It was a grueling game. Ginny struggled but was thankful Al allowed her to get through the fifth inning so she had a chance at the win. When you didn't have your best stuff, when every at-bat was a grind, it took a lot of you physically and mentally. But that hope for a win, and getting back to a .500 record fell apart when Capps entered the game and gave up two runs. He apologized for costing her the win but it wasn't necessary. Thanks to Blip's two stolen bases and Mike's walk-off double, they won the game. In the end, that was all that mattered. Still, she hadn't pulled herself out of the mental drain that tended to put her in a funk.

It was almost midnight when she departed her private dressing area, a closet she shared with extra baseballs and other equipment, and saw him sitting at his locker. She stopped in her NIKE tracks and contemplated heading back to wait for him to leave. But Mike would wait her out until the next night out of spite, not to mention his tyrannical ways. His locker gave him an unobstructed view of the entire clubhouse in general and specifically to the hallway that led to her closet. She couldn't escape this confrontation. And when it came to all things Ginny Baker, the man seemed to have a sixth sense. The hair on his neck probably stood on end when she was headed his way. So, if anyone would still be there waiting for her, it would be him, and rightfully so after her outburst in the training room.

"Wanna tell me why you bit my head off?" He was slouching in his chair with his focus still on his phone.

She and Mike had their share of tense moments, but she never snapped at him. Not like that. Not him - her captain, catcher, childhood hero, sometimes savior.

All he asked for was a small concession; it required interrupting her session with the trainer so he could look at Mike's leg. It's something she would have done without blinking had it been any other day. But today was the final straw in a week of concessions. And it was shitty of her to care since the entire San Diego Padres organization did nothing but make concessions for her every day since she arrived. They changed the way they did almost everything because of her tornado-like presence.

She crossed the clubhouse, over the large interlocking S and D in the middle of the room. She stood before him, feeling like she had been called on the proverbial carpet. It was like she had been summoned and now she was waiting for her punishment by the team captain. He wasn't speaking, instead staring at her. The silence made her uncomfortable. Made her feel more guilty, more embarrassed.

"Sorry," she mumbled, needing to hear something, even her own voice. She gripped the shoulder straps of her backpack.

His eyes narrowed on her for a moment. "I didn't ask for an apology, Baker. I want an answer."

His gaze was too much for her to handle. She looked around the clubhouse. It was once again perfect. There were no longer uniforms, towels, and equipment strewn across chairs and tossed on the floor. She loved the clubhouse when it was like this. It was the picture of perfection and order. Uniforms hanging neatly. Bats above lockers, shoes neatly lined up at the bottom of the lockers. There was nothing out of place. Cleanliness and order gave her peace and calm like working up a good sweat. Funny enough, she hated to clean.

"Every day I'm reminded how different I am. I'll never fit in. Besides, I'm learning the cost of fitting in is high. Maybe too high."

"I didn't know I was asking so much of you," he said with a roll of his eyes.

Had it been anyone else, the surliness would have made her believe they were headed for an argument, but with Mike, it was his nature. She was a lot more comfortable and sure of where they stood when he was this way than if he was smiling and being cheerful.

"You weren't. It wasn't you. It..."

"Spit it out. What's going on with you? Is it...you know?" He made some weird gesture with his hands.

She knew what he was trying to ask. It's what all women were asked, especially those who were around men as much as she was. "No. You guys fit in by listening to a guy's country music in the clubhouse when you like rap or rock. I'm supposed to fit in by being okay with guys accidentally walking in on me in the shower."

He frowned.

"Not here." She removed her backpack and sat on the floor before him. "There was another story about the high school girl in Florida. The one who was raped by her teammate. It's scary because you never think anything will happen to you. That could have been me so many times in the minors. All because I wanted to fit in and get along, never say no even when I want to. Can't rock the boat. I can't even make a big deal about sexist, disgusting jokes or I'm the one causing problems."

She had to speak up for Al when he made his sexist comments about her and though he was wrong she did it because she wanted to defend her manager. He was a good man from a different era still catching up with a new world where women weren't simply wives and daughters. She also knew if she hadn't spoke up for him, people would have blamed her for the media raking him over the coals for his own words.

"I don't want to have to give up a little of myself to fit in. At least not that way. And besides, no matter how much of myself I give up, it will never be enough. If I say something I'll be accused of being sensitive when in reality it's them who are being jerks or misogynist or-"

"I'm sorry about slapping your ass," he blurted out. "I thought I was treating you like one of the guys."

"You were, the second time. Not the first."

The first time he used her, and her body, as a joke in order to make his friends laugh. She watched him to see if he would admit it. It hurt because he wasn't just her teammate, he could walk on water. And in less than thirty seconds, he was human and flawed, and a bit of the luster was gone. To be honest, it made it easier for her to work with him, be his teammate.

He nodded. "Not the first. I'm sorry."

She learned long ago that people made mistakes, especially boys and men who didn't know how to treat her. Her life was filled with awkward encounters but a scorched earth response didn't have to be her way of handling them.

"I forgive you."

"The best way to fit in is to not worry about trying to prove it. If you spend all your time trying to convince others you belong then you've lost. You put in the work and do your job. You can't control what people do after that. Open-minded people will respect your work. You can't worry about the neanderthals. You and that lollipop fastball belong here with all these other guys right here."

She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged herself. "This is supposed to be my safe place, you know what I mean?"

"I do and it is."

"I feel safe here, but," she said as she shook her head. "At any moment someone could violate the trust I give so freely for the sake of trying to fit in."

"No. Not here. Not ever. I would never let that happen."

She saw the fire in his eyes. She believed him and instantly felt better. He had been a source of comfort for her since her second start. That's why he was captain. It wasn't something bestowed on the oldest player or the one with the most tenure with team - even though that was the case for Mike. Team captain in baseball was something serious. Bigger than a quarterback or a point guard. It was steeped in tradition. It was an honor that had to be earned and then some. You literally had to give blood, sweat, and a lot of tears. Mike did that three times over for the Padres.

"You don't want to fit in," Mike said. "Fitting in is overrated. Why settle for being one of the guys? You're more than that and I think you should embrace it."

She screwed up her face into a frown.

He leaned forward, arms on his thighs. "When I was a kid all I wanted to do was be like the other kids, but I wasn't. After practice when all the kids who go to the city pool or go play video games I had to stay behind for more practice."

"Why? You weren't good?"

"The opposite. I was so much better than the other kids. I told one of my coaches I just wanted to be like the other kids. He told me I'd never be one of the guys because I was too talented. I stood out, even among the best. If I didn't accept that, learn how to deal with it I wouldn't have made it. Don't sabotage yourself by trying to be like everyone else, you're more."

She smiled. "My lollipop fastball is more?"

"No." He rolled his eyes. "You're more."

She would never admit it, but sometimes she said and did things just to elicit that eye roll of his. These were some of her favorite moments. When time slowed down, when the world was on mute and she was with him. Because other than Blip, Mike didn't treat her like a freak show. I could appreciate what she was going through but he also didn't let that control his every interaction with her when they weren't on that field.

"What does that mean? I'm more?"

"You've probably never heard of them. I mean, you didn't know Wally Pipp so I'm sure Curt Flood and Marvin Miller mean nothing to you, but they changed this game and it had nothing to do with anything done on the field. You keep your head on straight and you can do the same. I know we're in an age of empty quotes and they give you guys more media training than actual baseball instruction, but you don't have to keep silent when it comes to the big stuff. Especially about things that affect you and definitely not in here." He waved his arm. "You're not a guest in here, Baker. This clubhouse is as much yours as anyone else's...except me of course."

"I thought you hated my feminista rants?" She laughed.

"I do but I trust you not to get all carried away."

She wasn't interested in becoming the voice of a generation and she didn't feel obligated to have an opinion on everything let alone tell the world.

"It's not easy being you and I'm sure it's even harder than I know. But you're doing a damn good job."

He stood up, signaling the end of their talk. She did the same, but while she popped up off the floor like she bounced off a trampoline, he eased out of the chair. Of all the positions, time was most cruel to a starting catcher. He once said all that time felt like dog years on his knees and back. Surely, he couldn't wait to get home and in bed, but there was he was waiting around checking on her.

"Come on," he said. "I'll drop you off at your hotel."

"Oh, that's okay. You don't have to go out of your way. I can walk."

"It's half a mile, Baker. It's not out of my way. I don't need Ginny Baker getting accosted on the streets of San Diego. Who knows what kind of trouble you'd find."

Attention did seem to follow her. All she prayed for was a day without drama and a good start every fifth day. Anything other than that seemed greedy.

"Thanks," she said.

"Don't mention it. I mean, really don't mention it. If anyone found out about these Oprah moments I'd never live it down."

She laughed.

He groaned. "That laugh."

That only made her laugh harder and louder. The only sound was their laughter as they made their way to the players' parking lot.