Title: So, You Say It's Your Birthday
Author: Empress
Email: Empress@thewaysideinn.net
Distribution: Empress' Private Library and The Wayside Inn  All others ask first.
Rating: R – for language and sports related violence. No sex in this one. Poor kiddies. You may commence with the hurling of rotten tomatoes now.
Category: Number 22 in the Behind The Scenes Series. Follows number 21 Subconscious Soup Serves Six.
Characters: Hunter/Nan, and anyone else I feel like playing with.
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Typical stuff…foul language, death threats, violence…the usual lovelies.
Author's Notes: Again with the numbering thing.
1.Am I the only one who's noticed that Randy's just a little bit mashugga in my stories? It's probably because he annoys the shit outta me. Ah well…every story needs a villain. And that's something Randy's actually halfway decent at.
2.Matt, Sean, and Danny are John Cena's brothers. And Trademarc is his cousin. Really. I swear.
3.Parts of Tender Indulgences were used, at the time of the initial writing of this chapter, with the permission of the author.
Summary Quote:  The two frightened 'little boy lost' looks melded into one in her mind, bringing a soft cry to her lips, a twisting pain in her middle and a sharp sting of tears to her eyes.  And it was all she could do not to start screaming.
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.
 

Nan bit back a smile as she allowed Cameron to tug her down the stairs that led to the Cena's basement, with Jack close behind.  She liked Mrs. Cena.  She was feisty, not like her own mother, but more like her Grandmother Harrell – or so she'd been led to believe, since she'd never met the woman.  Her grandmother had died some twelve years before she was born.  But she'd heard enough stories from Granddaddy and Momma to make her feel like she'd known the woman she resembled so strongly.  It was strange sometimes, Nan thought, that she could so easily feel the pang of loss for someone she'd never known.

"Aunt Nan?  What's wrong?"  Cameron asked as they reached the landing before the stairs made a sharp left turn, then continued on another six or seven steps.  "You got your sad face on."

She stopped on the landing and ran her hand down his sandy locks.  "I'm just missing my Granddaddy and my Nana, buddy.  That's all."

"So call 'em.  That's what I do when I miss my Gammy and Papaw," Cameron offered sagely.

Nan smiled.  "I can't honey.  They went to be with Jesus a long time ago."

"Oh!"  Cameron smiled brightly at her, as the three of them continued on into the depths of the Cena basement.  "But that's okay…Daddy says you'll get to see them again someday."

"Only if she's really good, and somehow I think that's debatable," an unwelcome voice answered from the far corner where he stood by a stack of boxes marked in large black letters Johnny's.

Sparing him a glare, Nan turned back to the little boys and pointed to a table set up near the stairs.  She was pleased to see several stacks of multicolored construction paper, safety scissors, markers, and crayons in a large box.  Probably stuff for Mrs. Cena's Sunday school class, or this past summer's Vacation Bible School. 

"You guys make yourselves comfortable over there.  How about making Aunt Skye a big 'Happy Birthday' sign, okay?"

With eager nods, the children scrambled into the chairs and immediately set to arguing over which colors to use.  Leaving them to their activity, Nan whirled back around, stomping across the basement, to face off with Randy Orton.  She stalked over to him and hissed furiously, "When I want crap out of you, Orton, I'll squeeze your head.  In the mean time, I'd thank you to keep your nastiness to yourself while the kids are in earshot!"

Randy jutted his jaw forward petulantly, still smarting over their last encounter.  "Whaddya gonna do, Nan?  Hit me again?  I wouldn't.  You don't have back up this time.  Unless you're expecting them to protect you," he waved his hand in the direction of Jack and Cameron.

She arched an eyebrow at him.  "You threatening me, Orton?"

He held up his hands in front of him, palms out, a smirk tugging at his mouth.  "Threatening you?  No, not at all."  He lowered his hands and scowled at her.  "It's a promise.  You ever touch me again, and you'll regret it."

A wicked smile curved her lips.  She extended a single index finger and pushed lightly against his shoulder, just enough to call his bluff.  "There.  I've touched you.  Now, how am I gonna regret it?  What are you gonna do?  Spit on me?"

Randy smiled lazily at her.  "Always pushing your limits, aren't you, Nan?"  His smile dropped, his face going blank.  "You know what I meant."

Nan took a step back and crossed her arms over her chest, her fingers resting lightly on the bandage covered by the long sleeves of her pumpkin orange turtleneck sweater.  "You know, Randy, I thought seriously about apologizing to you for that shot–"

"I deserve an apology," he bit out.

"–but it ain't gonna happen," she snarled.  "I'm not sorry I hit you.  Not anymore.  If anything, I'm sorry I didn't hit you harder and more than once."

His eyes widened, then narrowed again rapidly, not expecting that.  He extended his arms out by his sides.  "So what's stopping you, Nan?  Go ahead.  Take a shot.  I'm sure our hosts would just love tha–"

"Who do you think you are, talking about our hosts like you were welcome at this little soiree," Nan interrupted.  "You've got a lot of damn gall showing up here, uninvited, and unwanted."

"I was invited," Randy argued, his blue eyes snapping fire.  "By Sean and Rebecca.  And Keebs–"

"Don't you dare call her that!"  Nan fired off, interrupting him.  "That's John's name to use for her and you're not allowed!"

"Stacy wants me here," he argued, automatically adjusting his speech without realizing it.

Nan rolled her eyes and snorted.  "A backhanded invitation to be polite, doesn't constitute being welcome.  And Stace's is too scared and in too much pain not to see you for what you really are."

Nodding sarcastically, Randy repeatedly clenched and unclenched his fists.  "And what exactly what am I, Nan?  Come on – astound me with your oh-so-superior intellect and above reproach judgment.  Because we both know what a fantastic judge of character you are!  I mean, after all, you are the foremost authority on outstanding men.  Hunter being such a wonderful person, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, right?"

So deep into their mutual animosity, neither Nan nor Randy noticed that all sounds of the children behind them had ceased, and that both little boys were watching the verbal sparring match between them with wide eyes.  Cameron cast a nervous look over at Jack, expecting him to be frightened, since his friend was always kinda quiet around grown-ups.  But Jack didn't look scared.  His mouth was turned down into a frown, his eyes were squinted, and his face was all red – he looked mad.  And for some reason, that made Cameron scared all of a sudden.

"You're a manipulative piece of crap, hovering around Stacy in her fear, exploiting it towards your own ends!"  Nan raged, her voice dropping down an octave in her fury.  "In short, Orton, you're a sick sonofabitch and I for one cannot wait until John wakes up, finds out what you've been doing and kicks your cowardly ass!"

Randy sneered at her with an ugly look.  "Well, that doesn't look to promising, now does it?  It wouldn't surprise me a bit if the good doctor died after all."

Nan's face lost a little of its color at the tinge of hope she heard in his voice, startling her into whispering,  "You evil bastard."

He made a tsking sound, shaking his head.  "No, that would be Hunter.  And should Johnny Boy not make it, well, I'll be right there to help Stacy pick up the pieces…and there's not thing one you can do about it."

"I swear, you're the only man alive that if he ever got a brain tumor that they'd have to give you an enema to get rid of it!"  She threw her hands into the air in exasperation.  "Should that happen to John – and it won't – I can promise you that I'll dedicate my life to making sure that Stacy knows exactly what type of person you are!  Even if I have to make up some crap!  But knowing you, that won't be necessary." 

Nan pointed a finger at him.  "And I'll tell you something else, you little shit.  Hunter's three times the man you'll ever be – in the ring and out of it.  You know it and I know it – and I'll bet that's what's got your panties in a bunch.  You don't measure up, Randy.  To Hunter or John.  And you never will."

She began to turn away, sick to her stomach suddenly with the whole conversation.  But Randy wasn't through yet.  He reached out and grabbed hold of her forearm, his fingers biting painfully into the bandage covering her damaged skin, from the poison ivy.  Nan cried out in shock as a sharp lance of pain shot up her arm and into her shoulder.

But almost immediately his grip slackened as Randy suddenly found himself with a flurry of flying fists and feet as Jack launched himself across the room at him.  The little boy got in a couple of good swings before Randy was able to stem his surprise enough to push the child away from him.  But Jack didn't stop. 

He lashed out with two swift kicks, one to each of the former Evolution member's shins, screaming, "Don't you hurt my Momma!"

"Jack!  Punkin', stop!"  Nan called, reaching out to pull him away from Randy.  She tugged him backward against her, her eyes never leaving Randy.  His face twisted with anger, her took a step forward, but stopped quickly as Nan turned laser-like eyes on him, and hissed, "You lay one finger on him and I swear to God, I'll drop you where you stand!"

Randy's eyes darted from the red-faced little boy, to Nan, to Cameron Michaels who sat dumbfounded at the table, his eyes wide and glassy, staring at him.  One fat tear rolled slowly down the little boy's cheek.  Randy shifted his gaze back to Nan, who looked fit to commit murder.  "Nan–"

"Just get out, Randy."

He paused for a moment, still glaring at her, then turned swiftly and – with an obviously painful limp – made his way to the stairs, and slowly climbed them.

"Aunt Nan?"  Cameron called softly, once he was gone.

In answer, Nan held out an arm and Cameron bolted from his seat and ran over to her, wrapping his arms around her middle.  She returned his hug, and whispered, "You okay?"

He nodded against her,  "Yeah, but what's wrong with Jack?"

"He's just mad; he'll be fine.  How about you go finish up Aunt Skye's sign and let me talk to Jack, okay buddy?"  Nan smiled shakily down at the youngster.

True to his personality, Cameron beamed up at her, the incident already fading from his mind, apparently.  "Okay.  Just don't take too long, cuz Jack knows how ta spell!  I'm just doin' the pictures!"  He squeezed her again, then bounced back to his chair, scrambling back into it, and happily set to drawing large colorful pictures on the sign.

Nan knelt down in front of Jack.  She searched his face, shocked to see a deep intensity of hatred in the little boy's indigo eyes.  Jack wasn't looking at her, but rather the direction in which Orton had gone.  He was breathing heavily, his red cheeks puffing in and out with his anger, his little body rigid against her.  She ran her fingers through his blonde hair. 

"Jack?"  She called softly, continuing to ruffle his hair, and run a soothing hand up and down one stiff little arm.  "Punkin'?"

After what seemed like an eternity, Jack's spine relaxed a bit and he shifted those blazing eyes to hers.  The anger was still there, but she could see him fighting it back.  Her mind whirled, at how similar his look was to Hunter's when he was doing the exact same thing.  Jack's anger was palatable, tangible, and ran very deep, again, just like Hunter's.  And she could feel another little piece of her heart break away to belong to this child, who so desperately needed someone who would understand rather than try to beat it out of him.  Jack blinked and Nan knew then that he was back…from wherever an anger like that took him.

She smiled.  "Hey, there you are."

His lower lip jutted out a bit.  "I'm thorry…" he whispered, and tried to take a step back from her, his body language shifting into a protective hunched cower.

Nan cringed inwardly at his motions.  She allowed him his small retreat, but shook her head.  "It's okay, Punkin'."

That threw him.  He cocked his head, his brows furrowing.  "You ain't mad at me?"

"No, honey."  In truth, she was terrified for him, but not mad.  Not in the least. 

Now he looked even more confused.  "Will Mithter Hunter be mad at me?"

Nan laughed.  "No, Punkin'.  Once he hears the whole story I expect he'll be kinda proud of you, defending me like that.  But you know you probably shouldn't have done it.  You could have gotten hurt."

"I know.  But he wath thcarin', Cam."  He answered, looking suddenly far older than only six.  Then his eyes blazed again.  "An' thayin' mean thtuff about Aunt Thkye an' the Doctor of Thugamikth."

Feeling like she was treading on shaky ground, Nan merely nodded in agreement, hoping he'd open up just a little more.

"That man hurt you."  He looked back up to where Randy had disappeared, his face clouding over.  Then he turned his eyes back on her, the anger now gone replaced by a tear-filled gaze.  "An' nobody ith thuppothed to hurt you.  I don't like him."

Jack's bottom lip wobbled.  He took a step towards her, and Nan opened her arms.  He fell against her with a sob, winding his scrawny arms around her neck, clinging for dear life as he cried.  Nan maneuvered them around until she was sitting on the floor Indian-style with Jack in her lap, rocking him slowly.

"I don't like him either.  Not anymore," she whispered softly as she rocked.  "It'll be okay, punkin'.  I promise."  As Nan crooned to the little boy, holding him tightly against her while his snuffles lessened, her mind spun. 

His Momma?  Where the hell did that come from?  She closed her eyes tightly, wishing for Hunter to get there soon. 

~<>~

Well John Henry moved a mountain outta nothin' but a hammer and sweat
Well he beat that damn machinery down he said "you ain't seen nothing' yet"
'Cause he had himself a woman, well she must have been something like you
When you're a man with a plan, got a hammer in your hand ain't nothin' that you can't do
When you're the right man for the job
       Right Man For The Job – Charlie Robinson

October 14, 2004 11:15 a.m.
Cena-Land – Garage – West Newbury, MA 

"No, Mr. Cena, that's not true.  You don't understa–"

"Yes, it is true, but you see, I'm gonna let my son teach you that very important lesson himself, because he's waking up soon.  He's gonna wake up, and once again, she's gonna forget all about whatever faux friendship you're offering her, and remember exactly why she loves him that way too."

"Maybe I should leave."

"No, don't leave," the older man contradicted, brushing the dust off Randy's designer suit jacket.  "If you leave now, my wife will die of embarrassment that I kicked a guest out of our home.  The little boys will become confused as to why the Legend Killer left without eating a slice of cake.  And most of all, the last thing that Stacy needs is for something else to go wrong for her birthday."  John Sr. caught a flash of movement over Orton's shoulder as the kid looked away.   

The older man glanced in the direction of the activity.  He fought both a flutter of awe and a grin as the Heartbreak Kid and Triple H ambled slowly into the garage.  Triple H took up a sentry stance, still wearing his sunglasses, and clasped his hands together in front of him, feet braced apart, his mouth turned down minutely.  John Sr. decided then and there, it didn't matter where this man was, in the ring or out of it, he was one intimidating SOB.  The Heartbreak Kid pressed a finger to his lips, then rotated it, signaling him to keep talking.  John Sr. nodded covertly as the younger man leaned back against the open garage door, crossing his arms over his chest, a sly smile curling his upper lip.

Hunter motioned for Shawn to move in closer.  He watched avidly as John Sr. leaned in menacingly towards the younger brash superstar.  Not many men of John's father's age would face off with a younger man with the athletic prowess of Orton without a weapon to back his play.  Cena Senior had balls.  He liked that, and his mouth turned up in a grin, as he listened to the rest of their conversation.   

John Sr. turned his attention back to Orton and continued his warning.  "But after today, if I hear or see you disrespect my son or his relationship with Stacy Keibler again, I will personally compile a faction of men who can, indeed, serve you your ass."

Hunter didn't bother to hold his tongue any longer as he and Shawn moved further into the garage.  This was too good to let pass by.  He reached up and slowly lowered the amber tinted lenses down the bridge of his nose, looking at the older man over the rims.  "You lookin' for any strong willing volunteers there, sir?  Because one in particular comes to mind right now to do the job."  His voice boomed loudly in the stillness of the darkened garage.

Randy dropped his head, gritting his teeth at the unexpected, but really not all that surprising, sudden appearance of his former mentor.  He glanced over his broad shoulder at the bright cascading light beaming in from the yard, only to find Shawn Michaels, obvious signs of his Monday night injury, painfully limping towards where Triple H was casually leaning against the riding lawnmower with a toothy grin.  His ex-best friend waved his fingers and waggled his eyebrows over his own pair of sunglasses.

"Miss me much there, Sunshine?"  Hunter bared his teeth at his former protégé in an eerie combination of a snarl and a grin, causing Shawn to repress a shiver.

As Hunter pulled himself away from the lawnmower, and advanced on the younger man, Randy straightened up even more, if that were possible.  So much in fact, John Sr. wasn't sure that the young man's spine could withstand the pressure.  He moved over to stand beside Shawn.  Reaching the wrestling Icon, he gripped the hand that the younger man had already extended.

"Good to see you, sir," Shawn greeted him with an easy smile.

"You too, son.  Glad you boys could make it."

Shawn's cobalt eyes danced.  "Oh, we wouldn't have missed this for anything."

Nodding, John Sr. turned his attention back to the two men in the middle of his garage.  His sapphire orbs drank in the sight of Hunter poking a finger into the wall of Randy's chest.  The big blonde wrestler was speaking so quietly that they couldn't understand him, yet his voice held a tone of menace so thick that it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.  He glanced sparingly over at Shawn.

"They're not gonna rearrange my garage, are they?" he asked, having to be a fool to miss the animosity and tension between the Heavyweight Champ and his former student, even if he didn't know their history, which – of course with his son in the business – he did.

Shawn untucked one hand to wave it carelessly in their direction.  "Nah.  They'll be fine.  Sometimes its just best to let Hunt work it out of his system when he gets this way."

John Sr. chuckled and watched Shawn out of the corner of his eye.  "You mean like almost his entire career?"

The younger man laughed.  "Yes, sir.  Something like that."

But Randy's voice raised in anger prevented John Sr. from answering.  "All right!  You've made your point!  Happy now?!"

"Not even remotely," Hunter snarled, his face twisted up.  "You're still here.  Now you just do what I told you–"

"Save your threats, Triple H," Randy interrupted him.  "I'm not going anywhere.  I already got the same speech from your old lady and I didn't listen to her either!"

"My old–!"  A deafening roar split the air around them as Hunter grabbed Randy by the throat and propelled him backward across the garage to slam the younger man violently up against a shelf.  The impact sent several rusted cans of stain and paint tumbling from the shelves to clatter loudly on the concrete slab. 

Randy clawed at Hunter's hand and arm, but was unable to break the hold.  He was having trouble breathing, and glanced up into Hunter's eyes, only to see them lit with a what looked like to be hell-fire.  His former mentor hadn't even looked this angry when he'd been fighting him for his precious title belt.  Randy had stepped over the line, and he knew it.  For the first time since he'd stared training with him, Randy Orton was afraid of Triple H.

"You listen to me you fuckin' punk-ass little bitch," Hunter pulled back on Randy's throat without releasing him, only to thump his head sharply against the shelf, then lowered his face until Randy was almost cross-eyed trying to keep the bigger man in focus.  "If I ever hear you disrespecting that woman again, I swear I'll end you.  Not in the ring; not backstage.  No wrestling.  No RKO; no pedigree.  Just me, and whatever's left of you that can fit into a sandwich bag.  Understand me?" 

"Oookay," Shawn breathed out heavily, pushing away from the wall.  "Now might be a good time to step in."  He limped over to where Hunter had Randy pinned to the shelf, and tapped the bigger man on the shoulder.  "Hunt.  No bloodshed today, my friend."

"Back off, Shawn," Hunter snarled.

"Nope.  Not here, Hunt."

He glowered over his shoulder at his friend, seeing the stoic seriousness on his face.  Hunter cast his eyes over at John's father.

"Don't look at me, son."  John Sr. grinned.  "Had he insulted my wife like that, I'd a just shot him."

Hunter's lips twitched, then he asked deadpan.  "Where do you keep your guns, sir?"

"Hunt," Shawn chewed on his lip, fighting a grin.  "He's turnin' purple, Hunt."

"Looks good on him," his friend retorted.  He glowered disgustedly and sighed.  "Oh all right.  Fine."  Swiveling back to the young superstar, who was indeed changing colors, he gave him one last thump to the head on the shelf, then he let him go and stepped back.

Randy immediately doubled over, coughing, blinking his eyes against the stars swimming on the edge of his vision.

Hunter ignored him and extended his hand to Mr. Cena.  "Thanks for having us, sir."

"My pleasure, son."  John's father was practically beaming.  He looked over at Randy who was still trying to calm his breathing, then chuckled.  "Why don't you two head on to the back yard?  I understand that there's two very lovely ladies and a couple of hyper little boys anxiously awaiting your arrival."

Shawn looked over his shoulder where Randy was currently glaring holes in his friend's back.  He turned back to Mr. Cena.  "You're sure, sir?"

The older man's eyes followed the same path as Shawn's had taken.  "I think I can handle him from here on in.  Go on.  We'll be in directly."

With a final angry stare at Randy, Hunter turned and strode out of the garage and around towards the back of the house.  He instinctively slowed his steps, to allow Shawn's less than normal gait to keep pace without strain.

Shawn recognized what he was doing, and the last bit of reservation he'd had clicked into place for him.  This was the Hunter he remembered and not that insanely jealous horse's ass that had replaced his friend for a few years. But he reminded himself that the horse's ass was now just as much a part of his friend as the snobbish, egomaniacal, overly cultured, yet conversely fun-loving, wisecracking prankster he'd first met back in '95.  He felt a minor twinge of guilt, because he'd helped build that monster his friend had become just as much as Hunter was lending a hand in Randy building his own monster. 

He had minor guilt, yeah.  But no regrets, because Hunter had understood what was happening.  He'd gotten it. Shawn had known it when they'd first met.  Hunter had a mind and a hunger for the business than rivaled none other that Shawn had ever seen, except perhaps, himself.  He could see that the younger blonde athlete had the potential to be one of the all-time greats, if not the greatest the business had ever seen.  To achieve that level, he had to be both loved and hated, feared and revered, befriended and betrayed.  And he'd actually kinda liked the guy.  So Shawn had taught him. 

The hard way. 

Just like Marty Janetty had done to him.  Just like Wahoo McDaniel had done to Ric Flair.  And again, just like Hunter was doing to Randy now.  Probably just how others in their line of work had done for decades.  And would continue to do for years to come.

But just because he'd gotten it, didn't mean it didn't get ugly. Hunter was a rising super power in the business bound for greatness, and everyone knew it.  Shawn was going out.  Forever.  His back was done, forcing him into early retirement, and he resented everything and everyone around him for it.  Egos, arrogance, cockiness, and bitterness had gotten in the way of their friendship.  Perhaps that's why their split had lasted as long as it did. 

Shawn smiled ruefully to himself.  It certainly explained why his friend had shoved his head through a car window when he'd returned and immediately challenged him.  The hurt and the egos were still there. So were the lessons he'd taught to his friend.  But they'd worked through it.  Finally.  And now he was about to be the best man at Hunter's wedding.  Shawn grinned.  Cool.

Yeah, Hunter had gotten it.  But Orton didn't.  He was still taking it personally, and lashing out in anger – in the wrong way – burning any bridges that might have taken him back across the void and allowed Hunter and him to get back that friendship.  Like he himself and Hunter had. 

Okay, so it had taken some time for them, but they'd done it.  So had Hunt and Kev.  It was possible.  But not if it was handled the way Orton was doing it.  Shawn sighed.  That was one of the risks of this business.  You never knew how it was going to affect the mind and personality until you were hip deep in the snake pit.  It built men up, tore them down, broke them completely, and put them back together again.  Sometimes right, but sometimes…wrong.  Where Randy would fall, only remained to be seen.  Because fall he would.

Tina had been right, he decided with a mental shake.  It was a weird business and world they lived in.

He thought back to what he'd witnessed in the garage when Hunter had popped his top at Randy's poor choice of verbiage.  Old lady, he'd called Nan.  Disrespectful, yes, but nothing as bad as other names he'd heard her be called throughout the years he'd known her.  Yet Hunter had blown a gasket over it.  That's exactly what he'd been wanting to see from the minute he'd found out that Nan and Hunter were finally an item back in 2002.  Hunter loved her, and would tolerate no slight against her whatsoever.  Just as a husband should love and protect his wife.  Shawn chuckled.

Hunter heard it.  "What?"

He grinned up at his friend.  "Back there in the garage.  What Orton said."

"Yeah?"

Shawn chuckled again.  "You've got it bad."

Hunter glared down at him, but Shawn could see the frown wasn't reflected in his eyes.  "Shut up."

Shawn's laughter echoed across the lawn. 

~<>~

Now they laugh about the moment that it happened
A moment they'd both missed until that day
When he saw his future in her eyes
Instead of just another friendly face
And he wonders why
He searched so long
When she was always there…waiting…
       Somebody - Reba McEntire

October 14, 2004 11:39 a.m.
Cena-Land – Backyard – West Newbury, MA 

"Would you just look at that?"  Shawn murmured softly as they came around the corner of the house.  "Gets you right there, doesn't it," he asked, thumping his sternum with his fist, then falling silent, content to soak it in without needing to spoil it with excess talk.

Hunter nodded, finding a lump in is throat, and swallowing hard at the scene playing out in front of them.  It was like something out of his deepest, most secret wants and wishes for himself.  Family.

Jack and Cameron raced around in the mammoth backyard chasing after a fully-grown Rotweiller who appeared to be carrying a mangled Raggedy Ann doll in its mouth.  The dog would sprint away from the boys, spin around, drop down in the front, its muzzle on the ground, rear haunches in the air, and twist its head from side to side.  It growled loudly as the battered doll flopped back and forth, even smacking itself on the head and nose.  In turn, this would cause the boys to laugh loudly, and race forward in effort to grab the doll from the dog.  But it never worked out that way. 

The minute the children were within reach, the dog would bolt up and run off again, only to stop a few yards away and repeat the process.  Every few minutes the canine would taunt them by dropping the doll and barking at them, only to scoop it up and trot away just in the nick of time.  Grinning widely and with a prickly hot feeling in his eyes, Hunter slid his gaze over to the other occupants of the backyard. 

Two young men, so obviously Cenas that it was painful, were manning the grill.  From his distance, Hunter couldn't hear what they were saying.  It appeared that they arguing among themselves over the temperature of the gas barbecue grill by the way one would reach for the temperature knob and the other – apparently the older of the two – would smack his hand away with the flat end of a metal spatula.  Hunter chuckled, easily remembering the same type of interaction between Jericho and himself in the not so distant past.  Rosie's last birthday, if his memories served correctly.  As entertaining as the two of them were to watch, it was the women who claimed his attention.

Nan and Rebecca sat on the back deck of the house – Rebecca safely on the top step leading into the yard, and Nan on the deck railing, her feet dangling over the side.  His fiancée threw her head back and laughed uproariously at whatever his friend's wife had said to her.  And Hunter's heart plunged into his stomach as she momentarily lost her balance on the railing, almost falling backwards onto the wooden deck behind her.  She was able to stop herself by grasping for the wood under her legs, and that only seemed to make her laugh harder.  That's when Hunter's eyes were drawn to the coat she was wearing. 

It was his. 

That denim and leather one that had the big iron cross – with three H's inside – on the back.  She'd confiscated it from him the moment he'd shed that old image in favor of the more tailored look he sported now.  Although he didn't look the part today, casting a glance down at his red golf shirt, blue jeans, brown leather, fleece-lined, bomber jacket, and sneakers.  But hey, he'd been travelling, and intending on playing with the kids.  And you didn't play with kids – big ones or little ones – in an Armani suit.

A burst of cold wind blasted around the side of the house, hitting the girls dead on.  The breeze lifted Nan's hair up into it, making it swirl around her face, tickling at her cheeks and eyes.  Most women would have complained and moved out of the wind.  But not his woman.  No, she loved the autumn, he knew, and grinned.  That's why she was dressed in her favorite Halloween finery, a pumpkin orange turtleneck sweater with a cackling green-skinned witch on the front, black jeans, and black Nikes.

She turned her face into the wind, letting it do as it pleased, a look of pure pleasure on her face as he watched her breathe in deeply, her eyes sliding closed.  Her mouth turned down just a bit at the corners, and he knew – just knew somehow – that she was thinking of another autumn...somewhere else. 

Feeling the wind in her hair.  Catching the scent of burning leaves on the breeze.  Enjoying the crisp bite of a harvest apple.  The smell of roasting marshmallows, and baking pumpkins making the mouth water.  Hearing the brassy tones of a high school band as it blasted out the school fight song as the hometown quarterback crossed the goal line.  In short…home.  Her home.  She'd confided in him once that autumn was the only time she ever really got homesick.  So he recognized the look when he saw it – as fleeting as it was.

Presently her face cleared and she shivered a bit in the cold wind, snuggling further down in his jacket, gathering it up around her chin, and pulling her fingers up into the overly long sleeves.  He smiled, remembering the very first time he'd ever seen her do that.  And the coat looked just as good on her now as it had then. 

Maybe better. 

+++++

January 7, 2002 11:12 p.m.
Madison Square Garden – New York, NY 

The chanting had begun when the crowd first started coming into the building.

Tri-ple-H!

Tri-ple-H!

Tri-ple-H!

It intensified when Monday Night RAW started off by playing his Desire video, the one set to Beautiful Day by U2.  And it only continued to build throughout the night as the show went on longer, and he didn't come out.  Finally, when the bumper came up that read 'Triple H NEXT,' the crowd was on their feet.  And when his music hit, the roof came off the building with the animalistic, guttural roar that went up from the crowd.

It had tripled when he stepped out from behind the curtain and onto the top of the ramp.  His entrance had lasted nearly five and a half minutes, his music playing at least three complete times on the track while the crowd screamed and cried out to him.  And he had yelled back, of course, not a one of them able to hear a damn word he was saying.  Not that it really mattered, anyway.

He had climbed up on the ring apron and they doubled their noise, again.  He hit all four corners and they wouldn't stop.  He went to the ring ropes and still they hollered, whistled, and screamed. He'd try to talk and they'd start up again.  It just kept coming…and coming…and coming.

Finally they'd quieted enough for him to say into the mic, "Just in case you've forgotten…let me tell you just who the hell I am!  I…am…the Game!  And you can bet your ass I'm back!!"

He'd gone on to announce his entry into the upcoming Royal Rumble and of course the Olympic Twerp had to come out and say something about it.  He'd let Angle ramble and rave, letting him make an ass out of himself as usual. 

But when he'd reached the end of his non-existent patience, Hunter speared Kurt, backed him into a corner and proceeded to stomp a mud-hole in Kurt, then walk it dry – to borrow one of Austin's catch phrases.  Fully in the zone, he stripped off his shirt, and knocked Kurt back to the mat with a hard right hand.  Then an Irish whip into the ropes intending to catch him with a double axe-handle. 

But Kurt saw it coming and kicked him in the chest instead.  Angle was able to suplex him, but then the idiot decided to pose for the crowd.  And that was his mistake. 

Never turn your back on The Game.

As Angle posed, Hunter got to his feet, and slammed Kurt to the mat with a clothesline, then fell on him, choking him.  He got up, pulled Kurt to his feet, and administered the Pedigree right in the center of the ring.

The Game was back. 

Let lesser men be aware and tremble in fear.

Damn, that had felt good, Hunter recalled, enjoying the burn still lingering in his muscles over it. They'd not forgotten.  They'd not forgotten him.

And here he was.  By himself, standing outside on a fire escape of Madison Square Garden, half-naked – having ripped his shirt and left his coat somewhere back the building – in the cold New York January night.  He was lucky it wasn't as cold as it could have been.  But he doubted he'd feel the cold anyway.  All he could feel was adrenaline pumping through his veins, the burn just under his skin, the tingling in his fingers and toes – and the tears sliding down his cheeks.

That's why he was by himself.  The minute he'd gone back through the curtain, he'd bolted for the nearest exit, wanting to make sure he was alone when before he'd started bawling like some little kid.  And that's exactly what he'd done. 

So engrossed in his thoughts, Hunter didn't hear the door behind him open.  Didn't hear the tentative footsteps behind him.  Didn't even notice the sweet smell of honey and almonds on the air.  But he did feel the soft, light touch as a palm slid up his back, curling delicate fingers over his shoulder, squeezing gently.  He didn't even jump.  He knew that touch, seemingly almost predestined that she be here tonight.  With him.  Unlike his wife.

"Hunter?"

He didn't answer.  Instead, he just turned around, reached blindly for her, and crushed her to him, burying his fingers into the long ponytail that trailed down her back.  Hesitating for a split second, she brought her arms up around him, one hand clasping something rough at the small of his back, while the other lightly rubbed at his shoulder.

Hunter didn't know how long he held her like that.  Didn't care either.  All he knew was the minute she put her arms around him in return, he felt a sharp drop in his middle.  Like someone had kicked him.  From the inside.  He'd felt it before, back in Birmingham.  And she'd hugged him that night too.  But then, he'd let go right away.  Not tonight, though.  Slowly the sharpness dissipated, leaving a warm spiraling sensation in his middle.

"Hunter?" she asked again, her voice now sounding worried.

"When you're gone…there's so many doubts going through your mind.  God, will they remember me?  Will they care?"  He took in a shuddering breath.  "They didn't forget."

"I told you they wouldn't."  She turned her head, laying it on his shoulder as he continued to hold on to her.  She breathed out through her nose in a half-laugh kind of sound.  "Love you or hate you, there's only one Game.  And he's irreplaceable."

Finally Hunter released her.  Not far though, only enough so he could look into her face.  She tilted her head back and beamed up at him, her smile wide and bright, eyes shining, and two bright red spots on her cheeks – either from excitement or the cold, he wasn't sure.  All he knew was that she looked…beautiful.  And he'd missed her.

"What are you doing here?"  He asked, his brows pulling together.  "Kane's not even on the card tonight."

Her smile widened.  "Since when does he have to be on the premises for me to use my pass, huh?  I've got other friends," she punctuated the word with a nudge to the arms still around her, "inside that I like to come see, you know."

His face fell a little.  "Oh yeah, right," he answered, letting her go and moving away a little.  "I forgot that Edge had a title defense tonight.  Jericho too, come to think of it."

Her mouth dropped open and she actually began to laugh.  "Oh, Hunter come on.  Edge defends that IC title on just about every show.  And Chris…well, we're trying to rebuild a friendship, but it's not easy with him right now.  Besides, he knows I don't give a damn whether or not he's the heavyweight champ.  Only he cares about that.  Do you honestly think I'd have hauled my ass all the way from North Carolina to New Freakin' York  – in January, now – for one of them?"

Hunter just shrugged his shoulders and took another step away, gritting his teeth.  He cast his eyes out to the surrounding streets, watching the cars peel out of the parking garage below them, as the talent began to make their way to wherever.

"You do, don't you," she asked unbelief coloring her voice.  When he didn't answer, she reached out and placed a hand on his chest.  "Hunter.  Look at me, please?"

He twisted back around, his eyes shuttered, his lips pressed into a thin line – a blank mask. 

"Hey," she whispered plaintively, her eyes searching his.  "I came tonight to see you.  You've gotta know that already."

He shook his head and could see by the startled look in her eyes that she couldn't believe he really didn't know...something.  Didn't know what?

"Hunter, I spent the better part of seven months right beside you, watching you almost kill yourself to get back into that ring.  How could I not come tonight?  There's no way I'd have missed this, even if it got me fired or hair-lipped the Pope."

He chuckled at bit of unexpected irreverence, and smiled.  He brought up a finger to scratch at his beard, then slid his hand over the one that still rested on his chest, curling his fingers around hers.  "Your hands are cold."

"Not surprising.  As I'm freezing half to death."

Hunter blinked, noticing for the first time that she was trembling, shivers racing up and down her limbs.  He could practically hear her teeth chattering.  But she'd not made a single complaint.  He lowered her hand away from his chest, and began to rub it with both of his.  "You should go back inside."

"Why?  The person I wanted to see is out here."  She grinned at him, really uncaring about the cold, for now anyway.  "You don't want to go in do you?"

"Not really."

"Didn't think so.  You wanna go grab a bite to eat?  You've gotta be hungry."

"I could always eat," he grinned.  "But honestly, I'd kinda just like to…I dunno, watch the traffic go past.  You mind?"

She shook her head.  "But you're gonna catch cold if you don't put something on."  She handed him his jacket.  The one he'd left in the ring after pedigreeing Angle's face through the mat.

"Where–"

"Arn Anderson.  He asked me to give it to you, and showed me which way you'd gone." She lifted the coat again.

Hunter took it from her.  But instead of putting it on, he grinned and draped it over her shoulders, pulling the lapels up tight around her neck, and zipping it up.

"Hunter, you're gonna freeze."

"Not likely.  I told you.  I'm not cold."  He shook his head.  "You've gotta remember, Nan.  I'm from Connecticut.  Where winter starts in October and ends in April and we run naked in the snow."

"Nice visual."

He chuckled.  "This ain't even close to cold to me, baby.  I'm fine."

"You sure?"  She squinted up at him.  At his grinning nod, she slid her arms through the sleeves, and snuggled down into the over-sized coat. 

Hunter couldn't help but laugh.  The hem of the jacket hit her almost at her knees, the sleeves hung at least three or four inches below her fingertips, and the collar came up to the end of her nose.  She looked like a little girl wearing Daddy's clothes.  "Warm enough?"

"Mmmmmmm…snuggly," she nodded, her voice muffled by the collar.  She held up a hand to unzip it, but couldn't find her fingers, so Hunter lowered the zip a little, laughing again as he did so.

She swung an arm at him.  He laughed louder, turning into the mock blow as the empty sleeve hit his shoulder, making a whapping sound.  "I still think you're gonna be too cold."

"Okay, okay," he laughed, his face split into an adorable smile.  "Gimmie the coat.  I've got an idea."

She shrugged out of the jacket and passed it back to him, watching as he slipped it on over his shoulders.

He tugged her over towards the wall and sat down sideways on the top step, letting that left quad relax as he stretched it out, and the other leg draped down the stairs.  He pressed his back against the wall of the building.  Yeah, the blocks were cold, and he could feel them through the jacket.  But it wasn't as bad as he'd expected it to be.  Besides, it wasn't like they were gonna sit out here all night.  Just until…

He looked up at her, and patted the step in the apex of his legs, then held open the sides of his coat.  "Sit."  At her dubious look, he motioned her closer.  "Come on.  It'll be fine.  I guarantee."

Still looking skeptical, she did as he instructed and settled between his thighs, her back pressed up against his chest.  Hunter crooked his leg at the knee, and angled it around her leg closest to him.  Then he leaned forward and wrapped both big arms around her from behind, so that she was buffered away from any breeze by the open sides of his coat, half-wrapped around her.  He had effectively draped her with him.  He lowered his chin to the top of her head. 

"Better?"

"Oh god," she murmured, rocking from side to side, rubbing the fuzzy material of her angora sweater against the wall of his naked chest.  "You weren't kidding about not being cold.  You're really warm!"

"Told ya," he answered, choosing to ignore the tightening in his middle produced by her incredulous moan, and sensual movements.

"But your chin is diggin' a hole in my skull," she giggled.

He laughed, lifting his head.  "Sorry."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence.  Both of them content to just sit there and look out into the blaze of colored lights against a velvety black sky that was Manhattan at night.  That's what he missed most, he thought, about not seeing her as often as he had in Birmingham.  Yeah, he could talk to her about anything.  But sometimes, when he got quiet, she just let him be.  She didn't fill up the stillness around them with empty chatter.  Unlike some women he knew.

One of which he was married to.  God, he thought.  Why was it so hard to remember he was married whenever Nan was around?  And why did it leave such a bad taste in his mouth?  Hell, Steph hadn't even come tonight, and it was less than an hour's drive from their Connecticut home.  But Nan…she'd flown all the way in from North Carolina.  Just to see him.

"Tonight was something special," he murmured softly.  "I'll never forget it.  Never be able to top it.  Couldn't."

"You deserved this tonight, Hunter," she spoke quietly, unwilling to break whatever it was that had descended upon them.  "And I'm glad you're back, too."

He felt her breathe in deeply, then settle back even further against him, laying her head back on his shoulder.  He closed his eyes.  It felt so…natural…holding her this way.  He didn't want the evening to end. 

But the first drop of the returning cold rain had other ideas.  Yet neither of them moved to get up.

"Sky falls, you feel like it's a beautiful day," she murmured softly, quoting the lyrics from his video played earlier tonight.  She turned her head to the side to look up at him out of the corner of her eye, a gentle smile gracing her face.

Hunter looked down at her, the water droplets in her hair gleaming like diamonds among the vibrant copper tresses.  He stared into her eyes for a moment then curled more fully around her, crossing his arms over her middle, and dropping his chin down on her shoulder. 

"Yeah," he answered as quietly as she had.  "It certainly is." 

+++++ 

"Daddy!"

The high-pitched child's voice peeled back the layers of memory Hunter had submerged himself into.  He blinked in the bright October sunlight and beamed as Jack turned at his friend's squeal, and spotted him as well.

"Mither Hunter!"

The two boys were off like shot, dog and bedraggled doll forgotten, as they dashed across the lawn towards them.  Hunter caught Jack up in his arms, as Shawn did the same with his son, and then tossed the giggling six-year old into the air, catching him expertly.  Hunter held the little boy close, a large hand cupping the back of the small head, as Jack wound his arms around the big man's neck and squeezing for all he was worth.

"Mmmm-mmmm!"  Hunter hummed, then pulled back a bit to look into those shining indigo eyes.  "Hey there, sport."

"Hi."  Jack answered, his Snagglepuss grin peaking through.

"Miss me?"  Hunter asked, playing the ritualistic game they'd started the first time he'd had to leave Nan and the little boy behind when he went on the road for a show.

"Yuh-huh," Jack nodded vigorously.

"How much?"  He held up index and thumb about a quarter of an inch apart.  "This much?"

"Nope!"  the little boy denied, his gamine gleam growing wider.

Hunter lengthened the distance between his fingers by at least an inch and a half.  "This much?"

"Nope!"  Jack laughed brightly.

"Well how much then?"

"This much!"  Jack pressed his lips to Hunter's cheek and blew hard, resulting in the loudest, wettest raspberry that Shawn had ever heard.

"Pretty good zerbert, there Jack," he laughed.

"Thankth Unca Thawn.  Mith Nan taught me."

Hunter's burst of laughter joined Shawn's as the younger man hitched his son higher up on his hip.  "Why am I not surprised?"

"Because you know I've got two older brothers who taught me the fine arts of giving great zerberts, pink-bellies, noogies, and atomic wedgies," Nan grinned as she and Rebecca walked up beside them.  The redhead slid expertly under the big arm that Hunter held out to her while Rebecca did the same, wrapping her arm around her husband's waist.

"Oh no!"  Cam clapped a hand melodramatically to his forehead.  He looked over at his new friend.  "Come on, Jack…let's go find Aunt Skye."

Jack looked around at Cameron, surprise in his eyes, as he was quite content to stay exactly where he was – with Mister Hunter on one side, Miss Nan on the other.  "How come?"

"Cuz this is the part where they kiss!"  Cam made gagging noises, slithered down out of his father's arms, and darted across the lawn towards the house.  "Come on!"

Jack glanced uncertainly between Hunter and Nan.  She leaned over and kissed his cheek.  "It's okay, punkin'.  You can go play with Cam if you want.  We'll be inside in just a few minutes." 

He looked to Hunter – who nodded – and he smiled.  "Okay."  Hunter set the child back on his feet and the adults watched closely as the two rascals ran up the steps and into the house.

Shawn looked around with an exaggerated waggling of eyebrows.  "Well, it was so decreed that this is the part where we're supposed to kiss.  All in favor?"

"Shut up, Shawn," Nan laughed, winding her arms around Hunter's neck and leaning her forehead against his chest.  She rolled her head to the side, pressing her cheek against him, settling into the contours of his body with a deep sigh, feeling her world finally right itself completely back to center.  Hunter wrapped her in his arms, returning the full body hug.  "I've missed you," she murmured against his shirt.

"Me too." Hunter crooked his index finger under her chin, rubbing it back and forth for a moment.

Nan tipped her head back, and watched his eyes darken, her own gaze drawn to his lower lip.  She leaned towards him, rising up on her toes so she could kiss him.  Slowly, she brushed her lips against his, then teased him with gentle swipes of her tongue.  He parted his lips and then gently took charge. 

She shivered all the way to her toes as he teased her mouth, as his tongue slipped inside her, tender, loving, and oh-so sweet.  His arms tightened around her back, and she sank into his embrace, unable to keep her balance, as he showed her what was what.

Nan loved kissing Hunter…always had.  But she'd never loved kissing him more than whenever he first came home from being on the road.  He missed her and always showed it in the way he kissed her.  Strong, yet incredibly gentle and seductive.  He opened his mouth just enough, used his tongue like a finely tuned instrument and he even knew what to do with his teeth.  He moaned softly, barely even audible, and it made her go all goose bumps and shivers.

But then his lips were gone.  She looked up to see him staring down at her, his eyes dark and filled with emotion, his lips still moist with her kiss, his eyes glassy.  "Love you."

"Love you too," she whispered back.  Nan glanced shyly to the side to see Shawn and Rebecca conversing softly.  Shawn had his head leaned against his wife's forehead, his right hand buried in her hair, while his left rested on her swell of pregnancy, gentle fingers tenderly rubbing up and down.

Hunter's hot breath warmed her neck as he whispered in her ear, "Soon, that'll be us."

She nodded against him, feeling him dip his nose up under her hair and breathing in deeply.  "But not until after December.  I really don't want Daddy trying to castrate you."

"Baby, we've been living together without being married for over two years.  I'm sure he's gotten used to it by now that the announcement of a baby on the way before the actual wedding date wouldn't throw him," Hunter argued, his face still buried in her hair.

"Humph.  Shows how well you know Daddy.  He's used to it only because he tells himself that we don't sleep together.  Amazing powers of denial that man has."  Nan snorted.  "You get me pregnant so that the baby's born anywhere even remotely less than exactly nine months to the day after the wedding and you'll see how used to it Daddy is."

Hunter laughed against her, a rich earthy chuckle that sent warm tingles spiraling through her veins.

Rebecca's voice captured their attention, directing her glare at Nan.  "You coulda told me they were on their way."

Nan shrugged innocently, her eyes wide.  "Surprise?"

"Oh, right.  Yeah," Rebecca nodded with a sarcastic smile.  "Surprise is a good word."

"My surprise was better than yours," Nan mumbled petulantly, feeling guilty for not mentioning the imminent arrival of her fiancé and Rebecca's husband.  So, she assuaged her guilt by childishly sticking her tongue out at the raven-haired beauty.

Shawn turned curious eyes on his wife.  "What was your surprise, Becca?"

Nan answered for her.  "She's the one who invited Randy Orton."

"I didn't!"  Rebecca protested, her dark eyes wide.

"As good as," Nan returned.

"How is just telling him there was going to be a party a freakin' invitation?!"  Rebecca demanded.

Laughing Shawn leaned in between them, his arms still wrapped snuggly around his wife.  "Ladies, ladies.  Opposite corners if you please."

Nan's cheeks colored, as did Rebecca's and they both grinned.  "Sorry, Beck."

"Forget about it," her friend returned.  "No harm – no foul."

"And we have a no contest, ladies and gentlemen!"  Hunter laughed, leading the four of them up the deck steps and into the house.  He cast a teasing glance over at his friend's wife.  "It's okay, Beck.  Even if you did invite him."

She came to a dead stop, as Hunter, Nan, and even Shawn slipped through the sliding glass door, and threw her hands up with a yell.  "I did not invite Randy Orton!" 

~<>~

I think it's because I'm clumsy
I try not to talk too loud
Maybe it's because I'm crazy
I try not to act too proud
They only hit until you cry
And after that you don't ask why
You just don't argue anymore
       My Name Is Luca – Suzanne Vega

October 14, 2004 12:10 p.m.
Cena-Land – Kitchen – West Newbury, MA 

"Nan!"

Spinning around to the direction of the voice, the woman in question spotted Shawn striding towards her and extending the cellphone her way.  "You've been summoned by the boss, baby doll."

"Uh-oh, what did I do now to get sent to the principal's office?" she joked, accepting the contraption from her old friend, as he extracted his son from his godmother, who was planted casually in the middle of the stairway.  Stacy nodded confidently at her friend, almost encouraging her to take Nash's call.  There were very few mysteries, as to what he'd want to say to her.  Either it pertained to Jack, herself, or both of them.  It was best to face the music as soon as possible. 

Strolling through the archway, she greeted, "Hi Deez!  How are ya, ya knuckle-draggin', mouth-breathin', butt-scratchin', nose-pickin', booger-eatin' pervert?"

Kevin growled into the phone at the detested greeting, "You been listenin' to John-Boy and Billy again, ain't you?"

"All my life; wanna fight about it?"  Nan giggled the prescribed response into the cellphone. 

"Sounds like you're in a good mood," Kevin grumbled from the other side of the world.

Nan laughed.  "Sounds like you're not.  Wassa matter, Big Grouchy?  Did someone wake you up?"

"Told you about that, did they?"

"Of course. In great detail.  And what was it exactly that you threatened to do to Hunter with a table leg?"

"I'm ignorin' that."  Kevin actually chuckled.  "I miss travelling with those idiots.  Figures that they'd finally get their acts back together once I was gone and couldn't enjoy it.  Anyway, what the hell is goin' on back there, Shug? I get woken up in the middle of the freakin' night by Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber, only to find out I'm expected to throw a bachelor party at Survivor Series!  I don't even know where or when that is!"

"November fourteenth and it's in Cleveland, Ohio," she answered automatically. 

"Cleveland?  Cleveland?!  How the hell am I supposed to throw a half-way decent, raunchy drunken bachelor party in fuckin' Cleveland!"

"Actually that'll be perfect."  Nan responded, ignoring his tirade.  "The Saturday night before Survivor Series, we can throw my bachelorette party, too.  And why are you throwin' Hunter's party?  I thought that was the job of the best man?"

Kevin snorted and she could almost hear him roll his eyes.  "Oh Shug, please.  You think Heartbreak is gonna throw Runt the kind of party his groomsmen are expecting?  They want titty bars, not a Bible study."

"Yeah, well, a Bible study or two wouldn't hurt those guys…Big Sexy included."

He chuckled.  "Sorry, Nee, forgot who I was talkin' to for a minute.  No need to proselytize me.  You know where I stand on that issue.  All I was sayin' was–"

"I know what you were saying, Deez.  It's okay.  Just don't talk to me about the party.  I don't wanna know."

He laughed again.  "Duly noted.  Now what's goin' on with Cherry Pie?  First I hear she's slingin' chairs at the Flairs, and now Slim's been stabbed??  What the fuck, Shug?!"

Nan lowered her voice.  "Deez, remember how I was when I stayed with you back in '99?"

"Yeah," Kevin drawled slowly, not wanting to hear what was coming next, but expecting it nonetheless.

"Stacy's there.  Puttin' on a good front, but comin' apart a piece at a time."

"Shit," Kevin swore softly.  "Anything I can do?" 

"Find the guys who did it and filet them?"  She offered with a smile in her tone.

He barked a laugh.  "I'd love to.  You keep a good watch on her, and I'm expectin' you ta call me if I need to come home.  Understand me?"

"I gotcha, Deez.  No problem."

Kevin took on a more gentle, but serious tone.  "And how are you holding up?  Heartbreak tells me you've been sleepwalkin' again."

"Dirty stool pigeon," Nan muttered under her breath.  "I'm fine, Deez."

"Don't you 'I'm fine, Deez' me, Shug.  I ain't buyin' what you're sellin'."

She sighed.  She loved him to death, but sometimes, she could just choke the living shit out of him too.  "Deez, really, everythi–"

"No way, Darth Vader!"

"What the hell?"  Kevin asked as the little boy's exuberant cry transferred easily across the room and over the phone lines.

Nan laughed,  "Cam and Jack, who else?"

"Speaking of…how's my boy?"

"Precious."  Nan answered immediately with a soft smile transforming her face.  "He – as Han Solo and his trusty sidekick Chewbacca – is currently locked into a battle to the death with Luke Skywalker against Darth Vader."

"Ahh…" Kevin laughed, his vivid imagination easily painting a picture of what was going on in the Cena homestead.  "Cam, Jack, and Doc the Bear against Runt, right?"

"On the money," Nan giggled as Hunter swung his lightsaber at Cameron, who easily dodged it and jumped up onto the sofa.  "Deez, you're missing it.  You should really be seeing this."

"I'm sure someone will have the foresight to take pictures for me."  He cleared his throat.  "Have you heard from the Chiltons?"

Nan's smile immediately bled away.  "No.  Not a word since you left after Unforgiven."

"Damn," Kevin swore.  "I was afraid of that.  Nee, I've got no way of knowing when they're coming back.  I was hoping it would have been by now.  And I assumed that they were keeping in touch with you.  I did give then your numbers and stuff."

"Deez, relax.  It's okay.  I'm happy to take care of him as long as they need me to," she murmured, her dark eyes dancing as she watched the shenanigans in the living room.

"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of," Kevin grumbled softly.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," he spoke a little louder.  "He's being good for you, right?  Alex warned me that Jack's got a bit of a temper."

"He's a great kid," Nan answered, ignoring the blatant probe about Jack's temperament.  What had happened with Randy wasn't temper…it was protectiveness, and she wasn't about to make the little boy feel badly for doing the right thing in her estimation.  "And did you know his hair is really blonde?  That woman dyed it for some insane reason.  But what really concerns me," she moved further away from the battling little boys and her fiancé.  "Jack's only once mentioned his parents, and then it wasn't in homesickness or anything.  Just kind of rote.  Like they weren't his parents or something, just more like people he knew.  You know?

"Nee," Kevin sighed.  "There's something you need to know about Jack's mother –"

But Kevin was cut off by a loud crash, followed by an even louder, "Hunter!"

The man in question instantly flinched at the female voice, raised in shock and anger, reprimanding him for the apparent careless mishap.  The toy he wielded was soon abandoned, stowed behind the sofa along the wall.  His large form instinctively took a step back, as Carol Cena stomped through the door from the kitchen, in search of her broken possession, his countenance paling considerably. 

"What the hell was that?!"  Kevin exclaimed.

"I…I'm not sure," Nan murmured.  "Hang on a sec."

It was a change that had not been missed by a single individual - Cameron watched wide-eyed at the sudden timid reaction.  Jack squeezed his teddy bear closer to his chest, cowering behind Hunter, as he unconsciously retreated from the pint-sized woman.  Shawn, Rebecca, and Stacy traded a painful, yet knowing, look, while Randy and Marc watched the profound transformation with a mixture of amusement and awe.

Nan stood quietly, her eyes wide watching the drama unfolding before her.  The warm glow she'd felt earlier while watching them play was quickly being replaced by a deep, ugly, fluttery feeling in her middle.  She could not possibly be witnessing what her brain and instincts were telling her.

"Deez," she whispered.

"Yeah, Shug," Kevin asked, having heard the matronly bellow and then the unmistakable confusion in his friend's voice.  He swore silently, only guessing what had happened.  "What's wrong?"

"When can you come home?"

Another sigh, and a more muffled obscenity, then, "Sugar, let me talk to him."

"Yeah, okay," she murmured absently.  "Gimme a minute."

Nan palmed the cell against her leg, waiting for a moment, as the occupants of the room were ushered outside to the awaiting birthday feast.  She watched as Hunter eagerly tried to make amends for the broken lamp.  Too eagerly. 

"What was that all about?" she questioned once Jack had been persuaded to go outside with the rest of the partygoers.  Hunter's hand covered her own as they passed the phone between them.  "Are you okay?"

"Nothing.  I'm fine," he shrugged nonchalantly, then lifted the cell to his ear.  "Hey Old Man, what ya doin'?"

Wanting to give Hunter some privacy to speak with Kevin, Nan went out back to join the others.  But her racing thoughts wouldn't let her sit and enjoy the day, or conversation with her friends.  She'd offered to help prep the lunch, but Mrs. Cena had just shooed her on, saying she and her boys could handle it.  She didn't know where Randy was, nor did she particularly care. 

Jack and Cameron were already eagerly tearing through that disgusting concoction Stacy had made in the kitchen, the infamous Birthday Grilled Cheese.  Just the thought of it made her nauseous.  They sounded and smelled worse than another unnatural amalgam a friend of hers in college had created out of hunger, lack of money, and the only ingredients in his kitchen.  He'd called them Texas Toms – a grotesque combination of soft-scrambled eggs, Texas Pete canned hotdog chili, and American cheese, on un-toasted un-heated slightly stale hamburger buns.  God, she was beginning to lose her appetite just thinking about it.

Left with no other alternative for her need for activity, it wasn't long before Nan found herself pacing back and forth in the grass at one end of the back deck.  She kept thinking back on the incident she'd witnessed inside.  The look on Hunter's face.  His rigid stance.  His involuntary step back from John's mother.  The almost timid way he spoke to the Cenas, like he was pleading for forgiveness.  The little boy hiding behind his leg, clutching at Doc the Bear like it was his lifeline.  Hunter's clenching and unclenching fingers…nothing in them to clutch onto.  Those things were not a part of her fiancé's personality.  Not as long as she'd ever known him.  It didn't make sense–

The look on Hunter's face.

The look on Jack's face.

Hunter.

Jack.

Oh no…God, please no…not Hunter.

The two frightened 'little boy lost' looks melded into one in her mind, bringing a soft cry to her lips, a twisting pain in her middle and a sharp sting of tears to her eyes.  And it was all she could do not to start screaming.

Nan stomped over to where Shawn, Rebecca, and Stacy sat at the picnic table, alternating between talking among themselves and watching her, like they were waiting for an explosion.  She gave it to them, but not in the way they were expecting. 

"Which one of them did it?  And don't look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about.  Which one of them did that to him?" she demanded.

"Nan, I really think he should be the one to tell you – " Shawn began, but she cut him off.

"He won't.  I'd rather hear it from him, but he won't.  So one of you will.  Right now.  Or I swear to God I'll get back on that phone and get it out of Deez.  He's always too ready to spill his guts.  And if I do that, then Hunter will know someone squealed.  Give it up now, before he gets out here and he'll never be the wiser.  Please,"  she added with a whisper.

Tense moments passed as Nan stared at them all, but not with anger or rage.  No, it was the sheen of tears just barely below the surface that made her answer.  "His mother."

"Rebecca!"  Shawn and Stacy cried in unison.

"Thank you."  Nan, nodded, then swallowed hard.  "I'm going to go get the presents from the car.  Be back in a few."

They watched her straighten her shoulders and walk all the way around the yard, rather than back through the house, to disappear in the direction of the front driveway.

"I can't believe you told her!" Shawn grumbled when she was out of sight.

"She's right.  He won't tell her. She needs to know."  Rebecca defended herself, still staring in the direction her friend had taken.  Then she whirled around, pointing a finger at her husband.  "And let me tell you something else, Shawn Michaels, if anyone can handle him when he finally decides to deal with it, when the time comes, she can." 

~<>~

Black eyes-I don't need 'em
Blue tears-gimme freedom
Black eyes-all behind me
Blue tears'll never find me now
It's all behind me, they'll never find me now
Find your self-esteem and be forever free to dream
       Black Eyes, Blue Tears – Shania Twain

October 14, 2004 12:19 p.m.
Cena-Land – Kitchen – West Newbury, MA 

Unbeknownst to any of his son's friends, John Sr. watched through the kitchen window at the copper-haired fiancée of Triple H, as she paced back and forth on his lawn.  He knew the look of a worried woman and this one was worrying something around in her brain like an old dog with a soft bone.  About the time he became seriously concerned for his grass in that one spot, she stopped, and he frowned to see her face drain of color.  She then quite literally stomped over to her companions, traded some words the couldn't even hope to make out, being no lip-reader, and then she just as quickly stomped away.  Something was definitely wrong.

"Spying doesn't become you, dear."  Carol murmured in amusement, seeing her husband craning his neck to peer out of the window overlooking their backyard.

"Parental prerogative, my love," he countered.

She smiled, putting the final touches on her famous potato salad.  "They're not your children, John."

"Perhaps not," he agreed.  "But Cookie's ours.  And they are our son's friends and co-workers.  Thirteen or thirty, when in my house or yard, their safety and wellbeing is still my responsibility.  And something's wrong with that little girl."

Carol looked up to see which lady he was referring to, and her lips pursed spying their nephew's next door neighbor, and Johnny's ex-junior high school sweetheart, come strolling across the back lawn towards where their boys and nephew were working the grill.  "Mmmm-hmm.  I've thought that for some time now."

"Wha–" John Sr.'s brows furrowed, then he saw the newcomer to the party.  He suppressed a chuckle.  "Not her, darlin'.  I'm talking about the Firecracker."

"Nan?"  Carol asked, her nose wrinkling in thought.  "What's happened?"

"I don't know, my sweet.  But I intend to find out."  He turned away from the window and headed for the front door.  He caught a motion out of the corner of his eye.  "And Caroline, don't poison Mrs. Squair-Brown, no matter how tempting."

Refusing to reply, Mrs. Cena just calmly, and silently replaced an unmarked container back on the spice-rack over the stove.

John Sr. bypassed the living room, where he knew Hunter was talking to Kevin Nash on his Cookie's cell phone.  He had to smile and shake his head.  Triple H, his fiancée and their little boy – he knew the boy wasn't really theirs, but actions spoke louder than words – the Heartbreak Kid, Randy Orton, all in person.  Kevin Nash, and Eddie Guerrero on the telephone.  WCW Nitro Girl Whisper sitting on his deck laughing with her husband and son.  The Animal of Evolution, Batista, had been invited, but couldn't make it.  And let us not forget Miss Stacy "She's-Got-Legs" Keibler herself, now his Cookie.  He smiled fondly to himself.  The Superstars he'd spent years watching on television with his sons, were now calling his house, in his home, and friends with his son.  Sometimes life was too surreal for words.

Speaking of surreal…John Sr. stopped after opening the front door, just in front of the closed screen door, where he could see Nan still pacing.  But this time she was confining it to a small circle on one end of his front porch.  One hand was worrying the end of a thick lock of copper colored hair, while in the other, she had a cell phone pressed to her ear.  He didn't go out there with the intention of eavesdropping on a private conversation.  But sometimes, things just…happened.

"Hey, Daddy," the copper-haired beauty spoke after a moment, never seeing John's father watching her, and listening, from the doorway.  "Is Momma there?  No, no, that's okay.  If she's that tired, let her sleep.  No, nothing really."  She gave a little shrug of her shoulders.  "Massachusetts.  Massachusetts.  No sir, I will not burn my boots for setting foot on Yankee soil.  When are you gonna give that up?  I've lived in Connecticut for over two years, now.  Because this is where Hunter lives."

She shook her head.  "Don't hold your breath, Daddy.  I've told you before he'll never leave Connecticut.  What?  Oh, it's Stacy's birthday party, that's why.  No sir, she lives in Maryland.  I'm at the Cena's. Because they're throwing the party for her…she's dating their son.  Yes you did, at the Black and White Ball. Uh-huh, that's right.  He's the one that beat up Test that night."  She laughed shortly.  "Yes, sir and the one that gave you that money to gamble with.  I thought that'd jog your memory.  No, Daddy, you don't have to pay it back.  He owed that money to me, and I gave it to you and Momma.  Because he lost a football bet to me."  She laughed again.  "Sucker's bet, two hundred on the Patriots against the Panthers, can you believe it?  Stacy's birthday.  Yeah, I'll tell her." 

She sighed, slowing her rotations just a bit.  "No, no change yet.  He looks good, though.  I stopped in earlier this week.  No, sir, not alone.  I took Beck with me.  I know.  Thanks, I'm sure she'll appreciate that.  What?  Why did I call?  Oh, I…"  She bit back a small sob-like sound, her voice distinctly wobbly. 

"Uhm, Daddy, do you remember when I was younger and I used to bring home what you called abused strays?  Yeah, the human kind.  I uh…well, it looks like I've found another one.  No, not Jack…well, yeah, Jack.  But we knew about that.  I mean…someone else."

John Sr. felt his stomach drop into his feet.  He'd suspected that the little boy she and Hunter had brought with them had a less than savory family-life.  Yet he'd never expected to hear this.  But she was speaking again before he could process it.

"Huh-uh.  I…I don't want to say just yet. Because they don't know that I know.  They've not said anything to me yet.  Well, I just sort of figured it out a few minutes ago.  Yes, sir, you know them. Yeah…you got it."  Nan placed her other hand over her forehead and John Sr. saw two tears trickle down her cheeks from behind her closed lids.  "I should have known better than to keep it from you.  But Daddy, promise me…promise me…you won't say anything.  He doesn't know I know…yes, sir.  I understand."

She lowered her hand to press it against her middle, rubbing absently at a spot directly above her navel.  She choked on a sob, her tears falling a bit faster.  "No, sir, I'm not handling it very well.  I know, and I'm trying. Okay.  Tell Momma…I love her.  No, Daddy.  Daddy…Dad…Daddy, no!  Please don't tell her this.  She won't be able to handle it.  You know how much she loves...she doesn't need to know this before he's ready to talk about it."

Nan sighed, some of the tension rolling off of her shoulders.  "Thank you, Daddy.  I wish you were here too."  She gave a watery bark of a laugh.  "Yeah, I could really use one of your big bear-hugs right about now.  Okay.  I'll call you next week.  Love you too.  Bye."  With a shuddering breath, she closed the phone and hooked it back in the clip hanging off her jeans pocket.  She leaned against the front porch railing, trying to get a handle on her feelings.  She scrubbed the back of her hand across her cheeks, trying to force the tears to stop.  After all, she had to go back in there and pretend she didn't know.  She never heard the screen door open.

"Firecracker?"

Nan straightened up suddenly, dashing the tears away under her eyes, and turned to face John's father with a bright smile, praying that he hadn't seen…that he hadn't heard…that he didn't know…

"Hey, Poppy," she answered, having been so instructed by the older man upon first meeting to address him as such.  She immediately complied, deciding that the senior Cena was so much like his son, she couldn't help but like him.  Yet, Poppy had that fatherly air of concern and protectiveness that made her fall at once for the older man.  "Lunch ready?"  She asked with false cheer, her dark eyes still swimming with unshed tears. 

John Sr. advanced on her slowly, like he would a spitting cat, even though this one wasn't mad.  She was hurt, and knowing women like he did, he recognized that was when they were the most dangerous.  He stopped when he was barely arms length away.  And she stood staring up at him, smiling.  But he could see the tears in her eyes, the wobble to her chin.  Suddenly, all he saw staring up back at him was a little girl in long red ponytails, huge doe eyes, and a perpetual pout who missed her daddy.  And she looked scared out of her mind.

"I'm not your daddy, Firecracker,"  he found himself saying, opening his arms.  "But I give good big bear-hugs too."

Nan looked at him, the arms he was holding open to her, and blinked.  And that was all it took for the floodgates to be opened, sending a steady stream of wetness rolling down her face.  Without being able to explain how she got there, she found herself held tightly against a strong shoulder that smelled of Old Spice – her Daddy's favorite cologne. 

And she crumbled.  Right there on the Cenas' front porch, Nan crumbled.  She sobbed against that shoulder, clinging to those arms, and crying out all of the tears and pain that had been building since that stupid lamp had gotten broken. 

No stranger to female tears, John Sr. just held her, patting her back, offering quiet comfort where he could.  It took him a minute before he could make out that she was saying something between the bouts of sobs.  "Why what, honey?"

Her voice was muffled, but he could make it out.  "Why do people even have children if they're going to treat them like punching bags??"

John Sr. felt like someone had just gripped him hard around his ribs.  "I don't know, Firecracker.  I just don't know." 

~<>~

Pick a little, talk a little, pick a little, talk a little
Cheep cheep cheep, talk a lot, pick a little more
Pick a little, talk a little, pick a little, talk a little
Cheep cheep cheep, talk a lot, pick a little more
Pick a little, talk a little, pick a little, talk a little
Cheep cheep cheep cheep cheep cheep cheep cheep
Pick a little, talk a little, Cheep!
       Pick A Little – The Music Man

October 14, 2004 12:57 p.m.
Women's Charity League Meeting – Indian Harbor Country Club – Greenwich, CT 

"And now on to the business of our Centennial Commemorative Cookbook.  I know we want this to be the best one yet – "

"She says that every year," Kit hissed to her companion, while feigning a look of interest.

"And every year they sell out.  I don't know what she's so worried about."  The brunette beside her nodded, with a smirk. "Besides, its not like any self-respecting member of this league would actually have a recipe to contribute."  Then she rolled her eyes as they fell on the trio two rows up.  "Well, except for some."

"It's her nature, dear.  She can't help it," Kit fussed in pseudo sympathy.  She brought up a hand to cover her mouth, "Blue collar family, you know."

"No…really?" Her friend's eyes widened, then tsked.  "Oh my, my, my, my, my.  You certainly can't tell it by her appearance."

Kit smiled thinly.  "Money works miracles, my dear."  At the nod of agreement she received, Kit turned her attention back to the speaker.

"–asked us to consider that, as her husband has recently been diagnosed as a diabetic."  The head of the Women's Charity League paused as murmurs of assent rose from the room full of ladies.  Once they'd quieted, she continued.  "Also, the committee would like to propose that we change the listing of our names from the traditional married listing to our given names, as the former practice looks outdated."

A mousy looking woman with large glasses raised her hand.  "Well, I always thought the way it was looked quaint."

"It doesn't look quaint, Maureen," Kit spoke up from near the back.  "It looks antiquated."

A formidable woman, with jet-black hair and an equally stiff spine stood up, raising her voice over the others.  "What I want to know is if my name isn't in there as Mrs. Franklin J. Caldwell the Third, then how the hell is anyone going to know who I am?"  She lowered herself back into her chair, muttering, "Edwina Payne Caldwell.  Who's that?  I could be his daughter for heaven's sake."

The lady beside Kit snorted.  "Oh, you wish."

Edwina didn't even turn.  "Shut up, Loraine."

"What about the tradition?" an unseen woman called out, and the cry was immediately taken up as others rallied to express their opinions.

"Ladies!  Ladies!"  The high pitched ping of a fork being tapped against Waterford crystal quickly quieted the women assembled.  The Chairman smiled.  "This isn't something that's going to be decided upon today.  So, if there's no further business, then this meeting is adjourned."

The women stood, and moved into groups smaller groups, chatting with their friends. Edwina continued to grumble to her friends, Maureen Vickers and Trudy Sutton as she gathered her things.  "Hell, I'm proud to use my husband's name.  I consider the fact that I'm still married to the old goat one of my greatest accomplishments."

"Oh, I don't know, Edwina.  I personally think your Reine de Saba is a much better accomplishment than putting up with Frank."

Edwina turned to see Loraine Thornton and Kit Hearst-Helmsley making their way closer to her. "Loraine, you wouldn't know a Reine de Saba from a Hostess Ho-Ho unless you got bitten on the ass by one.  But thank you just the same."  She bent over to retrieve her purse, muttering, "You're still not getting a dinner invitation."

Maureen and Trudy smothered their grins, having heard their friend's words.

"Yes, Edwina, your cooking is infamous."

Standing up, Edwina glared at the blonde, their mutual animosity going back for decades.  "And what are you contributing this year, Kit?  A tasty…check…perhaps?  Or are you going to just sign your name to one of Lilly's creations like you've done for the last fifteen years?  The day she comes to her senses and leaves your employ, I'll be the first one knocking on her door.  Why she puts up with you I'll never understand."

"The same could be said of Frank."  Kit smiled coldly.

Maureen took a step forward.  "And what would you know about it," she sneered.  "I'm still not convinced that Stuart didn't die just to get away from you."

"Oh heavens, I do believe I've been wounded to the quick. Look who's grown a backbone."  Kit's amber eyes widened dramatically, then narrowed to sharp glowing points.  "A word of advice, dear.  Be cautious to whom you show that newly found spine.  You might find a knife buried in it."

Edwina's lips curled into a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.  "Yes, that's true.  And it'll have Kit's talons curled around the handle."

"I'd listen to Edwina, were I you, Maureen.  She knows from personal experience.  Trust me."

The other lady turned sharp green eyes on Kit.  "Trust you, Kit?  I'd rather fuck a snake.  Less deadly."

"Edwina Caldwell!"  Loraine Thornton's hands flew up to cover her mouth.

The shocked gasp made Edwina turn her gaze on the other woman.  "Shut up, Loraine.  I'm not in the mood to deal with you kissing Kit's ass today."

"Well, I think using our own names is a lovely idea."  Kit beamed, her eyes gleaming with challenge at the older woman's open hostility. "It's far past time that Greenwich's Women's Charity League enter the twentieth century, much less the twenty-first."

"You're only saying that because Stuart is dead and you don't feel obliged to claim him anymore," Trudy sniped at the immaculately dressed blonde. 

"Thank God." Kit smiled icily, looking the younger woman in the eyes, lifting a finely sculpted brow.  "Jealous?"

Trudy snorted.  "Of you?  You're demented.  But then, we always knew that, didn't we?  Right Maureen?"

"Oh yes!"  Maureen Vickers smiled snidely.  "That reminds me, Kit.  How is Hunter?  Have you heard from him lately?"  She asked, already knowing the answer to the question, as well as how touchy the blonde woman was on the subject of her only child.

Sure enough, Kit's perfectly fixed smug smile faltered, her eyes going flat.  She gave an affected toss of her head.  "No, actually.  He's been rather busy.  I'm afraid it's been a little while since we've had a chance to catch up."

Clucking with false sympathy, Edwina nodded.  "Yes, I'd imagine so, with his career, that he would be rather difficult to reach at times."

Maureen pursed her lips in a mocking frown.  "That's a true shame."

"A real tragedy," Trudy added.

"Maureen, if you have a point, aside from the one on the top of your head," Kit snapped.  "I suggest you make so I won't be late for my appointment with Carlton.  He's so hard to see these days, now that he'll take just anyone," she leveled a look at Trudy, knowing the other woman frequented the same hair stylist she patronized.

"Well I just thought that since you two haven't had a chance to catch up, the least I could do is help bring you up to date about his more recent…ahem…activities?"  She reached into her bag and pulled out the luridly colored supermarket tabloid, and held it out for Kit to peruse.

Kit's face drained of color, her lips flattening to an impossibly thin line.  Automatically she reached out and took the tabloid from the other woman, her trembling fingers making the paper rattle.  Two bright spots of color appeared in her cheeks and her eyes blazed when she finally raised them back to the three smirking women.

"Tell me, how does it feel, Kit?  To have reached that old, grand, revered station in life?"  Maureen smirked at her.  "After all, you have gotten there before any of us."

"You…bitch," Kit hissed, slinging the tabloid at Maureen's feet.

Trudy feigned a shocked look.  "Such talk!"

"Go to fuck yourself, Trudy."  She straightened her shoulders, stuck her pointy chin in the air.  "Come along, Loraine."  Loud raucous laughter echoed behind the blonde haired she-devil stalk stiffly away, her little Renfield of a lackey scurrying along in her wake.

Edwina smiled broadly watching them leave "Maureen, that was absolutely beautiful.  Just for that, I'm going to buy you lunch."  She laughed again, remembering the look on the haughty Mary Katherine Hearst-Helmsley's face when she saw the headline on the tabloid.  "In fact, I'm going to buy you lunch for a whole month!" 

~<>~

I may not be a ten but the boys say I clean up good
And if I gave em half a chance for some rowdy romance you know they would
I've been waiting all week just to have a good time
So bring on them cowboys and their pick up lines
Don't want no purple hooter shooter just some jack on the rocks
Don't mind me if I start that trashy talk
       Here For The Party – Gretchen Wilson

October 14, 2004 1:00 p.m.
cena-Land – Backyard – West Newbury, MA 

"An' that'th my Grandpa an' Grandma lithtening to Unca Robbie talk.  He'th Tina'th daddy.  An' that'th Tina!"  Jack proclaimed, taking great delight in pointing out every single person in each and every picture in the photo album that Nan had brought with her.

The little boy was happily perched on Stacy's lap at the picnic table with Carol Cena and Rebecca on either side of them.  Cameron lay on his belly on the table itself, his little chin propped on his fists as he listened with rapt fascination of the description of the 'Anniverthkary Party' his friend had attended without him.  Shawn sat beside his wife with an arm around her shoulders.  Nan and Hunter sat on the opposite side of the picnic table, smiling indulgently at Jack as he held court, because after all, they'd not only seen the pictures, they'd been there.

The Cena males, along with Marc, stood around behind the women and the little boy listening as much as they were able.  They peered over the ladies shoulders curiously at the photos, in between passing the constantly yapping Paige Squair-Brown between them so that at least one of them at a time could catch pieces of the tale Jack was weaving.  From what they'd gathered so far, it involved something about a big fish, cornbread, and Y2J getting pinched by an old lady. 

Matt Cena caught the look that Paige was bestowing upon The Game, and unfortunately noticed that the man's fiancée had also seen it.  Trying to prevent bloodshed, he got Paige's attention and pointed out a very – ahem – lonely looking young man standing off near a large oak tree, staring down at something in his hands.  John's older brother not so subtly hinted that the young superstar might do well with some cheering up.  Thankfully the irritating woman took the hint and sauntered away with a big smile on her face to an unsuspecting Randy Orton.

Stacy 'oohed' and 'ahhed' in all the appropriate places, thoroughly enjoying Jack's impromptu dissertation on the finer details of the Elliott/Harrell Family Pig-Pickin'.  She hated having missed it.  "I've really got to get down there to see your folks," she commented to her friend.

"They'd love to have you any time you wanna go, Legs."  Hunter answered, fully aware of how much his future in-laws – Mr. Elliott in particular – cared about the leggy blonde.

"I know," Stacy sighed with a sweet smile.  "Red made sure he told me that at the Black and White Ball.  It's just…my schedule…"

Nan reached across the table and covered her friend's hand.  "Don't worry about it, hon.  If nothing else, you'll get to see them when you come down for the wedding, right?"

Stacy perked up, then laughed.  "Yeah!  I'd forgotten about that.  Duh!"  She smacked herself on the forehead, rolling her eyes at herself.

"Who's that?"  Cameron interjected, pointing at a picture.  It was of a little black haired boy sneaking around the corner of the house towards an oblivious copper-haired girl of about ten or eleven.  The child's devilish expression was indicative enough of his intentions, without the water balloon that he carried even entering into the equation.

"That'th Pepito!"  Jack answered.  "You'd like him, Cam.  He'th cool!"

"Pepito?"  John Sr. asked.

"My nephew," Nan answered.  "His name is Isaias.  But everyone calls him Pepito."

Rebecca laughed, having heard stories of Nan's youngest nephew before.  "What'd he blow up this time?"

"Nothing, thank God," Nan murmured.

"Only because every Elliott, Harrell, and Vega male present was riding rein on the unholy terror," Hunter muttered.  "Dave, Jericho and myself included, too."

"Sounds like our bunch," Carol commented fondly with a sparkling smile for her husband.

John Sr. nodded.  "Indeed it does."  Cries of protest immediately went up from his three sons and nephew.  But John Sr. shrugged it off, by merely lifting a hand and saying, "The minute one of the four of you would like to confess which one of you blew up the microwave in 1995, then I'll retract my statement."

Silence met his ears.  "I thought not," he answered with a grin.

Nan looked over at him.  "They blew up your microwave?"

"Sure did, Firecracker.  Shot the door right off it's hinges and out the kitchen window."  John Sr. grinned at her.

Carol nodded.  "It's a wonder they didn't burn the house down."

"Oh, now, we actually did that," Nan murmured with a smile.  Blank stares met her pronouncement, Hunter along with the rest of them.  "Well not to the ground.  It was only a small fire."

Stacy blinked at her.  "Now that's a story I wanna hear your dad tell."  She looked over at Shawn.  "You know his version has got to be hysterical the way he tells a story."

"Most definitely," Shawn agreed with a grin.

Stacy flipped the page of the photo album, gawked at picture, then looked up at Hunter, and grinned broadly.

"What?"  Hunter asked.

Jack pointed at the picture.  "Look Mithter Hunter!  That'th Tina danthin' with Unca Dave!  Don't he look thilly in that cowboy hat?"

"What was that you said earlier?  When you so emphatically pointed out that there's nothing like that going on between them, Stacy," she quoted his own words back at him.

Hunter pointed a finger at her and shook it.  "Don't start, Legs.  That's not even funny."

Stacy waggled her eyebrows at him, and merely giggled.

"Stop the press!  Who is that??"  Rebecca breathed shallowly as she pointed at the picture Jack had turned to.

"That'th Bothephath!"  The little boy cackled delightedly. 

"Bocephas?"  Stacy giggled, quirking her lips at her friend.

Nan grinned.  "Bo Montgomery."

"Wow,"  Rebecca fanned her face with her fingers.  "That's one purdy man."

A gravelly clearing of his throat, brought her attention back to her husband.  "May I remind you Mrs. Michaels, that you're a married woman?"

"Sure."  She grinned at him.  "But married doesn't mean dead, as you often tell me."  She turned back to Nan.  "How do you know him?"

"He's an old friend."

"How old?"

The redhead laughed.  "Nothing like that Beck.  His grandfather and mine had neighboring farms.  I've known him practically all my life.  Since diapers, in fact."

"Uh-huh," Stacy countered with a saucy grin and wink.  "Sure.  You know what they say about the farmer's daughter."

"Stacy!"  Nan's mouth dropped open.  "There's nothing between me and Bo…not now, nor in the past."  She paused for a moment, and murmured thoughtfully, her eyes dancing with mischief.  "Although, we did go skinny dipping once, but it was an acc–"

"You did what?!"  A deep roar sounded beside her.

Nan looked over at her fiancé.  "Hunter, we were five."

"I don't ca–"  He stopped his tirade abruptly as laughter broke out around the table.  "Five?"

"Mmm-hmmm," she purred at him.  "But I'll be happy to share all the spicy details with you later, if you like."

"Spare me."  Hunter shook his head, an irritated look on his face.  "That was cruel, woman."

"I know," she grinned back.

"What was that you were saying earlier about not being jealous of any man, Hunt?"  Rebecca asked.

Hunter tossed a glare her way.  "Shut up, Beck."

Rebecca wasn't the only one who laughed at him for that lame, yet pithy retort. 

~<>~

Brother and sisters
We are here for one reason
And one reason alone
To share our love of music
I present to you Country music
Without prejudice,
Hey!
       The Ballad of Big & Rich – Big & Rich

October 14, 2004 1:19 p.m.
Cena-Land – Kitchen – West Newbury, MA 

With Stacy and the Cenas leaving to answer the unexpected summons to the front door, Nan found herself quite alone in the warm, airy kitchen.  Hunter, Shawn, and the boys were in the living room with Rebecca, along with Orton, Matt, Danny, and Trademarc she assumed.  And that Paige person, she reminded herself with a frown.  The noise level emanating from that part of the house certainly lent to that assumption, at any rate.

She felt a smile quirk her lips as she gathered up red plastic party cups.  Her observation about John's family life when she'd visited him in the hospital had been right on the money.  They were so much like her own family at times that it was…well, down right scary.  And not a little bit melancholy, as she felt the sharp bite of homesickness, like she did about this time every year.  Unexpectedly she felt the sting of tears behind her lashes, then quickly chastised herself.  Sure, she missed her family.  She usually did.  And more this time of year than any other, with the exception of Christmas does, maybe.  But to cry over it?? No way, José.  Tears were reserved for big things…important hurts.  Okay fine…so they were a last resort when she absolutely couldn't stop them from coming even when she wanted to.

Must be leftovers from the mental meltdown on the front porch, she told herself.  She scrubbed the back of her hand across her eyes, pressing in a little to stop the threatening moisture.  Squaring her shoulders, Nan moved swiftly through the kitchen, dumping the various contents of the discarded cups into the sink, rinsing them out, and then tossing the plastic into the appropriately designated recycling bin. 

Unexpectedly, she found her head bobbing along in time with the music coming from the living room.  She grinned recognizing the artists, knowing Cameron must just be loving this.  The words came unbidden, and this time, almost at full volume.  "Hey, just wanna hear everybody sing…rollin', rollin'…at the top of your lungs till the windows break…rollin', rollin'…say hey…hey, hey…"

"You gonna do the Cowboy Troy rap for me when that part gets there?"

Startled into a off-pitch squeak, the redhead directed her glance at the open archway.  She was surprised to see John's cousin, Marc Predka – alias Marcus, alias Trademarc – standing there.  He lifted the ball cap off his head, scratching absently at his shaved pate, only to replace the cap a moment later. 

"Uhm…negatory," Nan grumbled.  "Stace told you about that, huh?"

"Yup."  He grinned nodding.  "Want some help?"

"If you're feeling domestic," she grinned at him.  "Far be it from me to argue.  Grab a trash bag and dig in."

Surprisingly enough, Trademarc did just that.  Within just a few minutes of combined effort, the two of them had the kitchen neat and tidy, leftovers properly stored, and the remains of birthday cake, safely set aside for any late seconds…or thirds depending upon the perpetrator.  Once everything had been stowed away, and Nan had passed the last metal utensil to Trademarc to dry, she turned around, and leaned against the kitchen counter, drying her hands on a flowered dishtowel hanging from a the refrigerator door handle.

"Record time, man," Nan laughed.  "Thanks for the help."

He shrugged.  "Just repaying a debt."

"Run that past me again?"  She squinted at him curiously.

"Outside.  The rose?"

Nan thought for a moment, trying to decipher what in the blue hell he was talking about, then it hit her.  Hunter had scraped all the frosting off his slice of cake, and had divided the extra sugary concoction between Cam and Jack, much to Cameron's parent's protests.  But like her fiancé, Nan didn't eat the icing either, and now had no one to pass hers to, until she'd seen Trademarc eyeing it wistfully.  Without even stopping to think about it, she thumped the glop of sticky sweetness onto his piece of birthday cake, along with a huge rose made out of the stuff.

She laughed.  "Debt?  No way, Trademarc.  That was simple self-preservation."

"Come again?"

"I know how that crap is made and what it's made out of.  No way am I eating it if I can help it.  I don't like store-bought icing."  She grinned at him.

He blinked at her.  "Then what do you eat on cake?"

"Cool Whip^® normally.  Or whipped topping of some sort," she answered.  "But I usually make my own icing.  That's way better than that Crisco^®, sugar, and food coloring crap."

He grimaced.  "Is that what that is?"  At her nod, he shook his head.  "Nasty…but it sure does taste good."

"To each his own."  Nan shrugged.  "Listen, I've been meaning to ask you.  I really liked those rhymes you and John were laying down on that song we heard earlier.  But who was the third vocal?  I recognize the voice but I'll be damned if I can remember who it is."

Trademarc grinned widely.  "Freddie Foxxx."

Nan's eyes widened.  "Freddie Foxxx?  The Freddie Foxxx?  As in Bumpy Knuckles Freddie Foxxx??"

"Yeah, that's the one," Trademarc laughed, fully having had expected to explain to the Southern beauty who Freddie Foxxx was, but was surprised to find an explanation was unnecessary.  "Why?  You know him?"

"Hell yeah!" she crowed, then colored immediately.  "Well, I don't know him per se, but I know his stuff. Naughty By Nature…that's where I heard him first as a guest artist.  Damn, he was tight!  Then he came out with Industry Shakedown in 2000, shit!  Freddie Foxxx, really??"

"Yes, really," Trademarc continued to chortle in amusement at her enthusiasm, and how her drawl got thicker when she got excited about something.  "You like hip-hop then?"

She chuckled to herself at some sort of personal joke.  "I like good music period.  I'm just as happy listening to hip-hop as I would be to country, rock, metal, disco, gospel, folk and even classical.  Good music is universal regardless of what genre recorded it. I'm more of a song person than an artist or band gal.  There's no types I really dislike; there's artists I don't care for, but if they make good music, even if I don't like 'em personally, I'll listen to 'em."

"I hear that."  He nodded, then laughed.  "I bet your I-Pod is chunked, huh?"

She grinned.  "Most definitely.  Everything from Abba to ZZ Top and whatever hits in between."

"Yanni?" 

"In there."

"Prince?"

"Got it."

"Metallica."

"Them, Nine Inch Nails, Marylin Manson, and Ozzy too."

He thought for a moment then pointed a finger at her.  "Sandi Patti, Rachmaninoff, and Pink Floyd."

She laughed.  "That would be all-of-the-above."

"Damn you weren't kidding you?"

"Nope.  I don't joke about music."  She shifted, leaning more heavily on one hip.  "To some people, music is like gravy – I say gravy because I prefer that to icing – meaning a great way to top off something already really good."  She nodded at Trademarc's understanding grin.  "But to me, it ain't gravy.  It's like…well…air.  I gotta have to live.  That simple."

He scratched his chin.  "I can see that.  You really liked the track then?"

"Oh yeah," she answered, crossing one foot over the other, and leaning more fully against the counter, seemingly content to stay right there and talk music.  "It's got a great base line, a drivin' beat, and you guys really know your shit.  I'd love ta hear the rest of what ya got on the album.  Ya'll thinkin' of releasin' it any time soon?"

He shrugged.  "Sometime near the first part of next year, I hear.  But I'll see if I can't get you an advanced copy.  Gotta take care of our fans," he teased.  "I'll send it by Lucy."

"Thanks, Trademarc.  That'd be sweet," she smiled at him.

"If you like how that one sounded, then I think you'd probably like a couple of tracks on there."  He shuffled his feet and grinned.  "The second one immediately comes to mind."

"For real?"  She asked.  "What is it?"

His grin deepened.  "It's called Don't Fu–"

"Oh there you are, Marcus!"  A singsong sickeningly sweet voice called to them from the doorway, preventing Trademarc from telling her the rest of the name of the song.

He looked over to see Paige advancing on them, her eyes bright with curiosity, directed at the woman who'd steadily avoided her since her arrival.  He saw Nan roll her eyes at him before looking down at the linoleum in bored indifference.  At least, it was supposed to look like bored indifference, he could tell.  She was still aware though.  Not much got past her, he'd bet.

"Hey Paige."

Paige Squair-Brown stopped a few feet from them, her hands clasped in front of her.  She looked at Nan then at him, and jerked her head towards the redhead.  Trademarc shook his head.  She repeated the gesture, this time with widened eyes and a grimace.  He just grinned at her and took a step back, mouthing, No way in hell.

Huffing she stuck her hand out.  "I don't believe we've been," she glared at Trademarc, "properly introduced.  I'm Paige Squair-Brown."

Nan lifted her eyes slowly from the floor, letting them run lazily up the woman to settle on her face.  Normally, she didn't make snap judgements on people.  Didn't behave in a rude hostile manner to strangers she'd just met.  She'd been raised better than that.  But sometimes…the circumstances and people involved, just warranted the rude hostile behavior.  It didn't hurt either that Stacy had told her that this she-bitch still had designs on John, and had even gone so far as to call Stacy – to her face, now – a consolation prize since Paige had married someone else.

Going with her instincts, Nan ignored the outstretched hand, and blatantly crossed her arms over her chest, leaving Paige to fidget nervously, not expecting this type of reaction out of the redhead.

Finally when Nan thought she'd sweated just a little, she answered, "Nan Elliott."

The brunette's eyes widened.  "Oh, what an adorable accent!  Gone With The Wind is like my favorite movie!  Where are y'all from?"

Nan bit back a nasty retort at one of her personal pet peeve buttons being so thoroughly trounced on.  "I…am from North Carolina, originally."  She smiled sweetly, then thought oh what the hell, and gave in to the impulse.  "Allow me give you a tip, hon.  When you're addressin' a person from the Southern part of the country, you shouldn't point out how much you love their accent or how adorable they sound.  It's terribly rude.  I mean, we don't say how strange youz guys sound, now do we?  No, because it would be bad manners.  And another thing.  If you're speakin' to one person, it's not y'all.  Y'all is a contraction for you all, thusly implyin' more than one person is present, makin' it a plural form of address.  As I am indeed a singular entity in the conversation, the correct form of the word would be a simple you.  In other words, it makes you sound condescending when you use it incorrectly."

Trademarc almost crowed at the softly, sweetly drawled, cleverly constructed insulting-yet-not reprimand.  It reminded him of that woman on his Momz' favorite show…what was it…oh yeah, Julia Sugarbaker on Designing Women.  That lady who owned controlling interest in TNA now…what was it about Southern women and professional wrestling?

"I…I'm sorry.  I didn't mean –"  Paige blinked, her mouth dropping open, and her cheeks blazing.  She smiled tensely, and cleared her throat.  "Nice to meet you Nan.  I'm Marcus' neighbor and Johnny's –"

"I know who you are," Nan cut her off, her dark eyes going almost black as she stared at the other woman.

He blinked, thinking he'd missed it, but nope.  From where he was standing, Trademarc could actually see her dark brown eyes change to an almost completely obsidian black.  Cold, unfeeling, and bottomless.  Cobra like…it was kinda creepy.  Cool, he grinned to himself.  No wonder she was engaged to Triple H.  This should be fun to watch.

"Oh yes, well…" Paige stammered, her hands now fluttering anxiously around her face.  "Are you a friend of Johnny's?"

"I am.  Anyone who can serve Angle his ass is a friend of mine."  Nan inclined her head once in a short nod, glancing at Trademarc momentarily before shifting back to the woman in front of her fishing for information.  "As is anyone who can make Stacy so deliriously happy."

"Really?"  Paige asked, not knowing nor caring who Angle was.  "Did you meet her through Johnny?"

"No, contrary to some popular opinions, John Cena isn't the center of the universe.  Last I heard, the Earth still revolved around the Sun and not around John."  Nan shook her head, her eyes narrowing menacingly for a moment.  "Stacy is my best friend. We're very close.  Like sisters."

"Is that right?"  Paige squeaked uneasily.

"That's exactly right."

The redhead's voice had dropped almost to a hiss, and it was almost more than Trademarc could do, to not start laughing and cheering, loving to see Lucy defended by someone.  Because he got the feeling, until she hooked up with his cuz, she'd not had that nearly enough in her life.  Damn shame she wasn't in here to see it now.

"Well, isn't that lovely?"  Paige fluttered.  "It'll be so nice to have you near by…I'm assuming you're nearby since I saw – erm, I mean, I know you drove up with – since you drove up this morning." she coughed abruptly, her cheeks coloring again.  "You, Stacy and I can get together and go shopping in Boston sometime.  Get some lunch, maybe?"

"Won't happen," Nan shook her head again, a little stunned at the complete density of the woman.  It didn't matter that Nan had a friend who lived in West Newbury, and that more than likely she'd be coming up here a lot more regularly in the future.  This woman wasn't a part of that future.  Not if she had a say-so in it.  And she most definitely did.

Paige started at the blunt refusal.  "Excuse me?"

"I said it won't happen."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't think I like you."

"Well, that's a snap judgement, don't you think?"  Paige asked, a brittle laugh punctuating her question.  "And even a bit hostile.  You spoke of bad manners, yet you've not even had enough time to formulate an opinion of me and have already written me off."

"Ooookay…listen up, Miz Soulmate, since subtlety obviously isn't your strong suit."  Nan sighed, scooping up the dishtowel, and re-hanging it on the refrigerator door.  "Sayin' that I think I don't like you is as about as polite and tactful as I get.  I'm not a team player and I don't interact well with others.  So let's cut the bullshit and get right down to it.  I…don't…fuckin'…like…you.  So stay the hell away from me.  And if I ever catch you looking at my fiancé again, like he's the last piece of chocolate éclair cake at a PMS convention, I'll feed you your own spleen.  How's that for hostility?"

Paige looked at her wide-eyed, seeing no trace of smile or grin, or anything  to indicate that she'd not  just been threatened with assault.  She found nothing.  She slid her gaze over to her neighbor.  "Marcus," she squeaked. 

The young man in question just held up his hands with a grin and backed away.

Mrs. Squair-Brown looked over at the redhead who leaned casually against the kitchen counter, her thumbs hooked into the belt loops of her jeans.  "Ah, which one is your fiancé?" she asked, thinking of the three mouth-watering hunks in the other room, unwilling to trespass on this woman's territory again.

"Don't know, do ya?"  At Paige's negative head shake, Nan looked over at John's cousin, knowing full well the woman had been told – when they were introduced outside – that Hunter and she were engaged.  She grinned at him, one of those knowing, woman grins that made men want to run screaming in the opposite direction with their hands cupped over their genitals.  Then she shifted her cold stare back to the brunette, her toothy grin deepening.  "Then I guess you'd best give that matter a lot of thought, huh?"  

~<>~

Are ya ready for some football?
Are ya ready for a party?
Hey, honey, this is ole Hank
Ready to get this thing started.
We cooked a pig in the ground,
We got some beer on ice,
And all my rowdy friends are coming over tonight.
       All My Rowdy Friends (Monday Night Football Version) – Hank Williams, Jr.

October 14, 2004 2:19 p.m.
Cena-Land – Living Room – West Newbury, MA 

What it was…was football.

A lot of things were sacred in the South where Nan had grown up and lived all but the last few years of her life.  Church, family, football, rasslin', and NASCAR.  Sometimes even in that order.  Oh, sure, the ACC ruled her end of the East Coast a good portion of the year – they were in basketball territory, of course, with UNC, NC State, Duke, Wake Forest, Appalachian, and several other major Eastern colleges within driving distance.  Say what you want about "backwoods, ignorant, redneck Southerners."  But whom had the some of best Universities in the country all located in one state? 

Damn straight.

While quite a few folks were deep into the ACC tournaments, just about everybody got involved in football.  Babies to Grandparents; teens to newlyweds, football was the great cultural equalizer.  From the PeeWee leagues, all the way up to Nan's beloved Carolina Panthers, everyone had a hand in it, wealthy and poor alike…geeks, jocks, beauty queens and basket-cases all rallied around the games – be they on television or at a local field somewhere.  You were just as likely to see a little old lady shake her cane, and threatening a ref to stick-it-where-the-sun-don't-shine at a hometown football game as you were to see her do the same thing in the crowd at a WWE live event.  And just like wrestling, everybody had an opinion on the subject.

Favored teams were supported vehemently, sometimes to the point of hurtful words and even violence.  Football fans in the South were a lot like wrestling fans in general.  Enthused, invigorated, rabid, and just a little nuts.  Nan herself had been known to make an enemy or two when she let it be known on more than one occasion that she had two favorite professional football teams – the Carolina Panthers, and anybody playing against Dallas.  Hell, she'd root for the Patriots if they were going up against Dallas – and had, but she'd be damned if she ever let John know that.

Friends would side against each other during the play-offs of the high school football season.  Boyfriends and girlfriends split up when it was discovered that one of the couple supported the wrong college team.  Brother fought against brother over the Superbowl.  Football in the South was nothing to take lightly.  And Nan didn't either.

Although she wasn't currently in the South, her heart and attitude was.  So when Stacy had held up the ball, divided anyone able to play into teams, Nan had immediately started changing clothes.  Right there in the living room, and not giving a damn who was watching. 

Because, what it was…was football.

Of course, she didn't completely strip.  She just grabbed the hem of her turtleneck and whipped it off over her head, revealing a very snug, low-cut black tank underneath.  It had a familiar set of arms and hands, crossed over one-another an equally familiar symbol, with a big neon green 'X' right below the palms – which, due to the shape of the hands and the female form filling the shirt, ironically enough, looked like they were cupping each breast.

"You'll freeze!"  Rebecca told her.

"Not for long," her friend fired back.

Nan turned her back on the others in the room, ignoring the murmur of conversation around her as she folded up her sweater, and laid it on an ottoman.  She scanned the room for the tote bag she'd brought in when going to fetch Stacy's gifts from her trunk.  So engrossed in what she was doing, she was unaware of the coughs, chuckling, and pithy comments about the neon green numbers on the back of her tank.  Vaguely she could hear people talking, but it didn't matter to her.  She'd have stripped down to her skivvies if necessary to play.

After all, what it was…was football.

Remembering where she'd left the tote, she immediately sent Jack to the kitchen to retrieve the bag.  Waiting for him to return, she deftly pulled her hair up into a high ponytail then wove it into a thick braid, securing it with a tie she'd had in her jeans pocket.  Quickly, she reached up, unfastened her 'H' necklace, and dropped into a pocket on the front of her tote bag, then zipped the pocket closed.  While just about everyone was arguing with Stacy about whose team she'd put them on, Nan had argued with Hunter.

"You're not playing," he'd announced quietly.

She didn't even look at him, rather, smiled brightly at Jack as he returned from the kitchen with her bag.  "Thanks, punkin'."

Digging into it, she pulled out what she was looking for and sat down on the sofa to remove her right shoe.  She strapped on a black ankle brace, tightening the strap around the top and bottom of her crew sock.  She tested the hinges that allowed her ankle flexibility while giving support at the same time by flexing her foot several times.  She then slipped her foot back into her Nikes, and repeated the flexing. 

Satisfied that she had good movement, she jerked on the laces of her sneaker, growling.  "The hell I'm not."

"You're already injured."

She followed his eyes down to the white bandage encircling her forearm, and snorted.  "Oh please.  A little poison ivy doesn't count as an injury."

"Nan," Hunter grumbled warningly.

Finished tying her shoe, she looked up at him, her dark eyes snapping.  "Hunter, do not start.  Dr. Ashby cleared me completely last time I went to see him, even for physical activity again.  And you know it.  I'm not some china doll, and I'm not going to break.  But I am going to play in this game.  And that's all there is to it."

"Why," he rumbled, his whisky eyes narrowing.

"Because it's football," she answered, as if that explained everything.

And in a way it did, Hunter thought, as he pursed his lips, weighing what she'd said…what the doctor had said…and the fact that by the look on her face, he didn't have a chance in hell in talking her out of it.  She didn't get obstinate with him often, but when she did, there wasn't any swaying her. 

"Fine."  He rammed a big hand down into the bag and fished around for a moment before coming up with another brace, this one for her knee, complete with kneepad.  He pulled her right leg forward and began strapping the brace into place over her jeans, checking the hinges several times, and readjusting the straps.  When he was satisfied that the brace was secured properly, Hunter looked at her with a twist to his mouth.  "Test it."

Nan got to her feet, rotated her ankle, and squatted down.  She came back up, readjusted the top strap over her thigh and the bottom one around her calf, then went back down into another squat, her palms flat on the floor, thighs pressed to her breasts.  With a mischievous glance upward at Hunter – who stood glowering over her like some damn gargoyle – she shifted all of her weight to her right leg.  Slowly she lifted her left leg up off the floor, not much – only about an inch, and extended it straight out in front of her, into what students of the Shaolin Chuan school of Kung Fu would call a modified Buddha Squat.

Hunter's lips twisted even further.  "Can you do a full Buddha?"  He asked, referring to the same position, but both hands folded into a prayer clasp in front of the chest, maintaining the one leg off the floor, all while in the deep squat.

"Not on this leg," she shook her head.  "It won't take the weight, but maybe with some stretching and toning I might be able to work it up on the other one.  Never tried though."

He watched as she pulled her leg back in, redistributed her weight, and slowly stood up, stretching her leg muscles as she went.  "It's a good goal, if you want it bad enough."

She grinned, sidled up to him, curled her fingers around his upper arm, and leaned into him.  "No thanks, Coach Helmsley.  I've been with you in the gym.  You're a terror."

Hunter flexed his arm, hardening his biscep until it felt like solid-rock under her fingers.  His face broke into a leer as he saw the heat flare in her eyes.  "Do I scare you, baby," he whispered gruffly to her.

Her nostrils flared, and her eyelids drooped.  "Oh yeah…do it again."

"Hey!"  Stacy called out.  "No fraternizing with the enemy!"

Football.

Nan blinked, the spell broken.  She pushed away from Hunter with a playful frown, stalking off to join her teammates as they filed out, putting just a little extra sway in her hips to get his attention.  Pausing in the doorway, she tilted her head back with unmistakable challenge.  "You're goin' down, Triple H."

He grinned at Shawn as they exited as well, muttering, "I intend to.  Just not here." 

~<>~

We are the champions - my friends
And we'll keep on fighting - till the end -
We are the champions -
We are the champions
No time for losers
'Cause we are the champions - of the world –
       We Are The Champions – Queen

October 14, 2004 3:16 p.m.
Cena-Land – Backyard – West Newbury, MA 

Sometime later, Nan stood beside Stacy in the green expanse of backyard at the Cena house, her hands on her hips, wisps of hair blowing around in the crisp breeze, tickling her face.  A light sheen of sweat coated her face, neck, chest and arms, her breasts rising and falling rhythmically as she drew in great lungfulls of air.  Neither of them was cold, and actually Stacy was complaining just minutes before this that she was getting a little warm in John's Word Life jersey. 

Rebecca had been right at first though.  When she first came outside, Nan had gasped at the cold blast, her nipples immediately hardening to pebbled points under her bra and tank.  That had actually come in handy for the first few minutes of the game.  The all male opposing team had had difficulty focusing on the game between Stacy's short-shorts and Nan's high-beams.  But it hadn't lasted long. 

Trademarc, Stacy, Sean – alias "Boog" – Nan, and Cameron were all on the Heartbreakers team, leaving Randy, Danny, Matt, Hunter, and Jack on the Bluebloods side.  She quirked her lips on the names, having been so dubbed by the teams official 'captains' Cameron and Jack respectively – each boy showing where their alliances lay through the choosing of names.  When her team had scored two touchdowns to the opposing team's none, the guys had gotten their heads out of the display of cleavage and legs and back into the game. 

And that's when this had happened.  Nan's copper brows were knitted together tightly into a deep scowl, as Stacy swore colorfully beside her at the spectacle they watched.  "Can you believe this?!"  Nan groused to her friend.

"Easily," Stacy countered.  "Though I hoped it wouldn't be a problem."

Nan snorted.  Naturally competitive, bent to win people such as all of them obviously were – the Cenas notwithstanding – it was only a matter of time before the game went from a friendly way to blow off some excess energy and trash-talking to a dog-eat-dog, do-or-die all-in drive for victory.  But this was football.  And by God, Nan thought, her team was gonna win if it killed them! 

Trademarc got to his feet, dusting himself off after a particularly ugly takedown at the hands of Randy Orton.  His mouth turned down into a frown he slapped his fingers to his chest and opened his arms out wide, yelling, "So that's how it's gonna be?!"

Turning to go back to his side of the line of scrimmage, Randy retorted with a snarl, "That's how it is!"

"We've got ladies on the field!"

"So?"

"This is two-handed touch.  Not full contact," Trademarc fired back. 

"That was two-handed touch."  Randy sneered.  "What's the matter Marky-Mark?  Too rough for you?"

The memory sprang unbidden to Nan's mind, as the voice of Andy Griffith filled her head, remembering a monologue he'd once done on the very subject. 

…and, friends, I seen that evenin' the awfulest fight that I have ever seen in my life!  They'd run at one-another, an' kick one-another, an' th'ow one-another down, an' stomp on one-another, an' grind their feet in one-another, an' I just don't know what-all! And just as soon as one of 'em'd get hurt, they'd tote him off an' run another one on…

Yeah, she grinned.  Now that was a description of a good football game. 

The blast of a whistle pierced her brain and dragged her thoughts back on the topic of the game, as Shawn made good of his threat to referee straight down the middle.  "Holding Offense!  Penalty ten yards!"

Nan grinned to herself.  Being from Texas, Shawn took football just as seriously as she did, which made what she had in mind bittersweet.  Bitter for the yards they were about to lose and the TD that would inevitably take place because of it.  Yet sweet because…well just because. 

Acting on impulse, she trotted over to where the Cenas stood.  She walked up to John Sr., and stood in front of the video camera he held.  She ducked her head around to look at the older man.  "Got a message for Junior, okay Poppy?"

John Sr. laughed, thoroughly enjoying himself.  "Go for it, Firecracker."

Grinning, Nan looked right into the camera and grinned.  "I know you're hating missing this, John.  But just so as you don't grind your teeth into powder," she tossed a pointed look over her shoulder at where Randy and Trademarc were still yelling at each other across the field of play.  She turned her eyes back on the camera.  "Keep your eyes peeled, Mister Bad Bad Man.  Because a certain Boy Wonder is goin' down.  This one's for you, John."

Grinning, she executed a perfect crotch chop at the camera, and with a wild laugh ran back into the game.  She returned to her team's side as Trademarc called his team into a huddle.  "Trademarc, I wanna take pretty-boy down."

Thinking quickly, Trademarc cast a sidelong glance at her.  "How many yards will it cost us?"

"Ten, probably, knowing Shawn," Nan answered.  "But maybe nothing, and we'll be back where we were before Orton decided to go all Dick Butkus on us.  No ground gained, but none lost either."

Trademarc glanced around at the eyes of his team.  Even Cameron was scowling.  Granted, Cam's scowl was all for show because everyone else was doing it.  But it was a scowl, just the same.  He stopped at Stacy and saw a miniscule nod, then turned back to Nan. 

"Do it."

"Done."

Trademarc explained their next defensive maneuver, broke the huddle, and they lined up in the center of the field of play again. 

Stacy took up center scrimmage, face to face with Matt.  Trademarc was right behind her, pacing up and down behind the defensive line.  Sean was to her left facing off against Hunter.  Jack and Cameron raced first one way and then the next on the sidelines, readying themselves for their single goal in the whole game – to effectively block the one-another from gaining any ground down the field.  That and to keep them out of harms way, although they weren't aware of it.  Nan took up her defensive tackle position on Stacy's right hand side, coming up close and personal with Randy Orton's smiling face.

"Think you're ready to actually block me this time, Nan?"  He sneered at her.

"Just watch me," she hissed back.

"Set!  Hut!"

The opposing team's quarterback – Danny – faked a pass to Randy, only curl the ball in and plow right up the middle, with Hunter hot on his heels to provide blocking coverage.  Stacy faced off with Matt, the elder Cena brother wrapping his arms around Stacy's waist, and lifting her off the ground, effectively preventing anything else she may have done to block Danny's progress with the ball.  Sean stepped up to block Hunter, while Danny raced up the middle to score the coveted touchdown. 

Caught up in the heat of the game and not realizing the play was over, Hunter took Sean down spectacularly, giving Nan just the opportunity she'd been waiting for.  She raced forward, stepping none-too gently on Hunter's rump, and launched herself at Randy in a huge flying clothesline.

"Wooo!  That was pretty, wasn't it?"  Mr. Cena was heard laughing from where he continued to film from along the sidelines.  Mrs. Cena, dual-duty cheerleader Rebecca, and Paige stood with him. 

Mrs. Cena nodded dutifully.  "You know, I don't think she likes that young man much."

"Can't imagine why," Rebecca commented dryly, as Mr. Cena just laughed all the harder, wiping at his eyes under his glasses.

"Disgraceful," Paige murmured.

Tossing her an irritated glare, Rebecca clapped loudly and yelled, "Go Heartbreakers!  What a hit!"

The young superstar never saw the move coming and went backward, hitting the ground with a crash, rattling his brains in the process.  Randy lay still, his chest rising and falling, blinking his eyes.  Shaking his head, he sat up.

Nan came up in a nice tuck and roll, ignoring the blast of Shawn's whistle.  "How's that for touch, ya punk?!" she hissed furiously.

Randy got to his feet, rubbing at his shoulder.  "That's the best you've got?"

"What?"

"My grandmother hits harder than that and she's been dead for fifteen years!"  Randy retorted.

"Knocked you on your punk ass, though, didn't it?!"

The whistle blasted again as Shawn raced up with the ball he'd retrieved from Danny.  "Unnecessary roughness on Defense!  Penalty fifteen yards!" 

"Go borrow some pads, pretty boy, before you get hurt!"  She took the ball from Shawn and slammed it into Randy's middle.  "Here, take a walk.  And knock a lung loose, why don't ya!"

"It was still a touchdown!"  Randy yelled after her.

"First and last!"  Nan hollered back.

Play resumed and it wasn't long before the two-hand touch rule was completely abandoned in the drive for winning.  In spite of Nan's words to Randy, five more touchdowns were scored between the two teams, bringing them to the last play of the game with a tied score of four-all.  And again Trademarc went down at Randy's hands and more words were exchanged.  This time, the two men bumped chests and were in each other's faces.

"You wanna go, punk?"  Trademarc taunted, practically itching for Randy to take a swing.

Randy growled back, "Come on man, let's go!"

Stacy immediately slid in between them, pushing against the walls of their chests like Samson pushed at the twin pillars in the temple of Dagon.  "No body's going.  We're not gonna go."

She looked at over at Hunter as they began to reassemble at the new line of scrimmage.  "They're gonna kill each other, you know."

"As long as he dies first," Hunter shrugged a shoulder, looking over at Orton.  Then he turned a twisted smile on Stacy.  "I'm okay with that."

"You're incorrigible!"

Hunter laughed and did a mock bow before trotting off backwards towards his team.  "Why thank you, Legs!"

"That wasn't a compliment!!"

Stacy rejoined her team as they went into their last huddle.  "All right gang.  Last play of the game.  Whatcha got for us, Trademarc?"

"We need to put that team down," Sean murmured.

"Yeah," a small voice echoed from his side as Cameron nodded vigorously, scowling, then ruining the effect by breaking out into childish giggles.

Grinning, Trademarc looked to the redhead.  "Nan, you're on Orton again.  We don't need another penalty, although it was a thing of beauty.  So try to leave in some teeth this time."  He waited as a group chuckle rose up.  "Lucy," he addressed Stacy.  "You cross – "

"Just get the ball to Sis."  Sean interrupted, vetoing that idea.

"What?"  Stacy squeaked.

"Trademarc, I wanna win this thing," Nan agreed with a nod, and turned to her friend.  "You've got the legs to run it all the way in." 

"Sis," Sean looked over at Stacy.  "You fire on the speed and I promise you…I promise you…no one will get close enough to touch you."

The blonde eyeballed him.  "I don't know, Boog."  Then she turned to Nan.  "Hunter's beginning to be a bit of a problem."

"Leave Hunter to me."  At Stacy's nod, Nan looked to Trademarc.  "She needs coverage."

"Okay…play change."  The younger man nodded.  "Boog, you stay in and block Orton.  I've got your back, Lucy.  I'll be on the two stooges."  He fixed a narrowed gaze on the redhead.  "You sure you can take down the Nose?"

"I'm the only one who can.  And you leave his nose alone."  Nan leveled an evil smile at John's cousin.  "He might hurt one of you guys…but not me.  He wouldn't dare."

"And you're not above using it against him, huh?"  Sean laughed.

"Not when it comes to football."

Trademarc chuckled, "Remind me never to piss you off."

"You got it," she replied with a wink.

"On the first hut.  Ready?  Break!"

"Be strong!"  Sean called out to Stacy as they lined up.

Stacy grinned brightly at him, then went down into a crouch, with Trademarc right behind her.  He looked around to see everyone lined up properly with grim, determined expressions.  He nodded.  "End zone twenty-five!  Red sixty-nine!  Red sixty-nine!  Set!  Hut!"

Just as planned, Stacy snapped the ball to Trademarc, who faked a nice quarterback sneak, only to hand off to Stacy instead.  Stacy curled the ball in the crook of her elbow and she was off.  The long-legged beauty tore down the field towards the goal, all of her attention focused on crossing that line.

Sean faked to his left, then spun around Hunter back to the right.  He crossed in front of Stacy, where Hunter went after him, like they'd known he would.  But thanks to his fancy footwork, he'd put enough distance between himself and The Game to intercept Randy Orton where he chased after Stacy.

Trademarc burned up the field launching himself at both Danny and Matt, tumbling the two brothers like bowling pins.  Stacy dodged gracefully around them and kept going, with Sean racing beside her. 

Sean could see Randy closing the gap between himself and his brother's girlfriend and lunged sideways after the young superstar.  He fell short, but a few paces in front of the leggy blonde as she blazed a trail towards the opposing team's end zone. 

Barely registering the fall, Stacy leapt over the prone figure and kept on going, noting that both Randy and Hunter were closing in on either side of her peripheral vision.  But then suddenly, Hunter wasn't there anymore, and Stacy trained her focus back on crossing that goal line.

Nan ran up the field a few paces behind and to the left of Stacy.  As Hunter moved into her cross hairs, with the obvious intent to stop Stacy's drive up the middle, Nan put on a burst of speed and plowed right into Hunter, arms wrapped around his middle, driving her shoulder into his belly.  They landed in a rolling tangle of arms and legs, right into a very deep pile of previously neatly raked leaves.  When Hunter realized just who had tackled him, he rolled her over, so that she lay beneath him, and the leaves closed in over their heads, completely hiding them from view.

"You…you fuckin'…speared me," Hunter panted.

She nodded with a sassy grin, in the dim lighting provided from where the October sun penetrated the leaf pile they were in.  "Yup…sure did.  All's fair…in love…and football," she replied, equally as winded as he.

He chuckled richly.  "That was pretty good, actually."

"Thanks," she murmured, her lids lowering.  Her tongue darted out, it's pink tip moistening her bottom lip.  "Hunter–"

"Baby, shut up," he growled, lowering his head to take her mouth with his.  Her lips were soft beneath his, plump and kissable.  They parted as her soft breasts pressed against his chest.  She wiggled closer, and his cock twitched with the first stirrings of a massive hard-on.  Her mouth opened with a quiet moan, and he slipped his tongue inside, meeting hers as they grappled with each other in barely controlled passion.  She was warm, pliant, and willing, and when she moaned again, low and sexy, he had to fight to remember that there were other people present.

Kids.

And old people. 

The blast of Shawn's whistle and his hoarse, "That's the game, folks!" broke them apart. 

Nan wriggled out from underneath Hunter, her head popping up out of the immense pile of leaves, her lips red, and swollen from Hunter's kisses and looked around.  "Did we win?" 

~<>~

If you want my body and you think I'm sexy
Come on sugar let me know.
If you really need me just reach out and touch me
Come on honey tell me so.
Tell me so, baby.
       Do You Think I'm Sexy – Rod Stewart

October 14, 2004 4:09 p.m.
Cena-Land – Living Room – West Newbury, MA
 

Still scowling, Hunter came back downstairs into the living room, only to find Nan and Rebecca standing in the middle of the living room, doing the bump and snapping their fingers while singing:

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

"Stop that."  Hunter pointed an accusatory finger at them, then turned his burning whiskey gaze on Rebecca, who was barely containing her laughter at the look on his face.  "And I wouldn't be so quick to laugh, Mrs. Michaels.  I was not the naked one in that picture."

"Neither was I, Hunt.  And I'll laugh if I want too because I looked dang good in that bikini," Rebecca retorted.

Before he could respond, Shawn loped into the room the two little trespassers in tow, all of the adults having caught them up in John's room shortly after the football game.  He directed the boys over to where the forgotten lightsabers from earlier in the day still lay.  They play quietly for a moment or two.  Then with a minimum of words between them, they began edging towards the door.  No one saw them leave.

"Naked?"  Shawn parroted, catching the tail end of Hunter's statement.  "Who're we discussin' gettin' naked?"

"You!"  Nan, Rebecca, and Stacy all yelled together, as the still blushing blonde joined her friends in the living room, more than happy that Mrs. Squair-Brown had finally left.

Shawn affected the same pose as in the infamous poster, legs and arms spread, his head thrown back in a huge grin. "It was worth it."

Seeing the scowling frown directed her way by the current Heavyweight Champ, Stacy's fingers strayed to the heart-shaped pendant with hers and John's initials engraved on it – Nan and Hunter's birthday gift to her – around her neck.  She nudged her friends.  "Check it out, ladies.  Some things never change, huh?"

Nan and Rebecca followed her gaze.  Shawn still stood in the pose, with Hunter behind him, hands on his hips, frowning at them.  The three of them burst into laughter, as Shawn and Hunter realized what they'd unknowingly done, and Shawn lowered his arms.

"Can I help it if I looked good in just the World Title?"  Shawn laughed.

"I still can't believe you did that," Rebecca chuckled.

"Playgirl too," Nan reminded her.

"I still have my copy," Stacy giggled. 

Before either of the men could answer, Mrs. Cena stuck her head around the doorway leading in from the kitchen.  "Stacy, dear?  Could I speak to you for a moment?"

"Yes ma'am," the leggy blonde bobbed her head cheerfully.  As she walked past the Champ and his friend, she stuck her tongue out at them over their low whistles and mocking murmurs of now-you're-gonna-get-it.  "Children, please.  Haven't you learned by now that I'm the favorite?  Only girl and all."  With a sassy toss of her flaxen locks, Stacy left the room, the laughter of her friends echoing behind her, and warming a spot in her heart.

Nan sidled up to her fiancé, wrapping both arms around his waist, leaning into his embrace as his arms came up around her.  "You're not really mad at me, are you, sweetheart?"

Hunter tried to maintain his scowl, but failed at the endearment.  She used them too rarely for his taste.  His lips curved into a smile, and he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead.  "No.  I can't stay mad at you for long.  You know that.  And take advantage of it too, don't you?"

She nodded, grinning broadly.  "Of course.  Female prerogative." She lifted one hand to trail her fingers up and down the center of his chest, her fingers skimming exposed skin where the collar of his shirt opened at his throat. 

He reached up and stilled the wandering fingers.  "What do you want?  You only do that when you want something.  What is it?"

She lifted a smug smile and arched brow to him.  "You have to ask?"

He grinned, reading her implied answer easily.  "Baby, you know what I meant."

She laughed, a low and husky sound, sending a blast of electricity up his spine.  "I do.  However, what I wanted at that moment was to know if you still had that outfit.  You know.  The one in the poster?"

Hunter laughed loudly at her question and shy look in her eyes.  "Probably some–"

But Hunter's words came to a halt as a loud crash sounded from somewhere upstairs, followed by a loud thud.  Immediately on the noise's heels were the cries of two scared children.  But the one that chilled their blood was the sound of the older child screaming, "Momma!"

"Jack," Nan whispered, horrified.

She was out of Hunter's arms and heading for the stairs before he could even blink, and Hunter was right behind her, taking the stairs two at a time, with Shawn and Rebecca bringing up the rear. 

~<>~

 

I pledge to you I will always do

Everything I can

Show you how to be a man

Dignity integrity honor

An' I don't mind if you lose,

Long as you came wit it

An' you can cry,

Ain't no shame in it

Just The Two Of Us – Will Smith

October 14, 2004 4:17 p.m.

Medical Clinic – West Newbury, MA

"Hey Trisha," the doctor called to the nurse just coming on duty.  "What do we have going on this afternoon?"

She looked up at her favorite doctor, just newly moved to West Newbury a few months ago.  "It's been kinda quiet today.  Just one in a few minutes ago.  Visiting child.  Fell down an attic ladder.  Looks like he's gonna need stitches.  I'll get the tray ready and bring it in to you." 

"Have you seen him yet?"

Shaking her head, she passed him a folder.  "No, Jane did the intake and started the file.  She's worked overtime three days this week.  I sent her on home, and filled in the gaps she left."

He took the file and slapped it against his leg.  "Parents?"

"In with him.  Room three.  And from what Jane said, watch out for the father.  He's kinda wound a little too tight."

He grinned.  "What good parent isn't?"

As he was walking down the hall towards room three, he opened the file and read the name across the top sheet, and immediately laughed.  "Jack Helmsley.  Age six.  Oh that's just too rich."  Still, he thought, they weren't that far from Greenwich, Connecticut.  He laughed.  "Nah, can't be." 

Pasting his brightest, most comforting, parent and child soothing smile on his face, the doctor pushed open the door to examining room three.  He couldn't immediately see the child or mother, because the father's back was blocking his view.  Big dude.

"Mr. and Mrs. Helmsley, I'm –" he broke off abruptly…in some seriously deep shit here, his brain supplied…as the father turned around…

…and he came face to face with a very upset Triple H.

The Game's amber eyes swept him up and down insolently, taking in the worn blue jeans, scuffed, but beloved, brown motorcycle boots, his favorite Toronto Maple Leafs T-shirt and the white lab coat over top it all.  Those chilling eyes stopped at the nameplate on one lapel.

"Oh hell no," the famous wrestler growled, looking every bit as intimidating in person – if not more so – than he did on the doctor's television every Monday night.  "You're not touching him.  Go get me a real doctor, Old MacDonald.  Dr. Patch, my ass."

Correction, the doctor amended silently, a very pissed off, primed to explode Triple H.  Then he saw the crying little boy clinging for dear life to The Game's neck, with a John Cena teddy bear tucked tightly up under his chin.  Blood seeped out from under a hastily tied dishtowel around his knee, the torn edges also soaked in blood.

His training overtaking his awe and shock, he smiled at the little boy.  "Hey there, buddy.  Take a bad fall, did you?"  He got to see a timid head-bob before Triple H turned to the side, half-hiding the child.

"What part of hell no didn't you get?!  I told you to go get me a real doctor!  You're not touching him!"

Before he could reply, the woman whom he'd yet to see but was informed was present, made herself known.  "Hunter please!  You're only making it worse!"  Her voice was past the limit of her patience, he could tell. 

Triple H stepped to the side, and the doctor got a good view of a copper-haired beauty, in a pumpkin orange sweater with a green-skinned witch on it.  There was a shiny silver 'H' charm dangling from an equally blinding chain over the neck of the sweater.  The sleeves were pushed up to her elbows, and she was seated in a chair against the far wall.  Her eyes were a dark chocolate brown, reminding him of his wife's, and snapping with both fire and fear. She was shaking, the bandage on her forearm and the dried blood on her hands making her look like an assault victim.

"Baby," the Game began, his tone mellowing somewhat as he looked at her.

But the redhead cut him off, having none of it.  "This is a small town, Hunter.  He's probably the only doctor available.  Now stop scaring Jack, and let this man do his job before I go find a sewing kit and do it my damn self!"

The doctor was amazed to see The Cerebral Assassin growl again at the woman, but then turn to the little boy to set him down on the examining table. 

"No, no," the big man cooed at the child when he tightened his grip.  "It'll be okay, sport. We've got to let the doctor look at your leg, okay?"  He glanced up meaningfully at the doctor in question.  "I'll be right here."

Jack looked up at him, tears streaming down his face.  "You promith?"

Hunter nodded, then kissed his forehead.  "I promise.  You wanna keep Doc, or do you want me to hold him for you?"

The little boy's answer was to clutch the bear tighter to his chest.

"It's okay," the doctor interjected.  "Looks like that's where he wants to be anyway.  Who's your buddy, Jack?"

"Doc the Bear," Jack sniffed between tears answering quietly.  "Aunt Thkye gave him to me."

"Did she?"  He widened his eyes, having no idea who Aunt Skye was, but at least it was keeping the little boy's attention off of the fact that he was untying the dishtowel wrapped around his leg.

Jack's head bobbed.  "Uh-huh.  He'th my friend."

"Well, I'm sure he's a great friend."  He looked up at the bear outfitted in John Cena wrestling gear.  "And a snappy dresser too."

"Ith your name really Dr. Patch?"

The doctor grinned, shooting a glance at the hovering wrestler.  "No, it's my nickname.  But you can call me that if you like."

"I like it."

Dr. Patch winked at the little boy.  "Me too."

A knock fell on the door and Trisha stepped in bearing a tray covered in a white towel.  She set it down on the wheeled table next to where Jack sat.  "Here you go.  Give a holler if you need anything else."

"Thanks, Trisha.  We're good."  He turned his attention back to Triple H.  "Well, it looks like it's deep enough to need a stitch or two."

The bigger man just nodded, and turned to Jack.  "You know what that means, sport?"  Jack shook his head.  "It means Dr. Patch here is gonna have to sew up that cut."

The indigo eyes widened even further and the tears that had all but dried up began anew.  He looked over at the copper haired woman.  "With a needle?"

"'Fraid so, punkin'," she answered from her spot along the wall, as Dr. Patch put on his gloves, and picked up a pair of scissors.

"What're thothe for?"

"Not for you.  Just to cut off your pants leg so–"

"No!"  Jack laid a hand above his wound.  "They're new!"

The copper haired woman chuckled richly.  "It's okay, punkin'.  I'll buy you another pair."

With a suspicious look to Dr. Patch, Jack slowly removed his hand.  "Ith the thticheth gonna hurt?"  He queried his eyes going almost impossibly wider by the second.

"Only a little," Hunter promised.  "He'll give you a little stick to make it stop hurting and then you won't be able to feel it anymore."  At the child's green around the gills look, Hunter ran a big palm down the back of his head.  "Tell you what, you grab on to my hand and squeeze as hard as you want if it hurts, okay?

Jack reached over to take Triple H's in his, eagerly wrapping his little fingers around three of the larger man's.  He took a deep breath and looked Dr. Patch square in the eye.  "Okay…do it."

A few minutes and seven stitches later, they were all done, and Triple H was happily picking up Jack off the table.  Dr. Patch turned to the redheaded woman.  "He'll be a little groggy later probably, and pretty sore.  Just take him to his regular doctor in a day or so to follow up and again in about ten days to have the stitches removed."

She smiled at him, relief flooding her features.  "Is Children's Motrin okay if he complains about pain?"

Dr. Patch nodded.  "Yes, but try to hold off until bedtime.  That's when he'll need it most."  He looked down at where she was rubbing absently at the somewhat dingy looking bandage.  "Why don't you let me take a look at that?  You're here, after all."

She looked over at Triple H who nodded slowly at her.  She moved over to hop up on the examination table as The Game sank down into one of the chairs, with Jack on his lap.  Dr. Patch unwound the bandage and whistled.  About three or four inches of her forearm were covered in weeping white and yellow blisters, some of which had burst and were tinged with blood.  "That's quite an ugly reaction, Mrs. Helmsley.  Poison Ivy?"

She shrugged, not bothering to correct his use of her name.  She'd be answering to it soon enough anyway.  She didn't however, miss Hunter's smug grin.  "I guess.  I…ah…got it at night and didn't see what it was.  Too dark."

He turned her hand over in his, checking to see how far around her arm the allergic reaction went.  "Some of these have broken open prematurely.  You haven't been squeezing them, have you?"

She shook her head, but Jack answered for her.  "It wath Randy Orton."

"Jack," she called softly.

"But it wath.  He grabbed your arm down in the bathement an' made you yell, an' that'th why I kicked him," Jack answered, looking up at Hunter.  "I know I thouldna done it, but I ain't thorry neither.  He hurt her, and he'th not thuppothed to hurt her.  Nobody ith," he declared fiercely.

Hunter's nodded his head,  "Thank you for protecting her, sport."  He smiled down at the little boy, who instantly grinned and settled back down.  Hunter raised hot eyes to her.  "We're not done talking about this."

"No, I didn't figure we were."  She nodded with a sigh.  "I'm not that freakin' lucky."

Covering a laugh with a cough, Dr. Patch cleaned and treated her arm with a cream he'd extracted from a drawer nearby.  As he wrapped a new bandage on it, he instructed her, "Keep it dry and clean.  And apply this at least once a day."  He passed her three sample-sized tubes of a Prednisone cream. 

He turned to Hunter.  "If she shows signs of severe swelling, difficulty breathing, if she develops a fever, if the rash shows signs of infection, such as increased tenderness, pus or yellow fluid oozing from the blisters, and an odor coming from the blisters, make her see her doctor immediately."

Hunter stood up, carrying Jack with him.  "You got it, Doc.  Come on, baby.  We've got a party to get back to."

"Yeah," Jack answered with a yawn, laying his head down on Hunter's shoulder.  "An' I gotta thow Cam, Aunt Thkye, Aunt Withper and Unca Thawn my thticheth.  An' Poppy John, Grammy Carol, an' Trademarc too."

Hunter laughed, as he left the examining room. 

Nan lingered to shake Dr. Patch's hand.  "Thank you so much.  For everything…and I'm sorry about the real doctor comment.  He's just…well, this really shook him."

Dr. Patch grinned at her.  "Don't worry about it.  I get it all the time.  Besides, what parent doesn't go a little insane when their kid is hurt?  I personally don't want to know one that doesn't."

The copper haired beauty listed her head to the side and looked at him oddly for a moment before answering, "Me neither."

"Baby!"  Hunter's bellow echoed down the hall.

"Coming!"  She yelled back automatically, then blushed remembering she was in a medical facility after all.  "Thanks again."  And with that, she was out the door.

Dr. Patch fell into the chair that The World Heavyweight Champion had so recently vacated.  Triple H, his wife and son…hell, he'd not even known that The Game had remarried.  But she was something else.  He just wished he'd caught her name.  And that kid!  Too damn cute…and a chip right off the old block.  Then he recalled what the little boy had said. 

Cam, Aunt Whisper, and Uncle Shawn – Easy…they would be Shawn, Rebecca, and Cameron Michaels.

Poppy John, Grammy Carol and Trademarc – Had to be John Cena's parents and his cousin Marc Predka.

Aunt Skye gave him to me – Well, if Aunt Whisper was Rebecca Michaels – the former Nitro girl – then it stood to reason that Aunt Skye was…Stacy Freakin' Keibler.

"Holy shit," he mumbled in the quietness of the examination room.  And Jack Helmsley's words came back to him once again.

It was Randy Orton. 

The Legend Killer had been the one who'd popped Mrs. Helmsley's blisters.  So Little Game had kicked him for it.  Yup, just like his old man. 

Dr. Patch laughed to himself.  And laughed.  And laughed some more. 

His wife was never going to believe this. 

~<>~

The party's over
It's time to call it a day
They've burst your pretty balloon
And taken the moon away
It's time to wind up the masquerade
Just make your mind up the piper must be paid
       The Party's Over – Nat King Cole

October 14, 2004 5:17 p.m.
Cena-Land – Front Drive – West Newbury, MA 

"Now don't you worry your head about it, dear," Mrs. Cena placated Nan as she said her good-byes, wanting to get Jack home as soon as possible.  "These things happen, and we're not going anywhere."

"That's right, Firecracker.  You and Hunter are welcome back anytime you'd like to come visit."  John Sr. announced, his arm wrapped around his wife's waist as they stood on the front porch. 

The older man looked up at Hunter who held a tired, sore, and groggy little boy against his chest.  Jack still had Doc the Bear clutched in one hand, and his tear-streaked cheek was pressed against Hunter's massive shoulder, indigo eyes open, but drooping.

"I'm thorry, Poppy John," the child murmured quietly, all of his earlier exuberance long gone.

John Sr. leaned over and tousled the boy's hair.  "Now, don't you worry about it, son.  Accidents happen.  I'm just glad you're okay.  Come see me and Grammy Carol again soon?"  At Jack's timid nod, John Sr. placed a quick kiss on one red cheek.

"Thanks for having us, sir."  Hunter nodded at the older man, as both hands were full of the child in his arms.

"Anytime, Hunter," Mrs. Cena answered for her husband with a genuine smile, waving as Hunter walked down the front steps towards the waiting Hummer.

As the Cenas turned their attention to bidding farewells to the Michaels',  Nan pulled Stacy aside.  "Come on, Stace.  Say yes."

"Nan, I really should stay here," she waved a hand at John's parents.  "They've got a room for me and everything.  Besides, I want to go see John tonight."

The redhead nodded.  "I know, but hon, how are you gonna get there?  Your ride abandoned you remember," she murmured, thinking of Randy's retreat while they'd been with Jack at the clinic.  Typical of him, leaving Stacy high and dry while claiming to care so much about what happened to her.  Asshole.

"I can take a cab."

"Not at this time of night and not from here anyway," Carol pointed out, joining their conversation.

"Cookie," John Sr. interjected.  "I'll be happy to drive you to and from, but I think you really should go spend some time with your friends.  Relax a little."

She turned wounded eyes on him.  "But I want to go see John."

"So go see him and then come stay with us for the night," Nan suggested, having an idea.  "Beck, Shawn, and Cam are staying through Taboo Tuesday, and you know you're welcome to do the same, since you've got to be there anyway.  But at least come stay tonight," Nan offered.  Stacy was torn, she could tell.  So Nan upped the ante.  She dug her keys out of her pocket and pressed them into her friend's hand. 

"What are you doing?"

At her confused look she explained,  "Beck, the boys and I came in my car.  Hunter and Shawn in the Hummer.  Jack wants Hunter and me both to ride home with him.  I've seen how Shawn drives.  And while I trust Beck to drive my car, I know you need it.  So take Bagheera, go see John, and get your butt back to our house tonight.  Dinner's at eight."  Without waiting for an answer, Nan loped down the steps and headed for the Hummer where everyone waited for her.

Trademarc hollered from the front porch.  "I'll be there eight sharp!!  What are we havin'?"

"Imbecile."  Stacy elbowed him in the ribs.  "Ignore him, Nan!"

"You're trusting her to drive your new Mustang??"  Trademarc laughed, rubbing his side.

"Of course!"  Nan yelled back, getting into the back seat of Hummer with Rebecca and Cam.  "I know if she dings it, she can afford to get it fixed back to showroom quality!"

Hunter went around the side of the vehicle and passed Jack to her, then closed the door.  He waved as he slid behind the wheel.  "See you at the house, Legs!"

As they drove away, Stacy turned back to John's parents.  "I can stay and take her car back to her tomorrow."

"Nonsense."  John Sr. chastised the blonde with a quick peck to the forehead.  "You need to go.  Don't fret about us."

Stacy turned wide eyes on John's mother, who nodded at her.  Carol gave her a tight hug.  "Every girl deserves at least one slumber party on her birthday – complete with her best girlfriends and their young men crashing the party.

Trademarc looked over at his cousin's girlfriend.  "Looks like you're goin' to Connecticut tonight, don't it Lucy?  Want some company?"

She grinned brightly at him, her spirits suddenly lighter, and giggled.  "Looks that way."  She tossed the keys into the air then caught them with a smile.  "And no." 

~<>~

It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns a pattern he won't break the chain
Fear of God and the feel of the rod
Will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod
Will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod
Will raise the next boy
       Like Father, Like Son – Rick Springfield

October 14, 2004 5:37 p.m.
Klinik im Park – Psychiatric Wing – Zurich, Switzerland 

He loved his son.  That, among all of the other supreme acts of stupidity and thoughtlessness he'd committed throughout the course of his life, had never been in question.  There'd never been a need.  Until recently.

He glanced over at the prone woman in the hospital bed beside him.  Recently, he'd begun to question quite a bit.  Like marrying this one in the first place.  He noted how her hands jerked against their restraints in her restless sleep.  How her hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat.  How her pale, thin lips moved ever so slightly as she mumbled hushed curses in reaction to whatever was going on behind those twitching eyelids. 

What had he seen in her?  She was so unlike his normal type.  She was scheming and stubborn, while he preferred sweet and malleable.  She was shrewd when he usually liked the bookish type.  She had a screeching, whining voice that grated on the nerves like the squalling of a cat in heat.  He liked low husky laughter and melodic vocal tones.  Okay, so she was physically attractive…but too skinny.  He liked his women with more lush curves than she would ever consider bearing – afraid of getting labeled as fat.

He sighed, allowing his eyes to wander around the sparsely decorated room.  No, he knew exactly what he'd seen in her.  And attraction had nothing to do with it.  Nope.  Convenience.

She was convenient.  Simply in the right place at the right time.  A perfect fix to his problem – then.  She'd presented a nice picture, and he'd bought it, never looking to see what was underneath the pretty package, because quite frankly, he didn't care.  Theirs wasn't a love match, and she knew it going in.  He needed something from her, and she needed something from him.  A business arrangement.  One, he'd hoped might have led to at least some fondness between them.  But he'd been wrong.

Two and a half years later, if anything, he hated the woman.  And really hoped – secretly – that she'd succumb this time and just…die.  Then he could fix his mistakes.  Maybe get some resolution with his son.  Make it up to him somehow.  Yet while even proposing it to himself, he fought down a shudder, his skin crawling with the mere idea of dealing with his son on more than a limited basis.  Besides he doubted either scenario – resolution with his son or her dying – was even likely happen at this point.  Call it a sense of foreboding, but he knew somehow that he wouldn't get that chance.  For whatever reasons the fates dictated.

He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, willing his increasingly painful migraine to go away.  Shifting in the hard chair, he pushed back on the arms, kicking the foot out on the 'sleeper chair' provided by the hospital.  Crossing his feet at the ankles, he lay back, and pondered his current circumstances for what had to have been the thirtieth time in as many minutes.  Since the last nurse had come in bearing the tabloid now spread open on his lap.

He supposed the picture and headline splashed across the front should have shocked him, made him angry, or at least indignant.  But he hadn't felt any of those things.  No, he'd felt…relieved. 

Maybe there was a way out of this.  Maybe.

He loved his son, he reminded himself, picking up the paper and staring at the picture on the front of the tabloid.

But was it possible to also hate what you loved?  Perhaps hate was too strong a word.  Resented.  He nodded.  That felt much better, rolling the word around on his tongue although he had yet to speak it aloud.

He sighed as he put down the tabloid that had served as a catalyst towards this morose train of thought and introspection.  No, he loved his son.  But – may God forgive him – he couldn't stand the sight of him either. 

<End>

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