Batter Up

Posted on Wed Jul 23rd, 2025 @ 4:23am by Senior Chief Petty Officer Mason Malone & Lieutenant Ame Solis M.D.

Mission: Character Development
Location: USS Athena: Holodeck
Timeline: Pandora's Box: MD07
1413 words - 2.8 OF Standard Post Measure

The crack of the bat against the ball split the quiet of the holodeck, sharp and satisfying. Ame barely registered the impact before she was already resetting, adjusting her grip and stepping back into position. Her pulse pounded in her ears, an unspent current of frustration coiling beneath her skin, demanding release. She exhaled, steadying herself as the pitching machine fired again. Another swing. Another crack. The ball shot into the simulated sky, lost somewhere beyond the lights of the empty stadium.

She hadn't played in years—not really. Not since Jackson. The motions still lived in her muscles, though, familiar even if the fluidity wasn’t there. She hadn’t even realized she’d pulled up this program until she was already standing on the field, the weight of the bat settling into her hands like an old memory. Ame adjusted her stance, jaw tight, eyes locked on the next pitch.

The grief sat heavy in her chest, tangled up with anger, exhaustion, and the lingering burn of helplessness. Iska was gone. Zade had nearly joined him. And now, with Sickbay’s quiet pressing in around her, all of it threatened to break loose. She clenched her fingers around the handle and swung again, the force of it sending a shock through her arms.

The sound of footsteps behind her barely registered until they stopped a few paces away. In the back of her mind a memory caught, a voice she knew was only in her head spoke. “You know,” it drawled, amused but edged with something tired, “if you keep swinging like that, you're gonna throw out your shoulder.”

"Fancy a live pitcher?" Mason asked as he stepped up beside her, narrowly ducking in time to avoid a swing with the bathroom. "Sure beats that machine I reckon? If not, I apologise for bugging you...I saw the program running and it's been a while since I had a chance to play."

She hadn’t imagined the sound of footsteps in the sand, but the voice that followed wasn’t the one she’d expected. It threw her for a second—a double take before she registered Mason properly.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” She shook her head, lowering the bat. “Sorry, didn’t realise you were that close.” Her uniform jacket lay crumpled nearby, long forgotten in the dirt. She exhaled, rolling out the tension in her shoulders. “And you’re not bugging me. I’ve been saying to Savin that I should find more of a team anyway.”

She nodded toward the mound, adjusting her grip. “Go for it.”

Finding a right hand glove, Mason walked up to the pitch plate and nudged the machine aside. He rolled his shoulder a few times and swung his arm around to loosen up the muscles. He watched her get ready, then swung around, pitching the ball at her with a speed that rivaled the machine.

That was not what she’d expected. The ball shot past before she’d even had a chance to react, a blur of speed that left her standing there, bat still poised, watching it sail into the distance. She huffed out a breath, half disbelief, half amusement, and turned to Mason with raised brows.

“Jeez… alright.” A tilt of her head, then a shake, as if recalibrating. “That’s how we’re playing it, huh?” Rolling her shoulders, she adjusted her grip, settling back into position with a more deliberate stance. This time, she was ready.

"Of course," Mason grinned, "and I know Savin has a mean pitch to him too. But I have never shared a game with him so far, I'd love to see if he plays the same as I do. I do know he's a lefty too." He fished a new ball from the machine's supply and moved back into position. "Ready?" He asked, though the ball was already whizzing towards her before he finished speaking.

She hadn’t planned on answering, not that she had time to. Her fingers flexed against the grip, muscles tightening as she tracked the ball’s path. Then came the sharp, familiar crack, the bat connecting cleanly and sending it soaring across the field. She lowered it slightly, exhaling through her nose. Not bad. Probably more to do with Mason’s pitch than any skill on her part, but she wasn’t about to say that.

“You’re not going easy on me, are you?” She cast him a sidelong look, half challenge, half amusement.

"Would it make you feel better if I did?" Mason challenged, already fishing for a new ball, sending it spinning towards her at a different height and angle than the previous one. He rubbed his shoulder as soon as the ball went flying.

She adjusted her footing, weight shifting just enough to meet the new trajectory. The ball clipped the edge of the bat, a glancing blow that sent it bouncing foul. Not perfect, but it did the job. Ame breathed out, steadying herself again.

“Uh huh,” she murmured, lowering the bat and letting it rest against her shoulder. “Tell me something, Mason, were you born with that shoulder, or did you borrow it off a retired pitcher with terrible habits and too much pride?”

The look she gave him was half amusement, half clinical assessment, the same expression she used when a patient tried to pretend they weren’t limping. “I’ve seen that move before. Jackson’s brother used to do the same thing every time he tried to show off. Ended up needing surgery and a lecture.”

"I'm not trying to show off," Mason answered, still massaging his left shoulder. "It's an old injury your predecessor was supposed to help me with but never got around to. It only bothers me when pitching, it doesn't really when going through an obstacle course. I haven't really played since my assignment here, I used to a lot more on my prior assessment as my unit had a good team to play with."

Ame watched him for a beat longer, head tilted slightly, and then stepped over, resting the end of the bat on the ground between them.

“Well, if your shoulder’s flaring when you’re doing something you enjoy, that’s not something I’m keen to leave hanging,” she offered, not quite doctoring him yet but close. “Especially if the last person didn’t follow through.”

Her brows lifted gently. “I can take a proper look, not now, I promise, but sometime soon. Might not need anything drastic, maybe just physio, maybe some targeted rehab. You’d keep full range of motion, but with a lot less grimacing.”

A small, wry smile flickered across her face. “And if you’re ever after a team again… I’m thinking of dragging people into forming one. Holodeck therapy. Very cutting-edge.”

"Your predecessor said I'd be off duty for days if not weeks," Mason answered unhappily, "but I do need this looking after and permanently fixed. Now might be as good a time as any." His expression brightened. "I'd love playing with a team again ma'am. Who else has already joined?"

Ame glanced across at him, her fingers still loose around the bat. “Alright, then we’ll sort it. No aggressive treatments, no pulling you off duty unless absolutely necessary. Just the right physio and rehab to strengthen what’s there and stop it from catching you out mid-game.”

She offered him the gentlest nudge with her elbow, careful to keep clear of the injured side. “You’ll still be pitching. Just with fewer twinges and fewer excuses.”

There was the faintest flicker of a smile, the kind that said she wasn’t joking, not entirely. “Savin’s shown some interest. Jerant too. If we keep the energy friendly and the post-match drinks flowing, I think we might actually have the start of something.”

She settled her stance again, breath steadying as she squared up to the plate. “One more from you, then I’ll call it. But only if you promise to swing by Sickbay before the week’s out. I’ll even keep the lecture short.”

Mason chuckled. "You're on doc," he promised as he curved his fingers around the ball. If he was surprised about the counselor showing any interest in a sport that didn't involve a blade, he didn't show it. "I'll swing by after my shift tomorrow," he added before pitching a fast curve at her.