A/N: This takes place after Nuclear. You should read that first in order for this to make sense.
In the past four days, Randy had gotten calls from John's mother, father, all four of his brothers, Vince AND Stephanie McMahon, and numerous other execs at WWE. All had called him looking for John, saying he hadn't answered any of their phone calls, and he'd had NO idea what to say to any of them. Eventually he'd stopped picking up the calls from John's family, and he'd made up some sort of lies to tell to Vince and Stephanie to get them off his back. He wasn't sure whether or not they'd believed him, but they'd stopped calling, so he didn't really care. When his phone had finally stopped ringing, Randy's pacing had begun. He wore a path through the carpet in Sam's – his and Sam's – bedroom, hands running repeatedly over his scalp and mind racing. After hours of giving the entire situation serious, uninterrupted thought, Randy had reached one conclusion.
John was not okay.
The revelation had actually startled him. He'd had to sit down on Sam's – his and Sam's – bed to keep himself from losing his balance and falling over. Obviously, he hadn't expected John to be his usual cheery self after their parting. He hadn't been okay himself. He'd had to pull his truck over not two and a half miles from his and John's shared home. He'd sobbed for hours on the side of the road, chest heaving and lungs and eyes burning, before he could begin the long journey back to St. Louis. The drive had nearly killed him; he'd kept a hand pressed over his left pectoral muscle, subconsciously kneading his heart, hoping the muscle would stop aching as he drove farther and farther away from Talladega.
He'd known that leaving John would be the hardest thing he'd ever have to do, but he hadn't expected the break up to keep John down for as long as it apparently had. He'd thought that John would realize that he was better off without him, deserved better than him. He'd thought that John would prove what Randy had always known, that he was the stronger of the two of them, by getting over Randy and going back to life as it had been before they had admitted their feelings for each other. That John seemed to be as heartbroken as he was pained him more than he could say. Even now, hours after his epiphany, he sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, berating himself for ruining the strong, happy, smiling man that he'd known and loved for ten years. He hated himself.
"Randy?" Her voice floated to him through the cracked door, and his spine stiffened. Her footfalls were silent on the plush carpet, but her scent drifted to him through the air and he knew she was approaching him. Moments later the spot next to him on the bed sank, and he could feel the warmth of Sam's body on his arm. He let out a slow breath and stared straight ahead, not quite in the mood to talk to her.
"What's the matter, baby? You've been up here by yourself all day." She ran her hand across his shoulders, caressing his skin and he shuddered. Taking it as a sign to continue, Sam leaned into him, rubbing her nose at the spot where neck became shoulder and nipping harshly at the skin. John would've kissed it. He would've soothed the bite. Randy's body tensed even more, the muscles under all of his smooth, tattooed skin becoming rock hard. Sam didn't seem to notice. She kissed a path up to his earlobe, sucking the skin into her mouth gently.
"C'mon, handsome," she cajoled. "Tell me what's on your mind." Randy exhaled a breath of air, frustrated with Sam for groping along his thigh and with himself for letting her. He knew what she wanted, and he'd given it to her many times over the past few days, but today he couldn't. Not when he'd just realized the true extent of John's pain. Sam remained annoyingly ignorant of his inner turmoil. When she drew her fingers slowly up the back of his neck and kissed the spot behind his ear, he shot off the bed, almost knocking her over. She made a startled noise, eyes wide and unbelieving as he stood in front of her, back turned and fists clenched, his body coiled tightly.
"Randy! What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Don't do that. He does – did – that. You know that." Randy could barely contain himself. His mind raced with memories of the many times John had done exactly as Sam had done moments before; he could almost feel John's smile against his lips as he backed him into a wall or bent him over the closest table, knowing how smug the older man felt at having gotten exactly the reaction he wanted out of Randy. Sam knew that that was John's spot, John's thing, and she'd chosen to use it against him, perhaps hoping it would make him as turned on and rock hard for her as it did for John. Taking the time to look at Randy, all tense lines and potential energy, she could tell it hadn't worked.
"Seriously, Randy. How long are you gonna sit around here and mope like this, huh? You had your fling. You did your experimenting. Now it's time to grow up and face reality. You're married. Act like it." Randy could feel himself begin to shake at Sam's words, the anger in him bubbling and roiling. He tried to control his breathing, to block out Sam's voice and focus on calming himself down, but still she got to him. "Your daughter needs you, and you're too fucking busy crying over your boyfriend to pay any attention to her." A stillness fell over Randy then. Had Sam seen it, she would have stopped, would have known that she'd crossed a line, but she hadn't been looking closely. She hadn't seen the change in him.
She hadn't realized that he'd snapped.
John would've seen. John sees everything.
He slowly rolled his neck in a circle, trying to loosen his muscles and calm himself down, and as Sam continued to rail at him, he knew he'd fail.
"Samantha, shut your mouth." John wouldn't have brought Alanna into this.
His low, cold voice fell on deaf ears. Sam's admonishments flew through the air like daggers, slicing through him. None of her words hurt quite like the knife he'd wedged in his own heart though, and he knew he was done.
John.
And he let himself go.
"I SAID SHUT YOUR GODDAMN MOUTH! SHUT UP!" Sam jumped so violently she fell off the bed when Randy's fist crashed through the wall in front of her – their – bed. She scrambled across the floor and into a corner, realizing with horror as he flung himself at her that she'd pushed him too far.
Randy looked down at Sam's quivering body, caught between the wall and his own, vibrating frame, and couldn't feel a thing. He was only half there, the majority of his thoughts turned on how to fix the horrible mess he'd made.
"Listen to me, and listen good." He looked down into Sam's eyes, seeing vibrant blue in his mind. She knew he was through with her. She knew she'd lost him.
"Randy-"
"I. Said. Listen." Sam nodded and snapped her jaw shut, not letting a single sound escape her. She knew Randy wouldn't dare hit her, but the anger she saw dancing behind his eyes scared her to no end. She'd never pushed him this far before, and she'd never thought she ever would.
"You are done using our daughter as a fucking ball and chain. And I'm done letting you. From now on, we get joint custody. No more of this letting me have her when I've begged and pleaded with you enough to satisfy your ego bullshit. She has a right to have both of her parents in her life. I won't deprive her of that. But test me on this, Samantha, and I swear to you, I will sue for full custody. And I'll win. Trust me, I'll win. And then you'll be the one begging for time with her." Sam wanted to protest, but she knew it'd be a bad idea just as surely as she knew that Randy meant every word he'd spoken and would follow through on it.
"I'm leaving, Samantha. I'm done. I'm done killing myself for you." Randy could feel the knot in his chest loosen, the knife slipping out just a little bit.
Johnny…
"You are not to badmouth John to Alanna. You will not call what we have together an experiment, a mistake, a whim, or a fucking DISGRACE!" Sam flinched, the anger in his voice just as terrifying as the pain. "Lanna loves him. And so do I. And I'm going back to him."
Randy turned away from Sam, heading to the closet and grabbing his suitcases, all of which he'd left packed, and lugging them down the stairs and to the front door. When he came back up for the last one, he found Sam sitting on their – her – bed, tightly gripping a pillow and toying with the corner. She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, and he looked back. Once he would've been moved by those tears. Now he was weary of them.
As he turned to leave the room for the last time, he heard her call from behind him. "Can I ask you something?"
He huffed. "Yeah."
She laughed quietly, smiling wetly and shaking her head. "Talladega, Alabama?"
He laughed too, understanding her question. He smiled at the memory of John pouring over a road map of the country, two tacks stuck far apart and connected with a string, a third tack poised in his fingers and ready to be put to use. His hand lifted to his chest, subconsciously massaging his heart again as John's face flitted through his mind.
"Talladega. Exactly halfway between St. Louis and Tampa."
I'm going home.