Something was dripping on her.

That's what Steph awoke to. Dripping water. Cold, dripping water. Confused only momentarily, she opened her eyes to find herself curled up against her husband's right side. His arm was stretched out, above them, and when she turned her head up, she got a face full of armpit which was a great way to startle someone into consciousness.

"Oh, your ice," she yawned as she found the source of the drip to be the homemade ice pack that she'd fashioned for him. "It's all melted."

But Paul was sleeping through the huge wet spot that was forming in the hotel room mattress, exhausted, no doubt, from his night. His snores were heavy, which they usually weren't, and Steph worried that on top of his injured neck, her husband might also be coming down with a cold.

Not that it would matter if he was. He'd just tell her that she was annoying, even when all she did was suggest that he suck on a cough drop, and to leave him alone; he'd survived worse.

Or maybe just tell her she should suck it.

Because he thought he was so witty.

Steph had yet to inform him that, what came off as witty in their world of wrestling intellect, actually sounded rather corny when put into use in real life.

Spouses don't stay spouses long by being completely honest, however.

"Not even gonna wake up, huh?" she grumbled as she slipped off the bed. "Always, right?"

Leaning right back over it though, Steph was careful as she pulled the baggie of now just water away from her husband's neck, not wishing to awaken him. A quick glance at the clock told her it was only six in the morning. Which would be early even if they hadn't gotten to the hotel at two thirty in the morning after a trip to the hospital following the show. Considering they had done that, however, she figured it'd be at least nine before her husband even peeked an eye open.

Steph tried to be as silent as possible as she moved around the room, going to empty the bag first before slipping on something other than just one of his t-shirts (which basically meant she grabbed his hoodie and wiggled into some booty shorts). Taking the hotel room ice bucket with her, she left the room to go refill it.

The halls were dead, given the hour, but she could hear some noise, echoing a bit in the emptiness, and knew it was no doubt the hotel staff, prepping for the morning free morning breakfast as well as the randoms that were already up for it.

It wasn't very fall down the hall, the ice machine wasn't, which was something Steph was glad about as she couldn't stop yawning for the life of her. The machine was noisy too, as it dumped ice into the bucket and didn't help the forming headache Steph was sporting. Pairing the two together, it didn't really surprise her that, well, Shane surprised her when he spoke.

"Enough ice, Steph?"

She jumped too, more just from suddenly sensing someone behind her than the sound of her brother's voice. It was him, of course, grinning as he stared over her shoulder at the bucket that was quickly filling up.

"Mmmm." Pulling the bucket away from the machine, she turned to stare up at her older brother then. "Paul needed more ice."

"That much?"

She glanced down at the bucket with a shrug. "Better more than less."

They were both standing there then, just staring at one another, if not a bit awkwardly. Shane was clearly dressed for the day, but Steph certainly wasn't and had no plans of being so for a good number of hours.

"You going somewhere?" she asked her brother as she shifted the then cool bucket in her hands. "Shane?"

"Dad called my room," he said with a shake of his head. "He's up and wants to discuss some things."

"Things?"

"Work things."

"That doesn't sound fun."

"At all."

"Glad I don't have to go then."

"Shocked he didn't want to talk to you too," Shane went on with a bit of a shrug. "I mean, if you're up anyways, you could go with me-"

"No can do." She shook the ice bucket at him. "I have a husband to tend to."

"I think your husband can get by pretty well with out you, Steph." Her brother made a face. "I mean, he did sort of exist before you."

"Not very well." And she was sure Paul wouldn't make that much of an argument. "And besides, if he suddenly stops breathing, how much help is he going to be to himself? None. And then what will happen?"

"I guess he'd die."

"Clearly you see why that's not exactly what I want to happen."

"Mmmm, I dunno. I've been number crunching, Steph," he said slowly, "and I think he might be worth more to you that way."

"If I was worried about number crunching, I would have never married him." She shook the bucket again before saying, "But I have to get back before- Oh. He noticed."

They both saw him as he came gingerly turning a corner in the hotel, having slipped on a pair of jeans, but nothing else. When he saw them there, in the little alcove where the ice and vending machines were, his eyes lit up a bit.

"Here you are," came a soft growl, as they were all very conscious of it being so early and that they were in a hotel. Shane frowned, at how rough his brother-in-law's voice sounded, as the last he'd seen him was before he went to the hospital. He thought that he'd be better than he seemed int hat moment. Paul's eyes were only his wife though as he finished, "Steph."

"Here I am."

"What're ya doin'?"

She shook the ice bucket at him. "You were dripping."

That time, Shane's face was made more out of disgust. "Gross, Steph."

"His stupid ice pack, you-"

Rubbing at his neck, Paul grumbled out, "Need an escort for that?"

"I just ran into Shane, is all." Then Steph grinned. "He's gonna tell Vince I can't come to work tonight."

"I'm gonna what now?"

"Who said you're not work-"

"Hush, Paul. You're not supposed to be talking." She was walking then, to go grab his arm and tug him along, back towards their room. "Thanks, Shane."

"I'm not doing it."

But she pretended to not hear him and kept dragging her husband along, knowing that in a hotel's hall, her brother wouldn't chase her down. Besides, she was his baby sister; he'd take their father's wrath for her.

And oh, there would be wrath.

"Why can't you go to the show tonight?"

"Hush, Paul."

"Stop telling me to-"

"We can talk in the room."

When they got there though, she only made him lay back down in bed and went to work on putting the ice in a large Ziploc she had, to rest it on the front of his neck once more. He carped, as he always did when icing his neck but Steph only told him to stop being a baby; he should be able to take the cold.

"There," she grumbled as she moved to fall into bed with him. "Better?"

Marginal.

Steph settled further down on the bed with him, so that she could rest against his side, finger making shapes right above his waist. Eyes trained down, Paul watched her for a moment before speaking.

"Why can't you go to the show?"

"Because I love you."

"Steph-"

"I have to take care of you."

'Do not."

"I want to."

"Stephanie-"

"I'm going to." She tilted her head back to stare up at him. "There's a thousand other people that work on the show."

"Not even close."

"I won't be missed. It should be expected anyhow." Nuzzling her head against him then, she said, "My husband passed the fuck out backstage; of course I'm skipping work the next day."

"Not a McMahon."

"I'm not a McMahon. I'm a Levesque. And so are you." She poked his stomach that time. "So I'm staying to look after you. I'm your wife first."

"Steph-"

"Are you not my husband first?"

"Different."

"Not really." Settling then, she asked, "If I was hurt and needed you, would you skip a show? The day of?"

"I'd leave in the middle of it."

"See?"

"But I'm not hurt."

"You need me."

He would have groaned, would that not have set his throat aflame. Instead, he only said, "Stop making me talk."

"I'm not. You're the one arguing." Pushing up (and after all that work to get settled down), she said, "Here, take a pain pill."

"No. Hurt my throat."

"And then it'll feel better. It took me an hour last night, driving around, finding a 24 hour place to fill your prescription for these. So take one. Here; I'll even crush it up."

"You want me to snort it?"

"Just swallow it in smaller pieces, moron."

Ugh.

It was about twenty minutes of Paul snoozing and Steph lying beside him, trying to desperately do the same before it happened.

There was a knock at the door.

"Stephanie!" they both heard growled at the door. "Are you in there?"

"Well, I'd hope after you just woke up whoever is-"

"Open up."

She lifted up, sticking her tongue out at her husband who was feeling the effect of those pills and only blinked sleepily up at her.

"You can't come in, Dad," Steph yawned as she went to crack open the hotel room door. "So just-"

"The hell can't I?"

"Because."

"Stephanie-"

"Paul's naked," she lied. "And-"

"So?" Vince was shoving against the door then, forcing her to allow him in. "What difference does that make?"

"Uh, I'd think the implications of my husband being nude, in our hotel room, early in the morning would be enough of a deterrent. If not just the fact in general that he's naked."

"We're family."

"That stops making sense after the age of five."

"And he is not," her father grumbled when, upon coming into the room, he found Paul there, sitting up then, in bed, and without any blankets on, showing off his jeans quite plainly. "So I don't see the problem."

"The problem is that the sun's just coming up, Dad." Steph shut the door behind him with a sigh. "What is it that you want exactly?"

Oh. Right. The reason he came.

Vince went right back to fired up.

"What do you mean why am I here?" he complained as he glared at his daughter, her coming to stand before the bed with her arms crossed over her chest. She was still in Paul's shorts and hoodie and, honestly, didn't wish to address her father at the moment. About the topic at hand, of course, but really about anything. "Your brother told me that you, for some reason, think that you're not going to the taping tonight."

"That's because I'm not."

"Stephanie-"

"Paul needs me."

"He's a grown man."

"He's my husband."

"You think I expect your mother to drop everything she has to do if I were hurt?"

"I'd really appreciate if you, like, never compared my marriage to your own, thanks."

"Stephanie-"

"Paul needs rest." Steph nodded at her husband who was actually climbing out of bed then, setting the ice baggie down on the table beside the bed. "So it's actually a bit rude of you to come in here and talk about the business. Come on, Vince; I thought we keep that stuff separate?"

"You wanna talk business?"

"I just said I didn't."

"What sort of businesswoman sends another worked to the boss to, not ask for time off, but demand it?"

"I figured that it would go without saying that I wouldn't be coming. And that it wouldn't be that big of a deal."

"How could that possibly not require saying? And you need to be there, Stephanie."

"Why?"

"Because… Because I said so!"

"Okay, well, I'm not, so- Paul, what are you doing?"

Getting the hell away from them.

"Bathroom," he grumbled as he headed towards the adjoining door. "Steph."

"She makes you ask permission before going to the toilet?" Vince snorted. "Why am I not surprised? How the hell do you stay married to her, Paul? I'd love to know."

"Stop talking to him. He's not here. You made this business and he's not going to have anything to do with the business for a week." Steph glared at her father as she emphasized, "At least."

"You can't tell him what to do. If he wants to talk to me, he can talk to me. Paul! Tell her you want me to talk to you!"

"Don't say anything, Paul!"

Right. Because after the night before, Paul really wanted a McMahon argument going on in his hotel room.

Huffing, Vince said then, "So you're not coming to the taping tonight? And you can live with that? Skipping work to sit with a grown ass man as he mostly just does breathing exercises?"

"My husband? Yeah, I'll be staying here with my husband."

"Fine." He forgot, momentarily, that he wasn't in a suit and rather a sweatshirt and sweatpants, letting onto this when he reached towards his chest, as if to adjust his tie. Glaring down at his chest when this fell through, he became even more flustered as he said, "You're at least going to OVW tomorrow, aren't you?"

"No."

"Stephanie-"

"I have to be with Paul." Their tons were both softer then, as the intensity had burst by his inevitable agreement to her decision, but still agitated with one another, just a tad. "We're gonna fly home tomorrow."

"Why are you doing this to me?"

"I'm not doing anything. Send Shane to do it if it's that freaking important. Or gee, the other thousands of people that work for your company?"

"It's your job, Stephanie."

"And the job you sent my husband to do got him injured. I'm in grieving-"

"Steph- Paul. Good." Vince nodded at the man as he came out of the bathroom, heading right back over to the bed to get back to his ice. "Talk some sense into your wife."

"Excuse me?" Stephanie was taking that stance. "Talk some sense? I'm about done, Vince, so-"

"Can't have a rational conversation with you. I-"

"Then leave. I'm not going to anything this week-"

"The week? The entire week?"

"Yes. I'm going to be with Paul the entire week-"

"Paul, do you need her?" This time, Vince looked at him dead on as the man only sat there, on the couch, staring. "Do you? Because if you do, fine; won't say a thing. But I have a feeling, that you don't. You and I both know that you've nursed far worse injuries without-"

"It doesn't matter what he says," Stephanie told her father. Then she paused. "Although, I know he's going to agree that he does need me. Aren't you? Paul?"

"He's a damn man, Stephanie," her father grumbled. "Not a little boy."

Very true. He also wasn't a moron. No way in hell was he going to be choosing between the two of them.

Err, well, in serious situations, fine, sure, whatever. Steph over Vince.

But work shit?

No thanks.

"I just really," he got out, throat burning as he relaxed onto the bed again, tossing the ice around his neck, "wanna focus on resting."

"And you need her to do it?"

"Of course he does," Steph complained. "So-"

"What could you possibly be doing for him?"

"Why do you think it concerns you?"

"It just does!" Then, looking again to his son-in-law, he asked, "Don't you think she should go looking for talent? Paul? If not go to the damn tonight?"

Personally? Yeah. Paul didn't skip work unless he had to. But Steph wasn't him. And if she was hurt, seriously hurt, he would see that as a 'had to' moment. So…

Again, he wasn't coming between the two of them.

If he could help it.

Still, he only said, "I'm not Steph's keeper. She does whatever she wants."

Which was very true. He might influence the hell out of her sometimes, when he was necessary, but flat out telling her no to something would only result in him getting reminded of his place. She'd married into the Levesque name, but she'd inducted him into the McMahons and, therefore, was in more control than him for the most part.

Not to mention, if she wanted to sit around with him for a few days, as he healed up, the hell wouldn't he let her do it for? He foresaw a lotta sympathy blows and the like which, fuck, screw Vince and his demands; Paul wasn't sending that away.

Besides, if it wasn't Steph and it was any other person on the staff that needed to care for their husband for a week, they'd get that week. Barring any extreme circumstances. Especially someone that wasn't on the air currently. Vince wasn't a damn slave driver.

...Other than to his children.

It was a rather peculiar situation, really, being the boss of your children, but at the same time, Vince was a peculiar guy. Paul didn't have any children, but did plan for them. And also had a very close relationship with his sister's children. So he knew what it was like, to care for a child, and couldn't see himself, when he did have kids, ever being the...boss of them. He'd be the boss, of course, of his household and all that, but working with them?

Shit, he and his father were tight as hell. And he knew of course that his brother-in-law had to love Vince, in some form of the word, but Paul couldn't imagine having that same relationship with his own father. They all boasted separating family from work and, fine, the McMahons did alright at it, but the concept could hardly be perfected. Seepage was inevitable.

And boy had Paul had to sit through some awkward as hell dinners over at Vince and Linda's place, when such a thing did occur.

He wasn't so sure that was what was happening at the moment though. Vince seemed to be somewhat teasing Steph in some moments, toying with her, but in others his tone made it sound as if he truly was pissed she wasn't going to the show that night.

Which would be surprising for anyone who didn't know Vince McMahon and knew that he was crazy as hell and felt every range of emotion in every situation. The only time Paul had ever truly seem him feel one single one was when he first saw his newborn grandson. He was honestly content then.

Other than holding Shane's son that first time, the man was mostly manic.

Vince only shook his head at Paul, for a comment that he'd actually probably agree with any other time, grumbling, "Don't tell her what to do, my ass."

"Yeah, I'd really never tell her to do your ass, Vince, so-"

"You-"

"Paul, stop talking before you hurt your throat," Stephanie said with a roll of her eyes before looking to her father. "Don't you have something to be doing? Other than barging into your daughter's hotel room for no reason? I thought you and Shane were… Why did you want Shane to get up before dawn to talk to you again?"

Vince huffed a bit then before saying, "I was up. Why shouldn't he be up when I'm up?"

"Well, Paul and I weren't up and don't plan to be for most of the day today," she said simply. "So if you'd kindly leave-"

"Stephanie-"

"Daddy, I'm tired." And she was dragging his arm then, away from the bed and over to the door. "Just leave. I'll talk to you next week."

"Next week?"

"Tomorrow," Paul grumbled out, deciding for them then. "You'll talk tomorrow."

Vince didn't wanna leave, it was obvious, but did grumble about how Steph could miss the night, but she had better call him the next morning, to let him know for sure what her plans were, as well as muttered something to his son-in-law about feeling better as well as taking care of himself before leaving.

"Ugh," Steph groaned after shutting the door behind her father. "Can you believe him? What was that all about? I mean, obviously, if you're hurt, I'm staying with you. Why is that so shocking to him?

Now that there was only one of them in the room, it was very easy to decide who's side he was taking.

"Dunno."

"Like, I couldn't imagine going in tonight and something happening to you." Steph came to all into bed with him once more. "If you stopped breathing while I'm backstage doing bull someone else could, I'd… Man, they would not wanna be around me. I'll just say that."

Oh, he believed her. His wife was nothing if not crazy as hell. Add him into the mix and she became unbelievably so.

"Here." Her caring for him was finally overriding her desire to gripe about her father. "Lay on your back."

Shifting to do so, he watched her through slit eyes as he started to drift off. Then, slowly, he asked, "Steph?"

She was busy adjusting the ice pack on his neck, but still hummed back, "Hmmm?"

"Go to work, if you wanna."

"Hush."

"You don't gotta take care of me."

"I want to."

He lay still as she pressed a kiss to his cheek before snuggling up to his chest. Acting indifferent, Paul wiggled his toes before saying, "Forgettin' somethin'?"

"What?"

"You know."

"I know what?"

"Babe, I'm injured. Critically."

"A bit much, but go on."

"Don't you think I deserve a, you know, hero's reward?"

"For not being adequate at your job?"

"Stephanie."

"Your body, I mean. It's not adequate."

"Somethin' that it is adequate at though-"

"Isn't your throat in pain? Be quiet."

"Could be. If you just admitted you know what I want."

"I can assume-"

"Please do."

"But," she kept on, glancing up at him then, "you should know that you have to keep your breathing regulated."

"So?"

"So, you wouldn't be able to. If I gave you any sort of reward."

"This is crap."

"Isn't it just?"

"What's the point of being injured then?"

"I don't even think I can, in good conscious, do such a thing until your completely healed. In what? A week?"

"Are you serious?"

"Very, babe."

"So you get off for a week from work-"

"Taking care of you is hardly without it's work." Then she snickered. "Though definitely without a bit of it, if I don't have to-"

"-but you can even get me off?"

"You are off from work."

"Stephanie-"

"I can't get you...off, baby, and risk killing you because you aren't breathing correcting and your throat swells or something."

"The doctor said nothing about no blows."

"Who's even talking about blows?"

"I was. What were you-" He frowned at the gesture she made with her hand. "I'm not twelve."

"You've gotten off."

"Be better off doing it myself, if that were the case."

"You're welcome to. Because I'm not."

"Don't tempt me."

"By all means."

He wanted to groan, but that would hurt, so he only took to tossing a hand over his eyes. "What are we gonna do for a week together? If not just have tons of sex? That's what Vince thinks you're takin' off for. It what everyone thinks you are."

"Uh, try no one should be making assumptions about our sex life anyway, so-"

"Are we just gonna...talk?"

"Well, I'd rather you didn't much, no." Steph pushed up a bit, to adjust the ice pack on his throat. As he lifted his arm, just to peek at her, his wife only beamed. "Just being in one another's company should be enough for us both."

That time, the groan was inevitable. And, bolting up as it brought much pain to him, Paul's ice back fell as his hand came up to grab at his throat, breathing noisily through his mouth.

"Your nose, baby." Steph sat up, a hand coming to fall onto his back. "Breathe through your nose."

It took a minute or so, but her soft touch, running up and down his back, combined with the ice pack she moved to hold against his neck once more was enough to distract him and, eventually, Paul fell back to the bed once more. As he blinked up at his wife, he saw the concern there and recalled it, still, being etched in her face when he'd passed out backstage the night before. Steph cared so much about him. More than anyone else ever had.

And she did a damn good job of taking care of him too.

"You okay now? Huh?" Steph adjusted the ice on his throat before nuzzling up against his side again. "Paul?"

"Fine." Letting out a slow breath, he only said, "You should stay. With me. Tonight. Instead of go to the show."

"Yeah." She patted his tummy. "I was planning on it."

Got a request for the time Paul injured his neck (one of the numerous, of course, but a bit more serious than others) in '05. Steph missed the taping of SD the next night as well as going to scout talent the next day, so I figure Vince had more than few thoughts on it and thought that would be more interesting than just watching Steph care for Paul.