A/N: This has been a fun ride, but for now, we have come to the end! Thank you so much for all of your positive feedback on this fun little story. Look for Rick and Michonne's letters to each other sometime soon in my other story, "We're the Ones Who Live".

I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

If California knew how to party, then the city of Los Angeles made partying an art form.

And the LA Dodgers? They made it a profession.

At least, so it seemed to Michonne. She didn't begrudge them their high-spirited festivities. There was plenty to celebrate. Call her biased, but drafting Rick Grimes out of his junior year at USC was the best decision they'd ever made. The party that was thrown in his honor after he won Rookie of the Year was something she wasn't liable to ever forget.

This party though, put them all to shame.

LA had gone mad, and at the center of it all was the Dodgers, headed by their starting pitcher and MVP. Winning the World Series was the kind of thing that put people in a good mood. It was also the kind of thing that people popped champagne for. After what felt like a bottle all to herself, Michonne was a little woozy on her feet.

"Baby, you ok?" Rick's grip on her waist was tight, his breath scented with the very same champagne that had left her in this state.

"Better than all right," she assured him, smiling at her MVP. She stroked his beard playfully, tugging gently.

Rick grinned at her. "Did you get enough to drink?" he teased.

Michonne spun in his arms, leaning in to whisper directly in his ear. Tupac was playing loudly over the speakers as the DJ began a throwback set dedicated entirely to West Coast Rap. Michonne rolled her hips to the music, making no effort to not grind on her man. "I had plenty," she teased. "I want something else now."

"What's that?" his facial hair tickled her cheeks as his grip on her tightened. He pulled her flush against him, moving with her to the sounds of Dr. Dre.

Michonne giggled, fueled by alcohol and frivolity. "It can wait," she told him, attempting to step backwards. Rick was having none of it.

"I thought we didn't keep secrets," he kissed her neck, darting his tongue out for just a moment, uncaring about the crowds. People were everywhere, each locked in their own debauchery.

"I don't want to take you away from your celebration," Michonne mock-pouted.

"We're celebrating you too, Chonne," he reminded her, grinding to the rhythm. Michonne rolled her hips backwards into him, delighting in the low beat of the music. She loved dancing with Rick, eagerly seizing every opportunity. He began to mumble the lyrics in her ear, a habit he'd picked up since their first dance at prom, one that he kept around mainly for her amusement.

"I thought that was next weekend." Laughing, Michonne brought them back to the point. The plane tickets were on their nightstand, a long overdue vacation right around the corner, just for the two of them. If she could leave right now, she would. There were good thing ahead, parades and interviews, and obligations. Still, she longed for the quiet of just being with Rick, of the lake back home, of the comforts of their parents houses. There was a party being planned there too, solely in their honor.

"We can start early," Rick assured her. His hands groped down her body, emboldened by the dark lights of the club and their close quarters. He gave her a firm squeeze that drew a gasp from her immediately. She gave into him in an instance, fire racing through her.

"Grab a bottle of that champagne," she instructed, nipping at his ear for good measure.

"Yes ma'am," his accent always got stronger when he was drunk, not that he had a lot of opportunity to be during the season. 162 games meant plenty of time on the road, in the gym, and in the stadium. While Michonne came to every game that she was able to, it wasn't easy to balance law school and being Rick's right hand woman. Every scrap of their diminutive spare time, they spent together. Rick reached for a bottle on ice, catching it by the neck before seizing her hand. He began to steer them towards the door, holding Michonne tightly at his side.

"41! Where you going?" his catcher called to him by his number, yelling boisterously over the music. Rick had picked 41 upon being drafted, announcing that it was the closest he could come to Jackie Robinson after the league retired his number. Michonne knew that he'd picked it for her too, a reminder of that first year as a couple.

Every year since just seemed to get better and better. Through school rivalries, midterms, the stress of law school applications and entering the draft, through adjusting to life on the opposite side of the country from their families, they'd been together.

"Celebrating with my lady, Jones" Rick answered his teammate cheekily, not bothering to disguise his intention whatsoever. Michonne shook her head, giggling at his antics.

His catcher laughed, pulling his own woman to his side. "Be safe out there," he instructed before rejoining the party.

Their driver was waiting for them already, the keys in the ignition. "Leaving the party early?" he asked them.

"Taking the celebration home," Rick beamed at Michonne. "I ain't the only one who made a milestone. Chonne, passed the California bar, first try." He sounded so pleased that Michonne flushed.

The driver nodded appreciatively. "I knew you would, Mrs. Grimes," he told her. With a grin, he opened the door for them.

Rick helped her into the car, holding her hand as she slid across the leather seats, his fingers tracing her new rings almost out of habit. Michonne pulled him into her, not bothering to adjust her dress. It was riding high on her legs, exposing her thighs. He wasted no time in covering the skin with his calloused palms, massaging them gently.

The driver didn't bother to roll down the partition, perhaps sensing the general mood of the night, or perhaps because he knew the way to their house by now. Either way, it suited their purpose perfectly. Rick's mouth was on her, kissing her fervently. The hands that managed to pitch the last strike in the World Series now focused their attentions on her, massaging at her until her head rolled back into the seat.

"I can't wait to get home," she told him breathily, guiding his hands to her waist. Rick groaned against her as she palmed him.

"You got plans for me?" he baited her, sucking at her neck.

"I always have plans for you, MVP," she toyed with the zipper of his pants. She pushed him back against the seats as the car came to a halt in LA traffic, determined to make the most of their time.

"Shit, Chonne," he slurred his words, less from the alcohol than from his wife's affections. Michonne leaned over him, smiling at the look on her husband's face as she unbuttoned his pants and lowered her mouth to him. She concentrated on him the way he played the sport he so loved: with single minded purposefulness.

For months, they'd missed this time together. She was studying, he was grinding on the road, the way they planned. Their wedding had been small, intimate, their honeymoon prearranged for some distance date. Michonne never minded, because Rick was always at her side, even when work necessitated distance between them. Now, after years of work, they had made it.

"Baby," he panted, his hand coming down to grip her hair, the long tendrils of her dreads caught in his fist. Michonne moved with more fervor, relishing every moan she coaxed from him. His hips jerked of their own volition, even as she struggled to remain quiet.

"Shhhh…" she cautioned, disengaging for the briefest of moments. Above her, Rick was flushed, his chest heaving, his eyes on her with a look that promised that their celebration was going to be an all-nighter. In seconds, he reversed their position, silencing her giggles with a kiss and his hands began some exploring of their own.

By the time they got to the house, he had her half-undressed, her dress pulled hastily down in a poor disguise of what they'd been doing. Rick gave the driver the night off, sending him back to the party to enjoy himself before locking the front door. They didn't make it upstairs, but collapsed on their living room couch. Michonne tugged at the buttons of his jersey, yanking until she could work it open enough for her to run her hands over the planes of his chest. Though his face had retained its boyishness, any trace of that was gone from his body. Tan and corded with lean muscles, her husband was every inch the man she knew he would be when they'd started dating.

"Like what you see?" he teased. Drunk Rick was a cocky Rick, not that Michonne minded. She worried her lower lip between her teeth, drinking in the sight of him.

"I do," She leaned back against the cushions of the couch, allowing her legs to fall open. Rick's eyes scorched into her, a flush creeping up his bare chest. On a sound almost like a growl, Rick impatiently shoved the skirt of her dress up, pulling her legs over his shoulders.

"Me too," he assured her, groaning as he got into position.

Michonne let out a shuddering moan when her pushed inside of her.

"My beautiful wife," he showered her with compliments as he rotated his hips, his habit whenever they'd been apart for any amount of time. "My sexy, intelligent, lawyer wife." Each statement was accompanied with a wet kiss to a different part of her. Michonne clung to him, hanging on by a thread.

"I love you," she panted. "I love you, I love you," her body gave into the pleasure all at once, pulling her husband with her. He held her for a moment, willing the world to stop spinning, pressing kisses to her temple.

"I love you too," he promised, stroking her. The sounds of the block parties being thrown through the city reached them. Rick grinned, listening to them. Michonne watched him, a faint smile on her face. He disengaged from her with a kiss, staggering up and into the kitchen. She watched him return, champagne in tow. He handed her a glass, saluting her with his own.

She clinked hers against his, taking a deep pull. "What are we going to do now?" Michonne asked him as he settled beside her again. She stroked his back lazily. "I'm a lawyer, you're a world champion." It was surreal. She knew they'd get here, but not so fast.

Rick shrugged, adjusting his arms around her. "Work on your private practice. Maybe have a few kids. I can be a stay-at-home dad, you can be my sugar mama," he laughed, looking enthused by the thought.

Michonne slapped at him playfully, giggling right along with him. Rick caught her hands, rolling her beneath him again. Carefully, he moved their glasses to the side, his mind no longer on drinking. When he began to move down her body, trailing kisses as he went, Michonne lost her train of thought.

"Maybe," she gasped. "We don't need a plan just yet."

"What are you talking about?" Rick parted her thighs almost reverently, eyeing her appreciatively. "I got plenty of plans for tonight."

Her giggles turned to moans in seconds.

As the city partied around them, Rick and Michonne celebrated.