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hephaestuscrew · 9 months

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"Minkowski's been talking about Sondheim again…": Minkowski's love of musical theatre and what it reveals about her characterisation and her relationships

TL;DR: Renée Minkowski's love of musicals, while it might seem just like a mundane character detail, is used to give depth to her character because it contrasts with expectations of her from both the listening audience and the other characters. Her willingness or unwillingness to share this interest in different circumstances reveals her relationships with other characters at various points. Since this is a long one, if you'd rather read it as a document, you can view it here: Google Doc version.

"She actually really cares about these talent shows": Episode 8 (Box 953)

In the early episodes of Season 1, Minkowski is presented (largely through Eiffel's unreliable perspective) purely as a strict no-nonsense authority figure without much emotional depth, the kind of person who only likes things that are useful, purposeful, or mandated by Command. In contrast, musical theatre is a creative pursuit that has nothing to do with the mission of the Hephaestus and is viewed by many people as fairly frivolous or silly. The gradual exploration of Minkowski's passion for musicals is one of the many ways that the show expands and challenges our understanding of her as a character.

The first indication that we get of her interest in musicals is through her entry into the infamous talent show, something that is required as part of the mission. Minkowski really cares about 'crew morale' activities in general, even when they actually have a negative effect on morale and even before she's friends with any of her crew (for example, the Christmas and Thanksgiving dinners in the earlier stage of the mission), perhaps partly because doing things in the "right way" is important to her.

But Eiffel senses that the talent shows aren't just about rules for her: "it’s bad enough when she makes us do something just because it’s military protocol, but I think that she actually really cares about these talent shows". This might be the first indication that we get of Minkowski caring deeply about anything that isn't inherently part of her role as a Commander. Moments like this are part of the gradual process of giving us insight into her character beyond the Commander archetype that she tries to embody. And yet, she only indulges her theatrical passion because something mandatory gives her permission, or an excuse, to let another part of herself out.

Of course, to satisfy the needs of a talent show, she'd only need to provide a performance of a few minutes. But Eiffel mentions "the second act of the play" - which along with Hera's comment that "Isabel isn't the biggest role in the play" - implies that Minkowski was intending to put on the whole of Pirates of Penzance as her talent show act, rather than a few of the songs or some kind of medley. (I suppose that Eiffel could be exaggerating or Minkowski might have been planning to do extracts from different parts of the play, but I prefer the interpretation in which Minkowski gets to be more ridiculous.)

Even though no one else would be willing to be in her production of Pirates of Penzance, Minkowski casts Hera as Isabel, a role with two lines and no solo singing. I found some audition notes for this play which said "The traditional staging gives [Isabel] more prominence than the solo opportunities of the part suggest, so she must be a good actress" which does make me sad in relation to Hera's inability to have a more significant role by being physically present on stage.

It’s sweet that Hera still wants to take part though. She tells Eiffel "Pirates of Penzance is a classic of 19th century comic opera", so either she’s absorbed what Minkowski has told her about the show, or she’s done her own research and formed her own opinions. I enjoy the fact that Hera is the one Hephaestus crew member who shows potential to share Minkowski's musical theatre appreciation; I like to think that this is something they could explore together post-canon.

Anyway, I'm obsessed with the idea that Minkowski was planning to play every character except one in Pirates of Penzance, a show which is designed to have 10 principal characters and a chorus of 14 men. It seems that her contribution to the talent show was supposed to be an entire two-hour two-act musical, with costumes and props, in which she would play almost all of the parts. This is very funny to me as the perhaps predictable consequence of giving an ambitious and frustrated grown-up theatre kid a position of authority and asking them to arrange a talent show. Minkowski knows that the audience will be made up of her subordinates who are theoretically obliged by the chain of command to watch and listen, so she absolutely tries to make the most of that opportunity. There's probably also a degree to which she limits other people's involvement in her musical because - as with her other endeavors - she wants the outcome to be almost entirely within her control (something that is usually pretty much impossible in as collaborative a medium as musical theatre).

Of course, Minkowski's behaviour in most of the talent show episode is affected by her being drugged by Hilbert. This creates an exaggerated situation which is the first real opportunity for Minkowski to be something other than the strict sensible authoritarian Commander and the foil to Eiffel's jokey laid-back attitude. I don't agree with ideas that being intoxicated brings out anyone's true self (especially in the absence of consent for the intoxication), but it seems pretty clear that being under the influence of whatever was in Hilbert's concoction caused Minkowski to fully commit to a level of manic enthusiasm for her musical production that might have otherwise been obscured by her professionalism. It's a particular kind of person who belts showtunes when drunk, and Minkowski is that kind of person, even if that's not how she wants to present herself. (As a sidenote, I seem to remember that they took Emma Sherr-Ziarko's script off her to help her sound more drunk. It's an excellent performance.)

Minkowski wants interval ice cream. She wants "pirate costumes" (and she'll threaten to shoot a man to get them). She wants "swashes and buckles". She wants whatever props she can get her hands on (including a real cannon). This show is important to her, even though only three other people will witness it and two of them actively don't want to be there. It’s important to her for its own sake.

Eiffel says Minkowski wants "a second pair of eyes to tell her if the prop sabre for her Major-General costume was a bit much…" While I certainly wouldn't put it past Goddard Futuristics to have a prop sabre on the station for no apparent reason, it feels more likely that she might have made it or adapted some existing item. Which suggests that maybe she was that passionate about the props even before Hilbert drugged her.

Even so, it does feel significant that Minkowski's love of musicals is only revealed in the episode in which she is drugged, exhibiting lowered inhibitions, exaggerated behaviour, and an "impaired euphoric effect". Her love of musical theatre is initially revealed through a professional structure that provides permission, and then further emphasised by a forced intoxication that exaggerates some impulses that perhaps she already had.

"Some hobbies other than making trains run on time": Episode 17 (Bach to the Future)

After Eiffel tells to find Minkowski to find something else to do while her work duties have quietened down, they have the following exchange:

EIFFEL: You must have some hobbies other than making trains run on time. Something to do with friends? Boyfriends? MINKOWSKI: Of course I do, but, well, there aren't really a lot of opportunities for rock climbing or trail hiking in the immediate vicinity.

Even though this quote doesn't mention musicals, I've included it here for two reasons. Firstly, it's very funny to me that, even after the talent show debacle, Eiffel acts like he's never had any evidence of Minkowski's hobbies. She tried to perform a whole play almost single-handedly and it didn't occur to him that this might indicate an interest of hers outside of work. I think this reflects the fairly two-dimensional view that Eiffel has previously had of Minkowski, which her interest in musical theatre didn't fit into.

Secondly, it feels notable that Minkowski doesn't mention musical theatre here. She wants to show that she has non-work interests, but without undermining her own authoritative image. Her interest in rock climbing and trail hiking - while it may be genuine - fits with how she wants to be seen as a Commander. These are hobbies which portray her as physically capable, with a high degree of stamina and a willingness to adapt to perhaps less hospitable surroundings. Of course, Minkowski does have these traits and they serve her well on the Hephaestus. But there's not really anything particularly surprising about her expressing these interests. The surprise in this scene comes from the reveal that she has a husband, a character detail which - like her love of musicals - isn't something we'd necessarily expect from the archetype-based view of her we are initially presented with.

Her interest in rock climbing and trail hiking never come up again, because these details don't really deepen her characterisation (or at least, they aren't really used to deepen her characterisation beyond proving that she isn't entirely all-work-and-no-play). In contrast, Minkowski's love of musicals is brought up over and over because it shows another side of her that she struggles to reveal on the Hephaestus, and that allows more interesting things to be done with her characterisation.

"You wanted to write showtunes": Episode 35 (Need to Know)

Alongside the more high stakes discoveries prompted by the leak from Kepler's files, we also learn that Minkowski applied to - and was rejected from - the Tisch Graduate Musical Theater Writing Program.

Up until this point, we've only had evidence that Minkowski enjoys performing in musicals. But here we learn that Minkowski doesn't just love watching or performing in musicals - she wanted to write them too. This suggests a creative side to her that we never see her fully express.

The course

The Tisch Graduate Musical Theatre Writing Program claims to be the only course of its kind in the world and it accepts just 30 students each year. The current application process requires applicants to: upload play scripts or recordings of songs they've written; answer a large number of extended response questions about their creative process and views on musical theatre; write a 'statement of purpose' which has to talk about why they are applying and include 3 original ideas for musicals; provide a professional resume and a digital portfolio; complete an exercise of writing in response to a prompt; and undergo an interview. The process might have changed somewhat since Minkowski would have been applying (which, if it was soon after she finished college, might have been around the early 2000s) or it might be different in Wolf 359's alternate universe, but I think we can safely assume that applying to this course was a serious undertaking that required an intense amount of commitment and work.

Applying to a course like that isn't something you do half-heartedly or on a whim. You couldn't apply to this course if you hadn't done a fair amount of musical theatre writing already. (The course requires applicants to choose to apply as bookwriters, lyricists, or composers, but I'm not going to make a guess here as to which of these Minkowski went for.) The fact that Minkowski wanted to study this course suggests that she was seriously considering trying to make a career out of musical theatre writing. In Once In A Lifetime, she tells Cutter that commanding a space station has always been her dream job, but we've got evidence here that it wasn't her only dream job. There's something kind of funny and kind of sad about the idea that writing musicals was her back-up / fall-back career path. She does not like to make life easy for herself.

The revelation

This information is revealed against Minkowski's will. It's not something she wanted people to find out, and she isn't happy about them knowing:

JACOBI: "Dear Renée, thank you for your interest in the Tisch Graduate Musical Theater Writing Program..." MINKOWSKI: Oh, come on! JACOBI: (pressing on) "We are sorry to say, we will not be able to offer you a spot in this year's blah blah blah." Oh this is too good. You wanted to write showtunes? MINKOWSKI: Number one? Shut up. Number two, why are my personal records on there?! [...] How is it in any way relevant?! JACOBI: Oh, I think it's very relevant. I mean, if you're sending someone to pilot ships in deep space, you want to make sure that they can, you know... paint with all the colors of the wind. Jacobi CRACKS UP - and, although to a lesser degree, so does Lovelace. Minkowski looks at her: really? LOVELACE: Sorry, Minkowski. It's... it's a little funny. MINKOWKSI: No, it isn't!

Minkowski seems defensive and embarrassed here. She obviously doesn't trust everyone there with this revelation (Jacobi, Maxwell, Lovelace, and Hera are all present). She considers this information to be "personal" and irrelevant and not even "a little funny". She's used to reactions like Jacobi's (and to a lesser extent Lovelace's); in Ep41 Memoria, she says "most people think it's hilarious that I like musicals" (see below for more thoughts about this quote). But the fact that these mocking reactions are expected doesn't mean that they don't bother her. She wants so badly to be taken seriously and, in this scene, her interest in musical theatre seems to be incompatible with that. Jacobi reacts the way that he does because of the idea that I've already expressed, that a passion for musical theatre does not fit with the serious authoritative image that Minkowski has often presented. It's not the typical hobby of a soldier, especially not a Commander.

To me, the way Lovelace laughs suggests that she might not have previously known about Minkowski's love of musicals, or at least perhaps not the full extent of it. At any rate, it's definitely news to Jacobi. And Minkowski clearly hasn't talked about it enough for it not to feel like a big reveal for her.

The rejection

It's notable that this reveal is not just that she wanted to write for the stage, but also that she failed to get into a course that might have helped her work towards that goal. This of course compounds Minkowski's discomfort at having this information revealed. Not only did she want to write showtunes, but she encountered rejection in her attempts to do so. This detail implies that perhaps it wasn't just the appeal of her spacefaring dream that stopped her going down a theatrical career path.

I'm about to move more into headcanon territory rather than just straightforward analysis, but I personally believe that, while Minkowski auditioned for a lot of musicals (particularly as a child / young person), she was never cast as the main role. She seems embarrassed about her interest in musical theatre in a way that (at least judging by people I've encountered) people who were always the lead in their school / college productions don't tend to be.

We don't have much evidence about her actual level of singing/acting ability, given that she is inebriated during the only time we hear her sing in the podcast. However, it resonates with other aspects of her characterisation to imagine that Minkowski was generally good enough to get an ensemble part but never quite good enough to be cast as a main part. I think she might see only ever being cast as part of the ensemble, and failing to get into the Tisch Musical Theatre Writing programme, as slightly more down-to-earth examples of the same pattern as her repeated rejections from NASA. She is desperate to prove herself. She is "someone who very much wants to matter. To do something important." When she casts herself as almost every part in Pirates of Penzance, she is finally taking the opportunity to be a main character, an opportunity which I imagine had been denied to her over and over in both a literal and metaphorical sense.

"It's just from a play I saw once": Episode 41 (Memoria)

The next scene I want to talk about is from a memory of Hera's, which took place on Day 57 of the Hephaestus mission and in which Minkowski appears to be talking about the Stephen Sondheim musical Sunday in the Park with George:

MINKOWSKI: Oh, it's just from a play I saw once. It doesn't matter. (BEAT) The guy who sings it is this famous French painter. And his entire life is kinda falling apart. But he can always turn what's happening around him into these beautiful paintings. HERA: And? MINKOWSKI: And... That's, I don't know. Reassuring, maybe? (BEAT) I don't know why I'm going on about this. You don't care. HERA: I think it's interesting. MINKOWSKI: Yeah? Most people think it's hilarious that I like musicals. HERA: I don't see what's funny about it. MINKOWSKI: Well, thank you Hera, but you're not exactly... you know. HERA: I'm not... what?

There's a couple of different things I want to pick out from this exchange. Firstly, the line "Most people think it's hilarious that I like musicals" makes me sad. I don't think she's talking about people on the Hephaestus there. Judging by the quote I talked about from Bach to the Future, Eiffel definitely wouldn't have registered Minkowski's love of musicals at this stage, and I doubt Hilbert cares at all about the hobbies of his fellow crew members. So Minkowski is talking about experiences that she's had on Earth, of people mocking her interest in musicals and thinking it doesn't fit with who she is. You can hear the impact of those experiences in Minkowski's reluctance to elaborate, in the way she says that something she obviously cares about doesn't matter, in her assumption that Hera doesn't care.

Secondly, this scene is a complicated one for Minkowski and Hera's relationship. On the one hand, Minkowski freely talks to Hera about something she's passionate about, and Hera listens and expresses interest. Hera validates Minkowski's interest in musical theatre without making a thing of it being weird and Minkowski thanks her. Again, it’s shown as an interest they could could potentially share.

But on the other hand, it seems like part of the reason Minkowski feels able to open up to Hera is because at this point Minkowski doesn't see opening up to Hera as fully equivalent to opening up to a fellow human. She doesn't just accept Hera not making fun of her interest; instead it seems Minkowski is about to imply that this lack of judgment indicates Hera's difference from humans (although she does have the decency not to say it outright). Minkowski's expectation of judgment from others contributes to her saying something very hurtful to Hera here. (This kind of potential consequence of negative self-attitude is explored a lot with Eiffel, so it's interesting that Minkowski can sometimes have a similar issue.)

Minkowski and Hera's conversation is interrupted when:

The DOOR OPENS. EIFFEL: Hey, Minkowski, we've - What are you guys talking about? MINKOWSKI: We were just discussing how I'm going to take away your hot water privileges if you don't reset the long-range scan.

Eiffel can obviously tell that he's walked in on a conversation that is about something other than work, or he wouldn't have asked. But Minkowski actively chooses not to tell him that she was talking to Hera about musicals. Perhaps she doesn't know how to open up to a human subordinate about it. Perhaps she doesn't trust him not to make fun of her. Perhaps she just doesn't have any impulse to talk about her interests with him. Either way, if Minkowski's love of musicals is something which reflects a side of her personality outside of her Commander role, this is a moment where she chooses not to take an opportunity to share that side of herself with Eiffel. This reflects the emotional distance between them three months into the mission, which forms a nice contrast with the next couple of quotes I'm going to talk about.

"Composition. Balance. Harmony.": Episode 54 (The Watchtower)

When Eiffel comes directly face to face with alien life, he discovers that music is the human invention that fascinates the Dear Listeners:

EIFFEL: You haven't figured out music? BOB: ORDER. DESIGN. TENSION. COMPOSITION. BALANCE. HARMONY. EIFFEL: (low, to himself) Minkowski's been talking about Sondheim again…

I only learned in the course of writing this post that in this moment the Dear Listeners are almost exactly quoting a repeated phrase used throughout Sunday in the Park with George. The titular protagonist lists various combinations of these qualities in multiple songs in reference to his art. In the closing song, the lyrics are "Order. Design. Tension. Composition. Balance. Light. [...] Harmony." It's not only Eiffel's references that the Dear Listeners are incorporating into their speech - they've picked this one up from Minkowski. This also suggests that some element of her appreciation for musicals and the way she talks about them has fed into the Dear Listeners' understanding of the human phenomenon of music. The Dear Listeners aren't just parroting - they understood the quote enough that they left out the word "light", arguably the only quality in that phrase which isn't a big part of music as well as visual art. Eiffel likes music too, but I don't think that this is how he'd talk about his favourite songs.

This is a refrain about finding order and beauty out of the chaos and uncertainty of life, which was also the aspect of Sunday in the Park with George that Minkowski focused on when talking about it in Memoria. It suggests that art/music could be something governed by rules and principles, which is potentially something that appeals both to Minkowski and to the Dear Listeners.

Eiffel's response to this reference is one of those little hints that reminds us that Eiffel and Minkowski have spent a lot of time together and that not all of that time has involved them being at each others' throats or actively in a life-or-death situation. Some of it has just been Minkowski going on about a musical she loves and Eiffel (willingly or not) paying enough attention that he recognises this phrase as a Sondheim quote that Minkowski has talked about. I suppose that this quote might have been in Eiffel's pop-culture-brain anyway, but judging from Eiffel's general tastes and the fact that I don't think Sunday in the Park with George is one of the more commonly known Sondheim musicals among non-musical fans, it seems more likely that this quote is something he only knows because Minkowski has talked about it.

Eiffel sounds exasperated at the mention, like he's heard Minkowski talk about Sondheim far too much. But I'd argue that this still says something positive about their relationship, when we contrast it with a couple of other moments I've already mentioned. Firstly, when her previous musical theatre ambitions are revealed to Jacobi, Maxwell, and Lovelace in Need to Know, Minkowski seems embarrassed and defensive. Secondly, in the memory from Memoria, she avoids telling Eiffel that she was talking about this same musical. Yet, by the time The Watchtower takes place, Eiffel is sick of hearing Minkowski talk about Sondheim. She doesn't have the same barriers up in sharing her interests with him, even though he doesn't have the same interests. I think this is a demonstration of how comfortable she feels with him. It's a hint at the kind of easy downtime that they've sometimes shared.

"One day more": Episode 61 (Brave New World)

Eiffel recognises another musical reference of Minkowski’s in the finale. As the crew are preparing for their final confrontation with Cutter and co., Minkowski quotes Les Misérables, mostly to herself - but Eiffel recognises the lyrics and joins in:

EIFFEL: Hey - chin up, soldier. We're almost through. Just one more day, and then we're done. MINKOWSKI: Yeah, one more day. (more to herself) The time is now, the place is here - one day more. EIFFEL: - one day more. They both stop, dead in their tracks. MINKOWSKI: Did you just - ? EIFFEL: Was that what I - ? They look at each other: No way. And BURST INTO LAUGHTER. EIFFEL: Man... this is really it, huh? The end of everything.

It feels really important that Minkowski and Eiffel share this moment of togetherness before she tries to send him back to Earth and before the rest of the action goes down. I think there’s some nice symbolism about them finding a way to communicate that they both understand. Making references is Eiffel's thing, and musicals are Minkowski's thing, so this is a synthesis of their two approaches. Again, there's a contrast with Minkowski's previous unwillingness to share her musical theatre passions with Eiffel (at least without the mitigating circumstances of a mandatory talent show and some kind of intoxicating substance).

I talked about the significance of the fact that they reference this particular musical in this post from ages ago. I don't think it's too much of a spoiler for Les Misérables to say that the revolution that the song One Day More is building up to does not end well for the revolutionaries. When Eiffel says "Just one more day, and then we're done", it encompasses both the possibility that the crew will escape to travel back to Earth and the possibility that they will all die. Minkowski's reference to a famously tragic musical suggests that it's the latter possibility that's at the forefront of her mind (right before she tries to send Eiffel away from the danger). But Les Misérables is also a story about people standing together in solidarity against powerful oppressive forces, which gives particular resonance to the way that this reference brings Eiffel and Minkowski together in a moment of being completely on the same wavelength as they prepare to fight Cutter and Pryce's plan.

When they laugh here, it's not about the 'hilariousness' of Minkowski's interest in musicals, it's about their unexpected unison - Eiffel's recognition of Minkowski's reference and Minkowski's surprise at the fact he joined in. It's a laugh of togetherness, of shared understanding, of friendship. It's a moment of lightness in dark times. And that moment is provided by Minkowski's pop culture interests, not Eiffel's. In spite of all they've been through, she's not lost that part of herself, and in fact, she's more open about it, at least to Eiffel.

I'll finish by highlighting what Eiffel says when he's trying to get into character to impersonate Minkowski so he can turn the Sol around:

EIFFEL: Umm... yes, this is Lieutenant Commander Renée Minkowski. I'm... uh... well I sure love schedules, and, uh, musicals. And that man, who I married…

I just think this is a nice example of Eiffel not defining Minkowski solely by her professional Commander role. Sure, she likes schedules (probably in a personal as well a professional capacity to be fair), but she also loves musicals, and her husband. It is a fairly reductive overview of her as a person, but it feels reductive in a fond way, like these things are part of Minkowski's brand to Eiffel in a way that he might affectionately tease her about. (Credit to @commsroom for this thought.) His view of Minkowski has come a long way from "our resident Statsi agent" or even just "you must have some hobbies other than making trains run on time." He doesn't see any contradiction or inherent humour in Lieutenant Commander Renée Minkowski's appreciation of musicals.

Conclusion

Minkowski's love of musical theatre is used to deepen her characterisation and is one of the ways in which we gradually begin to see her complexity beyond the strict Commander archetype. The degree to which she is prepared to share this interest at various points is used to illustrate the nature of her relationships with other characters: a general unwillingness to show a less serious side of herself; a complicated potential shared interest with Hera; and the growing understanding between her and Eiffel.

If you read this whole thing, well done / thank you 😄 It wasn't meant to be this long - it just happened… Feel free to share your thoughts!

#It's Minkowski Essay Time again!#This is over 4700 words and still doesn't cover it all...#I hadn't quite realised there was so much to say!#Wolf 359 #w359 #If anyone is more familiar with 'Sunday in the Park with George' and has thoughts on why it might particularly appeal to Minkowski #I'd be interested to hear #I listened to the soundtrack and read the Wikipedia plot summary #but I don't think I really got it #My other significant bit of research was that #in order to see what applying to the Tisch Graduate Musical Theatre Writing Program involves #I had to create an account as if I was actually applying #which might be the oddest thing I've done for character analysis #If it interests anyone I could do a post with more detail about that application process #cos it looks insanely intense #Renée Minkowski #Renee Minkowski #the empty man posteth #I hope no one takes things I have said here as critical of musical theatre people btw #I'm just talking about general perceptions #In general I do enjoy musicals myself from an audience perspective

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roosterforme · 5 months

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How You Play the Game Part 7 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You and Bradley are both determined to enjoy your last day together, but that doesn't mean neither of you are hurting. More than anything, he wants you to stay with him past the World Series. You wish you could reassure him that's what you want to do, too.

Warnings: Swears, fluff, angst, smut (18+)

Length: 4700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! How You Play the Game masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

Bradley's words were echoing in your ears. "What do you have in New York that you couldn't have in San Diego? Here. With me."

You couldn't answer him. There was nothing you could say, really. Instead you sat on his lap until your tears stopped and you felt like you could breathe again. Breathing was always easier around Bradley, because he seemed to be the only one who wasn't rushing you or shoving you along through deadlines and connecting flights and time zones.

You couldn't exactly tell him you had stronger feelings for him after knowing him for nine whole days than you did for the last guy you dated for a year. And you couldn't tell him you felt lonely in your own skin sometimes, like nobody else could understand how hard it was to love your job but hate the constant demands. You couldn't tell him that feeling lessened with each passing day he was near you.

When you finally eased away from him and kissed his lips, you tried to smile as you said, "Let's just enjoy our last day together." That was all you could offer him. That was all you could have from him in return.

Bradley closed his eyes, and said, "Sure, Ace." And you couldn't fight the urge to smooth out the crease along his forehead with your lips. You kissed him there, and he didn't stop you. There were so many things you didn't know about him, hadn't bothered to ask. And there was no reason for him to ask you either, because this was all a fling with an expiration date. But you were curious, especially after spending so much time in his home.

You were still smoothing your fingers along the scars and lines on his face when he opened his pretty brown eyes and tried to smile at you. By the time you were on your flight to Boston on Monday morning, you'd be craving the feel of his skin and the scratch of his mustache.

"It's late," he said softly, his voice raspier than ever. Your lips were on his before you could even reason with yourself that you needed to start pulling back in self preservation. And of course he kissed you back just right with his big hands on your back. When you pulled away, there were more tears in your eyes, and you wanted so badly to hide them. But he kissed your cheeks and said, "We should try to get some sleep. I want you to have energy when you're in Boston."

You nodded and stood, and you watched him gracefully pull his big body off the cold floor. Wordlessly, he picked up your computer and took your hand, leading you back to his bedroom. He carefully plugged your computer in so it would be charged up for game seven, and he kissed your forehead. "I already brushed my teeth. I'll warm up the bed."

When you slipped into the bathroom, you had to scrub at the tear streaks on your face as more threatened to fall. You brushed your teeth and used the toilet, and then you realized you still hadn't actually booked your flight. You were swiping at your tears when you walked back into his bedroom and saw him in bed with his head on his pillow and his hands over his eyes.

He must have heard you, because he sat up a little bit and pulled the covers back as he said, "Come on, Ace." Then he paused. "You're crying again."

You located your phone and whispered, "I still have to book my flight." You were clutching your phone to your chest as Bradley took a deep breath and patted the spot in bed next to him. You slid in, and he wrapped his arms around you, making it somehow easier and harder for you to open up the airline app and search.

Direct flight. 6:35 on Monday morning. One seat left. It seemed too fateful for you to look any further. You could be in Boston late in the afternoon and go right to TD Garden and start your research and maybe get a jump on the exclusive. You bought the ticket and then tossed your phone aside as you buried your face in Bradley's chest.

He must have seen your phone screen, because he whispered, "I can drop you off at the airport." You just nodded as he rubbed his hand up and down your arm, soothing you. "Hey, I thought we were going to enjoy our last day together."

You took a deep breath, indulging in the smell of his skin before you looked up at him. "That's what I want." Bradley looked at you like he was trying to memorize your face before he turned off the lamp next to the bed.

---------------------------

You were curled up sweetly with your head on his chest, but to Bradley, it felt like there was an unmovable weight that was crushing him. Your upcoming schedule would have you flying all over the place, and he wanted to know he did everything he could to let you get some rest now. He wanted you to think back to the World Series with him and smile, not feel stress from it.

Maybe you'd text or call him occasionally, when you could. The idea of it took some of the pain in his chest away. Just seeing a message from Ace on his phone would probably destroy and excite him equally.

"Bradley?" you asked softly. Your voice surprised him since your breathing had finally evened out to a slow and steady rhythm.

"Yeah, Baby?"

Your arm draped across his abs tightened around him as you said, "There are so many things I don't know about you. It's like we did this all backwards in a way, and I'm missing some little pieces of it all. I don't even know how old you are."

"I'm thirty five," he replied instantly. Then he told you when his birthday was in June.

"I should have known you were born during baseball season," you replied with a smile in your voice. "Where are you from?"

"Virginia. And I gotta say, I like the east coast girls, Ace."

He wanted to make you laugh, wanted to try to ease your mind, but you just said, "They like you, too."

Then you asked him more about his family, but there wasn't a lot to say. And you asked him about the Navy, but there was too much for your last twenty four hours together. And he wanted to know everything about you, too. So he repeated a lot of the questions you already asked, and eventually you yawned and rolled onto your side, pulling him with you.

Bradley knew it was time to let you get some sleep as he stroked your cheek with his thumb. This time he was almost certain your even breathing meant you were out, and he let himself relax with the back of your body nestled against the front of his. He was nearly asleep now, too, but he indulged in one last question. "Would you stay, Ace? Would you stay if you could?"

Once again he slept so soundly with you cradled in his arms, warmer and more comfortable than he could ever remember being. When he woke up, he'd barely moved, because you were facing him in his arms, still sound asleep. It was Sunday. Game seven. You'd be well and truly gone by this time tomorrow. Bradley wanted to wake you up and talk to you, hear your voice. He wanted to spend the whole day in your presence. But this was kind of perfect, too. You trusted him next to you after just a few nights together.

He pressed his lips softly to your forehead and let you sleep as long as you needed to, and his reward when you woke up was the look of pure happiness on your face when you realized you were with him. His heart ached as he watched your expression falter just enough that he knew you realized what today meant.

"Bradley," you whispered, voice laced with sadness as you let your palm rest on his cheek before pushing your fingers back through his hair. "Bradley, I-"

But you didn't finish your sentence. You kissed him instead. You were wearing his Padres jersey and a pair of his socks, and Bradley never wanted you to stop. He wanted you to have his clothing at your disposal whenever you wanted to wear it.

"Ace," he grunted, rolling you onto your back. You didn't let him break the kiss as you kept your hands on his cheeks and in his hair. Your thighs were spread wide for him, and you moaned softly into his mouth when he settled against your core.

Bradley's cock was heavy and throbbing as he carefully pulled his underwear down around his thighs. Your little moans were so pretty as he devoured your mouth and caressed your opening with his tip until you were bucking up against him with a gasp.

"I want you."

Well that was fine with Bradley, because he wanted you. And he wanted to give you everything. He wanted you to be his. So he guided himself slowly until he was deep inside you, and he let himself pretend it was already Monday and you decided to stay.

-----------------------------

Bradley's arms were wrapped around you from behind, and his chin came to rest on your shoulder. "Let me make you breakfast. To say thank you for letting me eat all your food," you whispered. It was hard not to smile when you were wearing his clothing and he had you in his arms like this.

"I'd rather make it together," he murmured softly next to your ear. "Rather spend the whole day touching you."

You closed your eyes and swallowed past the lump in your throat. This would never work, no matter how badly you wished it could. Bradley wanted to touch you all day when you were here with him, but you'd always be away. You'd be chasing exclusives and jumping through all the hoops Greg set out for you. And Bradley would grow tired of your lifestyle, crave someone easier to be with. You were already too much for him.

"Can we make breakfast together?" he asked, and you realized you and he had snuggled in bed for such a long time, you only had a few hours until you had to be at Petco Park.

"Yeah," you replied softly. You did most of the work, and he did most of the touching, but a little while later, you and he were on the couch again with plates of eggs and bacon.

Bradley's pretty brown eyes were on your face as you took a bite and smiled softly. "It's yummy. I like cooking with you."

He closed his eyes and balanced his plate on his knee. "We could keep doing this, Ace. We could definitely do this again." When he opened his eyes, he asked, "Maybe I could meet you in New York whenever you finally make your way back there? Or maybe you could come back here if you have a day off? I know it wouldn't be easy. I wouldn't expect it to be. When I get deployed, it's kind of the same thing. We'd understand each other that way."

"Bradley," you whispered. "That would only make things worse. We'd never see each other, and-"

"Just think about it." His voice was low and harsh, and his eyes were pleading. You didn't respond except to pick at the rest of your breakfast silently while he did the same. But as soon as his hand came to rest on your leg, he took your plate and set it aside next to the box of baseball cards you'd been looking through on his coffee table.

"You have some rare cards," you murmured, daring to meet his eyes again. "They were your dad's?"

You'd taken the time to ask him more about himself last night, and you kind of wished you hadn't. Bradley had answered every question you tossed at him, and you learned all about Nick and Carole Bradshaw as a result.

"Yeah, they were my dad's. My mom gave them to me when I was ten or eleven. I've been hauling them around with me everywhere since she died."

"Hey, that's dedication," you whispered.

You ran your fingers along the edge of the box before reaching inside. As soon as your body was no longer touching his, you felt Bradley scoot a little closer and slip his hand around your waist. He found you desirable, maybe even lovely, and when he kissed your shoulder through the jersey fabric, you turned your head to kiss his lips.

Before things could get too heated on the couch, you murmured, "I need to get a shower and start working on my article. You coming with me?"

You led him into his own bathroom where he turned on the shower and then took his time unbuttoning the jersey. Inch by inch he guided the shirt open, his fingers skimming your skin, making you whimper. "You're beautiful," he whispered, cheeks flushed and eyes on yours as he rubbed his hands along your sides and down to your butt. You shrugged out of his Padres jersey and let it fall to the floor as he kissed you.

He backed you up against the wall, and his lips were relentless on yours as you moaned his name. When he broke the kiss, he cupped your face in his big palm. "So beautiful." Then you stepped under the spray of the shower, and you were treated to his hands and mouth on your slick body.

This must have all been part of the long goodbye, because you let him whisper the sweetest words against your skin as you rode his fingers. And it broke your heart a little bit more when you felt his mustache on your ear. Your name was a broken cry on his lips as you used your hands on him as well.

Your legs felt like jello as he kept you pinned against the shower wall with his body. Your hands were covered in his cum, and he was looking at you with wide eyes and gently parted lips. "Ace." He shook his head. "Baby. Please."

More than anything, you wanted to tell him that you thought you could love him. But you pushed him away from you instead. "I can't be late again today."

-------------------------

Bradley found himself right back where he had been during game one. You and he sat side by side at the narrow counter in the press box at Petco Park. As good as it felt to acknowledge that this was all familiar to him by now, he knew this was the last time for it. You were keeping your stats and typing up your article, but your gaze landed on his face frequently. Your eyes were soft yet guarded, and every time you let your hand rest on his thigh, you kissed his lips.

He couldn't give a shit about the game. Ten days ago he was as excited as everyone else in San Diego about the Padres, but now it didn't matter. "You want something to eat? Some water?" he asked you softly, glaring at Quincy and the others every time they so much as looked at you.

"Please," you replied, marking down another Padres home run that Bradley wasn't allowed to cheer for but didn't really want to anyway.

"Be right back." He stood and made his way to the tables of food. He picked up a plate, but he just stared at everything before glancing back at you. Would anyone be there to make sure you ate and took breaks in Boston? Would anyone else even care? He knew your boss didn't. And he knew you would keep pushing yourself to be better no matter what.

"Fuck," he muttered, closing his eyes against more tears. He wanted to take care of you in the stupidest ways. Check on you a few times during the day. Make sure you weren't hungry. Keep chocolate chips in his kitchen. "Fuck."

He filled a plate with food as Petco Park erupted in more loud cheers, but only you really mattered. Bradley kissed your cheek as he sat down with your food and water.

"Padres are going to win," you murmured as you opened the bottle. "By five runs." Bradley just nodded, because even though there were still two innings left, he knew you were probably right. "Are you excited?"

"About the game?" he asked softly as your hand came to rest on his leg.

"Mmhmm," you hummed, taking a sip and then setting the water aside. But you looked more apprehensive than happy, and Bradley certainly didn't feel happy that the World Series was nearly over.

"The only thing I'm excited about is spending tonight with you."

You laced your fingers with his and occasionally scribbled down the bare minimum on your stat sheet as your head came to rest on his shoulder. Bradley drew shapes on your back through your blouse just like he had during every other game. And he kissed the top of your head just like he'd done in bed. When the Padres won seven runs to two, you set your pencil down and ran your soft hand up along his neck. And the kisses were sweet, so sweet as everyone around you started to pack up to leave.

Bradley knew there was a race now to be the first journalist to submit a clear, concise article chronicling game seven. He could hear the others talking about it. But you just kept kissing him, kept your hands on his face and in his hair. Nobody said a word to either of you as the press box cleared out, and you were in Bradley's lap with you finally broke the kiss.

There were tears in your eyes when he whispered, "I have some champagne in the fridge. Let me take you back home so you can submit your article, and then we can celebrate."

"Celebrate what?"

Bradley shrugged and kissed your damp cheek. "Celebrate how fucking cool you are. And how much I like you."

He was happy when you laughed, and he stood with you in his arms. It was a long walk through the crowds of people celebrating. He held your hand, and you stuck by his side the whole way back to the Bronco where he opened the door for you. The desire to make tonight a sweet goodbye instead of something painful had Bradley giving you just the softest touches and kisses. He didn't want this to end.

You sat on his lap in his kitchen and finished your article, but you weren't rushing it. Bradley kissed your neck and offered up some thoughts as he read what you wrote, and you added some of them to your piece. He held onto you like he had all of those nights in the hotel rooms, and he swallowed against his sadness. He was going to miss doing this with you, too. Just simply sitting with you while you worked your magic on your computer.

"I think it's done," you whispered, your fingers hovering as the cursor blinked over the Submit icon. "Game seven. That's it."

Bradley nuzzled against your neck. "Send it in, Baby. It's incredible, and people can't wait to read what you wrote." As soon as you sent it, you checked your email inbox for the receipt, and Bradley's eyes caught on the fresh batch of people trying desperately to recruit you. He tightened his arms around you as he skimmed the names, and he had to force himself to say, "Let's open that champagne."

He didn't even have flutes, but you didn't seem to mind that he poured you some in a pint glass. You tapped it against his and then took a few sips, but when you met his eyes, you set your glass on the counter. "I'll never forget you, Bradley."

"Fuck," he gasped, setting his glass aside as well. Now your mouth tasted like the champagne as you and he slowly made your way back to his bedroom. He wanted to make it last for the rest of the night. Every button on your blouse was a privilege for him to undo. Your warm skin was soft against his rough hands. Your voice telling him you'd miss him sent the ache in his heart up into his throat.

He was choked up by the time you were in his bed, completely naked and whispering his name. The room was mostly dark, but you were beautiful, and your voice was everything he wanted to hear. You pulled his body down on top of you, and his mouth found yours like it was a magnet.

He made love to you, fingers laced with yours, hands on the pillow above your head. Every roll of your hips soothed him and broke his heart. Every whisper of, "Bradley," left him wanting to beg you for more after this. Tomorrow and next week and next year. He wanted to stay buried inside you so your soft moans would never stop. Soft kisses to your face became more as he could taste the salt from your tears.

"Don't cry, Ace," he whispered, dragging his lips to yours. You hiccupped softly, and he knew you were broken like he was. And he thought you felt like a better version of yourself when you were with him. He knew he was better around you. "Baby, don't cry."

"Can't help it," you replied as you nibbled on his lips. "You're just so... you're good. You make me feel good in so many ways."

When he rubbed his big hand down the length of your arm and neck to your chest, he felt your fingers in his hair. The words were right there along with the desire to say them. Would he feel better or worse if he did? Your soft hiccups turned to gentle moans as his fingers reached your clit. He knew exactly what you liked now, and he knew how to give it to you. Your hands held his body tight to yours, and his shallow thrusts grew erratic as he got close. And when you came for him, your body shivering before loosening into languid limbs and softer kisses, he pushed himself deep. For the last time.

"Baby," he gasped, lips cascading down your neck as he came to rest on you. You held him close for so long without saying a word, he was a little afraid you weren't going to. But when you did, he kind of wished you hadn't.

"I'll never forget you."

You slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom, and Bradley took a minute to get himself cleaned up. He had to wipe his eyes as he leaned on his dresser, the ticket stub from game one hanging right in front of him. When he looked in the mirror, he looked truly miserable. When you returned from the bathroom, your face looked pinched in the darkness as you tossed your loose items into your luggage and set your tote bag next to his bedroom door. Then you slipped into his Padres jersey without a word and climbed in bed.

When he eased himself next to you, he felt your hands on him immediately. You rolled onto your side and tugged on him until he was snuggled up behind you. When he wrapped his arms around your waist, you squeezed his hands until he wrapped them a little tighter. His lips were right at your ear as he whispered, "I'll take you to the airport. I'll drop you off. I already set an alarm."

Your response was so soft, he barely heard you say, "Okay."

But even your breathing was a little rough. Shallow, shaky breaths seemed to be the only thing either of you could handle, and Bradley tried to kiss your chin and jaw, tried to offer you comfort, but he was hurting too much. He just wanted to know what came next, and if you told him nothing, then he'd be devastated. But not knowing was worse at this point, so he forced one deep breath in and back out of his lungs.

"Will you call me? From Boston?"

Your shallow breaths turned to a sob. "Bradley. That's not a good idea."

He held you a little tighter. Pressed his lips to your ear a little harder. Trying to live without you in his bed or at least your notifications on his phone screen just didn't seem possible at this point. "But you're everything I've been looking for, Ace."

"Bradley."

He could be good for you. He knew he could. But he didn't know what else to say as he clung to you, memorizing the way you felt and how you smelled. So he said the only thing he could. "You know how to reach me. You know where to find me."

You nodded your head against his pillow and whispered, "I know." And that was just the thing. You knew, but he didn't. He wouldn't know where you went after Boston unless you told him. He had no idea where in New York City you lived. He'd only have your phone number and your articles to read unless you wanted him to have more of you. He just wanted more of you. He wanted you to stay with him in any way you were willing to. And that's why he said it. Because it was true, and he was sure he wouldn't regret saying so.

"I think I'm falling in love with you."

You didn't say another word to him. He must have fallen asleep eventually to the warmth of your body. He must have dozed soundly, calmed by your presence even though subconsciously he knew it was going to hurt again soon. But when he woke up to his alarm going off, you weren't next to him. The spot was still warm as he killed the alarm and ran his hand along the sheets where you should have been.

"Ace," he rasped, panicking as he jumped out of bed and reached for his underwear. "Baby?" he called out as he pulled them on. He flipped the lightswitch next to his door and squinted against the intense brightness, but he noticed immediately that your bags were gone. The bathroom was empty. "Ace," he whispered as he darted into the kitchen. All he found was the mostly full bottle of champagne and the two half empty pint glasses.

He ran both hands through his hair as he paced around his kitchen and living room, tugging at the roots in frustration. His heart was beating so fast, he was sick and dizzy. He couldn't even look at the baseball card collection still out on his coffee table. Then he ran back to his bedroom and picked up his discarded phone.

He called you, and it rang for a long time. When he got your voicemail message, he hung up and tried again. Once again it rang through. When he tried a third time, you ignored his call. Or maybe you'd turned your phone off. It went right to your voicemail. With tears in his eyes, he listened to your voice tell him that you weren't currently available to take his call, but you could leave a message for later.

He walked back toward the door with tears in his eyes and turned the light off. As darkness surrounded him, he stumbled back to his bed. When it was time for him to leave a message, he swallowed hard, waited a few seconds and then said, "See ya, Ace."

Then he ended the call through his blurry tears and tossed his phone onto the floor as he climbed back in bed.

-------------------------

I hurt my own feeling so much. Thanks for crying with me @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 8

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