It was bound to happen. Someone was going to be the first if for no other reason than to be the first. Every rookie got their day. Ginny Baker would be beaned before her rookie season was over.

Mike knew it as sure as he knew there was a nose on his face. Every week some opponent made a flippant remark about the powerhouse rookie pitcher's gender, even if it was something as dismissive as calling her "cute." And every week Ginny Baker made it her mission to strike them out, to get at least one run at the bat. This week it was a Yankee pitcher named Collins, who blew up twitter by calling Ginny "sweetheart" in an interview soundbite addressed to her.

"I'm coming for you, sweetheart," he said in his New York accent and Mike, on the treadmill beside Ginny as she punished the elliptical, turned to look at his rookie. Her mouth was a thin line, her eyes narrowed at the player's shit-eating grin as he stared at the reporter's camera.

"Sweetheart? I'll show him sweet," she muttered and Mike frowned, knowing his hard-headed charge wouldn't leave it alone until she wiped that smile off his face. He'd never known a woman so prone to pissing matches.

She practiced twice as hard, which was saying something for Baker, and he watched, his spirit haunted by what he sensed was the quiet before the storm.

X

Collins was first up to pitch on that Saturday afternoon. It was the perfect day for baseball: cool a gentle breeze, just warm enough from the sun, and enough clouds to keep the heat from being oppressive. Noting the heaviness of the clouds, Mike almost hoped they got rained out, but there was no such luck. He watched the lanky pitcher take the mound with his usual bravado. He took off his cap and waved at his hometown crowd who roared in return. But a set of cleats hitting the turf hushed the crowd. Ginny Baker was first up at bat, undoubtedly maneuvering herself into the spot when she saw Collins.

Mike felt the corners of his mouth turn up at the crowd's deafening cheers. Collins may have been a hometown hero but Ginny was walking, talking history. He couldn't compete. Mike crossed his arms, feeling like a proud papa as she took off her own cap and waved at the crowds. He could see scores of little girls in Padres caps, waving "Ginnsanity" signs, and he could tell from Ginny's dimpled grin that she saw them too. She walked slowly to the box, still waving and Mike saw Collins smirk. He let out a deafening wolf whistle and Blip hopped off the bench.

"I'll deck that son of a bitch right now," he threatened but Mike held him back.

"Let her fight her own fight. She's got to," he admonished. He didn't want Ginny fighting any battles, knowing his rookie had the hot head of youthful arrogance but also the determination of someone who'd worked their ass off. They were a deadly combination, but there was nothing to be done. Collins had made it a fight that Ginny couldn't back down from.

She turned to look back at them, rolled her eyes, then turned back to Collins, made a grand gesture of chucking up her chin at him. The pitcher tossed his ball from one hand to the other and Mike's stomach tightened. He frowned, watching Collins call off his catcher for three different pitches. He looked at Ginny and saw that his rookie was almost blissfully unaware of the fading of Collins's smile as she checked her cleats then got into position, giving the bat a few warm up swings. He checked his own cleats, rolled his neck around, prepared to storm the mound if shit went south.

Ginny's eyes locked on the ball but Mike could tell from the way Collins held it that the toss would be too low for her to hit. Sure enough it was and the ump called ball. For a moment, Mike thought Collins would walk her, work his way into her head but blatantly refusing to pitch a proper game. The catcher tossed the ball back and Collins repeated his routine of calling him off for every play.

Collins wound up and released the ball so quickly that Mike didn't see it until it until it connected with Ginny's thin left thigh. She yelped, surprised, and dropped her bat, clutching her leg. The ump called "ball" but no one heard him.

The Padres left the dugout in droves, surprising Mike in their quickness to run to Ginny's defense. He led the pack with Blip close behind. The Yankees quickly approached for defense. Mike lost sight of Ginny momentarily in the sea of blue and white, but his eyes found her immediately in the middle of the fray, kneeling on Collins's chest. How she got a nearly two-hundred-pound man to the ground without taking a swing was a mystery, but there she was, her right knee in the center of his chest. She clutched him by the collar of his jersey and Mike momentarily remembered a girl doing the same to him as a child. But no child had ever snarled like an enraged Ginny Baker as she shook the tuft of fabric in her hand.

"The fuck is your problem?" she bellowed, her other fist raised, but Blip was beside Mike in an instant, lifting the flailing rookie off her would-be victim. She kicked as hard as any man he knew, screeching, "Let me go! Let me fucking go!"

Blip carried her back to the dugout, talking calmly in her ear, as the referee and umps tried to break up the chaos. Even the managers were on the field pulling players apart. Mike turned his gaze to Collins then offered a hand to help him up. The Yankee took it warily, and with good reason because Mike immediately released his hand and grabbed his collar much the same way Ginny had. "You fucker!"

Collins raised his hands, trying to wriggle free, staring at the red-faced captain in shock. "I wasn't gonna hit her Lawson! I wouldn't hit that little girl!"

"So you fucking beaned her? For what?" Mike snarled. "I should break your fucking arm!"

A pair of hands grabbed his midsection and he knew it was Blip. He shook him off, knowing Blip would understand. He didn't expect a second pair of hands to join, grabbing onto his arms and making him let go of Collins. He whirled on his teammates and his rage almost renewed at the sight of Duarte.

The man said the only words that could calm him, his hands raised in surrender. "Baker's asking for you."

Mike's chest heaved as he unclenched his fists. He turned back to Collins and snarled, "Next time."

The captain stormed off the field and everyone leapt out of his way to let him through to their trainer's room where Ginny sat, scowling, on the table, her pants around her ankles. Her hair had come loose, wild around her face, her hat sitting beside her on the table. The gray-haired trainer, an older woman named Michelle who had become a mother to the whole roster, stood close by, shaking an ice pack.

Ginny's eyes lit up at the sight of him. "Can you believe that son of a bitch?"

Mike only shook his head, his eyes on her thin leg. Despite her muscle, he'd always thought there was something delicate about Ginny's body. She had mile-long arms and legs, lithe and sinewy, attached to a model's figure. He knew it was probably sexist, but he couldn't imagine doing anything that might hurt such a pretty girl. He walked over and she scooted away from him but he grabbed her wrist. "Let me see it, rook."

"Don't fucking touch it," she hissed and Mike already knew it was bad from the murder in her brown eyes. She rolled slightly onto her side and he saw the ball-sized bruise was already beginning to darken, a deep red blotch blooming against her bronze skin. His fingers twitched, going for it, but he stopped himself. Anger bubbled in his stomach.

"I should go break his fucking arm," he snarled.

"Then we'd both be out of the game," Ginny huffed.

His eyes lifted to her face. "You're out?"

She jerked her head severely at Michelle. "She put me out, said I need an x-ray."

Mike turned to the trainer. He knew his rookie would want her revenge, and she damn well deserved it. "Didn't you see her storm the mound? She's fine."

Michelle shook her head, looking at them both like they were wayward children. "She was running on adrenaline. And he might not have broken a bone but the bruise could be deep. Quick as his fast ball is he could have given her nerve damage. An x-ray wouldn't hurt. Besides, she needs a timeout."

"I do not!" Ginny almost shrieked then huffed and threw up her hands, realizing she'd just proved Michelle's point with her outburst. She turned to Mike, giving him a pleading look to somehow override the trainer.

Mike mellowed, looking affectionately at his rookie. She'd stormed the mound without a thought of backup, probably guessing she was alone in the fight but going for it anyway. He couldn't say he'd been so brave as a rookie, though he wondered if some of her courage came from the assumption that a man wouldn't hit her. But there was another part of him that knew she wasn't afraid of getting hit either, that she might welcome the fight as a sign that players saw her equally. He already knew she was firecracker, but the girl had balls.

He squeezed her tense shoulder. "Rook, just go get checked. You're not gonna be able to run with a bruise like that anyway."

"I can still pitch!" she almost whined and Mike cursed his mind from wandering away from the present moment as it struck him how fucking cute she was at that moment, raring to go like a young Mike Lawson.

"Ginny." She looked at him seriously then. He almost never used her name. He gave her a pointed look and she huffed again, a bratty "ugh" that made him picture her with bracers and ponytails.

"Fine." She rolled her eyes, crossed her arms. "I'm gonna bitch the whole time though."

"I have no doubt," Mike replied as he offered a hand to help her stand. She gingerly slid off the table, wincing when she put weight on her left leg. Mike frowned as he watched her try to pull up her pants. "You've gotta get out of this stuff rookie."

"Why?"

"Think about how bad it's gonna hurt to get undressed again in the hospital."

She huffed a third time but allowed him to gently lift her by her waist and set her on the table. He knelt on his own groaning knee to untie her cleats, looking up at her briefly. "You're not as heavy as I thought you'd be."

She frowned at him. "Why would I be heavy?"

He shrugged. "You're strong."

She returned the gesture then smirked at him. "So I don't get a lecture?"

"For?"

"The last time I stormed the mound, you ripped me a new one. What's different?"

"That fucker had it coming," he answered honestly. "Besides—and I know this is wrong Michelle so no need to tell me—I'm damn proud of you for taking him on by yourself. You've got balls, Baker."

Michelle snorted derisively but said nothing. Ginny smirked but he could see that she was pleased at making him proud. Fuck he wanted to kiss her. Whoa, he thought, wondering where that urge had welled up from. "That chickenshit wouldn't have hit me. The only reason he beaned me is cause he's a coward. A real man would have struck me out."

Mike smiled, proud again. "He knew he couldn't. You're a natural born pitcher but you're hell with the bat too."

She smiled in earnest then as Mike pulled off her pants. Michelle produced a pair of team sweats that Mike wasn't sure would stay up on the svelte rookie, but he slipped them on her thin legs anyway. He made a deliberate point of not closely examining her plain gray cotton panties, promising to earn his ticket to hell another day. When he looked up at her face, ready to give her the count for putting her on her feet again, he found her still grinning. "Stop doing that with your face."

She rolled her eyes, still smiling. "Fuck you."

He helped her to her feet and pulled the sweats up, pulling the drawstrings as tight as he could. They still hung dangerously low on her waist and he felt his mouth go dry at the sight of her pulling her jersey open to reveal her blue sports bra. He smirked to hide his staring. "You don't wear an undershirt? Rookie."

"I don't need an undershirt," she said as Michelle handed her a long-sleeved Padres shirt.

"I take it you've never gotten a sliding rash."

She rolled her eyes. "I have. I'm just not a little bitch. If I decide to slide, I take what I get."

He shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. "You're such a little shit."

She grinned, for some reason proud of his new nickname for her. "Whatever. Let's just go."

He helped her, trying to covertly shoulder her weight so she wouldn't have to lean on her bruised leg without her realizing it lest she snap at him for coddling her. They left the training room and re-entered the dugout. Blip hurried to them, frowning.

"I've gotta get an x-ray. Son of a bitch got me good," Ginny informed.

Blip nodded. "It's just as well. You're out for storming the mound."

"I—"

Blip raised his hands. "He's out too for beaning you."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "It's only cause it's me."

Blip smirked. "What do you want, Gin?"

She shook her head. "I'm just saying."

"You'd be pissed too if he was still in so shut it, rookie," Mike interjected.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Fuck off, Lawson."

Blip shook his head at them, thinking they bickered like they'd been married longer than him and Evelyn. "You're out too, cap. For threatening to break his arm. The ref believed you and he's not looking for another incident."

"If I had known I'd be out for it, I would have done it." He rolled his eyes then turned to Ginny. "Guess I'm shotgunning to the hospital with you, rook."

She looked like she might object but shook her head then limped to her dugout spot to get her bag.

"You've never gone to the hospital with me," Blip teased when she was out of earshot.

Mike frowned, wanting it to not be true despite his inability to recall accompanying his teammate to the hospital. "You've only gone like once. And she's my rookie. I've gotta look after her."

Blip watched them argue over who would carry her bag, actually engaging in a little tug of war over carrying it before she let it go with a huff. Mike opened her bag and pulled out her Nike sandals, dropping them on the ground for her to step into. The players in the dugout wished her well as she walked out, and Mike smiled at her smile, knowing she felt loved. They reached the stairs leading up from the dugout to the stadium's back exit and she sighed.

"I'm never gonna make it up those stairs." It hurt to even lift her leg. Mike handed her the bag then crouched to pick her up but Ginny scoffed, "If I can't make it with one bad leg, I know you can't with me, two bad knees, and a bad back. And we'll both be ass out if you fall and I hurt you."

"Shut up rookie." He scooped her up and slowly made it up the stairs, lingering on each step to take a deep breath, his knees cursing him the whole way. It took them at least ten minutes to make it up eight steps, but Mike didn't mind. Her curly head was tucked under his chin, her arms around his neck. When they reached the top and he set her down, she smirked at him.

"All in one piece. I'm impressed."

"You're supposed to thank me, you ungrateful little shit."

She laughed her head off and he rolled his eyes at her. If he could stop making her laugh, he might be able to be around her for more than a few minutes. They left the stadium and headed for the parking deck where a black SUV was waiting for them. Mike climbed into the backseat and watched Ginny hoist herself into car. He almost reached out to pull her in, but his hands faltered at the prospect of fortuitously but accidentally pulling her too close. She buckled herself in and let the seat back so she could recline, hoping to relieve her thigh's throbbing pain. The driver pulled out of the parking deck and Mike hastily remembered the lower the window shades so they couldn't be photographed.

"So how long's this bruise gonna last?" Ginny asked.

Mike blinked at her. "Have you never been beaned before, Baker?"

"That would be correct, Mr. Dugan."

"What?" He squinted at her, knowing she was mocking him but not getting the joke.

It was Ginny's turn to blink at him. "Dugan. As in Jimmy Dugan? The washed up player who became the coach of an all-female baseball team in A League of Their Own? He's definitely you in 5 years—or 5 beers—whichever comes first."

He laughed though he didn't get the reference. "I've never seen that movie."

"You're a ball player, Lawson."

Mike shrugged. "Little girls who like baseball see A League of Their Own. Little boys see Pride of the Yankees."

Ginny smirked. "Well I've seen both and I gotta tell you A League of Their Own has a much happier ending. Plus there's a young Madonna. Rosie O'Donnell too. There's laughter and tears and unrequited love. What more do you want from a movie?"

Mike shrugged. "I just haven't seen it. Excuse me for not being as worldly as the Ginny Baker."

His phone buzzed with a text from Al. It was a link. He clicked it and a video popped up. He watched Ginny storm the field, racing at Collins, and give him a rough kick to the stomach. The pitcher dropped like a dead man land Ginny jumped on him. In seconds, a sea of Padres and Yankees obscured them from vision. He leaned over and replayed the video for Ginny, smiling in spite of himself.

"Whoa. Look at me go," she said as she replayed the video. She didn't remember kicking him, only sitting on his chest with her fist raised to break his nose. She laughed as Blip hauled her kicking body away.

Mike chuckled. "I'll say it again, Baker. You've got balls."

X

The x-ray was quick, mostly because Collins hadn't done anything but bruise her good. It was deep, almost down to the bone, but nothing some ice and pain killers wouldn't cure.

"I can't have any drugs," Ginny insisted.

"Nobody's gonna screen your pee, rookie. And that bruise is gonna make you stiff and cranky as hell. Take the meds," Mike replied with a yawn. "And do it quick. I could use a nap."

He really wanted to get into an ice bath for his throbbing knees, but he wouldn't have turned down a nap. Ginny huffed, something Mike realized was a habit, and took the prescription. She signed herself out, stopped by the pharmacy to get the pills, and they left. Mike leaned his seat back and yawned. "We should get something to eat before you take those pills."

She took out the small orange bottle and looked at it. "I think I'll be fine."

Mike smiled, shook his head. "Baker I've been on every kind of pain pill there is. I know my stuff, and those could take down an elephant on an empty stomach."

His phone buzzed in his bag and he pulled it out. Al's name rolled across the screen and he hit the ANSWER button. "Hey Al… She's fine… It's her first bean… I'm about to deliver her safe and sound to her apartment."

He hung up and Ginny gave him a pointed look. "Why didn't he call me?"

Mike shrugged. "Anywhere you go with me, I'm in charge."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "For someone with such a bad back, it should hurt to kiss your own ass like that."

"You'd think someone with such a smart mouth would have been beaned before."

Ginny chuckled. "Everyone in the minors respected me."

"No. It's just that nobody wanted to be the guy who beaned the girl."

Ginny frowned at him. "It wasn't even that big a deal in the minors. That's what makes this whole thing so weird. Sure I'm the first woman in the majors, but it's not like I'm some girl they grabbed off the street and handed a ball. I've been a ballplayer my whole life, just like the rest of you. Little league, peewee, high school, the minors. I worked my way up from the trenches like every other player, but suddenly it's first grade again and everything's different because I don't have a dick."

Mike turned to look at her fully. Her hair was loose and billowing around her face, her eyes dark and serious, and she chewed her bottom lip, something he had noticed she did when she was being more honest than she wanted. "You really wanna know why it's so different? Because of everything you said. You're not just some girl they pulled off the street. You're not just a hot piece of ass who looks cute in the uniform. You're not just a gimmick. And I knew you in the minors. I knew you were good. But I thought you were minors good. You were a big fish in a small pond. When we got you, I didn't think you'd be anything like what you are. And yeah there's buzz cause you're the first woman, but that's talk show shit. The buzz around the league is cause you're the real deal. You're a blood and bones ballplayer like the rest of us. And nobody expected that, especially not looking at you."

"What is that?" she cut in with a frown. "Like, okay, I'm reasonably attractive, but it's not like I'm some supermodel. I'm just a pretty girl, just your average nice face. Most people wouldn't look at me twice if I wasn't who I am."

Mike snorted and shook his head. "And who in the world told you that, Baker?"

She shrugged. "Nobody had to tell me. It's just true."

He shook his head again. "You just think that cause you're used to looking at yourself. You look in the mirror, see everything is just like it's always been, all the stuff you'd like the change. But to other people, you're… There's this light about your face that just… You've got the brownest eyes. Those big white teeth, the little scrunch of your nose, and those stupid dimples… You're…beautiful, Baker. And don't take that lightly because it isn't a word I usually use."

He stopped, seeming to realize he was dangerously close to crossing a line that was becoming clearer with every second they spent together. He snuck a glance at her, found her smiling at her lap, her cheeks pink, and quickly repaired their boundaries. "There you go doing that thing with your face again."

She laughed, exhaling a breath she'd been holding since he called her beautiful. "Shut up, old man."

He laughed too, reaching over to pinch her cheek, laughing harder when she pulled her face away. "So what do you wanna eat?"

"It's gameday. Let's get some chicken wings."

She was surprised at the way his face lit up. "Okay I know the best place in the world to get wings!"

He gave the driver directions and Ginny looked out the window as they drove around. "Where are we, Lawson?"

"This is Watts," he replied.

Ginny peered through the blinds curiously. "Watts... And this is where you come for chicken?"

Mike nodded. "Best chicken in L.A."

They went through the drive thru of a small white restaurant, their driver doing all the talking, then headed back to Ginny's apartment. Her leg was much stiffer when she got out of the SUV and she had to lean on Mike for support when the pain almost made her fall over. He wrapped his arm around her little waist. "You're gonna wanna take those pills first rookie."

In her apartment, she popped the pills and Mike excused himself to the bathroom to change out of his unused uniform into his post-game sweats. He rummaged through her cluttered hall closet until he found a heating pad. He was situating it beneath her when her eyes began to flutter, glazing over as the pills set in. He smirked. "You're stoned, Baker."

She gave a slow, absent nod, her smile goofy as she reached out to scratch his beard. "You know who you look like? That kid from Saved By the Bell. Not Screech. The other little shit who was always talking to the camera. Except for this afro on your face."

Mike rolled his eyes, smiling reluctantly as he pulled off her shoes. "That's very funny, Gin."

She laughed, sprawling out on the couch. "Turn on ESPN."

Mike sat beside her on the couch, letting her rest her head on his thigh. He turned on ESPN like she requested and she grinned at herself on the screen, running at Collins. She laughed. "Look at me go!"

Mike smiled. "Yeah look at you."

After a few more replays, they moved on to the game's ending. Mike grinned when he heard that they won and turned to see Ginny's reaction, but she had drifted off to sleep, her eyes fluttering as she dreamed. Mike thought of carrying her to bed but he knew his back wouldn't take another trip. Instead, he gently lifted her head off his thigh, replacing it with a throw pillow, then leaned over and placed the gentlest kiss on her temple, his beard scratching her cheek and making her squirm.

He whispered, "See you later, rookie."

He didn't expect her eyes to flutter half-open or for her to respond, "Don't leave me, Mike."

His eyebrows crinkled. She never called him Mike, not once. He moved to sit beside her and she unexpectedly stood on uncertain legs, wincing a little. She seemed to still be mostly asleep. "Gotta pee."

She limped to the bathroom and he took her place on the couch, lying on his back and waiting for her. Normally he was better than most at reading signals—sometimes he could see them coming before his date had even made the move—but he wasn't sure what to make of this situation with his doped-up rookie. He didn't have time to ponder because she returned from the bathroom, missing her bottoms, and collapsed on him on the couch. She tucked her head under his chin again, a spot he was reluctant to admit seemed made for her, and promptly fell back asleep, snoring ever so softly.

Mike barely had time to process the heaviness of his own eyelids before his hand was reaching for the afghan draped over the back of the couch to pull it over them. He wrapped his arms around her sleeping frame and lifted them both up with a soft groan so he could pull the heating pad under his back. His screaming back mollified, he pulled her just a little closer before his own eyes drifted closed.