DRAMATIS PERSONAE:

Tom Seaver, principal starting pitcher for the New York Mets in 1969
Nancy Seaver, his wife

Genres: Uber, baseball.
Violence: None.
Sex: A married couple is in bed together.
Language: Squeaky clean.
Rating: PG-13.
Subtext: Is there such a thing as heterosexual Xena/Gabrielle subtext? If so, this is it.
Spoilers: None.

The night was crisp and pleasant, and Nancy Seaver snuggled contentedly against her husband. The Mets were up three games to one in the World Series, and Tom wouldn't have to pitch again unless a seventh game were needed Sunday.

Though he was tired from the long day, Tom Seaver couldn't sleep. He had barely eked out a victory over the Baltimore Orioles, and still had visions of Ron Swoboda lumbering over to make a shoestring catch of a sinking liner that had saved the game.

"I feel like Tommie Agee," he told his wife.

"What do you mean?"

"You remember yesterday, when he made those catches? He told me that last night he had nightmares of dropping them. That's what I see Swoboda doing."

"You're just keyed up." She tousled his dark hair and started to stroke his bare chest. "Just like all the other games. I love your intensity, you know."

He kissed her. "And I love your quiet support. You are one beautiful woman, too."

"You're not so bad yourself, 'Tom Terrific.'"

Tom Seaver's long day had begun early that morning, October 15, 1969. He had made a statement in support of the anti-war moratorium scheduled for the day, and was chagrined when, as he entered Shea Stadium, he was handed a flyer quoting his words. Not that he had any great love for the Vietnam War, but baseball was the object here.

After dealing with the inevitable reporters and team meetings, there was the usual round of limbering his pitching arm for the hundred-plus throws he would make if he lasted nine innings. He could not afford to let the Orioles score too many runs; the Mets were a light-hitting team, especially when he was on the mound. The Orioles had scored four times off him in the first game, which the Mets lost.

Donn Clendenon had staked him a run with a solo homer, but when that line drive sailed out there with runners on first and third, everyone knew Swoboda could not reach the ball in time. It would go to the wall, and the Orioles would take the lead.

Ron Swoboda was tall and powerful, in some ways built like Mickey Mantle. However, the resemblance ended there. Ron could hit baseballs over buildings, when he hit them at all, and had suffered fielding indignities such as catching a baseball that bounced off his head. Once he had to leave a game when, in a fit after striking out, he stamped on his helmet and could not extract his spikes. Still, he had a respectable batting average, and was a dedicated player. Today the gremlins had been with him, and the ball landed in the pocket of his outstretched glove. He came up throwing, albeit weakly, causing Frank Robinson, who had prudently tagged at third, to sprint for home instead of loaf down the line.

The score was tied, and Seaver grimly hung on until removed for a pinch hitter, J.C. Martin. The situation called for a bunt, which he delivered; the throw to first hit Martin on the wrist and bounded into right field, the umpire ruled no interference and the Mets had a 2-1 lead, which became the final score.

There were the usual reporters and TV interviews to endure before Seaver could put on his street clothes and catch up with his wife for dinner. They relaxed together, pretending to watch television, before going to bed. He would be suiting up tomorrow for the fifth game. His good friend Jerry Koosman would be starting, and the Orioles were having trouble hitting Koos. With any luck, which the Mets seemed to have a corner on, the Series would be over. Just what the fans in New York would want Ð a victory in the last home game.

He started to relax under his wife's ministrations, his boyish features forming a silly grin. Nancy was tracing doodles with her finger on his chest and abdomen. Suddenly Tom stiffened.

"Nancy, do that again," he said.

"Do what again?"

What you were doing with your finger just now."

"Huh?" But she complied. She drew a circle over his stomach, then a line below it, then crossed the line from the circle to his navel.

Tom Seaver looked deeply into his blonde wifes eyes. "Gabrielle?" he asked.

"Xena?"

"It sure looks like it," Tom replied. "I think we're really going to enjoy this lifetime."

Nancy snuggled even closer than before, and he began to return her stroking.

"You know," Tom said after a while, "I think I know what was nagging me about Ron."

"I hope you're not thinking what I just thought," Nancy said suspiciously.

"I'm afraid so. He's Joxer."

"You, my husband, are nuts. However, I have the cure." Nancy Seaver kissed him then, and for a long time after that nothing needed to be said, though the sheets required some rearranging afterwards.

The End

Disclaimer:
No Baltimore Orioles were humiliated during the writing of this story. Except for Xena and Gabrielle, all persons named in this story are actual persons; there is no intent to defame them.

Episode reference:
Between the Lines.

Author's notes:
The description of the 1969 World Series and Ron Swoboda's mishaps (and success) is accurate. Tommie Agee did have the nightmares as related. It is unlikely Tom Seaver got to sleep with his wife after the fourth game of the 1969 World Series, but it is possible. There was a Moratorium Day declared for October 15, 1969; it was a bust. The Mets won the World Series the next day. Tom Seaver won the Cy Young Award that season, and had a 25-7 record. He was the undisputed leader of the team after manager Gil Hodges.

Please take the time to write to Phil at BroadwayPhil@yahoo.com and let him know how you liked the story!

COPYRIGHT NOTICE:
Xena: Warrior Princess, Xena, Gabrielle and all other characters who have appeared in the series, together with the names, titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of StudiosUSA and Renaissance Pictures. No infringement of copyrights or trademarks is intended in the writing of this fan fiction. This story is copyright © 1999 by Philip D. Hernández and is his sole property along with the story idea. This story cannot be sold or used for profit in any way. Copies of this story may be made for private use only and must include all disclaimers and copyright notices.