A/N: This is kind of weird I know. It's inspired by watching Born to Controversy the Rowdy Roddy Piper dvd set. It's amazing you need to watch it!! But anyway, that's where this came from. I'm following a lot of real life events, dates, facts, etc but of course it's still fictional. It's fiction based around real events I guess you could say. I do not know any thing about any of these guys sexuality or relationships other than Piper and Orton were very close friends and spent a lot of time together both in and out of the ring. This is NOT going to be a chaptered story. This is a few-shot. It should be at the most maybe five parts, if even that. I can't tell you how quickly it will be updated either since I have lots of other fics going too. But this was pecking and pecking at my brain so I had to. I hope I do Hot Rod justice in keeping him some what IC because he's one of my all time favs. Now, I shut up and you read. Or…or…I'll er….knock you out with a coconut! *hugs* Oh, and sorry if I made it confusing when Roddy speaks but he talks fast and a lot and I noticed that he seems to interrupt himself a lot lol so I was just trying to be a good writer and keep him in character-ish. Now, I promise. That's all! *throws coconut*


Oct. 3, 2005 Raw Homecoming

Bob Orton stood somber in the locker room, his eyes occasionally glancing up at his son Randy who was chatting, red-faced, with that kid John Cena. Bob shook his head dismally, as much as the brace on his neck would allow. Kayfabe injuries, my specialty. He thought to himself as he adjusted that damn itchy collar and watched his blushing son walk out of the locker room with Cena close behind him.

"Ya never did get that cast off, didja? They just put it in a different place!"

That voice was too familiar, the sound of it sending shudders through Bobs' body and a succession of old times firing through his mind like machine gun pops. His easy face set into something as close to a scowl as he could ever manage to produce, ready to turn and face the hot-headed lunatic that belonged to that voice, but he didn't have to. Said owner swaggered around him, glancing him up and down with a small, smart-ass looking smile on his face. He scratched at his red hair, thinner now than Bob had remembered it, and ruffled it up. Bob swallowed hard, not realizing just how much such a simple mannerism could affect him—still—after all these years.

"Whats a'matter, cat got your tongue? Well, ya never was one much for talking though were ya Ace." Piper patted Bobs' chest, taking in the shocked look on his normally docile face, since aged with lines and a little extra weight.

"Nope, but you always were." Bob said quietly, and though Roddy had drawn his hand away, the warm sensation of it against his chest remained. That touch played with his mind and threatened to shift it back to days when they were both younger, and much closer, before it all ended.


Feb. 1986

Both men had just finished taping for Saturday Night's Main Event: A boxing match between Mr. T and Bob with Roddy at ring side. After the taping the two of them had headed straight back to their hotel arguing the entire way. Now Bob was scanning around the small hotel room, grabbing his clothes and his things and stuffing them into his suitcase. Roddy just threw things around the room in typical temper tantrum fashion. Something whizzed over Bobs' head and he turned on his boot heel as Roddy overturned a piece of furniture.

"Don't you be pissed off at me, if you're gonna be mad at anyone then look in the mirror! You ain't gonna stop runnin' 'round on me Roderick, then I'm done! I told you before, and this time I mean it! I've waited 'round and waited 'round, and I'm through waitin' for you to settle yourself!"

He'd given so much to this man and the time for giving was now over. A man gets tired of being hurt, of being cheated, of being strung along and lied to.

"Settle!" Roddy shrieked, the one word seeming to make the walls of the room—or at least Bob—shudder. "Is this what this is about? About the others? Well, you know me Ace, brother you know how I am if you ever thought I was gonna settle down you got another thing comin' they don't call me Rowdy just for the hell of it!"

No answer from Bob, just a loud sniffle and clearing of the throat as he tried not to cry like a big baby in front of the man that he loved. Hands gripped his arms. He tilted his head to look down at the shorter man, a glint of fear danced in Roddys' fiery eyes as the reality of the situation began to sink in. Their strong friendship had suffered many fights in private, many threats of leaving, but it had never come down to Bob actually packing his suitcase and locking up his heart and really leaving.

"Come on Ace, come on man ya know I love ya!" Roddys' laughter was nervous, his hands pawing at Bobs' arms as the bigger man pulled away and propped his suitcase up to snap the buckles closed in two sharp sounds that seemed so final. "Ace…don't go…ya know—ya know ya can't live without me next to ya there! Ace, Ace don't go!"Bob brushed Roddys' hands away and headed to the door in a couple of tall strides. His hand gripped the doorknob and for a brief moment he thought about dropping the suitcase and ravaging that cocky, loud-mouth that he adored.

"Ace, don't go!" The simple sentence was broken by Roddys' voice, the begging in it clear enough, any brashness wiped away. Bob turned to see his Hot Rod right behind him, shifting from foot to foot, tugging at his hair, as his mind seemed to pound itself for anything to do or say to make the big man stay. Bob grasped Roddys' hands and pulled them out from his long, choppy hair, and linked their fingers together. A subtle, all most non-existent smile so slightly curved the cowboys lips as he looked down into that face.

"I'm goin'." He said softly, and before Roddy could say anything else Bob stole those words away with a quick and final kiss. "And don't call me Ace." Bob finished, pulling away, clutching the handle of his suitcase again. "I ain't your Ace no more."


"Earth to Bob Orton, Earth to ya Ace!"

Bob blinked, noting fingers snapping in front of his nose and that heckling voice of Piper, not the young one he'd been day dreaming of but the one that was here right now, in good ol' 2005. Frowning, Bob slapped the hand away and Roddy took a couple steps back, throwing his hands up, palms out, in an apologetic gesture.

"I'm sorry there old timer, I's shoulda just left youse alone I guess. Did I come in here disrupting your little—little family time?" Roddy grinned, finger quoting the last words. "You and your boy together so cute huh--that pretty boy of yours over there powderin' his nose or somethin' tryin' to look pretty and precious for that thug kid—whatever his damn name is! And what are you doin' ya gonna teach him the fundamentals of—of ah-ha—wearing a cast made outta duct tape? Or maybe youse was ready to sit down and have the talk with him about how ya shouldn't swallow some certain things! Little boy don't take no hard candy from strangers!" Roddy yelled. Of course he did, he always had to yell and spout out of that big mouth of his.

"Is this all y'came in here to do? Run yer damn mouth as usual!" Bob stepped forward, forcing Roddy back, until he was pinned against the lockers. The taller man loomed over him, the shadow of his cowboy hat falling across his face. "Maybe it's you who come in here wantin' somethin' to swallow."

"HA! You wish old man, you wish these lips was stuck on you dontcha! But Bobby, your memory must not be what it was—you must be slippin' like a duck tryin' to walk on a glass pond baby, cause that was your job! And Ace, you always did look so purty down on your knees!" Roddy cackled, watching Bobs' quiet face as it barely shifted, the anger only noted deep within his eyes. "You loooooved havin' your head up under my kilt…Ace." The last word came out so different from the others, not shouted, not crazy, just a soft whisper accompanied by Roddys' hands rubbing over Bobs' chest, his fingers playing with one single button.

"You crazy sonvabitch, get out of here!" Bob shoved Roddy back into the lockers with a clank as his head smacked back against the metal.

"You know you want me here, youse been missin' me, lil' ole me ya miss me ha--don't ya! You can't say after all them years ya don't miss me Orton! Everybody misses the Hot Rod!" Roddy followed after Bob as he rubbed at that stupid neck brace and strode out into the hallway, unsuccessfully trying to shake off the kilted man who followed at his heels. "Ace, you miss me Ace! I know ya do!"

"Nope."

Roddy whirled him around, stopping them both in their tracks, this time Bob was the one pinned. Roddys' intense gaze bore into him. Bobs' hands remained at his sides but begged him to let their fingers trace through Roddys' hair again.

"Don't lie to me!" Roddy hissed, Bobs' shirt fisted in his hand.

"Well, you lied to me more often than not. Seems you ain't too happy when the tables get turned. And by the way Hot Scot, stop callin' me Ace, we established this a long time ago, I ain't your Ace no more."

With one sudden movement, Bob sent Roddy backwards, tripping over his feet, falling into Jericho who barked curses and insults at both of them. Bob just let them roll off his back as he walked towards the gorilla area where Randy and Cena stood, Randy looking like a virginal school boy with his blue polo shirt and jeans and that gelled hair-do which made him look like he was still stuck back in middle school. Without warning Bob inserted himself between the two, forcing their linked hands apart.

"You get on outta here and leave me and my boy to talk." He barked at Cena, the young man nodded and did as he was told leaving the two Ortons alone.

"Why'd you do that!" Randy growled, shooting daggers at his father with his silvery eyes.

"Because son, you ain't need to be involin' yourself with no man."

Randy rolled his eyes.

"You hear me, boy? I been around the block a time or two more than you have, I know these things from experience so you best take it from me. That kinda dabblin' don't end well." As if to emphasize, Bob glanced sideways at Roddy who was at the other side of the gorilla area now arguing with Jericho.

"Dad, I'm not you…and John isn't Roddy either. I know that didn't turn out good for you, I remember. But this is different--" Bob gripped his sons shoulders firmly and cut off his words.

"No, Randal. You listen to your father--"

"I said I'm not you…in fact…" Randy prodded the ridiculous neck brace. "I'm a hell of a lot better than you." He wrenched away from his father and stalked away, leaving Bob to sigh, his shoulders slumping.

He's right though. With eyes of sadness Bob glanced over at Roddy, still embroiled in an argument with Jericho which was rising higher and higher in both pitch and vulgarity. The best gig I ever had was with Roddy, and all I was to him in the ring was a body guard with an everlasting injury. Bob gently touched his forearm, tracing his fingers up and down, remembering the many times he'd done that and felt the removable kayfabe cast he'd worn for so long. His hand slowly moved upwards, and pressed against his chest. He wondered if there was a cast there inside his chest cupping his heart, the injury unfortunately too real, and after nearly twenty years it remained unhealed and aching.

His eyes kept track of Rod as he was pulled away from Jericho, reminded that his Pipers Pit segment with Foley was due to start in a few minutes. Sighing, Bob went to find Randy. They were due to interrupt the segment thus starting a mini-feud between the Ortons and Piper. It almost made him laugh, as though the two of them needed something more to fight over. He came upon Randy and Cena in catering, sealed at the lips. The sight of the two young men sent Bobs' head whirling to a time when he had been Randys' age, just starting out and locking lips with another up and coming young superstar who he completely adored. Bob leaned against the wall, trying to steady himself as tears sprang to his eyes, and the taste of Roddys' lips crept over his, the touch of them remembered as if they'd never left.