A/N: This one's for WWE'sFinestDiva2012(: Sara is her property and so is the storyline. On a completely unrelated note, anyone catch The Royal Rumble? Does anyone feel my pain? Gah. Anyway, reviews would be very much appreciated! Happy Reading!

Sara

"Randy! That's my ball!" shrieked a five-year old Sara Molinaro. She was chasing around a six year old Randy Orton, the boy next door that'd been her friend as long as she could remember. Except, of course, when he stole her favorite ball and ran around her yard with it held over his head, too far for her to reach. She jumped, using his arms as leverage, but, even so, he was still too tall. "Randy, please!" He laughed, then placed his hand on her head, holding back her struggling body.

"Okay, okay, but on one condition!" She stopped struggling and looked up at him with her big green eyes. "You have to promise that we'll be best friends forever." She laughed, jumped up, and grabbed the ball.

"Well, duh, silly. We'll always be friends!" she promised, jumping on him in a hug. He pushed her off playfully and ran away.

"Gross, cooties!"

"Randy! That's my phone! Give it back!" screeched a sixteen year old Sara. They were still best friends, just like they promised, but now, when her friend stole her phone, it was both a pain and a pleasure to get it back. He'd grown taller, his jaw had sharpened, his muscles were lean but visible and he was all around much more attractive to her eyes than he had been eleven years ago. He laughed, holding it away from her and she grabbed onto his forearm, trying to launch herself upwards. She stretched, causing her body to brush against his. He looked down, meeting her gray-green eyes with his blue-gray ones, and she stopped struggling but didn't pull away. He wasn't laughing anymore as he stared down at her, their faces mere inches apart.

"You've got really pretty eyes Sara," he murmured softly, leaning in to peck her cheek. She flushed and pulled back, her phone forgotten.

"Thanks," she murmured shyly, pulling back. He dropped his arm to his side and she grinned widely and dove, snatching it from his grip. "Ha! I win!" He smiled and crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall of her kitchen.

"Only cause I let you." She shook her head and barely smiled back.

"No, I beat you this time. So that means I get to pick the condition now." He dropped the smile playfully and rolled his eyes.

"Alright Princess Sara. What'll it be this time?" She tapped her finger to her chin in mock thought and moved towards him. She placed her hands on his chest and turned her expression from joking to serious. His hands came up to cover hers and he looked at her curiously.

"Promise we'll be best friends forever." His expression softened and he squeezed her hands.

"We'll always be best friends silly," he promised, giving her a hug and snagging her phone from her back pocket, laughing as she screamed at him and began chasing him around the house.

She cried when he enlisted as a marine. She cried a lot when he left and even his eyes watered as he hugged her tightly and promised he wouldn't be away for long and that they'd still be best friends. When he went AWOL, her house was the first he went to. She'd always remember the look on his face when she opened to door. He looked gaunt and tired and pale, but his eyes had lit up when he saw her and she'd been the one crying as she dragged him inside. He hugged her tightly and she'd felt his own tears leaking into her hair. She'd taken care of him, tried to make him happier, like he'd been before he left. He decided a few weeks later to go back and at least get discharged. She'd cried again and he'd kissed her hand and told her not to worry. They had a unique relationship. She went on dates with guys when he was away and she was sure that he had his fair share of women, but they were never with anyone when they were together. They were best friends, but something more as well, in a relationship without ever dating. When she began training for the WWE, he was right beside her, asking his dad for recommendations for them both. He was trained by his father for a few months while she worked with the few divas she had access to before he personally brought her into the company to be trained next to him, saying he knew she could handle it because she was the strongest girl he'd ever met.

She made her debut shortly after he did, in a match against Victoria. She won, and the second she'd gotten backstage, Randy had picked her up and hugged her so tightly she couldn't breathe. It became a routine, one or the other waiting in the back while their counterpart wrestled, then a congratulatory dinner or a sympathetic hug. They grew closer and closer until he was promoted to General Manager. He became distant, letting his power go to his head, playing women and tossing them aside, not talking to her anymore. She took it all in stride, thinking the storm would blow over, but then he went and forced her to compete against Trish Stratus in a bra-and-panties match for her newly won belt. She'd won, barely, and he swaggered out, asking for some kind of reward, preferably a kiss. She glared at him and reached up to smack her hand across his face. The cheers from the crowd showed their pleasure and she could just imagine what Jerry Lawler was yelling into his headset. His eyes had narrowed and he'd begun yelling about all the consequences she would face for laying her hands on her boss. She'd snatched the microphone away from him, a more serious version of the game they'd always played as children.

"Bring on all your punishments. Fire me! Go ahead Randy, fire me!" she screamed, stepping into his personal space. He looked conflicted and confused as he waved in another microphone, but as soon as he had it in his hands, his trademark sneer had appeared on his face.

"I won't fire you Sara. You provide so much entertainment." Her eyes darkened and she stepped closer until she was centimeters from his face. His smirk faltered at the look on her face and she grabbed the microphone he'd just been handed.

"I win. I choose the condition. Don't talk to me outside of business, 'kay? Consider any former conditions void. No more promises," she said coldly, dropping the microphones. The crowd was silent, sensing that their fight had exceeded business and become personal. He looked so hurt and she had wanted to reach up and hug him, but she couldn't allow herself to soothe him. So she'd exited the ring and made her way to the back. Tears started falling from her eyes and she tried not to look at the roster that hovered in shock near the curtain. She yanked on the sweats and t-shirt she wore after her matches that she left on the stool near the entrance. She swiped at her eyes and only looked up when the body in front of her wouldn't move. She met her path-blocker's eyes, ready to snap, when she saw the kind look that John Cena was giving her. He opened his arms and, before she could think, she rushed into his embrace.

"I'm sorry Sara," he soothed, rubbing her back. She heard the cumulative gasp and was able to guess who'd just walked in through the curtain.

"Sara," Randy began, then stopped cold seeing her in John's arms. She pulled back and wiped her eyes before turning to face him with an expressionless face.

"What? I mean, yes, sir?" she asked, icily polite. His expression was pained as he looked around at the others. The rest of the roster quickly began exiting the room until it was just her, Randy, and John. She gently placed her hand on John's arm. "You can go. I'll be fine. Thanks," she said quietly, offering a small wave when he turned and left, after eyeing Randy warily. She sucked in a deep breath and caught her reflection in the black T.V monitor. Her eyes were swollen and there were tear stains down her cheeks. Her skin was beginning to blotch and her hair was still messed up from her title match. She didn't bother to clean herself up, wanting to let him see what he'd done to her. Her eyes met his and she was somewhat surprised by the concern that lighted in them. "Sir, if there will be no further discussion, I'd like to go get cleaned up." He reached forward and she pulled back like he'd electrocuted her.

"Sara, come on. Talk to me," he pled, moving closer to her. She quickly averted her eyes.

"Sir, I would really like to go shower and change," she deadpanned, turning away.

"Dammit Sara, I'm trying here!" he exploded. She jerked around and strode towards him, jabbing her finger to his chest.

"You should be! This is your fault! You just forced me, me, you're five year old neighbor, your sixteen year old best friend, your haven when you came back from the marines, to compete against Trish Stratus in a bra-and-panties match for my title. You haven't talked to me for weeks; you've been too busy playing with your little dolls. When's the last time we had dinner together? You just put me in a bra-and-panties match on international television. You want to see me strip? Is that what you want?" she realized she was yelling by the shock that covered his face. She yanked at her shirt, successfully pulling it over her head. "This is what you like isn't it? When girls just take their clothes off like it's nothing?" Her fingers went to the waistband of her sweats when his hands closed around her wrists and yanked them up towards his chest. She struggled, trying to wiggle away. He closed one hand over both her wrists and held her while he bent and retrieved her shirt. He gently draped it over her torso and pulled her close despite her fighting. His arms wrapped tightly around her.

"Sara, I'd never want you to strip for me. I'm not saying you don't have a beautiful body or that I wouldn't kill to take you to my bed, but I'd never want you to take your clothes of like it's nothing. I'm sorry about the match, I'm sorry about the distance, I'm sorry about the girls. You've always been so good to me and I've been a jackass. I'm sorry. Please, don't cry. I can't lose you," he whispered frantically, pulling her closer and nervously petting her hair. She let him smother her for a moment before she pulled away, looking at him with wide eyes. He was staring at her, almost crazily, patting her face, trying to reassure himself of her presence. She offered a sad smile and pressed her hand to his cheek.

"I will never let you lose me. But one thing you need to understand about me is that I need you to want me more than you want your suits, your girls, or your power. Because that's how much I want you. I want you more than my title, my job, or any superstar. So, when that day comes, when you figure out what you want more, come find me. I'll be around," she murmured softly, reaching up on her tip toes to brush a kiss near the corner of his mouth. His hands tightened around hers.

"Sara, please," he begged. She'd never heard him beg.

"I'm not going anywhere. Just come find me when you're ready," she sighed, turning away and breaking his hold so that she wouldn't see the broken look on his face. When she was no longer facing him, she let the tears fall.

Randy

Six days, twelve hours, and ten minutes. It'd been six days, twelve hours, and ten minutes since he'd last talked to Sara and she had told him that he needed to make a choice between her and his lifestyle. He would've thrown it all away to have her, and he almost had a mere three minutes after she'd walked out of the locker room, but he'd been so emotionally destroyed he couldn't do much other than return to his office and stare blankly at the wall. He couldn't remember the first day and a half after. He knew she was always under the same roof as he was, but it was different now. She avoided him in the halls, didn't want him at the curtain when she wrestled, and, when they were forced to interact, she was rigidly polite and detached. He missed her. He missed her bright smile and perky attitude. He had tried to talk to her on day two, but something was off. She was in the gym, which surprised him. It had been late, real late. The time he usually had the gym to himself, but she was there, and she had snapped at him, asking him if he'd made up his mind. When he'd given a political answer, she'd shook her head, put her headphones back in, and went back to sprinting on the treadmill. That was when he'd known something was wrong. Cardio was her least favorite part of her work out routine, something she skimmed on. To see her sprinting in the gym at three in the morning just didn't happen. He'd known her since she was five; he was able to tell when something was off. So, he'd spent the last four days, seven hours, and eight minutes watching her. He knew that was creepy, something she would've slapped him for before, but he needed to know she was okay. And she was not okay. She hung out near catering (she was always with John now-a-days), but she never ate. She was in the gym all the time, till the early hours of the morning, and he could see the angles of her face were sharpening as if she was losing a substantial amount of weight. She snapped at almost everyone and spent the time she wasn't with John by herself. On day six, hour thirteen, minute twenty two, he'd been on his way to her locker room to tell her that he wanted her too, when he saw John kneeling over her limp body in the hallway. For a moment, everything went white.

"What the hell did you do to her?" he spit, his hand at John's throat as he yanked him back from her body and up against the wall. His former friend's eyes were wide in disbelief.

"Are you kidding me? I have never hurt a woman in my life, especially not a friend! We were walking together on the way back from catering and she just passed out on me!" he yelled, shoving Randy off and bending next to Sara again.

"People don't just pass out! What's wrong with her?" he demanded, dropping to both knees and carefully cradling her head on his lap. John looked at him curiously before gently placing two fingers to her neck and counting silently.

"Call 911. Her pulse is fading."

It'd been complete chaos when the ambulance had shown up. The roster had seen John frantically yelling into a phone and was now hovering around her. Well, her and him. He was still cradling her head, running his hand through her hair and murmuring desperately for her to come back to him. The girls shot him death glares but the guys just looked confused. When the EMT's arrived, John had to peel him off so they could do their job. They started barking lots of medical terms; the only thing he understood was that she needed to go to the nearest hospital now. They wouldn't let anyone in the ambulance with her and he's been so frantic to be there for her when she woke up (because she would wake up) that he'd left John in charge and followed behind the ambulance. When he walked through the doors to the ER, he remembered how much he hated hospitals. The smell, the temperature, the blandness, everything. The nurse behind the desk gave him a skeptical look when he demanded to know what room she was in.

"I'm sorry, sir, only family is allowed back in the ICU," she said politely, shuffling her papers around.

"I'm her fiancé," he blurted, not hesitating to lie to see her. The nurse raised her eyebrows and clicked the computer a few times.

"Can you tell me her birthday and answer her security question?"

"April 09, 1981. Yes, I can," he sighed, knowing it would be only minutes until he could see her again.

"Alright. What's the name of her favorite pet?" the nurse asked, squinting at the screen and looking back up at him.

"Scruffy. He was a terrier mix she got for her eight birthday. She was destroyed when he died," he murmured off-handedly, remembering how he'd held her the day after her 19th birthday as she sobbed on his shoulder. The nurse looked vaguely surprised as she gave him her room information and pointed him down the hall.

She looked so lifeless, connected to tubes and wires, he almost cried. Instead he went to her bedside and sank down in the chair, grasping her hand tightly.

"Sara, baby, what'd you do?" he whispered, leaning his forehead against the bed. A throat being cleared at the door had him jerking his head up.

"Mr. Orton is it?" the doctor asked, peering over the edge of her glasses. His brow furrowed slightly and he nodded.

"I didn't sign in," he said in a gruff voice. She smiled and pushed a piece of brown hair behind her ear.

"My eight year old watches you every Monday and Friday. You and Ms. Molinaro are engaged?" she asked politely, moving into the room and looking over the machines that were beeping. He shook his head, wondering what luck would give him a doctor that recognized him. He cleared his throat and felt his face flush slightly.

"Not exactly. We're best friends. I had to be here for her. She's my everything," he admitted softly, bringing her hand to his lips. The doctor was looking at him knowingly and he felt almost self-conscious. "What?"

"Mr. Orton," she began.

"Randy" he interrupted. He liked this woman's demeanor, how she seemed to understand that he needed to be with Sara.

"Randy. I'm in no position to be advising you, especially in your romantic life, but if Ms. Molinaro is you're everything, perhaps you should be engaged," she said, flashing a knowing smile and writing something down on Sara's charts. He opened his mouth to disagree, then felt the shock ripple through him as he realized that maybe she was right. Sara was his everything; he'd been on his way to tell her so when all this had happened. Maybe that was what she had meant when she'd asked him to decide. "But on a more serious note, Randy, something is very wrong with Ms. Molinaro. Would you like to step out in the hall?" He shook his head slightly.

"I don't want to leave her," he said quietly, moving his eyes back to her face. She looked very…fragile, which was not a characteristic he'd ever used to describe her before.

"Very well then. Mr. Orton, Sara is suffering from severe malnutrition. As I assume she's had food available to her and judging by the recent decay on her teeth, I believe she's been suffering from bulimia. Would you know anything about this?" she asked, looking at him intently. He felt his mouth drop open and his grip tightened around Sara's.

"Bulimic?" he squeaked, hearing a crack in his voice. "My Sara? She was under some serious stress with our relationship recently and I know she's been logging excess hours at the gym but bulimia?"

"Mr. Orton, Sara weighed in at 95 pounds." He felt his head swirl as he realized she'd dropped 20 pounds in six days. He put his head in his hands, not losing his grip on her.

"Sara, why would you do that?" he muttered under his breath. He looked back up at the doctor. "Is she going to be okay?"

"She suffered slight head trauma when she fell, so she may be unconscious for a few days, which may actually be a good thing. It'll give her body time to recover from any damage that may have been done to it with her sudden weight loss, but she should recover," the doctor soothed. She checked the watch on her wrist and announced that she had to be going now. Randy nodded as she left and turned his eyes back to Sara.

She was out for three days, four hours, and forty seven minutes. During that time, John came to see her six times, Sheamus three times, and Layla once. He left her side only to use the restroom, otherwise eating the dinners that were brought for her and sleeping with his head on her bedside. He was in this position, dozing with his head near her shoulder, when he felt nimble fingers combing through his hair. He jerked his head up, blinking the blurriness from his eyes. Her gray-green eyes were tired, but open. He shook his head and pressed the call button, telling the desk nurse that she was awake. He looked back at her. She offered a weak half smile and dropped her eyes guiltily.

"Sara, we have to talk about this," he finally said, squeezing her hand to bring her eyes back to his. She cleared her throat.

"What's there to talk about? I got a little woozy, that's all. I can probably even compete tonight," she whispered hoarsely. His eyebrows shot up and he reached over for the call button again.

"Can you send in her doctor please?" he requested, never taking his eyes off of her. She looked confused.

"Why do I need a doctor?"

"Sara, you've been unconscious for three days. This is not just 'woozy'. The doctor says, taking into account your 20 pound weight loss and decay on the backs of your teeth, that you've been suffering from bulimia," he said softly, rubbing his thumb along her fingers. She tipped her head back and gave a watery sigh. When she turned her head to look at him, her eyes were glassy.

"Have I gained it back?" she asked quietly. He furrowed his brow. "Have I gained the weight back?"

"You were 18 pounds underweight Sara. They've just gotten you back to where you should be, but you're still lighter than you were when you checked in."

"Dammit," she whispered, closing her eyes. He squeezed her hand again, bringing her knuckles to his lips until she opened her eyes.

"Why would you do that to yourself?" he asked gently, massaging her thigh were his other hand rested. Her eyes filled with tears again and she didn't speak for a long time.

"I was hoping that if I was thinner, I could more closely resemble the girls you always have on your arm," she finally croaked, closing her eyes and forcing the tears over the edge. He carefully reached a thumb up and wiped under her eyes, not speaking until she opened them again.

"Baby, no one is more beautiful to me than you. I was on my way to tell you that when I ran into you passed out in the hallway. My sweet Sara," he murmured, shifting his weight until he was inches from her face. Her eyes were wide and she was staring unblinkingly like she was afraid it was all a dream. "Just tell me if you want me to stop." She said nothing and he gently pressed his lips to hers, finding what he was looking for when he brought other girls to his bed. Home.

He gave up his suits for her. He gave up the girls for her. He gave up his power for her. And theirs went on to be the only wedding aired on television that wasn't ruined in any way, because all of the roster was standing on the stage, clapping, relieved that The Viper had finally found his home.

"Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone - we find it with another."

- Thomas Merton