A/N: Thanks for the warm reception to chapter 1! Chapters will be coming weekly from here on out, so be sure to check every Friday for an update.
I hope you all enjoy chapter 2! Thanks to msdoomandgloom for reading every nonsensical paragraph I send to her and becoming my unofficial beta.
Dodger Stadium was silent, the quiet echoing in the hollow concrete space, filling the gaps between the seats. Rick had devoted much time to this arena. He knew intimately the press of the hard plastic chairs against his body, the sticky-sweet scent of kettle corn and peanuts, the chants of the crowd, the crack of the bat, the fizz of cheap sour beer as it coated his mouth. He'd gone to his first Dodger's game within days of arriving in California. Michonne had accompanied him to what felt like hundreds more, had watched him play her school at the annual rival games. It all felt different now.
"It's weird without the sound, huh?" a deep voice startled Rick from his musings. He turned around, gym bag bouncing against his back, to see a familiar face. They had yet to meet in person, but Rick knew his visage well. He'd spent the better part of a decade watching him play ball.
"Weirder that this is home now," Rick responded, attempting to keep his cool. "Played games here in college but…" he looked over his shoulder at the field. He was itching to get down there, to feel the dirt beneath his cleats, the laces of the ball against his fingers.
"You'll get used to it," arguably the best catcher in the league laughed. "Just wait till there's thousands of people in here cheering your name. Beats the hell out of the stadiums where they boo you." He brushed a hand over his face, drawn into some memory.
Rick digested that. "I'll take your word for it," he reached his hand out. "It's nice to officially meet you, Jones."
"Call me Morgan," Morgan Jones' face split into a wide grin. It was a sight Rick was familiar with. Somewhere, buried in his childhood bedroom, he had this man's rookie card squirreled away. "Welcome to the Dodgers, Grimes." Jones told him as he slapped his palm against Rick's.
The words alone sent a thrill through him. "Rick," he couldn't help but smile back. "I'm happy to be here." Happy was an understatement. He'd scarcely slept the night before.
"The rest of the team won't be here for a while," Morgan explained. "Mostly it's me and the training staff this early." He looked at Rick questioningly.
"I wanted to see it," Rick explained. "I just needed a minute." He hoped to calm himself before reporting to the locker room. He hadn't expected to be caught by the team captain.
"Well," Morgan walked forward. "You'll have plenty of time to take it in. Got about 100 games left. Is your arm ready?"
The fingers on Rick's hand flexed involuntarily, "It will be."
Morgan looked out at the field, grinning again beneath his ball cap. "No one's out there yet. I got my mitt though." He raised a brow. "Want to try it out?"
"You want to catch for me?" Rick couldn't help the shock.
"Got something better to do?" Morgan challenged, looking like he guessed Rick's thoughts. "C'mon," he patted him on the shoulder. "Let's see what you got, Rookie."
-l-l-l-l-l-
The baseball smacked into Morgan's glove with a satisfying thwack. Beneath his helmet, Morgan grinned.
"Well I'll be damned," he complimented. "You aren't all hype, Rook." He threw the ball back towards the pitcher's mound.
Rick caught it, winding up again as Morgan crouched. Exhaling, he let it go, listening to the whistle of the air around it as it spun towards the mitt again. "Did someone say I was?' Rick asked, barely able to keep himself from smirking in satisfaction.
Morgan laughed. "Don't take it personally Rookie. I've seen a lot of guys come and go." He tossed the ball back again. "You've got a helluva fastball though."
Rick whipped it back, enjoying the burn as his muscles came alive. The sun beat down on his skin from above the stadium walls, sending tracks of sweat down his face. He caught the ball again, his fingers tracing the deep groove of the laces. "Thanks," he released, his body moving in a rhythm he'd memorized in middle school.
"You one of those workhorse types?" Morgan asked after a half dozen more back and forths.
"What do you mean?" Rick pitched again, throwing a screwball for variety's sake.
Morgan looked delighted, snagging it as it crossed home plate. "You're here before the rest of the team. Already practicing on day one. That's a good thing."
"Oh yeah?" Rick wiped sweat from beneath the bill of his cap. "I can't be the only one like that." He shot Morgan a pointed look.
Morgan laughed. "No. But workhorses make good pitchers. Work hard enough, you'll be starting in no time."
"That's the goal," Rick affirmed. He whipped a curveball, watching as it soared sideways before smacking Morgan's glove again.
"Should be easy for a young single guy," Morgan nodded.
Rick laughed. "I ain't single," he said, his mind wandering to Michonne. She was up before him this morning, bouncing into bed with a cup of coffee and a plate of eggs, eager to see him off.
"Oh right," Morgan cracked his neck before throwing the ball back. "I remember a girl. She went to UCLA, right?" He shook his head. "You've got a pair on you." He chuckled.
"She graduated," Rick nodded. Their rivalry, though superficial, had been fun while it lasted. "She's at Berkley now. Second semester."
Morgan looked impressed. "Smart girl. She's probably got a good idea of what it's like to date an athlete. I'm sure it'll work out." Morgan did not sound overly concerned.
"It better," Rick chuckled. "She ain't just my girlfriend anymore."
"Engaged?" Morgan raised a brow beneath his mask.
"Married," Rick corrected.
Morgan lifted his helmet off, staring at Rick bemusedly. "How old are you, Rook?"
"22," Rick paused, tucking the mitt beneath his arm.
Morgan began to chuckle, his whole body shaking with the force of it. "Lord, you're an overachiever for sure."
"You think so?" Rick shrugged. "You oughta meet me wife. She's got an internship already. Heading to some law firm or something for the rest of the summer." He smiled. The living room of their apartment was covered in law books, business suits, and office supplies. Rick had spent the weekend helping her pack.
Morgan said nothing, only sucked his teeth.
"What?" Rick asked, confused.
Morgan exhaled. "I'm not sure you want to hear it."
"Tell me," Rick suggested, walking towards home base.
"I don't have to tell you that this is a hard game. You lose focus, you get hurt, or sent down, or both," Morgan looked thoughtful, fixing Rick with a serious stare. "But marriage…" he chuckled. "Baseball's got nothing on that."
"We've been together since we were 18," Rick explained. "Made it through college. Made it through planning a wedding long distance." It had been a relatively small affair in their hometown, just close friends and family. Michonne had insisted she didn't care to have some big party, nor a honeymoon to somewhere far flung. His girl, as ever, was practical.
Morgan nodded. "Impressive to be sure," he conceded. "Marriage is a whole other ballgame. Takes time. Takes focus. And so does baseball."
"What are you saying?" Rick tilted his head.
"I'm saying it's good you're overachievers," Morgan tugged his mask back over his face. "You're gonna need it." He laughed again. "Let's see you change up," he instructed, pushing Rick back towards the mound.
-l-l-l-l-l-
"This one's yours," the manager patted a locker, grinning at Rick. "You got a good one, rookie."
Rick dropped his bag inside, glancing around. It was nicer by far than any locker room he'd been in, carpeted, polished wood, painted walls. His name was on a plaque at the top of his cubby. Grinning to himself, he pulled out his cellphone. The rest of his team began to circle around him. Rick steeled his nerve, buying more time by sending out a text.
"What's wrong with you, Rook?" Outfielder Bob Stookey started in immediately, tugging at Rick's sweat stained shirt. "Did you run here this morning?" He had a wide, easy grin.
"Maybe he's sweating 'cause he's nervous," starting pitcher Simon Ogg grinned. "He ain't the big fish in the pond over here." He eyed Rick from head to toe. Rick held his glance, unflinching.
"Well Rook?" star shortstop Aaron Ross prompted. "What's gotcha sweating?"
"Leave the boy alone, Ross," outfielder Gabe Stokes came to Rick's defense. "You're just mad you don't have the prettiest hair on the team anymore." He pulled one of Aaron's tightly wound curls to illustrate his point. Aaron laughed.
"At least I have hair," Aaron rubbed Gabe's smooth, brown head.
Explosive laughter met his comment. Even Rick found himself grinning.
"Nice to meet you fellas too," he tucked his cellphone into his locker. Stookey spotted it.
"Who you texting, your mom?" Bob asked. "Want me to take a picture of you in front of your locker?" he teased.
"My girl," Rick answered without skipping a beat. The phone began to buzz with what he was sure was Michonne's enthused reply. He longed to look at it, but resisted the urge.
"Whoo," third baseman Theodore "T-Dog" Douglas whistled. "Got yourself a little California chickadee already?"
"Grimes has got himself a wife," Morgan walked into the locker room, dabbing his face with a towel.
An explosion of sound met this pronouncement and Rick found himself surrounded.
"You're hitched already?" Stookey asked. "She got you young," he laughed.
"You do know the amount of women that are going to be throwing themselves at you, right?" Ogg asked. "Why'd you get married?"
"Funnily enough, I love her," Rick retorted.
"Leave the boy be," T-Dog defended. "Not everyone hoes around, Simon. And he ain't the only one married in here." Simon snorted, shaking his head.
"Just the only one dumb enough to tie the knot his rookie year," shortstop Siddiq Nash laughed.
"Some people don't get their girl pregnant first then have a shotgun wedding," Morgan said deadpan, drawing more guffaws.
"Let's see her," T-Dog requested.
Shaking his head, Rick nevertheless reached for his wallet, bringing out a conservative photo of Michonne on their honeymoon. She was standing in her sundress, clutching both of their ice cream cones as the sun set behind her.
"A black girl!" T-Dog roared his approval, slapping Rick soundly on the back. "Oh shit, good for you, Rook."
The rest of the team pushed forward, passing his photo around. "All right," Simon nodded. "I get it. Still think you're an idiot." He shoved the picture back at Rick.
"She's beautiful," Aaron complimented.
"We'll try not to beat you up too bad before you go home to her," Bob grinned widely.
"I'm not sure about that," Morgan challenged. "I spent an hour catching for this kid. The Rookie's got skills."
"Really?" Simon smirked. "I'll believe it when I see it." He continued to stare Rick down. Rick refused to flinch.
"If you boys quit yapping, you'll see it sooner rather than later," Coach Horvath burst into the locker room. "Pitchers, catchers, you'd best be in the Bullpen in 10. Jones?"
"Coach?" the captain looked up, seizing his mitt.
"Put that down," Coach Horvath instructed. "I want to see the Rookie at BP."
"All right," Morgan nodded.
"The rest of you, warm up." Horvath barked. "The Rook here ain't the only one who needs to prove himself."
In a flurry of movement, the team dispersed, still chatting among themselves. Rick seized his helmet and bat and hurried after his captain.
"Let's see what else that arm has got," Morgan challenged, knocking Rick upside the head lightly.
"Yes Captain," Rick grinned, stepping back out into the sunlight.
-l-l-l-l-l-
There living room was full of boxes: wedding gifts left to disassemble, and half-packed belongings on their way to Berkley. They really ought to have been sorting through it, finishing their preparations for the upcoming months. Instead, Michonne was sprawled out across the couch, her feet in Rick's lap as he talked.
"I think I've got a chance of starting this season," Rick ran his hands absently up and down Michonne's bare legs. "Jones thinks I can do it."
"Of course you can," she grinned lopsidedly at him.
"It'll take focus," he mused. "MLB is a whole other game."
"Good thing I won't be here then," Michonne said, laughing to herself.
"What do you mean?" Rick tickled her calves, enjoying the way she squirmed. "You saying I don't focus when you're around?"
"You focus," she giggled, "Just not on baseball."
"C'mon," he challenged. "I ain't that bad."
"Baby, who spent a month in my dorm room that first semester?" she reminded him, shaking her head.
"Ok," he defended himself. "But it was a long drive back in forth in LA traffic. And we'd just started...you know."
Michonne snorted. "You almost missed your final. If I hadn't looked at the clock-"
"I was 18," Rick reminded her. "And you were sleeping naked. I couldn't help it."
Michonne's laughter escalated. "Like I said, baby. It's a good thing I won't be here."
Rick digested this, tugging her legs until she slid down closer to him. He laid down as well, covering her body with his own. "I don't think it's just me who can't focus…" he challenged.
Michonne exhaled sharply, her knees spreading almost by habit. "Did I say it was?" she asked innocently.
"Remember when I proposed?" he questioned, pressing his face into her neck. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest, thumping away furiously. "All you wanted to wear was this ring…" he toyed with her engagement band, spinning it around her finger. "For a whole weekend."
She inhaled sharply, nuzzling her face into his. "To be fair, Rick," she whispered. "That's how I always feel around you."
"Yeah?" his ego spiked at once. He reached for Michonne's legs again, running his hands slowly higher. "You think about me at night?" he questioned.
Her breath hitched. "All the time," she confirmed.
"You miss me when I'm not there?" he teased, pressing his lips into the sensitive spot below her ear.
"You know I do," she gasped, her hands clutching at his biceps.
"Do you wish I was with you?" he toyed with the edges of her denim shorts before sliding his hands beneath her. "Touching you?"
She began to shiver, her mouth falling open as she pressed herself greedily into his palms. "Yes…"
"You want me to take my time with you, Chonne?" he pressed his forehead to hers. "Go slow?" He tucked his fingers into the waistband of her shorts, tugging down just the slightest.
"I-" she attempted to kiss him but Rick leaned back, allowing only the barest contact of his lips on hers.
"Or do you want to feel me after we're done?" he leaned forward, listening with satisfaction as a broken moan escaped her. Michonne drew her legs higher up his waist, trapping him in a familiar vice.
"Rick…" she exhaled roughly.
"Which is it, baby?" he teased. "What do you think about me doing to you when I'm not there?"
She trembled, lacing her hands behind his head. "Everything," she leaned up to kiss him.
"Damn," he mumbled against her lips. "You must think about me a lot." He chuckled as she let out a frustrated groan.
"Rick…" she warned, rolling her hips into his. "You know I do." She ran one hand down his chest, curling it into the front of his sweatpants. "I always want you," she unknotted the ties of his waistband, hastily attempting to shove them down.
He pushed her hands away, tugging them up over her head as he covered her mouth in a searing kiss. She moaned unabashedly, holding onto the armrest of the couch.
"I gotcha, baby," he assured her, sucking at her neck as he made quick work of her shorts. He slipped his hand beneath her panties, grinning as he felt her. She moaned again, relaxing into the cushions as he removed his own pants and jerked his shirt over his head.
"Hard first," she begged, flinging her own shirt off.
He chuckled, bending down to suckle at her until she was a shaking, quivering mess. He took hold of her legs, bringing them both over his shoulders.
"My pleasure," he grinned wickedly, thrusting forward.
