Ace's Wilder

Whatever you need

"Ace, I have some news," Dyer announced, sitting on the edge of her desk, before she'd even made it through the double doors between their offices and the elevator lobby in the warehouse.

She stutter-stepped and frowned, but kept moving forward, looking concerned. "Hit me."

"Wilder's up," he told her.

Of course. He'd been playing in the IL Championship with Ottawa, and here he was, the last of the late September call-ups, here for the last series of the season. She was finally, actually going to be here for his Major League debut.

She almost smiled despite herself, but also felt like someone had socked her in the stomach. "That's great," she said sincerely. "I'm really proud of him." She meant that, too.

"Yeah, that's not it. He's down in the cage. He called up asking for you," Rich told her.

She sighed, and visibly slumped. "Ok."

"You don't have to go. I'll go down for you, if you want. Tell him you don't work here anymore," he offered. "I don't want you to feel like I'm sending you to do anything that's going to make you uncomfortable."

"Are you my boss, or my dad?" she smirked at him.

He shrugged. They both knew it could really go either way at this point.

"It's fine," she assured him. "I'm on it. Tracey! Hold all my calls!" she mocked him, spinning on the heels of her sandals, heading toward the elevators once more. Tracey wasn't even there yet, and Ace had no calls to be held. It was 1:00 on Friday of the last series of the season and the Orioles were 22 games out of first place. No one wanted to be here yet.

Ace steeled herself, back against the elevator wall on the way down to the basement. She flashed Ernie a smile when she passed him in the hallway, and made her way to the batting cage.

Taking a deep breath before she opened the door, she could hear Blink-182 blasting over the speakers, and the periodic click of wood hitting leather. If she'd been asked to write the way this scenario would have played out a thousand different ways, this would never have been one of them. But nonetheless, she couldn't deny feeling something down deep at the prospect of getting to see him in a Major League uniform for the first time.

"You're dropping your shoulder," she frowned right away, watching him hack at the pitches Elrod Hendricks was throwing for him.

Jase Wilder stopped, and looked momentarily stunned. "Yeah?" he asked, slightly out of breath and more angry than she was expecting.

She swallowed hard, and glanced at Ellie, who nodded at her and looked away, confirming what she'd just told Jase. "Yeah, you're throwing your torso at the ball instead of your hips. Slow down and ease up a little."

Jase breathed out hard. "Fine. Let's go," he jerked his head at the bullpen coach like he'd been working with him for years. Ace was slightly annoyed for Elrod, but he'd seen plenty of assholes in his time, she was certain. Jase wasn't anything new at this point.

Elrod sent a regular BP pitch in Jase's direction, and heeding Ace's instructions, he would have launched this one into outer space if they'd actually been outside.

"Woo..." Ellie raised his eyebrows. "Ace knows her shit."

Ace couldn't help but laugh, although she tried to cover it up with a cough.

"Oh leave it out," Jase complained, recognizing her move immediately. "Thanks, that's all I needed."

She raised her eyebrows. "You needed me to fix your swing?"

"Yeah, you're the only person that can do that, you know? Take a look at half a swing and tell me what I'm fucking up."

She shrugged. Lacing her fingers through the net between the two of them.

Jase pretended to adjust his batting gloves, Velcro-ing and un-velcro-ing them in place, bat propped between his legs, although Elrod had clearly left the room with no plans to return.

"I'm happy for you, Jase. You made it," she smiled at him sadly.

"Cut the crap, Ace."

She frowned. "It's not crap. I'm proud of you."

"Yeah," he scoffed. "Hi, by the way, you look great. Nice to see you, old friend."

Ace wanted to cry, but instead she went in for the kill. She was tired of being his bad guy, but why not play the part? "I'm seeing someone." She immediately regretted it.

"I bet," he sneered.

Ace let go of the batting cage net, and slowly blinked, like this was all a dream, and she could wake up and try this whole scene again. "I don't...I'm sorry, Jase."

But he just scoffed again. "Like I said, thanks, that's all I needed."

Ace hesitated for a second, but finally turned to leave.

Don't depend on me to ever follow through on anything but

I'd go through hell for you and...

...echoed down the hallway as Ace retreated. But Jase Wilder went 4-4 in his Major League debut. And he went 3-4 the next night.

On Sunday, the last game of the season for both clubs, Jase Wilder came to bat in the bottom of the eighth inning. Boston's bullpen had been slowly disintegrating, and when Jase got on top of a 1-2 pitch dead red, at first it seemed destined for the sod farm in center field.

Javy Perez timed it perfectly. The humid air slowed it down, and he robbed Jase of a homerun to the deepest part of center field, planting his right foot into the outfield wall and reaching over the fence to make the snag. The catch was on every sports show for the next 24 hours.

Jase trashed the dugout cooler in response.

"Ooh, that's not a good look," Ace grimaced, watching it all on the TV outside Rich's office.

Rich closed his eyes and shook his head, albeit in agreement. No it was not.

Come January, Jase Wilder was traded to the Angels.