Title: Subconscious Soup – Serves Six
Author: Empress
Email: Empress@thewaysideinn.net
Distribution: Empress' Private Library and The Wayside Inn  All others ask first.
Rating: NC17 – for sex! Dave and Tina are at it again! <shaking head> Hunter's gonna kill him when he finds out.
Category: Number 21 in the Behind The Scenes Series. Follows number 20 Hamlet Never Had Days Like This.
Characters: Hunter/Nan, and anyone else I feel like playing with.
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Uh, none other than language and sex. But at this point, is that really a warning anymore?
Summary: Nan talks to a friend. Hunter & Shawn go home. Tina & Dave fuck like bunnies. Rebecca listens to a story.
Author's Notes: We've got lots this time…so again with the numbering thing.
1.Again – Many more thanks go out to Emma for her wonderful speed at answering questions about her native country – England – to a stupid American – me – who didn't have the time – nor patience – to look this stuff up for myself. Thank you, Emma. You're a gem!
2.Again with the Time Zones thing.
3.Yes, I'm aware that Shark Tale didn't come out until October of 2004 rather than September, but hey, September's kids flicks sucked. I checked.
4.The song lyrics quoted are from "The Kings" by Run DMC – the D-Generation X theme – from WWE's Anthology.
5.Also, I must remind everyone I do not hate Stephanie McMahon! Actually, I like the woman quite a bit, and do miss seeing her on television, although I understand she enjoys working backstage much more. And lemme tell you guys, if she's the one responsible for the freakin' awesome story-lines we got while Vince was out with his quad surgery, then DAMN! Let this woman take over now!!! So, no. I don't dislike Stephanie. However, I have been told that while I like her…my keyboard freakin' loathes her. Oh well.
Feedback: What? Are you kidding me? I live for it!
Disclaimer: Not mine – theirs. Some are mine and I'm keeping those. No money made…blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. On with the show.
 

 
The lunatic is in my head
The lunatic is in my head
You raise the blade, you make the change
You re-arrange me 'till I'm sane
You lock the door
And throw away the key
There's someone in my head but it's not me.
And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear
You shout and no one seems to hear
And if the band you're in starts playing different tunes
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon
     Brain Damage – Pink Floyd

October 13, 2004 1:30 p.m. EST
New England Medical Center –  M.D. Howlett's Office – Boston, MA 

Nervously chewing at a fingernail, Nan tried to fill out the new client intake form on the clipboard on her lap.  But she just couldn't make herself do it.  The last thing she wanted was a record of this visit.  Doctor-patient privilege or not.  Not that her friend would talk to the media about her visit.  But it wasn't just her friend she had to worry about in this office.  God, she was getting more paranoid by the day.  And it was days like this that made her wish she'd never quit smoking.

If a nosy reporter wanted to dig up dirt on Hunter, something like this was exactly what they'd sell their souls to get the scoop on.  She'd spent so long protecting him from things like this – when there really wasn't a need for it – that she refused to give those sons-of-bitches media folk any more ammunition than they already had. 

She gritted her teeth at the tabloid stuffed down in her purse.  She'd stopped for gas right outside of Boston, and had run inside to get herself a Mt. Dew, thinking the caffeine would help settle her nerves.  While paying for her purchases, her eyes had slid to the rack of tabloids just beside the register, and her mouth hit the floor.  Snatching the top copy out of the rack, she added it to her total, and had then run out of the convenience store before the clerk could say a word to her.

"Almost done, Miss Elliott?"  The cheery voice of the receptionist called from behind a sliding glass window.

Shaking her head, Nan stood up, gathered her things, along with the hated clipboard, and passed it back to the confused looking woman.  "I'm sorry.  I can't do this.  Just tell Dr. Howlett–"

"Tell me what, hon?"

Nan turned sharply to see the woman she'd driven from Connecticut just to talk to, standing in the doorway leading back into the depths of the office.  She had mahogany tresses, with hints of deep red highlights, that lay in thick glossy waves around her shoulders.  Her skin was a golden tan, a testimony to her having spent the summer somewhere warm. She had a little strawberry shaped birthmark at the edge of her cheekbone.  Her eyes were hazel, with little flecks of green, and gold.  And they danced and snapped with good humor and intelligence.  Nan had always envied her those cat eyes, being so different…so exotic looking. 

"I can't…it's just…" she stammered.

"Alison," Dr. Howlett interrupted her, addressing the receptionist.  "No intake with this one.  What do I have for the rest of the afternoon?"

"You've got Mr. Sanchez at three.  After that you're clear."

"That man," Dr. Howlett shook her head, and sighed.  "No, I can't cancel him all together.  Reschedule Mr. Sanchez for tomorrow, first available.  I'm taking the afternoon off.  You do the same."

"Yes, ma'am."

Smiling brightly, the doctor walked out into the empty lobby, her purse tucked in the crook of her elbow, and turned back to Nan.  "You drove?"

"Yeah," Nan breathed nervously.

"You can follow me, then.  Just a little ways away.  I know a place we can get some lunch.  Nice and private."  She put her arm around Nan's shoulders.  "Come on; it'll be okay.

Nodding with a shaky breath, Nan allowed the other woman to lead her towards the door.  But she stopped just before exiting, turning back towards her receptionist.  "And Alison, destroy the file you've started."

An hour and a half later, Nan pushed away from the table, finishing up the sandwiches her friend had made for them once they'd arrived at her house.  "Did I miss something?  I thought you lived in Boston now.  When did you move to West Newbury?"

Her friend laughed.  "No, you didn't miss anything.  It wasn't too long ago.  A couple of months – three maybe?  I think you were in Florida when we moved."

"That's a hell of a move, all the way across country, only to move again a few months later," Nan smiled.  "Can't say as I'm disappointed though.  It's nice having you within driving distance again."

The brunette nodded.  "Yes, it is.  But my luck is you'll move away now that I'm here."

Nan shook her head.  "Not likely.  Hunter will never leave Connecticut."

"Never say never, hon.  It always comes back to bite you on the ass."  The other woman folded her hands in front of her mouth, then set them down.  "You want to talk to me now?"

"Not really, but I can't avoid it.  I promised Hunter I'd talk to someone, and honestly, Marie, I just don't trust anyone else."

Marie nodded.  "Understandable.  But this visit is completely off the record.  I shouldn't even be seeing you as a doctor."

"I don't want to get you in trouble.  I'll leave–"

"That's why I suggested we come here," Marie interrupted.  "No harm in old college roommates visiting, now is there?"

"I guess not."  Nan sighed.  "I'm having nightmares again."

With her old friend's concerned, non-judgmental look, Nan found herself pouring out everything that had been going on since she'd talked to her last.  All of the nightmares, the sleepwalking, the restraining order against Kurt, Tina's ordeal and new job, her uncle's death, the pending lawsuit against her old company, Jack's presence, John's stabbing, everything.  She must have talked for at least thirty minutes non-stop.  Maybe longer.  And all the while her friend just sat there, letting her get it out of her system.

When she was done, she looked up at her friend with scared eyes.  "Am I going nuts, Marie? There is insanity in my family.  I can take it.  Just tell me straight."

"No, hon." Marie chuckled softly.  "Just the fact that you're worried about your sanity is a good sign to me.  Most true whackos never question whether or not they're sane."

"Whacko – is that a clinical term?"  A glimmer of a smile hovered around Nan's lips.

"Nut," her friend laughed.  "Is that better?"

"Infinitely.  So what's wrong with me, then?"

"Off hand, I'd say stress.  A ridiculous amount of it."  At the less than agreeable look on her friend's face, Marie held up a hand.  "Hear me out before you tell me I'm full of crap, like you used to back in college.  You've already told me you know you're associating Bobby's death with marriage.  And that you know it's not how you really feel, yet your subconscious continues to do it anyway.  So, since your subconscious believes it, it torments you on a regular basis whenever Hunter's away, by showing you all of the gruesome ways he – listen now – could have died.  Has he ever once died in your dreams as a result of something you've not actually witnessed?"

"No," Nan answered shaking her head.

"So then we're looking at events that were close calls for him, but he survived them all.  Typical nightmare fodder…not precognitive events."

"What about Bobby blaming me for killing him…Bobby I mean."

"Ah yes.  What I call the real root of the problem."  Marie cocked her head.  "Sounds like you are the one blaming you.  Guilt is a crippling emotion if you allow it to be.  And you've told me more than once over the years that you blame yourself for him dying."

"Because I didn't make him see a doctor sooner," she added with a small voice.

"Honey," Marie sighed.  "His brain tumor was inoperable.  There was nothing a doctor could have done.  Now maybe, but not then.  From what you've told me, nobody could make Bobby Wallace do anything he didn't want to do."

Nan quirked her lips.  "Yeah, he was a lot like Hunter in that respect."

"Doesn't surprise me.  You always did like strong-willed men."  She took a sip of iced tea.  "You've got to let the guilt go, hon.  We both know Bobby wouldn't want you doing this to yourself, no matter what your subconscious says about it.  But I'll admit, the sleepwalking does bother me."

"So what do I do about it?"

Marie got up from the table, retrieved a pad from her purse, and began filling it out.  "I shouldn't do this, but under the circumstances, I'll risk it.  I'm writing you a prescription for a sleeping pill."

"Will it stop the nightmares?"

Her friend shook her head.  "No.  But they should put you out deep enough that you shouldn't get up during the night.  But to be on the safe side, try not to stay alone if you can help it."

Nodding Nan asked, "So how do I get the nightmares to stop?"

"Marry that man, and fast.  Once your subconscious gets the picture that he didn't die, the nightmares, I'll bet money, will go away.  They're not a live entity, Nan.  You're doing this to yourself."  She tore the sheet from the pad and passed it to her friend.  "Get that filled.  Today."

Nan took it, folded it, and slipped it into her pocket.  "I will."

"Now, you add that to all of the other stress you're under, and I'm not all that surprised that you're feeling like you're being pulled apart."

"There's more."  Nan reached into her purse and pulled out the cursed tabloid.  She passed it to her old roommate across the table.  "I saw this just today."

Marie took the paper, her eyes widening at the picture on the front, then quickly opened it up to the promised article.  Her brow furrowed the more she read, her eyes flying across the printed pages.  Once she was done, she looked up at her friend, holding the paper as if to tear it to pieces.  "You mind?"

"Be my guest."

A loud ripping sound filled the spacious kitchen as Marie proceeded to shred the tabloid into confetti.  She swept up the pieces and threw them into the trashcan.  "Well isn't that just friggin' wonderful?"

"Not my first choice of description, but it'll do."

"Has Hunter seen it yet?"  Marie inquired.

"No idea," Nan answered.  "I've not talked to him since this morning and he didn't mention it then."

"Are you going to sue them?"

"I'm definitely giving it some serious consideration.  But I'm not the only party in this.  Besides, I'm already involved in a lawsuit.  I really don't need to add another one to my plate at this point," Nan pointed out.

"I'd advise against it, if you asked me.  You really don't need more stress added to you right now.  Maybe it'll blow over if you guys don't respond to it," Marie offered.

"Maybe, but I don't know.  This kind of thing usually doesn't just go away by itself."  She looked down at her watch.  "It's almost four.  I'd better be going."

"Okay," Marie nodded.  "Now if you need me, you call.  Day or night, I don't care."

"I will."

Marie held her hand out across the table, her little finger extended.  "Pinky swear?"

Nan laughed at the gesture from their college days.  She wrapped her own pinky around her friends.  "Pinky swear.  Thanks, Marie.  Really."

"Anytime, hon. Can't you stay for dinner?  I really want you to meet my husband.  He'll be home around seven."

"I wish I could," Nan sighed, torn between wanting to stay and go back home.  "Becky, Cam and Jack are waiting for me.  Besides, we've got to hit it early tomorrow.  To come back up here, believe it or not."

"Here?  Why?"

"Stacy's birthday.  The Cena's are having a party for her.  We're meeting Hunter and Shawn at their house."

"John and Carol are throwing a party for Stacy Kiebler?  Why?"

Nan grinned.  "She's dating their son, the Doctor of Thuganomix himself."

Marie's eyes widened; then she laughed.  "I forget that local and world-wide celebrities are your friends, while to us normal peons they're larger than life.  Be sure to convey my best wishes to John and Carol, would you?  The whole town is waiting on pins and needles to hear how he's doing."

"They're not alone.  But I'll tell them."  Then she grinned mischievously.  "Have you told your husband yet?  I mean, I know he knows who I am in relation to you and all.  But have you told him who I'm engaged to?"

Marie laughed loudly, a melodic and infectious sound.  "No way, girlfriend.  I figured I'd let you drop that one on him when you meet him."

Nodding, Nan laughed with her.  "Sounds good.  You always did love to stir up shit.  I guess that's one of the reasons we always got along so well."

"Definitely," the brunette agreed.  She watched the laughter drain away from her friend's face, and could tell something else was bothering her.  She'd known her too long not to recognize it.  "What else do you need to talk to me about, Nan?"

She hesitated for a moment, then asked, "If you're not really treating me, does doctor-patient privilege still apply?"

"In my book it does, and if it ever comes up in court – where it's the only place that really matters aside from personal morals – that prescription I just gave you can prove that I am treating you."  She narrowed her eyes.  "What is it, Nan?"

Nan exhaled slowly.  "Remember when I told you in college that I got pregnant at fourteen, had the baby at fifteen, and gave it up for adoption?"

Marie nodded.  "You wouldn't talk about it.  Or the father, if I recall correctly."

"Yeah," Nan sighed.  "And I'm still not going to talk about him.  He's not a part of this.  But the baby…it was a little girl.  I had her in San Antonio.  On Valentine's Day.  And I got to hold her for about ten minutes before they took her away from me.  Ten minutes.  But it was long enough for me to memorize what she looked like.  Her eyes, the shape of her nose, her chin, and even the birthmark that only her parents or a doctor would see, until she got older.  Dating age, maybe."

When she fell silent, Marie whispered encouragingly, "Go on, Nan.  It's okay.  It'll stay right here between us."

Nan looked up and fixed her eyes on those of her friend.  "I didn't find out who had adopted her until I went back home to North Carolina that June."  She took another deep breath.  "Tina's not my niece, Marie.  She's my daughter." 

~<>~

Life is bigger
It's bigger than you
And you are not me
The lengths that I will go to
The distance in your eyes
Oh no I've said too much
I set it up
       Losing My Religion – R.E.M.

October 13, 2004 4:12 p.m.
BAA Southampton Airport – Southampton, England 

"That's us, Hunt," Shawn commented as their flight was announced over the loudspeakers.  He turned and gave Tina a quick hug.  "Take care, Beauty.  And try and cheer up."

Tina laughed at his obvious sarcasm, for she'd not stopped smiling since breakfast yesterday morning.  "You too, Shawnie.  Thanks for carting me around London yesterday.  I really appreciate it."

"Pleasure was all mine, Beauty," he smiled down at her. 

"Those poor Londoner's not withstanding," she added.

"Can I help it if I forget that they drive on the wrong side of the road over here?  Besides, they swerved out of the way in plenty of time."

"Yeah, and right into a ditch," Tina laughed remembering.  "But it was fun.  And they were so polite about it too!  They just sort of shrugged it off, saying it happened all the time.  Until…"

"…until the lady slipped and fell face first into that mud-puddle," Shawn finished for her, his face lit up and gravelly laughter escaping his lips.  "Then they weren't so polite, were they Beauty?"

Tina shook her head.  "I never knew that swear words could sound so dignified with a proper British accent."

"You two are a menace," Hunter chuckled.

"Exactly right," Shawn agreed with a wink, then swiveled his head back to Tina.  "And any time you need more input for your paper, you know how to find me."

She nodded, then turned to her uncle.  "Have a safe trip, Uncle Hunter.  Shawnie's got Stacy's birthday gift from me.  Make sure she gets it, okay?"

Hunter hugged the young woman tightly.  "I will, Squirt.  And I promise to tell Jack he's got a special present coming from you when you get home."

"You've got the shirt I picked up for you for him, right?"

He nodded.  "In my bag."  He looked down and spotted the publication still crumpled in Dave's hand.  He'd actually seen it when a fan had presented it to him, for his autograph, a little while ago.  His jaw had hit the floor, and he'd immediately confiscated it, giving the distraught fan twenty-pounds sterling along with an autographed 8x10 he happened to have in his bag, left over from Manchester's fan-access.  The fan had departed appeased, but Hunter was livid.  "Trash that, will you big man?"

"Gladly."  He shook his head.  "I can't believe this thing is global.  You know if it's on the stands here, it'll be all over the place back home."

Hunter nodded, looking grim.  "Yeah, and Vince is gonna shit kittens over this."

"Maybe not, Uncle Hunter," Tina interjected.  "You know he believes that any publicity is good publicity."

"Yeah, but Stephanie disagrees," Shawn added with a pinched look around his mouth.  "Something tells me that this won't end up being a good thing.  Guess we'll have to wait and see."

"I'm just wondering who all has seen it," Hunter commented.

"You thinkin' Kit?"  Shawn asked.

"Among others."  Hunter nodded, sharing a look with Tina.  Then he shook himself at her concerned look.  "It'll be okay, Squirt.  Don't worry."

"Easier said than done," she grumbled.  "You'd better go before you guys miss your flight."

Hunter grunted, and picked up his carry-on as Shawn headed for the gate.  Hunter pointed a finger at Tina.  "Be good."

She pushed at his finger playfully.  "Arf-arf!"

"Smart-ass," he growled, chuckling.  He looked at Dave.  "I'm depending on you."

"Under control."  Dave quirked a grin at him, as Hunter turned to walk away.  "I'll take good care of her." 

~<>~

Baby, when I think about you
I think about love
Darlin', don't live without you
And your love
If I had those golden dreams
Of my yesterdays
I would wrap you in the heaven
'till I'm dyin' on the way
Feel like makin'
Feel like makin' love
Feel like makin' love to you
       Feel Like Makin' Love – Bad Company

October 13, 2004 11:20 p.m.
Hilton Nottingham – Room 705  – Nottingham, England 

"You think this is what they had in mind when they designed this suite?"  Tina asked.

Dave bent his head forward, kissed the side of Tina's neck.  Tina purred, arched like a cat, purposely rubbing her delicious rump against his stirring cock, but inadvertently sloshing water out over the side of the tub.

He chuckled softly.  "Oh, I don't know about the architects, but it's definitely what I had in mind when it was suggested I upgrade."

Dave filled his hands with water, then cupped her breasts.  Her nipples pebbled against his palms, tightened like ripe raspberries waiting to be eaten.  He growled low in his throat, hungry again.  As long as she stayed naked and room service never went on strike, he'd be perfectly content to spend the rest of his life right here. 

"Then remind me to thank the concierge for recommending the suite before we leave," she whispered low.

"I'd rather you thanked me."

"I can definitely do that," she gasped as he gently rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

"You sure you weren't seen?"

"Positive," she breathed contentedly, lifting her arms up out of the water to drape them around his neck, pressing her back against his chest, and effectively lifting her breasts up out of the water, presenting them to his wandering fingers.  "We ate early.  Everyone else didn't.  They were all either in their rooms or out to dinner when I left.  And the hall was deserted."

"Good."  Dave relaxed, trusting her. 

Funny how he'd gone from dreading this trip to dreading that it would soon be over, he thought, once again struck by how perfectly their bodies melded together.  Amazing the kind of attitude adjustment hours of mind-boggling, strength-sapping sex could help one put things into perspective.

For instance, they were both sore and tired.  They'd had a very full day.  The Nottingham show had been an unusually early one, leaving plenty of time afterwards for them to strike out on their own.  Already sore from a brutal match against that ox Tompko, Dave had still fulfilled his promise and had taken Tina to Nottingham Castle.  They'd followed that up by an impromptu jaunt to Sherwood Forest that left him with a memory resulting in him grinning for the rest of his life whenever he thought about it.  Never again would he see an Oak tree in the same way.

Afterwards, they'd enjoyed a quiet, dinner at Yardleys Restaurant close to their hotel.  Tina had loved the place, he remembered, with a smile.  With its intimate, relaxed atmosphere, beamed ceiling, polished wood floors, subtle lighting and candle light, Yardleys was the ideal venue for an intimate dinner, exactly what he'd been hoping to find.  The menu featured dishes derived from a mix of English and French classical influences, and he couldn't recall having enjoyed a meal more.  But he suspected it was more the company that made it so memorable, rather than the food itself.

Back at the hotel, after he'd made a very public show of dropping her off at her door, he'd waited their agreed upon thirty minutes before she snuck out of her room, luggage included, leaving her key card on the dresser as she would if she'd been checking out.  Making absolutely sure she was unobserved, she'd darted around the corner and taken the stairs up the five flights to his room.  They'd indulged in more vigorous bed-play and precious little sleep. 

Soaking in the whirlpool tub to give a brief reprieve to their weary muscles had seemed like a nice way to still be intimate, but rest all the same.  However, now that they were actually seated together in the tub, the hot water lapping around them, lulling their senses…her ass snuggled right up against his groin and his hands full of plump, suckable breasts, Dave was having second thoughts.

About taking her again.

He slid one hand down her belly, parted the wet folds, and dallied between her thighs until she was squirming against his hand and her breath was coming in short, static little puffs.  "God, I love to hear you breathe that way.  You have no idea what it does to me."

For no apparent reason, she abruptly broke away.  "Out," she ordered, struggling from the tub.  "Dave," she all but wailed.  "You can't do this to me."

Confused, Dave stood and stepped out of the tub.  Water sluiced down his body, puddled onto the fluffy rug beneath his feet.

"Without me being able to do it to you," she added slyly.

Then before he knew what she was about, she wrapped her hand around his cock, dropped to her knees, and proceeded to suck him com­pletely into her mouth.  His thighs quaked, his eyes rolled back in his head, and a low guttural groan which could only be described as ecstatic broke apart in his throat.

He looked down, watched her pulling him into her mouth, licking, sucking – worshipping, because she clearly loved having him in her mouth, the single most erotic turn-on for any guy – and honestly, he didn't think he'd ever seen anything so elementally sensual in his life.  That sweet, angelic looking mouth, wrapped around his cock, her pink tongue lapping at him like a melting pop­sicle on the Fourth of July.

The only thing that could make it better was him doing it to her…

…while she did it to him.

Less than five seconds later, he'd spun her around, and draped her body with his, her back flat on the cool tiles of the luxury bathroom in the posh suite.  He fastened his mouth between her legs, his tongue working frantically against the swollen nub nestled at the crest of her sex.

Tina moaned around him, bucked be­neath him, then pulled him even deeper into the hot cavern of her mouth.  For every distracting, fantastic thing she did to him, he repaid it in kind.  She cuddled his testicles.  He slipped a fin­ger deep inside her, hooked it around, and found her G-spot.

Every muscle in her body went rigid, then she went wild.  He felt her whimper around him, suck harder, then grab the twin muscles of his ass, and hold him so that he couldn't pull away.

As if, Dave thought, bracing himself as his loins prepared to detonate.  He stiffened his tongue, curled it until it snugly cradled her cit. then lapped even harder against her.

A nanosecond later, he felt her spasm around his finger, felt her nether lips quiver beneath his.  The sweet nectar of her release bit his tongue and he savored every ounce of it, licked and licked until he'd feasted his fill.

Then he came.

Hard.

Though her body was still trembling, Tina never missed a beat.  She growled with pleasure, as though savoring a particularly tasty dessert.  She licked, sucked, milked him until his vision blackened around the edges and his head grew too heavy to support with his own strength.  He rolled over and let it drop to the floor.

Utterly spent, breathing heavily, Dave laughed and flung an arm over his forehead.  "Tina?"

She snuggled up beside him, pillowed her head against his chest.  Her hair slithered over him, tickling his side, drawing a contented smile across his face.  They were on the damned bath­room floor and yet he couldn't find the energy to move.  "Mmm-hmm?"

"Do I have permission to die now?"

He felt her laugh, the breeze of her sweet breath whispering across his nipple, and a light, warm feeling inflated in his chest.

"No," she said, her voice low and foggy, "But if you help me get to the bed, I'll let you sleep."

"Done."  He stood and, though he didn't have any idea where he found the wherewithal, he hoisted her slight frame into his arms.  Very gallantly, if he did say so himself – considering that she was naked and wet – Dave hauled her into the other room and very gently deposited her onto the bed.

He then spooned her up firmly against his chest.  Tina settled against him, sighed contentedly and that soft sound wormed its way into his heart, seemed to lodge there just as firmly she had.  He fell asleep with her breast in his hand, the soft, steady tune of her breathing in his ears.  

~<>~

Back in black
Hit the sack
I been too long I'm glad to be back
Yes I am
Let loose from the noose
That's kept me hanging about
I keep looking at the sky cause it's gettin' me high
Forget the hearse cause I'll never die
I got nine lives, cat's eyes
Using every one of them and runnin' wild
Back In Black – AC/DC

October 14, 2004 9:48 a.m.
I-90 E – Between Boston and West Newbury, MA 

Rebecca Michaels – for what had to be the fourth time since they'd gotten into the car earlier that morning – ran her hand in a loving caress over the two-toned black and red leather upholstery.  Everything inside the car was black…except for the front and rear bucket seats, and those were a fire engine red. The car was old school.  Obnoxious.  Loud.  Just one step shy of tacky.  And she loved it.  It suited her friend's devil may care personality superbly.  All that would have completed the picture would be a set of fuzzy dice.  But where they would have hung, dangled a worn, handmade medicine wheel, having been salvaged from her friend's old car.  A treasured Native American symbol, given to Nan by her late grandfather.

Her dark eyes darted around the modern, yet retro-styled, instrument panel – done in black as well, but back-lit with red.  It gave the car an almost eerily alive feeling, like it was watching everyone in it.  While at the same time, the low-slung body of her friend's new car almost felt like it was cradling them.  Hugging them...weird. 

Rebecca chuckled at herself, then listened with an unusual attentiveness to the deep rumbling growl of the engine as her friend shifted smoothly from fourth to fifth gear as she whipped around an eighteen wheeler that seemed to be having trouble chugging up the slight incline of the highway. The powerful engine would have intimidated most women, she thought.  But not this one.  Nan handled the car with the confidence of someone very used to muscle cars, guiding it in and out of the early morning traffic like an expert.  She had always thought the thunderous growl of a Mustang's engine to sound ominous, but with Nan behind the wheel, it resembled more of a deep purr. 

Flipping down her visor, she observed the two sleeping little boys in the back seat with a quirk of her lips.  Evidently Jack was a lot like Cam.  Put them – well fed – into a car and they were both out like a light.  Zonked to the world.  Settling further back into the bucket seats, she pushed the visor back into its place, and turned her gaze to the woman driving.

Rebecca smiled to herself.  Most people would say that cars had their own personality.  She hadn't ever really given it much thought, but this vehicle was quickly showing her the truth in that belief.  It seemed almost that the car liked belonging to her friend, having her behind the wheel.  And it was terribly obvious that her friend enjoyed being there, if the content, almost sultry smile playing at the corners of her mouth were any indication.

Nan steered with barely two fingers on the wheel, and the other hand resting on the gearshift, her head swaying slightly to the music coming from the car stereo.  Her friend's dark eyes were hidden behind mirrored wrap-around sunglasses that reminded Rebecca of something out of the movie The Terminator.  But she was sure if she could have seen them, those eyes would be lit from behind with a devilishly mischievous tint.

"I don't want to even ask how much you paid for this thing, do I?"  Rebecca asked, caressing the upholstery once again.

"Nope."  Nan's mouth quirked up into an even higher smirk.  "And don't call Bagheera a thing.  He doesn't like it."

"He?"  Rebecca laughed softly.  "How do you know it's a he?  Aren't most cars shes?"

Nan's smirk broadened into a toothy grin.  "Most maybe.  But not Bagheera.  He's all male.  Can't you tell?"

Rebecca pondered her question for a moment and for some odd reason, felt the inclination to agree.  "He's definitely very masculine looking…and sounding too."

"I'm considering getting one of Eddie's friends to paint some red and orange flames down his sides."

"You're kidding me."

Nan shook her head.  "Not in the slightest.  I know; I know.  Most folks would call it tacky, but you wanna know what I call it?"

Grinning, Rebecca asked, "What?"

"A big old whopping case of I don't fucking care."

Rebecca laughed heartily at that.  "Sounds like you.  But tell me, last I heard, you and Hunter were still arguing over what car could he be happy with for Maxine's replacement."  She chuckled again, remembering Nan had called her last car – another Mustang – Maxine because it reminded her of that grumpy old lady from the Shoebox Greeting Cards.  Her friend had always named her cars, as long as she'd known her.  "How'd you convince him that a 2005 Mustang GT would be safe enough for you?" 

Nan's grin took on a sinister twist.  "When we talked about cars, he never once mentioned Ford, so I never said no to it.  That, and I didn't exactly give him any further input on the matter."

"How's that?"

As Nan signaled and took the off ramp that would lead them out of Boston and into West Newbury, she answered, "Remember me telling you I had to meet Vince at the tower to discuss his job offer?"  At her friend's nod, she continued.  "Well, Stace saved me from murdering Stephanie in the middle of the lobby, and that's when I got Bagheera."

Rebecca's eyes widened.  "Oh, no.  You're not giving me a Reader's Digest version.  I've not heard about the fight with Steph, Stacy's involvement, or even the details about the meeting with Vince.  So start talkin'."

Nan turned her head towards her friend for a moment, those impenetrable Terminator glasses giving her a menacing cast and grinned.  

+++++

 

September 14, 2004 10:46 a.m.
WWE Headquarters –  Stamford, CT 

"How long do I hafta stay?"  Jack asked, kicking the toe of his sneaker against the tile floor just inside the doorway to the on-site daycare offered at the Tower.

Nan squatted down on one knee so she could look the little boy in the eyes.  She reached out and ran a palm over his rapidly lengthening blonde locks.  "Probably a couple of hours. Tina's got a meeting with her teachers at school, but she said the minute she gets done she'll come get you and take you home.  And I believe she promised you something special?"

"Yuh-huh.  Thhe thaid we'd go thee Thark Tale an' then get thome pitha!"

Nan's eyes widened dramatically.  "Really!  Sounds like you've got quite an afternoon to look forward to then, huh?"

"Yeth ma'am."  He scrunched up his nose and closed one eye, rubbing a fuzzy ear of Doc's along his cheek.  "When are you an' Mithter Hunter comin' home?"

"It'll be a after dinner, punkin'.  I've got a meeting with Mister Hunter's boss, remember?  And Mister Hunter's got work to do that might keep us all day.  But we'll be home in time to tuck you in.  So, until then, you're going to be good for me, right?"

At his timid nod, she smiled, tickling her fingers under his chin until he giggled.  "Now, there's lots of kids to play with and if you really need me or Mister Hunter before Tina gets here to pick you up, you just ask Miss Lauren," she gestured a hand at the daycare worker.  "And she'll come get one of us.  Okay?"

"Okay," he murmured reluctantly, clutching Doc the Bear a little tighter to his chest.

After a prolonged good bye hug, Nan reluctantly left Jack in the capable hands of the daycare attendants and began her trek back through the maze of corridors towards the main lobby and the bank of elevators that lead up to the executive offices and the fortress of Vince McMahon.  An elevator was emptying just as she arrived, and she lithely slipped inside just before the doors closed with a soft whoosh.  After punching the button marked twenty-eight, she stepped back from the instrument panel and glanced critically at her appearance in the polished brass doors, smoothing the palms of her hands down the butter-soft chocolate-brown leather skirt and matching blazer.  The salmon tinted shell set off her complexion well enough to be striking, yet not distracting.  A distracted Vince McMahon was the last thing she wanted to deal with this morning. 

Well, maybe not last, she amended silently.  But it definitely ranked near the top of her list.

All too soon, the doors were opening to let her out into the hallway that led to the Executive offices.  She ticked off the names as she walked past the doors – Jim Ross, Stephanie McMahon, Shane McMahon, John Laurientis, Linda McMahon, and finally at the end of the corridor, Vince himself.  As she grasped the doorknob to let herself into his secretary's outer office, she felt her eyebrow go up and a secretive smile curve her lips.  That tingling buzz that she got whenever she walked into her own coliseum started to flow through her veins.  God, she missed that feeling.  Powerful.  Large and in-charge.  Just like old times.

"Good morning, Beth," she called warmly, entering the office.

"Miss Elliott!  Good to see you up and about again," Beth Vaughan answered with a warm smile, rising from her desk to shake the redhead's hand. 

Nan returned her smile, a thought taking root in her brain.  She went with it.  "Thank you so much, Beth for the flowers you sent to me while I was in the hospital.  They were lovely.  Signing their names to the card was a nice touch…even though we both know they were from you."

Beth's cheeks pinked.  "Well, you're welcome.  I'm sure Mister McMahon would have sent something, but he was so busy, and I didn't know how long you'd be in there."  Her blush deepened at Nan's knowing look, flustered that she'd probably said too much.  "Mister McMahon's in with Shane right now.  He shouldn't be too much longer.  Can I get something for you while you wait?"

Nan crossed over to one of the plush chairs intending to sit down.  "No thanks, Beth.  I'm fine."

Before she could take her seat, the door to Vince's office opened and Shane McMahon stepped out.  His brow was furrowed as he scanned over the documents in his hands, but he looked up, spying Nan standing there.  "Well, I'll be damned.  Nan!  How are you?"

Nan crossed the office to meet him, returning his brief hug.  "I'm well, thanks, Shane.  And you?  How's the Crown Prince doing?"

Shane beamed, the proud father look suiting him, as she asked after his son.  "Fantastic.  Into everything and driving his mother crazy.  From what I hear that's pretty normal.  But the grapevine tells me that congratulations are in order.  You're finally dragging Hunter to the altar, huh?"

"I think that's really the other way around," she grinned back at him.  "Has Hunter told you when the date is?  We're still working on the invitations.  But we're really hoping you and Marisa can be there."

"He told me," Shane nodded, his dark eyes dancing.  "I can't say yes, just now, but I'm working on it.  If at all possible, we'll be there."

"He'll be there," a gruff voice called from the doorway, as Vince came into view.  "As will Linda and I.  Wouldn't miss it for anything."  Vince took a few steps forward and extended his hand to her.  She took it.  "Good to see you again, Nan."

"You too, Vince."

After a short goodbye to Shane, Vince led Nan, his hand still wrapped around hers into his office.  He guided her to one of the chairs opposite of his desk, waiting until she was seated before crossing around to take a seat behind it. 

Nan leaned back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other.  She unbuttoned the blazer and laid one arm over the back of the chair in a casual posture.  But the raised eyebrow arched even higher, the smile gracing her lips turning just a bit more smug, waiting for him to make his first move.  He didn't disappoint her. 

Vince leaned forward and laced his fingers into a single fist, propping his elbows on the desktop, looking at her over his fingers.  Without preamble he dove right in.  "I want you to work for me."

The corner of her mouth tilted up even further.  "I gathered that.  In what…position?"

"I always did like the way you thought."  Vince laughed, lowering his hands to lean back in his own chair.  "Writing for RAW Magazine."

Nan nodded, thinking that might have been his first tactic.  She knew him too well to believe him, but she'd play his game.  "You want to hire me as a writer."

"Yes," he nodded.  "The fans are changing now that kayfabe is almost dead.  They want more realism in their story-lines."

"That's completely contradictory."

"Maybe, but it's what they seem to want.  Reality television has swept the nation, and I want a piece of it," Vince informed her.

Nan pursed her lips and thought for a moment.  "Thus the new Diva Search competition."

"Exactly.  That competition gives the fans the feeling that they're a part of what goes on within the scope of how the WWE runs things."

"But we both know better, don't we, Vince?"

"I don't know what you mean."  He grinned at her, his eyes lighting up. 

"Sure you don't."

His grin broadened.  "The Diva Search has been immensely popular, and we're going to do it again next year."

"Milk that cash-cow dry?"

He laughed again.  "Precisely.  But we are moving towards a different bent in the magazines, RAW as well as Smackdown.  And I want you to be a part of it."

"Hmmm," Nan hummed.  "Now for the real question.  Why?  Why me, specifically?"

"Stephanie misses you."

"Bullshit.  Try again."

He gave her a chagrined look.  "Okay…Linda and I miss you?"

"That I can believe," Nan answered, thinking back to all of the times she'd spent at the McMahon's home when she and Stephanie had been friends.  And the times back-stage with them at her coliseum.  She hesitated, then just to be polite she asked, "How is Stephanie?"

"Good, good. I admit, she's rather difficult to get a hold of these days."

"Oh, really?  I through you just drew a pentagram on the floor and chanted I summon thee three times."

Vince coughed a laugh behind his fist.  "You always weren't one to pull punches, were you?"

"Never.  So, what's missing me got to do with me writing for you?"

"I've read some of your stuff at Every Day Living.  You're good."

"Thank you."  She inclined her head.  "You once told me I was too opinionated to give the unbiased fluff articles that you put in your mags.  I'm still opinionated, Vince."

"True," he acknowledged.  "But you love this business and you'll want to paint it in a positive light."

She nodded, seeing the truth in his words.  "You know I would, too."

"So it's a yes then?"

Nan threw an apologetic glance at him.  "Sorry, Vince.  No can do.  Aside from the fact that I think it would be a colossal mistake for me to work for you, I'm currently in a lawsuit against my former employer.  And my attorney has advised me against taking on another writing assignment until this is settled."

"My legal team could have that settled this afternoon if you said yes."  A frown colored his face.  "And what do you mean about it being a colossal mistake to work for me?"

She laughed.  "Come on, Vince! Don't insult my intelligence.  I'm marrying Hunter in almost exactly three months.  Do you honestly expect me to believe that you haven't even considered that you might have more control over him if I were working for you as well?  We both know the best way to get to him is to go through someone or something he cares about." 

"Never crossed my mind."  He feigned innocence with a mocking wide-eyed stare.

"Liar," she countered with a fond smile.

"Can't blame me for trying."

Her eyes  crinkled at the corners.  "I would have been disappointed if you hadn't."

Vince laughed and banged a fist against his desk.  "This is why I miss doing business with you, little girl.  You make it interesting.  Your grandfather would have been proud.  You bust my balls just like he used to."

"Thank you, Vince.  That means a lot."  She shifted in her chair.  "Speaking of, even though I won't work for you, there's nothing to say I can't work with you."

Vince's eyes narrowed.  "Keep talking."

"The WWE stopped doing regular runs in North Carolina two years ago.  Interestingly enough, about the same time I moved up here to be with Hunter."  She didn't miss the tightening of his mouth at her observation.  "I want the WWE back in my building, Vince.  Two, maybe three times a year."

A genuine look of confusion clouded his features.  "I was informed that you were no longer interested in dealing with us."

"Check your information."  Nan ordered.  "My General Manager, Audrey Lane, has been turned down at every approach she's made to book you guys for the past two years."

"You can document this?"  At her nod, Vince moved to depress the button on the intercom of his phone.  "Beth, get me the records of the booking bids for Charlotte, North Carolina for the past two years."

"Yes sir," Beth's voice sounded tinny through the speaker. 

They didn't have to wait very long.  Within minutes, Beth came into the office with a computer-print out, several pages long.  With brisk, efficient movements, she presented the papers to Vince and left just as quickly.  Vince scanned the sheets, his clouded look growing darker with every passing page.  Reaching back over to the phone, he lifted the receiver and punched a button.

"Johnny, I'm sitting here with the owner of the Harrell Coliseum of Charlotte North Carolina.  According to what she's telling me, and the print outs in my hand, we've turned down over twenty-four bids – lucrative bids, mind you – to book shows in that venue."  Vince paused, as Nan could hear a male voice on the other end begin to speak rapidly.  "Your name's on every single one, Johnny Ace.  You want to tell me why?  Well, who gave you the authorization?  Oh, she did, did she?  No.  I'll handle it."

Vince hit the plunger, disconnecting the call.  He spared a glance at Nan.  "Stephanie.  But I bet you already figured on that one."  She nodded, and he reached to punch another button, but Nan's finger on the plunger stopped him.

"No, Vince."

He looked up at her like she'd just slapped him.  He cocked his head to the side.  "Now, Nan I appreciate yours and my daughter's past, but this is business.  And she's cutting into our revenues by bringing personal grievances into the office."

"Fine.  Take her to task for it.  But not while I'm here."

Vince weighed her words for a few seconds then nodded.  Nan moved her hand, and Vince replaced the receiver.  He looked at her shrewdly.  "You've got your bookings.  One RAW this year to start, and then you and I can meet again and work out a contract for 2005.  Have your GM call Johnny Ace and set up a Monday night for sometime in December.  I think we've got an opening in there somewhere."

"Consider it done.  I think you'll find this a much more mutually beneficial working relationship."

Vince grinned at her.  "Probably.  Although, I have to admit, I'd still be interested in you writing for us, if you ever wanted to…that is, if Helmsley okayed it."

Nan smiled at him.  "Hunter doesn't – for the most part – tell me what I can and cannot do."

"Humph!"  Vince grunted, unconvinced.  "You'll be the first then.  You're really marrying him, huh?"

She nodded, her grin growing wider.  "I am."

"Can't I talk you out of it?"

She laughed.  "Not likely."

Vince shrugged.  "He may be an asshole, but I think you can handle him."

Nan's rich chuckle filled the office.  "Vince, you should know by now that no one handles Hunter."

"That's the God's honest truth. Well, even though I can't stand the sonofabitch, I do hope you two are very happy, " he grumbled.  "Care to join me for lunch?"

Nan shook her head.  "Sorry, but I'm meeting Stacy to go over some wedding plans."

"She's in the wedding?"

"Maid of Honor,"  Nan grinned.

Vince nodded, then sighed a little sad sound.  "There was a time, when I was sure Stephanie would be in that place."

Nan bit down on her bottom lip, with a nod.  "Me too, Vince.  But that was a long time ago."

He shook his head perplexed.  "I never did understand why she just…threw away your friendship.  Personally, I blame your fiancé.  I mean, he did go after you while he was still married to her."

She sighed.  "Okay, Vince.  I swore that I wasn't going to get into this with you.  But let me set you straight on something.  Number one, Stephanie married Hunter to get even with you for what you put her through with the Undertaker and all of that Ministry business."

Vince waived a hand in irritation.  "Yes, yes, I've heard all of that before."

"Maybe so, but not this side of it.  She also married him to get even with me."

"You?"  He asked, his eyes wide.  "Why?  What'd she have to get even with you over?"

"You."

He blinked at her.  "Okay, I think I missed something here."

Nan sighed again.  "Vince, you've always treated me with respect and as an equal in this business.  You even held me up as a standard for Stephanie when she started showing an interest in working for the WWE, remember?"  At his hesitant nod, she continued.  "But you've never treated her as a business woman.  She's always been a little girl playing in Daddy's office to you.  So, when she was presented with what Hunter did to secure his title shot, she saw an opportunity to take her rightful – rightful, now – place at the helm of the WWE ship.  And, she got even with me for having – in your eyes at least – what she couldn't have.  Your respect."

"And damn if she didn't do it too.  She drove me right out of my own company…her and that asshole with her," he remarked in a confounded tone. 

Nan had to smile, because she heard just a tinge of awe, and maybe even a little respect in the tenor of his voice.  "She's good at what she does, Vince.  Minus a few indiscretions here and there, of course.  But we all learn as we go, don't we?"

He nodded.  "That we do.  You said number one.  So what's number two?"

"Number two," she paused.  "Is that Hunter did not go after me while he was married to her.  You've got to understand something.  Stephanie knew I was in love with Hunter when she married him.  That was her own twist of the knife to me.  But Hunter didn't know.  We were just friends as far as he was concerned.  Until she started that crap with Kurt, he was content to stay with her.  That drove a wedge between them that cracked completely when she lied to him about being pregnant."

He pointed a finger at her.  "But I heard you two were having an affair during his rehab in Birmingham."

"No, sir.  We were not."

"You were down there all of the time," he accused.

"I don't deny that," she argued.  "But there was no affair.  Hunter and I didn't get together until after Stephanie signed the separation papers."  At his less than believing look, she added, "Vince, I've never lied to you.  And I'm not lying now."

He drummed his fingers on the desktop for a moment, then nodded.  "She married him to hurt me, and to hurt you."

"Yes sir," Nan agreed, her features tight.  "And to get your attention."

"She definitely got it."  He sighed, looking more like a confused father than a business mogul.  "I don't think I understand my daughter that well at all."

"That makes two of us."

Vince looked up, and speared her in her chair with a dark look.  "Oh, I disagree.  I think you understand her better than any of us.  More's the pity." 

+++++ 

"I cannot believe you said that to Vince McMahon!"  Rebecca crowed, delight brightening her face.  "But you always did have more daring than good sense sometimes."

"I prefer to think of it as good instincts, but either way, thanks."  Nan darted a grin her friend's way as she maneuvered the powerful car off the interstate and onto more rural roads.

Shaking her head with a smile, Rebecca asked, "So what about you almost murdering Stephanie?  Dish girl!"

Nan gaped at her friend.  "Why Mrs. Michaels! Gossiping???  I'm shocked!" 

"Gossip smoship!"  Rebecca growled.  "Talk!"

Laughing, Nan continued her tale. 

+++++ 

Vince elected to go down in the elevator with Nan to where she was supposed to meet Stacy for their lunch date.  Chatting pleasantly with each other down the corridor that led to the lobby, they ignored the surprised looks on the faces of the few Superstars they passed by.  As the two of them rounded the corner, Nan caught sight of Karen, Stacy and JR standing together near the main desk, while Karen gestured animatedly.  When they got close enough to hear what was being said, it was plain to see that her friend was very upset about something.

"There should be a special level of hell for that puss sucking, gangrenous malignancy of a mental amoebae!"  Karen groused, her mouth pulled down into a frown.

"Did someone steal your parking space again, Karen?"  Vince interrupted with a chuckle.

Karen turned on him, her emerald eyes sparking fire.  "You've got to do something about him, Vince.  It's getting pretty bad when the girlfriends of your talent can't even walk into the building without being accosted!"

Vince turned wide eyes on JR, who answered simply, "Snitsky."

"You're damn right, Snitsky!"  Karen added.  "I don't deserve to be treated this way, Vince.  He – "

Vince held up a hand, pasting on his most charming smile.  "I'll see to him, Karen.  You just leave it to me.  He won't be bothering you again."

"Humph!"  Karen snorted, crossing her arms over her ample bosom, still irate.  "I should hope not."

"Karen," Stacy interjected.  "Nan and I are going to get some lunch and then go look at dresses for the wedding.  You want to come along?"

The blonde shook her head.  "Any other day and I'd love to."

"Come on, Tink," Nan cajoled.  "You'll get input on what you're wearing, this way.  Last chance, you know.  Speak now and all that."

"Really, I can't."  Karen responded.  "Just don't pick something Pepto-Bismol pink, okay?  It's so overdone for weddings.  But maybe I'll run into you guys.  I've got to go return some stuff.  I got some lingerie at that big After Washington's Birthday sale they had at Sax's."

"And what a better way than to commemorate the birth of the father of our country than by sellin' push-up bras at half-price," Stacy laughed.

"Stacy, I assure you I did not buy a push-up bra.  Okay?  Those are for small-busted women.  If I wore one, I wouldn't be able to see."  Karen retorted.

JR held up both hands.  "Well, that's it.  I'm out of here.  And than you very much, Karen, for giving me that image to lug around for the rest of my life."

The three women laughed brightly as JR walked off shaking his head as he went.  Karen traded hugs with the two of them and said, "Okay…I'm off."

Vince extended his hand.  "Tell Edge that we're looking forward to his return.  A few more weeks, right?"

She nodded.  "I'll tell him."  She waived airily as she walked away, her purple Manolo Blahniks clacking loudly on the tiled floor.

Vince turned to the two remaining women.  "Are you sure I can't convince you to join me for lunch?"

Seeing the pinched look on Stacy's face, Nan shook her head.  "Sorry, no.  Maybe a rain check?  We really need to get a jump on these wedding plans.  I'm afraid you'd be bored to death."

"That's where you're wrong, Nan," a new voice called out.  "He's never bored – for long – around women.  Are you, Daddy?"  They all turned to see Stephanie McMahon walk up to them, just coming through the doors from the front of the building.

Vince moved away from Nan and Stacy, towards his daughter.  "Stephanie, remember where you are."

"Don't be silly, Daddy," she simpered at him, then leveled a hard stare at the redhead.  "I never forget where my place is.  Unlike some I can name."

Nan yawned, her face a picture of complete boredom.  She lifted her left hand to cover her mouth, and the morning sunlight streaming through the glass walls caught the diamonds of her engagement ring, sending a shower of rainbow prisms dancing through the lobby, bathing them all in their bright colors.  None of them missed the hungry look in Stephanie's eyes as they caught the motion and followed Nan's hand back down to where she rested it on her hip.

"What a lovely ring," Stephanie bit out between clenched teeth.

"Thank you," Nan replied lackadaisically, ready for this encounter to come to an end.  She turned to Stacy.  "Ready to go, Stace?"

Stacy nodded eagerly, fighting back a smile.  "Sure–"

"It looks like an antique."

Nan rotated back to Stephanie at her blurted statement.  "It is.  It was Hunter's Grandmother Helmsley's ring."

Vince dropped his head, tucking his chin against his chest, with a groan, knowing what was coming.

Stephanie's eyes blazed even brighter, if that were possible, and two bright spots of color appeared in her cheeks.  "Oh really."

Unable to squelch her happy grin, Stacy's head bobbed in agreement, her eyes alight with false cheer.  "Yep.  His grandmother left it to him when he was fourteen so he could give it to his intended, once he met the right woman.  It's very romantic, don't you think?"

"Romantic?"  Stephanie glared at the blonde.  "And just what would you know about it?"

"More than you, apparently," Nan interjected.

Before Stephanie could respond, Stacy looked down and noticed the bandage and swelling on Stephanie's right hand.  She waved her fingers indicating the wound.  "What happened?"

"Stephanie got bitten by a black widow spider this weekend.  Twice."  Vince offered.

"I'm so sorry!  Did it kill the spider?"  Stacy asked innocently, her eyes wide.

Stephanie turned a malicious glare on the leggy blonde.  "You know, you've developed quite a mouth on you." Her eyes swept Nan up and down.  "Must be the company you keep.  And I'm sure that Cena just encourages it.  It's a real shame that Test and Stiener weren't able to beat it out of you."

Stacy reeled back as if she'd taken a blow, her pretty face paling.

"What kind of vicious, judgmental, name-calling, machete-mouthed bitch are you?!"  Nan hissed, losing the tenuous grip on her temper, now enraged at the attack on her friend.

Stephanie turned on her with a snarl.  "Oh, that's certainly the pot calling the kettle black, now isn't it?"

"If the shoe fits, honey."  Nan mocked with a smirk.  "I've never claimed to be anything but a bitch.  At least I've got the balls to back it up."

The brunette's mouth curled up into a hateful grin.  "But I had them first.  I didn't know sloppy seconds were your style, Nan."

"Stephanie," Vince growled in warning.

"No, that's okay, Vince," Nan forestalled his admonition.  "I wouldn't expect any less from her.  She always was a spoiled brat who threw away her toys only to want them back when she couldn't have them anymore."  She swiveled her head back to her former friend.  "You disappoint me, Steph.  I'd have thought by now you'd have grown up enough to know what a good thing you gave up when you ruined your marriage to Hunter.  But I guess not."

"I didn't ruin my marriage!  You did!"  Stephanie squawked

"Oh, that's right."  Nan added sarcastically.  "I'm the one that lied to my husband about being pregnant just to tie him more securely to me, knowing how much he wants children.  I'm the one who's own mother was so disgusted with what I'd done, that she sold me out to the husband that I'd lied to.  And I guess I'm the one that my husband completely humiliated – and on national television, now – by calling me a no-good lying bitch, punching out my father, trashing a wedding set, and telling me to get the hell out of his life." 

Nan shook her head with a bitter laugh as Stephanie's face flamed.  "Hate to be the one to break it to you, Steph.  But Hunter had had enough of your lies, whining, bitching and moaning long before I ever entered the picture.  He was going to leave you anyway. You just sped up the process.  By being yourself, of course."

"Why you little–" Stephanie advanced on Nan with a raised hand, but found it locked into a strong grip as Vince halted his daughter's attack.

"That's enough, Stephanie!"  Vince thundered, looking around to see that they were drawing a crowd – office workers and talent alike had all stopped to watch the drama unfolding in front of them.  He knew it was only a matter of time before Helmsley showed up.  "I'm not going to remind you again of where you are!"

"All right!"  Stephanie screeched, jerking her arm out of her father's grasp.  She flipped a chestnut lock of hair over her shoulder in vexation, then turned spitefully sparkling eyes on Nan.  "But this isn't over between us.  If you want to, I'll take this out on the streets!"

Nan laughed at her, an ugly, venomous sound.  "That would hardly be fair.  You'd have the home-field advantage.  Come on, Stace.  Let's go."

Turning gracefully on their heels, the two women laughingly linked arms and walked regally from the building.

 +++++

 "Do me a favor, will you?"

"What's that?"

"The next time you and Stephanie McMahon go at it, let me know in advance so I can sell tickets."  Rebecca laughed.  "The proceeds alone would put Cameron and Cheyenne through college!"

Surprisingly, Nan didn't laugh.  Instead she frowned.  "I'm hoping there won't be a next time."

"Far be it from me to be the bearer of bad tidings," Rebecca began.  "But I seriously doubt that's going to be possible."

Nan nodded.  "Somehow, Beck, I think you may be right on that one."

"So, the car?"

"I'm getting to that." 

+++++ 

Nan had insisted on taking Hunter's Humvee back to the house and dropping it off before they caught a taxi into Greenwich.  They'd had lunch at a quaint little bistro, discussing the overwhelming various plans for the upcoming wedding. Nan was more than grateful that she'd selected Stacy to be her Maid of Honor.  Considering that the real main duty of that position was to keep the bride sane, Stacy was doing an excellent job.  And it was no easy task either.

Just poring through the stacks of brochures at Classic Traditions, Nan felt like her brains were dribbling out of her ears.  There were so many different styles, patterns, colors, and textures for bridesmaid dresses, that they were all running together for her.  Aside from knowing the wedding colors, she had no idea where to begin.  But Stacy had plowed in like a trouper, slinging patterns and pictures aside after only mere glances at them, discarding style after style with alarming capability.

Finally, with a pronounced, "Ah-ha!" Stacy had slid a style sheet across to Nan, claiming that dress to be the perfect one for the bridal party.  One glance at the picture had Nan agreeing with her.  They'd immediately ordered seven in various sizes, in the appropriate colors, as well as one that would fit her junior bridesmaid – with minor detailed changes befitting a girl of Jessie's tender age, of course.

Now they stood at a resplendent jewelry selection, picking out the bridal gifts.  "You're not letting her get to you, are you?"  Stacy asked.

"Who?  Steph?"  At her friend's nod, Nan shook her head.  "Nah.  I've got a lot more things to worry about than Stephanie McMahon."

"Glad to hear it."  Stacy grinned brightly, turning her attention back to the necklaces in front of her.

"How would you measure something that's supposed to be only one one-hundredth of an inch?  With some sort of neutron microscope?"  Nan asked, looking at a spider-web thin gold chain on display at the jewelry counter.

"Yeah."  Stacy nodded.  "You'd need a massaspectragraphic isotopic double diademic diaphanoscope."

"Oh."  Nan blinked owlishly, then grinned.  "Well, then.  Let's just buy two of them, shall we?"

Stacy's cell chirped and she extracted it from her purse, lifting it to her ear.  "Hello?  What?  I can't…hang on." She lowered the phone and cast an apologetic glance at Nan.  "I can't get a clear signal in here.  I'm going to step outside for a minute.  Be right back."

With a nod, Nan watched her go, then quickly turned back to the lady behind the counter.  "The break-away platinum heart shaped pendant you showed me earlier?"

"Yes ma'am?"

"I'd like to get that please.  But I need it engraved.  Can I have that done and pick it up later?"

The clerk nodded.  "Of course ma'am.  But we will require a deposit."

"Oh, that's fine," Nan rummaged through her purse for her wallet, and extracted her credit card, keeping one eye on where Stacy stood just outside.  "Matter of fact, I'd like to go ahead and pay for it now."

"Yes ma'am.  What would you like engraved on it?"

"A 'J' on one half and an 'S' on the other.  Old English lettering, if you have it," Nan instructed.  "Oh, and two chains, please.  One sixteen inches, the other eighteen.  But put the whole pendant on the shorter chain.  When can I pick it up?"

The clerk noted the instructions, and ran the credit card through.  She passed Nan's card back to her, answering, "In a week, ma'am."

"Perfect."

The woman passed her the credit slip.  Nan signed it, and passed it back to the clerk.  Just as the woman was shutting the drawer, Stacy came up behind Nan.  "So…decide on anything you like?"

Nan nodded, turning a bright smile on her.  "I'm thinking maybe a silver bracelet for everyone, with their initials engraved on a pendant?"

Stacy smiled at her.  "You can never go wrong with jewelry.  I like it.  What kind of pendant?  Hearts?"

The redhead scowled.  "Nah, too mushy.  Something more…I don't know…"

"If I might make a suggestion, ladies?"  The clerk interjected.  "What do you think of initial pendants rather than engraving?  More personalized that way."

"Very nice.  Yeah, let's do that."  Nan agreed then gave the woman behind the counter all of the first initials of the women in the bridal party. 

Once the bill was paid, Stacy rubbed her hands together.  "Okay!  Now all the business is done, time for some fun.  Let's go."

"Where to?"  Nan asked as Stacy led them outside and hailed a cab. 

"Somewhere to buy yourself something really disgustingly expensive and sexy.  And if you can also make it something you desperately need, then all the better."  Stacy warbled happily.

"I know just the place."  Nan grinned at her, and gave two sets of directions to the cabby.

By five-thirty, Hunter and John found themselves waiting out front of the Tower.  Hunter brought his wrist up and glanced down at his Rolex.  Then he dropped it with an aggravated sigh. 

"She said five-thirty, right?"  Hunter grumbled at John.

The young superstar nodded, his lips pinched together in what Hunter had heard Stacy refer to as 'the duck face.'  "Yeah, but when have you ever known a woman to be on time?"  John turned his 'Word Life' visor around backwards on his head.  He mimed throwing a baseball over an imaginary fence, then lifted a hand to his forehead, pretending to look for it, swiveling is head first left, then to the right.  He shrugged his shoulders, and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his ever-present jean shorts, going back to looking bored.

Hunter bit back a laugh, his whiskey eyes shaded by dark tinted sunglasses.  His gaze scoured the visitors parking spaces in the front of the building for either his Humvee or – God forbid – his Ferrari.  But he saw neither.  "You might have something there, but Nan's very adamant about being on time."

"Kinda freakish about it, huh?  Yeah, Keebs is like that about some stuff," John offered, shifting from one foot to another.

Hunter slowly turned his head to fix those impenetrable glasses on the young man beside him.  "You callin' my fiancée a freak, Cena?"

"Hoo-hoo, Trips," Cena chuckled, ducking his head for a moment.  "No need to get your panties in a bunch.  I ain't startin' nothin'."

Anything Hunter might have said was forestalled by the squeal of tires as a thing of beauty skidded to a stop lengthwise, taking up at least four parking spaces in front of them.  A low-slung, sleek, black, brand-spanking new Mustang GT waited – complete with thirty-day dealer tags.  The machine vibrated when the engine revved, as the driver – yet unseen behind the darkly tinted windows – lay on the accelerator.  When the engine idled down, the two men could hear loud music thumping from inside the vehicle. 

Hunter glanced over to see John swaying his head back and forth to the beat.  "Damn, that's off the chain!  Gotta love the classics!"

"The car or the music?"

"Both, man."

Hunter's mouth curled into a smile as he heard the spoken lyrics come through clearly, even though the windows were rolled up, and the doors closed.

The King of Rock, who?
The King of Rock, what?
The King of Rock, who?
The King of Rock, what? 

"You know this song, Cena?"

"Know it?"  John goggled at him.  "Hell man, I lived by it!"  Immediately the younger man prov