Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Summary: After being betrayed by Paul Heyman at Money in the Bank, CM Punk is comforted by a most unexpected person. PunkKaitlyn, set after MITB: 2013, requested by coolcool02, oneshot

Okay! I finally finished this little fic, and I am really happy to post it. I have a huge soft spot for this pairing, so when it was requested by the very nice coolcool02 - albeit a looong time ago - I just had to write for it. (I hope you forgive me for being so late with the posting of your request! Things have just been hectic as of late.) Anyway, I know MITB was a long time ago as well, but that was what was requested. It seemed like a really cool idea, so I just ran with it. I hope y'all enjoy!

The Ladders We Climb

The first thing Kaitlyn thought was, Oh, he looks pissed.

And he should be, of course.

Kaitlyn wasn't sure what she'd do if her trusted friend and colleague did something that despicable to her. Well, she'd had her taste of that throughout her whole feud with AJ, but still she couldn't imagine having something as crucial as a title shot being ripped from her hands by someone close to her. It was enough to put a foul taste in her mouth, seeing someone so deserving of all the success in the world getting screwed over like that. Her heart was pounding angrily in her chest, and she realized that her fists were clenched, nails digging into the palms of her hands. For a moment she wondered why she was getting so worked up over this, but she remembered who exactly was involved, and then the bigger question was, Why wouldn't I get worked up over him?

As she watched Randy Orton lift the Money in the Bank briefcase over his head, his face a smug mask, she felt the stirrings of disbelief within her chest. She wrinkled her nose and looked away for a moment, almost unable to keep herself from cursing at how...unfair the whole thing was.

Then again, life was far from fair most of the time.

She looked and saw all of the participants of the last match file through to backstage. One after the other after the other, all passing her as if she were invisible. She wasn't sure why she was watching them enter until her reason came strolling past her, angry eyes set on nothing in particular as he raged forward. His fists were clenched. His breathing was labored due to exhaustion. His strides were purposeful.

Anyone who knew anything about reading body language would know to not disturb him at this particular moment in time. Anyone who knew anything about him would know not to disturb him at this particular moment in time. But Kaitlyn found herself calling out regardless.

"Punk!"

CM Punk turned, his eyes so intense they caused goosebumps to crawl up arms and along her neck. But he stopped instead of barreling past her. So there was that. He looked at her as if she were out of place, somehow, his gaze steady and tired, but somewhat curious as well. It occurred to Kaitlyn that she had no idea of what to say to him, when usually she would have a quip at the ready. And she knew that Punk sometimes had no patience for people who wasted his time.

Maybe it was a mistake to call out to him like that.

Well, there was no turning back now, she supposed.

Punk had stopped, at least, so that was a plus. She figured he could just have just ignored her and continued on his way to the locker room, but he didn't. That was both surprising and reassuring - though, still, Kaitlyn felt wary. With good reason, she thought.

She approached him slowly, taking in his appearance. Disheveled, obviously. Sweaty and tired and limping. She had never been in a ladder match before, but she assumed that it was taxing to everyone involved. It was a wonder they didn't kill themselves. She cringed at the thought.

The hybrid diva carefully thought of what she would say as she neared him. He wouldn't want to hear apologies or reassurances that he would get Heyman back for what he did. He wouldn't want pity or anything that would make him feel as if he had failed, when in reality he had only just begun. She knew that feeling all too well, herself.

So, when she was finally face-to-face with him, she drawled, "Heyman's an asshole."

Obviously not expecting her words, Punk's eyebrows raised and a reluctant little smirk appeared on his tired face. "Yeah? Tell me something I don't know."

"During a zombie apocalypse, your primary firearm should be - "

" - a semi-automatic carbine," Punk finished through a laugh. "Yeah, I've read The Zombie Survival Guide, too."

Kaitlyn smiled at him, reveling in the fact that she had made him laugh. It seemed like a task equivalent to proving the existence of aliens - especially with the mood he was in - but she had made it happen. It should not have made her heart soar like it did, but...well, yeah. That's totally what happened.

"Good to know I'm not the only one fully prepared for the eventual zombie takeover."

"You'll be the first I come grab to be part of my group of rag-tag zombie asskickers," Punk drawled, amused.

Kaitlyn could only smile. The two of them drifted into a comfortable silence, which Punk broke only a few minutes later. He winced as he rolled his shoulder and said, with a begrudging but grateful smile, "Thanks."

She didn't have to ask for what, so Kaitlyn just gave him a toothy grin and said, "Anytime."

Punk started to walk past her, no doubt to go change out of his ring gear and contemplate his revenge on Paul Heyman and his brood, but he called back over his shoulder, "I'll hold you to that, Kaitlyn."

As she pondered his parting words, Kaitlyn found herself hoping beyond all hope that he stuck to them.

End.