A/N: As I promised, here it is: the sequel to You Were Meant For Me. I don't usually apologize for my fics (I rate 'em M for a reason), but this story is definitely a little bit darker than its predecessor. There's going to be mention of things like depression, suicide, and probably two or three others that I haven't hammered down into the plot yet. Also, I'm going to be talking about the passing of Eddie Guerrero (RIP), so if you think that this or the other things I've mentioned will offend you, then I don't recommend that you read this. This is my cautionary note, so...don't say that I didn't warn you.

A/A/N: This fic takes place from July 2005 to November/December 2006

Disclaimer: I own none of the people, places, events, etc. associated with WWE. That all belongs to Vinnie Mac. The only person I own is Elektra, so, you know, don't steal her or anything.

Read, review, but please, most importantly--ENJOY! Peace!

All I Want Is You

Prologue: The End of the Beginning

July 4th, 2005

When she woke up that morning, Maria Kanellis had no way of knowing that by the end of the night, she'd be kneeling in a pool of blood.

In fact, up until the catastrophe occurred, the backstage reporter thought that it had been a fairly good day. The evening's broadcast of Monday Night Raw from Sacramento had been relatively low-key (with the exception of Shawn Michaels super-kicking the immortal Hulk Hogan in the face right before they went off the air). Maria's only interview that night had been with Raw's newest draft pick, Chavo Guerrero. Eddie's nephew, however, was less than receptive to being interviewed, and it had taken all of Maria's self-control to stay in character and not hit him over the head with her microphone when he mocked her Greek heritage and called her stupid. That was the problem with draft lotteries; inevitably, you had to get used to working with a new group of assholes.

The notion brought a smile to the backstage reporter's lips as she stretched out on one of the hotel room's double beds, flipping idly through a fashion magazine. She had changed out of her low-cut Diva attire into a tank top and pajama pants, and was now waiting for Elektra to get out of the bathroom so that she could grab a quick shower before going to bed.

At the thought of her roommate, however, Maria's smile slowly faded, her expression now filled with a wistful sadness. That was the other problem with draft lotteries: sometimes, they took you away from the person you loved the most.

Last week, it had been announced that the final SmackDown draft pick would be the World Heavyweight Champion, Batista. Since the Animal had just successfully defended his title against Triple H inside Hell in a Cell less than twenty-four hours before, the revelation came as a complete shock to everyone. But it was no secret that the person most devastated by the news was Batista's fiancée, Elektra.

Over the last couple of days, the gray-eyed Diva had been a pale vestige of her normally cheerful, vivacious self. She hardly spoke, and rarely smiled. Just seeing her friend in such obvious misery made Maria's heart ache. She didn't know what she could say to ease the other Diva's pain. After all, Batista and Elektra had been on the same brand for a year and a half; they had met her very day on Raw. To suddenly go from that comfortable intimacy to essentially a long-distance relationship—Maria couldn't pretend that she had a clue of what the silver-eyed Diva was going through. The best she could do was provide support and hope that, in time, her friend would go back to being her old self again.

The backstage reporter looked up, her green eyes fixing on the closed bathroom door. Elektra had yet to emerge. Maria glanced over at the digital clock on the nightstand.

12:52 A.M.

Almost forty-five minutes had elapsed since the gray-eyed Diva had gone into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. Guess she's taking one hell of a long shower…Maria mused to herself, then frowned as she ran over the words again in her mind. Elektra was a courteous person by nature; if she felt the need to unwind with a long hot shower, she usually waited until everyone else had finished in the bathroom.

Raw's backstage reporter shook her head. After the week E's had, she's entitled to be a little rude… But this internal reassurance did nothing to dispel the thought—or an increasing feeling of unease. Maria slowly pushed her body up into a sitting position, her doll-like features assuming an expression of worry. She could feel a tingle at the back of her neck. Something was not right—but what was it?

She stood, walking over to the bathroom. Stopping in front of the closed door, she paused, listening for a second or two. All she heard was the sound of running water. The backstage reporter hesitated, then raised her hand, tentatively rapping on the door. "E, it's Maria," She immediately winced at her obvious observation. Who the hell else would be out here? Gene Snitsky? "Listen, are you almost done in there? My hair's feeling really gross and I'd really like to wash out the arena dirt."

Maria stopped, and listened a second time. There was no answer. The backstage reporter knocked again, harder this time. "E? Can you hear me?" No response, only the gurgle of water in the drain. Maria felt the tingle at the back of her neck again, and all at once, the revelation that had been itching at the back of her mind came crashing down into full awareness. The running water; it wasn't coming from the shower…but from the sink. Elektra should have been able to hear her—so why wasn't she answering?

Images flashed across Maria's mind; the sadness in Elektra's pale eyes, the silence, the self-imposed distance between her and the rest of the world since Batista had been traded. As she stood there, frozen in that moment of dawning awareness, a snippet of conversation between her and Elektra played out in her head, one that had taken place only an hour or so ago…

Maria glanced across the Formica table at the gray-eyed Diva, who was picking half-heartedly at the sandwich in front of her. The backstage reporter's face creased in concern.

"Talk to me, E. What's going on?"

Elektra looked up, startled, then smiled sadly. "Nothing, 'Ria; just…thinking about a few things."

Maria took a sip of her Diet Coke. "Anything you want to share? You know you can always talk to me."

The silver-eyed Diva shook her head. "No…I'll handle it."

I'll handle it…

I'll handle it…

Maria's green eyes widened in horror, and she took a small step back. Raising her hand, she pounded on the closed door with her palm as hard as she could. "E? E! Elektra! Come on, answer me!" The silence that greeted her cries was terrifying. The backstage reporter tried to turn the handle, but the door was locked.

Moving back into the room, Maria grabbed her purse off the floor and, without ceremony, dumped its contents out onto the bed. After a moment or two of looking, she located the object of her search: a long metal nail file. The bathroom door may have been locked, but Maria had had the exact same locks on the door of her first apartment, and had used this trick whenever she forgot her keys. Upon second thought, she grabbed her cell phone as well.

The backstage reporter dashed over to the door, not really knowing why she was rushing; only that she had to rush. "E, if you can hear me, I'm coming in!" she announced, not even trying to hide the concern and fear in her voice. "So if you're naked or anything…sorry!" She jammed the nail file into the keyhole and twisted it sharply to the right. She heard a metallic CLICK as the lock popped open. Grasping the door handle, Maria took a deep breath and opened the door. Her heart almost stopped when she beheld the sight inside.

The first thing she saw was the blood. It ran down the curve of the sink in tiny red rivulets, it glistened in drops and pools on the countertop, it dripped slowly down off the edge of the counter onto the floor. Maria's eyes—the only part of her body still capable of movement—travelled downward, taking in more of the scene. Elektra lay on the floor, her skin as pale as the tile beneath her. Her eyes were closed. A blood-stained razor blade lay a few inches from her outstretched hand.

Both of her wrists had been slit.

Maria screamed, but didn't faint; briefly grabbing onto the doorframe for support. Time seemed to stretch out before her, the faintest movement slowing down into almost nothingness. She was vaguely aware of running into the bathroom, grabbing a towel off the rack, kneeling down and pressing it against her friend's slashed wrists. She knew that it had to have been fractions of seconds, but it seemed like hours. She felt like she was moving through a thick viscous fluid, one which hindered her motions.

With her free hand, she punched the numbers 9-1-1 on her cell phone almost hard enough to break them. Maria cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear, using both hands to hold the towel in place. As soon as she heard a voice on the other end, she began talking, not even giving the operator a chance to say his usual spiel: "Hello, 911? My friend just tried to kill herself! She cut her wrists—there's blood everywhere—I don't know how much she's lost!" She rattled off the address of the hotel and their room number, before adding: "Just get over here! I don't care if you have to break down the goddamn door!"

As soon as the operator hung up, Maria shrugged, letting the phone fall on the floor. She paid it no mind; all of her attention was on Elektra. She didn't know if the silver-eyed Diva was alive or—No. She would not even entertain that as a possibility.

The backstage reporter could feel liquid soaking into the knees of her pajama pants. The front of Elektra's clothes was splattered with blood. All the color seemed to have been drained from her face. Maria grimly pressed down on the towel, refusing to let go, refusing to believe that she was acting in vain.

The gray-eyed Diva moaned suddenly, stirring a little on the floor. It was a soft weak sound, but it was a sound nonetheless. Maria felt a small twinge of hope, the tension easing slightly from her body. "E? Can you hear me?"

Elektra moaned again, her lids cracking open to reveal a sliver of white and gray underneath. She struggled to focus on the figure above her. "'Ria? Is…is that you?"

The backstage reporter almost wept with relief, biting her lip to hold back her tears. She could break down once the paramedics got here; until then, she had to be strong for Elektra. "That's right, it's 'Ria. Don't worry, the paramedics are on their way."

The silver-eyed Diva blinked a few times, her mouth moving as she tried to form words. "'Ria…I'm sorry…I'm just…just so…sleepy…" Her pale eyes closed, the breath exhaling from her mouth in a soft sigh.

Maria leaned over her friend, the transient hope in her morphing into fear. "No, E, come on, you have to stay with me, okay?" She pressed the towel harder against Elektra's wrists, ignoring the red that was starting to bleed through the terrycloth. "Hang on, Elektra, okay? Just hang on!"

"Just hang on…"