Title: Beauty and the Beast
Author: Kora
E-mail: KrazyKora@aol.com or WinterViolet24@aol.com
Rating: R
Disclaimer: The following characters belong to WWE and all the people and companies who deal with all that legal stuff. I am simply using the characters for my own twisted enjoyment.
Summary: [FoleyStacy] Mick Foley didn't leave because he was afraid of Orton, he left because he was afraid of something else or rather, someone else…
Author's Notes: This story is going to jump around a lot with flashbacks but I think overall it will be a real enjoyable fic. All I ask is you give it a chance.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter One
"Mick, what in th' hell didja think ya were doin'?!" Stone Cold Steve Austin roared, exasperated as he stood next to his friend.
Mick Foley didn't answer, his head bowed as he sat on the large boxes of equipment, a physician working over his forehead swiftly, stitching up the deep gash he had inflicted on his own forehead.
"Wouldja look at me when I'm talk to ya!" Austin snapped.
Mick's eyes, which had been downcast thus far, rose to look at Austin. There was a gloss of tears there - whether from the pain of receiving the stitches or something else remained to be seen. Austin could also tell they were slightly pink - as if Mick hadn't slept in days. He did indeed look exhausted - worse, he looked defeated.
"Ah hell, Mick," Austin breathed, rubbing the back of his neck, "Ya did good out there, ya did. Ya really showed that Orton kid a thing or two but…I mean, shit man, ya sounded crazier than a shit house rat out there! I mean look what ya did to yer damn head! I'm glad ya came back at the Rumble like I asked ya to, even more that ya came here tonight on my invitation to finally set things straight but I never meant…ya know…fer this."
Mick's eyes shifted away from Austin. Focusing off to one side. His hands shuffled together idly in his lap. The physician drew back and started to mumble a few words Mick didn't even hear, instructions about the stitches and the like. He disappeared, leaving Mick alone with one of his best friends, who, amazingly for the moment, was speechless.
At last Austin cleared his throat, "Mick…what's this all about…really?"
Austin waited but Mick still did not respond, his head facing away from Austin. It was almost as if he were staring intently at something but Austin knew there was nothing there. He tried again, trying his hardest to make his deep Texas-whisky thick accent softer, "Come on, man….ya can talk straight ta me, can'tcha? After all we've been through…"
Still nothing.
Austin sighed and ran a hand over his face, "Shit," a deep inhale, "Shit…it's still her, ain't it?"
Finally Mick reacted, his shoulder's lifting slightly only to fall again as if he was releasing a heavy sigh. Austin knew he'd hit the target and rolled his eyes, voice still as soft as he could manage, "Jesus Mick…this has got ta stop. I mean, Jesus…"
"You don't know." Mick whispered the words so quietly Austin bearly heard them.
"What was that?"
Mick merely shook his head, not elaborating more. Austin's blue eyes widened, interested piqued, "Did somethin' happen? Somethin' ya haven't told me about…"
But Mick would not say another word, eyes still lost in the distance as he saw what Austin could not, a memory playing out before him.
-------------------------------------------------------------
January 16, 2004
Her bottom lip quivered, brown-sugar eyes glittering with unshed tears as she looked at him, begging softly, "Please. Come back."
Mick Foley looked at Stacy Keibler's face and let out a heavy sigh. That face - she could crack a mountainside with that look - such sorrow, such pleading…
He'd been staying (or rather hiding) in the Chicago hotel for weeks. There had been no word from friends or relatives. He'd been proud of how well he'd managed to run away. Until tonight when a knock came at his door. He'd been expecting the pizza delivery boy but instead found himself face to face with Stacy.
The shock didn't even have time to wear off before she hurriedly crossed the threshold and closed the door behind her. Immediately she started asking him to come back, not even taking time to explain how she'd found him in the first place.
She stood before him - larger than life and extraordinarily beautiful in a simple, close fitting pink-stripped blouse and short black mini skirt, mile long legs ending in strappy black heels. Honey blonde hair hung loose and brushed back, make-up done to perfection but a sad air about her as she pleaded with him to return.
He raked a hand though his unruly mop of brown hair, trying not to think of his own messy attire. He was wearing his normal outfit - big black shirt with a red flannel pulled over and dirty blue jeans. He also had his front teeth caps out, leaving two vacant black holes. Embarrassed by this fact and many others, he shook his head, "Stacy, you don't understand. I just can't…"
"Mr. Foley-"
He laughed the moment she said the words, "Stacy, you've known me long enough to call me Mick - everyone calls me Mick."
"I - I know," she whispered, "I just feel like - I - I'm not worthy to…"
Her eyelashes fluttered down like tiny butterfly wings. Mick shook his head again; he had to stop thinking about her like this. Every time he thought of her it was in flowery, poetic terms. True, he had molded himself into a writer but to think of her like this in his thoughts - to use such illustrious terms…
But then, he couldn't lie, she was beautiful. She deserved to be thought of this way. Just not by him. Talk about 'being worthy'.
Mick smiled, "Stacy, despite what the fans say - I'm not god." He chuckled at the mere suggestion; "I'm just Mick. And I'd like it if you'd call me that."
She swayed from foot to foot, "But a hardcore legend…"
"Stacy-"
The way he said her name - in that deep, firm tone caused heat to blossom under her cheeks, "Okay, Mick."
His smile grew, "See - now was that so hard?"
"No." she giggled, then immediately her rising spirits fell as her mind returned to the task at hand, voice soft, "Mick, you have to come back. We need you."
"Stacy, I just can't."
"Why not?"
He looked at her - that cherubic face, those lips…
His heart squeezed painfully in the center of his chest as he swallowed thickly, "Because…because…"
His gaze cast down, away from her as she spoke, "I've heard what the others have been saying in the locker room, backstage, the fans even but - but I don't believe it. I'll never believe it. You're no coward, Mick."
He wanted to laugh again, but bitterly this time. Ah Stacy, if you only knew…
He had been a coward for years now but it had nothing to do with the egomaniac Randy Orton, the self titled 'Legend Killer'.
No, like most things in life, it had to do with a girl.
And not just any girl. It was the very one standing in his hotel room right now.
Stacy…
He couldn't quite recall the exact moment he began falling for her but whenever it was he'd been falling ever since. Deeper and deeper until he was where he found himself now.
Hopelessly in love.
To him, every little thing about her was magic. Her voice, her laugh, her body…
She was so, so beautiful…
And so unattainable.
And so never his.
Not that he would ever dare approach her about his feelings. He'd done a nice job of keeping them under wraps for years. And for the most part it wasn't all that hard, it was only until recently, when his return centered so much around her that it became harder and harder to lock away how he felt.
He looked at her again…
-------------------------------------------------------------
"Mick. Mick!? Are ya even listen ta me, ya sonuvabitch!" Austin hissed, batting at Mick's shoulder rather sharply.
Mick blinked, leaving the memory and turning to Austin, another grave sigh left him and he rose to his feet, muttering under his breath, "I gotta go."
"Go?! Go where?! Come on, talk ta me…ya know I ain't the talkin' type but I wanna know why-"
"Not now, all right?!" Mick hissed, flashing his friend an angry glare. It left as swiftly as it came, returning to its more morose state as he continued, "Please, man…not now. I swear I'll talk to you about it later but…just not now, all right?"
Austin lowered his head and shook it, hands on his hips, voice full of disappointment, "All right, Mick. But I wanna talk ta ya first thing in th' mornin'."
"Fine. I just…gotta go." He grumbled and found his bags, hefting them up as he charged out of the arena. Austin turned to watch him go, face actually showing a glimmer of sadness. Far behind him, watching the moment was another sad face, this one belonging to Stacy.
Mick was unaware either person watched as he made a beeline for his car. He climbed inside and as he began to drive back to his hotel room he realized that unearthing that one memory was only going to cause the others to collide before his eyes, like waves crashing into the shore.
And he was certainty in no mood to remember why he had come back to RAW, to Stacy…to heartache…