A/N - Ok so this is a little more than AU but just roll with it lol. It's also the first thing I've been able to write in a very long time which is why I have decided to post it. There are another 2 parts and then it's done and I already have most of the next chapter complete. I'm really hoping I can post the rest pretty quickly. I'm also really hoping this will give me my wings back. I haven't been feeling very inspired to write a whole lot lately. Maybe this is the start of it coming back to me. Anyways, yes this is definitely a weird one and yes, the thought of Trips as a boxer instead of a wrestler is hilariously weird but it's pretty good, I swear! Enjoy...

Stephanie McMahon smiled absently at the young teen who held the door as she stepped through. Her black heels clacked sharply off the chipped and dirty tile floor. For the millionth time that day she silently wondered why the hell she had ever agreed to this. Sports were not her forte. She had zero interest writing about this guy yet her editor seemed to think her readers would go nuts with him on the cover. That was the only reason she was here. Regardless of her thoughts on the subject, Paul 'The Knockout' Levesque was one of the most popular people on the planet right now. A cover story featuring him would sell like hotcakes. She only hoped he was able to string two sentences together. From her experience, athletes weren't the best in-depth interview never mind boxers.

"Can I help you, miss?"

Her bright blue eyes were drawn to a short aging man. He was stooped over a wooden stool staring at her suspiciously. Stephanie tried not to let her eyes look past him and through the battered plastic window, barely concealing the dingy gym on the other side. "Hi. I'm Stephanie McMahon from Vanity Fair."

When he continued to stare blankly she let out a quiet sigh. He obviously had no clue who the fuck she was or why somebody like her was even in a dump like this. "I'm here to interview Mr Levesque."

Again nothing.

"Paul Levesque?"

This time her irritation got the better of her and she pointed through the bulletproof glass at a man ducking around the boxing ring inside. "That guy?" She didn't even know if it was him or not but she pointed anyway.

"Where you say you was from again?"

His voice sounded like gravel and his face was tired. Stephanie immediately felt bad for talking to him like an idiot. "I'm from Vanity Fair." This time she stepped closer and spoke a little louder. "I'm here to interview the champ."

Interview the champ? Why did she say that? She never spoke like that.

"Oh right. Charlie said a broad was coming by. Hey Charlie! The broad for the in'erview is here!"

The gravel in his voice made way for a surprising bellow. Stephanie stared wide eyed. For such a little guy he sure had a bite.

"You're early."

A tall broad shouldered man wearing a somewhat expensive looking suit appeared suddenly.

"Is that a problem?"

"Absolutely not," he answered with a smile. "He's not finished training yet so you'll have to wait. Do you mind?"

She shrugged her shoulders and followed him through the dilapidated door. "It's fine."

"Charlie Spence by the way. Nice to finally meet you in person."

Stephanie shook the offered hand and attempted a smile. It was very difficult given the fusty smell of stale sweat that had attacked her nostrils the second she had walked into the room. "Likewise."

"I'm very grateful you reached out to us for the interview. Trust me, we had our pick of the lot, Paul's a hot topic right now, but Vanity Fair? You guys were at the top of the list." Charlie directed her to the beaten sofa just off to the side of the ring. It was the only decent place for her to sit and truth be told, he wasn't expecting…well, he wasn't expecting her to come walking through the door. In his mind he had never pictured her to be so attractive. Now this beautiful reporter from Vanity Fair had waltzed into their gym and the place was a complete tip. The back of his neck burned in embarrassment. "He'll be ready to talk in a couple of minutes. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"I'm fine, honestly. I'm just going to walk around if that's okay? Get a feel for the place. It'll help with the story."

"Sure, knock yourself out!"

It was corny but Stephanie laughed anyway. She did want to look around. Maybe there would be some cute little anecdote scribbled on the wall about him or something. But there was too much activity in the ring to pass up. She slowly walked towards the action, her eyes immediately drawn to the two men inside…well, one in particular. She had seen the pictures, hell, she had seen the footage. Who hadn't?

He had come from out of nowhere to upset the then IBF Heavyweight Champion. It was only supposed to be a warm-up fight for Luis Cicero…until he got knocked out in the third round. The sports world was up in arms over it while laymen on the street asked the logical question; 'If somebody KO's the world champ in a non title fight then shouldn't he get a title fight next?'

It quickly became the million dollar question, a question the embarrassed World Champion wanted to put to bed.

It was a fluke.

He just got lucky.

Lightning wouldn't strike twice.

Luis Cicero was so certain it wouldn't happen again that he put his IBF Heavyweight Title on the line to prove it.

Except it did.

Overnight Paul Levesque became a boxing sensation. It didn't take three rounds this time.

Only one.

Stephanie was well versed on the story by now. She had done her research, on the boxing side of things anyway. But there was still very little information on the man himself. He didn't seem big on public speaking, only ever thanking his mother in his victory speeches and analyzing his fights for the announcers.

With every fight and every KO that passed, his matches became a bigger and bigger spectacle. The mystery surrounding him only seemed to enhance his celebrity. Most boxing critics hated his guts for appearing out of nowhere and flipping the entire sport on its head. Meanwhile most boxing fans loved to watch him fight because they knew they were guaranteed a surefire knockout. And Stephanie was convinced most women just wanted to fuck him. Standing there watching him in action, and despite her best efforts, she could certainly see why.

"Left! Left! Duck! Uppercut….come on, son….COME ON! Hit with that right. AGAIN! AGAIN!"

Just watching him was exhausting. The loud smack of leather on leather boomed throughout the large expanse of the room. It sounded lethal. Stephanie watched with deep interest. She watched his movements. She watched the way his massive arm pulled back and then cannoned forward with such force. The movement was so powerful she could literally see every muscle from his bicep to his forearm contract and then release with energy. He continued to follow the instructions as they were screamed at him.

"Gimme the winner, Paul. Gimme the winner….."

The punch that followed was so loud it reverberated around the hall. Stephanie couldn't fathom the power behind his punches. He was two hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle moving at speed and with precision. His hands were weapons, that had never been as clear as it was now.

The sparring session had concluded with the money shot. Even from her untrained eye Stephanie could tell that was it, that was it. A flurry of activity started moving in her direction.

He was walking this way.

She backtracked, half stumbling towards the worn sofa and falling into a seated position. She was quickly surprised to find herself staring across the chipped coffee table at the current IBF, WBF and IBPA Heavyweight Champion of the world.

A sudden lump developed in her throat and she tried desperately not to stare. He was even bigger up close like this. In her peripheral vision she could vaguely make out his trainers fussing all around him but her eyes had zeroed in on a lone drop of sweat. At the most painstaking speed possible, it slowly weaved a delicate pattern from his throat all the way down to his ridiculous abs before disappearing into his black shorts.

"Paul!"

The boxing champion tipped his head in the direction of his publicist. Charlie was a nice guy but he truly hated his job. Why the fuck did he have to keep speaking to these reporters? There was only so many times he could say the same shit. Didn't they get bored asking the same questions? He sure as hell got bored giving the same answers. He didn't want any of this. He just wanted to box. Why did all this other crap have to go along with it?

"Paul, this is Stephanie McMahon from Vanity Fair. She's here to conduct that feature piece I was talking to you about, remember?"

Paul could hear the pleading in the other man's tone. Fuck he sounded desperate. Was he really that transparent? Withholding the sigh that so badly wanted to break free, Paul finally looked at the woman across from him and managed a small smile. "Hi."

"Hi. Ummmm, do you want to have the interview here or…?"

"Yeah, just…hold on a second. Jimmy will you take my gloves off?"

Stephanie sat silently observing the process. First the gloves were removed and set aside. She ignored the pungent whiff that followed the movement. Maybe if she stayed here long enough the smells would become second nature. Next a pair of scissors was used to cut through his heavily taped wrists and fingers. She hadn't realized how much padding was underneath a boxing glove. The area around his knuckles was glowing bright red. It changed from red to pale yellow, the skin pinching and stretching as he methodically flexed his fingers. There was the smallest hint of a grimace on his face each time his hands made a fist. Stephanie suddenly regretted not bringing a photographer along. All of this would have made for fantastic images to compliment the piece.

"Here you go, Champ."

With his hands now free, Paul quickly rubbed a towel over his face before pulling on a black hoodie. He left the zip undone and settled back into the lumpy yet still comfortable cushions. This gym was a complete and utter dump but it was his dump. He felt at home when he trained here. It reminded him of where he came from. He didn't need a fancy bright gym with new equipment. All he had ever needed was a pair of gloves, a ring and something to hit. "So you're from Vanity Fair?"

"That's right."

"I must be getting important."

The comment, accompanied by a brief little smirk appearing on his face, put Stephanie at ease. She too got comfortable and clicked her pen. "What makes you say that?"

"I've done these things before but I didn't know half the people I was talking to. I know Vanity Fair."

Stephanie started the recording on her phone and placed it in the centre of the coffee table. At his questioning gaze she told him it was merely for her records. "So Paul, where should we start?"

"Isn't that supposed to be your job?"

"This doesn't have to be a chore you know."

His deadpan expression told her everything she needed to know. He clearly hated the fact that he was being forced to have these interviews. Somehow it made her want to help him out. She just didn't know how.

"I've already said what it feels like to be undefeated. I've already said what it feels like to knockout champion after champion. I've already said I don't give a shit what the critics have to say about me. No offense…Miss McMahon, but I don't really see what else you can possibly want to know about me."

It wasn't an outburst by any means but it was clearly a man venting about his own personal groundhog day.

"Tell me about your childhood."

Paul was thrown by her question. What did that have to do with anything? Why did everybody want to know every single little fucking thing about him? "It was shit."

"Paul…" Charlie interrupted, already sensing where this was going. Paul could be the biggest sports star in the world if he just learned to open up a little. If he let the world in, just a little, it would quell the curiosity. By constantly refusing to open up it only fueled the fire and made people more interested. Now with the biggest fight of Paul's career in a few weeks time there was more hype than ever. The masses needed something to spin their wheels. Charlie knew this could be it. Vanity Fair. This was legitimate mainstream media. He silently urged his client to just get over it and accept that he was a genuine celebrity now. There was no denying it any more. "Paul, maybe if you talked about something you want to talk about this would be more enjoyable for all of us?"

"I don't want to talk about anything."

"Jesus, Paul…"

"It's fine," Stephanie interjected. She turned to Charlie and smiled her best smile. "If you wouldn't mind I'd like to speak to Paul alone?"

"You sure?"

"Yep. Thank you."

With Charlie gone and everybody else busy with their own activities, Paul couldn't stop the sigh that escaped him this time. He'd have no choice but to participate in this. She was smart, he'd give her that. As she leafed through some pages in her notepad he took the opportunity to look her over. She wore a tight knee length navy skirt with a cream colored blouse tucked into the waist. He thought it was a bit formal for a reporter but she was certainly easy on the eyes. That he couldn't deny. In fact she was beautiful. But she probably had some guy lapping around after her. Besides, he probably wasn't good enough for somebody like her. All he seemed to attract lately were gold digging bitches who thought if they sucked his dick good enough he'd put a ring on their finger.

"Ok, let's try this again?"

Paul snapped out of his funk. "Look, just ask whatever you're going to ask, I'll say whatever you think is good and you can get out of here. Job done."

"This is a story on you, not what you think I want to hear." He stared at her and she took his silence as a chance to continue. "What is your problem with this anyway?"

"What?"

"Why can't you just talk to me? Is there something you don't want the world to know? Who is Paul Levesque? Who are you?"

The string of rapid fire questions would have annoyed him under usual circumstances. But not from her. He sighed and rubbed at his face. "Look, I'm just not…good at this stuff, ok? I don't know what to say. I don't know why everybody is so interested in the first place. I'm a fighter. I fight. That's it."

"You shocked the world. People want to see you, Paul. That's why they're interested. They want to know who you are and the longer you stay silent the more they want to know. Charlie? He gets that. Why can't you?"

For the longest time he said nothing and Stephanie had reached her limit. She was seconds away from packing up and leaving when his muttered voice kept her strapped to her seat. "I didn't hear…"

"My dad walked out when I was nine."

"OK. Ummmm…" She was thrown. "Your dad…"

"He got laid off his job and couldn't take the pressure any more I guess. So he walked out. From then it's been me and my mom."

The way his tone immediately grew soft when he spoke of his mother truly moved Stephanie. He clearly had a great affection for her. It seemed she had finally broken through. "Tell me more about your mom…"