Centerfield Author: Elsa Frohman Rating: PG. Spoilers: Post NFA Summary: This story is not my sort of thing... really. But I heard John Fogarty's "Centerfield" on my MP3 playlist one afternoon, and it just popped out. "Welcome back, folks. I'm Paul Mackie and I'm here with George Little for KCAL-AM's HDMavs radio. We're in the bottom of the ninth here at Friendly High Desert Mavericks Stadium, where our boys are facing off against the Rancho Cucamonga Quakes. This one's a nail-biter and we're down to the wire, folks. The Mavs are behind 7-10, and there are two outs. But we've got three men on, and Bill Bofford, the Blond Bomber, is next up to bat." "That's right, Paul. Bofford's had an interesting season with the Mavs. He's a power hitter, and he's got one of the best RBI stats in the Southern California League at 125 for the season. But he's had a couple of high profile errors in the infield, and the jury's still out on whether he's going to the show. The Royal's have been looking at him, but it's not a sure thing, by any means." "That's right, George. And now, everything depends on him and that strong arm of his. Bofford's an unusual player, I might add. In a league that is dominated by players from the Caribbean, he's the only player I can think of who hails from the Old Blighty." "Far as I know, they don't even play baseball in England, Paul. You've got to wonder what brought this boy across the ocean and across the continent to play short stop for the Mavs." "While we're waiting for the Bofford to take the plate, here are a few facts: While we call him the Blond Bomber, I'm told that back in the locker room, they call him Spike. No idea why. Also, Bofford is a soccer fan. He says he follows Manchester United. He's five-ten and weighs 150 pounds, but don't get your hopes up, ladies. This guy's spoken for. He popped the question earlier in the season, and as soon as the season is over -- and, as you know, that's after this game -- he's going to marry his long-time sweetheart, Buffy Summers." "You know, Paul, a lot of our female listeners are weeping now. The Bomber's been a real crowd-pleaser when it comes to the ladies. Every night is ladies night when the Blond Bomber is on the roster." -------------- Spike opened his eyes and was all but blinded by the warm sunshine. He started and almost jumped up to run for cover, but the light was everywhere, and he didn't know what direction to run. Only after a moment's panic did he realize that he wasn't burning -- not even smoldering a little. The air was warm and smelled of hotdogs, beer, perspiring bodies and fresh-cut grass. He was sitting on a bench, under an overhang, with several other men, all in baseball uniforms. Out in front of him was a baseball diamond with intensely green grass and red clay baselines marked out with bright white chalk. The back fence was covered with kaleidoscope colors on the advertising billboards, and the sky overhead was the blue of lapis lazuli. Disoriented, Spike blinked and shook his head. None of this was familiar. None of it was right. He ought to be going up in a pillar of flame about now. The sun shone into the dugout and warmed the skin on his bare arms. "You gonna sit there all afternoon?" Spike looked up at the beer-bellied, gray-haired man standing at the end of the dugout to glare at him. "Huh?" "Somebody wake up sleeping beauty there and get him out to the plate," the man ordered. As he turned, Spike could read the word "Coach" on the back of his shirt. "Come on Spike. Better shake a leg," said the man next to him on the bench. "It's up to you now." Spike wondered what could be up to him in this totally foreign environment. He was a vampire. Vampires didn't play baseball. "Your little lady is out there watching," said someone a few seats down. "Knock one over the fence for her." Spike stood up, still wondering what he was going to do. He had no idea of how to play baseball. He'd seen enough of it on the telly to know he was expected to hit a ball thrown at him by a man at the center of the diamond, and that if he hit it, he was supposed to run for a base. But that's where his knowledge of baseball ended. With a dry mouth, and his heart pounding in his chest... wait a minute -- heart pounding -- oh, my God! HEART POUNDING -- he walked slowly out of the dugout. ---------------- "There seems to be some sort of holdup getting Bofford out to the plate. Coach Johnson has been down to the dugout to call for him. While we're waiting, we can look back on this season, which has certainly been a renewal for the Mavs. After 2003's last place finish, the team has come back to a better than .500 record for 2004. And if they win this one..." "Look, Bofford's out of the dugout. He looks confused. You don't suppose he's been having a nip of something between innings. He certainly doesn't look as sharp as we're accustomed to seeing him. I mean, Bofford's usually like a coiled snake. He's the quickest player I've ever seen." --------------- Spike stepped out into full sunshine. It warmed his bare arms and his face beneath the bill of his baseball cap. He wasn't sure where he was supposed to go now. He was pretty sure he needed to get a bat from somewhere. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty!" the coach yelled. "Your helmet. Don't forget your helmet!" Spike looked around in confusion. A little boy ran out to him with the gray headgear. "Here it is, Mr. Bofford!" the boy said, worship in his voice. "And here's your favorite bat!." "Thanks..." Spike said, realizing he didn't know the boy's name. "Thank *you,* Mr. Bofford! Will you sign my ball after?" "Um... yeah. Sure." Spike surveyed the stadium once more. His eyes lit on a flash of floral-print cotton in the front row just off to the left of home plate. She was here! Just like they'd said back in the dugout. Buffy Summers, resplendent in a bright sundress, golden hair sparkling in the sun. It was as if there was a spotlight on her. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on. She all but glowed in the warm daylight. To see her this way -- bathed in sunshine -- it almost brought tears to his eyes. Next to her was Red wearing an over-sized High Desert Mavs T-shirt and baseball cap. And next to Red was the whelp, holding a big soft drink and a hot dog. Spike took another long look at Buffy. He had no idea why he was here, or what he was doing, but he was going to do his best now. He was going to do it right -- for her. ------------------- "The Blond Bomber is at the plate. But I wonder what's going on with him, George. He looks like he's been pole axed. This isn't like Bofford." "I know what you mean Paul. He keeps shaking his head a little and looking around like he doesn't know where he is." "This at bat is for the whole shebang. It's gonna be all or nothing. I hope Bofford can get his feet under him. A home run now would put him in the big leagues." ---------------- Spike grasped the bat the way he'd seen the players do it on the telly. He bent over a little and looked out at the pitcher, who was giving him a quizzical look. "You OK, man?" the catcher whispered. "Yeah, I think so." "You don't look so good." "I'll be OK. Just dizzy for a moment when I stood up." "Whatever you say. But you might want to step back off the plate." Spike looked down. He was standing directly on home plate. "Oh, bugger," he muttered, realizing his inexperience was showing all too obviously. He shuffled back a step and assumed his stance again. The pitcher shrugged and began his windup. -------------- "And there's the pitch! It's high and inside. Bofford jumps back, and it's Ball one!" -------------- "What the hell was that?" Spike hissed to the catcher. "Just makin' sure you respect him," the man answered. Spike set his jaw and assumed his stance again. He glared across the field at the pitcher, hoping that the man could read his face and know it meant "Try that again and I'm going to be drinking from your brainstem." The pitcher wound up and the ball sailed toward him -- breaking just before it reached the plate. Spike swung and connected with air, the momentum of the bat swining him around. --------------- "Strike one! He didn't even come close. This doesn't look good for the Mavs! Bofford is really off his game." -------------- Spike clenched his teeth. He glanced over his shoulder to where Buffy was sitting. She was leaned forward, her hands on her face. He could see the concern in her eyes. She was afraid he was going to blow it. Spike's mouth tightened. Not in this lifetime. He was not going to fail. He looked back at the pitcher and narrowed his eyes. As the ball left the man's hand, Spike traced its route toward him. He slowed it with his mind and saw exactly where it was going to pass by him. He swung the bat into the space where he anticipated the ball to be coming. ------------- "And it's a pop fly. Strike two!" ------------- Spike heard the umpire's call. He wasn't sure what it meant, but apparently, the ball that went up and not forward didn't count. He shook his head and determined to get the next one. The ball whizzed toward him, but it was wide. He let it go by. -------------- "Ball two!" ---------------- Spike looked out at the mound. The pitcher was starting to wind up again. OK, the wide one had been on purpose. Spike could see that now in the man's body language. The pitcher was trying to fake him out and make him swing at a bad ball. But this one was going to be good. The ball streaked toward him. It was going faster than any of the previous pitches, but not too fast for a vampire's perception. Spike brought the bat into position, just a bit lower this time. He swung and put every bit of his strength into it. The ball made contact with the bat with a solid crack and arced away from him. It rose just enough to soar over the pitcher and short stop's heads. It flew toward the back fence and past the outfielders. It crossed the limit of the field and streaked out into the world at large. ------------------- "And it's over the back fence! Home run! He did it. The Blond Bomber did it! That's the game! The crowd is on its feet. They're screaming their heads off. And everyone of them wishes they were Bill Bofford at this moment. He's a hero. He won the game!" "I've got to say, Paul. I've never seen anything like that. I didn't think he was going to pull it out." "That's Bofford for you. Get him in a corner and he comes through every time!" ------------------ Spike trotted the bases feeling the unbridled joy of the crowd. They were all up and all screaming. His teammates were out of the dugout to greet him as he rounded home plate. There were high fives, and they all seemed to want to pat his behind. Someone dumped a bucket of ice over his head. Everybody was yelling. Everybody was happy. Spike broke away from the congratulating crowd around him and made his way to the retaining wall below where Buffy and her friends were sitting. "Was that right, love?" he called up to her. In a second, Buffy had her legs over the wall. She dropped down to him and he caught her in mid air. "It was perfect!" she exclaimed. "It was absolutely perfect! You are fantastic! I love you so much!" ------------------ Buffy and Willow sat on opposite arms of the sofa -- at the head and foot of the sleeping vampire. Buffy was at his head. She reached down and smoothed the platinum curls on his forehead. "I think it worked," Willow said in a low voice. "Dream spells are usually pretty easy." Buffy smiled. "Good." "Buffy, I've just got to ask. Why baseball? I mean, you could have let him kick the winning goal for England at the World Cup. He probably would have understood that better." Buffy shrugged. "I've seen him watching baseball lately. I asked him why -- I mean, it's pretty boring if you ask me. He said he liked how bright and sunny it was." "Yeah, I guess that would be pretty good for a vampire." "Thanks, Will. I really wanted to give him something special for our anniversary."