Title: Let The Sun Shine In
Author: Empress
Email: Empress@thewaysideinn.net
Distribution: Empress' Private Library and The Wayside Inn  All others ask first.
Rating: NC17 – Dave and Tina again! What is that man? A machine?!
Category: Number 23 in the Behind The Scenes Series. Follows number 22 So, You Say It's Your Birthday.
Characters: A Hunter/Nan story, and anyone else I feel like playing with.
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Not much…some sex, lots of foul language, and a little violence. But those things are staples in my stories so I don't think they qualify as warnings anymore. Hmmm…maybe I should warn you when I don't put them in, what?? Of course, I do manage to take crass to a new level near the end. Looks like I'm channeling a new personality…someone call Sybil! I think she's lost one!!
Author's Notes:
1)Yay! It's official! With the posting of this chapter I am officially four days short of being a full year behind in the current WWE story lines. Ain't it great!? Can you believe that I've been writing this story since 05/17/04 and in that time we've only covered five months of story time?!??! Jeez, but I'm slow!
2)We have an important new character showing up in this one. So look alive people!
3)Yes, I know that the 8/8/02 episode of Smackdown was in Richmond, VA. But it works better for me if it was in Baltimore, so Baltimore it is!
4)More than one set of song lyrics in this one is off my wonderful Celtic Woman CD. In order to save space, I just list credit as Celtic Woman. However, these phenomenal voices shouldn't be completely overlooked. Celtic Woman is made up of Lisa Kelly, Chloë Agnew, Méav Ni Mhaolchatha, Máiréad Nesbitt, Órla Fallon, backed by the Irish Film Orchestra. And if you don't have the CD or don't know who I'm talking about…then you are surely missing out on five of the most aesthetically pure voices out there!
5)The bedtime story Hunter reads to the children is a passage taken out of one of my childhood favorites, The Lion, The Witch, And the Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis. Full credit is given and no infringement or insult is intended.
Feedback: What? Are you kidding me? I live for it!
Summary Quote: "Real strength is reaching out to your family or friends when you need them the most and can't do it on your own anymore. Humbling yourself enough to admit you're not perfect. Not invincible. Or infallible. In other words, real strength is admitting your weaknesses, but working through them rather than wallowing in them."
Disclaimer: Not mine – Vince's, Linda's, Shane's, and Stephanie's. And probably Hunter's too, now come to think of it. But some are mine and I'm keeping those. No money made was made off the writing of this drivel. But I do get some pretty nice letters about it. Sue me and you get…lemme see… Well, I've got a bag of movies I'm wanting to get rid of. Anyone here like the original Beethoven? You know, the one with the slobbering St. Bernard dog? Okay…sue me and you can have that one. 'Sides, I liked Turner and Hooch better. Don't go away; we'll be right back.
 

Stacy rolled her neck on her shoulders, working out the kinks and tension as she let herself in the front door.  She'd not bothered buzzing up to the main house, as she was expected, and after all, she did have the security code to the gate, along with Nan's keys, which she used to let herself into the house.  The blonde hung up her coat on the coat-rack standing sentry and laughed softly, spying a sledgehammer leaning up against the wall right under a wicked looking sword. 

Only Hunter and Nan would have both weapons near the front door.  Most people she knew relied on alarm systems, police, or even guns to protect their homes.  Not these two.  She grinned, remembering in amusement of Nan telling her about the first time Hunter ever came home early from the road and had forgotten to call ahead.  She would have given nearly anything to have seen his face when he met the business end of Nan's sword coming into his own house.

She dropped her friend's keys into the provided wire basket just outside of the foyer, and continued on through the sunken living room.  She hung a sharp left after taking the three short steps up into the hallway leading to the kitchen.  The sounds of music, her friends laughing, along with a mouth-watering aroma weighed heavily in the air.  She hung back a moment, suddenly swamped with insecurity, watching Nan and Rebecca move around the spacious kitchen, preparing their meal.  These two women had everything she wanted.  Homes, men who loved them, and the laughter of children.  Men who loved them, her heart gave a twist at the thought of John lying so still in the hospital bed just a few miles away.  She gave herself a good shake, chastising herself for feeling even the slightest bit resentful or envious.

These were her best friends, for heaven's sake!  Get a grip, Kiebler, she ordered mentally.  Plastering her best smile on her face, she took a deep breath, and the aroma of the food cooking helped turn the false expression into a genuine one as the shadow over her lifted a bit.  Stacy walked around the corner into the open kitchen and seated herself on one of the black barstools underneath the spotless white countertop.  "Wow!  Something smells heavenly!"

"Nan's out to prove how less than womanly you and I really are by putting on a feast fit for a church social," Rebecca winked at Stacy as she continued to slice and quarter several crisp red apples in front of her on the counter.

The redhead in question just snorted, followed by a rude noise and some colorful wording, as she turned to smile at Stacy in welcome.  The leggy blonde Diva immediately started laughing at the sight her friend presented.  Nan's copper mane had been pulled up, and pinned to the crown of her head to keep it out of the way.  The sweater was long gone, leaving her in the DX tank from earlier that evening, although she couldn't see the green hands on the garment anymore, covered as they were by a blue apron.  And it was the apron that was the capper of Stacy's amusement.  It was one she recognized all to easily, as the one Hunter had worn to the ring in an attempt to both shock Vince and make sport of Owen Hart.  In bright white letters, she could easily read the words S*ck The Cook.

"What?"  Nan asked in genuine puzzlement  at her friend's amusement.

"You look like Carol Brady from hell!"  Stacy laughed.  "Don't you ever wear anything that isn't Hunter's?"

Nan stuck her nose in the air, feigning affront, "Of course I do.  But if it's available, and he's not using it anymore, it's fair game."

Rebecca gave bark of laughter.  "He's never fair game."

The copper-haired woman waved a wooden spoon at her friend.  "I'll have you know, Mrs. Michaels, he can be very fair."  She gave her friend a saucy smile.  "Especially if I get him to purr first."

"You make him sound like a big old kitty-cat," Rebecca laughed.

"I don't know about the kitty part," Stacy commented absently, picking at her nails.  "But I've definitely heard him roar."

Silence met her statement and she looked up to see Nan turning about four shades of red, a shy smile on her face, while Rebecca just stared at her oddly.  "What?"  The blonde asked, blinking innocently.  "We've roomed beside each other more than once over the years, and hotel rooms don't have the thickest walls, you know."

"Uh-huh," Rebecca murmured softly, going back to slicing apples.

"What, Whisper?"

The raven-haired beauty shrugged a shoulder.  "Nothing."  She turned to Nan.  "You want these in chunks or skinned?"

Nan's color had returned to normal and her eyes flicked back and forth between her two friends, curious as to the bizarre vibe she was getting from them.  Stacy looked just as perplexed as she, and Rebecca's normally open expression was shuttered for once.  "Ah, no.  Just sliced into wedges.  Leave the skins on, thanks."

Not liking the peculiar tension settling over the three of them, Stacy's eyes wandered away from her friends and scanned the kitchen.  Her eyes widened at the amount food in pots and pans as well as what looked like a small convection oven.  There was enough to easily feed about twelve to fifteen normal people, rather than just five adults and two small children.  But then again, she reminded herself, having seen how both Shawn and Hunter ate, neither of them were exactly on an eating schedule that any average person would consider normal.

Clearing her throat, Stacy inquired, "Anything I can do to help with dinner?"

"I'm glad you asked that.  Be right back."  Nan nodded, and retreated into the walk-in pantry right off the right hand side of the kitchen.  The two women heard her rummaging around in there for a moment before she emerged carrying a grocery sack full of cans, packets, and boxes.  She set the bag down in front of Stacy.  Then in short order, she passed her a hand-held can opener, and a glass 9x13 pan. 

"Nan," Stacy stared at the objects piling up in front of her.  "I meant like setting the table or washing something.  You know I can't cook."

"If you can make that monstrosity of a sandwich," Nan shuddered at the vile memory of the infamous Birthday Grilled Cheese, "Then you can make this."  She slapped a laminated recipe card on the countertop.  "Just follow that step by step, word for word, and you'll be fine.  And if you have any questions, I'll be right here."

"I can help too," Rebecca offered softly with an apologetic smile.  "I'm sorry for my snippiness, Skye.  I didn't mean it." 

Stacy smiled at her long-time friend as she picked up the card.  "Pregnancy hormones, can make you crazy, I hear."

"Amen to that," Rebecca laughed.

"Tell me about it.  And they'll make you homicidal too," Nan muttered measuring out the required amount of buttermilk for her Momma's biscuit recipe.  Feeling curious eyes on her, Nan looked up at her friends and rushed to add, "Well, so I hear."

It seemed to be an evening of weird little tense moments, Stacy thought to herself, as she read over the recipe card.  "I can't screw this up, can I Nan?"

The redhead gave her a negative headshake as she pulled a rolling pin out from a drawer.  "Stace, the only way you can screw up Cherry Dump Cake is by burning it.  And if that happens, it'll be my fault.  Not yours."

"Wait,"  Rebecca laughed.  "You're having Skye make a cherry pie?"

Nan looked up, catching her meaning, and grinned.  "Of sorts."

The three women laughed merrily, all traces of the earlier unease disappearing.  Nan attacked the biscuit dough with her rolling pin.  "God, I wish Deez were here.  He'd just love that."

"Me too."  Stacy agreed.  "Did Big Daddy tell you when he was coming back?"

"No," Nan frowned, setting rolling pin aside as she began to pinch off fist sized hunks of dough and placed them on a baking pan.  "I figure we'll see him around Survivor Series.  He's throwing Hunter a bachelor party the night before."

Rebecca piped up.  "Good timing.  I'll make sure I come with Shawn that night so we can do the same for your bachelorette party."  She turned to Stacy.  "Sound good, miss Maid of Honor?"

"Perfect!"  Stacy squealed happily.  "I'll make all of the arrangements, and be sure and let the girls know that don't normally come to the shows that they need to be there.  Nan, can you let your friends Genie and Audrey know?"

Nan nodded.  "Not a problem.  I'll be seeing them when we go back to Moccasin Gap next weekend anyway."

"You're going home again?  So soon?"  Rebecca asked.

"Yeah," the redhead answered, sliding the pan of biscuits into the oven.  "Momma and Daddy want to see me for my birthday so Hunter, Jack and I are headed home."

Rebecca slapped her hand against her forehead while Stacy groaned.  "Oh damn!  I totally forgot your birthday is only ten days after mine!  Jeez, how self-absorbed can I get!"

Her self-depreciating tirade got cut short as Nan started laughing.  "Settle, petal.  If anyone's entitled to be a little forgetful right now, it's you two.  You guys know I don't like making a big deal out of my birthday.  The less fuss the better.  Besides, Hunter said he's got some sort of surprise for me there.  Though what he could surprise me with in Moccasin Gap makes my stomach churn just thinking about it.  You never know what that man has up his sleeve sometimes."

"Well, I'm still sorry.  And make sure you tell us what he does.  One thing about Hunter, his surprises are always memorable."

As Rebecca made a murmuring noise of agreement, the music in the CD player changed and Nan began bobbing her head to the rhythm.  "Oh, I love this song!"  She reached over, turned up the volume, and then started singing along with the incredibly vulgar lyrics. 

Stacy's cheeks flushed and she groused, "Damn girl, you're worse than Marcus and John put together sometimes." 

"Thank you," the redhead smirked, going back to her song.

"I'm surprised Trademarc didn't come with you," Rebecca commented.  "I fully expected to see him show up."

The leggy blonde grinned as she dumped a can of ingredients into the pie-cake-thing she was making.  "Oh he tried.  Believe me."  She leaned over to whisper low enough that Nan couldn't hear her.  "Only the threat of Hunter skinning him alive and wearing his hide like a Flair robe kept him at bay."

Rebecca stifled giggles and went back to her slicing.

Stacy's cinnamon gaze swept the kitchen and adjoining step down dining room looking for the male in question, or his cohorts in crime, seeing none of them.  "Speaking of," her eyes sparkled merrily as Nan finished a particularly crude spot in the song.  "Where's your…a-hem…fiancé?"

Nan stuck her tongue out at her friends as they laughed at her.  "He, Shawn, and the boys are down in the rec-room.  Hunter wanted to go the gym, as usual."  She rolled her eyes, while her friends did the same.  "But I convinced them that I wasn't cooking dinner for them to just stink up the joint.  And I wasn't going to wait until they both showered either."

Rebecca raised a hand.  "Baby on board.  Must eat."

Stacy grinned, "Damn skippy."

The redhead smiled at her friends.  "So they're down there playing a nice friendly game of cutthroat pool.  I expect we'll hear the screams of bloodshed about anytime now." 

~<>~

Guess who just got back today?
Them wild-eyed boys that had been away
Haven't changed, haven't much to say
But man, I still think them cats are crazy
       The Boys Are Back In Town – Thin Lizzy

October 14, 2004 7:39 p.m.
Chez de Helmsley – Rec-Room – Greenwich, CT 

Shawn took the rack from the wall, set it in the middle of the table, and began piling balls into it.  He loved the heft of them in his hands, the cold smoothness of them, the solid clack of them as they jostled one another.  More than once he'd wished he'd had one of the deadly weapons in the ring with him, but somehow, he just knew Vinny-Mac would frown on him for knocking some greenhorn kid's brains out with a cue ball.  Although, the idea still had merit.

 "Stop playing with your balls, Shawn, and rack 'em already," said Hunter's sardonic voice behind him.

He turned, grinning at the obvious double entendre. He took the proffered bottled water with thanks and tipped a healthy amount of it down his gullet.  He needed to chill out and focus if he was gonna beat Hunter.  It'd been a long time since they'd played, and Hunt was good.  Only usually Shawn was better.

As he selected a stick, tested its length, weight, and suitability, he felt Hunter's dark glare on him.  He purposely slowed his motions in order to irritate his friend, grinning to himself as he ran his hands down the smooth, polished wood and slipped it back and forth through his fingers on the felt.

"We gonna play or are you gonna stand there and jerk the stick, huh?"

Shawn looked up at him and smirked.  "Jealous?"

Hunter snorted, taking a deep pull off of his own bottle of water.  He selected a cue for himself and then held it between his knees and the bar while he chalked up.  "Of you, little man?  Never."

Shawn laughed richly, finding it surprisingly easy to slip back into the semi-obnoxious, off-color banter that they'd always shared.  The kind of ribbing that had made them both famous in DX.  Hunter's forearms flexed with muscle as he continued to chalk his stick while Shawn did the same.

"You want to break?"  Shawn prompted.

"Oh, ladies first, I insist."

Shawn shrugged, ignoring the jibe, and made his move.  The balls scattered over the table, but not a single one found its way into a pocket.  Embarrassing.  And uncharacteristic for him.

"Losing your touch, Shawn?  You always were powerful ball-breaker," Hunt said, laughter evident in his voice.

Shawn glared at him.  "Yeah, well.  It remains to be seen whether yours are solid, striped, or just plain yellow."

He grinned and raised his water to his friend.  "You gotta do more than sweet talk me if you wanna find out."

Hunter stepped up to the table, and cocked one hip to shoot.  Shawn should have been analyzing his friend's technique.  Hunt's game may have changed dramatically in the past two years.  But a burst of laughter from the boys, from where they sat watching cartoons, caught his attention.  At least until the thunk of a dropping ball into pocket snapped his atten­tion back to the table.  Solid or striped?  Little ball or big?  He did a quick analysis of the numbers left on the table.

"Striped," Hunter said softly, keeping his voice down so the boys wouldn't overhear.  "Big," he added with a devilish quirk of his lips.  And then, after a thirsty swallow of water, he said, "Long."

"More information than I needed," Shawn muttered.  "Save it for Nan."  His right hand tightened around his cue stick.  With his left he drained his water.

Hunter chuckled.  "Never thought I see the day when you didn't clear the table on the first break."

"You know what I'd like to see?"  Shawn asked.

Hunter cocked a brow.

"Another water, thanks."  He shoved his empty bottle into Hunter's hand and studied the table as the blonde man laughed and walked over to the fridge behind the bar.

Sure enough, his friend had sunk the fourteen ball.  It was a stripe, it was a big number, and, to put it in that particular pocket, he had indeed shot long.  Shawn walked around the table, sizing up various shots.  Spotting something in the layout, a slow smirk spread across his face.

"Your water," said Hunter behind him.  "And Shawn?  You can stop suckin' in your gut now, ya know.  No ladies down here to impress."

"Don't worry, Tripod.  Someday the other one will drop."

"Take your next shot," Hunter answered with a smirk.

Shawn set his water down and took the shot unhurriedly.  Almost lazily.  But with a little English.  He sent the cue ball high into the seven, which thwacked the ten into the side pocket and then spun the six into the corner hole.

"See," he told him.  "I'm still an excellent...kisser."  Shawn knew kiss was a pool term for contact be­tween balls.  He lifted his eyes coolly to his friend's.

"Yeah, maybe.  But how's your follow-through?"

"Without equal."  The words slipped from between very white teeth.

"Bullshit's gettin' thick in here," Hunter grinned.

"Then you should stop spewing it," Shawn laughed openly, enjoying himself more than he had in a long time.

Hunt sank three more balls before he finally scratched. 

Shawn plucked the heavy white ball from the foot end and hefted it a couple of times in his palm while he contemplated where to set it on the table.  The move was literally called ball-in-hand.  After a long moment, he placed the cue ball exactly where he wanted it.

"Center spot."  Hunter's grin gleamed again, even in the subdued lighting.  "So you still like playing from center."

He narrowed his eyes focusing on his shot and nodded.  Shawn positioned the shaft of his cue stick and stroked, successfully pocketing two balls.  He walked around the table, brushing past Hunter and sank another ball from the head.  Then another.  And another.

"Shit.  You're gonna kill me," Hunter said, taking a swig of water.

"I plan on it."

"You still hustle?"

"Nope.  Don't play for money anymore."

"Just power."

Shawn flashed him his best inscrutable smile, posi­tioned his shot, and scratched.  Hunter emitted a low growl of satisfaction, and Shawn reluctantly ate his smile, inscrutability, and all.  Damnit.

In less time than it normally took Shawn to tie his shoe, Hunter had sunk all of his remaining stripes.  Shawn watched, mouth agape.  Damn, he really had stepped up his game in the time they'd stopped playing together. 

Hunter called his shot on the eight ball.  "Right corner pocket."

Tough shot, thought Shawn as he downed some more of his water.  He'd be lucky to make it.

Expertly Hunter sank it, propped his stick against the wall, and looked over at his friend, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Shawn favored him with an exaggerated, sarcastic golf clap.  "Best two out of three?"

"Rack 'em up, Minnesota Fats."

A small voice called from over the back of the couch.  "Didja win, Daddy?"

"Not yet, buddy.  Uncle Game beat me…this time," Shawn called back.

Hunter looked over to where three sets of eyes, one indigo, one cobalt, and one puppy-dog brown peered over the back of the couch at them.  He grinned at the way Dixie mimicked the two boys, placing her snout on the back of the couch too, her brown eyes darting back and forth between the boys and the two men.  "Gettin' tired of cartoons, sport?"  He asked, addressing Jack.

"Yeth, thir.  Can me an' Cam go up and play in my room?"

Hunter looked over at Shawn, who nodded.  "Sure thing.  Just switch off the set and let Miss Nan know you're going to your room so she won't freak out if she hears you guys playing Army again, okay?"

Cameron was off the couch with Dixie at his heels as Jack stopped to turn off the television.  "Okay, Uncle Game.  C'mon Jack!"

As the two little boys set off out of the rec-room.  Shawn chuckled.  "Nice feeling, ain't it?"

"Oh yeah."

"Dinner's in fifteen, boys."  Nan's voice spoke to them through the intercom on the wall behind Hunter.

He reached up and punched the button, speaking into the mic.  "Okay, baby.  We'll head up in a minute."

"Okay, sweetheart."

Shawn grinned at his friend.  "Does she know that system also can be used to hear what's going on in other rooms?"

"What're you, nuts or something?"  Hunter blinked at him incredulously.  "Of course she doesn't know."

Shawn nodded, looking at the floor, then lifted his cobalt eyes back to his friend, the glimmer of mischief shining out of them.  "Don't you ever wonder what they talk about when they think we can't hear 'em?"

Hunter shrugged.  "Sometimes."

"You wanna find out?"

Hunter grinned at him, and chuckled lowly.  "And everyone thinks you've changed."

"I have."  Shawn smiled back as Hunter reached up and punched a sequence of buttons on the keypad.  "Just not on everything."

They broke in just in time to hear Stacy's voice. 

~~~ 

" – me how you convinced him you were okay for…ahem…romance again."

"Simple," Nan's voice came through clear as a bell.  "I just went out onto the back deck, threw the crutches into the pool, and called him outside."

"Then' what'd you do?"  Stacy asked.

"I took off my raincoat."

"What's so special about that?"  Rebecca's voice sounded farther away on the little box than Nan's had.

"Beck, I wasn't wearin' anything under the raincoat."

"Oh!"

Female laughter echoed through the intercom as Stacy inquired, "Did it work?"

"Oh hell yeah," Nan's voice was reduced to a purr.  "In fact I think I'm still diggin' splinters out of my – " 

~~~ 

"Nope!"  Hunter growled, punching the mute button.  "God, they're almost as bad as the boys in the locker room!"  He pointed a big finger at his friend and grumbled, "This is your fault."

Shawn was laughing so hard, that he had a hand wrapped around his waist.  He pushed the accusatory digit away and turned the intercom back on.  It was Rebecca's voice this time that came through on the box. 

~~~ 

" – appropriate to be sharing sexual secrets." 

"I should say not, considering our discussion on the finer points of modern day currency at the Black and White Ball."  Stacy pointed out.

"That was not my idea.  It was Nan's."  Rebecca denied with a smug tone in her voice.

"I didn't hear you complaining about the choice in topic."  Nan returned.

"Well no," Rebecca chuckled.  "It's always a good idea to keep up with current…trends."

They all laughed heartily again; then Stacy spoke up.  "Speaking of current trends, what is it that thing Hunter can do with his–" 

~~~ 

Shawn's eyes almost bugged out of his head at the purple color Hunter was turning at the blonde's question.  But they never got to hear the answer. 

~~~ 

"Mith Nan!  Mither Hunter thaid to tell you that Cam and me are gonna play in my room until dinner!"  

~~~ 

Hunter reached up and punched the mute button again, a split second before Shawn erupted into gut-busting guffaws.  "Oh, that's right.  Laugh it up.  As I recall, Beck's in on that raunchy conversation as well."

"Yeah," Shawn laughed.  "She's in on it, but I'm not the topic of the conversation and that's just fine with me!"

"Sometimes I really hate you," Hunter grumbled, but with humor in his tone.  Then he smirked, a thought striking him.  "At least Nan, and apparently Legs too, finds me interesting enough to discuss."

That wiped the smirk off his friend's face.  "They're not done talkin' yet.  Turn it back on," Shawn growled.

Laughingly, Hunter did just that. 

~~~ 

"Oh, I don't know.  I can clearly remember a time when she wasn't quite so enamored of Junior.  Matter of fact, one time in particular stands out when she really was quite bitchy to him."  Nan commented casually.

"Get out!"  Rebecca spoke aghast.

"No, really," Nan went on.  "But she had her reasons.  And he really was kind of being a pest."

"When was this?"  Rebecca asked.

"Couple of years ago.  The night," she paused, then continued, a little more subdued.  "The night I agreed to move in with Hunter."

"I remember that night," Stacy whispered, sounding shocked even to herself. 

~~~ 

Due to the two floors separating them, none of the three women were close enough to hear Hunter's murmuring assent of, "So do I."

But Shawn was. 

+++++

 
When you’re weary, feeling small,
When tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all;
I’m on your side, when times get rough
And friends just can’t be found,
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
       Bridge Over Troubled Water – Simon & Garfunkle

August 8, 2002 9:49 p.m.
Smackdown – Baltimore Arena – Baltimore, MD 

"Hallelujah!  Soon the masses will begin to see the direction of our movement!  Accept the truth behind our message!"

Deacon winced, both at the words being echoing painfully down the corridor and the fervent voice speaking them.  He rubbed absently at the back of his neck as he plodded along behind his mentor, fighting down a weary sigh.  He had to get away from this guy.  He loved wrestling.  He really did.  And while studying the business up close and personal from one half of the most celebrated tag team partners in WWE history was all well and good, this wasn't the half he needed to study with.  Not the way he was now.  Yeah, he was learning all right, but being a glorified usher to a semi-crazed religious zealot wasn't his idea of ideal tutelage.  No, he needed to find someone else who could really show him the ropes.  But who?

"Brother Deacon, are you listening to me?" 

Deacon lifted his eyes from the floor to gaze down at the angry accusing visage of his mentor and fought back a sharp retort.  Breathing in slowly, carefully keeping his face an inscrutable mask, he did what he always did when that question was asked of him.  He lied.  "Yes, Reverend D'Von."

D'Von Dudley clapped him on the shoulder.  "You did well tonight, Brother."

"I lost." 

"Sometimes the great man upstairs puts us in situations where losses are inevitable due to his master plan.  It is up to us to learn from them, as well as Him."

He wanted to ask if he meant God or Mr. McMahon, and then quickly decided it didn't matter.  Time had shown him that to his mentor, they were one and the same.  He thought of adding that the loss was due to D'Von's interference but didn't.  Instead he answered, "Yes, Reverend D'Von."

Nodding at his protégé, D'Von turned back around and headed off down the corridor towards the locker rooms, all the while spewing more religious/wrestling propaganda that when listened to, didn't really make any sense.  So Deacon did what he normally did.  Ignored him, save for all of the appropriate places to make agreeing or disagreeing noises.  The two of them rounded a dog-legged corner of the corridor and D'Von came to an abrupt halt.

Deacon almost plowed into the man, but stopped himself just shy of it.  He glanced easily over his mentor's shoulder to see what caused the sudden halt in progress and was surprised to see D'Von eyeballing a woman curled up on a large equipment box.

He couldn't see her face.  She had blue-jean clad knees pressed up tightly against her chest, matching jeans-jacket covered arms encircling her legs, and her forehead laid on the tops of her knees.  A bright mane of extremely long copper-colored hair flowed over her shoulders and draped over her arms like a cape of fire, completely hiding her face from view.  Scarlet tipped toes peeped out from flat white strappy sandals, as they curled and uncurled reflexively, mimicking the small rocking motion she made.  And she was a little bitty thing, too.

Usually Deacon wasn't the type of man to be swayed emotionally.  Not easily, at any rate.  But this woman was so obviously in pain that you'd have to be a complete asshole to not feel something in sympathy for her.  He was about to ask her if she needed help when his mentor decided to put his two cents in first.

"Look at what we have here, my Brother!  A poor lost soul in need of salvation!"

Deacon opened his mouth to finally tell Reverend D'Von what he could do with his collection box, when the woman addressed quite deftly defended herself, never even lifting her head.

"I'd worry more about the status of your own soul than mine, were I you D'Von."

"That's Reverend D'Von."

"You produce your ordination certificates, signed by someone named anything other than McMahon, and I'll gladly and respectfully address you as such.  Until then, D'Von, you're nothing but a WWE stooge out there every week doing some weird impersonation of a muscle-bound Jim Baker."  Her voice was low, husky, and fairly muffled by her knees.

Deacon expected his mentor to explode in one of his more famous tirades, but he didn't.  Instead, all of the brash posturing melted away, leaving D'Von to look down at the woman, a frown of legitimate concern on his face, knitting his brows together.  In the most normal tone of voice Deacon had ever heard him use, D'Von asked softly, "What's happened, Little Bit?"

The woman lifted her face and Deacon immediately knew she'd been crying.  Her eyes were slightly swollen and red-rimmed.  And if that hadn't been sign enough, the tearstains on her cheeks would have told him how she'd spent the last little while.  Brown.  Dark brown, almost black.  He'd never seen such dark eyes on a redhead before.  Unsure what his mentor's reaction was going to be, he decided to do what he did best.  Shut up.  Listen.  And observe.  Casually, he moved backward to lean against the opposite wall, his eyes trained on the large black man and diminutive redhead.

"Don't be nice to me, D'Von," the woman responded.  "I can't take it right now."

With a slight nod, D'Von sat down beside her on the box, and she shifted a little to make room for him, never releasing the death grip on her knees.  He laced his fingers together and braced his forearms on his thighs.  "This is about what happened Monday night, huh?"

Fresh tears pooled up and spilled over as she shook her head affirmatively.  "I don't know what I'm gonna do."

"I tried to tell you, Little Bit –"

Her eyes flashed with temper as she uncurled herself and wiped angrily at her face.  "Don't, D'Von.  Don't you dare tell me I-told-you-so or so help me God I'm gonna make you eat a turnbuckle!  I know him better than you do.  So I wasn't surprised at what he did.  I just have to figure out how I feel about it.  And you being all holier than thou and sanctimonious about it isn't helping."

"So what can I do to help?"

"Go tell Stacy I'm here.  She'll know why."  She curled her knees back up to her chest and laid her face down on her arms. 

"Okay, Little Bit," he answered quietly with a gentle pat on her back.  He got up, pointed at his protégé to stay where he was and set off down the corner. 

Once his footsteps faded, the redhead looked back up her eyes immediately going to where Deacon stood against the wall.  "Hell of an introduction, huh?"

His lips quirked in a half smile, as he nodded once. 

"I'm Nan Elliott.  You got a name?  Aside from that one you use in the ring?"

He nodded once again, his grin growing a little.

"Don't talk much, do you?"

The half-smile went full-blown as he shook his head.

She grinned back, but a little sadly.  "Damn shame you lost tonight.  If D'Von hadn't fucked it sideways for you, you'd have won that match, Deacon."

He didn't know why he said it.  It was definitely against his contract, but he didn't care.  He liked her.  Something about her reeked of 'little sister.'  He pushed himself away from the wall and walked over to sit beside her on the equipment box.  He held out his hand.  "Call me Dave.  Dave Batista." 

~~~ 

D'Von had caught up with Stacy just as she was coming around the corner from a secluded alcove.  She'd just met Eric Bischoff from RAW and had handed him the Smackdown ratings, as well as signed a contract which would move her over to Monday Night RAW, effective immediately.  So needless to say she was a little jumpy when she nearly slammed into the Dudley brother, not seeing him.

"Sonofa– dang it D'Von!  You scared ten years off of me!"

He grinned at her; then it faded.  "Sorry Stacy.  But your presence has been requested."

The leggy blonde diva rolled her eyes.  "What does The Billion Dollar Princess want now?  Someone to taste her food for her to make sure it's not been poisoned?"

D'Von chuckled, but quickly set her straight.  "Not Steph.  Nan's here.  Said you'd know why."

Stacy's irritated expression washed away to be replaced by a severe frown.  "Oh, crap!  Where is she?"

The Dudley brother motioned for her to follow him, which she did easily, her longer than average legs making up for his speed.  They walked quickly and in silence through the maze of corridors and side hallways that made up the Baltimore Arena.  By the time the box on which he'd left the redhead perched came into view, his protégé was no longer the only one around.

Stacy's cinnamon eyes narrowed as she glanced from face to face.  She easily picked out Beniot, Guererro, Edge, and Heyman.  Of course Torrie and Dawn Marie were standing nearby, trying to pick up the latest gossip.  Then there was that Deacon Batista guy talking to the rookie she'd had words with earlier that night.  What was his name again?  Oh yeah.  Cena…something.  Cute, but oh so cocky, and she'd had enough of that type of man to last her a lifetime.  Pushing the thoughts of the irritating young man aside, she scanned the faces again. 

Some were friends of Nan's and some weren't.  Those that fell in the latter category didn't concern Stacy.  It was the ones that could appear to be in either category that might report back to their illustrious GM that concerned the blonde.  Having Nan here, tonight of all nights, and meeting up with Steph wasn't something Stacy really wanted to see happen.

Stacy strode through the throng of people towards her friend in time to hear Nan as she looked up at Heyman.  From her vantage point it looked like Lesnar's manager was teasing her friend about something.

"Paul?"

"Yeah, Nan," he grinned down at her.

"I've only got three letters for you."

His grinned widened and his eyes sparkled, clearly enjoying himself.  "Really?  And what would those be?  Uhm…F-O-P perhaps?  For Fuck Off Paul?"

"Nope."  She shook her head.  "E-C-W."

Paul's smile disappeared, replaced by a look of shock.  Then he placed a hand on his chest, near his heart, and with obviously deep sincerity replied, "Thank you, Nan.  I appreciate that."  With that he turned aside and moved back into the crowd.

Stacy slipped up in his place.  "Hey, Faith.  Long time no see."

"Buffy," Nan acknowledged.  "Got Mister Pointy with ya?  I think I've got me a vampire I need to slay."

Stacy grinned and sat down beside her friend, ignoring the sudden downshift in volume the people around them had taken.  But she did drop her voice down to a whisper.  "I think I read somewhere that management frowns on having their employees staked, Faith."

"Figures.  Bastards," Nan responded, deadpan.

The blonde giggled, then sobered.  "Why don't we get out of here so we can talk in private.  I'm done here.  We'll go to my place, split a carton of Caramel Praline Crunch ice cream and thoroughly trash the male gender.  Sound good?"

Nan gave her a watery smile.  "Thanks, Stace.  You always know how to cheer me up."  She gave a large sigh, and whispered under her breath.  "He asked me to move in with him after Tina goes off to college."

"And then…Monday night," Stacy added equally quietly. 

The redhead nodded miserably.  "Yeah."

Stacy made a sad sound, knowing they'd been talking about moving in together but nothing had been said that could be construed as concrete, or about when.  "I kind of figured he'd get serious about asking you soon, but the timing…egomaniacal shithead."

Her friend's description caught her off guard and Nan laughed loudly, then threw her arm around Stacy's shoulder's pressing her temple against the blonde's in a half-hug, which Stacy enthusiastically returned.  "I don't know what I'd do without you, Buffy."

"You'll never have to find out, Faith," Stacy vowed.

"Smile ladies!"

They automatically turned to smile at the voice, only to find Coach standing there with a camera.  He snapped two or three pictures in quick succession.  "Beautiful!  Just beautiful!  I'll be sure and send you each a copy," he called as he jogged towards the door.

"God, he's worse than a paparazzi…always snapping pictures."  Nan frowned for a minute.  "I thought he was with the RAW brand."

Stacy's furrowed brows mirrored her friend's.  "I thought so too."  Then she shrugged and smiled, dismissing it.  "You ready?"

"As I'm ever gonna be," Nan answered, removing her arm from Stacy's shoulders and leaning backwards to crack her spine.  The maneuver thrust her chest out, a movement not missed by any male standing near by as the white cotton T-shirt under her jeans-jacket was stretched tightly across her breasts.

But their motions towards leaving were thwarted as Coach exited between the double doors that now were held open by Eric Bischoff.  A cry of protest went up from the talent around them.  But before anyone could ask him what he was doing there or make him leave, another presence filled up the open doorway that caused everyone to stop talking.  An immediate silence fell as Triple H walked in the door.  He glanced around dismissively until his burning gaze fell on the person whom he sought.

"Nan!"

She ducked her head and pounded a fist against the box on which she now leaned.  "Shit."

Hunter stomped through the throng of people, not caring if he bumped into anyone.  Not that that was a problem really.  The group of talent parted like the Red Sea to let him through to the woman who stood beside a glaring Stacy Kiebler. 

He stopped and nodded at her.  "Legs."

Stacy lifted a blonde brow at her friend.  "Hunter."

He held out a hand to the redhead.  "Come on, baby.  Let's go."

Nan folded her arms across her chest and glared up at him.  "I'm not going anywhere that's not with Stacy, back to her townhouse for the night."

Hunter glanced around at the people practically salivating over the scene playing out around them.  "No, you're coming with me and we're gonna talk about this."

"The hell we are."  She shook her head, and poked a finger against his chest.  "I told you Monday night that I needed a little time to get things straight in my head and that talking to my friends was one of the ways I was gonna do that." 

Everyone around them watched as his blank face turned down into 'The Game's' scowl and his fists clenched at his thighs, evident that he was beginning to lose his temper.  "I'm not telling you again – "

"Fine!  Don't tell me again!"  She yelled up at him, taking a step forward so that she was very much in his personal space. And raising a few eyebrows at her bravery – or stupidity – at going toe to toe with the Cerebral Assassin.  "Don't push me on this Hunter.  Neither one of us will be happy with how it turns out."

Their audience didn't have to wait long for the explosion.  Hunter spun around on his heel, away from her bellowing out his rage.  He grabbed the first warm body in his path, announcer Marc Lloyd.  He picked up the hapless announcer by his collar and his belt and sent the smaller man careening into Jamie Noble and Nidia.  The flying announcer toppled all three of them into a tangle of arms and legs, leaving Nidia to screech curses in Spanish from the bottom of the heap.

When he turned back to face the woman who had wriggled her way under his skin, she had that half-amused, half-pissed-off smirk on her face he'd come to recognize, and one copper brow was raised at him.  "Feel better now?"

"No."  He growled sullenly, then half grinned.  "Well, yeah, maybe a little."  But his smirk faded as quickly as it came.  He narrowed his eyes at her, keenly aware that they were having their first fight, as a couple, in front of just about the whole Smackdown roster.  Figures.  He pointed a finger at the floor to emphasize what he was about to say.  "What happened Monday night was business, Nan."

"Bullshit," she answered softly, then got louder.  "Bull-shit!  You bringing Shawn back into the WWE was business.  Reforming DX was business.  Hey, you guys made big money once, why not do it again, right?  That I can see, and understand.  Even ramming Shawn's head through a car window and then denying you'd done it, until he called you on it was business.  I sort of even get that one.  Get it.  But not condone it.  It was the student challenging the teacher and all that jazz.  But it wasn't business when you told me afterwards that you didn't want me speak to Shawn anymore because that was showing me as being disloyal to you.  That was personal!  And don't you dare fuckin' lie to me about it!" 

Her voice cracked and she fought the rush of moisture to her eyes, but lost the battle, as the traitorous tears began to spill over her lashes.  "I've known Shawn Michaels for over eighteen years, Hunter!  Longer than you have!  And Shawn's glued me back together and kept me sane on more occasions than I can count.  He and Kevin Nash too!  You have no fucking right telling whether or not I can speak to him.  Either of them!  So if you're gonna dictate to me who I can and can't be friends with, then," she gave a tortured sob, "I guess this relationship ends now."

"Don't give me an ultimatum."

"Don't make me give you one."

He glared at her for a minute.  "You can't tell me how to run my business."

"And you can't tell me who I can be friends with, no matter how it affects your business," she retorted.  "If you were a cop, and they were wanted criminals, then yeah, I can see how you'd have a right to tell me to stay away from them.  But you aren't, they're not, and this is wrestling, Hunter!  Just wrestling."

"It's my life!"  He thundered at her.

"And you're mine!"  She cried, reaching up to wipe at her face and the tears steadily streaming down her cheeks.

Hunter groaned, feeling the bottom drop out of his stomach as she scrubbed at her face.  He hated it when he she cried.  And damn if this didn't feel worse than any other time he'd seen her cry.  Because he had caused those tears.  She was right, and he knew it.  But he'd be damned if he'd admit it.  At least not around these idiots.

He cupped his hand around the back of her neck, up under her hair.  "Don't cry, baby.  Don't give them anymore ammunition than we've already handed to them," he whispered, rolling his eyes towards their audience.

She nodded, sniffed loudly, and looked down at the floor.

"Come on; let's step over there," he pointed towards a secluded little corner, still in plain sight, but far enough away that no one could overhear them – provided they stopped yelling at each other. 

Even with his hand still on her neck, she kept her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her shoulders stiff as they walked a few feet away from the crowd that was steadily growing in size having heard the raised voices.  They stopped in the corner, and Nan, for the most part, kept her eyes trained on the floor while Hunter began to talk.  She'd nod or shake her head every few seconds, and then he'd continue on.  While the onlookers couldn't hear what was being said, they could still watch, and voice opinions, which they did, in abundance. 

~~~ 

Torrie Wilson watched the exchange with great interest, toying with a curl dangling just over her shoulder.  "How much do you want to bet that Hunter the Horrible drops her like yesterday's fish?"

"Do you even listen to yourself talk?  You give blondes a bad name."  Edge glared at the Diva.

A rude snort accompanied his comment as Dawn Marie swept her gaze up and down his lean frame.  "Wanna put your money where your mouth is, stud?"

"He would, but he'd meet Heyman coming 'round the other side of your ass, now wouldn't he?"  Rikishi chortled at Dawn Marie.

"Fifty bucks says he apologizes, gives her a sickeningly sweet kiss, and then they go back to their hotel room and make out like sex-crazed party weasels."  Edge added, laughing at the outrage on the Diva's face after Rikishi's comment

"That's a truly disgusting mental image.  You need psychiatric help you know that, right?"  Benoit asked Edge as he fished around for his wallet.  Slapping a Grant into the taller man's palm, he added, "But I gotta go with Dawn Marie on this one." 

"Hey, put me down for some of that action, holmes.  On Edge's side."  Eddie Guerrero added, passing a Ben Franklin over.

Benoit looked at him through narrowed eyes for a moment, as he collected Dawn Marie and Torrie's wagers.  "What makes you so sure of his reaction?" 

Eddie laughed.  "I'm not.  But I am sure of my cariña fiera."

"You always call her that.  What does it mean anyway?"

"It means fiery sweetheart," Stacy added, her eyes still trained on the couple exchanging now heated whispers some few feet away from where they all stood. 

"You want in on this, Stace?"  Benoit asked her, sliding towards her with a fist full of cash.

Stacy looked over at her friend standing on her left and grinned at him.  "Can't, this time, Chris.  I know them better than you guys do.  That'd be like insider trading, and none of you guys would ever bet with me again."

Eddie chuckled, wisely keeping his silence on the knowledge he had of how much the redhead adored the surly blonde RAW wrestler.  And for how long she'd loved him.  "You're right about that, mamacita."

"Hey, Keebs."

A voice whispered lowly over her right shoulder.  Stacy gave a slow pivot and fixed cold eyes on the owner of the voice, not at all surprised to see it belonged to that Cena guy.  The rookie who seemed to be everywhere she was, and always when it was the most inconvenient for her.  Something about him just rubbed her the wrong way.  "Uh, yeah?"  She asked insolently, glaring at him.

"You know what I think–"

But Stacy cut him off.  "Do I get extra points if I act like I care?"

"Fine."  He pinched his lips together, flattening them out absurdly and huffed a long stream of breath out of his nostrils.  He flipped through his wallet, then passed the money around her to where Benoit was collecting bets from some of the other talent milling around.  He looked right in Stacy's eyes.  "Two bills on Trips kickin' Suzie Home-wrecker to the curb."

Stacy's eyes flared, her lip curled back, and she snarled at him, "Who the fuck do you think you are, talking about my friends like that, huh?"  She slammed both hands against his shoulders, pushing him backwards. 

"Fight!  Fight!"  A voice squealed from somewhere behind her.

She didn't even have to look back, recognizing the annoying voice.  "Fuck off, Rico!"

The flamboyant manager of the ambiguously gay duo of Billy and Chucky glared at his charges.  "Are you boys going to let her talk to me that way?"

They grinned at him, and spoke in tandem.  "Uhm…yeah!"

But the subject of their squabble wasn't paying any attention to them.  Stacy advanced on her target, her hands raised.  John took a couple of steps back in surprise before he was able to get his feet under him.  So this time, when she shoved at him again, he was prepared.  She pushed him again, and again she knocked him off balance.  How'd she do that, anyway??

"Where the hell do you get off?"  Stacy hissed.

"Me?!"  Cena growled back, pointing over at the couple.  "Deny that she –"

But a large hand clamped down on his shoulder, spinning him around and away from the now furious blonde.  "Okay!  He's an idiot.  Don't hold it against him.  Sorry, Stacy," Dave Batista grinned as he pushed the young superstar along ahead of him, moving away from where Stacy stood, and over to the other side of Benoit and Guerrero.  But that short of a distance didn't keep her from overhearing their conversation.

"Beast!  What the hell you doin' man?!"  Cena hissed angrily.

"Telling a woman that her best friend is a husband-stealin' slut, ain't the best of ways to get on her good side, Proto.  Get me?"  Batista growled down at him.

John pushed at his friend, knocking his grip off his shoulder.  "Yeah, yeah, I get you.  Ease up on the throwback, man.  Big bucks here."  Then his eyes went wide as what the bigger man had said sank in.  "Tell me you did not just say that Little Red Riding Bitch over there is Keebs' best friend.  Tell me that."

Batista's frown deepened.  "Sorry, kid.  But she is."

"Well, sheeiit."

The bigger man nodded.  "Exactly right."

"How do you know all of this?"

"We talked earlier tonight."  Batista shrugged.  "She's pretty cool.  I like her."

John eyed his friend for a minute.  "How much do you like her?"

He shoved the younger man.  "Get your mind out of your dick for ten seconds, will you?  It's not like that.  She reminds me of someone's kid sister.  Dunno why; she just does.  And the lady's name is Nan Elliott.  Just in case you ever get the chance to stick your foot in your mouth in person."

John snorted.  "Lady?  Gimme a break, Beast.  That's the same toxic hottie I saw sneakin' in to Trips' dressin' room back in May."

"I know," he nodded.  "They've been dating since he split with the Boss."

"Longer than that, from what I hear."  John muttered.  "I hear they were doin' the nasty the whole time Trips was out with his quad.  While she was datin' Kane.  I'll tell ya, any woman who'd screw over the Big Red Machine has got a serious set of stones on her."

Batista glowered down at his friend.  "Who's saying that?"

"Steph told me."  He looked up at his friend.  "And since when did you get so chummy with the Scarlet Witch?"

An ugly scowl stole across his friend's face.  "You know something, Proto?  That's always been your problem.  You let a pretty woman tell you her sob story, be it fact or fiction, and you're off and running with it like it was the gospel straight off the mount, without ever checking it out for yourself first.  Like you're somebody's damn hero or something.  Gonna be the Prince to come riding up on that white charger and save the friggin' day.  You do it every damn  time.  And now you're doin' it again, only this time, you've put a different spin on it.  You're believing the wicked stepmother and treating the damsels in distress like shit.  Didn't that chick who fucked you over back in Louisville teach you anything?" 

John just stared at him, shocked silent by both what he'd said, and also by how much he'd said.  He couldn't remember his quiet friend ever putting that many words together in succession before in all the time he'd known him.  "Beast, I…"

"Save it, Proto.  I can't say as I'm in the mood for any more of listening to your crap tonight."  Batista's black eyes snapped angrily.  "And lemme tell you something else.  I ever hear you call her another derogatory name again, and I'll teach you what your Momma didn't." 

Without giving his young friend a chance to respond, Batista moved back a pace so that he was leaning against the wall behind John.  He crossed his arms over his chest, and ignored the other man, looking up in time to catch Triple H's eyes on him over Nan's head, and see the older man nod at him once.  Dave nodded back, as Triple H returned his attention to his lady friend.

"What the hell is he doin'?!" Cena grumbled, seeing Trips run a big hand down the redhead's hair.  And he was smiling at her for Pete's sake! 

Cena could feel his money slipping right out of his fingers.  He'd been so positive, so sure that Trips was gonna put that redheaded skank in her place and go back to his missus.  After all, hadn't Steph told him herself that her ex-husband would come to his senses and come home to her, where he belonged once he'd gotten this ho out of his system?

"Fallin' on his sword," Latino Heat mumbled with a smile.

"Huh?"

"He's fallin' on his sword," he answered again, then turned to face to whom he was speaking.  His face fell, and he gave an exhausted sigh, rolling his eyes.  "Ay, dios mio.  Mire quién yo hablo.  Demasiado joven y demasiado estúpido saber algo acerca de algo."

"Yo, man, speak American or at least slow up a little…my Spanish ain't too good."

"Yeah, and neither is your English," Benoit muttered.

Cena turned to face the Rabid Wolverine.  "You got somethin' you wanna say to me, Crip?"

Benoit glared at him.  "If I had anything to say to you, Cena, it would have already been said.  Now settle down and stop spoiling for a fight, or Latino Heat and I will damn sure give you one.  Right, Eddie?"

"¡Si, mi amigo!  ¡The Radicals ride again, ey ese!"  Eddie grinned nastily at the kid.  "And when you grow up a little, I'll tell you a bed time story about fallin' on your sword, vato."

Cena shook his head, and held up a hand.  "Nah, that's a'ight.  You probably got some perverted spin on it, like Dawn Marie Does The Three Bears or suttin'.  All furry and sweaty.  Sick."

Eddie cocked his head at Chris.  "Hasn't she already made that movie, ese?"

But a loud collective groan when up from the crowd, drawing their attention back to where the couple stood previously arguing in front of them.  They weren't fighting now.  No, now Hunter had his arms wrapped around Nan, who was leaning up on her tiptoes, so she could lace her fingers behind his neck.  The hug was sweet, and close enough that a credit card couldn't have fit between them.  Then Hunter turned his head and claimed her mouth in front of everyone, leaving no doubts as to how their argument had turned out.

"Sonofa – damnit, that asshole cost me two hundred!"  John groused.

"Next time bet on a sure thing.  Like you losing your next match," Stacy smiled sweetly at him, moving towards her friends.

"I hate that woman, " John muttered as she walked away.

"No, you don't," Dave's voice reached him from where he stood.  "And that's the problem."

John just flipped his friend off over his shoulder, and quietly eased forward so that he was once again standing beside, and just a little behind Stacy Kiebler.

Eddie chortled as he and Edge started counting out their winnings, dividing the spoils up equally between them, as they were the only winners in the substantial group.  He pulled out one of the hundred's the rookie had ponied up and passed it to Stacy.  "For you, mamacita."

She gave him a genuine smile.  "What for?"

"Call it," he waved his hand in the air, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief as he glanced Cena's way.  "A finder's fee."

She laughed and took the money, slipping it down her blouse.  "Thanks, Eddie."

Benoit looked up, a movement behind Eddie catching his attention.  "Cheese it; the boss."

"Where?"  With wide eyes, Eddie turned around in time to see Stephanie McMahon stroll up, her arms akimbo, a vile sneer twisting her lips into an unattractive mask of hatred as her eyes fell on the kissing couple whom everyone else was watching.

"Oh hell," Edge mumbled.

Cena grinned.  "Well now.  Isn't this where good old JR usually says, business is about to pick up?"

Stacy rolled her eyes, refusing to turn around.  "Do you have to talk to me?  Is it in your contract somewhere?"

He chuckled,  "Just thought you might like to know the boss is heading your way."

Stacy's turned slowly, her gaze traveled over to where he was looking and saw Stephanie bearing down on them with murder in her eyes.  She steeled her spine and reminded herself of what had taken place before she'd met up with Nan.

Stephanie reached her and hissed lowly, "What the hell is going on out here?!  How could you let not just Eric Bischoff into my building, which is bad enough, but them too?!  I've had it with you, Stacy.  You're fired!"

"Too late, Steph."  Stacy gave her a blinding smile.  "As of ten o'clock tonight, which I believe we passed some time ago, I don't work for you anymore."

Stephanie's grey eyes popped.  "What do you mean?"

John's eyes bounced between them like a spectator at a tennis match.  But even he, for once, knew when to keep quiet.

"I mean, I sighed with Eric tonight.  I'm now a RAW employee.  Have been for the past, oh," she looked down at her watch, "thirty minutes or so now.  So you can't fire me.  You don't have the power to."

"I think you're forgetting just who I am.  I can fire you from the whole WWE!"

Stacy shook her head.  "No.  You can't.  Check my contract.  Only Vince can fire me.  All you can do is make me leave Smackdown.  Which I've already done."

Stephanie seethed for a moment, knowing she was caught in a contractual loophole.  "Get out of my building."

"Certainly," Stacy agreed sweetly, then swept a hand over at Hunter and Nan.  "As soon as they're ready to go.  They're my ride, ya know."

Gritting her teeth so loudly that those people closest to her could hear it, Stephanie turned hateful burning eyes back on the couple across the room. 

~~~ 

Hunter pulled back, releasing Nan's lips with reluctance.  "Okay now?"

She nodded, laying her cheek against his chest momentarily.  "Can we go get Stacy and get the hell out of here?"

He smiled down at her, his eyes soft and tender as he ran his fingers down her cheek.  "Oh, so now you're ready to go."

"She promised me Caramel Praline Crunch ice cream."

Hunter threw his head back and laughed loudly, his face split into a wide, toothy smile.  His jaw worked his gum steadily as he wrapped a large arm around Nan's waist, pulling her against him, unwilling to let her get too far away, as they walked back over to the crowd towards where Stacy waited.  Nan didn't seem to want any distance between them, despite how the tearstains on her cheeks made it look.  Those streaks kicked at his chest, making it feel too tight to breathe.  When the hell did he grow a conscience?  Tearing his eyes away from the lingering hurt on her face, he glanced up to see that the small group of people had turned into a crowd.  A crowd with his newly ex-wife standing fuming right in the midst.

His whiskey eyes fell on Stacy, who stood off to one side, beaming at him, while thumbing away a hint of moisture at the corners of her own eyes.  She nodded encouragingly at him, barely restraining herself from applauding, it looked like.  Then he caught a glimpse of the young, brash, still wet-behind-the-ears newest Smackdown sensation standing just behind the leggy blonde.  He knew the guy's name, had even talked to him once, before he'd been offered his contract.  But Hunter paid the rookie no mind.  Until he was a big enough Superstar to be a threat to his title, he wasn't important.  Besides, this kid was on Smackdown and he was on RAW…and never the twain shall meet, as they say. 

Hunter's lips curled into a sinisterly lazy smile.  The rookie was so green that he looked to be a little star struck as the kid watched Stacy.  Hunter fought the urge to shake his head.  A mark in the ranks.  What was this business coming to?  Hunter's gaze flickered between the two of them.  The punk's eyes were wide, but the expression on his face was one of irritation mixed with disgust, and a serious case of do-you-like-me-yes-or-no-check-the-box going on while he gazed at the leggy blonde.  And he just kept staring at her.

Like she'd just sprouted a third arm.

Out of the center of her forehead.

"Made a friend, didja Legs?"  Hunter drawled casually, wondering if she remembered their second encounter with him.  And he was almost positive she didn't remember the first one some four years previously, given the circumstances at the time.  Hell, he barely remembered it, the memory having only recently resurfaced.  "Who ya got there?"

Stacy blinked, then slid her cinnamon eyes sideways to where  young Cena stood nearby.  Remembering her earlier words of advice to him on his fledgling career, she grinned.  "Him?"  She parroted, her gaze sweeping over him dismissively.  "Oh, he's nobody important.  You guys ready to go?  I'm so done here."

Benoit grinned at Guererro and leaned up to mess with the new kid.  "You gonna take that from her, Rookie?"

"Yeah, ese, you let a Diva walk all over you and tu es menos que una perra," Latino Heat joined in the ribbing.  "The boys in the locker room will eat you for lunch, con caliente, vato."

Cena's color got higher with the mutterings going on around him, as the terrible trio ambled slowly to the door.  Finally, he couldn't take it quietly any longer.  "Nobody, huh?  You remember my name, Princess!  I am John Fuckin' Cena and I am somebody!"

Hunter stopped, seeing Stacy's face go slightly pale at the nickname. He spared a glance down at Nan, seeing her eyes fill with concern for her friend, then ice over as her anger bubbled beneath her calm façade.  With a gentle hand defying his fierce scowl, he slid his arm from around Nan's waist.  Hunter took a step forward, smoothing his scowl into an arrogant grin as the other talent milling around took several steps back.  But the new kid didn't.  He stood his ground, a muscle in his jaw working overtime as his cheek ticked. 

Hunter had to give him a nod for that at least.  "Oh, really, huh?  Well, John Fuckin' Cena, let me be the first to say it."   He stuck his hand out.

Cena hesitated a moment, then reached to grip Hunter's hand.  But he never made it.  A split second before his fingers could wrap around Hunter's, the bigger man balled up his fist and let fly with a hard right to Cena's jaw, splitting his lip, and knocking the younger man on his ass, making him slide backward a few feet on the tiled floor. 

Hunter rubbed his knuckles in his other palm and grinned down at the kid, while Cena wiped blood off his bottom lip  "Welcome to the WWE," he laughed chillingly, steadily working his gum.

"Hunter!"  Stephanie screeched, immediately kneeling down over Cena's prone form.  "You can't just go arou– "

"Shut up, Steph," Hunter snarled before she could get a good roll going.  "Our divorce papers, along with my contract on RAW, clearly state I don't have to listen to you anymore."

Stacy smirked at her former boss, slipping a hand through Hunter's bent elbow.  "And so does my recently signed contract with Bischoff."

Nan wrapped her arm around Hunter's waist, hooking her thumb in the belt loop of his jeans as he draped a big arm over her shoulders.  "And I haven't listened to you in years, so I guess you're just shit outta luck, ain't you Steph?"

"Get out!  Get the fuck out of my sight!  All three of you!"  Stephanie's face turned a horrible shade of purple in her rage as she pointed them at the door, to where Eric Bischoff stood watching them with his best Snake Oil Salesman smile.  "And take him with you!"

As the three of them laughingly headed towards where Eric waited, Hunter leaned over and pressed a tender kiss to the top of Nan's head.  Eric held the door open for them.  "After you, ladies.  Hunter," Eric beamed at his top talent and latest acquisition for RAW.

"John Fuckin' Cena."  Hunter murmured absently as they walked out of the arena.  Then he chuckled.  "Ballsy.  I like that."  He then looked over at the blonde on his arm.  "You know, Legs, with an attitude like that, the cock-sure little turd just might make it in this business."   

+++++ 

There was silence in the rec-room as each man processed what had been revealed from the intercom, as well as Hunter's own memories of that night.  The tension climbed almost to an uncomfortable level before Shawn spoke up.  "Did you really tell her she couldn't be friends with Kev and me after that Monday night?"

Hunter nodded slowly, measuring the look on Shawn's face, not wanting to go back to hating each other, but half expecting it after that impromptu trip down memory lane.  "Yeah.  Not one of my proudest moments, I'll admit."

Unexpectedly Shawn began to laugh.  "Man, Hunt!  I knew you could be kinda thick-headed about stuff, but to say that to her?  It's a wonder she didn't skewer you alive!"

"Glad you find it so amusing," Hunter groused half-heartedly, as he reached up and punched in the code to the intercom that would again make it silent until someone else called through it.  "Personally, I don't find it so damn funny.  I almost lost her over that."

Shawn faced his friend, his face grave.  "You've almost lost her a couple of times over your own insecure stupidity."

Hunter jutted out his lower jaw, grinding his teeth together.  "Now you listen –"

"No.  You listen for a change."  Shawn interrupted.  "This conversation's been a long time coming, Hunt.  And I think we're finally both at a place where it can happen without fear of us tearing each other apart over it."  He cocked his head at him and narrowed his eyes.  "I mean, we're both adult enough now to do that, right?"

He pursed his lips, running his index finger over his chin thoughtfully.  Then he nodded.  "Yeah.  Okay."  He leaned back on the bar stool, bracing his elbows on the bar behind him.  "Go ahead, Shawn.  Spill it.  What's on your mind?"

The Heartbreak Kid grinned, then gave a shrug.  "Just wanting to point out to you something I would have a long time ago, if you'd have let me."

"And that would be what?"

"She loves you, Hunt."

Hunter made a rotation move with his hand.  "I know that.  Get to your point."

"That is my point."  Shawn shook his head.  "And no, I don't think you do know it.  I mean, really know it.  In here.  And here."  He thumped Hunter on the chest, and then the stomach.  "You forget, man.  I watched her go through Bobby's illness and death.  That woman does not hand out her heart with her business card.  And when she does give it away to someone – namely you, ya nimrod – she does it completely.  She'll not wake up one morning and decide that she doesn't love you anymore, Hunt.  Or decide to try an make you into anyone but who you are."

At his friend's stoic silence, Shawn sighed and sat down beside him.  "She'll never walk away from you.  She's a forever kind of gal.  And your insecurity of losing her, or her deciding you don't measure up, is what's gonna be your undoing if you don't get a handle on it.  Hunt, what I'm getting at here is that you are the only one who can ever take her away from you."

Hunter just looked up at his friend, his eyes wide in surprise, as if that thought had never occurred to him.   

~<>~

We’re all apart of one world,
We all can share the same dream,
And if you just reach out to me,
Then you will find deep down inside,
I’m just like you....
       One World – Celtic Woman

October 14, 2004 7:59 p.m.
Chez de Helmsley – Dining Room – Greenwich, CT      

"The Scarlet Witch?"  Rebecca asked, her eyes wide.  "No, he didn't!"