And I'd love to be the reason
A smile comes to your face,
Even if it doesn't last too long.
And I'd love to take that string
You've got tied around your finger
Reminding you of everything that's wrong.
I won't try to say I know what you're feeling.
I won't try to second-guess you.
I won't try to give advice you won't be needing.
I'm only here to comfort you.
       To Comfort You – Bette Midler

December 14, 2004 2:23 p.m.
Master Bedroom – Lyon's Cove – Moccasin Gap, NC   

She stood silently in the doorway of the room-sized California closet, her eyes huge in her face, dwarfing her delicate features as she took in the enormity of what she was looking at.  A closet system that would send anyone saddled with an obsessive-compulsive disorder revolving around organization into orgasmic spasms.  The walls were banked with shelves, drawers, hanging bars and shoe cubbies of every possible combination of sizes to be imagined.  The room was divided down the center with another set of shelving, with drawers on either side, which came to about chest height on her.  The piece of furniture obviously functioned as the dividing line between Hunter's side and Nan's.

A giddy smile curling her lips, Ava Kelly stepped cautiously into the room going straight for the brightly colored sequined robes hanging near several sets of black tights, adorned with various ornate silver H's, from early in his DX days, long before the tiny trunks became his signature gear. Stopping just shy of them, she stared at the three robes, one burgundy with black sequins, one hunter green sporting the same trim, and one purple one with a gold collar.  That one gave her pause, not remembering ever seeing him in that one before.  A glint of gold above eye-level caught her attention.  She raised her gaze to see a badly dented and battered crown on a shelf above the robes, immediately reminding her of when she had seen him in the purple one. 

"King of the Ring, 1997," she whispered softly to herself, then clamped down on a giggle that threatened to escape.  Here she was, standing in Triple H's and his soon to be wife's closet, under the pretense of taking a tour of the antebellum home and she was marking out over the crown that he'd used to beat Mankind – a.k.a. Mick Foley – half senseless. 

Unable to stop herself, she reached out with a light touch and trailed a gentle fingertip down the sleeve of one of the black topcoats that he used to wear into the ring as the Greenwich Blue Blood, allowing it to trail over to the red ones as well. Curiously, she looked around for the plain black satin tights and riding pants that he wore with the infamous topcoats, but surprisingly found none.  Dropping her hand, she spied a black cane with a silver horse's head grip and couldn't help but pick it up and twirl it between her fingers.

"This is too fucking cool," she breathed almost in awe. 

A burst of feminine laughter from the other rooms in the suite had her quickly putting back the elaborate walking stick.  Realizing she might be missed if she lingered any longer, she silently scuttled out of the closet and joined the other ladies.  She came to a casual stop at the end of the line as they were all filing out of a smaller room right off the closet, both rooms contained within the overly large master suite.  Ava stepped through one of the two entrances to the room just quickly enough to make it look like she'd been in there the whole time, and paused, finding herself in an infant's nursery.

Three walls were painted a delicate shade of lilac.  There were vibrant hand-painted flowers, mostly pansies, jonquils and daisies, and sweet faced fairies all across the one snow-white wall. Fluffy white curtains accented the double windows.  Rich honey-colored hardwoods gleamed with a sheen of polish on the few pieces of furniture in the room…a bureau, a sturdy rocking chair with lilac and white cushions, and an oversized cradle that looked every bit of a hundred years old if a day.  The room looked like an advertisement straight out of The Land of Nod, the nursery division of Crate & Barrel.  Ava gave a small smile as she passed out of the opposite door, feeling a kick in her chest, remembering when her own daughter Quinn had been young enough to need a room like that.

The ladies scattered themselves comfortably around the master bedroom.  Nan seated herself at her vanity with Rebecca beside her, lending a steadying hand as Nan arranged her makeup on the marble surface.  Stacy swung her legendary legs up and curled them under her on the thickly padded window seat, leaving an overstuffed chair for Carol.  Ava tried to follow the flow of conversation, as they continued their discussion from earlier, apparently revolving around either the nursery and master bath or both. 

"Nan," the brunette asked, "Who did the paintings of the flowers and fairies on the nursery walls?"

The women all exchanged glances and smiles, letting the young woman know that her lingering in the closet had indeed been noticed and Stacy only confirmed it.  "Ava," the leggy blonde began with twitching lips, "Hunter painted the nursery himself.  While you were ogling his former ring attire, Nan explained that they've decided not to wait to start a family so they went ahead with getting the nursery ready."

Her cheeks shining a vibrant shade of rose, Ava lifted her chin and replied, "I was looking at Nan's dresses.  She did say I could borrow one for tonight rather than going all the way back to the hotel, you know."

Stacy nodded, still grinning.  "I know.  It was my idea, remember?  But I also know that Nan's dresses are on the other side of the dividing shelf and none of them go with an ebony walking stick with a horses' head pommel."

"Oh, I don't know, Buffy," Nan laughed, finally beginning to loosen up a little, some of her tension fading away.  "It might look pretty good with my silver pirate's shirt and black mini."

"Only if you wear the black thigh high leather boots with it," Rebecca interjected much to everyone's humor.

Ava laughed as well, but still felt the need to defend her actions.  "Well it's not every day I find myself in the bedroom of a legitimate wrestling superstar."

"You've been in and out of Johnny's room for years," Carol pointed out with a delicate cough and a definite twinkle in her eyes.

Ava waived a hand in the air dismissively.  "But that's just John.  I know him already.  It's not the same." 

She lowered herself slowly to perch on the edge of the bed as all of the other seats were taken.  She examined the photo on the bedside table. It was of Hunter and Nan, and at least a couple of years old as Hunter was clean-shaven.  The redhead stood in front of him, his World Heavyweight Championship belt over her right shoulder.  Hunter had his chin propped on her left, both arms wrapped around her middle, and appeared to have been tickling her until she was laughing aloud.  He was laughing too, his mouth open wide in a brilliant smile, as she looked like she was squirming, trying, albeit not very hard, to get away.    It was a great shot, showing a side of The Game that she doubted very many got to see.  Ever.

The young detective found herself grinning back at the picture.  She glanced at her hostess in apology.  "I'll try not to wrinkle your side of the bed, Nan," she said, assuming that such a romantic picture would be alongside her hostess' preferred sleeping spot.

"Ava," the redhead called to the younger woman, a teasing glint in her eyes, after sharing a brief smile with Stacy.

"Yeah?"

"That's Hunter's side of the bed.  Not mine."

A high pitched squeal of a yelp escaped the detective as she performed a near vertical leap up from the mattress.  "Uhm…yeah…think I'd better be picking out that dress now.  Back in a few."  Practically jogging, she headed for the closet, the tittering of laughter floating along behind her.

Still chuckling, Carol stood as well and followed in the young woman's wake.  "I'd better go help her to make sure she doesn't get lost amongst the memorabilia."

Once John's mother had left the room, Rebecca grinned at Nan.  "I love what you've done with this place.  But I've got to know what on earth possessed you to put, not only a mirror over the tub, but twin mirrors on either side of the armoire at the foot of your bed?"

Stacy's cackle forestalled any response from Nan.  "Whisper, if you have to ask that, then you've been pregnant too long."

"No argument there," she grumbled.

"To answer your question, Beck," Nan interrupted.  "One word…Hunter.  The mirrors were his idea.  And, I'm ashamed to admit, they do have a certain…appeal."

Stacy's grin grew even wider.  "So do sliding glass doors."

Nan smiled back.  "Indeed.  I was wondering if you'd find that out while you were here.  Last night's moon was perfect for it."

Rebecca's eyes bounced back and forth, like a spectator at a tennis match, between them and the location of the super-king sized bed dominating the room.  "You mean to tell me that you watch…" she pointed at the mirrors on the wall opposite the bed, then swung her gaze around to spear Stacy in place.  "Skye, you and John…last night…sliding glass doors?"

At the blonde's gleeful nod, Rebecca smiled slyly, her eyes drooping half-closed in contemplation.  "Ooh my…that does sound intriguing…definitely have to give that one some thought.  There are those patio doors off the kitchen at home…"

"Why Missus Michaels, I do declare," Stacy hummed in an exaggerated Southern drawl, while fanning herself with her fingers thoroughly enjoying herself.  "Such thoughts…I'd not have thought you capable of such a carnal thread of conversation.  What on earth would Mister Michaels say were he to hear you now?"

"He'd say I'm quite capable.  We do have two children, you know."

Nan winked at Stacy.  "That means they got it right at least twice."

"Oh shut up," Rebecca laughed, then gave a weary sigh.  "I'm sooo tired of being pregnant.  You just wait until this baby's born and see exactly what I'm capable of.  Shawn's going to praying a lot.  Either in thanks or supplication, I've not decided yet," Rebecca retorted enjoying the wide-eyed look on her friends faces, Stacy's in particular.

An amused giggle burst free before she could stop herself, and predictably, all eyes turned to stare inquisitively at the young brunette who was emerging from the closet, her arms laden down with jewel toned fabrics.  Covering up her merriment at the off-color conversation and all of the mental images their choice of topic was providing to her already overheated imagination, Ava coughed, then asked, "Got a medieval fetish going on, Nan?"

The redhead cast a glance over her shoulder to see the detective standing just inside the bedroom with three of her favorite velvet cloaks in her arms, the purple and hunter green reversible, the red and black reversible, and the midnight blue one.  She grinned at the younger woman.  "You could say I like costumes, yes."  As the other women in the room laughed appreciatively, Nan continued.  "Those are for warmth, Ava.  Not recreation.  I don't like coats as a general rule –"

"Unless they're Hunter's," Stacy interrupted.

"And cloaks don't hamper my movements like a regular coat would," Nan continued, after sticking her tongue out at her maid of honor. 

"I've always liked them," Rebecca spoke up from her seat beside Nan at the vanity.  "They have a bit of Old World elegance to them that most modern clothing seems to lack."

Reading between the lines, Stacy grinned at her friend.  "Don't hamper your movements, huh?  But I thought you liked to be tied up."

Darting chocolate eyes towards the closet where Carol Cena was currently skimming through Nan's dresses in order to help Ava pick out something to wear to the rehearsal tonight, Nan glared at the leggy RAW Diva.  "I said I like to tie Hunter up.  Not me."

"Oh don't give me that –"

But Nan was shaking her head adamantly.  "No.  I don't do restraints during sex.  Not at all."

Rebecca and Stacy looked like they were going to argue with the redhead, Ava thought, but something in the set of Nan's shoulders suggested that it wouldn't be a good idea.  So the Boston detective breathed a little easier when Carol came back into the bedroom with a handful of dresses for her to chose from. 

"One of these should fit, Ava," she announced, passing the selection to her with one hand and taking the cloaks from her with the other.

"Great, thanks."  Ava moved to the bed and began laying out the gowns, trying to decide which one she would like to borrow for the evening.

"Carol?"  Nan called across the room.  "Would you mind setting out the white cloak?  I want to wear that one this afternoon."

John's mother nodded, disappearing back into the closet.  "Of course, dear." 

Shortly she returned with the requested garment.  She held it beside the violet dress Nan had hung out to wear for the rehearsal. Carol examined the gown closely, seeing a small tag declaring it to be made at The Nexus' Mythical Creations.  Evidently the designer was inspired by the heroines of Jane Austen and the Brontës, creating a Regency dress of rich purple velvet, adapted for modern-day Romantics. The tucked bodice, full floor-length skirt, puffed sleeves, and pointed cuffs evoked the grace of bygone days, pulling Carol's mouth upwards into a smile.

She eyed the bride-to-be speculatively.  "That's going to be gorgeous with the dress you've chosen."

"Thank you, Carol."  Nan smiled at the older woman, as she shook the cloak vigorously to aid in fluffing out the volumes of the snow-white velvet, before turning back to the mirror over her vanity to finish her make-up.

Unexpectedly a black ball of satin fell from the hood of the cloak and rolled to a stop at Ava's feet.  The younger woman picked it up and held it out for Nan to see.  "Nan, this fell out of the cloak," Ava gave the material a quick jerk and her eyes widened when she realized what she held in her hands – a pair of plain black satin tights, far too large to fit the redhead.

"Oh my stars," Carol gasped, barely suppressing her mirth.  "Are those what I think they are?"

"Can Hunter still fit into those things?"  Rebecca laughed. 

Nan glanced up in the mirror to see Ava's eyes huge in her face as she stared at the black satin pants from Hunter's former Blue-Blood days dangling from her hands.  "Yes, he can, Beck.  Just not for very long.  Not like he's really using them to actually wear anyway," she added under her breath.

Her comment was heard regardless.  Stacy burst into laughter and couldn't help but crow, "I thought you said the cloaks were for warmth, not recreation!"

The redhead turned around to chastise her friend for bringing up something that delicate in front of John's mother and stopped dead at the sight of one of the dresses on laid out on the bed for Ava to chose from.  It was a silver grey creation, with hand worked silver beading along the neckline and covered the shoulders with a silver lace-overlay.  She knew for a fact that dress had not been in her wardrobe when she'd moved from Connecticut.  And certainly not when she'd moved there the first time, because she distinctly remembered leaving it in the house she'd shared with Bobby.  There was no way her brothers would have packed that one and sent it with her to the Carriage House…would they?  No, she'd have seen it in her closet in the two years she lived there if they had, and she'd definitely not seen it.  In fact, she'd not seen that dress in eleven years.

Had it really been that long?  But how had it gotten here?  Nan's chest began to tighten as her brain finally made the connections.  A Christmas wedding in her hometown church.  Shawn, Kevin, Genie and Drey in attendance.  And now the reappearance of that dress. 

Dear Lord, what had she done?

A horrible sound greeted her ears…the soft wuffing of an animal in distress, one that was struggling to draw breath.  Then suddenly all sorts of voices were shouting at her.

"Nan?  Nan!  What's wrong?!"

"Breathe, hon!"

"What can I do to help?"

"See if you can't get me paper bag."

"And get Hunter's ass up here now!"

"Hunter!"  A voice called from far, far away, it seemed to the redhead.  "Nan's having some sort of seizure!"

Seizure?  Her chest tightened at the dreaded word cutting off just about all of her air. A thunderous roaring filled her ears as her vision narrowed down to a pinpoint of light, as if she were looking down a long black tunnel.

"It's not a seizure.  She's having a panic attack and a bad one."

She knew that voice…Stacy?  Rebecca?  She couldn't tell, and tried to push the voices away. They hurt her ears.

"Can't you keep her still?"

"She's fighting me!  Where's that paper bag?!"

Sudden loud pounding made her head ache and she struggled for each breath.  It wasn't long before bright sparkling lights appeared in the corners of her eyes, making the darkness against which they hovered seem so much more malevolent than before.  It was coming for her.  Only a matter of time now.

"Baby?!"

Hunter?  She turned towards the voice that could help her fight the darkness away only to be dragged backward.  He was too late.  The darkness had won. 

~<>~ 

Stand by the stairway
You'll see something
Certain to tell you confusion has its cost
Love isn't lying
It's loose in a lady who lingers
Saying she is lost
And choking on hello
They are one person
They are two alone
They are three together
They are for each other
       Helplessly Hoping – Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young 

December 14, 2004 2:40 p.m.
Carriage House – Lyon's Cove – Moccasin Gap, NC 

Soft strains of Johann Sebastian Bach's Air on the G String floated on the slowly cooling air drifting in through the open window of the second bedroom in the small cottage behind the main house.  Languidly she lowered her arm and slowly lowered her body to the floor, lying flat for a moment to allow her spine to completely stretch out.  Once she felt her muscles begin to relax, she bent her knees, brining the soles of her bare feet parallel on the floor close to her buttocks.  She bent her elbows and brought the palms of her hands underneath her shoulders, with her fingertips pointing towards her feet.  Immediately her shoulder protested at the angle, not quite a back-bend, so she shifted the bulk of her weight to her left side.  Inhaling, and determined to continue her work out, she pressed down on her palms, lifting her hips up off the floor at the same time.

Slowly she brought the crown of her head down to the mat, pausing for a moment to make sure that her elbows were staying parallel and not splaying out to the sides, as well as waiting for her shoulder to protest.  It didn't.  Even though her right arm wasn't all that excited at the prospect of holding the majority of her weight off the floor, she didn't feel the tell-tale tremble that precluded a collapse or cramp.  Pressing onward, she straightened her arms as she lifted her head off the floor, and slid her legs forward, keeping them parallel and straight, and thrust upward, her breasts reaching toward the wall behind her.

Holding the Yoga position known as The Wheel, she breathed in deeply, holding it, then exhaling again just as controlled as her contortions had been.  Essentially she was in an extreme back-bend, her pelvis and waist bowed upwards and out, and her head tucked under so she could stare at the carpeting right under her nose if she wanted.  She held the position for her customary ten count, then held it an extra five enjoying the tingling burn in her abdominals.

It was a shame she wouldn't be able to keep this up for much longer.

The thought came unbidden and angered her to the point she drew her brows down into a scowl that promised pain for the first person to step into her cross-hairs.  With a muscle aching slowness, she lowered her upper torso so that her arms, bent at the elbows, folded flat to the floor, allowing her to distribute her weight just a little more.  Carefully she raised her left leg until it was straight in the air, then followed it with the right, maneuvering herself into a Forearm-stand, yet with her elbows and forearms still flat on the floor, giving her a bit more stability.  Again she counted to ten, then began to lower her legs to the floor, but from the opposite direction of which she raised them, so that she would end up flat on her stomach.

Halfway down, she stopped, and held her legs about seven inches from the floor, slid her arms around until they were flat on the floor underneath her, her palms now turned up towards the ceiling.  She twisted her shoulders a bit, wincing as she did so, in order to keep her spine straight.  She rolled her head around so she faced forward, then began to raise her legs again, pushing against the floor with her hips and the backs of her hands for leverage.  Once they were raised to the proper height, she bent her knees, brining her feet forward and rolled upwards a bit, allowing the tips of her toes to touch the top of her head.

He'd like this one, she thought involuntarily, remembering how he'd remarked more than once that night about her flexibility.  A small smile curved her lips before she realized who she was thinking about…again. And the whole point of doing these exercises was to help clear her mind of the sonofabitch.

"Fuck me," she groused aloud.  "How could I be so fucking stupid, Johann?  I mean, the man actually listens to Depeche Mode, for fuck's sake!"  She rolled her eyes as the last strains of Bach bled away into a more lively piece by Mozart.

Not disconsolate enough, she decided.  Barely moving from her position, she reached over and punched the advance track button on her CD player four times, halting once the bittersweet opening strains of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata began to play. 

There, she gave a mental sigh as the music flowed over her, bathing her singed emotions in sweet melancholy.  With painfully precise movements that would make even the most astute bodybuilder wince at the extreme muscle control exhibited, She raised her feet from her head back into the air, and just as slowly, began to lower them back to the floor.  She paused approximate three inches away from the hardwoods and held them there for a count of ten before allowing her legs to continue their downward trek. 

Exhaling nearly silently, she drew her knees up under her, and fluidly got to her feet, then slid them apart in a wide legged standing straddle.  She bent her knees and brought her palms flat on the floor, just under her feet, bending her elbows backwards into the proper position.  Transferring all of her weight slowly to rest on her upper arms, she began to lift her feet from the floor.  Elbows trembling from the exertion, a bolt of fire lanced through her shoulder about the same time she was able to straighten her legs out in front of her.

With a soft cry of pain, her injured shoulder finally decided it'd had enough for the day and gave out on her.  She crumpled to the floor to lie in a ungainly heap, having forgotten in her ruminations about one Kevin Nash, that her shoulder couldn't stand up to the advance Firefly position. White-hot tongues of flame licked around her shoulder and upper arm like the lashes from a whip, reminding her that she couldn't even perform a simple exercise to keep her body in shape.  She was completely useless and would be for…a while.

"I failed, Momma.  I'm sorry," she whispered to the empty room, her voice almost inaudible it was so quiet.

As the sad strains of Beethoven resonated on the still air, She drew her knees up to her chest and lay there, listening.   One lone bead of moisture gathered and slipped from the corner of a wide blue-black eye, splashed to the floor, and immediately soaked into the hardwoods, leaving only a dark stain behind.

The melancholy notes flowed and fell one into another, floating out of the window, and across the yard between the houses.  Bittersweet tones drifted upwards, playing on the breeze, until only a faint echo of what they had been reached the second-story balcony where Kevin Nash stood, staring fixedly on the same open window from whence the lonely music drifted. 

Catching the sounds and their nearly mournful quality, he whispered, "Genie."

His barely audible utterance danced on the air currents with the somber song, and faded away into the afternoon sun.  He breathed in with a deep shudder, and closed his eyes. 

~<>~

Wake me up
Wake me up inside
I can’t wake up
Wake me up inside
Save me
Call my name and save me from the dark
Wake me up
Bid my blood to run
I can’t wake up
Before I come undone
Save me
Save me from the nothing I’ve become
       Bring Me To Life - Evanescence


December 14, 2004 2:45 p.m.
Master Bedroom – Lyon's Cove – Moccasin Gap, NC 

"Come on Baby, you're scaring the crap outta me here.  Wake up," the order was followed swiftly by a sharp stinging sensation to her right cheek.  "Wake up!"

"You hit me again," she croaked, her teeth chattering together with jarring clacks, "and not only am I gonna divorce your ass, but I'm gonna hand you over to Brun and Daddy for torture."

Hunter gave a relieved burst of breath sounding like a cross between a laugh and a cough.  But his smile withdrew as he felt the tremors racing through her.  He looked up scanning the concerned faces surrounding him, and his eyes fell on Shawn.  "Uhm…can you get me…"

Nodding, the smaller man at him.  "I know just the thing.  Be right back."

Rebecca watched her husband disappear in the direction of the kitchen with narrowed eyes and a speculative look.  She turned her attention back to the big man kneeling on his bedroom floor.  "Hunter, what do you need from us?"

"Nothing Beck," he answered.  "Shawn's taking care of it."

Before anyone could ask any questions, his best friend was back and now bearing a large glass of orange juice.  He passed it to Hunter without a word, then stepped back to give them some air, and curled an arm around his wife's waist, cupping the swell of their child in his palm.  Rebecca leaned back against him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Here, baby.  Drink up." Hunter instructed, holding the glass of orange juice up to his fiancée's lips, still supporting her shoulders as she drank deeply.

Nan tore her mouth from the glass with a grimace.  "Oh, ick.  This is too sweet."

Shawn's piercing stare turned into a more speculative grin that those around him didn't quite fully understand. He made no move to enlighten them.  "Drink it anyway, Baby Doll.  It'll stabilize your blood sugar."

Rebecca turned her face up to his, an unreadable look on her face.  Shawn caught it and quirked an eyebrow at her.  "What?"

Pursing her lips, she just looked at him for a moment before she gave him a small smile.  "Nothing."

"I didn't know she was diabetic," Stacy murmured in concerned bewilderment, moving closer to her boyfriend, drawing on his silent strength as John draped an arm over her shoulders.

"She's not," Hunter answered.

The blonde looked like she was about to refute that statement when Shawn commented almost absently, "Both of her parents are, and as a side effect of that, whenever she gets under a lot of stress, her blood sugar drops.  Really fast.  And sometimes it'll make her faint."

Kevin came stomping down the stairs and into the bedroom, announcing his presence as he plowed through them to kneel beside Nan and Hunter.  "Added to the fact that she ate next to nothing this morning.  Never a good combination with haywire blood sugar."  He cast hooded hazel eyes in her direction.  "You okay, Shug?"

She nodded at her old friend, pushing Hunter's hands away.  "Jesus, guys, I'm not dying.  I just got a little lightheaded there for a while."

Stacy shook her head.  "Nan, you passed out."

"You took a full blown header at the floor," Rebecca countered.  "If Stacy hadn't reacted as fast as she did, you'd have busted your skull open on the vanity."

The redhead tossed a disgusted glare her friend's way after seeing the frown cloud Hunter's face again.  "Thank you so much for that clarification, Beck."  She rolled her neck against Hunter's arm.  "Can I get up, or do you think I need to lay on the floor for a little while longer?"

Hunter grumbled, but he and Kevin helped her to her feet nonetheless.  Nan turned reddened cheeks on the Cena's.  "I'm sorry about this, Carol, Poppy."

John Senior favored her with a gentle smile, and patted her gently on the shoulder.  "Not another word, Firecracker.  You're under enough stress as it is with just the wedding tomorrow.  Then you go and add all of us; I'm not surprised you're not feeling your best.  

"And don't forget the job," his son added belatedly.

Raised eyebrows met that odd statement.  "Job?"

John nodded at his father.  "Nan here's the new head of Helmsley Enterprises, Pops.  And she's moving their corporate headquarters down here to Charlotte."

He turned wide eyes on the redhead.  "Firecracker, is this true?"  At her perplexed nod, John Senior looked over at Hunter.  "Stuart Helmsley was your father?"

"Yes sir," Hunter nodded.  "Did you know him?"

The older man shook his head.  "No.  No, son, I didn't.  But I did think quite highly for what I knew of him."

The former World Heavyweight Champion swallowed hard against the unexpected lump that had suddenly formed in this throat.  "Thank you, sir."

"Hunter," Nan nudged him, beginning to feel claustrophobic with all of the people surrounding her.  "I need fresh air."

"You feel like taking a walk, Baby?"  At her enthusiastic nod, he took her hand, and threaded her fingers through his, and tugged her towards the door and out into the hallway.  They stopped and looked back at the crowd now hovering in the foyer with varying degrees of fear or concern on their faces.  "Go ahead and get ready.  Shawn, will you make sure everyone gets up to the church if we run long?  We'll meet you there." 

"Sure, Hunt.  No problem," the Heartbreak Kid nodded.

"Oh," he dug in his pants pocket and came up with a spare set of keys and tossed them to John's father.  "Here you go, sir.  As promised."

John Senior nodded at the younger man.  "Thank you, son.  I'll be sure and return them when we see you at the church."

"No need," Hunter countered, wrapping an arm around Nan's shoulders and turning her into his body trying to quell the tremors still racing through her.  "The Hummer's yours and Carol's to use as long as you're in Moccasin Gap.  And in case I forget to mention it with the excitement tomorrow, your hotel room is paid up through the end of the week in case you decide to make a real vacation of your trip down.  Stay longer if you like.  You can leave the keys to the truck with a kid by the name of Landon Vaughn at the front desk.  He'll make sure I get them back."

"Thank you, Hunter," Carol smiled warmly at him as he turned to escort his fiancée out of the front door.  "Such a sweet boy," she murmured softly as she and her husband walked arm in arm into the family room.

John rolled his eyes at his mother's retreating back and turned to the blonde in his arms.  "Come on Keebs, let's head down to the boathouse and get presentable."  Stacy merely nodded and retreated with him.

"Hey Cuz!" 

John turned to glare at his cousin.  "Yeah, Trade?"

"You got a jacket or something I can borrow for tonight?  All my gear is back at the hotel."

His sapphire eyes narrowed, taking in the smaller frame of his other man.  "Putz, my clothes ain't gonna fit you."  Then his eyes fell on Shawn.  "Hey, Heartbreak.  Think you can help out the poor relations?"

"Cold.  Absolutely frigid."  Shawn grinned at him, chuckling. Sure.  Come on Trade.  I'm sure I've got something to make you look presentable."

Trademarc turned to Ava.  "I'm gonna go up with Shawn and then I'll be in the second room on the left at the top of the stairs.  Pick out your dress and come on up."

Ava nodded and watched as he dutifully followed Shawn up the stairs.

"Mommy?  Is Aunt Nan gonna be okay?"

Good question, Rebecca mused silently as she turned to see her son with Kevin.  Her child was hanging onto both of the big man's knees and rocking back and forth.  "Of course, baby.  She's just not feeling too good right now.  She'll be okay."  She looked up at her old friend, noticing that sometime between when they'd left the basement and when he'd come into the bedroom, he'd changed for the rehearsal already.  "Kev, do you mind watching him for a few minutes while we get dressed?"

Kevin swung the worry-faced little boy up into the air, tossed him a bit higher, then turned him upside down on his shoulder, allowing his legs and feet dangle down his back, leaving his head to hang down over his chest.  "Now you know better than to ask something like that Becky.  Get out of here." He turned his head to look at the giggling youngster.  "Come on, Cam…let's go play in Jack's room."

"Okay!  Me an' the Doctor took his Christmas presents up there already," the precocious four year old chattered happily as they ascended the steps behind his mother.  "Uncle Kevin, will Santa come visit Action Jackson here on Christmas?

"Something tells me, Cam, that Santa can Jack him wherever he is," Kevin replied sagely. 

Ava watched them go, feeling quite puzzled.  Who was Jack?  And where was he that Santa's arrival would be in question?  She shook her head, as she retreated back into the master suite to decide which dress to wear.  There were a lot of things that had her cop senses tingling in this town, and something told her that this was only the beginning. 

~<>~

You don't stay with the one you can live with
It's the one you can't live without
It's the one that's got you tore up in pieces, boy
It's that one you keep talking about
Pride's a tough pill to swallow
It'll leave you lonely and cold and bitter
So what you need to do
If she's gonna leave you
You better pack up and go with her
Yeah, I know what I did
When my baby left me
I packed up my things and went with her
Go With Her – Toby Keith

December 14, 2004 2:50 p.m.
Backyard – Lyon's Cove – Moccasin Gap, NC 

They hadn't spoken since walking out of the house.  Hunter had kept her hand tightly in his and had leisurely strolled with her around the grounds surrounding the house.  They ended up in what was quickly becoming a favored spot for the two of them…a cluster of large rocks and a low wall of white bricks that Miss Millie had erected around her prized roses.  The bushes were still there behind the rock and brick barrier, and she had every intention of leaving them rather than risking their deaths by uprooting them.  Instead, she'd promised she'd come back when they were in season and take a cutting from each bush, provided that they lived through the winter.  Nan didn't really think that would be a problem since the minute Jinx had laid his eyes on the small rose garden he'd vowed then and there to care for them personally.  He assured Miss Millie that they indeed would be alive when she returned in the spring for her cuttings.

Hunter stopped beside the largest bolder and sat down.  He turned sideways and pressed his back up against the bricks.  Then he reached for Nan and pulled her backwards until she was seated between his thighs, her back pressed up against his chest.  He didn't say anything for quite a while, preferring to listen to the sounds of classical music coming from the Carriage House on the slight breeze ruffling their hair.  He held on to her, wrapping her in his arms, and occasionally rubbing his palm up and down her arms, simply keeping quiet until her trembling finally seceded.

Once she was finally still in his arms, he leaned his cheek against her head.  "Wanna talk now?"

"About what." Her voice was deceptively flat and slightly tense.

"This."  He answered, tracing the goosebumps that had raised up on her arms.  "Today.  Tomorrow.  All of this."

With a sigh originating from deep within, she leaned even further against him, laying her head back on his shoulder.  "You're not going to like it."

He gave a brief chuckle.  "I rarely ever do when it's something that's this heavy.  But let's do it anyway so we can get it over with and go on with everything."

"Can we elope?"

His brief chuckle turned into a full laugh.  "It's a bit late for that, don't you think?"

"No," she pouted.  "it won't be too late until I'm walking down that isle tomorrow."

He stopped laughing at the sound in her voice.  He leaned to the side and back so he could get a look at her face.  "Baby are you serious?  You really don't want to go through with the wedding?"

She closed her eyes at the faint hurt tone in his voice.  "I want to marry you.  I want to be your wife rather than just your girlfriend."

"Hold up there," he growled softly.  "You have never been just my girlfriend.  Friend.  Lover.  Confidant.  Cheerleader.  And yeah, even a disciplinarian when I needed my ass kicked verbally.  But never just my girlfriend.  Get that straight right now." 

"Sorry…I didn't mean it like that."

"Better not have," he groused still offended by her casual dismissal of her importance in his life.

She nodded dutifully.  "But the wedding…Hunter I don't know if I can do it…"

"Is this about Bobby?"  She went very still in his arms, and he knew he'd hit the target.  Or come close to it at least.  "You still love him."

It hadn't been a question and for some reason that made her angry.  No, not the statement or that he'd not phrased it as a question, but that the fact she could hear by the tone in his voice that he was doubting her depth of feelings for him. 

She pushed away from him and got to her feet before he could stop her.  Her gypsy eyes blazing with wrath, she planted one fist on her jean-clad hip and pointed a finger at him.  "Of all the stupid, asinine things to accuse me of the day before I marry you!  Yes!  Part of me still loves Bobby.  Okay?!  And that part of me always will on some small level," she held her index finger and thumb about an inch apart to punctuate her outburst, "because of what we meant to each other once.  But he's not the one that I've lived with for the past two years.  He's not the one who makes me happier than I've ever been in my whole fucking life!  He's not the one I'm planning that life and children with, nor is he the one I'm going to marry tomorrow.  He's not you, Hunter.  And you're the one I want."

"Because he died," Hunter argued with her, knowing he was being a horse's ass, when she paled at his accusation. 

Part of it was because he really was jealous of a dead man.  And the other part was for her.  He hated pushing her like this, but she had to get it out or it was going to fester inside of her.  And this wasn't something she would tell him voluntarily.  They'd been together for almost three years between dating and living together, and she'd not even talked about him until recently, had she?

No, she hadn't, leading him to think, even as absurd as it was, that she was hiding something from him.  Like she felt like she was settling for second place.  And even though some of his more noble intentions were indeed present, the jealous horse's ass side won out. 

"Because he died, Nan!  If he had lived, you'd be married to him now, living in this house anyway, raising all sorts of kids together, and living happily ever after.  While I'd probably still be married to Stephanie, miserable as all hell or in jail for killing her and one of her lovers – of whom there were many let me tell you!  That's why you're with me now, Nan!  Because Bobby is dead and you settled for second best with me!"

She looked at him like he was a raving lunatic.  "You've lost your mind if you think for one minute that's why I'm with you!  I'm with you because I love you and can't live without you, you son of a bitch!  And having met  the monster you call Mother, I can attest that you most definitely are a son of a bitch, believe me!  Even if he had lived, I can guaran-damn-tee you that that oh so wonderful scenario you just described wouldn't have happened.  I never would have married him!"

"Why?!  Because you couldn't handle being with a man who spent the better part of his life in a hospital bed?!"  Even hearing the words coming out of his own mouth, part of his brain couldn't accept that he was actually saying such horrid things.  But he couldn't stop them either.  "Because I need to know if that's why since it's a very likely possibility in my line of work!  I need to know if you're gonna just up and walk out if I get seriously hurt someday in the ring!"

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" She cried, throwing her hands into the air, more mad now than surprised or hurt by his callous words.  "No!  That's not why!  Not at all!"

"Then why?!" He thundered at her.  "As the man who is going to marry you tomorrow I think I have a right to know!"

"Keep it up you asshole, and you'll be marrying yourself tomorrow and I'll be on a beach somewhere!"

"Oh yeah, that is your pattern, isn't it, Nan?!  Go running off to Kevin or Shawn when someone pisses you off, or hurts your feelings, or just gets too fucking close to you in general isn't it?!"

She jutted her chin forward, curling her fingers into fists, all but ready to knock him on his arrogant ass.  "Fuck you, Hunter!"

"Tell me goddamnit!!"

She turned to walk away, but he grabbed her arm.  Reacting instinctively, she whirled around, and followed through with that infamous right hook of hers.  Her knuckles missed his chin by mere inches as years of training in the ring made him jerk back in reflex.  But at the same time, he tightened his grip on her arm and jerked her closer to him, not seeing the wild panic in her eyes before she swung again.  He caught her fist in his, absorbing the punch with a stiff arm.  His palm stung from her blow, but no where near what his mouth or eye would have felt like if she'd connected.  He scowled down into her face, finally seeing the rising hysteria in her eyes, and knew if he let her go now, he'd never get her back.  She'd bolt again, and this time for good.

He tightened his grip on her, easily preventing her from either swinging at him again, or from walking away.  "Talk to me!"

"I've said all I'm gonna say!  Let me go, or so help me God you'll regret it," she seethed through white lips.

"I already do," he bit back, but with considerably less heat and anger than before, and no little amount of fear that he was finally pushing her too far.  "So I may as well play this out to the end.  I'll let you go.  But tell me why you wouldn't have married him first."

Unable to strike him physically, she lashed out with the truth unexpectedly.  "How many reasons do you want, Hunter?  Huh?  Because I've got lots of them!  Maybe it's because I ruined what life he had left!?"

But it extinguished Hunter's jealousy like the snuffing of a candle.  Quickly, efficiently, and with plenty of heat and smoke left behind.   He released her in stunned amazement.  "What the fuck are you talking about – you ruined his life?!  What kind of fucked up shit thinking is that?!"

She ignored his question, backed away out of arm's reach, and yelled, "Or how about because he kicked me out of our house twice!"

Then it occurred to him what she'd said, and once again he felt shamed.  Suddenly weary, he stumbled a pace backwards and dropped to sit on the rock staring at her blankly.  Bobby had kicked her out twice?  He'd kicked her out himself once…sort of.  He ground his teeth together, making himself a promise that it would never happen again.  He'd leave first…and immediately felt nauseated at the thought.

She began pacing, plucking her fingers against her bottom lip, her words tumbling faster with each step she took.  "Because he hit me hard enough to knock me into a wall when his headaches became too much for the regular drugs to work anymore and he lost his temper!"

Nausea quickly gave way to a fearsome rage bleeding behind his eyes, coating everything he saw in red.  He wanted nothing more than to get his hands on the bastard who'd dared to lay his hands on her.  But it was a futile rage at best.  You couldn't kill the dead more than once.  Unless, of course, you were 'Taker.  He couldn't remember how many times his friend had 'died.'  He curled his fingers into fists, listening to the joints pop ominously in the slowly cooling outside air.

But Nan was unaware of his growing fury at her words.  She was on a roll; once she'd gotten started letting it out, she couldn't seem to stop it.  "Because he cheated on me most of the time we were together after his first coma until he got too sick to get it up anymore!  Because by the time he died, we hated each other!  Because….wait a fucking minute," she stopped suddenly, dropping her hand away from her mouth.  "What the fuck did you mean when you said we'd be living here in this house?"

He gave a pained groan, realizing what he'd let slip when he was busy showing her how much of a prick he really could be sometimes.  "Miss Millie said…"

"What?" she prompted when he paused.  "She said what?"

"When I offered to buy this place, she turned me down at first, wanting it to be a gift.  But I wouldn't even consider it."

She shook her head at him, not understanding what he was hinting at.  "What are you talking about.  Why on earth would she just give Lyon's Cove away?"

Hunter puffed out a frustrated breath.  "Nan, this place was supposed to be a wedding gift to you and Bobby once you got married."

"Oh Jesus," she trailed off, her face draining of color at the pronouncement.  "Hunter don't you see what I've done?! Not only did I just about recreate my canceled wedding from eleven years ago down to the time of year, the people, the place and…" she stopped hard refusing to give voice to her suspicions about the dress that had started all of this.  "My God, I've even managed to get us in the same house!"

"I did that."  Hunter contradicted her.  "I bought this place because when you said you wanted to raise our family in Moccasin Gap, I knew the only place that felt even close to home was here.  Where you lived when I first visited.  I remembered how much you loved this place, so I approached Miss Millie with an offer to buy."

He stood up and curled his fingers around her shoulders.  "Baby, you didn't arrange for us to live here.  I did.  And for the record, I don't want to live anywhere else.  This place is our home now.  So can we stay, huh?"

She quirked a smile at him, then frowned again.  "What about all the other…"

"Listen to me," he began, taking her hand and pulling her back down to sit with him on the rock.  "You're being too hard on yourself.  You didn't pick the date for our wedding.  I did, remember?  Because it was the only guaranteed week off that I could get out of Bischoff.  The place is the same because your father would have a stroke if we married anywhere but Brookshire.  And yeah, a lot of the people are the same because you've got some of the same friends.  It's a coincidence.  They happen sometimes."

But that dress appearing on the bed hadn't been a coincidence.  And she didn't believe in coincidences anyway.  Yet, she held her tongue and didn't say anything about that, choosing to mumble lowly instead, "Maybe."

"You're thinking too hard, again."

"I always do," she sighed, relaxing against him.  "Stop me."

He snuggled her close, nuzzling his nose under the tail of her braid and inhaling at the nape of her neck.  He pushed her braid aside and pressed light kiss to her throat, darting his tongue out to savor the taste of her and the hard throb of her pulse.  "I accepted that challenge already," he grinned against her skin, reminding her of when he'd first taken her up on that offer. 

++++

In Birmingham they love the governor
Now we all did what we could do
Now Watergate does not bother me
Does your conscience bother you?
Tell the truth
Sweet home Alabama
Where the skies are so blue
Sweet Home Alabama
Lord, I'm coming home to you
Here I come Alabama
       Sweet Home Alabama – Lynyrd Skynyrd

October 5, 2001 9:22 p.m. EST
Room 217 – Doubletree Hotel Birmingham – Birmingham, AL 

"Read it again," came the muffled voice, the speaker's face buried nose down in the spine of the spiral notebook lying open on the table between them.

A rich chuckle split the air followed swiftly by the sounds of paper rustling.  "I've read it to you twice already and it hasn't changed a bit."

"Humor me."

Still openly amused by her response, Hunter adjusted the textbook in his lap and read the question for the third time.  "Amalgamated Popcorn sells bags of flavored gourmet popcorn at a local mall.  The daily demand for bags of popcorn is Q=-500 - 100P+-1.25A - 20PS+ .002I where P_S is the price Amalgamated charges for a soda pop (currently $1), A is advertising (currently $200), and I is per capita income ($12,000).  Got the formula written down?"

"Yes," she answered, refusing to lift her head from the tabletop where she'd dropped it the moment he'd picked up her Microeconomics for Managers study guide.

"Ready for the questions?"

"No."

Hunter rapped the table with his knuckles.  "Come on, Nan.  You can do this."

"No, I can't."

"Sure you can," he grinned at her, even though she couldn't see it.  "We just spent an hour going over your Business Law study guide and you aced every single question.  Microecon can't be that much more difficult for you."

The redhead lifted her face and shoved her fist against her temple, glaring at him through disheveled copper strands.  "Hunter, I can't even do simple division in my head.  Most of the time I need a calculator just to figure up how much to leave as a tip." 

He eyed her speculatively, and she couldn't help but wonder what was going on behind those piercing whiskey eyes of his.  But his next question took her completely by surprise.  "How do you expect to run a business if you don't know anything about accounting?"

Nan's brows furrowed wondering where the hell that had come from.  As far as she knew, he didn't know that she owned and partly still ran her grandfather's coliseum back home in North Carolina.  He knew she wrote for Every Day Living magazine, because she'd told him that when he first asked what she did back when they'd run into each other that day in Shawn's hospital room.  But Chris had come in before she could tell him about the Harrell Coliseum.  And since then, it hadn't really occurred to her to mention it since. 

She hadn't even actively run the coliseum since Bobby died two years ago.  Oh, she'd tried to, having spent countless hours there when she wasn't at his bedside or trying to hold the tattered remnants of her life together through sheer will alone.  But that first time she'd walked into the building after she'd come back from those two weeks in Texas with Shawn and Beck, she'd lasted all of five minutes before a panic attack from hell had set in.  She still ran the place, just not from her office.  Rather, she'd handled any and all business she could from her kitchen table in the little cottage known as the Carriage House on Lyon's Cove property.  Damn good thing her secretary was top notch and could easily make decisions for her.

Hell, she'd been training Drey for months as General Manager to make things easier on her right now.  It was only within the last year that she'd started going back to work in the coliseum itself.  And that was mainly because she'd decided to go back to school and get her MBA in business admin.  She still had to declare a specialty, but for the life of her, she couldn't decide which field to go after.

"Hello?  Is there anybody in there?"

Nan blinked sluggishly, wrenching her study soaked brain back on track.  "Needle's on full.  I can't do this anymore.  Not this weekend.  If I don't know this stupid shit by now, then I just don't know it."

"You didn't answer my question," Hunter reasserted, the look on his face sharply trained on her and she suddenly felt empathy with a trapped mouse between a cat's paws. 

She blinked again.  A big cat's paws.  Her eyes dropped down to his hands on her textbook.  A big cat's big paws.  Lifting her eyes, they fell on that mane of hair lying loose on his shoulders.  A big blonde cat with big blonde paws…gads but she was tired.

"Hunter, no more.  Please," she spoke softly, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes, rubbing at the stinging there.

"What would you do?  If you were the head of a huge company and you couldn't understand the books?"

Propping her elbows on her notebook and her chin in her hands, she looked at him, unknowing how damn appealing she looked to him like that, all tired, vulnerable, and dewy eyed.  "Most CEOs of big corporations can't do it all.  As long as I understood what the figures are telling me, I don't give a damn how they were figured, provided the company wasn't being ripped off.  Besides, rarely do you see the CEO and CFO being the same person." 

She gave a bark of tired laughter.  "Unless of course you're dealing with a privately owned corporation.  Some family owned type of business.  Then you'd have a President, and not CEO or CFO or even have a board of stockholders to deal with.  The head honcho would control it all aside from the underlings he hired to do the minutia accompanying an industry of that sort.  Personally, that's a hell of a big bite to chomp off, if you ask me.  One you have to be slightly crazy to want to do – that and somewhat of a workaholic."

He waved away her ramblings with a vigorous nod and repeated his question.  "But what would you do?  You.  Nanette Elliott."

"What would I do?  The hypothetical me or the specific me?"

"You specifically.  What would you do if you were in the exact situation you just described?  Head of a privately owned company with no CFO to off set the financial checks and balances?"

It was her turn to eye him warily.  "Now who's the one who's hiding their intelligence," she murmured thoughtfully, thinking back on one of their many earlier conversations when she'd first started coming down on almost a weekly basis to see him.  "Okay, okay.  Me specifically, huh?"  What I've already done, she thought to herself, then answered, "I'd hire some über turbo math nerd who lived and breathed accounting to work the books for me.  Then I'd make it worth their while with salary and benefits to head up the department and then we'd make money hand over fist together."

"And if this guy still cheated you?"

"I'd shoot the sonofabitch."

Hunter's bark of laughter bounced off the hotel walls.  "You'd go to jail."

"Nuh-uh," she shook her head, making the hair around her face dance.  "You forget, my brother's a cop.  And one of my best friends is my lawyer.  I'd get off, believe me.  'Sides, some folks just need killin'."

He couldn't help but grin at her serious tone and look.  "Oh they do, huh?"

"It's a viable defense in my neck of the woods."

"I'll bet," he returned.  "Come on.  Last set of questions."

"I don't wanna," she grumbled again, slumping further down in her chair.

"You aced the Business Law questions.  No hesitation at all."

"Business Law is fun.  Math in any form is spawned straight from the blackest pit of Hell, penned by Satan himself," she pouted, moving to lower her head back to the tabletop.

"No argument.  Now come on and answer these questions."  At the stubborn look on her face, he felt himself smiling. He'd spent enough time with her in the past three months that he could tell she was about to chunk the whole thing aside and declare studying over.  But now that he knew she was only four classes away from getting her MBA, he couldn't let her shirk off her midterms.  Not especially when he was looking for…

"Tell you what," he found himself saying, catching her just before she laid her head back down.  "Answer these last questions and we'll go do something."

"That's bribery."

"That's right," he answered with a gleaming smile.

She narrowed those gypsy eyes at him.  "What type of…something?"

Hunter thought for a moment, knowing what she wasn't giving voice to.  While nothing physical was going on between them, Nan did spend a good amount of time in Birmingham with him, and thoroughly enjoying her company as he did, he didn't ask her why she was in Alabama so often.  He was just happy that she was.  But most people wouldn't understand their arrangement…her boyfriend and his wife being two of them.  She was the girlfriend of the Big Red Machine – Kane, one of the scariest motherfuckers on the roster.  And he, as he often lamented to himself, was married to Stephanie McMahon.  For that reason alone, they usually stayed in his hotel room with the exception of the occasional dinner out or a very late movie showing where no one might report back to their mutual acquaintances. 

Not that they were doing anything wrong, because they weren't.  He just knew how people's minds worked.  They'd see something sexual where none existed.  And that would lead to all sorts of problems for the both of them.  So they kept their friendship quiet.  Very quiet.  No, nothing was going on between them.  They were just friends.  Nothing more.  Yet…

They were dating.  At least, that's how Hunter saw it.  No point in avoiding it anymore.  She spent several days out of the month with him.  If they weren't able to see each other during the week, then they talked for hours on the phone. They'd watch television together, play cards, or listen to music.  They went to dinner and to the occasional movie – hell, she'd even dragged him out in his wheelchair when he was still half dopey with pain meds only three weeks after his surgery to see The Mummy Returns.  When they were together, everyone else in the world ceased to exist, with the exception of the occasional call from her family on her cell. She'd pick him up at the rehab facility, and was there so much that they guys working with him thought her to be either his girlfriend or on staff with the WWF.  Or maybe even both.  Same thing with some of the hotel staff too, he thought, thinking specifically of Danielle, the night manager down front who always went out of her way to let him know when Nan had arrived.

Yup, Hunter decided to himself.  No bones about it, boyfriend and wife not withstanding, by pure definition they were dating.  Of course, he'd keep that little nugget of insight to himself, knowing her as he did now that if he even hinted at it, she'd bolt like a frightened deer.  His grin broadened, as a perfectly delightfully wicked idea took root in his brain.  "Did you bring your bathing suit?"

"Uhm," she tapped her chin in thought.  "Yeah.  I usually do when I'm staying at a hotel that has a pool."

He nodded.  "I thought I remembered you saying that.  So, how about you answer these last questions and we'll go down for a swim?"

"Hunter, the pool will be closed by then."

He flashed a wicked grin at her that had her pulse picking up speed.  "Leave that to me.  Now…question number one."  He paused to see her pick up her pencil.  "If the price of a bag of popcorn is $1, how many bags will Amalgamated sell a day and what are its daily revenues from popcorn?  Number two…Determine the price elasticity of demand for popcorn at a price of $1.  Number three…Based on your answer, what advice do you have for Amalgamated?"

"Double the price and use the excess revenues to explore other avenues of product, because popcorn at a buck a bag can only go so far," Nan muttered as she scribbled down the necessary formulas to solve the various equations being asked for in the detailed word problem. 

Ignoring her, yet pleased to see her actually working on the mathematics rather than griping about it, he continued knowing it wouldn't be long before they were downstairs floating in the indoor/outdoor heated pool, "Number four…"

True to his word, thirty minutes later found them at poolside.  Nan had been correct.  The pool was indeed closed to guests.  However, Hunter had also kept up his end of the bargain.  He'd had a chat with the night manager, the lovely Danielle, and she readily agreed to open the pool just for them, understanding their need for privacy.

Hunter hadn't known what exactly to expect when Nan had met him outside of his hotel room door.  But his imagination drove him crazy on their trek down to the pool area, his brain racing to figure out what she wore underneath the short black terrycloth wrap.  Once safely on the pool deck, she dropped the wrap to reveal, not a bikini as he'd hoped, but a deep purple maillot made of some kind of shimmery material that caught the light and reflected violet sparkles whenever she moved.  It was hypnotic. 

He found himself just staring at her while she wound those copper strands of hair into a tight braid, watching her curves move and shift when she lifted her arms and twisted the hair ruthlessly.  His eyes were drawn downward, past the lush curves, past the indentation of her waist to stop at her legs.  He blinked for a moment, his brain not accepting what he was seeing.  A network of scars, some surgical, some not that ran down her right thigh, around her knee to her ankle and then crisscrossed in a horrific patchwork of scar tissue across her right foot.  It wasn't malformed, or even what someone in his business would consider ugly.  But it would be…alarming to someone who wasn't used to seeing the scarring he saw day in and day out.  He wanted desperately to ask her what the hell had happened to her to warrant that type of scarring, knowing that no simple childhood accident could have caused all of that.

But she turned at the last moment, and caught him staring.  The look in her eyes was enough to make him wish he could just jump in the pool and drown himself.  A haunted air settled around her, causing her shoulders to hunch slightly even as her chin came up in challenge.  But the mien of defiance didn't reach her eyes, and he could see the hurt there. 

Hunter had a choice to make.  If he made a big deal out of the scarring, it might bring up painful memories that she wasn't ready to share.  If he ignored it, she'd probably assume it to mean that he found them disgusting, or worse yet, deserving of pity.  Great, he grumbled inwardly.  He was fucked either way.  Then inspiration struck, and he remembered a scene from Lethal Weapon 3. "That's nothing.  Look at this.  Now that's texture."  He quickly pulled up the hem of his swimming trunks and pointed out the still reddened scar on his left thigh and knee. 

Immediately recognizing the somewhat paraphrased recitation, Nan smiled, the hurt look bleeding away from her gaze as he watched.  He grinned back, as she began to laugh.  "You're a nut.  Think you can handle a few laps?"

He dropped his towel next to hers on an available deck chair and kicked off his scuffs.  "Try and keep up, pretty lady."

They swam for what seemed like hours to Nan's tired muscles.  But half way through the first set of laps, the tiredness gave way to an adrenaline based euphoria, giving her the strength to not only keep up with him, but almost to pull ahead.  But evidently he was just toying with her and put on a burst of speed that put him almost a complete lap ahead.  Finally Nan called quarter.

"Mind if I lay out for a while?"

Hunter popped up in front of her and with a quick toss of his head, he slung water and hair out of his face. "No.  You don't care if I keep this up for a little while do you?"

"Your leg's not bothering you?"

He shook his head, and ran a big hand down his face, wiping away the excess water.  "No, and that's why I want to keep on going for a while."

"Suit yourself.  Just don't over do it.  We didn't bring your chair down and I sure as hell can't carry you back upstairs."

Hunter laughed outright at that image and agreed.  "I'll stop the first twinge I get." 

With that promise, he dove back down into the water like something out of the fairytales she used to read about mer-people.  Nan shook her head, amused at herself.  A merman Hunter most definitely wasn't.  Now King Triton or Poseidon on the other hand…

She pulled herself out of the pool to lie on the pool deck on her towel, right under a heat lamp.  She reached up and flipped it on, closed her eyes against the light, then lay back with a sigh as the heat seeped into her bones, making that right leg actually begin to feel good for a moment.  She lent half an ear towards the rhythmic slap of water as Hunter continued his laps, and concentrated on the feel of the heat lamp.  She really needed to get one of these, she decided drowsily, continuing to listen to Hunter swim.

Droplets of water hit her face and she opened her eyes to see Hunter braced over her.  His face in shadows by the bright light of the heat lamp, she couldn't read his expression.  But before she could ask anything of him, he swooped down on her, claiming her lips with his own.

His kiss was exactly as she'd thought it would be, hard, dominating, demanding, and utterly intoxicating.  She parted her lips under his, and he swept in forcefully, taking what he wanted, completely overwhelming her senses, and stealing her breath from her lungs.  She welcomed him in, straining against him as the hard evidence of his desire for her prodded insistently at her lower belly.  He wrenched his lips from hers and buried his face against her neck only to bite and suckle the skin right over her throbbing pulse.  The scrape of his whiskers inflamed her senses and she gave a small whimper, struggling to get closer to him.

"Whatever's got you so far away must be something good by that smile on your face.  I've called you twice and you've not answered me yet.  I thought you were asleep."

Immediately Nan's cheeks flooded in a rush of red and her heart hammered in her ear as she snapped out of her daydream.  Mortified, she refused to open her eyes.  Being caught in an illicit daydream was one thing, but being caught by the object of that illicit daydream was absolutely unacceptable.  With a pained grimace, she rotated her head on the folded towel functioning as a pillow and pried open an eye only to see Hunter grinning at her not even a foot away from her face.  His chin was propped on his folded forearms where he braced himself on the pool deck, keeping himself above the water just enough so that he could be within hand's reach.

"It was."

His grin deepened, almost like he knew what she'd been dreaming about.  But that was impossible, wasn't it?  She'd not said anything she wasn't aware of, had she?  Her cheeks flaming again, she pushed away the disturbing idea, and trained her attention on his next words. 

"What were you thinking?"

She shrugged a bare shoulder, feeling her suit strap slide down a bit with the action.  "Just thinking."

"That's all I get?  No details?"

"Nope.  A girl's gotta have her secrets," she retorted sassily, deciding to ignore the evidence of her embarrassment.

"Do you ever stop thinking?  Just let your mind go blank and relax?"  Hunter unfolded his arms long enough to trace a very wet finger from her shoulder down to her elbow, letting trails of chlorinated water trickle over her skin, causing the skin to pebble with goosebumps. 

Nan bit down hard on her bottom lip, nearly drawing blood, and steeled herself against the tremors suddenly coursing though her body.  She chastised herself that while with most men, that simple action would be a blatant come-on, that it wasn't the same with Hunter.&nbs