A/N: Please read

Another Oofuri fic for my loverly Kitten chan. She gave me a challange and at first I was all "ehh I'm not so sure" but then I realized, a challange is a challange for a reason. And I took it as an opportunity to try something new.

See, I'm playing with yet another new style. (I know, I know... I'm always playing with something new) One that I've yet to get the hang of so sorry if it's not that great. There's a lot of deliberate jumping around.

Anyway, let me know what you think please.

Also, I sent ffnet an email to suggest an Ookiku Furikabutte catagory (I've suggested catagories before, and it's always worked) but for some reason, this one won't go through. Keeps getting bounced back. pfft. I know there are other Oofuri fics out there - anyone else wanna try to suggest it to ffnet?

And no worries, I'm nowhere near done with Air Gear. Or FaS.

Warning: me playing with a new style again. Bewares

And it's very late again when I'm editing and updating... So errors may be present.

Disclaimer: If they were mine, there would be a lot more time spent in the locker room. Yus...

Ookiku Furikabutte

a fiction by Crimson Vixen

Battery

Mihashi squeals when his left foot catches on his right ankle and he plummets forward. He holds out his hands to catch himself but he still hits hard enough to send his headphones flying and his CD player crashing to the tile floor beneath him.

When he looks at the damage, he sees that only the batteries have fallen out of their compartment. But when Mihashi goes to put them back into their place, he can only find one.

Even after a good ten minute search, he cannot find the second battery.

And Mihashi is slightly disappointed because he knows that there are very few things that work with only one battery.

Mihashi catches the ball when Abe throws it back to him. It hits his hand hard, but it doesn't send a sting to his palm like it usually does; the sting that lets Mihashi know that Abe's mind is focused on the game.

The way the ball lands so softly and harmless in his hand tells him wonders, and he eyes the catcher warily.

Abe looks a little paler than usual, a bit more wobbly on his feet. Mihashi is sure that it isn't just his paranoia stepping in.

He throws the fastball that Abe signals for. The batter hits it clean into the air. Mihashi is sure that something is terribly wrong with Abe.

When the teams switch, Mihashi skitters over to Abe and hunches his shoulders a little in uncertainty.

He utters the other boy's name, instantly intimidated by the aggravated expression Abe is wearing. He opens his mouth to say something about batteries and conviction, reliance and support, much like the lectures Abe himself would occasionally give, but something keeps him silent.

The glisten of Abe's skin, the slant of his brows… it's all very worrisome.

But Abe doesn't offer him an answer, save for a quick pat to the shoulder. When the catcher runs ahead to the dugout with the rest of the team, Mihashi only worries more.

But he doesn't say anything. He doesn't dare risk Abe's reaction.

The next inning is the inning where Mihashi is convinced – and can't be unconvinced – that Abe is hurting.

He sees it better now; Abe is wincing and breathing heavily behind his protective mask. When he throws the ball, no one can see any difference, but Mihashi feels it in his mitt, in his hand, in his gut.

His mouth is fumbling when he calls Abe's name from the mound, but it seals tightly shut when the catcher yells back at him to get his head back in the game and not to worry about anything else. Not even him.

Mihashi frets even more now; not because he was scolded but because there's something off in Abe's voice that Mihashi hears but can't place.

He forces himself to straighten and throws the next ball.

He knew. Somehow Mihashi just knew. That sooner or later in the game, something was going to happen.

With one of his throws, Abe falls forward with the motion. Mihashi's feet move before he tells them to, ignoring the collective commotion coming from the crowd and the questioning whispers that spout from the other team, and he's not sure how he manages to get there just in time to keep Abe from hitting the dirt but he does.

The boy feels heavier in his arms than he should have – a bit too slack for the pitcher's liking. He watches Abe's eyes roll back a little and finally they close, and his mind races.

He isn't used to seeing the catcher this way, so he inwardly panics.

He hears Hanai shout about calling an ambulance, and Mihashi only wishes he could assist in getting Abe help but can't find his wits or his voice.

Appendicitis…

Appendicitis…

Mihashi doesn't know what it is or what it means but saying it leaves an awful taste in his mouth.

He does know that he hates it for what it's done to Abe, and that past his own shilly-shally mindset, he's angry with his teammate for being so contradictory.

He doesn't know much – like what causes it, or why Abe – but listening in on the nurses conversations, he knows Abe playing baseball while having appendicitis was a bad thing. He hears it causes pain. He hears it makes you feel sick.

He hears it needs things like surgery.

His hands are sweaty and won't stop fidgeting. When he paces he makes himself dizzy. When he sits, his legs bounce. Either way, he can't find any comfort or solace as he dwells in the hospital waiting room.

Hanai and Tajima keep telling him to relax. That Abe will be fine.

Mihashi somehow knows this, but it does not comfort him. It doesn't matter that Abe would be ok. Abe was probably in pain right now, and he was in pain earlier, and that twisted something strange in his belly.

And as a lady in white tells him he can go in and see Abe, Mihashi decides he doesn't like hospitals or things like appendicitis.

When Mihashi sees a chair conveniently placed at the side of Abe's bed, he does not sit in it. He pushes it to the side and kneels instead, tears starting to gather at the corners of his eyes. He's actually shocked that they hadn't come earlier.

Abe's face is still and calm and it sets Mihashi on edge. Abe was supposed to be talking, scolding and scowling, praising and grinning. He isn't doing any of those things now, so Mihashi takes Abe's hand in his and squeezes.

Abe's name won't roll off of his tongue, as if the organ suddenly forgot how to form sounds of any kind. Certainly he loses all ability to speak when Abe's lids actually twitch and slowly open.

The catcher's eyes slowly glance to the left, then to the right, in that order before landing on Mihashi's petrified eyes.

And when Abe's groggy voice makes their first words, words that want to know the outcome of the game, Mihashi feels like another person has taken over his body just long enough to stand tall and give Abe a weak but serious slap across the face.

The sound echoes loudly and Abe is stunned, a single hand cradling the reddening cheek. He looks to Mihashi disbelievingly as Mihashi starts to lose himself and cry in that way that allows tears to run down his face and drip to his feet, looking down at the ground like he always does.

Mihashi has no practice in giving speeches about friends and trust but it feels natural when he speaks about it to Abe between gasping sobs and pathetic sniveling. By now he's sure that Abe is used to it.

He stammers about pitchers and catchers and batteries. He rambles about the trust and companionship and teamwork. And he blubbers on about how small he feels knowing that Abe would hide such a thing from him. When he is done, there is only silence.

For a moment, Mihashi qualms that his words have fallen on deaf ears.

The next time Mihashi sees Abe, he has that grin on his face. When Mihashi sits down next to Abe and holds his hand, it is Abe that squeezes. Looking into the catcher's eyes tells the boy that Abe understands, and he's sorry, and he won't do it again.

Mihashi doubts that Abe will come down with things like appendicitis again, but the sentiment feels good.

Mihashi slides open the drawer and hears the sound of something rolling around on the bottom, in the back. Curious, he reaches in and feels around for it. His fingers curl around something small and cylinder, and when he looks, he finds it's a battery.

He sticks it into his CD player along with the other one and presses play. Sweet, sweet music – harmony – flows into his ears.