So hello to this lovely fandom that I've never written for before. For the sake of this story we are pretending as if what they show on the screen is real. The wrestlers really have epic feuds that they have no problem carrying out in public, there is no such thing as kayfabe, and these people really beat the shit out of each other on an almost nightly basis. I've also set this in the late 90s, with Kane in a mask and The Undertaker with dyed black hair and no one walks around with a cell phone glued to their hand. (Guilty over here...)

I really hope ya'll enjoy this, and I feel I have to warn you that this story will eventually make its way to a heavy M rating. :)

(Also, I invented my own hospital. Cause I can can can!)

I own nothing.

The locker room was strangely empty as first year resident Charlie Hogue threw her purse and dark blue sweatshirt into the locker that had been hers for the past four years. This was unusual, given that most days she could not get dressed in peace without someone snapping a shirt at her behind or commenting on her generous breasts. Being one of three female residents in a mostly male "class" could really be a pain in the ass, but Charlie took it in stride, throwing in a snap of her own and a tease to Daniel about his rather short legs. On her best day she was even confident enough to ride Bruce about the small bulge in his boxers, always relieved when he laughed along with the rest of the room. But today, there was no one.

Walking over to the machine that dispensed various sizes of the green scrubs residents were forced to wear, Charlie let out a sigh when she realized that the machine was out of medium scrubs. Great. Large it was. That horrible contraption was one of the many things that blew Charlie's mind during her first intern year at the Dallas N.A. Teaching Hospital. How was she to know that she wouldn't get to wear her own scrubs? That she would have to share with about twenty other people? It seemed an unsanitary practice, especially in a hospital, but she smiled and pressed the buttons and hoped that the hospital laundry room had decent detergent.

Divesting herself of her jeans and plain white t-shirt, Charlie pulled the scrub bottoms up her legs and around her hips, tightening them up as much as she could. She could think of nothing more mortifying than her pants around her ankles in the middle of rounds. Oh... wait.. yes she could. Her pants around her ankles while she was holding a retractor during surgery, unable to reach down and pull them back up, relying on a snickering nurse to do it for her. With that horrifying thought, Charlie double knotted her pants and prayed vigorously.

"Charlie Horse!"

Charlie grinned as Brian Norris flung the locker room door open and strode into the room, ignoring her lack of shirt and focusing instead on the chips he had stashed in his own locker.

"You're late, Charlie."

"I know, I know. Traffic was a bitch and I'm not gonna lie... I slept through my alarm AND my backup alarm. I didn't even have time to blow dry my hair." Charlie patted her haphazard bun and pushed the loose strands away from her face. "Has Doc Martin noticed yet?" Doctor Patrick Martin was the attending she had been assigned to follow that week, and as nice as he usually was, he detested tardiness. Charlie couldn't blame him. It was something she usually detested as well.

Brian chuckled as he scarfed down his chips, probably the only food he'd had that day. "Actually, I think you're in luck. We've got a celebrity coming in a few and the ER is buzzing. Everybody wants it. Except for me. I want sleep. And real food. You remember real food, don't ya? Fried chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy and green beans..."

"Brian, stop!" Charlie interrupted, pulling on her top and struggling to make the ensemble look like it fit. "You're making me hungry. I had a power bar on the way out the door. May as well have been cardboard." Sitting down on the bench in front of her locker, she pulled on her tennis shoes and tied them tight. "And who is the celebrity? Worth it to throw my hat in the ring?"

Brian shrugged. "No idea. I'm on my way out so I really don't care. Everybody seems to want it though, so I'd get my ass out there if I were you."

"I'm going!" Charlie got up and followed Brian out of the room and into the hall, where they went their separate ways. She wondered if the "celebrity" had gotten there yet, but she didn't have to wonder long. There was definitely a commotion going on in the emergency room, and she hadn't even gotten there yet.

"How many times do I have to tell you to get your mother fucking hands off me?"

A deep voice vibrated through the halls of the hospital, and Charlie wouldn't have been surprised if they could hear it on the top floor. She cringed as she thought of the children in the pediatric wing just one floor up. They would definitely be getting an education tonight.

"Don't you come over here with that! I will fuck each and every one of you up!"

The closer Charlie got to the ER the louder the voice became, cursing and snarling and sometimes even growling. She paused as she reached the door of the ER, debating on wether or not she even wanted to go in there and be on the receiving end on whatever that man was trying to give out. Perhaps she could just go back down the hall and look for Doc Martin...

"There you are, Charlie! Thanks for waiting on me. Surgery ran a little bit behind schedule, but I'm here now."

As luck would have it, Doc Martin found her, instead. Charlie opened her mouth to ask what they were going to be doing, but was interrupted by another stream of curses from the other side of the door.

"Come on now, Dr. Hogue," Doc Martin smiled, putting on his professional tone. "The paramedics called ahead. Broken bones and at least one good sprain. That's us. Welcome to Ortho." He pulled Charlie along by the arm into the ER, and they both froze as they took in the sight before them.

On the stretcher, flanked by several frightened residents and a few brave interns, was the biggest man Charlie had ever seen. He was sitting up, something he was decidedly not supposed to be doing, and every movement flexed the muscles in arms that were at least as big around as Charlie's thighs. The tattoos that covered his arms and abdomen would have fascinated her, but there were so many other things to be fascinated about, including the fact that he was covered only in...tights. Black tights that hugged his lower body like a second skin. There seemed to be a top of some sort that had been pulled down around his waist, but Charlie couldn't quite tell if it was shirt or an extension of the tights. His hair was long and black, and though she couldn't tell what color his eyes were from a distance, she could definitely tell that he was wearing eyeliner.

What the fuck?

A tugging on her arm pulled Charlie back into the mindframe she needed to approach this case with. The mindframe of a doctor. No matter how big and scary the patient was, he was still a patient. This was the mantra she repeated over and over again in her head as she and Doc Martin approached the bed, edging startled residents out of the way.

"Evening, Mr..." Doc Martin started, looking down at the chart a dazed paramedic placed in his hand.

"Calaway," the big man growled, calming down slightly upon realizing that there was someone with a white coat in the room.

"Mr. Calaway. It looks like we might be dealing with some broken bones, along with what I'm guessing is a concussion, if what I'm reading here is right."

The man gritted his teeth. "Well that's what happens when someone hangs your leg outside of the ring and jumps on it."

The ring? Charlie was most definitely missing something.

Doc Martin chuckled, ignoring the man's biting sarcasm. "Ouch. I don't think you're going to enjoy this, but we're going to have to get you into x-ray to see what's going on with your leg and your wrist there. Looks like a nasty sprain. Also, I think a neuro consult is in order."

The man shifted and bit his lip hard, visibly stopping himself from reaching down to his leg. "Neuro consult? What the fuck do I need a neuro consult for?"

Charlie could have smacked herself when she heard her own voice speak up. "For the concussion. You need a neuro consult for the concussion." Dark green eyes locked onto her brown ones and she wished the ground would swallow her up.

Kneading his thigh with his good hand, the man known only as Mr. Calaway snorted. "Forgive me if a concussion isn't my first concern here." Shifting his leg in her direction, apparently ignoring the pain it had to have been causing him, he gestured towards what looked like a darkened spot on his black tights.

Blood.

The bone had pushed through the skin. How was this man not passed out from the pain?

"We're gonna get you something for the pain, Mr. Calaway. Dr. Jeffries?" Doc Martin gestured at poor Hillary Jeffries, a third year intern who happened to be standing too close to the fray. Her big blue eyes widened at the understood command, and Charlie felt embarrassed for her as she started shaking.

The big man was unimpressed. "Hell fucking no. No offense, but shaking and needles do not mix. Get me someone who knows what the fuck they're doing."

"Yes! Only the best for the best!"

Seemingly out of nowhere, another big man -though not as big as the monster of a man on the table- appeared, eliciting gasps from everyone in the room except for Charlie. She was seriously out of the fucking loop.

"I swear, Taker, those little fuckers are going to pay. Kane has already issued a challenge for next Monday night, and Show pinned Shawn up by his neck and threatened to break it. This will not go unpunished." The man straightened up as the swarm of nurses and interns parted for him to make his way to the stretcher, and strutted as if he knew he were somebody to be taken seriously. Charlie found it hard to take him seriously as he seemed to walk to his own theme music in his head.

The man on the stretcher seemed equally as unimpressed. "Vince, as soon as I get out of here..."

"They're yours. All yours. Any way you want them. Handicap match, one on one, tag team... any way you want them."

Charlie furrowed her brow. What the hell were they talking about?

"Triple H is going to wish he had stayed the hell out of this." Charlie's best friend of four years, Sonya, strode up beside her and whispered into her ear. "The Undertaker is going to bury them both."

"WHAT?" Charlie hissed, frustrated.

Sonya edged her backwards, making absolutely sure that the big man couldn't hear her. "The Undertaker and Shawn Michaels had a title match tonight. Shawn promised no interruptions, no interferences, and Taker promised the same. No Kane and no Triple H. But of course Shawn didn't keep his word and Triple H caught him off guard. And then their little buddies came in and held him down, though I honestly don't see how, and they did a number on him. I didn't watch it, of course. I was here. But everyone's been talking about it."

Charlie could have screamed. "Sonya, I love you, but I don't know what you're talking about. Gibberish! It's all gibberish! Triple A?"

Sonya shot daggers with her light brown eyes and lightly tossed her dirty blonde hair. "Triple H," she said, popping the p.

"Triple H?"

"Yep." Sonya rolled her eyes when she realized just how clueless Charlie was. "Monday Night Raw? The WWF? Wrestling? Have I taught you nothing?"

Charlie sighed, still lost, but didn't have the time to beg her friend to elaborate. Doc Martin was gesturing wildly in her direction, ordering her to start an I.V. on the huge, seemingly violent man on the stretcher. Thinking back on all the times she would have killed to be a resident instead of an intern, Charlie desperately wished for that time back. Then she wouldn't be walking straight up to the lion and offering to pull the thorn from his paw.

Gathering the appropriate supplies, Charlie approached the man on the bed and noticed his face growing paler than it already was as he talked to the man called Vince. He was in some serious pain. "Mr. Calaway?" she called tentatively, hating to interrupt the intense conversation. "I need to start you up an I.V. for your pain meds."

"I don't need your fucki..."

"Yes, you do," Vince interrupted the big man, putting an almost fatherly hand on his shoulder. "You need pain medicine and rest. The sooner you do what these nice people tell you to do, the sooner you can get back in that ring and serve up the major asswhipping those little pricks have coming to them."

Charlie moved around to the big man's side while Vince was giving him a lecture, and patiently waited for permission to stick the needle in his arm. With a slight nod from the big man, she expertly inserted the needle into his arm, doing her damnest to hit the vein on the first try. It wouldn't do to have to dig around in this massive arm. It wouldn't do at all.

"What are you giving me?"

The rumbling of the man's voice, lower and calmer than she'd heard it that night, startled Charlie as she pushed the I.V. pole out of the way and injected a clear liquid into the tube. "Pain medicine," she said softly, not wanting to poke the bear. "And a small sedative, nothing to worry about," she added hurriedly.

The man's eyes narrowed as the sedative hit his blood stream and took immediate effect. "What're you doing to me?" he mumbled, his eyes slowly losing their sharpness, sliding closed against his best efforts to keep them open. "Fucking doctors..." Then his eyes slid shut, and every person in the ER could breathe again.

"Well," Vince said as he shook his head at his friend on the bed. "You guys better do what you can now, cause when he wakes up he's gonna be PISSED."