A/N: To all my loyal readers of Are You Ready, I almost have a chapter for you, I just got distracted by a random need to write this oneshot. To everyone else, enjoy, and please review!
The night started out normally enough. Except for the fact that it was the night of Raw 1000, which automatically changed the dynamic in the locker room with all the legends floating around and the extra buzz amongst the talent, it could have been any other night.
Phil Brooks, better known as CM Punk, sat in one of the folding chairs in the catering area, Pepsi in one hand, script in the other. He stared at it blankly. He already knew what he had to do, and his mic work was never scripted anyway, leaving him with nothing to memorize, but he glared daggers at the packet anyway as if staring at it would somehow cause it to change.
Taking a sip of his drink, he flipped another page with malice in his eyes. He had spent months arguing against this heel turn. He fucking hated heel turns, at least when they were involuntary. And this one was about as fucking involuntary as they got. Ignoring, for the moment, the fact that being forced to turn heel had ultimately destroyed one of his best friend's careers—not to mention the personal toll the whole thing had taken—which still pissed him off immensely whenever he thought about it, he just wanted nothing to do with this shit. He hated the idea that he was being forced to be someone he was not in the ring. Sure he was a sarcastic asshole sometimes, but he wasn't a cheating coward who strutted around demanding respect. He had the word honor tattooed on his skin for fuck's sakes.
And then there were the fans. His latest face run had allowed him to form what he considered to be a real connection with them. One girl in particular had told him that his words onscreen had stopped her from committing suicide. He didn't want to lose that connection, and felt legitimate guilt at the thought of the people he was about to let down by selling out. Because kayfabe aside, that is exactly what he had done—at least in his mind—by not telling Vince to shove it, contract or not. Mood heavy, he cast the damned script aside, letting his head rest on his unoccupied hand. He exhaled heavily, becoming increasingly pissed at the thought that somewhere in this very building, Vince McMahon was sitting in a plush leather chair, undoubtedly enjoying the fact that he had finally backed CM Punk into a corner way too much.
"You look like someone just kicked your dog." Phil placed the voice of his best friend instantly, but had to look up to confirm that he was actually hearing it, backstage at Raw of all places.
Sure enough, his eyes were met with her unmistakable green orbs. He tried for a smile, finding partial success only because he was so genuinely happy to see her. And, if he was honest with himself, relieved. She was one of the few people he trusted enough to actually talk to. And she, of all people, would get this. "Amy!" he greeted her. "Nice to see they did one thing right tonight, bringing you back."
Amy Dumas, or Lita to the WWE Universe, nodded and took a seat next to him. "Yep, Lita gets one last singles match. About six years overdue really, but what can you do? But seriously, what's going on?"
He laughed mirthlessly. "Aren't we supposed to start with the clichés? It's been too long, you look great, all that shit?"
She rolled her eyes. "I texted you last night, although it has been way too long since I've seen you in person, I like you too much to lie to your face—you look like shit, now what the fuck is going on?"
He leaned over, grabbing the abandoned script from off the floor before turning to the last page, handing it to her wordlessly. She scanned it, eyes narrowing before setting it aside. "Oh that's bullshit" she muttered.
"No kidding. Vince fucking bent me over with that contract. There's nothing I can do."
She gritted her teeth. "He's good at that. How much longer do you have until your contract is up?"
"About a year" he answered. "I'll renegotiate then, and do it properly this time. But what do I do until then?" He ran a hand over the back of his neck. "Fucking hate this."
She thought for a moment before answering. "Inside that ring, you'll be the best fucking heel in the business. Make yourself invaluable so that when the time comes a year from now Vince will have no choice but to make himself your bitch to keep you around. Everywhere else—twitter, appearances, everywhere, you be yourself. Show the fans which version of you is the real one. And don't let yourself forget it either. Don't lose sight of who you are, and they won't either, no matter how you act in the ring." That last sentence held more weight than it might have seemed to an unknowing bystander, but it didn't go unnoticed by Phil. "I guess that was my mistake." she said finally.
He put a hand on her arm gently in response. "You're a fucking genius" he smiled, a resolved look coming into his eyes.
She grinned back. "I have my moments."
He stood, offering his hand in an over exaggerated gesture of chivalry. "Shall we?" he asked, suggesting that they go back to his locker room, where they always hung out when she visited.
Amy shot his hand a look, standing unaided and beginning the short walk to the locker room. "I'm not that old you know" she quipped. "I can still get out of a chair by myself."
Phil scoffed back. "Whatever you say old lady."
She slapped him on the arm. "Douchebag" she muttered as she opened the door to his locker room and stepped inside before promptly falling flat on her ass. "Nice fucking wet floor sign" she growled.
"You alright?" he managed to ask before bursting out laughing.
Amy glared up at him. "Fucking wonderful. Think you can stop laughing long enough to give me a hand up?"
"Oh sure, now you want my help." She continued to glare, and he chuckled, offering his hand. This time she took it. He pulled her to her feet, accidentally pulling her a little too close for 'just friends' territory.
They both froze, looking into each others' eyes. "Oh" Amy whispered, thrown completely by his proximity. They had been this close since they stopped dating a few years ago, but normally one of them was in tears at the time. And they were never looking into each others' fucking eyes. Not like this.
"Uhm…" Phil managed, for once at a loss for words.
Amy opened her mouth, shut it, then opened it again. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" she whispered, trying not to love the feeling of his breath on her skin.
"Let's find out" he breathed before leaning down to capture her lips in a soft kiss.
She responded instantly, arms snaking up around his neck. When he pulled away she smiled up at him. "I guess you were."
He mirrored her smile. "Can we try again?" he asked slowly. "I know it's been years but… I still love you. I don't think I ever stopped…"
She gave her answer by kissing him again. "I love you too."
He grabbed her hand, intertwining their fingers, grinning brightly. She was everything he needed. With her by his side, he could face anything.
A/N: Please review!