Ahhh... Spring. A time of rebirth, renewal and... the opening of baseball season...

Aboard the seaQuest DSV, the call of spring was not to be ignored. Urged on by the entire crew, Captain Nathan Bridger was prevailed upon to request one day off... for the First Annual seaQuest Softball Tournament and Picnic from Secretary General William Noyce. Much to Bridger's surprise, Noyce agreed to it. The UEO also provided the place... a private park near UEO Headquarters in Hawaii. As seaQuest made for port, two teams were chosen by lot, out of those persons who wished to play. This was done so that one team wouldn't have an unfair advantage over the other. Bridger and Jonathan Ford were unanimously picked as Team Captains.

The day of the picnic dawned warm and sunny, with a slight breeze blowing in from the sea. The valiant crew of the seaQuest was ready as Umpire Noyce yelled; "Play ball!"

Wagers had flown wildly about the ship as to whom would be the winner of this history making venture. As the game progressed it became apparent that the teams were well matched. Now it was the bottom of the ninth... two outs... and the team headed by Nathan Bridger was leading by one very large run...

Jonathan Ford paced the dugout, wearing a trench in the soft dirt. Now appearing two inches shorter than he had been before the game had begun. He consulted the clipboard in his hand, tugged on the bill of his cap and asked hopefully...

"Who's up?"

"Me," Kristin Westphalen spoke up as she unfolded from the bench, gravity settling her gray cut-off sweatpants low on her hips. She hitched them back into place and walked to the bat rack.

Ford sent a silent, why me, heavenward, as he ran a distressed hand across his chin while, weighing his chances of pulling out a victory. As far as he could see, there were two...

Slim and none.

It wasn't as if Kristin had gotten out every time she'd come up. On the contrary, she'd gotten to base without lifting a finger when a softhearted Miguel Ortiz had walked her. There was just one small problem. Mr. Ortiz was no longer pitching. Feeling defeat snatched from the arms of victory, Ford started to gnaw on a thumbnail.

Finally, after finding a bat to her liking, Kristin headed for the plate... sweats drooping... the bat dragging in the dirt behind her. Out on the pitcher's mound Nathan Bridger watched her approach... and tactfully hid a grin as he read the front of her shirt.

PROPERTY OF THE UNITED STATES NAVAL ACADEMY. DO NOT REMOVE. PLEASE.

Apparently, she had borrowed the oversized monstrosity from one of the crew. Bridger discreetly motioned to his outfielders. Miguel Ortiz and Tim O'Neill obidently moved in closer. Kristin stepped into the batter's box and began a muttered conversation with herself over the correct placement of her hands on the bat. Catcher Manilow Crocker and Umpire Noyce exchanged a look and shook their heads. Just when everyone thought she had made up her mind, she stepped out of the box. Lowering the bat, she shoved her sleeves back up over her elbows, readjusted her cutoffs and stepped back in.

Bridger waited hands on his hips.

"If you're quite ready, Doctor."

"Anytime you are..." she replied, hefting the bat and smiling at him. "...Captain."

Maybe the sun got in her eyes.

Or maybe, it was the sight of Bridger's tanned legs in those Bermuda shorts or that tightly stretched blue UEO sweatshirt that distracted her. Whatever the reason, Kristin never saw the ball the whizzed past her to smack into Crocker's outstretched glove.

Zzzzzip... booomph!

"Strike one!" Noyce intoned arms folded across his chest.

Kristin looked around, opened her mouth then decided against it. Whoever decreed that the Secretary-General of the UEO would umpire this game, needed to be told a thing or two.

"Cap..." Crocker piped up, rising from his crouch to throw the ball back to Bridger. "Your aim was slightly high and left on that pitch."

"Thanks, Chief."

"No problem, Cap."

"Time out..." Kristin requested.

Noyce nodded and she stepped around to the side of the plate.

Bridger sighed impatiently.

Doc, what are you doing? Lucas Wolenczak mouthed from his position at shortstop. Kristin frowned, shook her head slightly, and adjusted her clothing one more time.

Over at the home team's dugout, Ford had destroyed all the nails on his right hand and was starting on the left.

Zzzzzip... booomph!

"Strike two!"

"God, I can't watch this!" Ford covered his face, one eye peeking out between abused fingers. "Somebody tell me when it's over."

Kristin turned to look at Noyce again, rolled her eyes and clutched the bat tighter. Come on, Kristin, she muttered to herself. Eye on the ball.

At second, Katie Hitchcock relaxed her tough infielder's stance and smoothed her T-shirt. ENGINEERS, it proclaimed, HAVE ALL THE RIGHT TOOLS. Obviously, it had been a gift from her ex-husband. She smiled. Poor Kristin. This game was in the bag.

Ben Krieg, who represented the tying run, slouched beside Katie at second. Hands tucked under the tail of his Florida Marlins jersey, he pondered the exchange between Kristin and Lucas. Suddenly putting two and two together, he stood up and grinned.

"Time to pluck a pigeon," he murmured gleefully.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Katie snarled, slapping her fist into her glove.

"Never you mind," he replied, rubbing his hands together. He got ready to run.

Although, he'd probably deny it until his dying day, pity... or something like it... seized Nathan Bridger's heart. His next pitch lazed toward the plate just begging to be hit. Kristin was only too happy to oblige.

CRAAACK!!!

Silence fell around the field. All eyes followed the white blur that streaked away from home plate. As jaws on both sides dropped in amazement, Kristin leaned on the bat, one hand on her hip, and calculated hang time.

Maniacal laughter issued from the area near second base as Krieg began bounding toward third.

And Ford finally found his voice.

"MOOOOVE!"

Kristin obediently dropped the bat and headed toward first.

Out in the field, Ortiz and O'Neill tried desperately to make up lost ground.

"I got it! I got it!" they chorused.

"I got--"

Splat! Crumple!

They came together with a sickly sound. The ball landed untouched behind them as they hit the ground and remained there, motionless. A harried Katie Hitchcock circled the base, unsure of her next move.

Bridger's command "GET THE BALL!!" shook the stands.

As Katie darted away, Kristin rounded the bag behind her.

Krieg crossed home plate and began dancing toward the dugout.

"Da de da da de da-da da..." he sang while high-fiving everybody.

Wheeling around third, Kristin threw a quick glance over her shoulder to find that Katie had obeyed her Captain and did indeed have the ball. "Bloody hell!" she spat and dug in for a last burst of speed.

"Hurry, Doc!" Lucas yelled from shortstop.

"Lucas!" Bridger exclaimed indignantly, awaiting Katie's throw. "Remember whose side you're on." He caught the ball and positioned himself between Kristin and the plate.

"Slide, Doc... slide!"

"Shut up, Lucas!" Bridger ordered, never taking his eyes off the runner.

Krieg stuck his hand in the back pockets of his green Bermuda shorts.

"This should be very interesting," he commented dryly. Ford nodded, squeezed his eyes shut and crossed everything that could be crossed.

Bridger smiled and took up a, you're not getting by me, stance and waited for Kristin to slow down.

She didn't.

"No brakes!" she cried, hitting Bridger going full tilt. They disappeared in a cloud of dust.

Krieg and Ford ran over and began flapping frantically at the obscuring swirl. It parted to reveal Kristin, laid out on the baseline, arms clutching home plate. Beside her, flat on his back, Kristin's gray cutoffs clutched in one fist, lay Bridger.

The ball rolled, unfettered, to Noyce's white cleats.

"Safe!" he intoned.

"AAIIEEEE!!!!" Ford yelled gleefully as he did a happy dance.

Krieg slapped Ford's shoulder and fished out a small tally board from his pocket. He ran his finger down the list.

"Ortiz!" he bellowed.

Ortiz propped himself blearily upright, spitting out blades of grass.

"What?"

"Twenty-five please," Krieg sang out.

Ortiz groaned and lay back on the turf.

"Beer's on me!" Ford announced, helping O'Neill unsteadily to his feet. As they headed to the picnic area Krieg trailed in their wake, absently avoiding the human obstacles in his path, looking for the next pigeon... er... person on his list.

As the last of the stragglers stepped over them and disappeared off the softball field, Bridger mumbled, "I think we can get up now, Doctor."

Huffing the hair out of her eyes, Kristin looked at him then at herself and sighed.

"Speak for yourself, Bridger."

"Hey, you ran into me."

"You didn't move."

"I wasn't supposed too."

Kristin glared at him as she crossed her arms.

"Fine, can I have my shorts, please?"

Bridger looked at her slightly puzzled then he realized what he held in his hand.

"These shorts?"

"Yes--"

"Why?" Bridger returned innocently.

Kristin gave him a  death glare, as she climbed to her feet. Of course, the sweatshirt more then covered her, as it fell well below her knees but it was the principle of the thing. Plastering a  seductive smile on her face, Kristin saddled up to Bridger looping her arms around his neck as she molded herself against him to whisper in his ear.

As he listened, Bridger's eyebrows shot up until they had all but disappeared. Clearing his throat nervously, Bridger disengaged himself from Kristin and quickly handed her cut-offs  back. The auburn haired woman chuckled softly as she took his hand and led him from the field. As they past the  rest of the crew,  Kristin repeated some of what she had said to Bridger, just loud enough for them to hear.

"Always remember Nathan, it's not whether you when or lose, it's how you play the game..."