Garrison and Adrienne - America's Favorite Pastime

[x-adrienne.livejournal.com]

The Mountie and the guilty widow bond over baseball.


Backdated to Sunday afternoon.

Garrison adjusted the volume and tossed the remote down beside it. It was a sunny Sunday, and for once, the rec room wasn't mobbed with kids. Obviously they were out stealing cars, smashing windows, having sex in random club washrooms and generally following the natural healthy urges of teenagers in the spring. All that mattered to the Canadian was that they had vacated the room with the largest television in the mansion, and he had settled into the couch with a six pack of Moosehead and a large sandwich to watch the Jays play the Rangers.

There were times that life did not get any better than this.

Hearing the sweet melody of baseball commentary, Adrienne, returning inside from indulging in a cigarette out on the grounds, stopped in front of the rec room, eyes widening in interest. The commentary was about Toronto and Texas, two teams she hated on principle as a Boston fan, but the Sox didn't play until later in the evening, so she decided to stop in and see how the game progressed. Always wise to keep yourself informed as to how your enemies were doing in the standings.

 

There was a rather attractive man alone in the rec room when she sauntered in and she sat down on the couch next to him as if she spent every day here. "Are you just watching because it's on, or do you actually like one of these teams?" she asked the man, figuring that finding out which team he followed was far more important than introducing herself.

 

Kane paused as Barajas ripped an RBI single into right field. "The one that just tied it up." He looked back over his shoulder at the dark haired woman who'd just approached. Obviously the mansion was hiring left and right, because he'd never seen her before in her life. "I'm Garrison Kane." His mind flipped up a name from the staff sheets. "You must be the new Math instructor, eh?"

Adrienne wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Jays? You must be Canadian, then? I have a hard time believing anyone who wasn't obligated out of nationality to cheer for the Jays would be doing so." The use of the word 'eh' seemed to provide an answer to her question without Kane having to provide one. "I am the math instructor, yes," she answered, eying his beer for a second before turning back to the screen. "What do you teach?"

"In terms of baseball, enlightenment. Here, I fill in occasionally for the odd class and teach advanced self defense to students who want additional training. Most of the time, I work out of the FBI field office in New York." He ignored the shot against his Jays, for now at least. The Rangers were coming up to bat anyhow.

"FBI? Shit," Adrienne exclaimed vehemently, "does everyone in this place work in goddamned law enforcement?" First her roommate was a Criminal Justice major, now the baseball fan was an agent! "I'm going to kill Emma for suggesting I come here," she muttered miserably. "Jays are gonna lose," she added out of spite. "No way they sweep Texas. They haven't done it since 1985."

"Technically, I'm actually a Mountie. The RCMP has seconded me to the Bureau while I'm down here. Don't worry though, I've only arrested one member of the school so far. Beer?" He held up the Moosehead and settled back. "And since the Rangers are into their bullpen already, I'd say we have a shot. Their ERA is terrible, and Tallet's already up to shut down their offense. Plus, the Beej is back. Trust in the Beej."

Accepting the offer of a beer, Adrienne picked one up in a gloved hand, twisted the top off, and took a long pull from the bottle. The fact that Kane was a Mountie and on loan to the FBI made her feel a little easier- the investigation she had been dragged into was being conducted by the NYPD, and the FBI- and Mounties- had no jurisdiction. "I don't know about this trusting in the 'Beej' idea you speak of," she smirked. "I can't decide who I want to win here. Who poses the least of a threat to Boston...? I think I'm going to go for the Rangers, just to make this more fun, while I wait patiently for eight o'clock, when the real game starts."

"Oh, you're referring to the evil Empire verses the Massholes? I'd be very worried about Toronto this year. You'd need to put both of those teams pitching staffs together to get a single decent rotation and bullpen." Kane shook his head. "I look forward to sweeping them again. oh, and the Beej is big BJ Ryan, the closer. Back up from Tommy John."

"Massholes?" She toasted Kane with her beer. "That's a good one. It'll take more than two weeks of regular season play to convince me to be worried about the Jays, though. When do they ever break five hundred? And I know who your 'Beej' is," she corrected haughtily, "I just don't know how I feel about trusting in him. And don't hold your breath about another sweep. The only way your guys got one was because my boys were seriously strung out from Japan and the West Coast. Rested, they'll mop the floor with your team next time." She dragged her gaze from the tv during a commercial, scrutinized Kane. "Advanced self defense?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "Does that mean you're a mutant, then?"

 

"Hmm, do you normally itemize your responses?" Kane shoved to one side on the couch, so she could sit with her beer. "So, first back to front, yes, I'm a mutant. Originally part of the Beta Flight program out of Canada. Ended up down here as a deal between the Canadian government and Xavier's. Sort of a mix between knowledge sharing and mutual surveillance. I can mentally control the actions of any beavers or moose in a two hundred kilometre radius. I teach the advanced hand to hand because I got almost a decade of training between the JTF2, a dislikable Colonel named Eugene Judd, and a sawed off psycho who happened to be sudden death with anything, including his own forehead, named Logan."

 

"As for the more important issue of the Boston Red Sox, there are all kinds of wonders to discuss about them. Like, say, the starting rotation which looks like a 2008 version of Spahn and Sain and pray for rain. Beckett is the real deal, but Dice-K looks like a number three man and calling Lester a legitimate starter assumes he's pitching for the Rays. Wake is well past his prime, you don't have Schillings' craftiness in the five spot, and Buchholz can't seem to locate his curve consistently without leaving a few up to get ripped. That doesn't even get into the bullpen, which Papelbon aside, thinks hanging a fastball high and inside on a Hall of Fame power hitter with bases-loaded is a good idea."

Raising an eyebrow, Adrienne shifted to make herself more comfortable on the couch. "You're joking about that beaver and moose thing, right?" she asked, ignoring his crack about itemizing her responses, "because that sort of scares the shit out of me." Taking another pull from her beer, the brunette considered Kane's criticisms of Boston. "You're just being snooty because you guys finally have a halfway decent pitching staff this year, after oh, how many years of non-contention when putting your pitchers up against the Sox and the Yankees' bats? This is the first year since you Northerners took the Series that you even have half a chance at the playoffs; admit it. And it's gonna be a lonnnnng season, Kane."

 

"That's not entirely true. The Jays put up four of six Cy Young winners following the strike, and even when Interbrew forced payroll cut in half, we still challenged into August, against teams busy buying their way to the post season. Boston's saving grace is that your guys actually developed some talent in house, as opposed to solely mercenarying your way through other ballclubs talent." Kane pointed out. "And you're right, I was lying about my powers. I actually convert drinking maple syrup into super strength."

"Yes well, I'm pretty sure Clemens is some sort of mutant." She was enjoying herself for the first time since arriving at the school, talking baseball with Kane. So few people she socialized with- and there weren't very many of those, anyway- enjoyed baseball. His comment about Boston's saving grace, as well as his confession of his true powers, made her smirk again. "Well, we may not agree on much, Kane, but I think we can both rally around a common hatred of the Yankees."

 

"To throw that forkball, even juiced up, he had to be. And consider it this way; we get to hate Douche-Rod with abandonment, and they're forced to cheer for him. That's revenge enough for me. Well, that and watching Burnett handcuff them at the plate." He finished off his bottle and put it on the table, as the game went into extra innings. "Now, the danger is that I think the Yankees are due for a third place spot, which means you and I are going to end up locked into mortal combat over the standings from August on."

Adrienne shrugged as she downed most of her beer. "I'd rather be in mortal combat with the Jays than the evil Empire. The Empire deserves to be taken down some pegs. And despite all your arguments, I still think the Jays pose less of a threat to my Sox than the Yankees do. But, that being said, mortal combat is always entertaining to me. As a matter of fact," she added, "it nearly cost me my Boston office, but I have a box at Fenway. I've been teaching in England for two years, so I've giving the tickets to clients, employees, and members of my Board, but come post-season if our teams do meet, you're more than welcome to join me and experience some first-hand mortal combat humiliation, Mr. Kane."

"You really want to watch Scott Downs leaving Man-Ram at the plate making weak flailing gestures with me there? It's a date." Kane pointed at the screen, where Joe Inglett's sacrifice fly had just put the Jays ahead by one, and the Rangers were coming up. The television announced a pitching change. "Oh, and you wanted to know who the Beej is? He's up for the save. Twenty says he gets it."

"Dude, I already told you, I know who the Beej is!" Adrienne responded before she realized she'd just spoken like a drunken teenager. Why did baseball always bring that out of her? She finished her beer and dwelled on that question rather than focusing on the nervous twist her stomach had done at Kane's mention of the word 'date.' "I don't date, Mr. Kane. It'll be a meeting between people with a mutual interest," was all she said, attempting to settle her stomach. "If one of them just happens to be a Jays fan who ends up getting mobbed by Red Sox Nation for insulting Manny on home turf, my obligation won't extend further than making sure I have an adequate supply of maple syrup on hand for you."

"Date, as in date in the calender, Ms. Frost. Not in the flowers, candy, inadequate Ravioli Picante and uncomfortable shuffling on the porch trying to decide whether or not to kiss kind of date. My girlfriend gets angry when I make those kinds of dates without her. Go fig." Kane held up the twenty. "One out. You want in on this action or not?"

Exhaling a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, Adrienne relaxed and took another beer. "You're afraid of your girlfriend even with your maple syrup-induced powers? She must be a mutant as well, then?" She studied the television screen to give him an answer about his wager. Runner on third, one out. "No bet. I may be a proud member of Red Sox Nation, but I have a feeling the Beej isn't going to lose this one."

"She's part of the faculty here. Marie D'Ancato. White streak, super strong, invulnerable, can fly. And while she can dismember me at will, I'm a little more worried about her simply dumping me outright. There's that whole enjoying dating her thing." He waved the bill. "How about that Dice-K doesn't make it out of the fifth tonight?"

Adrienne filed away the information about Kane's girlfriend for future reference and dug in the handbag she'd taken with her for her smoke until she found a twenty. "That bet, I'll take. So is it usually so quiet around here on weekends? I mean, I just arrived friday and truth be told, I've been sort of avoiding people, but I don't think I've seen any students around at all."

"First decent weekend of spring. Half of them will be in New York. A former student working in town does a bus run for them on the weekends. The rest either hang around Salem Centre, hit the grounds, or hole up in their rooms to mourn the difficulty of living a life without responsibilities or expenses in a giant mansion stuffed with every available convenience. Some of them will write poems about it, burn the poems to ash, mix the ashes with ink, and use it to write another poem." Garrison shrugged and then grinned as the last Ranger out was recorded for Ryan's save. "Ah, sweep. It is a glorious thing. You got any plans for the afternoon? Some of the staff will be down at Harry's, and our groundskeeper bought a television for the bar that makes this one look like an iPod screen."

She shook her head in amusement at Kane's explanation for where the students probably were. "If there's one thing I don't understand in this world, it's emo poetry. I'm glad I didn't take your Beej bet," Adrienne smiled, "and it pains me to say it, but two sweeps in a week does make me the tiniest bit fearful for post-season, though I have every confidence my boys can best yours in the long run." She considered his offer of going down to the bar. "Rain check on the bar? I should probably be finishing up my lesson plans for this week."

"Responsibility. How awful." Kane joked as he got up from the couch. "Suit yourself. I'm personally hoping I get to watch both Hughes and Dice-K meltdown tonight on the mound. If you change your mind, I'll save you a seat."

Following him to the door, Adrienne nodded her thanks for the offer to have a seat saved. "Don't spend that twenty on booze at Harry's- I have other plans for it."