Fair Territory

“Um. Well my n-name- Shit. No, sorry. Let me start over…My name’s Alex Gaskarth. I’m seventeen. I’m your new Bat Boy.”

~

“If I fuck this up, I swear to God…”

Alex Gaskarth tightens his grip on the leather glove in his hands, staring down at the tiny black scribble of a name along the heel of it. Any other day, he’d be concerned that he’s talking to himself out in public. But right now he doesn’t care because he’s about to start the most amazing opportunity in his life so far. He’s standing in the middle of a long, empty hallway, right in front of a door that has a name plate that reads ‘Matthew Squire – Manager’. The name alone has him practically shaking in his baseball cleats. This has to go well. If it doesn’t, he’ll never forgive himself.

He lifts his hand to knock on the office door. It feels heavier than usual, as if he’s got a weight attached to it. But he ignores it, forces himself to just knock loudly yet not too loudly to be obnoxious and take a step back. He glances around, taking in his surroundings. He’s in the office hallway in one of the most well-known baseball stadiums on the East Coast – Richmond County Bank Ballpark. Anyone who is a fan of minor league ball knows its name and knows the team that plays there. The Staten Island Yankees.

“Come in!”

Alex swallows hard, takes a deep breath and grabs the office door handle and pushes it open, stepping into the manager’s office. He’s expecting to see the man he’s seen on the cover of sports magazines, the one whose name is in the paper’s headlines. Matt Squire – he’s a well known manager, well-known all around nice guy. Alex just hopes he’s nice to him. Because he’s nervous as fuck.

Sitting at the desk in the office is a short man (Alex only knows this because he researched the guy’s stats and found that he’s definitely under six feet), smiling at Alex as if he’s looking at an old friend.

“Alex! Come in and sit down!” He gestures to the comfortable looking seat in front of the desk, still smiling and still looking as excited to see Alex as Alex is to see him. “How’ve you been since our last meeting?”

Alex smiles slightly, trying his best to forget about his less than stellar meeting with the manager three weeks ago. He stuttered and stumbled over words and was sure he didn’t leave a very good impression. But here the manager is acting as if he doesn’t remember any of that.

“I’ve been great, sir. Practicing with my team and everything,” Alex says, speaking louder than his usual tone.

“Excellent! And I’m sure you’ve been winning games – I’ve seen you play. You’re quite talented.”

Alex blushes, “Thank you,” He says, even though he’s sure that the manager is just being overly nice. “We’ve been doing alright.”

“Good, then. So let’s just get started on everything.”

Alex signs three papers, adding them to the millions of other things he’s had to sign since being chosen as the bat boy. His hands shake as he writes his name along the dotted lines in cursive. He’s been practicing his signature. Not that he’d tell anyone that out loud.

“So practice starts in about a half hour,” Squire says, pushing his seat away from the desk so he can stand. “I’ll bring you down to the locker rooms and introduce you to Brendon. He’s our other bat boy – been with us for a couple of months. Since the end of our last season, actually. He’ll be able to tell you what you’re going to be doing each day.”

“Okay,” Alex agrees, getting up and following the man out into the hallway. He keeps his glove close to him, eyes moving down to read the small signature. It belongs to Gabe Saporta, one of Alex’s favorite players on the team. He’s not sure if he wants to meet Gabe today – he knows he’s going to be around at some point. Alex feels like he’ll get too nervous, too tongue-tied and will embarrass himself. It’ll probably be best if he gets used to his job before meeting anyone of significant status.

“I think the full team is coming in today, last time I checked my calendar,” Squire says as they walk down flights of stairs. “I’ll introduce you to a few of them. You’ll get to know them as the season goes by. We’re a close team – we’re all friends.”

Alex just nods, his throat too dry to say anything. He knows that Gabe is really good friends with Ryan Ross, one of the pitchers, and he also hangs out with Matt Flyzik, one of the physical trainers. Alex knows a lot about this team – if he fucks this job up, he’ll only have himself to blame for it.

“Here we are.”

Alex finds himself standing in the doorway of the Staten Island Yankee’s locker room – one place he never really believed he’d ever be. He smiles as he looks around, taking in the jersey’s hanging up and the pictures and all the other memories from past seasons. Over in the corner, sitting in front of one locker that has Ryan Ross’s jersey hanging up in it, sits a young boy who looks maybe a year or two older than Alex. He’s got a blue bag sitting at his feet and in his hands is a baseball and what looks like a hairbrush.

“Urie,” Squire calls out in a friendly tone, walking closer, “Urie, I brought you a new friend. God knows you need them.”

The boy looks up, scowls at Squire as he says, “I have plenty of friends.” But then he looks over at Alex, eyes lighting up. “But I could always use another!” He stands up, drops the baseball and brush and wipes his hands on his white pants, black streaks appearing on them. “My name’s Brendon. Brendon Urie. Remember that because one day I’ll be famous.”

Squire laughs, shakes his head, “Brendon’s only here because he needs to save money for art school. He doesn’t really like baseball at all.”

“That’s a lie, Squire,” Brendon says, crossing his arms. “Of course I like baseball. Where else am I going to see a large group of physically fit men between the ages of nineteen and twenty five in tight baseball uniforms?”

Alex widens his eyes, not expecting him to say that to someone as respectable as Matt Squire. But Squire just shakes his head again, barely containing his smile as he clearly finds Brendon amusing. “Okay Brendon. Whatever you say. I’m going to leave Alex here with you if you don’t mind showing him around. I’m waiting for a phone call from Butch, who left me an angry-sounding voicemail. And he’s not very pleasant to deal with, angry or not.”

Both Brendon and Alex know who Squire is talking about. Butch Walker is the owner of the New York Yankees. He’s one of the top owners of all of baseball – one of the most respected. He does what he wants when he wants and he’s got a lot of power over a lot of people.

“I can handle Alex. Good luck with your phone call!”

Alex watches Squire leave, kind of wishing he would come back. He was easy to talk to and easy to be around. He’s nervous about who he’s going to meet from here on in. Although, Brendon seems nice enough.

“So!” Brendon says loudly, clapping his hands together and looking at Alex with a gleeful expression. “I’ll give you a tour?”

-&-

“So this is the audition for the role of ‘pitcher’, right? Haha! Just kidding! I’m here to be your bat boy. Whatever that means.”

-

Brendon Urie doesn’t really like baseball. He’s never understood why people are so fascinated with it. You hit the ball, run around in a circle and step on a base and hope you get there before the ball does. It’s not nearly as fun as playing the piano or singing or anything else that Brendon enjoys. But, it turns out that going to art school is a serious investment money-wise. And he has no money. So, he needed to find a way to get some. He searched through millions of job ads, but the only one he really qualified for was the one for the bat boy of the Staten Island Yankees. So he took it. And so far, it’s turned out to be a good decision.

“If I see your eyes on my ass one more time, I swear to God, Urie, you’re getting clubbed with a bat,” Martin Johnson says, his tone light, telling Brendon that he’s not being serious. He smiles at Brendon and takes a practice swing from where he’s standing in the on-deck circle.

“You don’t have an ass for me to admire,” Brendon responds, giving him a cheeky smile before dropping the bag of baseballs along the third base line. “Besides, Ryan wouldn’t like it if I went around staring at asses other than his.”

“You’ve got that right,” Mumbles someone from behind him and Brendon knows that voice by heart.

He turns around, finds Ryan Ross standing there tossing a ball up into the air, catching it in his mitt and smirking. His tall and thin frame looks good in a baseball uniform, despite how ugly it is. Brendon thinks the uniforms need to be re-designed but nobody will take him seriously.

Ryan reaches out and knocks the hat off of Brendon’s head. “You better get back to work before Squire sees you fooling around,” Ryan warns affectionately. “Hurry back to your new partner.”

Brendon looks back towards the dugout where Alex is sitting. He’s ‘mudding’ the baseballs that they’re going to be using during practice today. He looks nervous, and although Brendon doesn’t quite understand why, considering he wasn’t nervous at all when he first started, he does feel bad for the guy. Unlike Brendon, he follows baseball, knows the team and knows their stats and numbers and whatnot. The guys on this team are kind of like heroes to him, Brendon can only assume.

“He’s pretty nice,” Brendon says, pointing towards Alex. “He’s hot, too.”

Ryan cocks his head, smiles slightly, “Yeah he is pretty hot.”

“Guys, you don’t help the accusations of us being the ‘gayest team in baseball’, you know,” Martin points out. “You’re going to scare him away before he even finishes a full day on the job.”

“No,” Brendon muses, looking back at Alex, “He’s gay too.”

“What, he told you? Or were you rude and did you just ask him?” Ryan asks, frowning disapprovingly, knowing the way his boyfriend’s brain works.

“No. But you know how good I am at picking them out. I can tell. He’s definitely gay.”

Martin looks over at Ryan, rolls his eyes and takes the few steps over to home plate. He takes a few practice swings and Ryan and Brendon stand there and watch as the pitcher throws him a fastball that he swings right through. Martin’s not a hitter – he’s a pitcher who thinks he can hit, too. Nobody has the heart to tell him he should just stick to his forte.

“So. You free tonight?” Ryan asks quietly, stepping a bit closer to Brendon’s shorter form.

Brendon smiles playfully, sways a bit on his feet as he looks up and replies, “I think so. What’d you have in mind?”

“Dinner at the diner down the block from me and then watching a movie on my couch. You in?”

“Is snuggling included?”

“As always.”

“Okay then.”

-&-

“I’m only here because Butch made me. I should be moved back up – I deserve to be moved back up. I’m the best fucking first baseman they had. They’re not going to win without me.”

-

“Jack! Heads up!”

Jack Barakat ducks automatically, his arms covering his head and his knees sinking to the ground. He hears the sound of something flying only inches away from his ear, and he inhales sharply – that was a close one. One of the closest he’s had to deal with since Dallon Weekes was moved up two weeks ago. Dallon’s a great pitcher and a great guy but his ability to throw from far distances is weak and he usually always ends up hitting someone in the head.

Once he hears the ball land somewhere behind him, Jack deems it safe to get up, uncovering his head and opening his eyes. Dallon’s tall and lanky form is running towards him, and Jack can see that he’s laughing.

“Dude! That almost hit you,” He says loudly, barely containing his smile.

Jack barely reacts. “Yeah. It’s hysterical isn’t it?”

Noticing how un-funny Jack thinks it is, Dallon sobers up, gets rid of the smile and holds out his hand. “My apologies,” he says, his tone a complete 180 from what it was two seconds before. “Forgive me?”

“Yeah, yeah whatever,” Jack mumbles, smiling just a little bit. The guy can’t really help it all that much.

Jack picks up the baseball from where it lies a few feet behind him and hands it back over, watching Dallon run back over to the opposite end of the field where he’s been practicing his pitching with Rian Dawson, the main catcher for the team. Rian’s nice, too. One of their best players. Jack thinks it’s only a matter of time before Squire talks to Butch about moving him up. And at that thought, Jack’s frowning and sending death glares towards Rian. The jealousy burning inside him is almost too much for him to handle. But he’s going to have to control himself. His lack of control is what landed him back here in the first place.

He finishes his warm-up quickly, doing the basic stretches and completely ignoring his physical trainer’s advice. His name’s Matt Flyzik and he’s probably the best physical trainer in the minors and Jack is lucky to have him. But Jack’s not in the mood today. So he does what he wants and then goes to grab a bat, ready to hit a few balls and blow off some steam. He’s been working hard lately, trying to prove that he’s ready to move back up to the majors. But squire says he isn’t – that he won’t be at all this season. And Jack’s definitely not okay with that. He wants out of here.

“It was so weird, man,” Jack hears Caleb Turman, the team’s left fielder, saying to John O’Callaghan. “I saw Zack Merrick hanging around the front of the stadium when I got here this morning. I was going to ask him what he was doing but he left before I got the chance.”

Jack turns away from them, a scowl on his face for two reasons – one, because he hates John O’Callaghan, and two, because he also hates Zack Merrick. Hearing one’s name while the other is in perfect view pains Jack and he wants to slam his bat into the dirt out of frustration. But he doesn’t because that would draw him attention. Attention that he doesn’t really need.

John O’Callaghan is the team’s captain and the team’s second baseman. He’s twenty three years old, going to college (which is paid for by the team) and he’s an all-around nice guy. But Jack can’t stand him. He shouldn’t be the captain. Jack should be. Jack’s a better player. But apparently, in everyone’s eyes, Jack is not a “team” player, and John is. And that’s why Squire picked him.

And Zack Merrick? He plays shortstop – for the rival team, the Brooklyn Cyclones. He’s their captain. And Jack’s not the only one who hates him. The two teams, being rivals, can’t stand each other. And it makes sense, for the most part. But maybe sometimes Jack takes the hate a bit too far. Once he started a rumor about Zack that involved police investigation and a Canadian goose. Unfortunately, the press was quick to identify it as exactly what it was – a rumor. Nobody knew it was Jack, luckily for him.

“Yeah…That’s weird,” John agrees, “I dunno…Maybe he was just…Actually, I can’t think of any reason for him to be here.”

Jack would have to agree with John, whether he liked it or not. Why would Zack Merrick even come within a mile of this stadium? He’s got his own practice to go to in Brooklyn. He should just stay over there and not leave unless necessary.

Sighing, Jack turns back to look at the batters box. Alex Grieco is batting now, his stance wider than Jack would suggest and his hands too high up on the bat. But somehow, he still manages to hit quite a few balls that Martin Johnson has thrown at him. Grieco is one of the smaller guys on the team – Jack not far behind him. He’s a good friend, too, Jack notes. And his speed is something that everyone envies – he can steal bases better than any of them and Squire knows that. That ability is what’s going to get him moved up. Sooner, hopefully, rather than later. He’s one person that Jack wouldn’t mind getting moved up before him.

“E-excuse me?”

Jack stumbles, startled by the unfamiliar voice suddenly behind him. He knows every guy’s voice on this team – he’s spent months with them. But this one is new. And when he turns around, he finds himself looking down at a younger boy, maybe seventeen, wearing a wide-eyed, shocked expression. His eyes are what catch Jack’s attention – they’re a gorgeous brown and there’s just something about them that make Jack’s heart feel lighter in his chest. Comforting, in a weird way.

“I’m sorry!” he squeaks, taking a few steps back, “I didn’t mean t-”

“Dude,” Jack interrupts, reaching out and grabbing his arm so he can’t keep backing away. “It’s fine. You scared me, that’s all. Don’t beat yourself up over that.” His reassurance doesn’t seem to do much to comfort the guy, so Jack takes it upon himself to offer his hand for an introduction. “I’m Jack Barakat. And you are?”

“A-Alex,” he stutters, “Alex Gaskarth.”

-&-

“My batting average is .343, and I stole seventy two bases last season and I play center field. I’m totally stoked to be a part of your team this year.”

-

“You’re not relaxing.”

“It hurts!”

“Did you hear me? You have to relax or you won’t loosen up at all!”

“I am relaxing! You’re just not doing your job right.”

“If I wasn’t doing my job right, I think I would have been fired a long time ago, don’t you think?”

Alex Grieco glares up at his physical trainer, telling him with his eyes that he doesn’t appreciate his responses. He lies back on the grass, knees bent and Matt Flyzik knelt between them. It would probably be an awkward scene if they were anywhere other than a baseball diamond. Grieco probably wouldn’t really care, though. Matt between his legs won’t ever be a bad thing. He won’t let him know that, of course. That would be inappropriate, right? Definitely.

Flyzik sighs, irritated. He grabs Grieco’s leg, pushes it so that his knee is almost touching his chest and he glares down at him as he applies pressure, waiting for the younger boy to complain that he’s ‘stretching him too fast’. But he simply lies there, arms laying above his head, ripping out grass, his lips forming a tight line. He wants to say something, but he’s got too much pride to do so. Flyzik knows him too well by now. It’s almost kind of scary.

“Well if this is what the ladies have to see when you’re fucking them, I don’t blame them for leaving before the sun even comes up,” Grieco says bluntly, without a readable expression. He suddenly pushes his legs together, trapping Flyzik between them and causing him to fall forward onto his hands so that he’s hovering over the younger boy. “You’re ugly,” Grieco then notes, this time grinning widely.

“Hey. I’m your trainer. You’re supposed to treat me with respect,” Flyzik says, but he’s smiling and straining to keep any kind of amusement out of his voice. He could never really take his relationship with Grieco as serious as a ‘trainer-player’ relationship. There would be no fun in that.

“Hey! No making out on the field!”

Both Flyzik and Grieco snap their heads to the left, finding Squire standing not too far away, arms crossed over his chest and a bemused expression on his face. He stares at them for a few seconds before rolling his eyes and walking away, heading over towards the outfield where Kyle Burns and Caleb Turman are attempting to climb over the fence into the bullpen in order to retrieve a ball without having to open a gate. Typical.

Grieco looks away from his retreating form, looking back up at his trainer and feeling his cheeks heat up. Matt’s gorgeous. And funny. And perfect. Everything that Grieco doesn’t really deserve. And besides. He’s his trainer. And even though Kyle and Caleb have crossed that line, Grieco doesn’t think he should. Matt wouldn’t want to, anyway.

-&-

“This is such an incredible opportunity - I promise I’m going to make the best of it. Team first, always. I’m happy to be a pitcher for your team.”

-

“You should come out with us!”

Martin Johnson smiles, hikes his gym bag over his shoulder and shakes his head, “I’m gonna head home,” he responds, as always. “I’m exhausted.”

Gabe sighs dramatically and slumps his shoulders, “You’re a sad excuse for a man, Johnson. You never come with us!”

“I’m not much of a partier,” Martin tries to explain, but Gabe is already moving on to the next person, harassing them into going to the bars with him and his boyfriend William. So Martin sighs, inwardly grateful that Gabe didn’t bother to try and change his mind.

Glancing over towards the door, Martin sees that it’s pretty much unblocked and if he tries to leave now, he can likely get out without anyone else questioning him and getting him to go out with them. It’s only seven thirty on a Tuesday night. What could they all possibly do this early? Especially with practice the next morning before the game.

So he walks quickly, makes it to the door and is about to push it open when someone on the other side pulls it, walking right into Martin and causing them both to stumble backwards. He catches himself, manages to stand straight and he finds that it was just Alex – the new bat boy that Ryan and Brendon were talking about earlier.

“Sorry!” The boy squeaks, his cheeks red from blushing out of embarrassment. “I should have watched-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Martin says with a smile, reaching out and patting him on the back out of sympathy. “You did well today, by the way. You fit in pretty well already.”

“T-thanks,” he stutters, looking down at his shoes and Martin takes that opportunity to leave.

He pushes past Alex gently, walking out into the long hallway that will lead him to the parking lot where he left his car earlier. Luckily, when he pushes those large double doors open, there’s no press and no cameras. It’s a bit weird, considering they’re usually always out there. But Martin will take it as a small victory, one that he will accept gratefully. Press slows him down and puts more time in between the time he leaves the locker rooms and the time he gets home to his house, his dog and his boyfriend.

Martin smiles at the thought of what, exactly, he’s going home to. He has a small apartment, just big enough for himself and one other person, in a small town on Long Island. He knows that once he opens up his front door, his dog Kona will be there to greet him, wagging her tail and wriggling around. Not only will she be there, but he will be there. And that makes everything about getting in his car to go home that much better.

The light traffic does nothing to dampen his good mood. He’s used to slowing down on the parkways and hitting what feels like every single red light possible. But he still makes it home in good time, pulling into his assigned parking spot twenty minutes after nine. He’s already got his keys out as he walks up the steps to the third floor, but when he goes to actually unlock the door, he finds that it’s already open. Someone’s already done the work for him.

The apartment is quiet when he steps inside. As he expected, Kona greets him happily, wriggling around at his feet. She’s a nine month old golden retriever who sometimes gets over-excited and pees on the floor, so Martin is quick to scoop her up into his arms and talk quietly to her, trying to calm her down so he doesn’t have to clean up any messes. He just wants to crawl into bed.

He walks into his bedroom, his eyes having to adjust to the darkness and he easily makes his way over to his bed where he pulls the covers back. After practice, he showered and changed into sweats and an old t-shirt so he’s already ready for bed. He turns the TV on, slips under the covers, and rests his head on his pillow, immediately feeling a pair of arms wrapping around his waist.

He smiles to himself, lets his body melt into Zack’s. Their fingers lace together, resting on Martin’s hip and he couldn’t be more content than right now, lying in bed with Zack Merrick and knowing that he’ll always be there when he wakes up.

“Did you find the two Gatorades I brought you?” Zack mumbles into his back, tightening his grip around his waist. “I shoved them into the first fridge I saw. I didn’t want to get caught in your locker room. I’d probably get beaten by your teammates and then stoned to death by your fans,” he teases.

“You’re not funny. But yeah, I found them. Thanks.”

“Good. Love you.”

“I love you too.”