Disclaimer: I don't own Divergent.

Hey, everyone! I have finally posted this...I hope you guys like it. Baseball is a big thing in my family and, while the Yankees are my number two favorite team, they're amazing and I love them and they are the basis for this Fic. And yes, loving the Yankees does include the Boston rivalry. So there will be some Red Sox bashing in here.

Thanks for reading!

"This is the trainer's room," my guide - Christina, I think - tells me. "This is where you'll see the players. You, um, should probably lock it when you aren't here - it might get used for other things if you don't." She waggles her eyebrows, and I grin.

"Thank you, Christina," I say sincerely. "It's nice of you to show me around."

"Oh, no problem, Beatrice. Do you want to meet the pitchers and catchers here for Spring Training?"

"Please," I correct, realizing I can be a new person here, "call me Tris." I grab my phone. "Can I have your number? Maybe we can hang out later," I suggest.

"Oh, I'm not -"

I laugh. "Neither am I. I meant as friends."

Immediately Christina relaxes. "Sorry. And yeah." She puts her number in my phone, and I text her from it. "So let's take you to meet the players. They'll be eager to meet you. Oh, and don't be offended if they hit on you. They only stopped hitting on me after I beat one of them up."

I grin. "Sounds fun. Do you do martial arts, or boxing, or what?"

"Kinda a combination of some different martial arts," she replies, handing me a key card. "This is your all-access key card. They only give these to trainers, managers, and a few players - Four and a few others." Then she returns to our previous conversation. "So. Do you fight?"

"Yeah. Most people think because I'm small, I'm weak. But I'm not. I can take men four times my size down." Then I blush. "Sorry if I'm boasting. It's just...it's one thing that makes me feel powerful."

Christina shakes her head. "No, I get it. And I'm really glad to have another girl - the only girls here are you, me, and three secretaries slash personal managers - Lynn, Marlene, and Shauna."

"Who're these four you talked about?"

She laughs. "No, it's one guy. His name is Four. His number is Four, too. He's a switch pitcher and a catcher for the team. Why?"

I redden. "I thought you meant like four people."

Christina grabs the card from my hand and scans it. "Nah. So here we are. The boys should be coming in from practice -"

"Nah, Zeke!" one shouts, opening the doors from the fields. I'm hit with a slight smell of leather, dirt, grass, and sweat. Baseball. "I'm definitely a better shortstop."

"You ain't a shortstop," the other replies (Zeke, maybe?). "You're a catcher, and my bitch. I throw the balls at you, and you try not to get hurt."

Then a third joins in. "C'mon, Zeke, we all know Four's a better pitcher then you." He jerks his thumb to a guy currently pulling his jersey off.

I look more closely at the guy. He's attractive, with a full lower lip, stunning blue eyes, and dark hair. He seems quiet.

"Yeah, 'Zekey Boo,'" Four teases.

Zeke sits on a bench. "C'mon, admit it, Uriah's my bitch."

Uriah whips Zeke with a towel. "I may be your brother, but the only bitch in this room is you."

"BOYS!" Christina shouts. The entire room looks up at her. "Good. This is the new trainer. Her name is Tris and, before y'all get too excited, she can beat you up as well as or better than I beat Al up. Kapiche?"

I see Peter and glare at him. He smiles angelically back, so I flip him off. We glare at each other for another few seconds, and then Uriah breaks the silence. I don't think anyone noticed Peter and I glaring at each other. The bastard.

Uriah smirks. "Well, new -"

"Believe it or not, Uriah," I say venomously, "I have an inkling that you're either going to flirt with me or piss me off, so I don't care. If you want to keep your dignity, I suggest you shut up."

Uriah whitens, and Zeke laughs. "I was just going to welcome you to the New York Yankees?" he amends weakly.

I smile. "Now isn't that nice?"

I see Four and the third boy laughing. Four stands up and walks over to me. "My name is Four. You've clearly met Uriah, and his brother is Zeke. The boy with the blonde hair is Will. Mr. Big and Stocky over there is Al, Piercings is Eric, Shiny Hair is Peter, Redhead is Max, Spiky Hair is, well, Spike, I should hope you know who Mariano Rivera is, and the rest of the team isn't here yet. These are only about half of our prospective pitchers and catchers - the rest area are having a little more practice."

I shake Four's hand firmly. "Thanks." Then I turn to the rest of the team. "Any of you need anything?" I give Peter a look that says "don't even think about it."

Four raises a hand, wincing slightly, as does Al. "Okay, come with me." Once we leave, I realize I need to be directed to my room. "Um, Four, where is trainer room, um, six?"

Four and Al lead me to it, and I thank them. "So should we come in?" they ask.

I stare at them for a second. "What do you want me to do, wave a magic wand at you from in here? No, get in here!"

Al chuckles. "Nah, it's just the last trainer was kinda picky and weird. Didn't let us in his room unless we were asked or told."

I busy myself with grabbing a pen and paper. "Well, why don't you two sit down. What are you, pitchers? Catchers? I heard you're both, Four."

Four nods, and Al says, "I'm just a pitcher."

"So do you guys just have the general sore pitching arm?" I grab some ice and ace bandages.

Al nods. "Could you adjust my arm and neck, too, a little, please?"

"Sure thing. What's up with you, Four?" I set the ice and bandages down and pat a table for Al to lay on.

"You just finish up with Al," he evades.

I shrug. "Okay." I stretch Al's arm and readjust his neck, and then wrap him with the ice and bandages. "You should be good to go, Al."

He stands. "Feels a lot better. Thanks, Tris." Then he leaves.

I clap my hands together. "So what's up with you?"

Four gestures to the table. "May I sit?" At my nod, he does, and pulls off his undershirt.

I frown at the purple bruises covering his chest. "Are you here for me to treat those? Look, if you got in a fight -"

Four shakes his head. "Nah. I've been catching without my gear - it got 'lost.' Anyway, can you check and just make sure nothing's too bad?"

"That's dangerous, Four. It only takes one hit for your career to be over," I warn, walking over to him. I allow myself to quickly look appreciatively at his firm, fit chest before gently feeling his ribs and organs. Nothing seems to be displaced, so I check for breaks, starting in the front. When I move to the back, I see a large tattoo with symbols - which is not uncommon in baseball players - but I also feel scars beneath my fingers. I don't ask, and he doesn't tell. "Nothing's broken or displaced," I answer.

He relaxes. "Good. Can I have some ice?"

"I can put you in the ice bath," I offer.

Four nods, and I fill one up for him. He grimaces at the cold but allows it. "Thanks. Can you just tell Zeke I'll grab a taxi to the bar tonight? He was going to take me to -"

I shake my head. "You aren't going to any bar. You may not have any broken bones, but you have quite a few bruised ones."

Four frowns. "I'm not a child. I make my own decisions."

"Who do you trust more - me, with a degree in sports medicine, or you?"

He looks away. "Whatever."

I raise my eyebrows. "I'm going to go talk to the other players, and you can sit here. If I find you've moved an inch...let's just say one of your testicles might not be working so well tomorrow."

Four pales, and I nod, leaving. I find my way back to the locker room. Zeke and Uriah are still there, and there are new guys coming in. Zeke stands on the bench.

"Pitchers and catchers! We got us a new trainer! Her name is Tris and she can and will kick your ass. She already verbally kicked Uri's!" he shouts, grinning and pointing at me.

The other men nod at me and begin to undress. None of them seem to need anything, so I start walking back to Four.

"Tris!" Christina calls.

I spin on my heel. "What's up?"

She grins at me. "So you have Four in your room right now? Are you gonna -"

"I'm not that kind of trainer."

She shrugs. "I dunno. He's pretty hot. I'd date him if I wasn't already in a relationship."

I nod. "I guess. So do you want to hang out tonight?"

"Sure. How about we go to a bar? There's a new one that just opened up. I think a lot of the team's going there tonight," she offers.

I shrug. "Sounds good." Then I enter the room. Four is on his phone, texting someone. I shrug and sit at my desk. "Do you need anything else, Four?"

He shakes his head. "Can I sit here a little longer, though?"

I turn back to my computer. "Go ahead."

"Do you have a towel?"

"What?" His voice had startled me. "Oh, yeah. Here."

Four steps out, dries off - except for his wet shorts - and pulls his shirt back on. "Thanks. See you later."

"What?" I ask again, but he's already gone. I grab the stack of files someone had put on my desk - fortunately just for the pitchers and catchers - and begin learning them.

I linger on Four's. Apparently his name is Four Eaton, he's twenty five years old, he grew up in Chicago - my hometown as well - he went to Stanford and played baseball there, and he has a suspicious past of injuries. I look carefully at the x-rays, and I can tell that he was abused as a kid. I won't bring it up, though - he's a big boy.

I look at Zeke and Uriah's, as well. They're brothers - the Montenegros - and Uriah is twenty three. Zeke is twenty five. Both of them went to Stanford and played baseball and grew up in Chicago.

Will is twenty three, grew up in Pennsylvania, went to Penn State, and his name is William Paterson.

"Tris!" Christina says, rather frustrated.

"What?" I redden. I had been engrossed in the files. I'm almost done.

"I said it's time to go. Where is your room? We need to change," she gushes.

"My hotel is a few blocks from here," I reply. "I walked here this morning."

She grins. "Mine, too. Which room?"

"Ten sixty four. You?"

"Ten sixty three!" she squeals.

I smile. "You're an excitable one, aren't you?"

She nods and continues, "Marlene and Lynn are ten seventy seven, and Shauna rooms with Zeke. Now I have a neighbor!"

I shake my head. "Damn, Christina. So where's this bar?"

"It's not too far. I have a car; we'll drive there." She grabs the room card out of my hand and opens my door. "So you shower and I'll pick an outfit out for you."

I grin. "Forward much, are we?" But I obey, scrubbing my hair extra well because I didn't have a chance to wash it yesterday or the day before.

When I step out, wrapped in a towel, I see Christina has laid out a low-cut and -backed tank top, skinny jeans, and boots with spikes on the side. I shrug and pull it on, adding some eyeliner, mascara, and a French braid that wraps its way around my head.

"So who are you dating?" I ask, staring out the window at the dark Florida scenery.

"Number six, Will," she explains, twiddling her thumbs on the steering wheel and attempting to bite back a grin.

"Ah. So that's why you were staring at each other in the boys' locker room," I not, grinning.

She smacks me lightly. "Shut up! He was not staring at me!"

"I beg to differ."

"SO!" Christina shouts. "DO YOU MIND IF I GO DANCE WITH WILL?"

The club-bar thing is really loud. People are grinding on the dark dance floor. Some make out or drink in the booths, and a few loners like me sit at the bar. I see Al and Uriah dancing in the crowd, and Will and Christina grinding.

Someone slides into the seat next to me. "Hey, Tris."

I look over and see Four sitting next to me. I smile slightly. "I thought I told you not to go to the bar."

He shrugs. "I'm not drinking. Haven't had a drop of alcohol."

"This isn't your scene?" I ask, tearing myself away from his midnight blues and looking out at the crowd.

Four laughs. "Not at all. Zeke insisted I come. Something about how I need to get laid." He shrugs. "I dunno. I just - most girls that want to get with me for the money. I don't want a girl like that."

I look at him. "Makes sense. You earn that money." I bite my lip. "Most guys don't want to get with me at all."

"That doesn't make sense," Four mutters.

"What?" I ask, even though I heard it.

"Nothing." Four shifts awkwardly. "I need to use the bathroom. I'll be right back, okay?"

I wait awkwardly for him to come back. When he does, he asks the bartender for something and hands me a drink. "What is it?" I ask.

"A coke." He sips his. "So which room are you?"

I take a sip, too, savoring the cold, sweet liquid. "Ten sixty four. You?"

Four chuckles. "Really? Mine is ten forty six."

"Cool," I reply, kind of uninterested. "So how long have you played baseball?"

Four responds, "Since I was three - Zeke's dad signed Zeke and I up for a peewee league. We joined Little League when we were six, and began playing year-round when we were eight. When Zeke's dad died when we were fourteen, his mom would take us to practice and the batting cages. We went to college and played ball there, and Uri followed us two years later. I got drafted when I was twenty-two - straight to the major leagues. Zeke followed me a year later, and Uri a year past that. They each spent a year in the minor leagues, and now here we are. I'm pretty certain Uri will be moved up this year."

"Wow." I hesitate. "What about your parents?"

Four frowns. "I don't want to talk about them."

"Sorry." I yawn. "I think I'm going to walk back. Tell Christina, will you?"

"Can I walk back with you?" he asks instead, hopping off his stool to follow me.

"Sure."

"Goodnight, Tris," Four says, yawning slightly. "You wanna come to practice tomorrow morning?"

"What time is it? And where?"

"How about I pick you up from here at seven and we go to breakfast and then practice?" he replies.

"Sounds good." I shake his hand. "Thanks for walking me back, Four."

"Thanks for walking with me."

"Tris?" Four's voice floats through the door. "You ready?"

I pull the Yankees hat on backwards. "Yup!" I call. Then I grab my little backpack - which has sports medicine stuff in it as well as some miscellaneous items - and open the door. "Hey, Four."

Four smiles at me, and his deep eyes meet mine. "Hey." He offers his arm, grinning lopsidedly. "My dear?" he says in a fake English accent.

I chuckle and decline his arm. "So where are we going for breakfast?"

"Well, I thought maybe we could eat with the players?" Four suggests.

I nod. "Sounds great. Thanks for, you know, showing me around and stuff."

Four shakes his head. "Why would I deny myself time with a pretty girl?"

I grin at him. "Thanks."

"Eaton! Montenegro!" the coach shouts. "Warm up. Eaton, you're catching."

Four pulls on a mask and goes to catch with Zeke. I walk over to the coach, keeping an eye on Four.

"Hi, sir. My name is Tris Prior. I'm the new trainer," I say, extending a hand. The coach shakes it. "Four doesn't have any gear out there and yesterday he came to me with a bunch of bruised ribs from catching without gear. Don't you have any he can use? If Four breaks a rib, he won't be playing until it heals. Completely."

The coach growls slightly. "Fine. Go look in the gear shed." He jerks his head toward it. "Eaton, go get some gear with the girl."

Four stands, obviously slightly embarrassed, and follows me to the gear shed. "Why did you do that?"

"So you don't get seriously injured," I reply. "You should be thanking me."

He scoffs slightly. "But - yeah, you're right. How'd you get the coach to let me use this gear? When I told him my gear was missing, he told me I had to pay for replacement gear. I did, but its not here yet."

I grin. "I made sure he understood that if you broke a rib from catching without gear, you'd be out for a while."

Four nods at me. "Blackmail. I like it. So, Tr-"

Just then, my phone rings. I see my Dad's number pop up and say to Four, "Sorry, but this is my dad and I really need to take it. Do you mind?" Four shakes his head, so I pick up. "Hey, Dad. How are you guys? How are Caleb and AJ?"

"Caleb is good. AJ, however, is in trouble," Dad replies. "And he is going to tell you what he did."

I hear the sound of the phone being handed to someone else, and then the sound of a kid breathing into a phone.

"Hi, AJ. What did you do?" I ask wearily. That boy will be death of my family.

"I kinda accidentally hit a baseball into Mr. Parker's window," he tells me.

"Why is Dad making you tell me that?"

"Because then when Mr. Parker came over to ask if it was me, I lied," he mumbles, sounding guilty.

"Have you been punished?"

"Yes. Papa took away my T.V. privileges for a week," AJ says.

I sigh. "AJ, bud, you promised me you would be good. Remember?"

"I know. I'm sorry. Papa is taking me to apologize tomorrow and give my allowance to him," AJ adds.

"I have to go, bud, but I love you and I'll see you soon. Can I talk to Dad?"

"Beatrice -"

I take a deep breath and cut him off. "Dad, I'm sorry -"

"It wasn't your fault, Bea. You weren't here. How do you like Florida?" Dad asks, amusement in his voice.

"It's great, Dad. But -" I lower my voice slightly "- but Peter's here, Dad. On the Yankees. I knew he played baseball, but I didn't know he was here."

"Are you okay, Bea? You can quit, come live back with us. I'm sure the Tigers will take you back," Dad offers, a worried tone to his voice.

"No." I shake my head. "Hasn't he affected me enough, Dad? This is my big break - the Yankees have always been my dream."

Dad sighs. "I know. I just want my baby girl to be safe."

"I will be, Dad," I assure him. "Give Caleb and Mom and AJ hugs, okay?"

"Of course. I love you, Bea."

"I love you, too, Dad," I reply. "Bye." I hang up and turn to see Four standing behind me. "Were you -"

"No. I came over to ask you to help me with the gear and I heard you talking," Four explains.

I sigh. "So you were. How much did you hear?"

"Who are Caleb and AJ?"

"Why?" I ask, scowling.

"Just curious." Four picks at a fingernail.

"Don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong," I growl.

He holds his hands up defensively. "Sorry, okay?"

I shake my head, brushing him off. "Why do you need help with the gear? Aren't you a catcher?"

"Yeah, but my ribs," Four reminds me, his midnight blue eyes flashing - in anger, annoyance, or hurt, I'm not sure.

"Right. Sorry," I mutter.

He nods, and I help him into the gear.

"Stop," I call to one of the pitchers. He obeys, looking at me, confused. "If you keep throwing like that, you'll tear a ligament in your elbow," I explain, readjusting his arm. "Not to mention you'll have more power this way."

He nods and tries it. "Thanks. Trish, right?"

"Tris, actually," I correct, walking away.

I stand next to Four and watch him catch the balls Zeke throws. His positioning and return throws are excellent - except for the fact that he's leaning a bit too much on his left leg. So I stride closer to him, motion for Zeke not to throw, and nudge him very carefully in the perfect direction to knock him over. I know you're supposed to be easy enough to push over, but Four's positioning was off.

He grumbles at me but fixes his mistake. "Thanks."

I nod, clap him on the shoulder, and move on to the next player.

At the end of the day, the coach approaches me. "Tris, I wanted to thank you for your help with the player," he tells me.

I laugh. "Thanks, sir, but I was just lessening my workload when the other players get here. Speaking of which, I need to go see if they need help."

He shakes my hand, and I jog inside. I walk to my office, and Four and Peter are there. Four has a rather hostile - and plenty scary - look in his face. Peter looks kind of cowed, and I find myself smiling.

"What did I miss?" I ask, grinning at Four.

Four shakes his head. "Not much, right, Peter?"

Peter sneers as lunges toward me. I snap back, fear coming across my face just slightly. "No, not much. I've still got it, though, right, Bea?"

"Stay away from me, you fucker," I hiss. "You're a terrible coward, and the sight of you sickens me."

Peter lifts his arm to hit me, and Four catches it before he can. "Don't touch her, Peter. And don't forget our little talk."

Peter balks. Four tightens his grip, and Peter grumbles out a "yes."

Peter leaves, and I unlock my office, collapsing in my chair. Then I remember Four, who's currently sitting on my table, wearing an accusatory look.

"What?" I snap. "Sorry."

"Did you and Peter have a bad breakup or something?" he asks.

"You could say that," I lie, turning around and grabbing Four's file so I can hide my face.

"He hurt you."

"Four, if you aren't hurt, please leave." I grit my teeth.

"Fine," he huffs.