My Chemical Romance

A/N: Those of you who are signed up on our Myspace page have known this was coming. I've been teasing it for months, and I think I'm finally ready to start with the prequel to my most beloved story to date. I hope that it lives up to the original material. And if you haven't already - jump on over to the Myspace page and check out the graphic AJ made for the story.


"Courtney Elizabeth Lane!"

Though her mother was normally soft-spoken and proper, Courtney knew the tone of voice that said Alissa Lane was fed up with having to make the same request multiple times. Looking up from her spot at the kitchen table, she smiled impishly. "Mom, I'm almost done," she pleaded like a child.

At twenty-one, she felt like she should no longer have to beg for the privilege to use an out-of-the-way space for her homework, but with company coming, Alissa was more on edge than normal.

Turning on her heel, the mother stared at the daughter with a raised eyebrow. "That's what you said an hour ago," she reminded, her hands firmly planted on the trim waist of her tailored business suit. "Come on. The press will be here any minute. You have to get this mess cleaned up."

Glancing to her left and right, Courtney nodded with a sigh as she heard the front doorbell echoing through the spacious home. "Alright. I'm going."

Growing up in the house of a Senator had never really bothered Courtney. She was used to people coming and going all the time, staff members treating her home as if it was their own. She was used to members of the press dropping by for interviews, and she knew how to present herself. But now in her third year at Columbia, she was finding that her father's schedule didn't always gel with her own. And she wasn't sure she loved being kicked out of her own kitchen when she had a paper due in three days.

Pushing her wire-framed spectacles further up her nose, Courtney tightened her blonde ponytail and shoved the sleeves her over-sized sweatshirt up to her elbows. Papers and books littered the entire surface of the table, and she knew for certain it would take her more than one trip to get it all back up to her bedroom. Kicking her tennis shoes off under the table, hoping to dull the noise of her footsteps on the stairs, she loaded her arms and stepped cautiously toward the back exit.

"It's just right through here," the voice of her father's Chief of Staff, Michael Cole, sounded from just outside the kitchen.

She barely managed to turn the corner before whoever was entering the kitchen saw her. Racing up the stairs, Courtney dumped her books on her bed and took a moment to look at herself in the mirror. She would have to wait until she could no longer hear voices in the kitchen to make another trip. There was no way her mother would approve of anyone outside the family and staff seeing her dressed in sweats without make up.

She crept to the top of the stairs and waited until she was sure it was safe before skipping back down to the kitchen. Stopping to pick up a pen that she had dropped on the first trip, she didn't notice the man who had just left the small, downstairs bathroom.

Colliding with what felt like a brick wall, Courtney stopped and blushed, her eyes traveling over his gray pants and up the lavender dress shirt that hid beneath his suit jacket. How she had missed him, she couldn't be sure. The man had to be six and a half feet tall, and seemed to be as wide as the hallway itself.

"I'm so sorry," she muttered when she finally met the intensity of his brown eyes.

Shaking his head, Dave Batista reached out a hand to steady the young woman on the stairs. She was really just a child, so much smaller than he had imagined from her pictures in the press kit. "It was my fault," he assured her, her voice smooth and confident in the silence of the room. "Pardon me, Ms. Lane."

The deep blush that crept up her neck and settled in her cheeks was the cutest thing he had ever seen, he was sure. The way her dark eyes flitted to the floor and then back up, before darting to his left made him want to hug her. There was something so sweet, so vulnerable about this young woman. "Um, I need to," she pointed over her shoulder, her small hands lost in the sleeves of her school sweatshirt. "Sorry."

Dave watched from his place as Courtney rushed back to the table and began loading up another armful of books and papers. Not known for shyness with women, Dave found himself paralyzed in his place as he watched the grace with which she moved. She was nothing more than a college co-ed, but something about her posture, and her presence, screamed to him. Something made him want to know more about the Senator's daughter than he had ever wanted to know about the Senator himself.

"Do you need some help?" he finally asked with a smirk, moving toward her.

The booming timber of his voice, though low and controlled, shocked Courtney. With an oomph, she dropped the books she had worked so hard to balance, and blushed again deeply. God, why did she have to be such a klutz in front of such a good-looking man? "I'm fine," she whispered, fully-focused on task of cleaning up.

Dave stood beside the table, intrigued. "I'm Dave Batista, by the way," he finally said, shooting her a thousand-watt smile when she met his eye once more. "I'm the producer for your father's interview today."

Courtney nodded. "They said it would be someone new," she recalled, placing her books on the table once again as she focused her attention. She was trained to deal with men in all positions of power – hell, she'd had dinner with the president and never fumbled as much as she was doing now. She was Courtney Lane. She could control herself around whoever this producer was. "I was expecting someone different."

Dave crossed his arms and considered her, watching the way she struggled to control herself. He didn't like to brag, but she wasn't the first woman to lose her cool in his presence. She wouldn't be the last, either. "What were you expecting?"

Nodding over Dave's shoulder, she gestured toward her father's assistant. "Someone more like Cole here."

Dave tossed a look at the man behind him and then laughed. "I'm sorry to disappoint you," he winked.

Caught in the intensity of his stare, Courtney just shook her head, the nerves dissipating in the kind look he was shooting in her direction. "I'm not disappointed," she said, her voice low and sultry, as though belonging to someone else.

Without so much as a rapid movement, Dave flicked his wrist in her direction, a small business card between his first and middle fingers. "I'd be interested in your take on your father's re-election campaign, Ms. Lane," he continued to smile, knowing that everyone in the room was well-aware he wasn't offering his number to talk politics. "We should do lunch sometime."

When she reached for the card, he flipped his hand down, brushing his fingers over the palm of her hand. There was no way that Cole would have seen the gesture, and she realized that he'd meant it that way. Fighting the shiver that was crawling up her spine, she took the card and withdrew her hand, grabbing her books and hugging them to her chest like a shield. "I think any questions you have about my father's campaign can be directed toward my father," she grinned coyly through lowered lashes, sad to see their flirtation end. But her father would be waiting for Mr. Batista, and she didn't want him to know that she was the cause of detaining the interview. "Thank you for the offer, though."

Dave nodded, impressed with the way she had handled herself. He'd seen women with much more age and experience throw themselves at his advances. This kid was going to give him a run for his money. "It's a standing offer, Ms. Lane. Call me any time."

She only nodded before disappearing up the stairs once again, barely closing the bedroom door before glancing at the card in her hand and doing a happy dance. He was, by far, the sexiest man who had ever taken the time to hit on her. And though she knew her father would shit bricks, Courtney couldn't wait until she saw him again.

In the kitchen, Michael Cole shook his head and motioned for Dave to follow him. "Oh, you are a brave man, Mr. Batista," he chuckled at the memory of what had just transpired.

"Why's that?" Dave asked as he followed the smaller man into the foyer.

Nodding up the stairway in the grand entrance, Michael shot a warning glance at the young producer. "Because anyone from the press who dares to fuck with Courtney is taking their life into their own hands."

But Dave only chuckled and rested his hands in his pockets. His only concern at the moment was seeing Courtney Lane out of that sweatshirt and sprawled out on his California King-sized bed. With a shake of his head, he patted Michael's shoulder. "Well the senator will have to come up with a better threat than that, Mr. Cole. Death doesn't scare me."