A/N: Please, please excuse me for removing the other thirteen chapters. Since returning to university, I've realised that this story is not my best work, though it is definitely my favourite thing that I have written. So, with that being said, I am currently reworking it; I will be uploading the chapters (and continuing the story) as I go, editing it so that I can put my name to it and be proud of it. I hope people who have read this story previously don't mind waiting a little longer for some new chapters (or even that they enjoy the changes I make), but also hope that any new readers will love it as much as I do. Thanks for being understanding, Steph!
As always, please leave feedback - whether you enjoy it or not, you want to see something else happen or you have thoughts on a particular scene, I love knowing what people who read my work think!
It hadn't registered at first: she had been too lost in her thoughts about Matt, unable to make sense of what he'd just done and what he'd caused. In fact, she had been halfway up the ramp, eyes wet with tears, when the realisation hit her. As the fans chanted her name, screaming and begging her not to go, she paused, her whole body shaking when she turned to look back at the ring, the bright lights blinding her momentarily. What did she have if she didn't have her job? Her entire world had been the squared circle for the past few years; she didn't remember her life without it. Yet here she was, her whole world ripped from under her in the space of one match. Had he planned it all along? He must have. That was the only answer – no doubt he had concocted the plan with Bischoff himself, the two of them huddled together, plotting how best to truly destroy her.
A sob racked her body and any attempt at hiding her tears was forgotten as she found herself openly crying, wiping at her face with the back of her hand, mascara smearing across her cheek. As the strobe lights and bright colours of the audience merged into one big, watery blur, she turned and stepped through the curtain. It had been her last time in front of the WWE fans and she'd gone out as a joke, humiliated by the man she loved and her very identity stolen from her when Bischoff had fired her. She was nothing, now. Nobody.
It took all of Lita's strength to hold herself up, leaning against one of the large, metal containers backstage, the chrome cool against her skin as she tried to force herself to breathe. She'd never taken a panic attack before but it was the only deduction she could come to in that moment. The walls seemed to close around her, her heart pounding mercilessly against her chest and it was all she could do not to collapse, grasping onto the cold metal. As she struggled alone in the dark gorilla position, the stage hands who waited there cast worried glances at the now-former diva.
"Is she okay?" one of them whispered, not wanting to get too close. "We can't have her like this – we need the area clear. The Rico and Venis match is coming up. Go get Stratus. She can take her back to the locker room to get her stuff."
The soothing voice of Trish Stratus seemed to bring her round, a warm hand rubbing circles on her back as the Canadian promised everything would be okay. It took a few seconds for Lita to gather her surroundings, to realise that somehow Trish had did as the stage hands asked and got her back to the divas locker room. "Can you hear me?" Trish asked, and judging from the look on her face, it wasn't the first time she had asked that question. Lita nodded, catching a glimpse of her ashen, mascara stained face in one of the many mirrors around the room. "Are you okay? Do you want some water? Anything? You had me worried for a minute…"
She knew she should answer Trish, to tell her that she was fine – the crease between the blonde's eyes was a tell-tale sign that she wasn't kidding about being worried – yet she couldn't bring herself to reassure the other woman. "Why me?" she asked, her voice hoarser than usual. "What did I ever do to deserve that? I wasn't being selfish… I just… I thought…." She had thought he was going to propose, that they were going to get back together and everything would be perfect, just like they'd been before her injury. She'd been so certain. Taking a deep breath, Lita pushed to her feet which struggled to support her weight. "I need to go. I need to find Matt and I need to… I need to go." Reaching for her leather duffel bag, she stuffed her belongings into it as quickly as she could, ignoring Trish's protests while tugging on her jacket and reaching for her dog's carry-bag. McKenzie whined as Lita hauled him upwards, the diva trying to soothe the dog before heading for the door. Trying to leave, she did her best to pull herself out of her best friend's grasp. "I can't, Trish. I can't. Let me go." With a final tug, Lita fled the locker room.
Denial was usually the easiest step to take when faced with such devastating news, yet it was near impossible to convince herself that she'd got it wrong, no matter how many times she repeated it in her mind. It had to be some sort of mistake – Matt wouldn't hurt her like this. He loved her. He'd always loved her… Shaking her head, she made her way through the winding, grey corridors, avoiding the eye contact of stage hands, EMTs and wrestlers alike; she refused to cry, to let people see that weakness again. She'd shown enough of that on the ramp, after all. No, she had to leave the building with her head held high – whatever this was, it would get fixed. She just had to find Matt. She had been so lost in her thoughts, in her silent mantra that she would fix things, that she barely registered the sneering face of Triple H coming into view.
"Lita, Lita, Lita…" Hunter drawled, arms wide as he drew nearer. "What's this I hear about you being fired?" Naturally, he did nothing alone, and as she moved to side-step him, her way was obscured by Dave Batista, the large man taking up more of the corridor than a human had any right to and Lita flinched, taking a step back as she craned her neck to look up at Evolution's animal. "So, I was thinking, what with you being out of a job and all… I'd give you another chance to earn that dollar I offered you last week."
"Screw you, Hunter," she responded, hitching the strap of her bag higher onto her shoulder and making a second attempt at moving past Batista.
"For a dollar?" Hunter replied, Batista eliciting a low laugh as he moved aside watching her every movement. "I'd want change back…"
She wanted to retaliate, to scream at him that he was an asshole, that she hated him and to beat her fists into his face, dig her nails into his skin and make him bleed, just to make him feel half as painful as she felt, but she knew it was no use. There was no use fighting guys like him and now that Stone Cold was gone, there was nothing stopping him beating the shit out of her. Granted, she would have preferred that to the verbal beatdown Matt had handed her but rather than cause a scene, rather than fight, she sighed, turning her back on the former World Heavyweight Champion and, doing her best to ignore the profanities he called after her, she headed for the front door. Her shoulders slumped as she pushed open the first set of double doors and the diva swallowed, terrified that the tears would start again.
Rounding the final corner, Lita let out a frustrated groan as, once more, her path was blocked. This time by Christian. "Please, not right now…" she began, her tolerance levels for the Canadian already pushed to their limits.
"Where are you going? Where are you going to, huh?"
Was he serious? Lita's hands fisted in her hair as she struggled to believe what she was hearing. "Where am I going? I'm fired. I'm leaving the building. I have no boyfriend, I have no job. Are you trying to rub it in?" Once again, she found herself wanting to punch the man in front of her, though she didn't raise a hand. She was defeated and all she wanted to do was get out of this building and do something – anything! – to convince her that this was a dream. She had to speak to Matt, yet it was the last thing she wanted to do. She wanted to speak to Vince McMahon, to demand her job back, but that was out of the question. Everything was out of the question, and her mind swam until she could barely think.
"Wow – no. No, nothing like that," Christian assured her, raising his hands, and shaking his head. He sounded sincere enough, and she was tempted to believe him but after the night she'd had, she wasn't all that keen in believing men. "Look, hear me out, okay? I've been thinking – you heard Bischoff earlier, right? He owes me one. I was part of his Survivor Series team. He gave me a favour and if I want to use that to get your job back…" His voice softened, and the wicked glint which usually played in his eyes was nowhere to be seen.
"For me? You'd do that…for me?" It was difficult to believe and she was determined not to get her hopes up, but she couldn't help the almost begging tone which slipped into her voice.
"For you." Extending his hand to take her duffel bag, Christian offered her a small smile – not the one she was used to, not the one that the world saw. This smile was small, timid, gentle. Sincere. "Come on, we'll go talk to Bischoff, we'll settle things. Okay?" Taking the bag from her, Christian leaned down, scratching McKenzie behind his ear.
Seeing the way the dog reacted, leaning in to the Canadian's hand, she smiled. She had always been a firm believer that dogs had intuition – maybe that explained why Kenz had peed in Matt's shoes so often – and watching the way her beloved pet was behaving, she couldn't help the small feeling of relief which washed over her. "Okay," she responded finally, any other words failing her, before leading the way back through the hallways to Eric Bischoff's office.
"And, you know, if you need anything – a shoulder, an ear, anything – I'm here for you, yeah?" She knew it was too good to be true, that Christian had to have some sort of motive, but she had no other option – he was the only one who could get her job back. Nodding her head in thanks, she offered him a smile in return. If he really could pull this off, if Bischoff was forced to give her her job back, she would be eternally grateful; she would owe him everything. But owing Christian everything? It was still preferable to being jobless.
Knocking almost timidly on Eric Bischoff's door, she had all but forgotten about Matt Hardy – that was a problem for another day, and not one anyone but herself could fix – and when she heard a call of 'Come in!' from within the room, her mind was on just one thing: her job. Christian slipped passed her, entering the room first, Lita entering as the General Manager of Raw closed over his phone. "Ah, Lita, just the person I was looking for," he began, a grin tugging unnaturally at his face. "Now I know why you're here, Christian, and let me tell you, it's too late. I don't want to hear it. You cannot use your favour. Not tonight." As Christian exploded in protest, Bischoff raised a hand, directing his words to Lita. "I was just trying to call you. It seems I might have been a little, well, a little harsh when I fired you."
Exchanging incredulous glances with Christian who fell silent instantly, Lita raised an eyebrow; there had to be some sort of catch here. Bischoff was the epitome of harsh – he had made a career out of it, after all – and there was no way he was going to have a sudden change of heart now. "Go on…" she replied, watching him with great suspicion.
"It seems to me that, whether I like it or not, you have a certain fan base, a certain something you bring to the women's division that I wouldn't want to see go to another company," he continued, an air of arrogance following him as he spoke. "And so I was thinking that, perhaps, you could continue wrestling for the WWE. Under one condition. Now, it is my way or the high way, Lita, remember that. You have one chance and one chance only. All I ask," The room fell silent, Lita watching him with wild eyes as Christian looked on, breath held. It was obvious that whatever he was about to suggest was not a question. It was do or die. "is that you manage Evolution."