When Amy Met Army

It was a chilly day, but not too chilly. Clear skies, nice and blue. Army sat in the bleachers of Koshoien stadium, way in the back at the cheap seats, so far that he really needed the pair of binoculars he'd bought from one of the vendors out front just to see what was going on in the field with any real detail. He had his extremely overpriced popcorn and Cherry Coke. He had his Chunichi Dragon's hoodie, blue and white, keeping him warm even at these lofty altitudes. And no self-respecting fan in the nosebleed section would be complete without a catcher's mitt. A little worn, beat up, and it barely fit his hand anymore, but it would do.

For the first time in a good, long while, Army was genuinely content. Baseball. Goddamn, he'd missed him some baseball.

It wasn't easy to get time like this off - he'd had to schedule with his boss at the arena three weeks in advance, getting someone else from the night shift to do a little extra cleaning to cover for him. And he had to get the tickets, which made his poor wallet cry. He had Jackie's drinking habits to thank for that.

But all the effort, all the toiling, all the time had been completely worth it just to get this afternoon to himself. Army had always been a baseball fan, even before his father started training him in boxing. Some of his earliest memories were just him hanging out at the rinky-dink baseball field their town had, watching the local school teams play, stealing his sister's candy when she wasn't looking and pretending she'd just lost it. Boxing took over his life and those days faded away, but he never forgot the sport. He caught games every now and then. Sometimes, he just needed the nostalgia.

Army figured his time in Japan was as good a place as any to rekindle the flame a bit. He'd arrived a little too late to catch last year's season, but this one? The pre-season was just starting up. He'd done a little digging, found a team he liked, caught on to their schedule, and now here he was, sitting back and enjoying the first game of the year. Life couldn't be more perfect.

That's what Army thought, anyway, until Kosuke Fukudome landed a solid hit and sent the ball flying, up, up, and away...and right towards his spot in the bleachers. "...shit."

It was hard to believe, but yeah, it was coming right for him. There weren't too many people in the stands, barely any in his section - he could do it. He could catch a homerun. He stood up fast, knocked over the box of popcorn as he went, held up his and stretched back and let destiny do the rest of the work. "Got it, got it, got-"

Amy was also a baseball fan, but not for the same, sepia-toned reasons as Army. Okay, maybe there was a pinch of homesickness. She was wearing her LA Dodgers cap and a Jeff Kent #12 pinstripe shirt- two of the few mementos from home that she'd kept with her through her travels around the world, and pieces that she'd missed wearing. But mostly, she was here for the socially sanctioned public drinking and yelling at strangers. She'd smuggled in a bottle of whiskey- she says smuggled, but the young Japanese couple behind her had openly showed their bottle of port to the guard at the gate, and they were let through without any hassle. With a policy like that, as an American, she was prepared to bequeath to Japan the honor of having baseball as a national pastime. Baseball itself was fine, but even if she were interested in what was going on down in the field, she couldn't see from way back here in the nosebleeds.

So when she wasn't drinking or shouting, "Gooooo... blue team!" at random intervals- the lucky team had earned her support with the color of their uniforms- she did a lot of people watching. Down by the railing, a man was too into the game to pay attention to his increasingly reddening ladyfriend, but, over in the next section, there was a kid that liked to pick his belly button in between pitches; he was winning the majority of her attention.

That is, until she caught sight of Army. She wasn't sure at first; she'd quickly averted her eyes back to the game. But her eyes found their way back to Army a moment later, just to double check.

Did she recognize him? Of course she did. She'd caught his brutal match against Jackie on television, a match that had seriously rattled her confidence in her own combat prowess. Jackie was just so... composed. And Jackie's accusations had earned Army a space on Amy's shit list at first, but, after having watched the match, Amy had her doubts. No one innocent could laugh the way Jackie had.

Amy turned toward the game a final time, but she had stopped paying attention. Silently, she unthreaded her blonde ponytail from her cap. Then she reached up to take off her stud earrings. Just in case.

But before she could make her way over to where Army was sitting, there was a distant crack, and she felt the people around her tense up. Following their gazes, she figured it out, and everything else fell away from her mind.

She whipped off her hat and ran toward the where the ball was headed, clumsily tripping over purses and knocking over drinks as she went, eyes never leaving the sky. When she was close, she leapt out, hat outstretched.

The ball landed softly in her cap, and, for a moment, she rejoiced... but it bounced out when she fell bodily onto the poor sap that happened to be beneath her. Without so much as an apology, she scrambled, unladylike, after the ball on all fours, finally managing to secure it under a plastic seat before it got too far away. She got to her feet. Discarded popcorn flew from her hair, but she lifted her fist with ball in hand and beamed. The few disinterested fans in her section gave her half-hearted applause, but she was ecstatic. She gave her new ball a kiss, and waved it for the jumbotron, radiant.

Ah, but she had apologies to make. Still smiling, she turned back to the person she had crashed into. How did you say sorry in Japanese again? "Ahh... Go-men-a-" Oh.

This was it. This was the dream. You're in the stands during a game, you hear the crack, you see the ball fly your way, and you catch it. The impossible becomes possible, and you get this indescrible rush as you become part of the baseball game for one, golden moment. You experience something that only a chosen, select few have ever been honored with: catching a homerun.

That was Army's dream, anyway. The thing was, though, in his dream, he actually caught the ball. Him. Not some little blonde chick. Not cool. At all. She didn't even catch the thing in a mitt, she just used her hat. Who did that?

Army waded his way through the trail of destruction the girl left in her path and came beside her, tapping her on the shoulder with his glove. "Gomenasai." The word sounded weird with his accent, but he was making a decent effort at learning the language. "As in, 'gomenasai, I totally stole that ball you were going to catch, my bad'." He was looking more annoyed than outright pissed. No need to get angry about things, she'd just broken the unspoken rules of homerun catching. If someone calls the ball, you have to let them make a real try for it. You can't cockblock the catch.

That sounded right in his head, anyway.

The word caught in her throat. Of all the... if it had been just some Japanese rando, she could have apologized, and he'd have found a way to put all the blame on himself. But no, of course it had to be Army, the one person in the entire stadium who she might have been interested in getting to know. A simple apology probably wouldn't be enough to erase this awkward first meeting.

But hold on... Army didn't seem all that angry. No, he was being sassy, and sassy she could handle. She tossed the ball up and caught it again. "This? I'm pretty sure I pulled this out of the air, and not out of anyone's hand. Anyone that says otherwise might be a bit of a sore loser."

"Yeah." He watched the ball go up and down, suddenly feeling a lot like a dog with a treat getting wagged in front of his face. Really annoying. "That."

He was a little bit surprised she was so quick to give him guff. He wasn't trying to intimidate her or anything, but given the size difference, he'd have thought there'd be some instant respect. Maybe some hesitation. But nope. Him being twice her size didn't even seem register.

Army had mixed feelings about it. On one hand, strong women were sexy. On the other hand, he wanted that damn ball.

"Not about who caught it. I called dibs, and you can't go back on the dibs." He tapped his glove and held it out, wide and open. "Rules are rules."

Amy frowned. She wasn't an animal; she was a firm believer in the sanctity of dibs, and she let him know so. "But," she continued honestly. "I didn't hear anyone call anything, so to me, it was up for grabs. From my perspective here, I'm the only one with any legitimate claim to this; you're just some sleazebag looking to score a free ball." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that their exchange was being broadcast onto the screen by the scoreboard; there was a producer out there with some good instincts. I guess even the Japanese loved themselves some drama. But, even under his hoodie, there was a high likelihood that people were going to recognize Army, who didn't need any more bad press. His build and his height (and his aggressiveness toward woman, Amy mused) weren't exactly things that helped him blend with the natives. She felt responsible for this attention, so she grabbed his arm and tried to pull him down into the nearest seats.

"You really gonna feel right taking this ball from me, knowing that?"

...fuck, Pretty White Girl had a point.

Army managed to take himself far enough out of the scene to notice he was attracting attention. Big attention. Even more than a six-foot-tall Puerto Rican in the middle of Japan should attract. He was Tension, so it wasn't likely he had all that much press, but still, he was getting a few looks. 'I know you, asshole' looks.

Army groaned and sat down beside her with folded arms. "No." He gave the ball a longing look, just sitting there, nice and neat in Pretty White Girl's hands. "I do fucking want it, though. Damn."

He considered bribing it from her, until he remembered he only had enough money to cover gas for the rest of the week.

Amy put an affectionate hand on Army's shoulder and smiled warmly; they looked for all the world like just another happy couple.

Through her smile, Amy kept talking. "Listen, I'm not insensitive to your position here; I don't want a big asterisk by my first home run ball, either. I'm sure we could figure out a way to make whoever gets this ball in the end feel like they've earned it."

The camera operators lost interest, and the Jumbotron returned to the action on the field. She withdrew her hand and sighed inwardly. She had hoped to keep her identity under wraps for a little while longer, but she didn't see any way around it. "I'm Amy, by the way, and we're coworkers. So there's that option."

After Amy dropped that bomb, Army had to do a double take and throw a few disbeliefing blinks her way, as he looked her over. She was a wrestler? Really?

The coincidence of running into another wrestler here didn't bother him, he was getting used to that. If you spit into a crowd in Japan, the chances were 50/50 that you'd hit someone wrestling for some outfit, and 75-25 it would be the AFW.

No, it was just her entire look that threw him. Jackie had taught him better than to underestimate based on size, but at least she looked evil. Amy looked like she belonged in some little kid's children book.

...but, he really did want that goddamn ball.

"I..." He looked between her and the ball for a moment, before letting it go with a quick nod. "All right, that's good. Not an official match, though. Pick a spot, I'll meet you there and take it the hard way." He shrugged. "Or the easy way. Kind of depends on you."

Amy hesitated. Was she sure about this? After all, this really was her first game ball. She wanted it pretty bad, too, and, let's be honest, if they matched up, she was probably gonna lose.

But then Army accepted so readily, and so cockily. She felt the familiar prick of adrenaline as it worked its way through her bloodstream. Her body was warm, her senses sharp, the hair on the back of her neck on edge. She smiled, suddenly feeling as though she wouldn't have it any other way.

"Alright. I've got a backpack back at my seat that I'd miss if I lost, so meet me downstairs at the section entrance in two minutes. We'll look for somewhere quiet together." She stood up and started to make her way back, but she was accosted almost immediately by a middle aged woman shouting and pointing aggressively at her coke-stained purse. Amy bowed repeatedly, apologizing haltingly with every bend. Once the woman left, muttering, Amy saw more angry faces craning their necks to send stinkeyes her way. She had a looong way to go. She turned back to Army, and said sheepishly, "Make that ten minutes."