To the End (of the Beginning) by instrumentality (hard R/NC-17)

[littlestclouds.livejournal.com]

Everyone in baseball RPF fandom is familiar with candle_beck's writing, and it would be easy to just cherry-pick fics off her masterlist, but I'm going to start off by giving some under-appreciated writers some love.

Fandom: BASEBALL RPF
Pairing: Russ Adams/Aaron Hill
Length: 16,034
Author on LJ: instrumentality
Author Website: instrumentality's fic at The Boys of Summer
Why this must be read: I love the concept of the bildungsroman. Coming-of-age tales are perhaps my favorite type of fiction; I read two copies of Catcher in the Rye to oblivion in high school. I especially love baseball coming-of-age tales, and instrumentality has written exactly that. Despite the fact this is fan fiction, the story feels full and real, complex and layered. The characters are multidimensional and feel realistic, and the resolution to the story isn’t neat or pat. There aren’t any easy answers in real life, and To the End (of the Beginning) isn’t an easy story. Happy endings aren’t always what you think they’re going to be. The fact that instrumentality can take a familiar trope - star-cross’d lovers - and use it to craft a compelling and satisfying story is a testament to her skills as a writer.

When you finally get the call, your first reaction isn’t joy, or excitement, or even relief; pure, blind fear immediately clutches at your chest, leaving you breathless.

Why? What’s wrong with Aaron?

And there’s guilt, too, strong and bitter like burnt coffee on the back of your tongue. There was a time when you would already have known, before anyone else, even before he told you himself; a connection that never gave way when you bent all your energy toward destroying it, forever hacking away at its choking vines, but has apparently receded while you weren’t looking. It’s like having the ground suddenly give way under you – you’re unsteady, anxious, a constant stream of nightmarish images parading through your mind as you wait for a response.

(For God’s sake, he probably turned his ankle rounding a base. Calm the hell down.)

Finally, a hoarse, indulgent chuckle. Nothin’ wrong with Hilly, Russ. We need ya at third. Troy’s foot ain’t gettin’ any better, and now the doctors say he needs rest. Heard you been doin’ a pretty good job.

You smile, rub the back of your neck, absurdly flattered. Heh. Yeah. Better, anyway.

Good man. We’ll see ya tomorrow. A brief pause, then: Be good t’have ya back, Adams. And from anyone else that’d probably be a lie, but somehow you can believe it of Gibby. They’re creeping up on you now, joy and excitement and blessed relief; admittedly, you can see fear tagging along in their footsteps, but it’s far from keeping pace.

Thanks, Gibby. It’ll be good to be back.

Later, once your bags are packed and your heartrate has returned to normal, you pick up the phone again; three digits into his number, you flip it closed and slip it back into your pocket.

On your second try, you manage the entire number, but hang up at the first ring.

(How hard can it possibly be? Hey, don’t know if you heard, but I’m coming back. Hey, I got called up, see you tomorrow. Hey, long time no see. Hey, I’m sorry I never called. Hey, I’m sorry I forgot you.

Hey. Remember me?)

There’s just too much to be said, too many variables to be trusted to a phone conversation. Aaron’s a mystery to you now, practically a stranger, and has been for almost a year: how can you know that he wants to hear from you, that he even gives a shit about your return? You’ll know soon enough how he feels about this whole thing – he’s never been much for subterfuge, open and guileless as a child in the face of any real emotion - and for now, all you can do is trust (hope) that your reaction will be appropriate when the time comes.

(Hey. I’ve missed you. I haven’t forgotten, not a single thing.)

To the End (of the Beginning)