"I should have watched out for him better. I should have realised what was going on."

"Randy, you mustn't blame yourself. No one knew how bad it was."

It was true, John thought. No one had realised what was really going on as Evan's relentlessly cheerful façade had slipped a little more each day, as he withdrew further into the shadows until he was a ghost of his former self. The fans never knew, but backstage, the company had watched in concern as he pasted his signature smile on his face and squared his shoulders before running out to the ring flashing his trademark peace sign. Somewhere, he'd lost the joy that had been so much of his personality and the sunny good nature that had endeared him to so many of them.

Randy did blame himself. He'd had his own worries: an injury earlier in the year and his own complicated private life, but that didn't excuse his blindness. How could he have not realised that all of those little injuries: a black eye, two broken fingers and a badly bruised hip were not all caused by bad bumps or blown spots? There had been rumours, of course, that Evan was involved in a stormy relationship, but he had never been linked with anyone and, on the one occasion when Randy had tried to question him, he had refused to talk about it.

He would never forget the horror of the moment when he had found him, bruised and bleeding, trying to dress even as his whole frame was wracked by tremors. Ted had called him from the arena; the road agents were looking for him. Since everyone knew that Evan was pathologically punctual, there was some cause for concern. Randy, whose relationship with the clock was somewhat more casual, had not left for the arena yet, and had agreed to find him. He'd badgered housekeeping until the maid had let him into his room. The sight of Evan, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and down his legs, bruises on his neck and torso and a cigarette burn in the palm of his hand, had filled him with a rage so powerful that he could barely breath.

He had called the road agent and, in voice that brooked no argument, had told him that Evan had the flu and wouldn't be there that night. Then, as gently as possible, he had helped him into a pair of track pants and a t-shirt.

"I'll take you to the ER after the show," he'd said, but Evan had shaken his head frantically. "All right then," he'd said, "but you have to promise me that you'll see your own doctor." As Evan nodded mutely, he'd asked, "Who did this to you?" but he had remained stubbornly silent.

In the weeks afterwards, Evan still refused to discuss what had happened or to say who it had been. Randy had pleaded, begged and threatened; he had tried all his wiles, and, failing that, had shouted and sworn at him; all to no avail; Evan had retreated into a shell-shocked silence. When word got out that Evan would require surgery for a torn rotator cuff and several months off the company assumed that this was the cause of his depression and speculation had ceased.

If Randy blamed himself that was nothing compared to the guilt that John felt. When had his heart begun to turn over at the sight of that wide smile? When had a pair of trusting brown eyes begun to haunt his dreams? He couldn't say, but, when he had swept Evan into his arms after their main event on Raw, he had known. Randy had known, too, and had encouraged him, but he had waited, worrying that the time was not right. Maybe, if he had spoken, it wouldn't have happened. Maybe, if Evan had known how he felt, he would have come to him for protection. Who could say? But the fact remained that somebody had abused him horribly, and, in doing so, had crushed his spirit. And John and Randy, both of whom loved him, each in his own way, felt helpless in the face of his despair and pain.

"You have to speak," Randy said. "He'll be gone soon."

They were sitting in Randy's tour bus after their Friday night house-show. John took several swallows of his beer, "Maybe I should wait until he comes back."

Randy slammed his can down, "Dammit, John! It'll be too late by then. It's almost too late now. He's slipping away."

Both men sighed. It was an ugly truth in their business: the punishing schedule and endless travel took its toll, not just on their bodies, but their souls. Some were lucky enough to have stable marriages and family lives, but many sought distraction in random sex, booze or drugs. And then there were those who were simply consumed by the emptiness within. John knew Randy fought his demons daily, his only anchors his love for his wife and daughter and a genuine love of the business, hiding behind a mask of cynicism and aloofness. His friendship with Evan had surprised everyone, but from their first match, he had treated him with a gentle affection and unfailing kindness. People supposed it had something to do with the fact that they shared a native city, but John knew that the younger man's enthusiasm and love of wrestling had roused some protective instinct in Randy, who had been quietly exerting pressure behind the scenes to move him up the card.

"What should I do? How do you think I should approach him? He keeps to himself so much these days, disappearing as soon as his match is over."

"I said I'd work out with him tomorrow morning. Be at the hotel gym at seven. I'll show up late."

"All right, but he's so fragile right now. It wouldn't take much to scare him off."

"John," Randy smiled at him, his normally icy eyes softening, "just be yourself."

John smiled to himself as Evan walked into the hotel gym at seven on the dot. "Hi," he said. "I'm glad you're here. Would you mind spotting me?"

He shrugged, "Sure. I was supposed to meet Randy."

"I guess he's catching up on his beauty sleep." He grinned at the other man. "You know how he needs it."

Evan smiled reluctantly and took his place at John's head. As Randy showed no sign of appearing he went through his own workout, asking John to return the favour. Both were cooling down, swigging back water in companionable silence when Randy strolled in.

"Well, here's the Sleeping Beauty now!" John mocked. "Good thing I was here; poor Evan would have been stuck all alone. C'mon Evan, I'll buy you breakfast. That'll teach him to sleep in." Ducking as Randy threw a towel at him, and, silencing his objections, he bore Evan off to the hotel coffee shop.

"You don't have to buy me breakfast," he protested. "I was going to grab something later."

"Why don't I believe you?" John asked, signalling the waitress for coffee. "I haven't seen you eating breakfast for weeks. You're skipping meals, aren't you?" he asked gently.

Evan didn't answer him, but swallowed his coffee in several gulps, refusing to meet his eyes.

John felt his heart twist. There had to be some way to get past the walls that Evan had put up against the world. "I know when you're injured that it's tempting to give up. You start wondering if you'll ever be able to come back and you start wondering if it's worth it to try. Don't start thinking that way."

"I know," he smiled shakily at John, "but I'll be gone for at least four months. I'm not like you or Randy or – or Adam; people won't be waiting to see me come back. They'll forget about me; I'll have to start all over again."

"Don't say that. People won't forget; you have plenty of fans who'll be waiting for you. Randy won't forget about you." He reached across the table and squeezed Evan's forearm, "I'll be waiting for you." He was pleased to see that although Evan tensed, he did not pull away.

"Thanks John. I appreciate that. I'll never forget what you tried to do for me earlier this year. You and Randy, both."

"I was glad to do it. I just wish you hadn't gotten lost in all of this Nexus business."

"Yeah, me too," he sighed. He pulled out his wallet and dropped a twenty on the table. "I'll see you later," he said and left the restaurant.

John pushed the remains of his breakfast around his plate as he finished his coffee. He was not particularly surprised to see Randy drop into the seat Evan had just vacated.

"Well?" he asked.

"Well what?"

"How did it go?"

"We talked."

"And?"

"And nothing. What do you expect?"

"Jesus John!" Randy rolled his eyes, "Either you make a move or I will."

John stared at Randy, "You wouldn't, would you?"

"Yes I would. He's falling fast; somebody had better catch him soon. Damn it John, he needs you, but if you're too chickenshit to do anything about it, I will." Looking at John's stricken expression, he added, "And I think you need him, too."

It was true: John found the Nexus story line was tearing him up; most nights he left the arena depressed and discouraged. He supposed it made for compelling viewing, but being on the end of countless beat-downs was taking its toll and it was getting harder every day to muster the enthusiasm that he knew the fans deserved.

He swallowed hard. "You're right, I do."

"Then tell him."

It was all very well for Randy to say. "Tell him," John thought, pacing restlessly around his dressing room, he wasn't the one doing the telling. But he knew Randy was right. Evan was drifting away; their breakfast that morning had confirmed it and soon he would be gone for surgery. He had two or three weeks at the most.

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard a tap on the door and Randy slipped in.

"Don't say I never do anything for you," he smirked. "He's going to need a ride back to the hotel tonight."

"I thought he drove over with Santino."

"He did, but Santino's already been on and I made it worth his while to leave immediately. Evan's out there right now. In about twenty minutes he's going to be changed and looking for him," Randy explained patiently. "I suggest that you run into him."

John wasn't sure how much he liked Randy's scheming, but it was better than anything he'd been able to come up with. As soon as Evan's match ended, he stationed himself at the catering table and waited. Sure enough, about fifteen minutes later, he saw Evan wandering around the arena backstage, carrying his bag.

"Hey Evan," he said, beckoning him over, "did you lose something?'

"Yeah," he sighed. "My ride. It looks like Santino already took off."

"No problem. You can hitch a ride with me if you don't mind waiting until the end of the show."

"Really? Thanks. I'll wait for you by the door later."

"Why don't you drop your stuff in my dressing room? You can hang around there, if you like. It's a bit more peaceful than out here," he said, gesturing at the chaotic backstage.

"Thanks, but I'll be okay."

Who had done this to him, John wondered. Who had crushed his spirit to such an extent that he tried to fade away? How could he help him, he thought wretchedly.

"Evan!" he rolled his eyes, "you won't be in my way. I wouldn't have asked you if I didn't want you there. God, you're proud and stubborn!"

Evan flushed uncomfortably. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound ungrateful. Thank you."

"Good," he said leading him into his dressing room. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll see you in a little while."

He headed backstage and sought out Randy. "Okay, he's riding back with me." He caught Randy's arm. "Do you have any idea who did this to him? Because, whoever it is, I'd like to strangle them."

Randy's mouth quirked up at the corner. "That's right. I'd forgotten about that little fetish of yours."

"Dammit, I'm not trying to be funny! He's almost entirely broken."

"I know," Randy sighed, "but for the love of God, don't let on that you know what happened to him! He thinks I'm the only one who knows. And," he added, his eyes narrowing, "I have a suspicion who it was."

"Who?"

"I'm not saying anything until I feel more sure, but I guarantee you that you won't have to strangle him because I'm going to beat him to a bloody pulp`."

John felt himself grow cold at Randy's words. He knew Randy didn't make idle threats. "For God's sake, don't do anything rash!"

His face darkened and his voice became dangerously quiet, "He'll pay. For every bruise, every broken bone, and every scar; he'll pay. I swear."

"Do you mind if we stop for a bite?" John asked, as he pulled out of the arena parking lot. "I haven't eaten yet. And," he said glaring at Evan, "I'll bet you haven't either."

Evan smiled sheepishly at him. "I wasn't very hungry earlier."

"Well, I'm starving now," he said. "There's a good spot near here with a wood-burning pizza oven."

"Sounds good."

Soon they were seated in a booth in a corner of the restaurant arguing in a friendly manner about toppings for their pizza.

"Randy's always yapping on about St Louis-style pizza. What's so great about it?"

"We've got a show in St Louis in two weeks. I'll buy you one; you can see for yourself."

"I'm holding you to that," John replied, delighted to see Evan relaxed and smiling more than he had been for weeks.

"Have you seen the booking sheets for the next couple of weeks?" John asked. He and Randy, as main-eventers, usually had a pretty good idea what was in store for them, but the mid-card often weren't made aware for several more days.

"Not really. They told me they were teaming me up with Mark for some tag-team thing at the pay-per-view, but that's all I really know at the moment. It's pointless for them to book me in anything long-term."

"At least you'll be on the pay-per-view."

"Don't get me wrong; I like Mark, and, like you said, at least I'll be on the show, but teaming me up with Mark makes me feel like I'm part of some sight gag." He fell silent for a moment as he ate his pizza, but, suddenly, put his slice down, "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course. Anything."

"How do you really feel about getting beat on by the Nexus every week? I mean, you're a champion. Doesn't it make you feel like they're diminishing your status, turning you into their whipping boy?" He dropped his gaze, "I'm sorry. You don't have to answer that."

"Don't apologise. And you're right; that's exactly how I feel. I know I can't expect to come out on top all the time, but they've spent years promoting me as poster boy of WWE and now… I don't know."

"For what it's worth, I hate the way they're treating you these days, but I'm sure you'll be back on top soon. You're too popular and too good."

John swallowed convulsively. "Thanks," he said, reaching out to squeeze his arm, overjoyed when Evan placed his own hand on top of his for a second. "But I do have some news that should make you happy."

"What?"

"The main event at the St Louis show is going to be Big Show, Randy, me and you against the Nexus."

Evan's face lit up, "That's wonderful. I loved working with you earlier this year and I love working with Randy."

"Well, you and Randy certainly stole the show when he gave you that RKO in the middle of your Shooting Star Press. Poor Randy, he spent all day worrying that he might injure you." John smiled at the memory of Randy fussing and pacing around his dressing room before the match.

"It took some convincing," Evan said, "but I trusted him. I knew he could do it."

"Anyway, I'm looking forward to working with you again and after the show you can buy me that pizza."

"Absolutely," Evan replied, smiling wider than he had in weeks.

John had barely let himself into his room when his phone rang. "Yes Randy?"

"How did it go?"

"We ate pizza and we talked."

"What else?"

"Jesus Randy!" he exclaimed. "What else could there be? I told him about the St Louis main event. He's really excited and says he's going to buy me a pizza after the show."

"That sounds promising," Randy approved, "but that's two weeks away. Good thing you're having dinner with him and me tomorrow."

"I am?"

"Yes, you are. Our Sunday show is a matinee this week. I've already arranged to meet him for dinner afterwards. You're joining us."

"Don't you think he's going to start wondering why I'm suddenly around all the time?" John asked. "After all, he's not stupid."

"Even better if he starts to wonder. I guarantee you he is not indifferent to you."

"How do you know? Did he say something?"

"Yes John; we had a sleepover and spent all night talking about secret crushes. No, he hasn't said anything, but I've known him a long time. He says a little more to me than he might to anyone else. Now, for God's sake, get moving. You've only got a few weeks."

John wandered into the hotel restaurant the following evening to find Randy and Evan seated at one of the tables.

Randy beckoned him over, "You don't mind if John joins us, do you?"

"Of course not," Evan replied, smiling easily at him.

"Good, or else he'd have to eat alone," Randy remarked. "You know no one else will eat with him. They all get grossed-out because he chews with his mouth open."

"I do not!" John exclaimed. "Don't listen to him Evan! Was I chewing with my mouth open last night?"

Evan pretended to think about it for a minute, "Well, not exactly…"

Anything John might have said was cut off as Randy's phone rang. Randy spoke into it for a minute and pressed the end button, swearing, "Crap! I forgot I have a radio interview in twenty minutes. You can have my dinner, John. Good thing I ordered your favourite." He got up and left the restaurant, grinning at John.

"Why do I have a feeling that I should be very afraid of what this waitress is bringing over?" he asked, as a young woman approached their table carrying two plates.

Evan began to sputter with laughter, telling the waitress that the other gentleman had to leave suddenly, but his friend would be happy to have his dinner, his laughter becoming uncontrollable as John stared at the plate in dismay.

"Liver," he said in disgust. "He ordered liver." Randy, I am so going to get you for this, John thought.

Evan recovered enough to choke out, "Order something else, John. Randy already told them to put it on his tab." Randy's bus had developed a mysterious fluid leak the day before and was currently in the shop, forcing him to stay in the hotel.

"Just for that, I will," John replied, ordering the largest steak on the menu with every side they offered.

"I remember once, when I was about nineteen, Randy had come to see me in a show back home. We went to this barbecue place after and he ordered for me while I was in the men's room," Evan laughed.

"I can just imagine what you ended out with."

"A plate of snoots."

"Are they what I think they are?" John asked.

"Yep. Barbecued pigs' nostrils," Evan replied. "Actually, they're really good if you can get past the idea that you're eating a nose."

"I think I'll pass," John said, attacking his steak. "I guess you had some pretty weird stuff when you were in Japan."

"Did I ever!" Evan exclaimed and went on to tell John several stories about his time in Japan.

John was overjoyed to see Evan relaxing and opening up to him. And something else: he remembered Evan's hand resting on his for a second the night before. Randy was right; he wasn't indifferent. Something in his expression and the tone of his voice told him. But was it too soon to make a move?

"It's still early," John said as the waitress cleared their table. "I have a six-pack in my room. I was planning to chill and order a movie. You're welcome to join me, unless you have other plans."

Evan hesitated until John added, "Seriously, I'd be glad of the company. It's weird, but the higher you get on the roster, the more people leave you alone."

"I guess I never thought about it like that," Evan said. "I mean, I hang out with Randy fairly often, but that's because we've known each other for years. Same for Cody and Ted; he's known them forever, but I don't see him with too many of the others."

"I know most of the guys wish they had problems like that," John said as they made their way to the elevator, "but being at the top of the card cuts you off from the others."

"You mean it's lonely at the top," Evan grinned.

"Something like that," he said, opening the door to his room. "Seriously, ask Mark or Hunter when the last time anyone invited them along on something was."

Evan began to laugh, "I'm sorry. I just had this vision of picking up the phone and calling the Undertaker, 'Hi Mark. Santino and I and some of the other guys are going bowling. Then we're going out for milkshakes. Do you want to come?'"

"Okay, I see your point," John said, handing him a beer. He favoured him with a warm smile, curiously touched as Evan turned bright pink.

They settled on a movie, but, after about half an hour, John turned it off. "This is crap," he said, opening another beer. "Want one?" he asked.

"No thanks. I should probably be going," he said, standing up.

"Sit down. I didn't turn it off because I want you to go. Really." As Evan sat, he reached out and took his wrist. "I'm glad you're here."

Suddenly, he noticed the scar in the palm of his hand and caught his breath. Randy hadn't told him about that.

Evan jerked his arm away, curling his hand into a fist. "I-I had an accident a while back," he stammered, but the compassion in John's gaze told him all he needed to know.

"You know, don't you?" he said accusingly. "Randy told you."

"Evan, I-"

"Is that why I can't turn around without bumping into you?" he said, his voice rising. "What kind of game are you and Randy playing?"

"It's not a game," John said desperately.

"Then what would you call it?"

"Love."

"Bullshit!" Evan shouted. "The last person who said they loved me used my hand as an ashtray. You're no better than he is: plotting and scheming with Randy to get me alone. Did you think I'd be a pushover? Did you think that I'd be so grateful that you weren't breaking my fingers, I'd let you do anything?" He started towards the door.

"It wasn't like that," John shouted back, grabbing Evan's arm.

Suddenly, Evan froze and lifted his free arm to shield his face. Horrified, John let go and watched, his heart breaking, as Evan took two or three stumbling steps backwards, his face deathly white, his breathing ragged and shallow. "You want to know something funny?" he whispered, his voice cracking. "You didn't have to do all this. You only had to ask. I would have said yes to anything you wanted." Slow tears made their way down his face. "But I don't want your pity," he said, his voice flat and emotionless as he turned away and left the room.

Randy was woken from a deep sleep by a loud hammering on his door. Stumbling in the dark, he opened it to receive a resounding punch to the jaw. Reeling backwards, he fell to the ground, to see a small figure looming over him.

"You told!" he shouted.

"Evan, what the fuck? What's this all about?"

"You swore you wouldn't tell anyone, but you told John!"

"Evan, are you drunk?" he asked peering up at the slightly swaying figure.

"So what if I am?"

Randy stood. "Come inside and we'll talk about this," he said, wiggling his jaw carefully.

"I have nothing to say to you," he hissed. "I don't know what you're trying to prove, offering me up to John on a silver platter, but I don't want to speak to you ever again. And the same goes for your buddy, John."

He watched Evan make his way unsteadily down the hall as several doors opened. Just as he was about to go back into his own room, he heard a low chuckle and a silky voice saying, "Well, what do you know? The little squirt does know how to fight back"

Casting a look of loathing at the figure framed in the doorway, Randy retreated back into his room, slamming the door.

Switching on the light, Randy grabbed his phone and punched in John's number. "What the hell did you say to him?" he shouted as soon as John answered.

"I couldn't help it, Randy," he replied desperately, "I saw his hand… that scar. He could tell I knew."

"Well, he just showed up at my door and gave me an almighty sock in the jaw. Knocked me flat on my back."

"Did he really?" John couldn't help the slight chuckle that escaped him.

"It's not funny. I've never seen him so angry. You've blown it."

"Now just a minute!" John shouted down the phone. "I went along with all of your schemes and ideas and now he hates me. You were right; he was interested, but now I don't think he'll ever want to speak to me again." He sighed, "He's never going to trust either of us again and that's the worst part. After what he's been through and now this; I'm scared that we've broken him."

Randy flopped onto his bed. "I know," he said, glumly. "I'll try to talk to him tomorrow."

"Don't bother. I think you've done enough. If I can possibly make him listen to me, I'm going to try to speak to him. I'm going to be honest with him and I'm going to tell him."

"Tell him what?"

"That I love him."

"Tell him," Randy said. There was a note in his voice that only a few people: his wife, his daughter and the one or two people closest to him ever heard. "Tell him; he deserves the best and that's you."

The following Friday John prowled around the arena backstage. He had not been able to pin Evan down last Monday during the Raw broadcast. Whenever he spotted him backstage there were too many people around and, whenever John got close to him, he vanished, disappearing as soon as the show was over. By means of studiously casual inquiry, he'd learned that Evan was not registered in the same hotel as the rest of the company nor did he have a reservation, but no one had any idea where he was staying.

As soon as Randy arrived, he pulled him into his dressing room. "Do you have any idea where he might be? You don't think he's not going to show up, do you?"

"There's no danger of that," Randy answered. "He'd never skip a show. Traffic's bad; I'm sure he'll be here soon."

"But why isn't he staying in the same hotel as the rest of us?"

Randy smiled reluctantly, "Because he's one of the most remarkably stubborn people I've ever met. He doesn't want to see or speak to you or me, so he's going to take every measure possible to avoid us."

"Well, I can hardly hang around the corridor and pounce on him when he arrives."

"Maybe not," Randy said, "but I can. He'll have to speak to me; I have something he can't refuse." He pulled a sheet of paper out of his bag and showed it to him.

John shook his head, "That's really low."

"It's for a good cause."

Randy bided his time until Evan's match was over, opening his dressing room door just as the younger man was walking by. He grasped him by the arm and pulled him into the small room, closing the door quickly.

"You can leave in one minute. I just wanted to give you this." He handed the paper to him.

Evan looked at the brightly coloured crayon scribbles and smiled in spite of himself.

"I told Alanna you were hurt and she wanted to make you a picture."

"That was very sweet of her," he said stiffly. "Tell her I said thank you."

"You can tell her yourself. I was just about to call her to say good night," he said, picking up his phone.

Listening to Randy talk nonsense into the phone, Evan marvelled at that side of his character so few people saw and, against his will, felt his anger melting. He took the proffered phone from Randy and gravely thanked the gurgling little girl.

"Sam wants you to come for lunch on the Saturday we're back home. She's invited John as well."

"I suppose it might be rather awkward if I'm not speaking to either of you," Evan commented.

"It might." Randy took a deep breath, "Will you at least hear John out?"

"How could you have told John?" Evan cried. "I begged you not to tell anyone."

"Because I was so angry I was on the verge of putting my fist through the wall. Because John cares about you very much; I thought he should know."

"Don't you think it should have been up to me to tell him?" Evan asked quietly.

Randy had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "I suppose so, but will you believe that I thought I was acting in your best interests?"

"I guess," Evan said reluctantly, "But why all the scheming? All he had to do was approach me himself."

"How was he supposed to know that?" Randy asked impatiently. "You won't let anyone get near you these days." His voice softened, "I understand why, but you'll never find happiness if you push everyone away."

"It's easier that way," Evan said.

"Why didn't you come to me? Why didn't you tell me?" he asked gently. "I would have helped you; I would have protected you."

"You wouldn't understand; I was ashamed. How could I let someone treat me that way? I'm not like you. I'm not strong and confident. I couldn't bear the idea that anyone would know how weak and cowardly I was; how I couldn't fight back."

Randy felt his throat close and his eyes prickle, "Don't ever call yourself weak or cowardly. Do you remember when we first met? You were this skinny kid who was going to get into the business or die trying. You didn't listen to the people who laughed at you. I thought you were one of the most courageous people I'd ever met."

Evan felt himself grow warm at these words and again wondered at this side of Randy so few people saw. "Thanks. That means a lot coming from you. I know I sound ungrateful for everything you've ever done for me sometimes, but, believe me, I'm not."

"Then prove it. Anything I've ever done for you is because I want you to be happy. For the love of God, don't turn away the chance to be happy out of misplaced pride. Don't let what that bastard did to you ruin your life."

Evan remained silent for a moment. "All right. I'll talk to John later. But shouldn't you be getting ready to go on soon?" He grinned at Randy, "You're not nearly shiny enough yet."

Ducking as Randy threw a t-shirt at him, he slipped out of the dressing room.

John was just about ready to go on when he heard a tap at his dressing room door. Opening it, he was surprised and pleased to see Evan standing in the corridor, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"I'd like to talk to you later," he said.

"Of course. Come to my room after the show. That is," he added, "if that's okay with you."

Um –okay. I'll see you later then," he said turning away and heading down to the locker room.

John had made his way backstage to wait for his entrance when Randy beckoned him over.

"I don't know what you said to him," he said before Randy could speak, "and I don't want to know. I think it's time we stopped talking about him like we know what's best all the time. From now on, I do this on my own."

Randy sighed, "You're right, but be careful. He's-"

"No more advice," John held up his hand. "I know you have his welfare at heart, but you have to let me do this my own way." He ran through the curtains out to the ring.

Randy watched him go, his heart aching as he prayed to the God he no longer believed in that John and Evan might find each other and, that in doing so, their happiness might somehow help to fill the void he carried in his own soul.

They had both left the arena over half an hour ago, John thought as he paced around his room. Had Evan changed his mind? Was he not coming, after all? He was debating whether he should call him or not when his phone rang.

"John, you're on the executive floor. I can't get up there without a key card to swipe in the elevator," Evan said.

Cursing himself for his thoughtlessness, John told Evan he'd meet him in the lobby. Unfortunately, a group of conventioneers recognised him and crowded onto the elevator with them. He signed autographs and smiled with as much good nature as he could muster as they waved their hands in front of their faces, chanting, "You can't see me!"

Finally, he and Evan were alone in his room. "Sorry about that," he said. "I wasn't thinking. Can I get you anything?" asked, pulling a bottle of water out of the small fridge.

"No thanks," he answered, perching on the edge of one of the chairs.

"Why aren't you staying here?" John asked, twisting the cap off his water bottle and tossing it in the direction of the waste basket.

"Because I was so mad at you and Randy I didn't want to be around you."

"So, where are you staying?"

"In some rat hole near the airport. Right under the flight path."

"Serves you right," John chuckled. "That's what Randy said you'd done." As Evan's face darkened, he hurried to add, "I was worried; nobody knew where you were."

"You see? That's what I mean: you and Randy, talking about me; deciding you know what's best for me."

"I understand," he said, "and I promise it won't happen again. I told Randy to keep out of it from now on."

"Listen, I love Randy. He's been very good to me over the years and I'll always be grateful, but sometimes he treats me like a kid and it's incredibly annoying."

"I have no doubt," he replied. "When he fixes his mind on something there's no stopping him." It was true, he thought; a determined Randy was not to be inflicted lightly on ordinary mortals. Sitting down on the bed, he reached out and took Evan's hands in his own, "Will you believe me when I say that there was no scheming or plotting intended? I just wanted a chance to spend some time with you."

"I suppose so. I know I've kept away from everyone these days." Evan did not meet John's gaze, but neither did he pull his hands away.

"I understand that." He turned Evan's hand over to see his scarred palm. "I'm sorrier than I can say that something like this happened to you, but you're not an object of pity to me, I swear." He released his hand and tipped his chin up, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Evan remained silent for a long time, then, in a low voice, he began to speak. "I know, for a long time, everyone thought there was something going on between Randy and me, but there was never anything like that between us. People don't seem to believe that sometimes he's just plain nice. Anyway, between that and my goody-two-shoes image, no one ever showed any interest in me."

"And someone finally did?" John asked gently.

"Yes." Evan went on to tell of the excitement of arranging meetings and how, the first couple of times, he simply believed things had gotten out of hand. "You have to understand; most people treat me like I'm some kind of wide-eyed kid. When things got rough at first I didn't exactly mind. At least he was treating me like an adult, I thought."

For a moment, John was filled with shame; he was just as guilty as the rest: refusing to look beyond Evan's youthful appearance, believing that his small stature somehow made him less mature. And to think he believed that no one had ever been interested in him! If only he's spoken sooner!

"I soon realised what he was and ended it."

"And that's when this," he touched the scar gently, "happened?"

"No," Evan said, instinctively curling his hand into fist. "It was several weeks later. I saw that he was sniffing around someone else and warned them." His eyes closed for a second, then he continued, "He didn't appreciate that. He made that clear, but I'd rather not talk about it."

"Can't you tell me who it is?"

"No," he said desperately. "Don't you see? You have to work with him; you and Randy. I can't stand the idea that you'd know what he did. If Randy knew, he'd go after him, somehow. I don't want either of you putting your careers in jeopardy. I couldn't live with that."

"Randy thinks he knows who it is." As Evan went pale, he continued, "But don't be too worried; Randy has a very healthy instinct for self-preservation."

He got up and tossed the water bottle and stood, leaning against the dresser, "It makes me very happy that you trust me enough to tell me what happened and I'd like to think that, one day, you'll trust me enough to tell me who it was, but that's not why I was so quick to agree to talk to you tonight." He walked over to Evan's chair and dropped to a squat, taking his hands again, "I think we have some unfinished business to discuss."

Evan kept his eyes fixed on their hands. "I know," he muttered.

"Please, look at me," he murmured.

He lifted his eyes to John's face and caught his breath at the infinite tenderness and yearning he saw in those blue eyes.

"I care very deeply about you," he said, his eyes never wavering from Evan's face, "and I have for a long time. I'll never forgive myself for not having spoken sooner, for having wasted so much time. And you're not indifferent to me, are you?"

"No," he said in a low voice.

John lifted Evan's hand, pressing his lips against the scarred flesh, as he tentatively stroked his thumb against John's cheekbone. They remained motionless for several long minutes then John stood abruptly, pulling Evan up with him.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do," he said. "We can take this as slowly as you like, but can I, at least, hold you for a little while?"

Evan nodded slowly and moved closer to John, who wrapped his arms around the smaller man and drew his close to his heart. As he felt Evan's arms slide around him, he bent his head and brushed a gentle kiss against his hair. When Evan's arms tightened their hold he pressed kisses against his brow, his eyes, his cheeks, and, finally, very softly, on his lips.

Evan reached up and curled his arm around John's neck, pulling his head down as he returned the kiss, opening his mouth slightly. John's big hand cradled Evan's head as he kissed him with increasing hunger, his tongue plundering the silken depths of Evan's mouth. Evan pressed against his body as John's lips printed a series of tiny kisses along the column of his neck and gave forth a small sigh of disappointment as John broke their contact.

His breathing slightly ragged, he cradled his head against his chest and said, "I want you to think about what I said. I want you to know that I'll wait for you, for as long as it takes because we are not doing anything more than this until you're ready."

"I-I think I'm ready now," he stammered.

"No, you're not. You're vulnerable and susceptible right now. I love you," he said quietly, "and, although I think you could love me, you don't yet. Am I right?"

"Yes."

"Then we'll wait until you do."

He was just about to climb into his bed when his phone rang. Without checking the caller ID, he pushed the talk button, "Randy, I'm not going to discuss what happened with you."

"But you did talk to him?"

"Yes and that's all I'm going to say."

Randy's sigh was apparent, even to John. "All right. I'll keep my nose out of your business from now on," he said as John ended the call.

John lay awake for a long time, replaying his conversation with Evan. Had he done the right thing in insisting that they wait? There was so little time before he would be gone, but he knew that he didn't want Evan coming to him until he was entirely sure. But then he thought about Evan's eager response to his kiss and about his compact body pressed against his own and hoped he possessed the control to wait.

The following Friday, after the show, Evan tossed on the pull-out couch on Randy's bus as they headed towards St Louis. Randy had offered to drop him at home; an offer he had gratefully accepted as it gave him time to think about his feelings for John.

He had met with John on Saturday and Sunday last week after the shows. They had shared a meal both nights, but John had done nothing more than take him into his arms for a brief embrace before bidding him good night. On Monday, after Raw, he had gone to John's room. They had contentedly watched sports' highlights for an hour until Evan had gone to use the bathroom. On his return, John had grasped his arm and pulled him onto his lap. Straddling John's hips as his hands roamed over his body, Evan had cupped his face between his hands and kissed him greedily, grinding his crotch against the other man's. But when his hand strayed down to free John's shirt from his waistband, he stopped him. Taking hold of Evan's hips, he had gently pushed him off his lap.

"Not until you love me," he had said.

In the days since, John had played a major part in all of his thoughts. Did he love him? He wasn't sure. He knew that he respected and admired him tremendously; he knew that he would always be grateful for his kindness and encouragement, but he also knew that, unless he could return John's feelings with a whole heart, it wouldn't be fair to either of them. John deserved someone who could love him without reservation and, until he could be sure of his own feelings, he would respect his wishes.

That, however, had all changed tonight. As soon as he had seen John backstage at the arena earlier, he had known. Although he had been tempted to change his plans then and there, a new plan formed in his mind.

Slipping into John's dressing room, he had crossed the small room purposefully and brought the bigger man's head down to claim a fiercely demanding kiss. "I missed you," he said.

"And I missed you." John's face had creased into a deep smile; there was no denying the expression on Evan's face as he gazed up at him, his brown eyes shining, as if lit from within.

"I'll be taking off with Randy as soon as the show's over tonight," he'd said, smiling as John's face fell with disappointment. "I'll see you at his place for lunch tomorrow, but I was wondering…" His voice trailed off.

"What?"

"I was wondering if you wanted to stay at my place tomorrow night. I owe you a pizza after the show. There's a good spot nearby." He'd looked directly into John's blue eyes, "I've never had anyone over there before."

John had caught his breath as the full realisation of Evan's words sank in. "I'd like that," he'd said softly.

"Good. I'll see you then," he'd said, kissing him swiftly before he left the room.

Was he frightened of making the commitment that John warranted? Yes, but he knew he could trust the other man absolutely. He thought about the paralysing fear and shame he had experienced over the past few months and thought of the comfort and solidity that John represented. He remembered Randy's words, "You'll never find happiness if you push everyone away." And he remembered his own response, "It's easier that way."

No, letting someone come close to him wouldn't be easy; love could hurt and its wounds could be far worse than any his body had sustained earlier this year, but lying in bed, as he travelled to his home, he knew that he would rather take a chance for happiness and John, than suffer the certain desolation of life without him.

Evan arrived at Randy's house shortly before noon. Opening the door, Sam gave him a quick hug and beckoned him upstairs, her finger to her lips.

Standing on the threshold of Alanna's room, Evan was greeted with a sight that he could never have pictured in his wildest dreams. John and Randy were perched awkwardly on small pink chairs, each holding a tiny teacup, nibbling on Animal Crackers. Unable to resist, he pulled his phone from his pocket and snapped a picture.

"I am so going to post this on Twitter," he grinned.

"Don't. You. Dare," Randy said between gritted teeth, a fixed smile on his face.

Evan picked the little girl up when she ran across the room to him. As she pressed several smacking kisses on his cheek, he said, "Hey Princess, I have your lovely picture in my bag. I take it with me everywhere I go." He kissed her on the cheek and set her down carefully. "Now, I'm going to go back downstairs and keep your mommy company, but I know that Daddy and John want to play tea party with you some more."

Following Sam downstairs, he shook with uncontrollable laughter. "I'm going to be able to retire on what those two will have to give me to erase that picture."

"E-mail it to me first," Sam laughed. "I'll have something to hold over Randy for the next ten years."

Accepting an iced tea from Sam, he followed her out to the deck.

"When do you go for your surgery?" she asked.

"In a couple of weeks."

"You know you're welcome to drop in anytime while you're off. Alanna and I would both love to see you."

Anything he might have said was cut off by Randy bursting through the door. He tried to reach into Evan's pocket to snatch his phone, but the smaller man sprinted down the yard away from him. Randy's long legs easily made up the distance, but when he attempted to grab him, Evan slithered out of his grasp.

"Get him!" he shouted to John, who was following close behind.

John dove for his legs and caught them, bringing Evan down onto the grass as Randy pounced on him. Randy fumbled in Evan's pocket until he got hold of the phone, John holding him down as Evan howled in outrage.

"Boys! Boys!" Sam yelled from the deck, "Watch Evan's shoulder!"

"Got it!" Randy exclaimed in triumph, pushing buttons on the phone. "And it's gone!"

John stood up, brushing off leaves and grass and helped Evan up.

"I'll get you for that," Evan said in low tones.

"Should I be afraid?" he asked, gently picking grass off Evan's hair.

"Yes," he grinned.

Randy and Sam watched this bit of byplay with interest, Sam sending an inquiring look at her husband, who smiled slightly and nodded.

"Honestly," she grumbled as she led them into the dining room, "anyone would think you guys are about six years old."

They enjoyed a leisurely lunch filled with conversation and laughter as Randy casually said, "I hear you and John are going for a pizza after the show. You know, we got a sitter for tonight; I can't remember the last time Sam and I went out for a St Louis pizza."

Evan and John both turned red as he attempted to answer Randy. "Well –um, it's not like we wouldn't be happy to have you join us, but –um…"

Finally, Sam cut in, "Don't listen to him, Evan. We wouldn't dream of intruding on your plans." As Evan sighed with relief, she continued, "And it's time for this young lady," she said gesturing to Alanna, who had insisted on sitting on her father's lap to eat her lunch, "to go for her nap."

"No!" the little girl pouted.

"That's her favourite word right now," she chuckled. "Daddy, take her upstairs."

Evan and John exchanged looks as Randy bore his protesting daughter off. "I can't wait until she's a teenager," Evan said. "Randy's going to have his hands full."

"Not to mention what'll happen when the boys start ringing the doorbell." John hooted with laughter at the image of Randy giving some unfortunate boy the third degree.

Randy came back downstairs and went to the kitchen to fill a small pink cup. "She wants a drink of water."

"Couldn't you have gotten it in the bathroom," Sam asked.

"No. It seems someone," he said, glaring at Evan, "told her the water in the bathroom is the same water that's in the toilet."

As all three men had PR commitments for the afternoon, they reluctantly got ready to leave, Evan hugging Sam affectionately and promising to visit when he was off.

"We haven't had a second to ourselves yet," John complained as they made their way to their respective cars.

"No, and I don't suppose we will until after the show tonight." Evan glanced swiftly up and down the street and, with surprising strength, pushed John against his car, pulling his head down to kiss him deeply. "I'll see you later," he said.

It was past eleven when they were finally seated in a restaurant near Evan's apartment. Although they had been placed in a secluded booth, meaningful conversation was impossible as they were constantly interrupted by requests for autographs and pictures.

"What a fantastic show!" Evan exclaimed. "What a great crowd!" Still high from the thunderous pop he had received from his hometown fans, he chattered non-stop until he realised that John was smiling indulgently at him.

"I'm sorry," he said, between greedy bites, "I haven't even asked what you think of the pizza."

"I'll admit I was beginning to wonder when you were going to stop to take a breath, but you deserve to be excited. You were great tonight; the crowd loved you."

"Did you hear the crowd cheer for Randy?" Suddenly he stopped, realising what he had just asked. "Sorry. Dumb question. You were there, too."

"Yes, I was, but it is a great evening," he smiled meaningfully at Evan. "A terrific show, a fantastic crowd, good pizza and better company."

"And, hopefully, it will get even better," he said, turning bright pink.

"I think it will," John replied covering Evan's hand briefly with his own.

"Then let's get out of here."