A/N: This story was taken from one of Sinfully Sined's story ideas, so thanks, Sin, for providing such a great idea to work with! Sorry that it's taken so long to get something written, but I had finals and schoolwork, and then I wanted to update my other stories before I got to this one. Hopefully, you'll enjoy it.

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing and no one in this story.

ORIGINAL IDEA (from Sinfully Sined): Saying sorry wasn't something that he always did. No in fact he never said sorry to anyone before her. Now it seems sorry is all that he can say to her without hurting her. Or so he thought. That was until he heard her in the bathroom crying her eyes out after he told her that he was sorry for cheating on her. Her words she did know he heard "I'd rather he slap then tell me sorry one more time. That word cuts deeper than anything else in the world.

When I See You Cry

Chapter 1: Sick of Sorry

Sorry.

One word, five letters, two syllables. Such a simple word to say, but one that had always been difficult for him to utter. After all, when you were the Shaman of Sexy, one-half of the World Tag Team Champions and could have any woman you wanted, "sorry" was not a part of your vocabulary. But then he had met…her, and discovered that there was more to life than winning matches and scoring chicks. That even the tag title belts were not as precious as feeling her head resting against his chest.

Once he had found her, everything had been perfect—and then somehow he had managed to screw it up royally; getting caught with the wrong person, in the wrong place, at the wrong time. And now, like a broken record, all he could say was "sorry". Hoping that, like a magical spell, just voicing it could make everything better.

John Morrison ran a hand through his dark brown locks as he trudged down the hallway. Ever since yesterday, he had been walking around in a preoccupied haze, going through the motions without any real awareness that he was doing them. For instance, he knew that he and his fellow tag team champ, Mike Mizanin, had just won a match against Jesse and Festus, but if someone had stopped to ask him, he would not have been able to relate one detail about that match. All he could think about was her; her long red hair, her wide green eyes, the lithe movement of her body as she walked—he'd take that over the Miz's juvenile antics any day.

His partner had not been particularly helpful either. When he had called Miz up last night to ask for advice, his head on the verge of exploding from all the emotions swirling around inside it, the self-proclaimed Chick Magnet's response had been to laugh.

Man, what're you freaking out about? I mean, if someone as smoking hot as Maryse had come up to ME—I would have hit that in a heartbeat, dude.

Then: I wouldn't worry about her. She's just a chick; it's probably her time of the month or something. She'll get over it. Besides…you're better off without her.

The Shaman of Sexy sighed. Miz just didn't get it. This whole incident…it had made him realize that he was nothing without her. Which is what he would soon be in the literal sense if he didn't find some way to make this right, and soon.

John stopped, covering his face with both hands and groaning. He was such a fucking idiot. Why hadn't he told Maryse to hit the road the second she stepped into the locker room? Why hadn't he stopped it when she closed the door, or when she walked up to him and—

He broke off the thought, but not before feeling his heart wrench painfully in his chest. The Tag Team Champion lowered his hands, letting them fall back down to his sides. His eyes listlessly scanned the corridor in front of him—then abruptly, his vision cleared, focusing in on a figure several yards down. Long dark hair and a slender figure identified her as one of the Bella twins. John moved toward her, energy returning to his stride. She wasn't the object of his quest—but she could lead him to it.

The SmackDown Diva was leaning against the wall, eyes glued to her two-way as she texted with both hands. She sensed his presence, and glanced up, startled. Her surprised expression quickly morphed into a disdainful scowl. "Oh…it's you." She returned her attention to the small screen of her mobile device.

The Shaman of Sexy felt a sudden flash of panic, realizing that he had no idea whether the Diva in front of him was Brie or Nikki. "Hey," he began, skirting the name issue entirely. "Um, I was wondering…have you seen Maria lately?"

Brie-or-Nikki rolled her eyes back up toward him, her breath escaping from her lips in an impatient sigh. "My sister's with her. I can tell you right now, though…she doesn't want to talk to you."

John's broad shoulders slumped, defeat flashing across his features. "Oh…you know, then."

The SmackDown Diva snapped her two-way shut, pointing it at him accusingly. "Yeah, but not from Maria. See, a little while ago, your little girl-pal Maryse decided to get in 'Ria's face and brag about how she's the new love of your life now." Her delicately-featured face twitched with anger. "Just so you know: if I see that blond whore again—I'm ripping her hair out."

Join the club…the Tag Team Champion added silently, feeling a stirring of annoyance. Any progress that he might have made toward getting Maria to forgive him had just been wiped out by the French-Canadian Diva's meddling. What the hell did I ever see in her? It was a rhetorical question; one which he had been asking himself for the past twenty-four hours.

John quickly pushed aside his irritation. He would deal with Maryse if he saw her, but right now, he had to get to Maria. He had to fix this. "Listen, could you just point me in the right direction? You know, just—" He faltered, his normally smooth tongue failing him. Helplessly, he held out his hands, silently pleading with her. "Please," he finally managed to say. "Please…just…tell me where she is."

Brie-or-Nikki stared back at him, and after several long seconds, the suspicion in her face softened slightly. Without looking, she gestured over her shoulder. "She's in the bathroom down the hall." John didn't speak, only nodded his thanks and hurried past her.

"You're wasting your time!" the Smackdown Diva called after him. "Like I said—she doesn't want to talk to you."

No offense…the Shaman of Sexy thought to himself. But I hope you're wrong…

He halted outside the bathroom door, taking a moment or two to steel himself before he raised his hand to knock. Before his knuckles could make contact with its surface, he stopped, hearing voices within. The Tag Team Champion moved a little bit closer, practically pressing his ear against the door.

"Come on, 'Ria," That must be the other Bella sibling. "You know she didn't mean it."

John's breath caught in his throat as the other person spoke, the smoky tones belonging to none other than his Maria. Just hearing the misery in her voice made his heart twist into a know. "Yes, she did, Nikki. You know she did." Guess that answered the question of which Bella twin he'd been speaking to. "And even if she hadn't gotten in my face—it wouldn't matter because I saw them together! Okay? I saw him with her! Maryse knows that…she's just trying to shove the knife in even further."

"What about John?" he heard Nikki ask. "What's he saying about this whole situation?"

"John?" For a moment, the Shaman of Sexy actually thought that Maria was addressing him, and opened his mouth to answer. Before he could, however, she rushed on. "He's been apologizing since last night."

"Well, that's good," Nikki ventured tentatively. "I mean, at least he's not trying to make excuses or anything—"

"You don't get it, Nik!" Maria interrupted, her voice rising in volume. "All he says is 'I'm sorry'. 'I'm sorry' this,' I'm sorry' that—well, Nikki, I'm getting pretty damn sick of sorry!" Maria's voice had shifted; now it sounded like it was closer to the door. John quickly moved back, preparing himself in case the door should suddenly fly open.

But Maria wasn't finished. "Let me put it this way—" She must have been standing on the other side of the door; she sounded like she was right next to him. "I would rather have him hit me in the face than say 'I'm sorry' one more time. At least—" Her voice broke, but she continued. "At least then I would know that he cared. The more he says that he's sorry, the more I think that he doesn't mean it." Her words became incoherent as she dissolved into tears, and there was the sound of footsteps on tile as Nikki moved to comfort her.

John slowly backed away from the door, his whole body tightening with emotion. Guilt crashed over him, and he swiped the back of his hand across his forehead, wiping away sweat. Maria's words echoed in his ears, sounding almost like an accusation:

I would rather have him hit me in the face than say 'I'm sorry' one more time…

John had never hit a woman in his life—not even Melina, and she had been a bitch—and there was no way in hell that he was going to start with Maria. But all mention of domestic abuse aside, she had been right. Ever since last night, he had been telling her how sorry he was—but not showing her. Somehow, he had to let her know how much he cared, how she meant the world to him—somehow, he had to show her how sorry he really was.

The problem was, he didn't have a fucking clue how to do it.

TO BE CONTINUED…