I Disconnect My Heart From My Head
Title: I Disconnect My Heart From My Head
Author: 2theletter
Rating: R, for language and mentions of cold, emotionless sex
Pairing: C.J. Wilson/Cliff Lee
Synopsis: "He slammed the heel of his hand into the wall and swore. This is what he got for falling for someone like Cliff Lee."
Disclaimer: hey! It's fake! As in, completely fictional. Any resemblance to any real person, living or dead, would be really sad.
Writer's note: This was written on a request from dynamite_dame. I hope you like it.
C.J. Wilson sat alone in his darkened living room. The sound of crashing waves drifted in through the open sliding glass door. He'd been sitting on the couch most of the evening, waiting for a call that he now suspected might not come.
He'd turned down an invite to go hang with some friends in Huntington Beach. Said he didn't feel much like going out. Blamed it on jetlag though he knew it wasn't true.
Cliff said he'd call as soon as he made a decision. The lingering silence could be a good thing or a bad thing, and Wilson was too tense to guess which. He stood up and walked to the open door, looking out past the deserted beach into the black Pacific. Wilson told himself he'd be prepared for either outcome, but the truth was he would settle for only one. The one Lee was least likely to pick.
He slammed the heel of his hand into the wall and swore. This is what he got for falling for someone like Cliff Lee.
***
Cliff was always a bit of a mystery, at least from Wilson's perspective. C.J., he'd been in Texas since the beginning; knew everyone down to the guy who swept the stands after the game. He could tell you anything you needed to know about Kinsler's lunch habits or where Neftali went to elementary school. But July came, and in swept this undiscovered nebula called Lee, still shaking off the cold rain of Seattle when he landed at DFW.
Wilson was acutely aware of Lee's record, his mastery of pitch control, his generally preternatural talent. But it was surreal to see him not as a blip on SportsCenter, but in flesh and blood. It reminded him of the time, when he was twelve, he met the host of a sports talk show. All he could think was, Oh, my God. You're a real person.
About a week after Lee joined the team, Feldman sidled up next to Wilson during a bullpen session. He gestured at Lee, playing long toss out on the outfield. "What do you think of the new guy?" he cracked.
"I actually haven't talked to him yet," Wilson replied.
"You're kidding," Feldman said. "Mr. Hug Diplomacy hasn't extended the Texas welcome mat to our newest addition?"
Wilson chuckled, "He's Cliff Lee, man. That's a whole different universe there."
"You're intimidated," Feldman teased. "C.J. Wilson's got a new crush on the playground."
Wilson rolled his eyes and grinned. "Shut the fuck up."
As it turned out, Lee was the one who approached him, talking mechanics and praising Wilson's style. They hit it off almost immediately. Cliff became a frequent presence at Wilson's place in Arlington, complaining his own apartment was too sparse and boring. They'd play Rock Band until 2:00 in the morning, then ply themselves with Red Bull in the mad dash to the ballpark later that day.
After having their asses handed to them in Minnesota in early September, some of the guys from the pitching staff drowned their frustrations at the hotel bar. Lee and Wilson were there, sitting next to each other in a booth some distance from the other guys.
"Why are we both sitting on the same side?" Wilson asked, glass of ice water in his hand. "You got the whole other side of the booth."
Lee leaned against Wilson, the scent of alcohol on his breath obvious. "Maybe I just wanna be close to you."
Wilson looked at the glass in his hands and blushed.
"That is what you want, isn't it?" Lee said, "For me to be close to you?"
Wilson turned to answer him, but before he could, Lee dove in and kissed him. Wilson was simultaneously thrilled and shocked. He whipped his head to the side to see if any of the guys had witnessed the act. Only O'Day and Oliver were still at the bar, and they were engaged in a passionate discussion about the color of the bartender's hair.
"We can continue this up in your room," Lee whispered. Wilson nodded.
The sex was furtive and to the point. Lee acted like a man on a clandestine mission, and as soon as he got off, he fell asleep. Wilson remained awake for a while, listening to Lee snoring. He wondered what he'd gotten himself into.
When he woke up, Lee was gone. His absence ached a little more than Wilson expected.
It happened again in Los Angeles, and again after a stinging loss in Oakland. But that time, Lee stuck around. Wilson awoke to the sound of humming. He peered into the bathroom to see Lee shaving, a towel wrapped around his waist.
Lee saw him and smiled. "Morning."
Wilson grinned and raised a hand. "Hi."
C.J. watched Cliff as he rinsed off the razor and tapped it on the counter. "You stayed."
Lee looked confused for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, I did."
"I'm really happy you did."
"Huh?"
"That you stayed until the morning. It was great to wake up and see that you were still here."
"Uh, C.J., we're just good friends. Right?"
Wilson's throat tightened. "What?"
"You know. We have kind of...kind of an arrangement. I did the same thing with guys in Cleveland and Philadelphia. Things get a little tense on the road or something, we help each other out."
Wilson struggled to formulate an answer. Lee's expression changed to one of concern.
"Oh, shit. You thought -- oh, God. I'm sorry, C.J. I mean, I like you and all. But you know I can't get serious about this."
C.J. nodded, but couldn't find the words to respond.
"But what we have -- it's really good," Lee continued. "I mean, I wouldn't do this with just anybody. You're awesome, and I really like being with you."
Wilson had already quit listening. He walked downstairs on the pretense of buying a newspaper, but instead sat on the sidewalk until he was sure Lee would be gone. When he went back up, he packed his bag in silence and prepared to head to the Coliseum. He could still pick out the smell of shaving cream in the air.
Wilson wasn't crazy about the situation, but he kept doing it. In Arlington, he kept letting Cliff into his house at 2:00 a.m., the older man mumbling about having been kicked out of a bar. On road trips, he kept giving Lee a copy of his room key so they could skip the formality of actually having to ask for it. He kept giving Lee back-of-the-bus blowjobs on the ride from the airport back to the stadium. He kept doing it because he wanted Cliff, even if it meant having to swallow a little of himself to do so. C.J. willed himself to believe that if he showed just how much he'd take, just how far he'd go, he would convince Lee to stick around for good.
***
Wilson made it a point not to stay in Texas during the offseason. He was out of Arlington the morning after the Series ended. He traveled the East Coast until he got sick of the cold weather and decided to head to warmer climes. On a balmy Wednesday morning in December, he walked out of a plane and into Los Angeles International. As he strode down a corridor toward baggage claim, he called Lee.
"You can't possibly be serious," Wilson said, half-shouting over the din of the terminal. "The fucking Yankees."
"Hi to you, too," Lee replied.
"Sorry. It's just...you know, I get off an airplane and the first thing I see in the L.A. Times sports section is Cashman's flying to Arkansas to talk to you."
"Nothing's settled yet," Lee said, voice thinned by stress. "I could be back in Texas just as easily. I haven't made my mind up yet."
"Dude, you've been jumping all over the place for the last few years. Don't you want some stability?"
"I want a lot of things, C.J."
"You can't find 'em in Texas?"
"That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
"Maybe I just want something different."
"Than a League Championship? Fuck, man. We all want to win the Series. Don't you at least want to give it a shot?"
"I got a wife and kids to think about."
The comment tore into C.J.'s chest. Sensing the gaffe, Lee softened his tone. "I didn't meant it that way. I just meant, I got a lot to consider."
"You started the season in Seattle. We helped get you to the World Series," Wilson said. "Is that one of your things to consider?"
"I'm weighing all the options."
"Oh, geez. Quit talking like you're at a damn press conference. I'm not Kurkjian. You know me, Cliff."
Lee's voice remained neutral. "I'll call you when I make a decision."
"You will?"
"Sure."
Wilson said goodbye and ended the call. "Unbelievable," he growled.
***
C.J. was still rubbing his sore hand when the phone rang. He glanced at the clock. It was after 10:00. He took the call.
"Hey," Wilson said.
"Hey," Lee replied.
Lee cleared his throat, but said nothing. Wilson's heart began to race. "Well?" he said.
"Yeah, um. The, uh...the Phillies have made a really good offer. Nolan and Jon can't really compete with it. I'm gonna go back to Philly."
"You've got to be kidding me."
"It's a good deal. I liked it the first time I was there."
"Jesus, Cliff. You're a fucking mercenary."
Lee's voice rose. "Don't call me that."
Wilson kept talking. "Remember July? Remember 'this is the last time I'm going to move for a while'?"
"It didn't work out."
"No shit."
"C.J., this is a good move for me. I know the team, the front office, the fans. I wouldn't have minded staying in Texas--"
"But you didn't," Wilson snapped. "We're not kicking you out. You made this choice yourself."
"I'm a free agent now."
"Because that absolves everything." Wilson scuffed his shoes on the carpet beneath his feet. "They didn't want you two years ago."
Lee sighed. "I guess now they do."
Wilson's throat burned. "You really know how to break someone, don't you."
"Look, I'm going to miss you. A lot. You're a great guy," Lee said. "We'll still get to see each other."
"No, we won't."
There was a pause on the other end of the line. "No. We won't."
"The Phillies," Wilson whispered. "Shit. Halladay, Oswalt, Hamels...and you."
Lee hesitated. "Yeah, I guess that's the way it'll shake out."
Wilson rubbed his eyes and sighed. "I'm gonna go."
He could tell Lee was caught off-guard. "Oh...yeah. Okay. I'll, uh, talk to you later."
Wilson hung up and leaned back, trying to comprehend what just happened. If he were a drinking man, now would be the time for it. Instead, he stared at the walls until 3:00 a.m., re-living the conversation over and over, then dragged himself to bed.
***
Wilson felt like shit the next morning. Awakened by a phone call from his brother, he couldn't go back to sleep. After half an hour, he gave up and hauled himself upright, his dry, red eyes blinking back the harsh sunlight. He slipped into a pair of sweatpants, shoved his phone into a pocket and went into the kitchen to find something to drink.
He flipped on a few lights and turned on the TV as he dug through the fridge, finally finding a carton of orange juice. He poured a glass, guzzled it down, then poured another. Mike and Mike in the Morning was on. Wilson wasn't paying attention until a familiar name caught his ear.
"Cliff Lee, back in Philadelphia -- this is a developing story, if you missed it last night..."
"Yeah, Greeny. He turned down a huge offer from the Yankees and will not be returning to the Rangers' roster next year. Buster Olney joins us now, and Buster, there have to be some broken hearts in Texas today."
"Oh, no doubt, Mike. But the AL West's loss is the NL East's gain, as the Phillies stand poised to have the best rotation--"
Wilson angrily switched the television off. Snatching his glass of juice off the counter, he opened the sliding door and stepped out onto his deck overlooking the ocean. A few people were out, even a guy paddling his surfboard through the chilly gray water. Wilson leaned against the railing as the wind tossed his hair about.
The phone in his pocket began blaring, startling him. He looked at the screen. It was Cliff.
For a split second, Wilson thought about taking the call. Surely it was Lee telling him all of this had been a mistake, a rumor gone out of control that somehow got into the press. He really was coming back next year; there was never any doubt. But reality quickly seized him. He turned the phone off and tossed it through the open door, back into the house.
He stared out toward the Pacific. A thick fog bank obscured the horizon. Wilson closed his eyes and wished he could meld into the gray, misty nothingness. The quiet was broken by the faint sound of a radio; probably someone down on the beach. The announcer was giving a weather report.
"Looks like it's going to be another beautiful day."
Wilson opened his eyes. He let out a rueful chuckle. He turned and went back inside, closing the door behind him.
Author: 2theletter
Rating: R, for language and mentions of cold, emotionless sex
Pairing: C.J. Wilson/Cliff Lee
Synopsis: "He slammed the heel of his hand into the wall and swore. This is what he got for falling for someone like Cliff Lee."
Disclaimer: hey! It's fake! As in, completely fictional. Any resemblance to any real person, living or dead, would be really sad.
Writer's note: This was written on a request from dynamite_dame. I hope you like it.
C.J. Wilson sat alone in his darkened living room. The sound of crashing waves drifted in through the open sliding glass door. He'd been sitting on the couch most of the evening, waiting for a call that he now suspected might not come.
He'd turned down an invite to go hang with some friends in Huntington Beach. Said he didn't feel much like going out. Blamed it on jetlag though he knew it wasn't true.
Cliff said he'd call as soon as he made a decision. The lingering silence could be a good thing or a bad thing, and Wilson was too tense to guess which. He stood up and walked to the open door, looking out past the deserted beach into the black Pacific. Wilson told himself he'd be prepared for either outcome, but the truth was he would settle for only one. The one Lee was least likely to pick.
He slammed the heel of his hand into the wall and swore. This is what he got for falling for someone like Cliff Lee.
***
Cliff was always a bit of a mystery, at least from Wilson's perspective. C.J., he'd been in Texas since the beginning; knew everyone down to the guy who swept the stands after the game. He could tell you anything you needed to know about Kinsler's lunch habits or where Neftali went to elementary school. But July came, and in swept this undiscovered nebula called Lee, still shaking off the cold rain of Seattle when he landed at DFW.
Wilson was acutely aware of Lee's record, his mastery of pitch control, his generally preternatural talent. But it was surreal to see him not as a blip on SportsCenter, but in flesh and blood. It reminded him of the time, when he was twelve, he met the host of a sports talk show. All he could think was, Oh, my God. You're a real person.
About a week after Lee joined the team, Feldman sidled up next to Wilson during a bullpen session. He gestured at Lee, playing long toss out on the outfield. "What do you think of the new guy?" he cracked.
"I actually haven't talked to him yet," Wilson replied.
"You're kidding," Feldman said. "Mr. Hug Diplomacy hasn't extended the Texas welcome mat to our newest addition?"
Wilson chuckled, "He's Cliff Lee, man. That's a whole different universe there."
"You're intimidated," Feldman teased. "C.J. Wilson's got a new crush on the playground."
Wilson rolled his eyes and grinned. "Shut the fuck up."
As it turned out, Lee was the one who approached him, talking mechanics and praising Wilson's style. They hit it off almost immediately. Cliff became a frequent presence at Wilson's place in Arlington, complaining his own apartment was too sparse and boring. They'd play Rock Band until 2:00 in the morning, then ply themselves with Red Bull in the mad dash to the ballpark later that day.
After having their asses handed to them in Minnesota in early September, some of the guys from the pitching staff drowned their frustrations at the hotel bar. Lee and Wilson were there, sitting next to each other in a booth some distance from the other guys.
"Why are we both sitting on the same side?" Wilson asked, glass of ice water in his hand. "You got the whole other side of the booth."
Lee leaned against Wilson, the scent of alcohol on his breath obvious. "Maybe I just wanna be close to you."
Wilson looked at the glass in his hands and blushed.
"That is what you want, isn't it?" Lee said, "For me to be close to you?"
Wilson turned to answer him, but before he could, Lee dove in and kissed him. Wilson was simultaneously thrilled and shocked. He whipped his head to the side to see if any of the guys had witnessed the act. Only O'Day and Oliver were still at the bar, and they were engaged in a passionate discussion about the color of the bartender's hair.
"We can continue this up in your room," Lee whispered. Wilson nodded.
The sex was furtive and to the point. Lee acted like a man on a clandestine mission, and as soon as he got off, he fell asleep. Wilson remained awake for a while, listening to Lee snoring. He wondered what he'd gotten himself into.
When he woke up, Lee was gone. His absence ached a little more than Wilson expected.
It happened again in Los Angeles, and again after a stinging loss in Oakland. But that time, Lee stuck around. Wilson awoke to the sound of humming. He peered into the bathroom to see Lee shaving, a towel wrapped around his waist.
Lee saw him and smiled. "Morning."
Wilson grinned and raised a hand. "Hi."
C.J. watched Cliff as he rinsed off the razor and tapped it on the counter. "You stayed."
Lee looked confused for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, I did."
"I'm really happy you did."
"Huh?"
"That you stayed until the morning. It was great to wake up and see that you were still here."
"Uh, C.J., we're just good friends. Right?"
Wilson's throat tightened. "What?"
"You know. We have kind of...kind of an arrangement. I did the same thing with guys in Cleveland and Philadelphia. Things get a little tense on the road or something, we help each other out."
Wilson struggled to formulate an answer. Lee's expression changed to one of concern.
"Oh, shit. You thought -- oh, God. I'm sorry, C.J. I mean, I like you and all. But you know I can't get serious about this."
C.J. nodded, but couldn't find the words to respond.
"But what we have -- it's really good," Lee continued. "I mean, I wouldn't do this with just anybody. You're awesome, and I really like being with you."
Wilson had already quit listening. He walked downstairs on the pretense of buying a newspaper, but instead sat on the sidewalk until he was sure Lee would be gone. When he went back up, he packed his bag in silence and prepared to head to the Coliseum. He could still pick out the smell of shaving cream in the air.
Wilson wasn't crazy about the situation, but he kept doing it. In Arlington, he kept letting Cliff into his house at 2:00 a.m., the older man mumbling about having been kicked out of a bar. On road trips, he kept giving Lee a copy of his room key so they could skip the formality of actually having to ask for it. He kept giving Lee back-of-the-bus blowjobs on the ride from the airport back to the stadium. He kept doing it because he wanted Cliff, even if it meant having to swallow a little of himself to do so. C.J. willed himself to believe that if he showed just how much he'd take, just how far he'd go, he would convince Lee to stick around for good.
***
Wilson made it a point not to stay in Texas during the offseason. He was out of Arlington the morning after the Series ended. He traveled the East Coast until he got sick of the cold weather and decided to head to warmer climes. On a balmy Wednesday morning in December, he walked out of a plane and into Los Angeles International. As he strode down a corridor toward baggage claim, he called Lee.
"You can't possibly be serious," Wilson said, half-shouting over the din of the terminal. "The fucking Yankees."
"Hi to you, too," Lee replied.
"Sorry. It's just...you know, I get off an airplane and the first thing I see in the L.A. Times sports section is Cashman's flying to Arkansas to talk to you."
"Nothing's settled yet," Lee said, voice thinned by stress. "I could be back in Texas just as easily. I haven't made my mind up yet."
"Dude, you've been jumping all over the place for the last few years. Don't you want some stability?"
"I want a lot of things, C.J."
"You can't find 'em in Texas?"
"That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
"Maybe I just want something different."
"Than a League Championship? Fuck, man. We all want to win the Series. Don't you at least want to give it a shot?"
"I got a wife and kids to think about."
The comment tore into C.J.'s chest. Sensing the gaffe, Lee softened his tone. "I didn't meant it that way. I just meant, I got a lot to consider."
"You started the season in Seattle. We helped get you to the World Series," Wilson said. "Is that one of your things to consider?"
"I'm weighing all the options."
"Oh, geez. Quit talking like you're at a damn press conference. I'm not Kurkjian. You know me, Cliff."
Lee's voice remained neutral. "I'll call you when I make a decision."
"You will?"
"Sure."
Wilson said goodbye and ended the call. "Unbelievable," he growled.
***
C.J. was still rubbing his sore hand when the phone rang. He glanced at the clock. It was after 10:00. He took the call.
"Hey," Wilson said.
"Hey," Lee replied.
Lee cleared his throat, but said nothing. Wilson's heart began to race. "Well?" he said.
"Yeah, um. The, uh...the Phillies have made a really good offer. Nolan and Jon can't really compete with it. I'm gonna go back to Philly."
"You've got to be kidding me."
"It's a good deal. I liked it the first time I was there."
"Jesus, Cliff. You're a fucking mercenary."
Lee's voice rose. "Don't call me that."
Wilson kept talking. "Remember July? Remember 'this is the last time I'm going to move for a while'?"
"It didn't work out."
"No shit."
"C.J., this is a good move for me. I know the team, the front office, the fans. I wouldn't have minded staying in Texas--"
"But you didn't," Wilson snapped. "We're not kicking you out. You made this choice yourself."
"I'm a free agent now."
"Because that absolves everything." Wilson scuffed his shoes on the carpet beneath his feet. "They didn't want you two years ago."
Lee sighed. "I guess now they do."
Wilson's throat burned. "You really know how to break someone, don't you."
"Look, I'm going to miss you. A lot. You're a great guy," Lee said. "We'll still get to see each other."
"No, we won't."
There was a pause on the other end of the line. "No. We won't."
"The Phillies," Wilson whispered. "Shit. Halladay, Oswalt, Hamels...and you."
Lee hesitated. "Yeah, I guess that's the way it'll shake out."
Wilson rubbed his eyes and sighed. "I'm gonna go."
He could tell Lee was caught off-guard. "Oh...yeah. Okay. I'll, uh, talk to you later."
Wilson hung up and leaned back, trying to comprehend what just happened. If he were a drinking man, now would be the time for it. Instead, he stared at the walls until 3:00 a.m., re-living the conversation over and over, then dragged himself to bed.
***
Wilson felt like shit the next morning. Awakened by a phone call from his brother, he couldn't go back to sleep. After half an hour, he gave up and hauled himself upright, his dry, red eyes blinking back the harsh sunlight. He slipped into a pair of sweatpants, shoved his phone into a pocket and went into the kitchen to find something to drink.
He flipped on a few lights and turned on the TV as he dug through the fridge, finally finding a carton of orange juice. He poured a glass, guzzled it down, then poured another. Mike and Mike in the Morning was on. Wilson wasn't paying attention until a familiar name caught his ear.
"Cliff Lee, back in Philadelphia -- this is a developing story, if you missed it last night..."
"Yeah, Greeny. He turned down a huge offer from the Yankees and will not be returning to the Rangers' roster next year. Buster Olney joins us now, and Buster, there have to be some broken hearts in Texas today."
"Oh, no doubt, Mike. But the AL West's loss is the NL East's gain, as the Phillies stand poised to have the best rotation--"
Wilson angrily switched the television off. Snatching his glass of juice off the counter, he opened the sliding door and stepped out onto his deck overlooking the ocean. A few people were out, even a guy paddling his surfboard through the chilly gray water. Wilson leaned against the railing as the wind tossed his hair about.
The phone in his pocket began blaring, startling him. He looked at the screen. It was Cliff.
For a split second, Wilson thought about taking the call. Surely it was Lee telling him all of this had been a mistake, a rumor gone out of control that somehow got into the press. He really was coming back next year; there was never any doubt. But reality quickly seized him. He turned the phone off and tossed it through the open door, back into the house.
He stared out toward the Pacific. A thick fog bank obscured the horizon. Wilson closed his eyes and wished he could meld into the gray, misty nothingness. The quiet was broken by the faint sound of a radio; probably someone down on the beach. The announcer was giving a weather report.
"Looks like it's going to be another beautiful day."
Wilson opened his eyes. He let out a rueful chuckle. He turned and went back inside, closing the door behind him.