse had been cast in spite, her mother not wanting to subject others to the curse of loving a Richardson. Cat's lifestyle up to a certain point had made the curse completely irrelevant but now she was missing someone, someone she loved, and she felt lost, cheated, and haunted by the fading beat of another's heart.
She stopped in front of a little coffee shop, hoping in vain for something to feel familiar.
Fitton was the only clue she had. A little town four hours outside of London, featuring an agricultural college, a squash festival, and an airfield Cat had never flown into. The name of the town appeared too often in Cat's life for it to be a coincidence: scribbled on notes in her flat, printed on the town paper in her flight bag, listed in recent searches on her phone. It was her only lead and she'd followed it blindly without anything else to go on.
Cat walked into the coffee shop, needing to do something so she wasn't just aimlessly walking up and down the streets. She glanced around at the other patrons as she waited for her order.
How could she have forgotten the person she loved?
Because she was aware of her mother's curse, Cat could feel her loss. She could feel the emptiness in her heart that had once been full, the clouded memories of emotions that were now more like dreams. She could hear the echoes of song and sentiment in a voice that refused to reveal itself to her.
The person she loved still existed on the edge of her consciousness and with every passing moment the curse washed more and more of them away.
Cat sighed, reaching into her coat pocket for her mobile, intending to call her father. Although he had no magic himself, her father always had a plan and Cat could use a plan of attack right now. She dropped her phone, cursing under her breath as she bent to pick it up, nearly knocking over another customer in the process. Cat grabbed the woman's arm to steady them both.
A vision of red hair and warm wools looked back at her.
"I'm sorry!"
"I'm so sorry!"
Cat smiled at the flustered woman's apology. "Why are you sorry. I almost knocked you over."
The woman paused to consider the situation. "I don't know," she said with a shrug. "It's a reflex."
"You have nothing to apologize for," Cat assured her. "I knelt down in a walkway, I almost knocked you over; I'm at fault. I'm very sorry about that... Mallory"
The woman's brow knit in confusion, an expression Cat found unexpectedly endearing. She followed Cat's eyes to her cup where 'Mallory' was printed in large, easy to read letters. She shook her head as a light blush colored her cheeks.
"Thank you but it's fine, no harm done." The woman pat Cat's arm lightly, reminding Cat that she was still holding on to her. "Have a nice day," she said, offering Cat a smile.
Cat smiled again as she stepped back to give the woman room to pass. "You too."
The woman glided past her, a soft floral scent and a sense of warmth going with her as she left the coffee shop.
Cat sighed, the feeling of loss weighing down on her again once the woman was out of sight. She turned her phone over in her hand, bringing up her father's contact information on the screen. Before she could ring his number, her name was called at the counter. Cat picked up her drink and called her father, interrupting him as she walked out the door.
The umbrella: Mallory does, because she’s the only one who remembers an umbrella. This is because she looks like a drowned rat when wet, but Cat somehow manages to look stunning, and she knows it.
The basket: Again, Mallory, because Cat’s too busy being picky about what she buys for dinner, and reading the labels on things and testing out produce.
The other’s hand most often: Cat. She’s all about the PDA, and likes how the little touches still startle Mallory, and make her glow a bit in delight and pride.
(I was tagged by @prettybirdy979. Thanks for thinking of me!
Take five minutes and five minutes only to write a drabble. No re-reading or editing.)
---
"Mallory? Are you all-"
"I can't do this," Mallory blurted out, hands wringing together as she paced in the small room. She moved frantically, the long length of her dress skirting behind her as she walked in tight, tense circles. "I'm not ready. I'm not good enough."
Cat grabbed Mallory, pulling her visibly shaken partner to a stop. She took Mallory's hands in hers, holding firmly but rubbing her thumbs gently over the backs of Mallory's hands.
"Of course you're good enough," Cat insisted. She squeezed Mallory's hands when hesitant hazel eyes met hers.
"How do you know?"
"Because I love you."
Mallory smiled, first from sheer nerves, then softening into the gentle smile Cat knew and loved.
"And I'm a Richardson," Cat said with a hint of a grin. She pulled Mallory close and rest their heads together, quickly nudging Mallory's nose. "We only love the best."
Mallory breathed a light laugh as Cat kissed her, slowly, softly, until the tremble of fear was nearly gone.
"Now, come on. You can't be late to your own debut."
---
(Five minutes is extremely short. If you’d like to have a go, I tag @jay-eagle, @c3mf, @skygosh, @madnina, and @a-drab-lunacy. Only if you like!)
