DISCLAIMER: As much as it breaks my heart to admit it, I do not own anyone or anything connected to Vince McMahon and his awesomeness. I can only claim property rights of OC.

***A/N – I am taking total creative license with this chapter (and probably a few others). The events are LOOSELY based on actual WWE Universe events. And please forgive me any inaccuracies relating to the Irish language/culture.***

They say that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Apparently they had never met a highly enraged Irishman. Stephen Farrelly, known to the WWE Universe as Sheamus, stalked down the crowded hallway toward the front of the staging area. He was pissed by the sudden decision to change the scripts going into the TLC Pay-Per-View. Until today, everything had been going along rather well. Cena was going to drop the belt to him. The plan was for him to keep it through the new year. But things had suddenly changed when the powers that be decided that a table match for the championship was in order. Table matches were dangerous at best, lethal at worst. All it took was one false move and a career could be ended before it ever truly began. That was not a risk he was ready or willing to take. He'd worked so hard to get where he was. He couldn't take the chance of another setback. Failure was not an option.

He came to stand in the shadow of the gorilla position. The curtain was parted just enough for him to see into the crowded arena. The place was filled to capacity. The sea of human faces blurred into a sort of oblivion. All he could see was the long walk-way to the ring. His gaze was locked on the ring and John Cena. As usual, Cena was in the middle of the ring, microphone in hand, running his mouth. At least that was something the man was good at. Give the man a mic and five minutes, he could talk thousands of people into doing practically anything. Stephen shook his head slowly as he watched Cena pace the length of the ring. If nothing else, getting the opportunity to silence Cena for a little while would be worthwhile. The script called for him to interrupt John mid-tirade. They would trade a few words, Cena would make a few cracks about his skin tone. Stephen felt a small smile tugging at his lips. Just as Cena was about to launch into yet another verbal attack, Stephen heard his music hit. He slowly counted to four before stepping into the glaring lights of the arena. The moment the crowd spotted him, they began to boo. The wave of negativity was palpable. He could feel it moving over him like an ocean; wave after wave it came. He motioned to one of the stage hands who quickly handed him a mic.

"Hold on a minute, there, fella. It seems ye've got things a little confused. Y'see, at TLC it's not me going through a table." Stephen said as he continued making his way toward the ring. "Ye're going to know how it feels to go through a table an' look up an' see me!" He came to stand just a few feet away. He wasn't stupid enough to actually go into the ring. Not when Cena had that look on his face. The man meant business, serious business.

John leaned over the top rope to glare to him. He picked up the mic and launched into another tirade that Stephen only half-halfheartedly listened to. That was how the next few minutes went. Insults and verbal assaults, back and forth. The only part of the entire script Stephen agreed with was the part where he turned his back on Cena and went back to the locker room. He was getting tired of the same thing every night. All he wanted was to get the title. For once he wanted to know what it felt like to stand on top of the mountain. He could barely stand having to count down the days until the pay-per-view. Before Stephen had taken more than a dozen steps up the ramp, he felt the weight of a semi-truck plow into him from behind. He hit the floor with a thud. Rolling to his side, he looked up only to see John Cena's face inches from his own. He barely had enough time to cover his head before Cena started raining down heavy blows. Stephen grunted as John landed a particularly hard shot to the ribs. The breath rushed out of him. After what seemed like an eternity, the refs finally managed to pry Cena away. He lay on the floor for a full minute, trying to breathe deeply as he made a quick inventory of his body. Thankfully, he was in one piece but it was hard to take a full breath. Fuck! He thought as he wrapped an arm around his mid-section. He wasn't entirely certain but he thought a rib could be broken. With the help of a referee, Stephen made his way back up the ramp. He was very aware of the camera man that was hot on his heels. Sometimes those guys just didn't know when to quit. They kept the cameras rolling no matter what. Stephen grabbed a production hand as he tried to walk past.

"Where's Cena?" Stephen's accent was thick and heavy making Cena sound more like Chena. Heneeded to go to the medics but first he had a few things he wanted to say.

Nervously, the young man pointed down the hallway. Stephen pushed the man slightly, encouraging him to continue on his errands. He continued down the hall, going as quickly as he could. Squinting against the sudden spasm under his ribs, Stephen looked down the hall. He could barely make out the bright orange color of Cena's shirt as he stood in the hallway.

Stephen forced his feet to start moving again. Each step was a fiery agony but he kept his gaze locked on Cena's hideously colored shirt.

"Cena, we're not finished." Stephen said as he came to stop a few feet away.

"Hey man, sorry about that out there." Cena forced a smile as he looked at Stephen. The guy was just way too serious. The brash Irishman looked none too happy. When he decided to go ad-lib, he knew Stephen would not be happy. The surprise attack had been a snap decision, something he knew would like good for the cameras without really hurting either of them.

"What do you think you're doing, fella?" Stephen demanded. He was not in the mood for playing games. The least Cena could do was explain his actions.

John arched a brow as he glanced at Erin. She was standing quietly to the left, watching the exchange. Her eyes were round with surprise. Taking a deep breath, John decided the best thing he could do would be to try and diffuse the situation. He certainly didn't need Erin to get a first hand view of what kind of assholes some of the guys really were.

"Why don't you calm down before we talk about this?" John tried to keep his voice neutral. There was no sense in pissing Stephen off any more than he was. Stephen was known for his quick temper. They both knew it would not do either of them any good to try and work things out now. Maybe in a couple of hours they could try. John wrapped an arm protectively around Erins' shoulders. The last thing he needed was for. . . no, he couldn't let himself finish the thought.

"Let's get out of here." John said to Erin. She was standing mutely beside, her eyes glued on the towering Irishman.

Erin had never seen anything like the red haired man before her in all her life. He was tall, nearly a foot taller than she was. She barely came up to his shoulder. His hair stuck up around his head in sharp spikes. His light green eyes were seething with the fire of anger, a slight blush stained his cheeks. What drew her attention were his lips. They were such an odd shade of pink. She'd never seen lips like that on a man before. For a fleeting second, Erin wondered what it would be like to kiss those lips.

John glanced again at Erin who was frozen in place beside him. She was staring up at Stephen, an odd expression her face. The protective instinct flared to life, telling him it was time to get Erin out of the area. John glanced toward the door, judging how quickly he could make it. He figured the odds were about 50/50. He took a step toward the door, hoping Erin would take the hint and follow him. She didn't, she stood rooted where she stood.

Stephen's gaze moved to the young woman standing beside John. He'd never seen her before. From the laminated pass hanging around her neck, Stephen assumed she was with Cena. She was probably the ring rat he was currently parading around with. No wonder he thought he had better things to do than explain himself.

"We settle this now." Stephen said, his attention turning back to John.

John shook his head. No way they were going to do this now. "Hit me up when you've cooled off." he said. He tapped Erin on the shoulder and cocked his head toward the door. John turned toward the exit.

"I said we settle this now." Stephen said as he grabbed Cena by the shirt and spun him around. He stared at the other man, unblinking.

"When you chill, man, then you can step to me. Until then . . " John said as he waved his hand in front of his face. You can't see me.

He grabbed Erin's hand and tugged her along behind him. Before they were able to take more than three steps, John saw something move out of the corner of his eye. Thanks to his extremely well-trained instincts, he knew Stephen was moving toward him. He whirled around and made a grab for Erin. He was sure he wouldn't be able to stop Stephen's momentum. His intention was to push Erin safely out of the way. In the instant before his hand wrapped around her waist, she was gone. John watched in horror as Stephen threw his weight into the spear. Erin never saw it coming. One moment she was standing on her feet, the next she was air borne. As if she was moving in slow motion, John watched as her body was slammed through a table and connected with the unyielding concrete floor below. Her head cracked against the floor with an almost sickening thud.

Stephen knew something was horribly wrong the moment his arms wrapped around something much less substantial than Cena. He tried to stop the forward momentum but it was too late. Shaking his head in horror, Stephen slowly looked down at the woman lying prone beneath him. She was the woman that Cena had been talking to. Holy Hell! He thought.

This was bad news; very, very, very bad news. Stephen winced as her head smacked into the floor. Her eyes widened for just a heartbeat before slipping closed. She's dead. Stephen feared the worst as he looked down at her utterly still form. Moving quickly, Stephen rolled to the side and came to his knees beside her. He reached under the waterfall of burgundy colored hair and placed two fingers gently to her throat. He held his breath as he waited. After what seemed like an eternity, he could detect the steady beat of her heart. Offering up a silent prayer, Stephen glanced over his shoulder, "I need a medic." he yelled.

John stared in horror as Stephen leaned over Erin and stroked her hair back from her face. Who the hell does the think he is? John thought as he took a step toward Stephen. With a quick shove, John sent Stephen sprawling backward on his ass. Blinking hard, Stephen looked up. He'd been so focused on Erin that he didn't realize John had moved. John reached down with a clenched fist. Before John could hit him, the medics arrived. The first medic, a tall dark haired guy named Trent, moved John out of the way. A second medic, a short, blonde haired woman, named Cindy, slid between Stephen and Erin. She quickly pulled a pen light out of the cargo pocket of her pants and shone it in Erin's eyes.

"What happened?" Trent asked as he reached into his bag. He fished around for a minute and pulled out a pen.

"She hit her head." Stephen said inched around to kneel on the floor at Erin's head. He looked down at her. She was so pale and so still.

"He fucking speared her." John shouted. He moved to stand at Erin's feet.

Trent nailed John with a steady eye, "If you don't calm down, we can't help her. Is that what you want?" he asked in a calm voice.

John shook his head, dread sinking into his bones. Why isn't she moving? "Just help her!" John said. He hated how desperate his voice sounded. He watched helplessly as Trent pulled the back board from the stretcher and placed it on the floor next to Erin. Trent quickly pulled out a roll of tape and handed it to Cindy. She quickly wrapped an extra layer of tape around the hard collar supporting Erin's neck before tossing it into the open bag. She carefully crossed Erin's hands over her stomach. She glanced at Trent then nodded.

"On my three." Cindy said. She made the count and efficiently rolled Erin onto her side. Trent quickly slid the back board in place. With a quick movement, Cindy secured the Velcro straps. She nodded to Trent and he carefully returned the backboard to the floor. He crouched next to Erin as Cindy stood. Without a word they placed her onto the stretcher. Cindy quickly secured the straps and nodded at Trent.

John quickly followed behind them as they wheeled Erin toward the waiting ambulance. For once, John was grateful to see the vehicle waiting on stand-by. The sooner they got her to the ER, the better off she would be.

Cindy climbed into the ambulance as Trent quickly loaded the gurney. John stepped to the back of the ambulance and looked up at Cindy. John didn't have to give voice to his question before Cindy answered, "We're going to Parkland. I'll let the nurses know you're on the way."

John nodded as Trent slammed the doors closed. He moved quickly around to the driver's side and got in. John watched helplessly as the ambulance pulled out into the night. He didn't know what to do. Erin was hurt and she needed him. The only thing he knew for sure was that Stephen was going to have his ass handed to him as soon as he made sure his sister was going to survive.

***A/N – Pretty dramatic, huh? I'm so sorry Erin had to go through a table. I swear it really was an accident. No way in hell Stephen would intentionally hurt anyone, much less a woman. Please check back soon to see what happens! ***