Title: It's A Matter Of Trust
Author: Empress
Email: Empress@thewaysideinn.net
Distribution: Empress' Private Library and The Wayside Inn  All others ask first.
Rating:  R for language and allusions to past sexual exploits.
Category: Number 8 in the Behind the Scenes series.  Sequel to #7 Is This Our Farewell.
Characters: Hunter/Nan; Kevin Nash; Ric Flair; Dave Batista; Randy Orton; Stacy Keibler; Edge; Marie; and a drugged Dixie the Wonder Wiener Dog, oh and some more OFCs.
Spoilers:  RAW 7/19/04
Warnings:  Language is raucous as usual.  Not many warnings other than more angst, drama, some serious flashbacks, and a pretty hefty dose of sappy romance at the end.  Bring insulin.
Summary:  Ugh!  I suck at summaries!  Okay….here goes….After three weeks apart, Hunter finally finds out where Nan is.  But not before she's made new plans for the remainder of her life, without him.  Will he get her back?   (Now who's really foolish enough to think he won't?  Yeah, I thought not.)
Author’s Notes #1:  The website and song-vid mentioned in this work is not listed, because I forgot to ask the webmaster if I could mention it in this story.  Email me privately at the above address if you want to see it or the site in general.  It really is the absolute best Triple H site I've ever seen.
Author’s Notes #2: This one isn't nearly as long as it was supposed to be.  I didn't cover near the amount I wanted to.  But that just means I'm now a week or two behind.  There's one more story coming in the Florida parts (the real "Just Like Bogie and Bacall") and then we'll go back on the road with the crew.  Just hang in there with me, won't ya??  I apologize in advance for the total ridiculous amount of song lyrics quoted in this one.  Skip 'em if you don't like that sort of schtick.  But blame Hunter for the lyrics and the length.  His fault.  He did it.
Dedication: Not all of my stories have a dedication, but this one, like the last one certainly does.  "A Matter of Trust" is lovingly dedicated to my bestest buddy, and the devil on my shoulder, Tom, for graciously donating his own personality for that of Kevin Nash.  Tom's the one who always puts me back together when I get broken and he's the first one I call when I feel the overwhelming urge to go play jacks on the freeway.  I love you, man!  LOL!!!  Seriously, you really are the best, in a world full of mediocre.
Feedback: Always.
Disclaimer: Vince owns everything, as usual.  Some are mine and I'm keeping those. No money made. Sue me and you can have whatever you manage to get past Dixie the Wonder Wiener Dog.  Or as those people who try to come to my door that she doesn't know like to call her….Cujo-lite.  She'll chew your anklebones off.  Swear to God.

She'd hidden for long enough.  Wounds, though not healed, at least had thick scabs on them now and probably could withstand a little poking and prodding.  Time to re-join the human race.

With that thought in mind, Nan sat at poolside, her laptop balanced precariously on a towel draped across her thighs, and fired up the email account she used for work.  She smiled briefly to herself as her internet radio program slipped into one of her favorite stations, Digitally Imported, European, Trance, Techno out of London, England.  Wireless modems were a wonderful thing.  Scanning the messages listed in the work account, she was slightly surprised that there wasn't much in there - aside from the junk faxes and inter-office forwards of some of the worst jokes she'd ever heard before.  That, and just the usual copied office memos that those in charge always sent to the home-based writing staff.  She deleted most of them, keeping only the one that pertained to the annual staff meeting and company picnic coming up soon.  Attendance was always mandatory for all employees.  Oh, they didn't call it mandatory, but management frowned highly upon those who didn't show.  No date was listed, but the memo did promise to get back to everyone once a date had been set.  She just hoped it didn't conflict with her parent's anniversary this year like it had last year.  Last year it hadn't been a big deal to miss her folk's anniversary, but this one was their fiftieth, and missing it was not even to be considered.  Thus reminded, she opened her appointment calendar and made an entry to remind her to call her sister, Angela, to see what plans they needed to make.

Either way,  it looked like there was a trip to North Carolina in her near future.  Absently, just before closing the appointment window, she noticed a date in September highlighted in red.  She ignored the twinge of pain that gnawed at her middle for a moment.  Two years.  Almost two years, she corrected herself.  They'd called it quits in just one year and a few days shy of ten months.  Giving herself a mental shake, she moved on to one of the last pieces left from work.

She couldn't help but laugh aloud at her friend Susan's opening line.  You need to come down here and help me shove Debbi's head into the printing press.  Because I swear by all that is holy, I am not going down by myself!

Susan Murphy was the writer of "In The Corner," the parenting and children's activities column that ran in every issue of "Every Day Living," the women's magazine that both Nan and Susan wrote for.  Unlike Nan, who worked from home, or wherever she happened to be at the time, Susan actually had a cubicle in the maze of gray boxes in the home office of EDL, which was based out of North Carolina.

Nan skimmed through the rest of her friend's letter, continuing to laugh at Susan's rather unique phrasing about what she currently wanted to do to Debbie Haley, the caustically outspoken, boorish, snobbish columnist who claimed all pieces regarding fashion, hair and/or make-up tips as her own personal stomping grounds.  To say that Susan and Debbie didn't get along was probably the understatement of the century.  They shared a violently intense hatred for one another that had started when Susan began seeing Tim Murphy, an Associate Editor of EDL, and the man Debbie had set her cap for some years prior.  But Tim didn't give Debbie a second thought, no matter how big a fool she made of herself over him.  The dislike between the two women had only escalated when Tim and Susan married.  And now that Susan was expecting their first child, the verbal fights between them were growing to epic proportions.

She missed her friends.  Maybe it was time to go home.  Not to Connecticut but back home to North Carolina.  Clicking open the last email from EDL, she read the opening line from her boss, and had to wonder if this were a sign.

Gloria's retired.  Tim's been promoted to Editor-In-Chief.  I'm taking his Associate Editor position.  They're looking at you for Managing Editor over the writing staff.  Call me. NOW!!  Darren.

Well, she couldn't really call him on a Sunday night, because she didn't have his home phone number.  She'd call him tomorrow.  But, she did have another call to make.  One that was way overdue.

Setting her laptop on the small table beside her, Nan reached for her cell phone.  With trembling fingers she hit '#1'.

It rang three times and rolled into voice-mail.  She breathed a sigh of relief. 

Can't answer right now.  You know what to do.  Beep.

"Hey,"  Hearing her voice shake, she cleared her throat and tried again.  "Unless you've got a problem with it, I'll be there on Wednesday to pack up my things.  I don't want you to think I'm taking anything that doesn't belong to me, so if you want to be there to make sure, that's fine.  If not, expect me to be out completely by Thursday or Friday. I just want this to go as easily as possible.  So, if I leave anything…well, do whatever you want with it.  I…I'm…I've got to go.  Bye."

She closed the cell-phone with a snap.  Her breathing coming in jerks, she panted for a moment, tugging her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her shins. She lowered her head to her knees and cried.

It was over. 

~<>~

I’m here without you baby
But you're still on my lonely mind
I think about you baby
And I dream about you all the time
I’m here without you baby
But you're still with me in my dreams
And tonight girl it’s only you and me
Here Without You - 3 Doors Down

July 19, 2004  Monday 12:45 a.m.
Chez de Helmsley - Greenwich, CT 

She wasn't dead.  But by God, by the time he got his hands on her, she was gonna wish she were! 

The Baltimore police officers managed to explain that the personal effects from Nan's vehicle, as well as the vehicle itself, had to be claimed by Nan only.  He couldn't do it because the car wasn't registered to him.  Dave had stayed with him, and eventually driven him to the airport so he could make his flight home.  But before they'd left the arena, a call had come through on the initial trace on Nan's disappearance.  The Baltimore PD had been able to find out that she'd booked a one-way flight to Miami, Florida.  She had been alone, and her right hand was sloppily bandaged, thus explaining the blood in the car.  She'd boarded her flight, landing in Miami as expected, and had immediately rented a car at the Avis desk.  Nan had paid cash for a month's rental on the Camry she'd been given.  She'd listed Heather and Brandon's address as the local contact, telling the clerk at the desk that she would be staying in the Miami area.  And that was the last anyone had seen of her.  She'd managed to disappear once again.

He knew from previous conversations that neither Heather nor Brandon knew where she was.  Obviously giving their name and phone number had simply to throw anyone off her trail.  And since she'd been successfully traced to Miami, as far as the Baltimore PD was concerned, she was no longer a missing person.  She was off somewhere licking her wounds and didn't want to be found.  And since she still had a week left on the rental car, Avis wasn't concerned either.  They'd hold her car in the police impound lot until she identified it.  The same with her personal items.  Case closed. 

Didn't matter to them that he still considered her missing.  That it was slowly driving him insane that he didn't know where she was and that she wouldn't take or return his calls.  That he was being eaten alive with guilt and worry.  Nah, they didn't care.

Hunter lay on the couch in the living room, one foot flat on the floor, his left elbow bent over his eyes.  He lay there, listening to the silence of an empty house, and the annoying niggling of a conscience he didn't think he had.  He was starting to give serious consideration to cracking the seal on that bottle of Absolüt Nan kept in the cupboard over the sink.  And he didn't drink.

He had walked in to cavernous silence, stale air, and a faint malodorous stench that he was sure came from something having succumbed to a violent death in the refrigerator.  He could barely believe it had been almost three weeks since he'd last been in the house. 

Coming in the back door, he had intentionally avoided the living room, moving instead towards their bedroom, keeping his eyes trained on the floor.  The only good that did was make him realize that the carpet needed cleaning.  Walking into their bedroom, he dumped his bags on the bed and really took a good look around. 

He couldn't tell she was gone.  All of her things were still there, minus a few articles of clothing.  Her dream-catcher still hung over their bed.  Her jewelry was still there in the box right on her vanity.  Turning away, he walked into the bathroom, immediately noting that most of her toiletries were gone, toothbrush, deodorant, toothpaste, mouthwash, and shampoo.  Stuff like that.  But those things, he remembered, had been packed up for the trip to Canada some three weeks prior.  That now seemed so much longer ago.  All she would have had to do was pick up her bags and walk out.  And apparently that's what she'd done.

Swallowing hard, he caught a glimpse of the man in the mirror, not recognizing the face for a split second.  He stared at his reflection for a moment, disturbed to realize he didn't look like himself.  He almost never wore the 'Game' face at home.  But it was there now, and something more.  He had dark circles under bloodshot eyes and a pinched look around his mouth.  There was an unhealthy pallor to his skin.  He looked…defeated. 

Turning quickly from the accusatory gleam in his own eyes, he went back into the bedroom, and began to repack his bags.  Less, this time, because he was only going to DC for one night.  Maybe.  He wasn't sure yet, and threw in some extra clothes just to be on the safe side, letting his mind wander.

The last time he'd been in this room, he'd all but attacked her, striving desperately to purge the image of just the one solitary picture he'd found from his brain.  He'd wanted to prove to her that she belonged to him and no one else.  Ever.  But instead, he'd found out that, as much as she belonged to him, he belonged to her just the same, if not more so.  The woman had gotten under his skin, skimming underneath his radar when he hadn't been looking, and carved out a place for her in his heart.  A heart he'd thought had shriveled up and died a few years previously.  But he had been wrong, if the ache in his chest were any indication. 

God, he was a putz.

He closed his eyes.  That was a mistake, because immediately his brain supplied a too vivid image. 

She'd bitten him.  She lay pinned beneath him, her dark eyes half closed, liquid with the burn of desire he'd stoked in her with his domineering tactics. "Not a wise move, baby."

"I never claimed to be wise."  She smiled seductively up at him, encouraging his baser nature, shivering in his arms.

"I want to fuck you," he growled at her. 

She moaned baring her throat, willingly, submissively, for him.  "Oh, Hunter, yes..."

His eyes flew open, wild and almost crazed, positive that he'd heard her voice.  But the room was empty. 

Not even a little lump in the bed, signifying Dixie's presence.  Breathing shallowly, he glanced down at his suitcase, not realizing he'd completely repacked it, filling it to the brim with enough clothes to last him a week, maybe more.  Disgusted at his own inattention, but not caring enough to repack, he simply zipped up the bag.  He switched out his wrestling gear as well, trading used Speedos for clean ones - Lord knew he had too many of the things - socks, another roll of tape, and damn near anything else he could think of to chunk into the case.  Just as he was sliding the rolling bag off the bed and picking up the silver case he carried into the arenas, he saw her.

She was smiling brightly back at him from the picture frame on his side of the bed.  Reaching for it, he pulled it closer, staring at the happy couple captured forever underneath the glass.  It had been taken on September 2, 2002, the night Eric Bischoff had awarded him the Heavyweight Title, right after the roster split.  He'd had two matches that night, he remembered.  One against Naitch one-on-one.  And he'd won that one. But the second match had been as a tag-team with Jericho against Naitch and RVD.  He and Jericho had lost, with RVD getting the pin on him.  But he didn't care.  He had the gold. 

She'd been waiting for him when he'd come out of the locker room after his shower.  He remembered clearly being exhausted but still riding high on adrenaline and the pump from the crowd.  She'd all but been vibrating in place, her whole face lit up and her eyes glassy.  With the belt still around his waist, he'd picked her up and swung her around in a circle until they both were dizzy, nearly stumbling into things and people, laughing like children.

Coach had hollered out his name, and they'd turned to see a camera in his hands.  In a split second of very rare silliness, Hunter had spun Nan in front of him, thrown the belt over her right shoulder and plopped his chin down on her left, both arms wrapped around her middle, and tickled her until she was laughing aloud.  He had started laughing too, his mouth open wide in a brilliant smile, as she squirmed trying to get away.  Somewhere in there, Coach had snapped the shot.  And then given it to them, framed, not five days later when they moved in together.

On impulse, Hunter unzipped his suitcase just far enough to slip the photo inside.  Clicking off the lights, he picked up his bags and left the bedroom.  He consciously ignored the open door to her office, refusing to even glance in that direction.  Instead, he moved steadily down the hallway, through the dining room, and into the living room.  He set his bags down by the front door, wanting to cut down on as much time as he could, reminding himself that his flight to D.C. was at ten. 

Hanging his head briefly, he toyed with the idea of hiring a private detective to find her.  But he immediately dismissed the idea, still convinced that she wanted nothing more to do with him.  After all, she'd left him, right?  He'd not told her to get out, had he?  But not knowing where she was, and again that niggling voice pestered him asking whom she was with, was driving him insane.

"Fuck it," he growled to himself, his own words sounding far too loud in the quiet of the house.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he walked back towards her office, and clicked on the lights.  The now-despised scrapbook still lay on the desk, but it was closed.  Other than that, the room looked like it always had. Except her laptop was missing. 

Moving into the room, he sat down at the desk, slid the scrapbook away, and booted up her desktop computer, bound and determined to figure out where she'd gone.  While waiting for the main screen to come up and for the infernal machine to stop loading programs, he took a good look at the collection of photographs on her desk.  There was one of just about every member of her family, parents, brothers, sister, nieces, nephews, and even a few of her godchildren.  There was even a nice collage containing images of her, Shawn, himself, Nash, Edge, Karen, Jericho and Rosie all mixed together.  But the biggest photo that reigned over all of them was of him.  He remembered that picture because it had been taken during the interview he'd given right there in the house.  For once he wasn't wearing his 'Game' face and was genuinely smiling.

A soft chime from the computer drew his attention back to it, rather than musing on why that particular picture sat on her desk.  Hell, they hadn't even been dating when it had been taken.  He'd still been with Steph. Pushing those thoughts aside, he skimmed through her icons, trying to decide what would tell him the most.  He pulled up her most recently viewed document list.  And, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he closed it.   Next he moved on to the briefcase icon to see what files she'd uploaded to her laptop before taking off. Again, nothing out of the ordinary.  Just work stuff.  And a video file.

Hold on a second.  What video file had she uploaded? 

He opened the Media Player, found the name on the drop-down list of most recently viewed files, selected it, and hit play.  Almost immediately the small viewing screen zoomed up to full size, and he was suddenly staring at himself.  Someone had taken some of the best matches he'd ever been in and set clips of them to Limp Bizkit's "My Way Or The Highway."  He watched it for a moment, thinking that if Vince ever got wind of this, the hapless fan who'd done it might find themselves slapped with a lawsuit for copyright infringement.  That sort of thing made him uncomfortable, because as an employee of WWE, Inc., he had a contractual obligation to report violations of this nature.

But the video was really well done.  It was of good quality, and was almost flawless in the editing and splicing of the different scenes.  He remembered Nan mentioning the website in question to him once before, saying it was the best one she'd ever found dedicated to him.  She'd liked it because it didn't paint him as a complete prick like some others did.  He'd meant to check it out, but never had.  As the video drew to a close, the ending scene solidified his decision on whether or not to tell Vince about the site.  Whoever had done the video had written a dedication that read: Dedicated to the Internet smarks and dirt sheet writers in honor of THE GAME! 

He wasn't going to say a word.

Out of nowhere a dialog box popped up, and he wondered, albeit briefly, if he'd done something to cause it.  That is, until he saw what it said.

'Marie' is sending you a message.  Will you accept?

God.  He'd forgotten she was on a cable-modem and thereby always connected to the Internet.  She must have had her chat programs set up to load automatically.  He moved the mouse over to click on 'No' and then suddenly changed his mind, thinking this person might know where Nan was.  He clicked on 'Yes' instead.  Immediately another box popped up, this one looking like two small windowpanes.  One had a message in it.  The other was blank.

Marie says: Where have you been?!  Do you have any idea how worried we all are?  Three weeks and no word from you at all!  What's going on, Nan??

Hunter looked down at the keyboard, grimacing.  He hated typing. 

Nan says:  Not Nan.  This is Hunter.

Marie says:  Oh.  Sorry.  Is she okay?

Nan says:  Don't know.  She left July 1.  Any ideas where she might go?

There was a pause, just long enough to make Hunter wonder if this 'Marie' person had gotten disconnected or something.  But then she was back.

Marie says:  Sorry.  Looking for your number.  Calling.

Nan's work line immediately began ringing.  Hunter just stared at it.  The computer chimed again.

Marie says:  It's me.  Pick up the phone.

Feeling like he'd stepped right into an episode of the Twilight Zone, Hunter picked up the ringing telephone.  "Hello?"

"Hi, Hunter.  This is Marie," a low, warm North Carolina drawl greeted him on the other end of the line. "Now what were you saying about Nan being missing since July first?"

She talked to him like she knew him.  And maybe through her friendship with Nan, she did.  But Hunter didn't know this woman.  He wasn't even sure how Nan knew this woman, or how well.  Maybe it was the sincerity he heard in her voice.  Like she actually cared about what was happening to them.  And she sounded worried too.  But for reasons he couldn't even begin to explain, he found himself just blurting out everything that had happened since the beginning of the month. All of it.  All of it.  Things he hadn't even told Naitch.  He even went back to the Saturday before Badd Blood when he'd found that first picture at her parent's house. Marie had remained quiet on the other end of the phone, making only small utterances and vocalizations every so often so he'd know she was still listening.  Only when he was finished did he feel even the slightest bit of trepidation that perhaps Nan wouldn't be very appreciative of his telling her friend all of the gruesome details regarding their current separation.  He stiffened his reserve.  He'd gladly suffer her anger and censure if it would lead him to her hiding place.

He finished, with a surprisingly soft, "So, now what do I do?"

Marie breathed in deeply.  That was a lot of information to process in such a concentrated burst with such a short amount of time to do so.  She exhaled with a sigh,  "Hunter, let me ask you a question."

"Sure.  Go ahead."

"Is she really like that?  The type of person to have a sexual liaison with three different men in a public place?"

"No," he admitted grudgingly.  "At least, not as long as I've known her.  And I've known her since '99.  She's dated some different guys in the locker-room, but there's never been any real dirt spread about her, not like that kind anyway.  And those guys do talk, lemme tell ya.  Besides, everyone knows that I'd rip out their throats if they said anything like that and I found out about it."

"Do you hear what you're saying?"

"I don't follow."

"You're defending her.  Albeit a little unwillingly, but you're still defending her." She let that sink in a moment then asked, "Do you trust her?"

Hunter didn't answer right away.  And when he did, his answer was slow in coming.  "Yeah.  I guess so."

"Doesn't sound like you're too positive of that."

He shook his head.  "This isn't a matter of trust."

"Isn't it?  If it's not about trust, then what is it about?"  When he didn't answer, she continued.  "Hunter, I know you've got no reason to trust that those men in the pictures were telling her the truth.  But she trusts them.  And believes them, too, I'm sure."

"So, vicariously, I should trust her enough to believe that she believes that they're telling the truth."

"Convoluted," Marie agreed, following the twisted turns in his logic.  "But yeah, that about sums it up.  Particularly, if, like you say, she's not the type to willingly participate in activities of that nature."

"I don't know if I can do that."

"What?" she queried.  "Trust them that much or trust Nan that much."

Now if he answered that the way he immediately wanted to, then he'd be proving to her and to himself that he really was as big of an asshole as everyone thought he was.  He couldn't make his mouth form an answer.

"Hunter, I'll be honest with you.  I don't know where she is.  If I did, I'd have told you by now.  But, I can tell you this.  Even if you do find her, and you still don't believe her or don't trust her, you won't get her back.  I don't know her as well as I'd like, or as well as you probably do, but I do know her well enough to know she can't live with a man who doesn't trust her."  Marie's voice dropped down an octave as she went for the low blow.  "Or who really believes she's a whore."

"Damn," he muttered, reeling a bit from that last verbal shot.  "You don't pull any punches, do you?"

"Nope.  No use in candy-coating the truth.  You're a big boy.  You can handle it.  But that’s what you have to do, you know.  Decide whether or not you can trust her.  If you can, my God, brotha, go get her.  But, if you can't," she sighed sadly.  "Then let her go."

He didn't remember saying goodbye.  He didn't remember hanging up the phone, switching off the computer, or even leaving the office.  All he knew was he unexpectedly found himself standing back in the living room, his calves backed up against the couch, staring at two photos of them on the wall beside the front door. His brain easily provided the date, March 25, 2002.  The night he defeated Jericho and Steph in a Triple Threat match for the undisputed title and sent Steph out of the WWE.  Like the one he'd shoved into his suitcase, these also had been taken backstage. He'd still been in his wrestling gear. In one, his mouth was open wide and roaring out his victory.  He held the RAW Heavyweight title belt up high in his right hand, while the Smackdown! championship belt was hanging from his left hand which lay draped over Nan's shoulder.  She had one arm wrapped around his waist, the other hand clenched around the end of the title belt dangling across her chest.  She looked almost as elated as he did.  In the second picture, he'd wrapped both arms around her, the belts still in his hands behind her back and had turned so she had to tip her head back to look at him, smiling up at him.  He had leaned down and kissed her forehead.  That's when the shot had been taken. 

He remembered her being so concerned about that picture since he and Steph had only been split up for little over a month by that point. Nan had been terrified that Steph would try and tie him up in the courts with that picture since he was still legally married to Steph at the time. But she hadn't, since he'd had the foresight to file the separation papers back in February. 

February.  There was that damn date again.  But he was too tired, and too worried, to try and figure it out right then. 

He felt something cool beneath his fingers.  Looking down, he saw his right hand resting on a black and cream swirled marble ball that sat in it's own chrome stand - a decoration of some kind - that Nan had picked up the last time they'd been in Texas.  It looked like a miniature bowling ball, but without the finger holes. He ran his fingers over it's cool, smooth surface. 

Abruptly, impotent rage bubbled up and spewed out.  With a mighty bellow, he roared loud enough that the windows rattled,  "Where are you?!"

Without stopping to think about it, he picked up the marble ball and hurled it with as much force as he was physically capable of, straight at the pictures on the wall next to the front door.  He missed.  But the solid marble sphere passed straight though the white painted sheet-rock, insulation, and out the other side into his office beyond the wall in question.  He thought he heard something shatter, but he didn't give a damn. 

Instead of checking it out, he fell backwards onto the oversized black leather couch, throwing one arm over his eyes, leaving one foot flat on the floor.  And he'd lain there ever since. But blocking out the light didn't help.  It only made it worse.  And that bottle of vodka was looking better and better to him.

She wasn't dead, which was good.  But the house was haunted, which was bad.  Haunted by memories of her.  Of them.  Even worse.  He groaned as images flickered across his mind's eye, like a 'greatest moments of' montage.

The first serious New England snowfall she'd ever seen.  Nude hot-tubbing on the deck during a lighter snow.  Nights spent in front of the fireplace.  Curled pretzel-style on the couch watching movies, or old wrestling tapes and DVDs.  Sometimes even some football - especially when the Panthers were playing.  Super Bowl Sunday, comforting her when her beloved Panthers lost, even though he'd been rooting for the Patriots the whole time.  Christmas.  Birthdays.  Valentine's Day…that one forced a slight smile out of him, remembering their unorthodox  method of celebrating Valentine's Day by watching really bad horror movies.  She'd always claimed she needed some good, old-fashioned violence to combat the sugar shock from all of the red and pink crap everywhere.  But the ghost of a smile faded almost as quickly as it came.  One anniversary.  And of course, their last fight.

His own words suddenly echoed through his head. 

"Because had I known you were a whore, I'd never have given you the time of day when Kane dumped you!"

Silence echoed in the house, and Nan reeled back away from him as if he'd struck her.  Her mouth dropped open.  "I can't believe you said that."

"And I can't believe I didn't see it in you before now." 

He couldn't stay here.  If he did, he would flip out completely and end up eating the shrubbery in the front yard or something.  Getting up, he grabbed his keys, his bags, and strode out the front door, heading for any hotel closest to the airport, never once thinking to check his messages. 

~<>~

I believe in Karma what you give is what you get returned
I believe you can't appreciate real love until you've been burned
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye
          Affirmation - Savage Garden

July 19, 2004  Monday 2:27 p.m.
Casa de Nash - Key Largo, FL 

"Nanette Eleanor Elliott!!! Front and center!!" bellowed a deep voice from somewhere near the front of the house.

Hearing it, Nan had to stop and remind herself that, one, Daddy's voice wasn't that deep, and two, Daddy wasn't in Florida.  She happened to glance down at the date in the bottom right hand corner of her laptop's screen.  July 19.  Oh shit.  She'd forgotten all about it.  "Darren, I'll have to call you back.  I'm about to be seriously yelled at."

"Nan,"  Her boss protested on the other end of the line.  "We need an answer."

"How soon?"  At his hesitation, she pressed forward.  "Come on, Darren.  You can't offer me a job like this that entails me moving halfway across the eastern seaboard and expect me to say yes immediately.  How long do I have to think about it?"

The older man sighed.  "Two weeks.  Tops.  One week preferably."

" Nanette!!  I'm not kidding here!"

"Coming!"  Nan yelled back then turned back to her cell, nodding.  "One week.  I hear ya.  You'll have an answer from me by Monday-week.  More likely earlier.  Bye, Darren."  Without giving her boss a chance to answer, she closed the cell phone and jumped up from her perch on the chaise lounge, where she'd spent the better part of two days working out her plans for her new future.  She took only enough time to slide her laptop to safety first.  She clipped the phone to the waistband of her shorts as she walked back through the house towards the front walkway where it sounded like his voice had come from.

Walking outside, she saw Kevin standing barefooted and half-asleep, but coming awake quickly, clothed only in a pair of running shorts, his long blond hair moving about by itself in the afternoon breeze.  He was currently arguing with a very put out looking deliveryman. 

"I'm telling you I don't know anything about it!  And I'm not signing a damn thing!"

"Excuse me.  Hi," she waved at both of them with a smile, and held out her hand.  "I'll sign for it."

"You 'N. Elliott?'"  the deliveryman grumbled.

"I am.  Thanks," she took the electronic clipboard from the man and scrawled her name on the viewpad with the attached stylus, then handed it back to the man.  "Would you please take it around the back?  You'll see where once you get back there."

"No problem, ma'am."  The man nodded, grinning smugly, and uttering a quiet 'heh-heh-heh' at the stupefied look on Kevin's face as he walked back to his truck.

Kevin spun around, pining her to the ground with a heated glare.  "What in the blue hell is that freakin' thing?!"

"What does it look like?"

Kevin stuck a finger in her face.  "Don't get smart with me, youngun'.  You know what I mean."

She sighed, placed her hand on his wrist and gently lowered it away from her face.  "It's Hunter's birthday present, Deez."

"You're shitting me!  You're giving him…that?!"

"Yep."

"For his birthday?!"

"You only turn thirty-five once, Deez."

"And you only turn thirty-six, thirty-seven, and thirty-eight once too.  But damn, sugar!  That??  God almighty!"  He slapped his hand to his forehead.  "I bet that thing cost more than my first house!"

"Probably." 

"Do I want to know?"

"Nope."

"Nee,"  he fixed her with an uncertain glance.  "I'm not trying to run your business for you.  But maybe you should send it back.  I mean, that's a hefty chunk of change just to let ride.  Especially right now."

She rolled her eyes at him.  "Deez, I'm not destitute.  I make a good living all by my little self.  And besides, I still get residuals from the Coliseum's intake."

His eyes widened.  "I thought you sold it when you moved in with Hunt."

She lifted an eyebrow.  "Now why would I do something that stupid?  You honestly think I'd ever let myself get to the point where I had to depend on someone else for my economical support ever again? Besides, it was Granddaddy's legacy to me.  I thought you knew me better than that.  For shame, Kevin."

"Okay, okay," he conceded, his hands held up.  "I admit it.  That was a pretty Neanderthalian assumption on my part.   Does Hunt know?"

"Nope.  Why should he?  We have separate accounts, as well as one joint one for household stuff.  No need for him to know exactly how much money I make.  Just like there's no need for me to know how much he makes."

Kevin shook his head, keeping a mental tally.  Hunter didn't know about the Coliseum.  He didn't know about her not being able to have children.  And he'd bet his left nut that he didn't know about Bobby either.  And he was certain she didn't know about Hunter's parents…his mother especially.  Now he was surprised this split hadn't come sooner than it had.  Way too many things between them that the other didn't know.  But once again, he kept his opinion to himself.

"Can't send it back, huh?  Still, it's a hell of a birthday present to give to a man you've split up with.  At least you'll get to enjoy it, even if he doesn't," he observed, assuming she would keep the gift for herself now.

"No, I won't."  Nan shook her head, her eyes losing some of their previous glow, becoming a bit haunted, her mouth turning down at the corners.  "I special ordered it months ago.  And asked them to deliver it here, because I thought I'd surprise him with a trip to see you.  After our fight, I just forgot all about it.  I'm sorry, Deez.  I won't leave it here for long.  Just until I can arrange to have it transported to Connecticut."

He looked at her like she'd just sprouted a tentacle growing from the middle of her forehead.  A purple one.  With warts on it.  "You're still giving it to him?  After what he said to you you're just gonna let him have it?"

"Yeah.  And besides, I had ulterior motives at the time I ordered it.  Not that they matter now," she sighed, watching the deliveryman move it around to the back.  "It's customized, Deez.  And paid for.  I can't take it back.  And who else would buy something like that if I were to sell it instead?  No, he may as well have it."

Kevin didn't say anything for a moment, just looking at the gift as well.  Damn, but his friend was a moron.  If there had been any spark of attraction between the two of them whatsoever, he just might have considered keeping her for himself.  "Hell, I'd buy it!  If you decide to sell it instead, I'll be glad to take it off your hands!  Name a price."

Her voice was low, barely even a whisper.  "I want him to have it.  Buy it from him, should he decide he wants to sell it." 

Once the gift was out of sight, she turned and looked up at Kevin.  He got a cold feeling in the pit of his belly, seeing the look of determination and decision on her face.  "What is it, Nee?"

"I'm going home."

Kevin grinned.  "Fantastic!  I'm glad you decided to give him another…"

Her negatively shaking head stopped him. 

"Home, Deez.  Not Connecticut. I've gotten a job offer that's too good to pass up, considering my current circumstances.  I've already booked a flight and gotten a hotel room until I can find an apartment that I like." She wiped away a stray tear that spilled down her cheek.  "Now, if you don't mind, I need to make a few phone calls."

He swallowed hard, nodding.  "When?"

"Tomorrow."

He let her go, mentally swearing.  Hunter was out of time.  He watched her go back through the house and out the patio door.  Giving her just a minute, he walked in the front door and took an immediate right down the hallway towards his bedroom.  Once inside, he shut and locked the door, before moving to the window, and opening the blinds just a touch, giving him a clear view of Nan sitting down on the chaise, already talking to someone on her cell phone, and picking up her laptop.

Reaching for the telephone, he picked it up, taking his eyes off of her only long enough to dial a number.  It rang three times.  Damn voicemail again.  Can't answer right now.  You know what to do.  Beep.

"Hunt.  It's Kev.  Get your ass down here.  And do it now.  You don't have much time.  I've found what you've lost." 

~<>~

Lord knows when you're not here, I get so damn bored of me
And I've spent some lonely nights that did not have to be
And if you could only see, I swear I'd show you true
And although I carry a load out on the road,
I wanna come back home to you
          What I Learned Out On The Road - Kid Rock 

July 19, 2004  Monday 8:40 p.m.
RAW - Washington, D.C. 

He was going nuts.  Absolutely, certifiably, straight jacket, padded cell, whacked out nuts. He'd not eaten in almost two days.  He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept. Dave had already tried to calm him down, but to no avail.  Randy was tiptoeing around him like he was sweating dynamite, liable to explode at the slightest jostling. And explode he had.  Taking an entire locker room with him.  He didn't even remember what had set him off this time.  And now he'd destroyed yet another locker-room.  Wracked up probably a pretty impressive set of damages too.  Bischoff was screaming about sending him to anger management classes, threatening to hang him from the nearest flagpole.

And Hunter had lunged for him,  brought up short by Dave wrapping both arms around him and hauling him backward.  As Hunter struggled against the larger man, Bischoff had scurried out of the destroyed locker-room when a lackey had come to tell him his sister was on the phone.  Probably about Eugene.

"Get off me!"  Hunter growled at Batista.

"Hunter, Champ, you gotta calm down."  Dave almost pleaded with him as he let his leader go.

Before Hunter could respond, a knock fell on the locker-room door, then opened, the person not waiting to be invited in.  Edge walked through the door, stopping short looking around at the destruction.  He shook his head.  "You're absolute hell on the furniture, man."

"What the fuck do you want, Edge.  I'm in no mood."

"Oh you're definitely in a mood, Hunter."  Edge grinned sinisterly, bearing his teeth, then quickly held up a hand, stopping Batista who was starting towards him.  "I'm not here to take you down.  Not yet.  Karen sent me."

Hunter's eyes narrowed.  "Why?"

"This."  Edge hefted up a blue pet carrier, in which Hunter could easily see a very asleep Dixie through the plastic coated bars.  "We're headed out of town tonight for the rest of the week and Nan's Mom and Dad are going to the beach.  So that means you get her dog back.  Against my better judgment, I might add."

"Gimmie that."  Hunter snatched the carrier out of his hand, set it down on one of the benches and opened the cage.  He had to reach in to get her because she wasn't moving.  He pulled her out, and lifted her up to his face, jostling her just a little.  "Dixie?  Sweet pea?  Come on.  Talk to me."

The little brown dachshund blearily peeled open one eye, gave his cheek a half-hearted, but thoroughly wet lick, then turned in his hands, curling up on his shoulder and immediately dropped back into a very deep sleep.  That was definitely not the reaction he was expecting from her.  She usually yipped and danced and wet herself when she'd not seen him in a while.  And after three weeks of not seeing him, he half-expected her to explode, not curl up and go to sleep on his shoulder.

Hunter fixed Edge with an incendiary glare.  "What the hell did you do to her?!"

"Relax, Gamezilla.  She's just riding high on Benadryl.  She doesn't fly well. Who knew?"  He shrugged.  "Besides, with all of these strange people around, she'd probably do better asleep."

Hunter, still cradling Nan's dog on his shoulder, barely even registering as Randy leaned over and rubbed her head murmuring something he couldn't quite make out, just looked at Edge for a minute.  Then he nodded.  "Thanks."

Edge slid a red backpack off his shoulder and tossed it to the floor.  "Here's her food, toys, medicine, etc."  He looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead he just glared at Randy then turned and left the locker-room.

Hunter stared after him for a moment then peered over his shoulder at Randy who still was gently petting Dixie's head, rubbing her ears.  "Randy, go find me someone who Nan trusts."

"Huh?"  Randy lifted a skeptical eyebrow at him.  "How do I know who she trusts around you?"

"The dog, nitwit.  Someone she'd trust to watch the dog."  Batista answered for him.

"Oh!  Yeah, sure thing, Hunter."

As Randy left, Naitch walked in.  He took one look at the wreckage, the almost comatose dog on Hunter's shoulder, the look on Dave's face, and motioned the big man towards the door.  Dave slipped out quietly, leaving Hunter alone with Naitch in the locker-room.

He just watched silently as Hunter gently slid Dixie back into the carrier.  It was like watching him just before Vengeance all over again.  But worse somehow.  This was beginning to drive him insane.  "How you holding up, Champ?"

"Eh," Hunter responded, shrugging a shoulder.  "Hand me that bag, would ya, Naitch?"

Ric passed him the bag, keeping quiet as he watched Hunter unzip it, reach inside, and retrieve a small stuffed white teddy bear.  He slid it inside the pet carrier, latched the door, and zipped the bag, dropping it to the floor, just below the bench.

"Man, what are you gonna do to fix this?  Cause it's gonna drive us all to an asylum."

Hunter looked up at him, running a hand over his slicked down hair.  "What can I do, Naitch?  I don't know where she is."

"Sure you do.  You told me just this morning they'd traced her to Miami."

"And she disappeared again."

"So?  At least that gives you someplace to start.  Call her again."

"She won't return my calls."

Ric looked down at the cell-phone clipped to hunter's belt.  The message light was blinking.  "When was the last time you checked your messages?"

Hunter shrugged, turning away to peer again at Dixie through the bars.  She'd better be okay, he thought to himself.  It'll kill Nan if something happens to her.

"Don't you think you should?"  Ric's voice interrupted his internal musings.

"Will you lay off me if I do?"

"No.  But check 'em anyway."

With a disgusted glare, Hunter plucked the phone from his belt and punched in his code. 

You have two new messages.  To play the messages, press 'one.'  He did as instructed.  First message, Sunday, 2:31 p.m.

He murmured quietly, "Please, let it be her."

It was. 

Hey.  He could hear her voice shake.  She'd been crying, and was trying not to start up again.  He could tell.  She cleared her throat and spoke again. His stomach rolled over.  Unless you've got a problem with it, I'll be there on Wednesday to pack up my things.  I don't want you to think I'm taking anything that doesn't belong to me, so if you want to be there to make sure, that's fine.  If not, expect me to be out completely by Thursday or Friday. I just want this to go as easily as possible.  So, if I leave anything…well, do whatever you want with it.  I…I'm…I've got to go.  Bye.

Numb clean down to the bone, he stared over at Naitch with shuttered eyes, closing his cell phone, forgetting about the second message.

"Well?"

A voice he didn't recognize as his own answered lowly, "I've lost her."

"Bullshit!"  Ric exploded, pushing himself away from the wall, his eyes wide and snapping.  "Bullshit, you've lost her!  You haven't even tried to keep her!"

Hunter just stared up at the wrestling veteran as he advanced on him.  "Hey, Ric, easy."

"No!  No more easy!"  He fisted his fingers in Hunter's black polo shirt, jerking the younger man to his feet.  "Now you listen to me, and do what I tell you or goddamnit no one's gonna be able to recognize you in the mornin'!  I owe that little girl a hell of a lot of apologies, which she won't listen to, or let me even try to make.  But maybe by kicking you in the ass I can at least start.  And, Hunter, by God, you're gonna fix this if I hafta beat you half-to death to get you to!  You've got the opening monologue tonight.  And we both know she won't miss an airing of this show.  So you get your sorry ass out there and figure out how to let her know you want her back!"

"How the fuck am I supposed to do that?! Huh?!"  Hunter yelled back, knocking Ric's hands away.  "I'm supposed to go out there and gloat about beating the living hell out of Eugene last week!  How am I supposed to get her attention with that kind of speech?!  Explain that one to me, Naitch!"

"You're a bright boy!  You figure it out!"

Just then the door opened, and Randy walked back in, Stacy Keibler in tow.  He glanced back and forth between Hunter and Ric.  A person would have had to been blind to see the strained atmosphere between the two men.  "Uh, hey, Hunter.  She okay?"

"Yeah."

Ric's fixed a warning look on Hunter before turning on his heel and marching out of the locker-room.  He paused long enough to share a glare with the leggy blonde and to grab Randy by the elbow and drag him along. 

"Hey, Naitch, what gives!"

"Later."

Hunter motioned for Stacy to come further in. "Stace, you mind watching Dixie while I'm out in the ring.  Make sure she's okay or take her out if she has to go or somethin'?"

"Sure.  No problem. I like Dixie.  She's a cutie-pie.  You should be back by the time I go on, right?" Stacy bent over and peered into the pet carrier with a smile, then stood back up and really got a good look at Hunter.  She flashed him a concerned frown, raising a hand to rub his arm affectionately.  "Hunter, you okay?"

He pursed his lips, then twisted them in a half-grimace.  "No.  But I think I may know a way I can be.  Thanks again Stace.  I owe you one."  Reaching for his bottle of water, he left the locker room, bound for the ring. 

~<>~

I don't expect my love affairs to last for long
Never fool myself that my dreams will come true
Being used to trouble I anticipate it
But all the same I hate it--wouldn't you?
Time and time again I've said that I don't care
That I'm immune to gloom, that I'm hard through and through
But every time it matters all my words desert me
So anyone can hurt me--and they do
Call in three months time and I'll be fine I know
Well maybe not that fine, but I'll survive anyhow
I won't recall the names and places of this sad occasion
But that's no consolation--here and now
          Another Suitcase In Another Hall - Madonna "Evita"

July 19, 2004, Monday, 8:58 p.m.
Casa de Nash, Key Largo, FL 

Still wearing her bathing suit from earlier that afternoon, Nan sat beside Kevin on the couch, yet another huge bowl of popcorn between them, watching the last of Star Trek: The Next Generation, and waiting for RAW to start, as had become their habit over the last few weeks.  She couldn't believe she'd been there almost a month.  Or that he hadn't thrown her out.  Or that she was leaving for North Carolina tomorrow, and then on to Connecticut to pack up her life on Wednesday.  Hunter hadn't called her back, so she assumed that he probably wouldn't be there when she picked up her things.  It was better that way, really, she told herself.  She'd already called her sister to tell her where she'd be, after trying her parents and hadn't gotten an answer.  They'd gone to the beach to visit her oldest brother, Robbie and his wife.  She made a mental note to call Karen tomorrow to arrange a time to pick up Dixie on Wednesday before she headed to the house.  God, but she was dreading that.

"You okay, shug?"

She looked up and flashed him an obviously false smile.  "Right as the mail."

"Yeah, you look it."  Kevin paused a minute, taking a swig of his beer.  "You know, Nee, you don't have to leave tomorrow.  You can stay if you wanna.  I kinda like having you here."

She smiled at him, a real one this time, blinking back the sudden moisture behind her eyes.  "Thanks, Deez.  But it's time I moved on.  Ya know?"

He nodded slowly.  "Yeah.  I kind of figured you'd say that."

Time to play the Game!

Nan turned her attention to the television screen, surprised that Hunter would be starting out the hour.  And her surprise just mounted when she saw him come out in street clothes.  Black dress slacks, black polo shirt, blonde hair slicked back into a ponytail.  He kept his head down, fingering the whiskers on his chin.  She frowned, not at all sure what was going on. 

Kevin caught the frown and surreptitiously darted his eyes back and forth between the television screen and her face.  But Nan didn't notice Kevin's concerned glances in her direction. 

All she could see was Hunter's hangdog expression and his bowed shoulders, looking like he was carrying the weight of the world on his back.  He looked so tired.  He climbed slowly up the stairs and into the ring.  Then he looked up, right into the camera, and she gasped at the bleakness in those whisky colored eyes.  That wasn't The Game in that ring, or the Cerebral Assassin.  Not even Triple H.  That was her Hunter standing there, raising the mic to his lips.

"I know…I know a lot of you…a lot of you aren't…aren't too happy about, ah, what I did last week.  And I…and I know, believe it or not, believe it or not, I'm not too proud of myself either.  No.  I mean it."

Her mouth dropped open, unable to accept what she was hearing.  "What's he doing?"

"Sounds like he's apologizing.  As best he can, considering.  I could be wrong though, wouldn't be the first time."  Kevin lifted the beer to his mouth, and took a deep pull from it to hide his smile.

Hunter continued, walking around the ring slowly, his eyes sad.  "I've done a lot of low things in my life.  I have.  I admit that.  But, ah, what I did last week was, ah, probably even below me.  What I did to…Eugene last week…it, ah, made me feel…rotten…inside."

Without saying a word, Kevin calmly retrieved and passed Nan the box of tissues sitting on the coffee table.  Automatically, she took some out of the box and wiped at the tears rolling lazily down her cheeks.  She watched, her mouth slightly open, her eyes continuing to leak as Hunter raised his hand and rubbed his fingertips up and down against his stomach, a gesture she knew too well.

"It felt terrible.  It burned in my gut.  It tied my stomach in knots.  I felt horrible.  It made me feel sick.  I felt…pained.  It was a horrible feeling."

Then she saw it.  His eyes, clicked, for lack of a better word, and he changed from her Hunter to Triple H, the Game.  Just that quickly.  Didn't matter though.  She'd heard him.  She'd heard him.  The rest of what he'd said, though hilariously entertaining, didn't mean anything.  Not to her anyway. 

Although Kevin almost sprayed beer out of his nose when Hunter pulled the mic up close and said, "That's when it happened.  Pppppbbbfffftttt!  I farted!" 

She got tickled then, laughing mainly at Kevin, but also at Hunter's antics in the ring, as he continued on his tirade. "That's right!  Once I got it out, I felt better!  Just like last week with Eugene!  Once I got rid of it, I…felt…great!!"

No one but Hunter could ever make her laugh while being so maliciously cruel at the same time.  But that was the essential difference between Hunter, and The Game, to her, anyway.  Hunter had an ingenious, infectious sense of humor, where The Game was ice cold, and calculatingly cruel.  And only rarely did the two ever really combine.  But, she reminded herself, that last night together had been the first time he'd ever turned The Game on her.  It had been the last too.  She still enjoyed his in ring persona, but she never wanted to see it directed at her ever again.  And, she chastised herself, she never would, either.  She stopped laughing, turning back to the screen.

"Is he crying?  Is he crying?  There's no crying in wrestling!"  Hunter's voice called from the television.

Nan started laughing.  Deep.  Loud.  Long.  And unending.

It was eerie.

At first, Kevin chuckled with her, thinking she had a positively evil laugh when it suited her.  A laugh so chillingly cold, that it would have done Mephistopheles proud.  But then he noticed she wasn't stopping.  And it was rising in volume, but dropping down in pitch at the same time.  Concerned, he looked over at her to see that her eyes weren't focused on anything and her shoulders were shaking.  

He realized what was happening a split second before the deep laughter turned to sobs, and he reached out, pulling her close to him, pushing the popcorn bowl to the floor in the process.  He wrapped her up tightly, holding on for dear life as she sobbed and almost screamed against him, her raw emotions needing an outlet and finding none but this.  He rubbed her back and patted her head, murmuring to her all the while.

"It'll be okay, sugar.  I promise.  You're gonna be just fine.  Just fine.  You'll see."  But even he was beginning to doubt.

~<>~

You look and wish on a falling star
Does it remind you of who you are?
He wants to heal up your broken heart...
Love's not far, far behind
It's never too late to change your mind
When you fall and start to cry
There's always a second time
          Second Chance - The Echoing Green

July 19, 2004  Monday 9:40 p.m.
RAW - Washington, D.C. 

"I thought I told you to check those messages."  Ric grumbled at Hunter as Dave left the locker-room after his discussion on his upcoming match with Benoit.

"Lay off, Naitch."  Hunter groused, grabbing his silver case off the shelf and strapped it to his rolling suitcase with the attached Velcro straps.  He slid the red backpack with all of Dixie's things in it over his shoulders, and wrapped his fingers around the handle of his suitcase, thankful that he'd checked out prior to coming to the arena.  He fixed the wrestling legend with a cold glare.  "I did what you asked."

Ric nodded, with a smile.  "You sure did.  And very well too."

"Don't see what good it's gonna do.  I told you before she won't take my calls."

"Maybe she called you.  The message light on your phone is blinking again."

Hunter blinked at him then looked down to where the phone was clipped to his belt.  "Damn if it ain't."  He looked back up at Ric, a tiny flicker of hope shining in his eyes.  "You don't think…"

"Who gives a shit what I think?  Check your damn messages!"

Hunter let go of the suitcase's handle, but left the backpack where it hung over his shoulders, and thumbed through the opening sequence in quick succession.  "Yeah, yeah, yeah.  Come on already."  He punched the last button and lifted the phone to his ear, hardly daring to breathe.

It wasn't her. 

The sudden weight of disappointment almost made him stagger.  He shook his head at Naitch who frowned, and looked down at the floor.  Then Hunter's mouth dropped open. 

Hunt.  It's Kev.  Get your ass down here.  And do it now.  You don't have much time.  I've found what you've lost.

Hunter's bellow could be heard all through back stage, to the point that he even had the sound men scrambling to cover it up in the Gorilla position.  "I'm gonna fuckin' kill him!"

He rammed the phone down into his pants pocket, snatched up the bags, and Dixie's carrier, and forearmed the lock-room door open, causing it to shudder violently on its abused hinges.  He stalked down the hallway, with Ric hot on his heels.  One look at the raw fury on The Game's face sent tech workers, crewmen, and other talent milling about in the hallways scurrying for cover.  All of them were desperate get out of his way, since Triple H wasn't known for being too discriminating on who he attacked when he was as riled as he was now.

"What?  Who?"  Ric called after him as they reached the outside.

Hunter stuck his fingers in his mouth and let out an ear-piercing whistle, haling down a passing taxicab.  The cab screeched to a stop just inches from his toes. Opening the door, he tossed the bags in the back, and set Dixie's carrier in the front, buckling it in place.  Then he turned back to Ric.

"Tell Bischoff that I'm taking the whole week off and not just tonight.  If he doesn't like it, tell him he can fire my ass!"  He slid into the back seat and slammed the door, rolling down the window.  "Dulles Airport,"  he barked at the driver. 

"Champ!  Where are you going?!"  Ric hollered at him as the cab started to peel away from the curb

"Florida!  She's in goddamn Key Largo with Kevin Fuckin' Nash!" 

~<>~

Waiting, Wait, Waiting
Cause everybody's playing the waiting game
Waiting, Wait, Waiting
It doesn't even matter if you both feel the same
Waiting, Wait, Waiting
Come on make your move, baby you're driving me insane
Waiting, Wait, Waiting
Everybody's playing the waiting game
          The Waiting Game - The Olsen Twins

July 20, 2004 Tuesday 12:15 a.m.
Casa de Nash - Key Largo, FL 

They'd watched the rest of the show, after her outburst.  She'd pulled it together pretty quickly this time, Kevin thought to himself.  Almost too quickly.  She was still sniffling, but by the time William Regal came out to assault Hunter, her eyes were dry.  But something, an inner instinct from knowing this woman for over eleven years maybe, told him that this was simply the eye of the hurricane - no insult to the green-haired kid from North Carolina intended.  And from living through more than his fair share of Florida hurricanes, he knew that the eye was not someplace you really wanted to be.  Because that meant the worst of the storm was still to come.

She'd tried to cover her feelings, and had done a pretty good job of it too.  But not good enough.  He could tell her cheers were forced.  And that her cursed insults lacked their normal creativity and heat.  Except for when she laughed at Stacy's posing with Hurricane.  That had been genuine.  And when she'd cursed Bischoff over his last minute switch of match stipulations for Jericho and Kane.  She'd cursed the RAW general manager so foully, calling him things he'd never heard her say before, that the tips of his ears turned red.  Oh, yeah, that hadn't been forced at all.  That was one hundred percent legitimate.

But that was it.  She'd tried to get into the re-match with Randy and Edge, but her enthusiasm had fallen flat.  She was emotionally spent.  Which, when she told him she needed to be alone for a little while, was why he didn't stop her.  He knew she was headed for the beach.  But she'd promised him she wouldn't get in the water above her ankles.  That had been the only reason he'd agreed to let her go alone.

Still, he didn't like it.  But she was a big girl and someone had to show her they trusted her.  May as well be him.  So there he crouched on the floor, in the quiet silence of his living room, picking up the spilled popcorn and tossing it into the garbage.  He looked at the green clock read out on the VCR.  12:37 a.m.

Guess Hunter wasn't coming.

He sighed, shaking his head and went back to cleaning up the mess. 

~<>~

Breakin' the silence is the hardest thing in life
Knowing that you're wrong
Feelin' like you can't go on
I've been a victim so many times
But I'm man enough to know when I'm wrong
          I'm Wrong But You Ain't Right - Kid Rock

July 20, 2004  Tuesday 1:09 a.m.
Casa de Nash - Key Largo, FL 

He made it.  Opening his wallet, he threw bills at the driver, then tossed in two more for good measure.  After all, the guy had done almost ninety, getting him from Miami to Key Largo in record time.  Someone up there must like him.  He'd yelled, threatened, thrown his weight around, thrown Vince's weight around.  But yet, here he stood outside of Kevin Nash's house only three hours and ten minutes after he'd left Washington, D.C.  And with today's airport security, that was unheard of.

"Need help with your bags, sir?"  the cabby asked.

"Nah.  I got it. Thanks."  He answered as he slid the backpack over his shoulders, grabbing both the handle for his two cases and Dixie's carrier.  She was still out cold, poor thing.  Actually, he hated to admit it but Edge had probably done him a favor by drugging the little dog stupid.

"Thank you, sir!  Have a nice stay!"  the cabby called out enthusiastically over his tip as he pulled away.

Hunter had had some time to calm down a bit before his arrival.  But one thing was still for certain.  Nash had a major ass kicking' coming for letting him go nuts all this time.  He walked up to the house, set Dixie's carrier down, and knocked on the door.

Pounding on his door, hard enough to jar it slightly from its frame, almost made Kevin dump yet another bowl of popcorn on the floor.  He knew it wasn't Nan, because she'd be coming in through the back, not the front.  And she wouldn't knock like he was about to be raided.  He looked at the clock.  One in the morning.  Who in the hell…?

"Nash!  Open this fuckin' door before I break it the fuck down!"

Kevin grinned, so wide his cheeks hurt from it.  Looks like Hunter made it after all.  He took his time getting up.  Setting down the bowl of popcorn.

"Nash!" More pounding.

Stretching and scratching his belly.  Crossing the room.

"Nash!  Goddamnit!" 

When he heard the wood begin to splinter, he jerked open the door with a swiftness that almost sent Hunter sprawling inside.  He leaned against the jamb, effectively blocking his entry into his home.  "Bout damn time you showed up.  What the fuck took you so long?"

"I didn't know where she was!  You could have told me when you called after Vengeance, you know!"

"Nah.  Promised her I wouldn't.  Besides.  You both needed the separation to get your priorities straight."  Kevin crossed his arms over his chest.

"You gonna let me in?"

Kevin fixed him with a hard stare.  "That all depends."

"On what," Hunter growled, trying to see around the bigger man into the house.

"On you."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!  You fuckin' called me and told me to get down here!  I'm here!  So, where is she?!"  Hunter's voice was going up in volume again.

Kevin shook his head, grinning, in no way impressed with Hunter's display, but still enjoying it immensely.  "Now see, that's exactly what I'm talkin' about.  You've got no idea how close you are to losing her for good.  She's got a flight booked for tomorrow back to North Carolina, Hunt.  She's gonna do it too, unless you manage to change her mind between now and oh, four-thirty tomorrow afternoon."

"Then let me in so I can shake some sense into her!"

Kevin pulled up to his full height, his easy lackadaisical smile and mannerisms fading away until he resembled nothing but the Diesel Hunter remembered from the ring.  "You listen to me, and listen up good.  She's on the edge of flying apart.  She can't take another blow, Helmsley.  And so help me God, if you hurt her after I've called you down here, you'd better dig a fuckin' hole.  Because I'll make Badd Blood's fight last year look like a Sunday School picnic.  Only this time, you won't be walkin' away.  Get me?"

Hunter just looked up at him for a minute, seeing how serious Nash was about this.  And then he began to really get just how badly they'd screwed up.  He could feel his anger start to bleed away, and some of that same uneasiness as when the police had come to find him in Baltimore was returning.  He blew out a frustrated breath and nodded. 

"Were you this tough on her too?"

Kevin nodded, but didn't look pleased at the admission.  "Yeah, she made me be.  Made her cry once."

Hunter's face-hardened.  "And for that, I am gonna hit you.  But not now."

"I kinda expected that."  Nash nodded again.  "She's out on the beach."  He stepped aside, letting Hunter into the house. 

Hunter just dropped his bags where they were and handed something off to Kevin.  "Hold this, would ya?  And don't wait up."

Without another word, he crossed into the living room and out the patio door toward the stretch of beach that lay just beyond the in-ground pool in Kevin's back yard.  Hunter paused only long enough to kick off his dress shoes, and peel away his socks, leaving them on the pool deck, then continuing his trek barefooted out onto the white sand.

Kevin watched his friend stride out to hopefully fix his mistakes and lay the groundwork for a half-decent future, smiling to himself.  He looked down at what Hunter handed him and began to laugh loudly, rubbing his free hand down his face.

Hunter was off to hopefully win back the woman he was too stubborn, or too stupid, to admit he loved, while he was left standing in the house, watching from a distance. 

Holding a dog. 

In a box. 

~<>~

Some love is just a lie of the soul
A constant battle for the ultimate state of control
After you've heard lie upon lie
There can hardly be a question of why
Some love is just a lie of the heart
The cold remains of what began with a passionate start
But that can't happen to us
Because it's always been a matter of trust
          A Matter Of Trust - Billy Joel

July 20, 2004  Tuesday 1:30 a.m.
The Beach - Key Largo, FL 

She'd been on the beach just walking up and down the shoreline for what felt like days.  But  her watch said it'd been less than two hours.  She loved the ocean at night.  So dark, powerful, and mysterious.  At night it was almost like a living thing all by itself.  And with the full moon high in the sky above her, it's silvery rays dancing like diamonds on the surface of the water, and breaking with the waves, it was probably the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.  It was at times like these that she wished she could paint.  To capture this splendor on canvas would be one of her greatest joys.  But painting wasn't one of her talents.  So instead, she settled for just enjoying the natural beauty of the real thing.

She was headed back to the house, because she knew Kevin would be worrying by now.  Actually, she was kind of surprised that he'd not come out and sat in the sand, like he usually did, even though he'd promised he wouldn't this time.  That had felt nice.  That he'd trusted her enough to keep her word and not go swimming tonight.  Still, regardless of her warm fuzzy feelings about it, it probably wasn't too smart for her to be walking up and down the beach this late by herself.  With that in mind, she lifted her head to see how far away she was from Deez's house, looking for the tell-tale porch light and obnoxiously bright yellow beach umbrella stuck in the sand about twenty-five feet from his entrance to the beach.

She spotted the umbrella instantly, about forty yards ahead of her.  But she saw something else at the same time.  She wasn't alone on the beach anymore.  She couldn't see a face from this distance, but he walked through the sand with the low-slung hip rotations that only a man would make.  A large man.  And he was walking straight at her.

He saw her the moment he stepped out onto the sand.  He stopped to watch her just for a minute, almost afraid if he moved forward, she'd disappear again.  She was standing by the water's edge, scuffing her toes into the wet sand, kicking at the surf.  She'd walk towards him for a minute, gaze out at the ocean, and then dig her toes into the sand again.  Maybe it was the fact that he'd not seen her in three weeks.  Or maybe it was due to the moonlight dancing off the waters, and the warm Florida breeze that was blowing her hair gently around her face.  It could have been all three.  Regardless of what caused it, he didn't think he'd ever seen her look more beautiful right then than he had since the day he met her.  Even with her face tinged with sadness, her mouth drooping at the corners.

He started walking towards her, rehearsing every single thing he planned on saying to her.

She knew that walk.  It had taken her a minute to place it, but she knew that walk.  No one moved like Hunter did.  Not even through loose and shifting sand.  Her stomach immediately started rolling and she wanted desperately to run in the opposite direction.  She couldn't see  him.  Not now.  She wasn't ready!  Wasn't prepared.  She was supposed to have had another day!  What was he doing in Key Largo?!  How had he found….Kevin.  Kevin must have called him, the lying bastard.  Her heart screamed at her to run.  But her brain finally yelled, 'No' even louder.  Instead of running, she began to walk towards him.

About the time they were even with the yellow beach umbrella, they stopped, within arm's length of each other.  He must have caught a plane straight from the arena that night, because he was still dressed in the black slacks and black polo shirt he'd worn on the show.  His long blond hair blew around in the evening breeze and she had to fight back the urge to smooth it away from his face for him.  He just stared down at her, his eyes unreadable in the faint light from Kevin's porch lamp.

He wanted to yell at her, bellow, bluster, and generally make her feel like complete shit for scaring him half out of his mind.  She was expecting it.  He could see it in the tense set to her shoulders, and the way she didn't quite face him all the way, keeping her body turned slightly to the side.  She was afraid.  Of him.  Shame flooded his veins. Normally he didn't mind it when people were afraid of him.  Didn't bother him at all.  In fact, he kind of liked it.  But not her.  He didn't want her to be afraid.  Ever.  And especially not of him.  But, after what he'd last said to her, he couldn't really blame her.

As his continued silence grew, he watched the look on her face change from trepidation to concern. Almost involuntarily she took a step towards him, and laid a hand on his bicep.  She was worried about him.  She still cared about him.  And every single thing he'd rehearsed from D.C. to the minute he got out of the cab, that he wanted to say to her, flew right out of his head.

And before he realized what he was doing, he wrapped both arms around her, bending over her, crushing her tightly against him, burying his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in her spicy scent. "I'm sorry,"  he groaned.  "God, baby.  I am so sorry."

The past three weeks had seemed like an eternity, but the moment his arms went around her she remembered exactly how she felt whenever he held her.  Safe.  Protected.  Cherished.  Loved.  Her body molded itself to his instinctively, fitting perfectly against every curve, every indentation.  Her arms went around him, fingers splaying across the broad muscles in his back, digging in, and unconsciously searching out knots of tension just like always. 

"I'm sorry, too, Hunter."  Her breath caught on a sob.  "I should never have run from you."

He lifted his face, tracing her jaw with his finger.  "No tears now, baby.  We both screwed up big time.  And we'll deal with it."

She reached up and wound her fingers in the thick, silky blonde strands hanging over his shoulders.  She nodded, her throat still thick with emotion. "I missed you."

"I thought I was going out of my mind."  He pressed his forehead against hers, and she leaned up into his embrace, tilting her face towards him.

His eyes grew dark, and his lids lowered.  He lifted one hand, tilting her face up even further with his index finger.  Hunter's  kisses never failed send a warm, languid sensation spiraling through her system.  Enclosed by his arms, by the incredible heat coming from his body, Nan melded herself against him.  Hunter's hands claimed her, one riding low on her hip, the other moving around to the back of her head, supporting her and pressing her close to his body.

Hunter's hand surged beneath her bottom and lifted her firmly up to him.  He groaned, trembled, and hefted her higher, her feet dangling off the ground.  Locking her legs around his hips, wrestling to keep that heat and excitement close, Nan sent them toppling backward to the sand.  Hunter spun, taking the brunt of the fall on himself, with her landing on top of him.  They'd managed to hit the blanket underneath the umbrella.  Quickly he rolled, reversing their positions so she lay beneath him. He slanted his mouth, spiraling the kiss deeper, his mustache and beard tickling her cheeks.  Even through their fall, he had never relinquished the claim on her mouth,  his tongue licking greedily at her lips, his face burning against hers.  His big hands cupped her bottom, pulling her closer to him. 

When the need for oxygen made him tear himself away from her, she whimpered at the loss. He feathered delicate kisses across her forehead, over both eyes, down the bridge of her nose, and then finally back down to her lips, caressing them gently, tenderly, lingering over the sweetness he found there.  He pulled back to look down into her eyes, what little he could see in the dim light, now even made dimmer by the shelter of the umbrella.

"Don't run from me again."  It wasn't phrased like a question,  but she could still hear the worry and entreaty in his voice.

She shook her head.  "I won't."

He nodded, and rolled off of her, shifting so that he lay on his belly, one arm thrown across her waist, his head pillowed between her breasts.  "Good," he murmured with a yawn as her fingers came up to run through his hair, massaging his scalp.  "I don't wanna go through that again."

"You won't have to," she whispered to him, knowing that he didn't hear her.  With her back where she belonged, safe in his circle of protection, Hunter had fallen asleep. 

Idly, she stroked his hair, feeling more secure than she had in almost a month.  They still had what prompted their separation to deal with.  And they would deal with it.  But not tonight.  For the first time since July first, she actually felt the bud of hope bloom in her breast.  Sighing, she smiled, wrapped her arms around the mountain of a man who'd taken up just about all of the room in her heart, and closed her eyes.

The porch light clicked off.  But neither of them saw it. 

<End>

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