Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Any and all original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: This is an A/U story, so please keep in mind there will be many situations that don't match up with real life. There are also things that will appear unexplained at the end of this chapter, but more of the facts will come out as the story progresses.
When the sun went away, Chris Irvine came out to play.
The customary mode of operation for fast food establishments was to throw out all the uneaten food at night, just before the store's closing hours, and it was critical that he get to them before they made that mistake. His empty stomach roared and gave a voice to his esurience, but he didn't bat an eyelash about it and, instead, turned towards the backseat of his vehicle to check on his young son. The scarce amount of clothing and toiletries they owned littered the car's seats and floor, and Chris flinched and bit back a burning emergence of tears as he took in the sight of his sleeping little boy. The events of that day were identical to the day before that...and before that...and before that.
While Chris hadn't been able to keep an accurate count, considering his car had become his house, he inferred it was going on somewhere around two months since he and Graham had lost their home to foreclosure. Life hadn't stopped at handing him lemons - - it had pulverized the sour fruit in a mixer and dumped the concoction right over the top of his head: rinds, seeds, juice, and all. As Chris focused his attention back on the lit-up coffee shop, a few customers still dawdling about inside and sipping on their lattes, he recalled his ambitions from years before. His aim had been to compete in the ring as a professional wrestler, and that was exactly what he stood up and announced to the fellow members of his church when he was a teenager.
The sting still cut through his heart when he remembered the snickers that sounded through the building after he announced his goals. Yet, they had all been right, because he failed in making any of those goals come true. Just before he was set to leave for Calgary, at age 19, to receive hands-on wrestling training, his mother had suffered a catastrophic injury in a freak accident that left her wheelchair-bound and helpless, and Chris had been the one to pick up the pieces. Upon learning of his plans to remain home, his mother scolded him and insisted he not give up on his dreams, but being an exemplary son was more important to him than becoming the next Ricky Steamboat.
So he stuck around and landed a job manning the front desk of a local gym, which he chose because it was most likely as close to any professional wrestlers as he would ever make it. Of course, back then he had the help of his wife, Carly, who had a moneymaker of a job in the hotel industry. In what could only be described as a dastardly string of bad luck for Chris, Carly had gone to a nightclub in 2002 to celebrate her best friend's birthday and left a then two-year-old Graham home with Chris to sleep. Before sunrise the next morning, she was gone - - a victim of a drive-by shooting as she crossed the parking lot to return to her friend's car and arrive home. Graham was all Chris had left of her, and his honey blond hair and freckles were a constant reminder of the woman he'd loved and lost.
The car's ignition remained off except for the occasion periods of letting the heater run, so Chris stuck his key in and turned it just enough to power the stereo and clock, finding there was only another twenty minutes before the coffee shop would close. If there was any hope of retrieving food from them, it would have to be before the clock struck 10:00 PM. Cursing under his breath over the downfall that he would have to pull Graham from what appeared to be a restful sleep, he shifted in his seat to face the backseat and shook his son awake by the shoulder. Armed with only a box of saltine crackers and some spray cheese, they needed a miracle to find some sort of meal before they officially called it a night.
"Hey, buddy, I need you to get up for a little bit," Chris murmured. Graham grunted his displeasure and hijacked a ball cap from the floor, placing it over his eyes to shield them. It may not have been his intent, but he earned a laugh out of Chris nonetheless. "I know you're tired, and I'll let you go right back to sleep, but we have to go see about food first."
"Food?" his ears perked up at the mention, and his enthusiasm over that single word made Chris's stomach turn. He couldn't believe he had landed in a situation where he wasn't able to provide his own child with the most basic of necessities, but all the nearby shelters they visited turned them away, claiming they were overcrowded as it was. Chris was all alone to fend for himself in the big, bad world, and if he was that terrified as an adult, he could only imagine how Graham must have felt. He hadn't yet reached his eighth birthday and had already struggled through more than most people who were five times his age.
"Don't get too excited yet, but we'll see if they have anything extra they were gonna throw out, all right?"
"Cool!" Graham rose to attention and shimmied into his jacket to combat the biting temperatures outside. Most of their clothing had to be thrown away before they left their old house, simply because they had no place for it in the car, but Chris made it a point to hold onto the items he knew they would be needing, and having a hefty winter coat in Canada was paramount to survival. "I want to eat hot dogs and french fries and have soda!"
"Slow down there, champ," Chris advised. "This is a coffee shop, so they don't sell that kind of thing. We'll see if they have some extra muffins or something."
"Okay," Graham agreed.
"You're such a good kid," Chris's heart swelled with love for the child before him, and Graham flashed him a winning smile in appreciation of the compliment. It was the same smile he remembered Carly having, and he was so thankful, of all things, she had passed that onto their son.
"You're a good daddy," he countered.
"That makes me feel really good, I'm glad you told me that. Let's go see what we can scrounge up from this place," Chris stepped out of the car and helped Graham from the backseat before closing everything up and hurrying inside.
When they made it about halfway to the shop's entrance door, Chris was mentally kicking himself for forgetting their scarves in the car. Someone once told him to wear a scarf everywhere in cold weather to prevent illness, and it worked like a charm, so he couldn't believe he would actually manage to forget the extra garments. Over the course of their vagabonding, he and Graham hadn't reached the point of wearing tattered rags, but they were in dingy jeans and shirts that desperately needed a wash. Chris made a diffident move to smooth down some wrinkles in his jeans before opening the door with his free hand as he held Graham's hand with the other.
When he entered businesses as of late, Chris had the paranoid feeling everyone was staring at him and his son, noticing they were homeless and looking down on them for it. In actuality, it was likely his own dissatisfaction with life that he was projecting onto others, but it was a lousy feeling he couldn't shake. There was nobody in line, which was mighty convenient for Chris as he sidled right on up to the counter, sending Graham a wink. Even when things weren't going so well, he tried to keep his energy levels up when he knew his son was watching, because he didn't want him to worry any more than he probably already was. Graham was too young for that sort of stress and burden.
"Hi, how can I help you?" a young-looking man with a name tag that identified him as 'Bryan' asked.
"Hi," Chris paused, often growing sheepish when it came to asking for handouts. When he glanced down at his son's hopeful face, he remembered who he was doing it for and started again, "I know you guys are closing soon, and I was wondering if you had any food from today you were planning on throwing away."
"Throwing away?" Bryan asked, seemingly not following Chris's question.
"Sorry, what I mean is, I know a lot of places will throw food out at the end of the night if it doesn't get eaten..." Chris lowered his tone in hopes no one would overhear, "and if that's the case, my son and I are hungry and would be glad to take it off your hands."
"We don't do anything like that. We don't have much food to begin with," Bryan pointed to a case on the counter that housed muffins, croissants, cookies, and what appeared to be some type of bread slices. "The food we do have stays in the containers for us to try and sell the next day."
"Right, well, here's the thing," Chris responded, growing more flustered by the second, "I've tried at least 10 fast food places in the span of the last couple hours, and all of them turned me away. I lost my job and my home, my son is hungry, I'm hungry, and I'm just trying to see if there's any way you can make an exception this once."
"I understand your troubles, and I'm sorry, sir, but there's nothing more I can do."
"My son is only eight years old, please don't do this to us."
"You can try Tim Hortons down the street and see if they would have anything, but we don't. I'm sorry for the—"
"Excuse me," someone spoke from beside him. The voice was remarkably familiar, and Chris couldn't help but feel as if he knew the person from somewhere. It only took a couples seconds more before it clicked, and when he turned his head, she was even more enthralling in person than she had ever been when playing across his television screen.
He had come face-to-face with Stephanie McMahon in all her glory.
"Oh my God, you're Stephanie McMahon! Jeez, was Raw here in Winnipeg tonight? That's why you're here, isn't it?" Chris rushed out with nary breath to be taken as he bombarded her with questions. She smiled so warmly she nearly chased all signs of chill away from his body that the weather outside had stirred up.
"That's absolutely why I'm here, it was a great show," she answered, gesturing to the table she had gotten up from. Chris couldn't believe he had walked right by her without even noticing, and even worse, he had forgotten Raw was in his hometown that evening, but that tended to happen when the only place a person had to go was their car. "Trish made a guest appearance tonight too," Stephanie explained, and he turned back to find Trish Stratus smiling at them from her seat. She directed a spirited wave at Chris and Graham, which each of them returned with moxie.
"Wow, I don't know what to say," Chris stumbled.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," Stephanie glanced between Chris and Bryan, "but I couldn't help but overhear what you were talking about. I know times can be rough with money and all that, so I'd be more than happy to pay for whatever you'd like to order."
"Oh, I can't let you do that," Chris shook his head vigorously, although he wasn't entirely sure why he was turning her down. Perhaps it was the shock of seeing someone he had watched on television for years, and even weirder, the strange way he happened to bump into her. As he mulled over her offer and realized she heard his entire conversation, he was filled with unrelenting humiliation. He stood before Stephanie McMahon, the beautiful heir to the WWE empire, and she was probably thinking the worst and assuming he was a deadbeat loser who couldn't even take care of his own son.
"Sure you can, it's no trouble at all," she responded, eyes remaining glued to his.
Stephanie's scrutiny was commanding, even striking, as she stayed connected to him through only eye contact. Chris couldn't take his eyes off her, and was both bemused and puzzled as to why she was able to make him feel as if he wanted to reach out and just...hug her. Most would assume he was feeling that way because of what she was offering, but there was so much more to it that he couldn't express in words. Her spirit, the true heart of who she was, shined through in a way that made him feel she identified with everything he was experiencing. She hadn't gone through it, but she got it all the same.
"We'll be fine, but thanks for the offer," he reiterated.
"At least let me buy something for your son," she broke their eye contact only for a second to smile at Graham before coming right back up to focus on Chris. "Please let me do this. It would make me feel better to know you both got something to eat and, actually, a muffin isn't really going to be enough," she spied the case on the counter and pressed her lips in a straight line before signaling for Trish to join them, which she did with ease. "Trish, are there any good restaurants around here?"
"Whoa, no, we can't have you do this," Chris shook his head and began backing away.
"But, Daddy, I want food," Graham whined as Chris pulled him back towards the door.
"We'll go find some, it'll be okay," he turned around and pulled a reluctant Graham along with him. Why he was walking away from an offer for free food after the week they had with meager snacks was a mystery, but it was what his gut feeling compelled him to do. His pride was making him downright irrational, but when he made it only a few paces from the door and glanced down to see his son wiping a stray tear away from his cheek, the recognition that he wasn't doing the right thing hit him like a kick to the gut. His wounded ego was coming ahead of his son's needs, and in that split second, he was disgusted with himself.
"Please let us do this," Stephanie called after them. She came to a stop beside the door just as the employee at the counter was making an announcement over the intercom that the coffee shop would be closing in five minutes. "We can make sure you and your son..." she set her sights on him, "what's your name, honey?"
"Graham," he answered airily, a far cry from his usual, rambunctious self. While they still had a house to live in, Graham had watched the WWE regularly alongside Chris, so there was a chance he was in awe of the people standing in front of him as well. He was, after all, meeting people he had been watching on television since he was a toddler.
"Hi, Graham, I'm Stephanie," she knelt down, having noticed another tear trailing down the side of his face. "I'm so happy I met you tonight, because I know you're hungry, and I'm going to make sure we get you a big, delicious dinner. Is that okay with you?"
"Yup," he agreed, matching her brilliant smile with one of his own.
Chris ruffled his son's hair just as Stephanie was standing back up and added, "I wish I knew what to say to thank you for this, but I don't know that anything I come up with would be good enough. We're so grateful to both of you for this."
"We're more than happy to do it. If you follow us in your car, we'll get on over to the restaurant and make sure you get what you need," Stephanie explained. She had an ethereal glow to her, not unlike that of a celestial being, and Chris couldn't help but feel as if she was an angel, of sorts, on earth. Not many people would go out of their way to do what she was offering, but it just went to show that fan accounts of how gracious she was were all true. She was in a class all her own and deserved every bit of praise she received.
"Thank you so much for this, and I mean it from the bottom of my heart," Chris said once more before squeezing Graham's hand. "What do you say to the pretty ladies, champ?"
"You're pretty," Graham told them shyly before erupting into a fit of giggles, which all three adults followed him into. When Chris was finally able to get a hold of himself and buckle down from his laughter, he tried again.
"No, silly, what do we say to them for offering us dinner? It starts with a 'thank' and ends with a 'you'," Chris guided him.
Graham's eyes lit up with realization, and he tried a second time, "Thank you!"
"You're more than welcome," Stephanie replied.
"It's our pleasure," Trish seconded. With that, the four of them were out the door and on their way to a nearby restaurant.
For the first time in months, Chris and Graham had a true reason to smile.