Note: I'm not well-versed in the workings of Make A Wish, other than the fact that they are an organization that I am in awe of. One of the things I love about WWE is that they do so much to help out kids with life-threatening illnesses. What I couldn't learn on the internet, I made up. No harm meant. Also, this story is heavy on angst. And yes, I know I'm starting something new without finishing what I'm working on. This just needed to come out. Hope you enjoy. :) Side note: Not slash.
Disclaimer: Don't own John Cena. Don't own Randy Orton. Don't own Make A Wish. Only own my OCs.
One :: Stuck Inside This Sorrow
Muffling a yawn against his shoulder as he opened the glass door, John Cena slipped into the warm reception area, rubbing his hands together to ward away a sudden chill. He'd forgotten how cold it could get in Richmond, Virginia in March, figuring that just because it was south of D.C. it would always be warm. But the building he'd just entered was warm, and he had to smile at the construction-paper shamrocks that decorated the windows. A chain of them was draped around the receptionist's desk and as he walked over he saw that each had the name of a child.
"Can I help you, sir?" the young woman seated behind the desk asked, not taking her gaze from the computer screen.
"I'm here to see Paula."
She looked up finally and her lips spread into a smile of recognition. "She's expecting you, Mr. Cena. How long are you in town?"
"Just a couple days. Alright if I head on back?" he questioned, nodding towards where the offices were.
"I'll call and let her know you're here, but yeah, go on back." She began to tap at the keyboard again, though one hand reached for her phone.
"Thanks, Nicole."
Paula's office was at the far end of the small hallway, and as he headed for it he saw the door was ajar. She was the director of the Virginia chapter of Make A Wish, and whenever he was in town he always made sure to drop in and see her. Sometimes he would autograph a few things for fundraising auctions, sometimes he would drop in on kids he had met before to see how they were. Steps faltering when he saw a framed photo on the wall, he drew in a deep breath as his own image looked back at him. He didn't have to look to the other person in the photo, already knowing the small face with large brown eyes, knowing that the girl wore a pink t-shirt and blue jeans and her bald head was covered by a knitted cap. It was a larger print of the same photo he kept in his wallet. Sometimes, he thought sadly as he continued on his way, he attended a funeral.
There was nothing you could have done. The doctors did their best. She's in God's arms now. She can't feel pain anymore. Just be grateful she was here as long as she was. Clichéd sentiments he had heard at the time of Skyy's death flooded his mind and he forced them away. His chest burned with pain, still overcome by the unfairness of death after all this time. Prayers for miracles were frequent in the few quiet moments before sleep took over. They were rarely answered.
Drawing in a deep breath, he tapped on the open door of Paula's office, peeking around the frame. "I'm early," he announced, smiling when he saw her behind her desk.
"You usually are." Paula West slipped off her reading glasses. Getting to her feet, she came around the side of the desk, greeting John with a quick hug. "You look tired," she commented, patting his shoulder as she backed away.
"So do you," he returned, receiving a snort in reply. Moving to sit in one of the chairs by her desk, he glanced around. Paula's office had changed little in the years he had known her. A newer computer, more pictures on the walls, and more files on her desk were the only changes. Stretching out his legs, he moved his gaze to the framed photo next to her phone. "How are things going?"
"They're going." Paula followed his gaze and released a soft sigh as she took her seat. "Stanley started working with us part-time two months ago."
"He's old enough for a job?" John breathed.
"He's seventeen, John."
"The last time I saw him, he was just a little kid." Without asking permission, he reached for the framed photo, turning it so he could see Skyy's family clearly. Her mother, who always looked so exhausted. Her father, whose eyes lit up whenever his little girl was in the room. And her brother, the kid whose strength was only matched by his sister.
"It's been almost four years." Paula leaned back in her chair, glasses dangling from her fingers. "You still won't talk about it, will you?"
"I'm not ready yet." John pushed the photo back into place. He tilted his head back, squeezing the bridge of his nose. "I don't think I'll ever be ready."
"You have my number, if you ever are."
"I know." Taking a deep breath, he released it slowly and lifted his head. "Tell me more about the kids I'll be seeing tomorrow."
Paula eyed him carefully before slipping her glasses back on. She ran a hand through her messy silver hair and reached for the stack of files closest to her.
John listened to the stories, taking each file to flip through and see the photos and letters regarding each child's wish. I still can't believe how many want to meet a bunch of meatheads that roll around in their underwear, he thought.
"This last one is... A special case," Paula said, clutching the folder in her hands. Soft brown eyes met his over the rims of her glasses. "His name is Michael. He's seven."
"Okay." John waited for the other shoe to drop.
"His parents were killed in a car wreck two weeks after he was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia."
"Jesus," John hissed as the folder was slid over to him. He had to brace himself before he could open it. When he did, a picture of a bright-eyed, blonde-haired boy grinned up at him.
"I'll be honest with you, John. His original wish couldn't be met."
He didn't ask. All he had to do was flip the picture over and he'd learn the boy's original wish. But he couldn't look away from the happy, carefree child in the photo. It was the smile that reminded him so much of Skyy. That beatific, untroubled smile that only children without a worry in the world could muster. Finally turning the photo over, he scanned the remainder of the file. When he came to the final page, a piece of notepaper covered with the messy scrawl of one just learning to write, his vision blurred.
I want to see Mommy and Daddy again.
"I want to see Mommy and Daddy again."
John smiled indulgently, leaning over the rail to press a kiss to her forehead. "They'll be right back, sweetheart."
"I'm gonna miss them."
His heart clenched. "You're not going anywhere, kid. Soon you'll be out of here, learning to ride that new bike you got for Christmas."
Skyy shook her head sadly. Her eyes, which had once shone with hopes and dreams, now carried the knowing gleam of a person who knew that not all dreams came true. "No I'm not. Gonna fly away with the angels."
"They're not here to take you away," he whispered, panicking when she looked to the ceiling. "They're here to help take care of you."
"No, they're gonna fly me away. And I won't hurt no more."
"Tell them you're not ready."
She shook her head again, slowly, as though it took every ounce of strength. "I am ready." Her small hand reached for his, fingers wrapping around his thumb. "Don't be scared." She smiled. "Death is just another part of life."
"How'd you get so smart, kid?" he asked, not bothering to hide his tears. Lifting her hand, he pressed a kiss to her knuckles, glancing to the door when he heard her mother's voice.
"The angels. I know them. They told me. Gonna be okay, Mister John."
"John," Paula said, resting a hand on his shoulder.
He flinched, jerking from the memory with a shuddering breath. "Sorry," he whispered. He reached to close the file, running his hands over his thighs when he saw it had been taken away.
"You should talk to someone," she murmured. Perching on the chair next to him, she reached for his hand. "I can put you in touch with a counselor that works with us a lot."
He shook his head, giving her hand a squeeze. "I'll be okay. It's just..." Pausing for a breath, he looked to the framed photo again. "In two weeks, it'll have been four years. Four years, Paula."
"I know."
"I don't get how she was so different from the others. I've loved them, all of them, but she..." John gestured aimlessly.
"She was special." Paula nodded, giving his hand a squeeze before letting it go.
"Special doesn't even cover Skyy," he murmured.
Walking down the hall again, John paused at the framed photo, finally looking at the image of the girl. He smiled, able to recall what she had been saying right before the flash went off.
Smile pretty, Mister John. You get to take a picture with Miss Skyy!
The result had been a belly laugh that had nearly doubled him over. Her sassy grin lit up her face, those eyes that haunted his dreams glowing with pure joy.
"Miss you," he whispered.
He heard the soft clearing of a throat and pulled his gaze away from Skyy's image, smiling apologetically as he realized he was blocking the hall. The young woman looked from him to the photo and he saw the recognition hit her. "You got to meet Skyy," she murmured.
"Yeah." Pulling his lips between his teeth, he pushed his hands into his pockets.
"You were lucky. I've heard so much about her. I would have loved meeting her."
Blinking in surprise, he turned to face the young woman, lowering his head to meet her eyes. "I was lucky?"
She nodded as she tucked a lock of brown hair behind one ear. "Everyone says the kids are the lucky ones, but they're not. They're all so wonderful. I thank God every night for giving me the opportunity to meet every one of them."
"I feel the same way." His manners suddenly returned and he extended one hand. "John Cena."
Her smile told him she knew who he was. "Sarah Pitt," she informed, slipping her hand into his. "Lovely meeting you, Mr. Cena. I'll see you tomorrow."
"You'll be there?" he asked, surprised. Usually, he knew everyone that would be at the Make A Wish events, aside from the children.
"I'm one of the new family liaisons. I'm escorting one of the kids." She smiled again, slipping past him. "If you'll excuse me..."
"Of course. See you tomorrow, Miss Pitt."
He watched her for a few seconds, until she disappeared into Paula's office. Turning his gaze back to the photo on the wall, he smiled, reaching to brush his thumb over Skyy's name, which was printed at the bottom. "I was lucky."
Randy Orton opened his hotel room door without bothering to check who was on the other side. He stepped aside to let John enter and kicked the door shut. Without speaking, he motioned to the minibar and moved to sprawl on the couch. He knew the reasons behind John's visit. Everyone in the company knew why the man had been on edge so much lately. Some would have argued that four years was more than enough time to get over a death, but Randy would never speak those words to his friend. All he had to do was take one look at the haunted expression on John's face to know he would never get over the death of the little girl that had captured their hearts.
He remained silent as John sat on the other end of the couch, holding out his hand for the drink. He glanced at the label before sitting up, popping off the top. Seeing John staring at the bottle in his own hand, he raised his drink. "To Skyy," he murmured.
John nodded, lifting his own slightly before taking a sip. "I didn't think it would be this hard."
"No one does."
"I got to close to her, Randy. She just..." John sighed, looking away as he took another sip of his beer. "She had me wrapped around her little finger five minutes after meeting her. I should have known better. I shouldn't have made that call to check up on her a couple weeks later."
"You never do anything half-assed," Randy reminded. "You never have and you never will. If you hadn't given one hundred percent to her, you'd be regretting it."
"One day you're going to charge me for this," John muttered, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. "Paula said I should talk to somebody."
"I don't think she meant me."
"I just want to know why." John gulped down some beer before setting the bottle on the table.
Randy knew he wasn't questioning Paula's reason for suggesting he speak to a professional. "Once in a while someone comes along that touches your life, man. There's nothing you can do about it." He began picking the label off his beer. "It was meant to be. Mom calls them angels on earth."
"Gonna fly away with the angels," John whispered. He released a mirthless laugh. "Am I gonna get depressed as hell every March for the rest of my life?"
"It's okay if you do."
Randy drew in a breath when John leaned forward. Hands covering his face, he released a shuddering sigh. Without a word, Randy placed a hand on his shoulder, other hand reaching for the box of tissues.
It was going to be a long night.
A/N: Thanks for reading – Title is from The Last Nightby Skillet; chapter title from Would It Matter, also by Skillet.