Disclaimer: I do not own the characters and real people portrayed in this story. Vince McMahon and WWE own the characters, and the real people own themselves.

A/N: Just a short fic for today. I'm not good at math, so if the days and numbers and calculations are wrong, just go with it. Be brutal if you want to since I don't really care either way, I think that speaks for a person out there who would just love to say nasty things to me, I invite the nastiness, thanks. :)

Enjoy. :)

It had been 731 days.

Not that he had been counting or anything, not that he had marked off each day in his calendar like he was waiting for some big surprise to happen at the end. There wasn't some big circle on his calendar, with big, bold letters telling him that something great was going to happen. Nothing great was going to happen, nothing great had happened for the past 731 days.

Not that he was counting...much.

The math had been simple, a year from the day, and then a year from that day. 365 plus 365, also that this year had been a leap year, so one more day to that and he arrived at the magical number. It didn't take him long, didn't take him a calculator, a simple pencil and paper had sufficed.

But he still wasn't counting.

He had no reason to count at all. Just because he hadn't spoken to her, or been near her, or looked into her...no, he had no reason to count at all. He had left SmackDown, and that was that. That had been all his own decision, a decision he had come to after thinking long and hard...if seven minutes was long and hard. Seven minutes...seven minutes in exchange for 731 days. That wasn't much was it? It seemed like an even trade.

If by even, it meant miserable.

No, not miserable that he was on Raw, because it was the far better show anyways. He had caught SmackDown a couple of times since had left, and hearing that Bradshaw was the new WWE, well, it almost cheapened the title itself. No, he was glad he had got off that ship. Besides, Kurt was running it now, not--well, yeah, Kurt was running the show now.

He was miserable for another reason, a reason that he would be loath to admit, and so he kept it tucked away nicely in the part of his brain that was covered in dust and moths. It had been a long, long time, and he had pushed it back into the dark recesses of his mind where it belonged.

After all, it had been 731 days. And in those past 731 days, things had changed for him...and quite obviously from what he had seen, for her too. He had fallen for Trish Stratus; he had succumbed to her allure, falling for the blonde vixen hook, line, and sinker. He had gotten over...well, there was nobody to get over because there was nobody else to think about. It had been way too long to still think of...that girl as someone he could want and have a relationship with. That chance had passed 853 days ago.

Not that he was counting those days either...that was just silly.

But the thing with Trish had been a bust. Not because of what happened with Christian; he had known about that anyways, it was the reason behind it, the real reason, not the fabricated one she told everyone. She had found out his dirty, little secret, that one he had tucked away and had dumped him, plain and simple. All because he was pining away...no, he wasn't pining away for someone. That was preposterous, he was simply getting into math as a hobby.

Now that was a lie...he was count--no, no, he wasn't counting, he simply had the date on the brain. It was the date he had jumped to Raw. That was it, he had contacted Bischoff and gone to Raw the following Monday. 731 days that he had officially become a Raw guy, and that was that; that was the reason he had figured out the dubious number.

It wasn't because of her if that was what people were thinking. That was stupid, just because it had ALSO been 731 days since he had seen her didn't mean--ok, so it meant a little something. But not so much that anybody had to make a big deal out of it because he wasn't. He had already thrown the paper that he had done the math on, away. It was wasting away in some trash bin right now, getting ready to be taken to the dump where it would disintegrate and he would forget that he had sat down at his desk and calculated the days since the last time he had seen...no, the last time he had been on SmackDown.

There was no other reason for his counting days, NO reason at all.

Yeah, he didn't believe himself with that one. Not when he was standing at a certain front door, with a certain piece of paper in his hand (no, it wasn't the paper he had calculated the numbers on, that was wasting away remember), that held an address, nothing more than a series of numbers and letters that had led him here, to her door...or a door, it didn't have to be name-specific. He shoved the paper in his pocket and shoved down the knot in his stomach, and then rang her doorbell. It had been 731 days.

He wasn't letting it be 732.

THE END