Vince McMahon knew he should not have felt so gleeful about the whole situation. But it was almost too good to be true. He was on top of the pro wrestling empire, and in front of him, in his office, sat the man he put out of business, Eric Bischoff.

Eric had always been a source of puzzlement, sometimes fascination for Vince. He appeared some ten years before, as a young handsome announcer, but essentially a nobody. And in a couple of years, he managed to get to the top of WCW and proceeded to kick the living hell out of Raw by elevating Nitro to whole new levels. Vince had always been accustomed to get anything he wanted. He had not stolen that genius reputation by any stretch of imagination and he breathed the wrestling business day in and day out. It was in his blood. And yet... yet, for a long time, he could not seem to be able to do anything to get the upper hand against a little outsider, a little nobody coming out of nowhere, who was not supposed to comprehend anything about wrestling. This, for Vince, was simply not possible. Eric Bischoff was not supposed to even exist.

But he existed, and for years he had taunted Vince with his smug face, his perfect cheekbones, his superior show.

So Vince did what his ego required of him. He crushed Eric. He stole his ideas, his wrestlers, he payed people to ruin WCW from the inside. Hell, putting Kevin Nash as a booker had been Vince's idea, relayed by hand picked unknowing 'agents', as Vince liked to call them. And even after it was clear that Raw was winning the rating war, he did everything he could to isolate Eric. He was the one behind Eric's eviction in 1999. And after that he invested a lot of money so that Eric had as little contact as possible with his so-called friends. He even went his way to have Eric monitored 24/7, and had reports about the man's daily life every single week. Eric of course, knew nothing of this, and would never know.

And finally, finally, it was time. It took three years, but he had finally worn Eric down. The former WCW executive was about to break, Vince knew it. He had no friends to speak of, had nightmares, was in real financial trouble and of course, thoroughly depressed.

Vince did his best to refrain from smirking. He was going to be Eric's savior. He would make Eric love him. He would possess that man. It was only a matter of time.

- I want that separation, dammit!-

Eric Bischoff was desperate. His brainchild, Monday Nitro, was now property of one Vincent Kennedy McMahon. His bitterness and his rage at having lost the War had driven away the few friends he had left. His finances and his personal life were in shamble.

Just as he had been contemplating a more radical solution to put an end to his misery, his phone rang and a voice he would never have dreamed of hearing again offered him a job. A job in the wrestling business. Eric had not thought twice about it, and thus he sat, at WWE headquarters, in Vince McMahon's office.

It should have been humiliating, sitting in front of his rival in such a weakened position. But Eric was past caring about such things. He needed a reason to keep on living, and he sensed that McMahon was possibly the only man on this earth who could fill his craving.

Vince eyed him critically.

"You look awful," he deadpanned.

Eric sent a half hearted glare, but he could hardly argue. He was not sleeping, or eating well, and he was drinking far too much for his own sake.

"I'll get better," he promised, because he could not say anything else.

"You do that Eric, because I need you in shape for what I have in mind. How would you feel about being the General Manager of Raw?"

Eric had to chuckle at that. McMahon certainly knew how to drop a bombshell without batting an eyelid. But the chuckle was bittersweet. Even in his exhausted state of mind, he knew Vince wouldn't do this out of pure generosity.

"You tell me, should I feel good about it? Or should I accept because I have no other choice, and give you the pleasure of humiliating me week after week?"

Vince looked at him with an indescribable expression on his face, a strange mixture of sadness and regret with a disturbing flash of impatience and anger, and sighed. He brought a hand to Eric's face over the desk, and tilted the younger man's chin to look him in the eyes.

"I don't want to humiliate you Eric, I never wanted that."

Eric's eyes widened and he was about to laugh in disgust at Vince's disingenuity. How could McMahon possibly expect him to believe that he didn't hate his guts? That he didn't like seeing Eric in that position, that he didn't do anything humanly possible to get Eric into this situation? He was about to throw that into McMahon's face when Vince stopped him:

"Think back Eric. Did I ever do anything to you? Did I ever try to publicly humiliate you? Did you ever see me attack you or your company? Why would I start now?"

And it was true, Eric realized. During the Monday Night War, not once had Vince done anything underhanded to win in the ratings, not once had he made it a personal matter... unlike Eric of course. And that was killing him from inside, eating his heart out. The mere presence of the other man made him feel so inferior, so lowly, that he couldn't bear to see Vince pity him like that. He wouldn't have cared if Vince had decided to gloat, to show him his place, to get revenge for all those bitter years during which the WWF had been threatened by the WCW. Anything but pity. So to get rid of the stifling feeling that was threatening to overwhelm him, Eric reacted the only way he knew. He pushed away Vince's hand and lashed out.

"Shut up! Don't you dare talk to me like that, you sanctimonious bastard! You think you're so much better than me don't you? Don't you? What are you trying to do anyway? You wanna show your superiority? Is that it? Am I some kind of charity case you took on to boost your ego?"

A joyless hysterical laugh forced its way out of Eric's throat.

"But I know you Vince! I know you hate my guts! You despise me with every fiber of your being... you wanna punch me, don't you? Come on big man, I bet you've been dying to put your hands on me, well here is your chance! I'm right here! Come on, hit me! Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!"

And Vince did just that. The slap resounded loudly in the office and Eric's head was thrown back with the force of it. Dazed, Eric put a hand on his smarting cheek, but before he could do anything else, two strong arms encircled him and he was pressed against the massive chest of his former enemy. At first he just stood stiffly as Vince rubbed his back gently, reassuringly, murmuring sweet nothings into his ear and holding him as if he were about to break. He tried to get his breathing under control even as he smelt Vince's cologne. Suddenly a hitch escaped his throat, and he found himself clinging to Vince, burying his face into the broad shoulder as uncontrollable sobs echoed in the room. Vince moved them to the expensive looking couch and held him through his breakdown, having apparently expecting it.

Eric cried for what probably lasted only a few minutes, but seemed an eternity. He cried for all those years of fighting, of having to look strong when he had been so tired, he cried for what he lost and would never have back, for what he thought had been his friends, he cried for his pride, his damned pride which never allowed him to shed any tears until now, he cried on Vince McMahon's shoulder when his world had been broken apart into millions of little pieces and finally it seemed like he could breath again.

Eric let go of Vince, wincing as he saw the wrinkles his clinging did to the suit and the wet spot his tears left on the right shoulder. McMahon stood up to grab a few tissues and a bottle of water, and sat back, handing them to Eric without a word. Eric murmured a "thank you" and tried to get some semblance of composure, wiping his wet face and straightening his suit. He drank a few gulps of water, nearly sighing in pleasure as the cool liquid blissfully soothed his burning throat. He felt a warm hand weighing on his shoulder and turned to Vincent, who was looking at him with a concerned look on his face. Eric broke eye contact, suddenly realizing the situation. He had just had a nervous breakdown. That was not something you necessarily wanted to happen during a job interview.

Vince broke the silence first.

"Are you feeling any better?"

Surprisingly, Eric realized that yes, he was feeling much, much better than a few moments before. As if a great mist that had been paralyzing him before, weighing on each of his actions, had suddenly been lifted. He was still exhausted, but he could see clearly, he could think clearly. Vince's hand moved from his shoulder to rest on his cheek.

"Yeah... yeah I'm feeling loads better," he replied in a breath, closing his eyes as he leaned towards the touch.

Eric completely missed the devious smile that crossed Vince's face at that particular moment. He needed human contact like he needed oxygen, and Vince was there. He did not say anything when Vince got closer, running his hands on his back, whispering things like "you're gonna be ok, I've got you now, you'll be fine Eric", he did not protest when Vince kissed him sweetly, gently, tentatively, as if he were something so precious Vince himself could not believe he could touch him. He was tired. So tired of fighting, so tired of hurting, so tired of being alone.

"You're not alone, not anymore."

Ah, he had not realized that he had said his thoughts out loud. He opened his eyes and Vince was there. He was there.

"What happens now?"

Eric Bischoff did not beg. He did not want to beg. But he sensed that should Vince refuse him the job, his only option would be to take that pistol he knew was under his bed, press the barrel against his temple and give a flick of his finger.

"Now, you are going to get some rest. You look like you could use some. I've got a hotel booked for my employees, and a special room is reserved for the Raw GM. You start next Monday night." Vince answered with a benevolent smile.

"Why?" Eric looked at his greatest rival uncomprehendingly.

"Haven't you figure it out by now?" said Vince incredulously. "I thought you were supposed to be a genius," he added with a hint of tease in his voice.

Eric did not have the strength to muster a witty reply, and looked expectantly at his now boss. Vince sobered up quickly when he saw that Eric was serious, and gently took Eric's face in his hands, never breaking eye contact.

"I have never been good with confessions, so I'm going to get straight to the point. I want to be by your side Eric. I want you to trust me and rely on me. I want you to be able to look over your shoulder and know that I'll be there, no matter what."

Eric closed his eyes, and finally his lips formed a smile. As cliché as it sounded, he could actually feel a warm, fuzzy feeling spreading inside his stomach. It felt so good, after all those years, to finally have someone to rely on. Eric was a cautious man, but Vince sounded sincere enough. He was willing to give this relationship a try.

-I also want a separation here!*grumbles against *-

Vince kept the harmless benevolent look that he usually fed to the press until Eric had completely left his office. He walked around his desk, sat back in his luxurious "Chairman of the Board" chair, put his feet on the desk and laughed.

As a friend of mine said, "Evil VKM is evil". This was supposed to be a fluffly hurt/comfort loving moment, but Vince had to keep his reputation. Sorry LC!