Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or real people in this story. The characters belong to the WWE and the real people own themselves. This story mostly contains swearing so you know, if that bothers you, the door is a thatta way!

A/N: So yes, another one-shot from me, I know, what the hell, I should work on other stuff! Anyways, on Twitter Sunday night, there were some pictures posted of Chris drinking and in one of them, he had his phone and well, the ideas. They just flow. Anyways, once again, this was written in IM (this seems to be the only way I can write one-shots nowadays) and so it's unrevised and hope it doesn't suck too much. If you want to be brutal, go right ahead, but leave a review if you want. Enjoy. :)

It was already light when her phone buzzed on her nightstand. She reached for it blindly, thinking it might be Paul and if it was, she was ready to chew his head off. No matter how many places in the world he'd been, the concept of time zones eluded him. He always did things around his schedule and had no regard for anyone else. She didn't bother switching the light on, she could see just fine. She opened one eye as she saw it was a text message.

You are so fucking beautfil

Chris Irvine. She rolled her eyes and put the phone back on her nightstand, punching the pillow beneath her. The last person on Earth she wanted to talk to right now, let alone read anything he had to say. They hadn't spoken in seven months and for all she cared, she hoped they didn't speak for the next seven fucking years. It would serve him right. There was another buzz and she groaned loudly, alone in her room, grabbing the phone and intending to turn it off.

Don't ignor me, youf ucking gorgeous bitch!

Oh, she could ignore him alright, she was going to ignore him for the rest of his goddamn existence. She wanted to slam the phone down, but she was afraid she'd break it and it was her lifeline so she couldn't just smash it to bits. Maybe tomorrow she'd get her number changed so Chris would get a nice message that said the number was no longer in service. Then she could picture his face when he dialed and found nothing to harass on the other end. This was the seventh time over the last four days that he had gone on a texting spree on her. He was so obviously drunk during all of them. She hated when he drank because he got even more obnoxious and when he was with his friends, God, it was even worse.

I want you, you shoul dfly too LA

Fuck him. If he were fucking sober he would know she was in no condition to just flit away to LA. Not that he cared or anything because he didn't. Here she was, carrying his kid...she took a deep breath. She needed to steady herelf. Besides, Chris didn't even believe this child was his so it didn't matter to him whether or not she was carrying a kid. What mattered to him was to have a warm body to fuck, that was all.

And the pattern continued as it had for the past seven times. After the requisite text messages, apparently his voice started working and the calls started. She didn't pick up the first one, letting it go to voicemail. She contemplated just deleting it upon it starting to play, but figured, what the hell, if she had to listen to him, might as well listen to his drunken rants, then maybe she would save them and play them over the arena speakers so every worker in the company could hear him when he acted like an idiot.

You know...shut up, John, I'm talking here! You know, it's like, fucking...vodka is like, so fucking fucked up in the head, you know. I mean, it makes me all fucked up in the head and it's like, I think about you and I think you're like having my baby, but you're totally not, right? You're so totally not because you're fucking Paul and I...he's a bastard, you know, like he's here, not here here because I'd never invite him to a party, he's a party-pooper, pooper, popper, he don't, I don't know, bye, Steph!

She sighed. He was such an idiotic little boy and she hated him. She hated him for knocking her up. She hated him for then denying that he knocked her up. Then she hated him for just up and leaving her there, telling her to deal with her own problems. Yeah, she was married so it wasn't like her kid would go without, but she wasn't a slut and she knew, she'd been in love...no, she wasn't in love with that jackass. She'd used him for the sex, just like he'd used her. That was her story and she was sticking to it, truth be damned. The truth didn't matter when only one person believed it.

Second call. She contemplated again with this one. Didn't he have better things to do, like put a lampshade on his head or strip to his underwear and run down to the lobby and dance like a stripper or something? Why, every time he got drunk, did he have to drunk dial her? Was it his way of torturing her? It must have been. As if she hadn't been torturing herself enough. She'd had her fucking bags packed, the girls' bags too, that day when she told him she was pregnant with his child. He'd looked at her and shaken his head, muttering that she was married and it couldn't be because she had to have sex far more with Paul than with him. Fuck him, she didn't want to go back there. She'd not taken any of those clothes out of the suitcase, they represented a life she wasn't given, a path that had been broken right in her face.

Me again! Did you miss me? I missed you and I can hear you on the message, but I bet you're there, huh? It's okay, you don't have to talk to me. Everyone here is wasted, but I'm totally not, not, not, not, I promise because I wouldn't get drunk because that's bad. Did you see my match tonight, didn't get hurt, just like I said last night, bet you didn't believe me. You're so fucking warm, Steph. You know that, like, your eyes are warm and your hair is warm and you are so fucking warm, do you think you could come over and lay on me because I need a blanket.

She turned off the phone then. She didn't need to hear anymore about how she was warm. Last night it was how tight she was. Yesterday afternoon before the concert, it had been how sizzling she was, the night before that, it had been crazy she was. Every night, a different word that made no sense to describe her. She didn't need this anymore and the girls would be up in a couple hours and she wanted to get some more sleep. She let herself fall into sleep again, the baby rumbling around inside of her.

"I know you know that it was Daddy, but don't get your hopes up, kiddo," she mumbled as she drifted off. "He wants nothing to do with us."

She slept fitfully for a couple more hours before her alarm went off. The girls had a little summer camp they went to on the weekdays and she was glad to drop them off this morning as she had some Raw stuff to go over and then fax to her father in California. Then she'd probably call Paul, check in, and spend the rest of the day perching a bowl of potato chips on her stomach while watching mindless television.

She grabbed her phone, turning it on and seeing she only had one more message from Chris, one from Paul, and one from her mother. She went with her mother's first.

Stephanie, just wanted to tell you that the show was a great success last night, I still think you were brilliant with the Nexus thing. Tell the girls I love them, have a great day, sweetheart.

Heartwarming like she thought. Paul's next.

Hey Steph, it's me, I think the show went well, though I really could have come back if you would just let me. I know you said it's too early, but I know my body. I would've been a better substitute than Daniel Bryan. We'll talk about this later.

Typical Paul, always thinking of himself.

Now the only one that was left was Chris's. She thought again. Oh what the hell, what would it hurt? Some days she really needed the motivation to hate him. Sometimes, she would watch him on Raw or doing some interview and he was so damn endearing in every way. That's why she avoided his tweets. He was all charm there. Sometimes she would peek at the pictures, but not often. She felt like a stalker and the last thing she wanted to feel like was a stalker. She just needed the motivation, that was all.

Stephanie, it's me again.

She noted that the background was quieter, much quieter. The earlier messages had been muffled by noise, tons of laughter and crashes and just the sound of men. Talk about your sausage parties.

Stephanie, I know you hate me.

Well, yeah, yeah, she did. She hated him for making her go through a pregnancy pretty much alone. Paul hated the doctor's, said he had been in too many for himself to want to go to anything having to do with her, so she went to appointments alone, and celebrated each milestone alone, Paul's reaction a grunt or a thumbs up most of the time. So yes, hatred was definitely on the list of adjectives she'd use to describe their relationship.

I just want to say...I guess...God...this is so fucking hard, you know, this whole talking shit out. It's so goddamned hard sometimes. I don't want to fucking talk to a machine, you know, cause machines are so technological. A machine doesn't know, man, you know, it just doens't know that I fucking love you! You, Stephanie McMahon, you, I fucking love you. You're so fucking beautiful, you know that, oh fuck, of course you know that, you own a fucking mirror. I just. I'm fucking scared of how much I love you and how much I need to be with you. I've never needed a fucking person in my life. I left home at fucking 18 to do my own shit. I spent years away from home. I didn't even fucking meet Jessica until I was practically in my 30's. Before that, it was me, just me and it is so fucking terrifying to love someone so much that you literally feel like being away from them is death. I feel like fucking death, Stephanie, like fucking death! I wake up and I don't-

End of message.

She lay there, staring at her phone as if it were some foreign object or as if Chris's words were emblazoned on it. Well, that was quite the drunk dial at the end there. Some say that you tell the truth when you're drunk, but maybe it just makes you a blubbering idiot. But the way he said things. She wished her damn voicemail hadn't cut him off. She checked her phone again, but that was the only message and it had been hours after the first two. He must have sobered up enough to know what he was saying, but still too drunk to really care. She wanted to stay hating him, it was easier to deal with him when she hated his guts, but his words, the way he said them. She could hear the terror in his voice. He was terrified of loving her.

But love was supposed to be a little scary.

She picked up her phone and dialed his number, hoping he wouldn't hate her for the timing of her call, but she couldn't just let this go. "Hello?" came his groggy voice.

"You are quite the desperate man, you know that, right?" she told him.

"Stephanie?" he asked, some of the sleep that laced his voice moments earlier evaporating.

"The one and only, what, you're the only one allowed to call at insane times."

"I didn't..."

"Didn't what?"

"Think you'd listen," he admitted sheepishly. "Look, for whatever I said. I don't know what I said, I just know I called you..."

"You've been calling me, repeatedly."

"Yeah, I know," he was ashamed now, she could tell. He might even have his eyes closed. "I'm sorry, I don't know, when I'm drunk, I'm an idiot."

"You're not much better when you're sober either."

He laughed at that. "Look, whatever I said, I'm sorry."

"That last message, do you remember anything about it?"

He cleared his throat, stalled, paused, and then answered, "Um, yeah...yeah, I remember that one...I'm...Stephanie, I just, I don't...I don't know what...you want...I'm sorry..."

"Chris?"

"Yeah?" he asked bashfully.

"Do you think you can fly to Connecticut after Raw tomorrow?" she asked. "I think we have some things to discuss."

"I'd like that," he told her.

"Bye Chris, get some sleep, okay?"

"Okay," he said. "Until Tuesday."

"Until Tuesday," she agreed.

Maybe she'd get to use that suitcase after all.