Chapter Text
Elijah Bates would tell you that all of this started at the end of season 2, after Jenkins Good pitched a shutout.
"If they say they did a 'good' job again, I'm going to burn the dugout down," Hobbs Cain said, grimacing at Jenkins. Jenkins was being interviewed at home plate, and they gloated to the cameras.
Honestly, Elijah was delighted. The Talkers were a fairly friendly bunch, even more so after Trevino Merritt was incinerated, and Elijah loved them for it. But there was something about Hobbs that made his grumpiness feel welcomed.
"They certainly love that joke," Elijah agreed. "Maybe we can put that one away for a while."
Hobbs snorted. "They'd never. It's their one joke."
Elijah laughed. "Well, when one reaches perfection, where does one go from there?"
Hobbs laughed, too. "I didn't know you were funny, Bates."
"Mr. Cain, you haven't see the signs the fans make? 'Bates can bant'?"
"Terrible," Hobbs said, but he smiled.
A moment later, Richmond Harrison trundled up to Hobbs, and they wandered off. But the next game Hobbs sat down next to Elijah and tossed him a can.
"What is this?" The can was warm, and he turned it over in his hand.
"Crab tea," Hobbs said. "They have it hot in the machines now. I know you don't do the sports drink, so..."
"Oh. Thank you." Honestly, he didn't quite know what to make of it. But it was a kind gesture.
Hobbs just shrugged. Hobbs was tiger, rumored to be a 'secret tiger man,' which Elijah thought was funny; Hobbs was clearly a tiger man, walking on two legs with ears and a tail and whiskers and everything. He was on the short side for what Elijah had expected for tigers, standing nearly a full head shorter than him, but also what did Elijah know about tigers? Hobbs never brought it up, and Elijah let it sit. It was impolite to say anything, anyway.
Elijah was Black, a little over average height, a little more over average weight than he wanted to be. He had been told it made him look cuddly. He decided to accept that into his world view. Elijah dressed nicely, compared to his teammates at least, complimented by a sturdy pair of glasses. He took his clothes seriously, as well as social interaction. In a way, he supposed he confused his teammates; between Eugenia Garbage and Joe Voorhees and Greer Lott, the average fashion sense on the team was dragged way down.
Hobbs was scrappy, not afraid of confrontation, not afraid of escalating, either. Elijah would rather talk things out, let the etiquette of the situation take over. They weren't that alike. So it was weird that they seemed to gravitate towards each other on the bench during games. But every game, they sat together, joking about what was happening, trading barbs that seemed sincere at first, and, Elijah was surprised to realize, a little more affectionate as they went.
So maybe Hobbs was a friend. It was nice, at least, to have someone to keep him company during the games. There wasn't even a rivalry to be had; they were both mediocre. They were coworkers who liked working together. That was fine.
They were down 5-1 against the Garages and Elijah was starting to zone out, thinking about going home to drier things. He idly watched Hobbs take to the plate and rack up a full count, before grounding out. And he watched the way he sulked just a little as he walked back to the dugout. And idly, he thought about how cute Hobbs looked in his uniform.
Oh no.