It was their fifth date. He had initiated the sex. Waylon had initiated the chocking. He never saw it coming.


"Sorry, excuse me, uh, sorry if I'm interrupting anything. Got the key from the desk. President Monsoon's looking for Mr. Waylon Mercy - he says it's urgent."

Waylon released his grip, pulled out, rolled off the bed. "Well, thank you for your promptness, son. You have surely found Waylon Mercy, even though I'm afraid to say you were interrupting something. Where is our President Monsoon fixing to have this meeting?"

"He's up in Room 632, Mr. Mercy."

Waylon was already buttoning his hawaiian shirt by the time Scott came back to himself enough to turn his head towards his rescuer. It was that young guy from the Headshrinkers, Fatu. Scott never really ran with the tag division guys, but he'd seen their matches and Fatu was a hell of a wrestler. Even so, Scott hoped it didn't come to a fight. He was still half way to dream street and he didn't like Fatu's chances alone, not against a guy nearly the size of Diesel.

As Waylon approached the door he paused, looming over Fatu.

"I don't believe we've had the pleasure of facing each other in the ring before. What's your name, son?"

"I'm Fatu. You're right, we haven't wrestled before. I was mostly a tag team guy until recently."

"Well, Fatu, maybe we can have us a match sometime soon." Waylon extended his hand with a genial smile. Fatu shook it.

As soon as the door closed behind Waylon, Fatu buried his face in his hands, shaking.

"Holy shit. Holy fuckin' shit." He looked across the room to Scott. "Are you okay?"

Scott rubbed his throat, head still spinning. "I think you saved my life," he mumbled.

Fatu didn't say anything, he just grabbed Scott's jeans off the floor as he approached the bed. He offered Scott a hand up, which Scott gratefully accepted.

"Thanks," Scott said, bracing himself against Fatu's shoulders as he tried to get his pants on. He didn't notice they were inside-out until he already had one leg on, but fuck if he was going to take them off and try again at this point. It took him three tries to get the button on his flies. "Shit, sorry, I'm really shook up."

"I don't blame you, man, me too." Fatu unzipped his jacket. "Here. Scotty Taylor, right?" Fatu draped the jacket around his shoulders.

"Yeah." Scott wrestled ineffectually with the sleeves until he managed to get both arms in. "I really think you saved my life, you know?"

"Come on, let's get out of here."


"He was so nice to me. No one's ever been so nice on a date." Scott stared disconsolately down at his waffles. "How'd you know?"

Fatu shrugged. "Tag division grapevine. Cornett told Captain Lou that Jimmy del Rey says that Mercy's on every bad trick list from Jacksonville to Calgary. Del Rey's no friend of mine, but the guy knows his business. Then I saw you guys getting on the elevator and, I just - I guess I figured, fuck, if everything's fine and I get my ass beat for busting in on you, so what, right?"

Scott looked up at him. "Most people wouldn't have done that. Thank you."

"Yeah, well…." Fatu gave a sheepish half-smile and pushed his grits around with his spoon.