A/N: I miss baseball... Like the last chapter, I wrote this pretty fast so please forgive me if there are any errors. This takes place somewhere between their first meeting and their first date.

It was late. The woman who normally vacuumed and cleaned the hallways and offices at night had came and went almost an hour ago. The Press Corps was completely dark, save for the dim light coming from Sara's desk lamp. It was nine-thirty on a Saturday night, and she was the only one still in her office. She was attempting to write a draft of a story about a congressman from Kentucky who was being accused of sexual harassment and sexual assault by a former intern. Although the incident had occurred four years ago, the evidence was still relevant and it had been decided that day that the case was going to go into federal court.

She yawned, taking off her glasses and rubbing her eyes. Even though she had made a ton of calls that week and spoke to several people who had worked with the congressman at that time about it, she was hitting a mental block. She just couldn't put the words together in a cohesive manner. Saving and closing the document on her computer, she arched her back, stretching her aching muscles. A walk would clear her head and stir her creativity. When she was in college she would frequently take walks around Washington Square Park and other parts of the West Village when she was struggling with an assignment or a story, or getting burnt out while studying. It almost always did the trick.

Getting up from her desk, she went out of her office and ventured into the hallways of the West Wing. During daylight hours this probably would have been frowned upon, but she was completely alone as she made her way through the quiet corridors. It was almost eerie; the offices and conference rooms were always bustling and bursting with activity, with people always on the move. Now they were completely devoid of people and seemed frozen in time.

Eventually she found herself in the communications bullpen, and her eyes were immediately drawn to a dim light coming from one of the offices. Wondering who else could possibly be there that late, her curiosity got the best of her and she went to investigate. As she got closer, she could hear the sounds of balls hitting bats, cheering, and the voices of Ralph Kiner and Fran Healy. Whoever it was they were watching a Mets game. Swallowing hard, she realized the light was coming from Josh's office.

Standing in the doorway, she now saw Josh leaning against the corner of his desk, arms folded over his chest, his eyes focused hard on the small TV screen on his bookshelf.

"Hi," Sara said awkwardly. He looked away from the TV at her. "I-I heard the noise and I was curious. I-I didn't think anyone else would be here this late."

He looked confused and she started to feel even more nervous. Even though she had gotten to know him better after writing the profiles on him and the other members of the Senior Staff, she still didn't spend that much time with him alone.

"Hey," he said. "I honestly thought I was the only one still here; I usually don't have the TV on this loud." He glanced at the TV for half a second and then looked at her again. "Come on in." She walked into the office slowly, almost awkwardly. "What are you still doing here?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing," she told him. "I was trying to edit a story - key word trying - and I just wasn't getting anywhere with it, so I decided to take a walk."

His eyebrows went up inquisitively. "Take a walk?" She nodded and he shrugged.

"It helps clear my head and get my thoughts straight." She looked over at the TV. A commercial for laundry detergent was on. "What are you still doing here?"

"I've been looking over some notes for my meetings tomorrow," he explained. "I got a bit distracted by the game."

"What's the score?" She inadvertently moved closer to where he was standing, wanting to get a better view of the TV and just to have an excuse to be that close to him. Over the last few months, her slight attraction to the Deputy Chief of Staff had developed into a full-blown crush.

"It's tied 3-3." She smirked; she was a huge New York Yankees fan and she knew that Josh was just as big of a Mets fan. They talked baseball sometimes, but more often than not they ended up arguing about which team was better that year. "Don't say a word."

"What?" She said innocently, and he frowned.

"I know exactly what you're going to say, Sara."

"I wasn't gonna say anything!"

"You were gonna say what you usually say, 'The Mets suck Josh!'" His voice went up a few octaves, imitating her. "Which they don't."

Suddenly their attention was drawn back to the TV, because Robin Ventura got a hit and brought in the tying run for the Mets.

"Yes!" Josh cheered, pumping his fists in the air.

"There's still four more innings, there's still time." Josh rolled his eyes.

Before she knew it, it was already the eighth inning, and the game was still tied 3-3. They had stood in front of the television the entire time, few words exchanged between the two of them except during commercial breaks, both of them focused on every play. The fact that he was so passionate about baseball was extremely attractive to her, and she took advantage of the fact that he was so glued to the game to steal glances at him every chance she got - his handsome face bathed in the white light emitting from the TV, the way his body and jaw tensed during a tough play, the way he roughly ran a hand through his hair when someone made an error or struck out, the way he smirked at her whenever a Yankee got out. She also knew he loved to get her riled up, and would tease her whenever the Mets did something good.

"Come on…" her eyes were fixed on the screen. Derek Jeter, the Yankees shortstop, was up to bat. "I heard that he gives fruit baskets to women he sleeps with." Josh laughed. Jeter got a good pitch and hit a home run. "Yes!" She jumped up and down; the Yankees were leading 4-3.

"You just like him because he's the hot young stud," Josh scoffed.

Now it was her turn to scoff. "I like him because he's one of the best shortstops in Major League Baseball." She turned towards him. "Besides, he's not my type."

There was a silence between them for a moment. "What is your type then?" He looked over at her expectantly.

"I… uh…" Her mouth went dry. You! She wanted to say, but she knew there was no way she could do that. They were good acquaintances at best, and he was the Deputy Chief of Staff; he was completely out of her league. He was one of the smartest people she had ever met, and he was unbelievably handsome. She was plain and boring, nothing special. She was also sure there had to be some sort of clause in her employment contract saying that she couldn't be in a relationship with any of the other White House employees, regardless of their position. There was no way she could ever admit her feelings to him. It would just end in rejection. "I don't really have a type."

"Come on," he scoffed. "Every woman has a type, whether they like it or not." Why did he care so much? She wondered.

"I don't know," she trailed off. "Tall, dark, and handsome." That was the farthest thing from the truth; in reality, he ticked off all her boxes.

"Typical," he rolled his eyes. "You wanna know what kind of women I like?" She swallowed; she really didn't want to know. She knew she wouldn't be able to compete.

"Mandy Hampton?" She used sarcasm to deflect from her nervousness.

His jaw went slack. "I wasn't expecting that from you." She chuckled. "Funny, real funny."

They turned back towards the TV. It was the ninth and last inning of the game. The Yankees didn't score anymore runs and David Cone, the Yankees pitcher that night, struck out three batters in a row, ending the game.

"They still have a chance tomorrow," she told him, trying to make him feel better about the Mets' loss.

"Yeah, yeah," he said dismissively. He took the remote from off his desk and turned the TV off. "I gotta finish looking this stuff over."

"You're gonna be here all night, aren't you?"

"Probably." He sat down at his desk, turning the desk lamp on. "Not like I haven't done it before."

"Well, I'm going home," she told him. "And I'm going to sleep in my own bed."

"Don't rub it in." He laughed. "I'll sleep when I'm dead."

"That's the spirit." She secretly wished she could coerce him into letting her take him home, and making him get some rest. He really needed it; his face was drawn and he had bags under his eyes.

"I'll see you Monday hopefully." He gave her a short wave and she turned to walk out the door. Before she was in the hallway, she looked behind her to steal one last look at him. She was in deep, and she knew it.