Watch him. That's all I can do. Just watch him.

We talk, hang out. And I watch him. We work together. And I watch him. Sometimes I feel like a stalker, because I follow him around whenever I get the chance to. I try to be as close to him as I can get. I guess he notices my looks and surely notices that I seek his company. He never said a word about it, so I guess he doesn't mind.

And sometimes I steal little touches. A pat on the back here, a brush of arms there. I lean on his shoulders when he sits on a chair... Just like friend do.

Only when we're in the ring together I manage to keep my feelings under control because I know I need to stay focused, no matter what. I know that if I don't, I risk hurting him and I couldn't stand the thought that I'm the reason for his pain.

Sometimes there are days when everything comes crashing down on me, when I feel like I can't bear this situation anymore. And these are the days when he seems to just feel my misery.

He would come to me and ask me if something is wrong and he would call his wife to tell her that he stays at my place over night. And I know that she hates it when he does that, spending so much time with me and not with her. But he would tell her that he right now doesn't care what she says. It makes me feel special when he does that and at least for a short while I feel like I'm closer to him than his wife is.

Today is one of those days.

I already felt bad when I came to work, but I tried my best to keep my smile in place. It worked for a while, but then I saw him. Randy walked in, a stunning picture of handsomeness and cat-like grace, a smart smile on his gorgeous face that grew when his gaze fell on me. And then his smile died on his beautiful lips. He knows me all too well and it had taken him less than a heartbeat to see that something wasn't right.

He walked up to me, worry written all over his face and he watched me for a moment of two, before he took hold of my arm and steered me to the stairwell.

I tried to find some reason for my mood, so he wouldn't try to dig too deep, but I failed and found myself in the empty and somewhat dark stairwell, back against the wall. His hands rested on my shoulders, his grey eyes scrutinizing me.

"One of those days?" he asked me, voice gentle, caring and all I could do was nod.

To my surprise he didn't ask any further questions. Instead he let his hands slide down my arms slowly and then took out his cell to call his wife. Randy told her that he would stay at my place, like so often before. I heard her sharp voice through the phone and he held the cell away from his ear.

"Sorry, could you please go back in and wait a second? I'm right after you," he said and I nodded, leaving the stairwell.

With a loud thud the door closed behind me, but I still could hear him. His voice was strained and angry and obviously he was pretty pissed. I couldn't understand what he said, but it sure wasn't nice.

He kept word and a moment later he stood beside me.

"I need to drop by at home and get some things before we go to your place, okay?" he told me and I noticed, that suddenly there was no anger left in his voice.

"Sure," I agreed. "You two had a fight, because of me."

It wasn't a question. Randy shook his head.

"No. Not because of you. She is…" Randy trailed off. "Never mind. It's not important. She's not important. Right now only you are important, okay?"

His last words went straight to my poor heart and warmed me. I wanted to say something, but all I could do was to stare at him.

"You look like a kicked puppy," Randy laughed softly.

He ruffled my hair and as we walked towards our co-workers, he put his arm around me.

"Hey, tomorrow everything is going to be alright. Promise," he tried to cheer me up. "Let's get back to work."

He was so close that I could feel the low rumble of his voice and I wanted to believe that he could and would make everything alright, for good. Somehow.

I guess the only thing one could criticize when it comes to Randy Orton is that he tends to have foul-mood and that he is a spoiled brat. And the spoiled brat is a result of him being spoiled by: his parents 60%, Sam 20 % and myself 30 %, so no point in blaming him for that. And yes, that makes 110 %, but when it comes to acting spoiled, he gives a 110 %.

Contrary to the persona he plays on TV, Randy is a warm-hearted, caring and by far not insane person and if you ever saw him play tea-time with his little girl, sitting on a kids chair with his knees up to his ears and a petite tea-cup in his hand – a sight to remember, believe me – you wouldn't believe that he could even harm a fly. And when it comes to persons he's attached to, he can be extremely protective.

He even tries to protect me, in many ways. If I don't feel well, he blocks off everyone and everything until I feel better. And few weeks ago for example some random idiot guy came along for a fight when we were out for a beer. I tried to avoid him and to stay calm, but after the guy had pushed me around a few times, Randy stepped between us and told him that he would break every single bone in his body if he touched me one more time. No need to see Randy's face that moment, I heard his voice drip with venom. That did it, the guy took off. I mean, hey, as if I am someone who needed to be protected. He knows that and he does it nevertheless. And I secretly love him for doing it.

So being in full personal watch-dog mode, he managed to keep stupid questions and dump jokes away from me, called me away from every unwanted conversation and thus got me through the day as good as possible.

After the training, we took a quick shower, grabbed our stuff and hit the road. The ride to Randy's place was quiet, he seemed to be lost in his thoughts and I didn't want to bother him. The telephone call with Sam earlier today popped up in my mind and how his voice had sounded through the closed door. Not nice. Not Randy.

When we finally arrived at his house, he asked me to stay in the car and then made his way to the front door. I could see Sam at the window, an unreadable expression plastered to her face… until her gaze fell on me. Suddenly her expression wasn't unreadable anymore, it was reproachful, angry, but she left her place at the window the moment Randy closed the door behind him.

For about twenty minutes nothing happened.

Then the door opened and Randy came out, a duffel bag thrown over his shoulder… and he looked really pissed. A few steps behind Sam followed. She stopped at the curb, screaming his name, but he ignored her stealthily, making a beeline to the car. He threw the bag onto the backseat and climbed behind the steering wheel. Her sharp voice was cut off by the closing car door.

Randy sat very still, eyes fixed on the road and his hands gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles went white. His breathing was slow but deep, as if he tried to calm down.

"I'm sorry," I whispered guiltily, because I knew it was my fault that they had been fighting.

He blinked once.

"Don't be," he whispered back. "It's not your fault."

Even in this crappy situation he tried to make me feel better. My fingers itched to touch him, to comfort him, but I didn't reach out.

My eyes flicked back to Sam. She still stood at the curb, angry, but silent. I knew this was wrong and not fair to her, but god forgive me, I couldn't have cared less. It was Randy I was sorry for.

"Let's get out of here," he sighed and started the car.

The ride to my place was as quiet as the ride to his house, but somehow… he seemed to be relieved. So we drove in silence and all the way I wondered how I would have to pay for the shit I caused…