Survivor Series 2001

She screeched as she watched her team lose. It wasn't the team losing per se, which had her yelling as loud as her lungs would allow…it was what she had invested in the event, and in the team.

Which was-well, everything she owned just about.

Stephanie sank into the cushions of what just might be the last leather couch in an arena locker room that she would ever sit on in her life. "I have nothing left," she sobbed into her hands "nothing! What am I gonna do?" She allowed her head to drop to her knees.

She didn't know how long she had been sitting like that and the next thing she knew the room she was in was suddenly overflowing with Alliance members.

Some were yelling, some were muttering, and some were…crying? Stephanie shook her head slowly. I'm the one who had every dollar of mine invested in these good for nothing idiots and they have the nerve to be crying! She didn't bother attempting to acknowledge or console any of them. She did, however, give her brother a sympathetic pat on the back as he moped his way inside the room, as she was leaving. I hope he doesn't expect more, it's his fault I'm in this fucking mess anyway.

Three hours later, she entered – well, rather, stumbled into her hotel room after what seemed like an eternity of driving around aimlessly, waiting for her husband to call…then waiting for him to return her call and drowning her sorrows in various shots of various drinks whose names she could no longer remember, at the bar downstairs.

She blamed one person for her current state: her oh-so loving husband, Hunter. She scoffed. "Bastard can't even call to offer sympathy," she mumbled into her pillow.

Deciding that she still felt too hurt, she also decided that she apparently hadn't drank enough. She fixed herself up as quickly as possible, and stumbled right back out of the door.

She tapped her foot on the floor impatiently as the elevator stopped on just about every damn floor to pick up, or let someone off. I just had to be on the 25th floor, didn't I? She thought dryly. Once the elevator was empty again, she reached into her purse and took out her compact mirror to check herself once again.

The elevator dinged. She knew it hadn't been long enough for her to be where she needed to be so she didn't bother to look up.

"Princess, I can tell you right now, you look like shit. There's nothing you can do about it, to stop staring."

That…voice! I hate that voice. She slowly lifted her head to confirm her suspicion. She groaned, narrowed her eyes and spat out, "what the fuck do you want, Jericho?"

He chuckled.

Fucking bastard is laughing at me, how dare he!

"Oh nothing. Believe me, had I known you would be on this elevator, I would have taken the stairs," he grinned. He rubbed his chin in thought, then added "actually I take that back. I get to be among the first to make fun of your failure."

Her cheek ticked, with her irritation.

"So, Steph, tell us, how does it feel to be among the poor now?" He said in his best interviewer voice and held out his hand as a faux microphone.

"Oh, go to hell!" She snapped, and shoved his hand away. "Go find something better to do. Don't you annoy me at work enough?" She briefly paused to compose herself, but not with the intention to have to hear him say "umm…no."

Her anger welled up again, "listen you jackass, I do not have to put up with your crap anymore, we are not at work!"

He laughed loudly.

Her eyes widened in surprise. What the hell is so funny?

He continued laughing.

She slowly shook her head. Maybe he's finally lost it.

His laughing got louder…something she didn't think was possible. Was that? Tears! She had to ask.

She rolled her eyes before throwing her arms in the air in defeat and confusion, "what is so damn funny?"

After a minute or so more of laughing and holding his side, he composed himself enough to say, between laughs "you."

She nodded, slowly, not comprehending his point.

He noticed. "You said that we're not at work so you don't have to put up with me."

"Right. Believe me I meant it. Forgive me, I still don't see what's funny about that…."

He walked over and patted Stephanie on the head and shook his head in pity. She threw his hands off her and backed away.

"Dear, have you forgotten you don't have a job? I couldn't annoy you 'at work' anyway!" He began to laugh again.

No. He. Fucking. Did. Not. Just. Say. That. She blinked slowly, not sure what to say. Technically, he was right. But that didn't mean she wasn't pissed. Severely pissed. "Go fuck yourself Jericho," she all but screamed. "Ugh!" She grumbled loudly, pressed a button and walked off the elevator that had long since dinged, but she failed to notice during her confrontation.

After she had downed what seemed like two entire bottles of Jack Daniels, she stood to her feet slowly, unsurely.

"Shit," she cursed as she lost her balance and fell right back to her seat at the bar. She placed her head down at the bar, her hair masking her face.

"Hey, are you okay," a male voice inquired.

She mumbled out, "no."

"Want me to take you to your room? I mean you are staying in this hotel, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Room 2511"

"Well, come on, let's go." He extended his hand toward her.

She raised her head a bit, and nodded, and took hold of his hand as he helped her to her feet.

Stephanie's eyes widened and the guy lost his grip on her hand as he cringed. She yelped as she fell.

Not to the seat.

To the floor.

In a heap.

As much as he disliked her, he couldn't leave her on the floor half-conscious like this. "Crap. Sorry," he quickly apologized and helped her to her feet.

"No. No, no, NO!" she exclaimed, "I will make it to my room on my own!" She took a breath. "I don't need your damn help, get your filthy fucking hands off of me!" She wrenched her arm free of his grasp.

She regretted it instantly.

She spun a little and attempted to regain her balance, and fell directly on her face.

She groaned loudly.

Chris Jericho shook his head at the woman laid out at his feet.

This is pathetic. Stephanie McMahon Helmsley, Billion Dollar…. Ex-Billion Dollar Princess, drunk as a sailor, face down on the carpeted floor of a bar in a hotel.

She was in no state to reject his generosity anyway, so he grabbed her arm and dragged her up forcefully.

"Wha-what are you doing," she stammered out.

"Taking you to your room," he stated curtly.

"Why?"

"You're too drunk to get there on your own," he shrugged.

"You're drunk too! I can make it there fine. Thanks!"

"I'm not as drunk as you, I can still walk straight so I don't agree with you and I seriously doubt the floor does, either," he chuckled.

"It's just my shoes! The heels are too tall. If I take them off, I can walk just fine!" She said as sternly as she could manage and pointed at her stilettos.

He relinquished his hold on her and stared intently. Why is it that drunk women always blamed their shoes for their inability to walk?

He smirked as he watched her struggle. He wished he had a video camera-this was priceless.

As expected, Stephanie tipped over and he rushed to grab her before she was on the floor again.

Stephanie sighed, rolled her eyes and didn't protest as he continued walking her the elevators.

In the elevator there was a rightfully uncomfortable silence.

Stephanie was leaning against the side, as Chris stared at the numbers of the floors they were passing, willing them to go faster.

His blond hair reminds me of Hunter. He's kind of cute too…like Hunter. Nice body. Hunter's is better though. Christ, let me stop staring before he sees me. She turned away and stared at the wall.

Stephanie was unusually quiet, thus Jericho turned to see if she had passed out against the elevator.

She had her eyes averted elsewhere. He didn't realize he was staring until he began to mentally compliment her. Brilliant blue eyes, auburn hair…it looks so sexy when it's wavy like that. Great body. Why did I make fun of those implants again?

He smacked himself in the head at the things running through his mind. I cannot – will not think of Stephanie as anything other than a brutal, bottom feeding, two dollar-he couldn't remember the rest of his insults and he shrugged-trash bag ho.

He wasn't, he couldn't!

But he did…and he continued to stare.

She felt his eyes.

She didn't want to, but she did.

And she…liked it?

Nah.

The elevator dinged.

"Are you going to stay in here all night or what?" Stephanie's voice brought him out of his daze. She chose not to mention his blatant ogling of her.

He rolled his eyes, grabbed her, and led her down the hallway.

He stopped at her room and turned to face her.

He shifted uncomfortably. "Well…goodnight."

What-no wisecracks? No jokes? Is he being…polite? "Yeah. Bye," she said softly.

She got out her key, swiped it and opened her door.

He was…still standing there.

He…looks so cute…like a scared little boy, standing there. It was hard to believe this was the asshole of a man who trashed her every chance he got. But, as she studied him, she saw him as…nervous.

The thoughts of him from the elevator entered her mind. And thus, Hunter, entered her mind.

She shouldn't be having these thoughts; she had a husband.

She turned away from Chris, about to go into her room when she stopped suddenly.

Hunter.

I'm stopping my thoughts because of…Hunter?

The hell?

He has put me on the sidelines for months, berated me for just trying to be there for him and help and support him. And tonight, of all nights, he didn't even bother to call, or even have the decency to return my calls after I lost everything I owned on national television. She shook her head slowly. Fuck Hunter!

She turned back to Chris and she was sure.

I'm hammered; he's drunk, oh well.

She kissed him.

He kissed back.

They went inside her room.

Closed the door.

She knew what was going to happen, she wanted it to.

Don't I?

With her doubts, she led him further into her room anyway.

A shrill sound echoed in her ears. Her head felt like mathematicians were clacking away at calculators, figuring out taxes in her head. She hated math, and shook her head at her analogy.

The shrill sound continued, and through the excruciating pain in her head, she realized it was her cell phone, which was yelling, and vibrating on the table across the room.

She was about to get it, and then she realized she couldn't.

Something was weighing on her.

She glanced down…

Blond hair.

Hunter?

She was naked.

From what she could tell, so was the blond blob.

It had to be Hunter.

Right?

She threw an arm over her aching head as she attempted to recall the events of the previous night.

She remembered being pissed off at Hunter.

Because?

Think, Stephanie Marie.

She remembered now, the Alliance lost.

Hunter…didn't call.

She called him?

Did I?

Yeah, yeah she called him.

He didn't call back.

I was upset.

I drank…lots.

She began to wonder if after her intoxication, Hunter showed up to console her.

It was the only rational thing she could come up with.

If that wasn't the case, then…

It can't be the case.

He never called.

I know that…

Her eyes widened and a gasp escaped her lips as she came to grips with what she knew she had done.

I cheated.

On my husband.

Shit!

The shrill cry…had stopped.

Curious, she threw the arm, and half the body off of her and got up, managing to wrench a sheet from under the blond heap.

She didn't care if she interrupted their slumber; she had just fucked up her life…literally.

She walked over to her phone and picked up the annoying device.

She checked her missed calls.

Hunter.

She sighed.

The blond in the bed stirred slightly and groaned.

Stephanie turned her gaze back to that direction.

The vibrating of the device in her hand startled her, and she dropped the phone.

"Shit," she cursed, and bent down to pick it up.

New voicemail.

"Shit," she cursed again, knowing it was probably Hunter.

She'd bite.

"Baby, it's me. Where are you? I've been trying to get in touch with you since last night…" Hunter's voice began.

Her face contorted in anger.

Liar.

You have not.

I waited around all night for your call.

"I figured you would be at the hotel but you never answered the phone and when I tried your cell, it wouldn't let me leave a message for some reason."

Her expression softened.

"Anyway, call me when you get this, I'm worried about you, Steph, I saw the pay per view, I'm sorry, honey. Love you, bye."

Tears cascaded down her face and she sobbed as she replayed the message in her head.

He cared.

He actually cared.

And…he had watched the match and he did feel bad about what happened. He even tried calling her about it. She felt like such a bitch. Her anger had apparently been for nothing. Her drinking was only halfway justified…but even still, she couldn't forgive herself for the man who currently occupied her bed.

She caught a glimpse of the face, as the body turned over

And…she screamed.

He jolted awake, he yelled.

His head ached terribly and this woman's screaming didn't help.

He turned over; about to yell at the stupid woman he had obviously shared a room with the previous night.

He saw her face.

And…he screamed.

They screamed…together.