Title : One Step At A Time.
Author : Stephy69
Disclaimer : I own nothing but my plot.
Notes : Storylines ignored. No Rated RKO ever existed. The draft goes how I see fit. Starts Sunday, June 10th.
Pairings : Final pairings undecided. Lita/Randy, Lita/Punk, Maryse/Randy

Enjoy...

One Step At A Time

No matter how hard he had tried, how long he had lain in the dark thinking of her, how much he drank, or how many girls he slept with, she was always there. Right at the front of his mind. Telling him that he still loved her. Sometimes, he could get her right out of his mind, long enough to go to the nearest bar, get totally out of his mind on drink and cocaine and take the first brunette or blonde home. He never went for the red heads, too close to home. But, by the time he got them home, undressed and into bed, the drugs and drink had worn off and she was right there. Watching. Disapproving. He could never seem to shift the feeling that, if he wasn't such an idiot, she'd be the one, in his bed, naked, drunk. But he was. And she wasn't. It was nothing but some stupid whore, with her cheap underwear strewn across his floor, the disgusting smell of cigarettes emerging from her. He had heard it said, that ex smokers were always the first to complain about the smell of cigarettes. And, since Amy had forcefully made him give up, he had to admit, the smell of cigarettes on someone's breath irked him. It, in a very strange and somewhat ironic way, made him miss Amy. Yet each night, he found himself having sex with the same girl. Wishing she was the one he missed most..

But, in all honesty, no matter how much he tried to put the blame on her, he always came up with the same solution as to why they had broken up. "If only I hadn't"... Sometimes it was "if only I hadn't done cocaine." Others, he blamed the drink. And, on rare occasions, he blamed his "anger managerial issues", but truth be told, none of these had been the real reason they had broken up. The real reason wore a micro skirt and boob busting shirts and pranced around on Smackdown like she owned the place. The real reason, was Maryse Ouellet. To say he hadn't seen Maryse since the break up would have been an insult to both Amy's and his own intelligence. Maryse was what Randy liked to call, consolation. He didn't have Amy any more, so what was the problem in having what had broken them up?

He lay in the large double bed, the sheets long since tugged away from him. He stared blankly up at the ceiling, his eyes following a thin crack, right along the ceiling. Amy had once pointed that crack out. Not at the most desirable of times, but that was Amy all over. Whether it was discussing Trish's latest conquest, detail by detail on loud speaker with Vickie over breakfast, or telling him that there was a crack in the ceiling during sex, she never really did things at appropriate times. Maybe that's why he had loved her. Her inability to realize when to shut up. Her forgetfulness. Her impeccable talent for walking into the male locker rooms just as the guys boxers were coming off. Her clumsiness. Most people found all that stuff irritating. He had always found it cute. But none of that seemed to matter anymore. He no longer had her. He had Maryse. Something that he was very proud of ? Not particularly. She wasn't the type of girl he liked. He didn't usually go for blondes. He didn't like particularly "girly" girls. He preferred the type of girl who would go paint-balling and when it was all over and done with, laugh at how many bruises she got. Maryse wasn't that type of girl. They rarely agreed on anything. And, to be honest, they barely spoke. If they weren't in bed, they were eating. And for that, he was grateful, due to the fact, her voice had come to aggravate him in a way no other ever had.

He sighed, still staring at the crack in the ceiling. Tearing his eyes away from it, they fell upon the blonde next to him. For the past seven months, he had spent every night staring at Maryse, wondering why he had done what he had. He had once spent each night staring at the red head beside him, but for many different reasons. When he looked at Maryse, he saw nothing but a mistake. Something which never should have happened. Something which hurt him to even think about. Something that had killed one of the happiest divas spirit. But, even now, seeing a picture of Amy, he would smile. Not really thinking about how much he had hurt her. Because whenever he saw her, whether it be a picture or in the flesh, not that he had seen her since she had left the WWE six months ago, he still got that feeling. That, no matter where she was, or who she was with, he would still love her. Even if he had hurt her...

Elsewhere, Amy's shoes dropped with a clatter to the floor as she kicked them off, throwing herself onto the bed beside her best friends, Patricia and Lisa, collapsing in a giggling heap. Patricia smiled, it had been a while since Amy had smiled. PROPERLY smiled. But since meeting Phil, it seemed that she was finally getting over Randy. Moving on from what that arrogant, low-life, son of a bitch had done to her. And finally, finding happiness. Both Amy and Phil had known each other for some time now, but since leaving the WWE, Amy had found herself drawn more and more to ECW. Using excuses such as, "I'm visiting friends." or "It's nearby", she would find herself visiting the ECW locker room week after week, regardless of where it was. And week after week, she would sit in Phil's locker room, getting to know him better. And, as the weeks progressed, she found herself falling in love with him.

And now, here she was, officially an ECW diva, or vixen as it was now recognized. Both she and Patricia had decided to forget all about retirement and go back to their original shows. "Trish" being put on Smackdown, while "Lita" found herself as part of the ECW roster. That had always been more her thing. The idea of smacking someone senseless with a kendo stick was much more appealing than pudding matches and the like. But of course, the real appeal of ECW had been Phil, and on Monday night RAW the following night, the night of the three way draft, she would be making her first appearance as an Extremist. Luckily, she had not yet signed the deal, meaning she could not be drafted, and if, for example Phil was drafted to Smackdown, Amy could change her contract to join Smackdown rather than ECW although, if said circumstances should arise, Amy was pretty sure she'd stick to retirement.

"I can't believe you two came back," Lisa smiled. "It's been so, depressing without you. I swear to god, I don't think any of those girls backstage have an IQ higher than their age. It's rather disturbing. And to hear some of them talk. I swear, on that photo shoot with Kristal and Maryse I thought I was..." She bit her lip, sighing. "I'm sorry Amy, I didn't mean to bring her up."

"Why?" asked Amy, rolling her eyes and rubbing her toes gently. "She's just another whore in the pile. Not worth my troubles. So, as you were saying..."

Lisa and Patricia raised an eyebrow each. Both highly doubted that Amy had meant what she said. Amy had cried her heart out each and every night for almost three months. She had truly loved Randy and had even at one point, discussed leaving the company to start a family. And look what she had gotten in return. A front row ticket to a video of her boyfriend sleeping with another woman. Everyone knew Randy had never been the brightest, but to video himself cheating, he must have been really drunk that night. Amy had always defended him. Even when they had broken up. Sure she had cried, hit him, called him many names. But not once did she tell him how she knew and never once did she let anyone say a word against him. Now Lisa, being the good friend, had always tried the, "He's nothing but an asshole and you can do better" speech, but each time she tried, Amy had taken a well aimed swing at her, resulting in many hours in make up to hide the bruises.

But now, here she was, pretending that speaking about Maryse didn't bother her, when it quite obviously did. Amy frowned as her friends began to talk again. Sighing, she stood up, "I uh, I...I'mma go to bed. I'm tired." she said, pushing her long red hair from her eyes. It had been wrong of her to think she could ignore Randy and Maryse once she began wrestling again. And what if Randy got drafted to ECW? She could never manage to hold another storyline with him. And Vince knew that fine well. But, considering neither she nor Randy were high on Vince's Christmas card list, she found it quite probable that, should the legend killer arrive on Smackdown, that she would be put in a storyline with him. She frowned as she slid her shirt over her head, she knew that if she was put in an angle against him, it would involve hurting him, and now matter how easily he had found hurting her, she could never hurt him. Mainly because she doubted, if she started hitting him, that she would ever want to stop. She sighed, pushing the skirt she was wearing down past her hips, throwing it in a pile along with her top in the corner of the room. She was staying at Lisa's that night, both she and Patricia, due to the arena they were working at the following night being just an hours drive away.

She stood almost motionless for well over a minute, just staring at the washing basket. She hadn't been to Lisa's house in a long time, meaning the clean washing had remained untouched. Neatly folded and ironed, in a basket, on the bed. There was nothing particularly amazing about it. To anyone else, the washing would have seemed so ordinary. So normal. Yet to Amy, one thing stood out. A neatly folded white shirt, placed in the middle of the pile. It did seem rather noticeable compared to her vibrant shirts, jeans and skimpy underwear. Her eyes were somewhat drawn to it. Tipping the contents of the basket onto the bed she picked the shirt out and sat staring at it. For the past few months, she hadn't thought about him once. Not once. Yet tonight, it seemed so hard not to. Perhaps it was the prospect of seeing him again. Perhaps knowing that, should Maryse get traded to ECW, she would have the opportunity to bash her around the head with a chair. Or maybe, just maybe, Amy had realized that Phil and Randy could end up on the same show. Whatever it was, it hurt.

Hearing no sound coming from a usually rather clumsy Amy's room, Patricia and Lisa made their way upstairs. Amy never did anything quietly. She would drop plates on the floor in the kitchen, knock drawers over in her room, spill the washing in the back yard and curse vehemently at it and even manage to bring the shower curtain down in the shower, landing, tangled in the shower curtain with a thud. Not hearing any cursing, thuds or bumps, both girls found themselves standing, rather scared outside Amy's room. Tentatively pushing the door open, they sighed. Amy was sitting on the edge of the bed, a white shirt, much more Randy's size than her own, in her hand, wearing nothing but her underwear sobbing her heart out.

Patricia sighed, sitting herself behind the red head. "Sweetheart, I told you it was too soon." She said, receiving only a muffled whine for a response. "But you have to take this slowly. One step at a time..."