doomsday.
chapter two.
get your head in the game!
March 12th, 2002.
One day before the plane crash.

             Whenever Malia needed to run fast, like, faster than her natural born talent would allow her to, she'd imagine she was being chased by a really big, angry dog. It was usually a German Shepherd, or a Doberman, those ones really freaked her out— they're like humans that walk on all fours. A big, huge, gray Doberman was what she imagined running after her each time Coach Dawson hit a fly ball deep into centerfield, sending her sprinting to the fence to catch every one.

Coach Pierce wasn't too shy about the fact that Malia was one of, if not the favorite of the team, and though Coach Dawson was more discreet, it was clear all the same. Since tryouts in freshman year, he saw something special in her and knew that he could help mold her into the most versatile softball player Brieham, and maybe Ohio itself, had ever seen. She had done something about halfway into the school year, mouthed off to the history professor about how the lesson they were learning was totally inaccurate and borderline offensive, and was going to be suspended for a few days. Well, that was a problem for Coach Pierce, because it meant she wasn't going to be at practice.

             She managed to find the silver lining in the opportunity, though. Pierce cut a deal with the history professor that was going to report Malia, and they both agreed that she could avoid suspension if she came to extra practices with Coach before lecture. It became routine though, after those first days, and Malia saw it less as a punishment the more she went. Pierce would make her run until she felt like puking one day, then have her watch old footage of other softball games while they ate greasy gas station pizza in her office the next.

             Three years had gone by after that, and coming to campus an hour and a half early had become normal, fun for Malia. Plus, it kept her from being home when her father woke up to leave for the church.

             " Come on, Coach, I thought you said you had ice in your veins, not arthritis. " Malia taunted Coach Dawson as she panted on her way back up the field, coming to a stop where the grass met the dirt. She spun the yellow softball in her hand before she launched it back to him at home plate, wiping the sweat off her forehead with her forearm.

              " Hey, I'm going easy on you. Back in the day, I was— "

              " 'Back in the day'? You're not that old to say shit like that, are you? " Malia mimicked his voice by making hers ridiculously deeper, though her eyes were focused on the ball. She planted her gloved hand on her hip as she called, " I know the story already: 'You were the best shortstop the Brieham baseball team has ever seen'. Well, if I'm good enough to keep up with your hits, either you're a liar or I'm the new best player Brieham's ever seen. "

" Having a big head isn't a good look, Sun. " Coach Dawson insisted, holding the ball up, though there was a bit of amusement on his face.

" You enjoying that extra practice, Malia? " Cleo called, arms crossed at her waist, her glove pressed to her hip as she wore a raised brow. A few of the other girls chuckled behind her, making Malia simply roll her eyes in response.

Coach Dawson sighed, but he'd heard enough of their jabs and jokes to avoid entertaining them by replying either. He gestured for Malia to head in to the dugout, which she did reluctantly, joining the others as they began to pour inside the box. As Malia took her glove off and went to grab her bottle of water, Cleo stepped back from the line of girls hanging their softball bags on the fence to make another remark.

" You really broke a sweat out there, Mal. Was Coach hitting you balls or laying pipe? "

Malia raised a brow questionably as she lowered her water bottle, swallowing a big chug of her lukewarm drink before she pointed out, " That doesn't even make sense, we were out on the field, you can clearly tell that didn't happen. "

Cleo's face contorted childishly, but she recovered quickly, letting out a short scoff, " Whatever, you're still, like, the coaches' pet. "

" Alright, ladies, let's get ready for warmups, chop chop! " Malia had never been more thankful to hear Liza's voice as the blonde clapped at the head of the dugout, gesturing for the girls to hurry with a pointed expression.

" The fuck is this music? " Alex questioned as she swung around the pole of the dugout, her eyes searching for the CD player that normally sat on the end of the bench.

          " Sing us a song, you're the piano man. Sing us a song tonight. " The melody and harmonica buzzes of Piano Man came out of the CD player, which was decorated with an array of stickers from team members past and present; bright Lisa Frank ones, colorful hearts, random animals, and even a custom one they had made that said 'Go Crows!'.

           Alex made a sound of disgust and walked over to it, promptly clicking the eject button so she could replace the CD. She plucked the Billy Joel CD out and walked over towards her catcher's gear, digging through it for a moment before she found a well loved, banged up Queen CD case.

" I don't know who touched this thing, but if they're smart, it won't happen again! " Alex called out of the dugout as she put the Queen CD in the player, clicking it shut and pressing play. The familiar opening to Under Pressure began to play, causing a satisfied grin to appear on Alex's face as she went back out the dugout, swiping her catcher's mask off the bench.

          She caught Liza's shoulder with hers as she stood on the pitcher's mound, appearing to be analyzing the stitches on the brand new softball, untouched from dirt and metal bats. The blonde's head quickly turned up to look at her, cocking a brow.

          " You ready to kick ass, Cap? " Alex asked her, pulling her catcher's mask over her head, still squinting from the bright sun that shone from behind Liza. When she didn't answer instantly with a confident grin, the brunette's brows furrowed, " Hey, you good? "

           " Yeah, of course, I'm fine. " Liza insisted dismissively, shaking her head as she sat the softball in her glove. The black grease paint under her eyes gleamed when she offered her a small smile of reassurance, " Just wondering how fast we're gonna smoke them. Think we'll actually make it to seven innings? "

           " Let's run rule them in five. " Alex chirped, though she wasn't totally convinced by Liza's response. She knew that since Si-Woo had been effectively benched, Liza felt a lot of pressure being the only pitcher; she would be the first to admit, among many, that Si-Woo was ten times the pitcher she was, so to carry the weight of the team on her shoulders when she knew the person who rightfully deserved it was sitting in the dugout, watching her every mistake with envy, was taxing. No one else would likely think that, given how perfect and put together Liza always seemed, most of the team just assumed she was fine— or worse, that she liked being the center of attention with Si-Woo out of the way.

             Liza laughed, nodding her head, " Right, okay. "

              " Confidence is key, Captain. " Alex saluted her, her catcher's gear clanking as she backed away from the pitcher's mound to settle behind home plate. As she crouched down, preparing herself to receive Liza's first practice pitch, her eyes scanned the field for the infielders, though one, potentially the most important one, was missing.

              Theo stood near the edge of the field, just beside the opposing team's dugout as she tried to still the pounding in her head. She pinched the bridge of her nose as her skull pressed into the concrete dugout, feeling her anxiety going through the roof, though she couldn't quite pin point why. It didn't really matter, it happened often now, sometimes without a reason. Maybe it was seeing her father slumped on the couch that morning, or maybe it was the sound of running water in the locker room. Theo didn't know, but she knew she wasn't going to be able to get through the game if she didn't quell it somehow.

" Yeah, let's hope they don't pull any of those shitty tricks tonight. " Theo overheard one of their Graywolves in their dugout, muttering to one another. She assumed they were talking about her team, but she didn't know what they meant by that. Shitty tricks?

Theo moved away from the dugout, heading for theirs, walking through the dirt of the field. As she passed behind the pitcher's mound, Theo glanced back over her shoulder at Liza. She turned back around when the blonde threw another pitch, a dozen thoughts racing through her mind, all of them chaotic and accelerating the tightness in her chest. Theo went inside the Crows' dugout, finding her softball bag and unzipping a smaller pocket, pulling out a small case of little white pills.

She was only supposed to take them when she could feel an anxiety attack coming on, and she had been pretty good about that so far. Theo took her water bottle from its sleeve and quickly threw one of the pills down her throat, chasing it with a chug of water. She dragged her hand across her mouth after she sat the bottle back down, brushing back her bangs as she went to go back out on the field, but she was stopped by the feeling of eyes on her.

           Initially, Theo assumed it was paranoia and hoped her medication would work miraculously fast, but as she crossed the field to get to her position at short stop, she caught one of the outfielders openly staring at her. She locked eyes with Hazel, who was squinting one eye but still watching Theo as she left the dugout, an unreadable look on her face. Theo felt embarrassment fill her and she quickly looked away, jogging to second base as she tried to keep herself from looking over her shoulder to see if Hazel was still looking at her or not.

            Theo taking medication wasn't a secret, she had to be approved to be allowed to play in the season by her therapist after the accident, but maybe Hazel was just weirded out from seeing her take them in public? Theo didn't know, and truthfully, she didn't have time to worry about it as she heard Alex shout from home plate.

            " Alright, coming down! "

" We're missing someone. " At the edge of the dugout, Coach Pierce stood, watching as the girls filed inside after their warmups, allowing her to do a headcount. With each one that passed her, she checked their name off her roster, until she realized that she had more names than heads. With a quick scan over the dugout, she instantly knew who it was and groaned quietly.

Coach Pierce walked over to the fence, barely acknowledging the umpire and the opposing team's catcher as she approached the bleachers that were just behind the metal fencing. Her eyes darted across the people sitting there until she found a boy that stuck out well among a crowd in his all black clothing.

" Vero, where's your sister? " Coach Pierce questioned, the boy's black-lined blue eyes shooting up to look at her. He didn't seem that worried about her absence though, he was actually rather apathetic.

" Don't know, probably off getting high somewhere. " He said nonchalantly, as if that was a casual thing to say to your sister's softball coach. Coach Pierce's brows raised in surprise— not at the idea of Marty smoking, but rather at his swiftness to admit it.

            " Great, thanks for the insight. " She muttered, hoping no one on the Graywolves heard that. Coach Pierce went back to the dugout, gesturing for Coach Dawson to meet her at the edge. As she eyed the girls, who were mostly inside the dugout, chattering each others' ears off as Queen music blared inside the small space. Coach Pierce sighed, telling him, " Can you try to hold them off on starting? I have to go find Marty. "

             With a knowing look, Coach Dawson nodded and offered her a sheepish, " Good luck. "

             Coach Pierce scoffed humorously and headed out of the field, beelining it to the locker rooms down the hill.

              While they were waiting, with Coach Dawson stalling with the umpire and the Graywolves's head coach as much as he could, Hazel walked over to the fence near their own dugout, finding Violet testing the settings on her camera; she didn't usually come to their games, she wasn't really friends with any of the players, and honestly her parents raved enough about Hazel at home, she didn't need to hear it in public, too. However, their parents were running late, and Violet happened to need to take pictures for the college yearbook before the end of the semester. She was hoping she'd be done as soon as they arrived.

Hazel lit up when she saw her though, as if she thought Violet had come because their parents couldn't— as if she would want to keep Hazel from feeling alone. Violet wouldn't tell her the truth, protecting her feelings, just like everyone else in their lives.

She clicked her tongue at that thought.

" Hey, thanks for coming. " Hazel's smile was small but genuine as she glanced down at the camera in Violet's grasp. She didn't mention it though, instead asking, " Where's Mom and Dad? "

" Running late. I guess your mom was taking too long to pick a shirt out. Too many options with your name on them. " Violet answered, both truthfully and with a little jab to them.

               It made Hazel's smile falter, but she still kept it up. She raised a hand to one of her unruly braids, attempting to flatten a piece of fallen hair as she went to say something else, but her attention was caught by a small, purpling bruise poking out from the collar of Violet's hoodie. Hazel's eyes jumped back to her sister's, and while Violet's face twitched like she knew what Hazel knew, she wasn't going to have that conversation with her, ever.

              " You should probably get back to your team. " Was all she said, cold and detached, not even accompanied by a 'good luck' or a 'love you' to appear like they were even partially related. Hazel finally frowned then, wanting to ask her about it, but she knew it wouldn't go anywhere and she couldn't afford to start a problem with her.

            " Yeah. See you later, Vi. " Hazel nodded faintly, backing away from her and turning to jog back into the dugout, leaving the older girl to stew behind the fence.

xxx.

            " Marty, get the hell out here. " Coach Pierce's voice echoed off the walls of the locker room as she stood before the bench that the aforementioned girl laid on; Marty's hand hung off the side of it, her blunt barely sitting in between her fingers as the embers slowly burned out.

            " Oh, hey, Coach. " Marty called, barely turning her head to look at the older woman as she smiled, dazed. She reached her other hand slowly to the ceiling, asking, " Do you think the roof kinda looks like it's caving in? "

" What the hell is wrong with you, Morgan? " Coach Pierce questioned rhetorically, as she knew she wasn't going to get a response. Clenching her jaw, the woman walked over to the bench and snatched the blunt from Marty's grasp, tossing it in the trash can. She crouched down in front of her, gaining Marty's redden eyes to follow her as she spoke in a quieter, but still just as firm voice, " Listen, kid, you need to get your shit together. Not just for a game or practice, I mean it, seriously. "

Marty slowly sat up then, rubbing the heel of her hand against one of her eyes before she blinked at Coach Pierce. She stared at her for a passing minute, making the older woman think that she might've actually gotten through to her, surprisingly. They've had this same conversation far more often than Coach Pierce would've liked, and it never changed.

She was a bit foolish to think it would be anything different that time, either. Marty suddenly started laughing, trying to stifle it behind her closed lips, until she burst into drug-induced giggles. Coach Pierce's face dropped, making her lean back with a frustrated look on her sharp features as she stood back up.

" S-sorry, Coach, I'll be out, I'll be out, promise— " Marty tried to speak through the chuckles, leaning over on her knees, her head hanging between them as she again lost herself into laughter.

" Fucking great. " Coach Pierce muttered to herself, her mind racing as she tried to think of an alternate plan; Marty played second base, she wasn't a benchwarmer, and she actually played pretty well when she wasn't seeing stars. She'd have to bump Malia up from centerfield, and have Tara start in that position rather than switch out halfway into the game like she usually did.

          " Sober up and get out there, in ten. You're sitting the bench tonight, support your teammates. We'll talk about this shit later. " Coach Pierce asserted, glancing around the locker room once more before she swiped one of the left over water bottles and squirted water at Marty, hoping to kickstart her.

          She heard Marty groan in surprise, and turned on her heel, heading out of the locker room so she could get back to the field, hoping the umpire wasn't too frustrated by their delay.

xxx.