Okay guys, so this is gonna get a bit A/U-ish. I've pulled the names of several former members of the creative team. I'm too lazy to figure out what storylines were occurring back in mid-2010 so I'll be winging it with my imagination there. How Steph interacts with her team will become significant. In this fic, Shane is still with the company (haven't decided on Linda yet). There will be other changes as I go along, I'm sure. So no reviews like "that's not how it happened" please. LOL. Everything else? Gimme gimme! Thanks for the support so far!

Also, I may change the layout a bit, like writing a past chapter from the 3rd person or from Paul's perspective. Or a present chapter from Steph's perspective. Haven't decided yet, but we'll see! And to answer a couple questions: Paul isn't concerned over Steph's disappearance at this point...he thinks this is some mind-fuck scheme of hers.

Stephanie

From down the hallway, I can see Paul demonstrating how to throw a punch and make it look more damaging than it really is.

His student in passing (as is just about half the current roster, actually) has come a long way, I'll give her that. Paul's tutelage of the young woman isn't what makes a tingle of anger shoot through my spine.

Barbara Jean Blank. What an utterly ordinary name. It almost sounds like something better suited for a woman at least three decades older. The paradox is what pisses me off. This woman is affectionately referred to as "Barbie," the quintessential image of feminine perfection.

The nickname is clever, but fitting. Blonde hair, blue eyes, thin frame, background in gymnastics and cheerleading…I can easily visualize her chanting "Be aggressive! Be, be aggressive!" in my mind. She's the polar opposite of what her birth name suggests. It is this contrast that draws people to her so much, I'm sure of it.

And I'm sure that she knows it, too. She may act somewhat bashful and humble, but I can see straight through her. Hell, I am her. But I've been doing this a lot longer and I'm a lot better at it. I'm irritated that she seems to be trying to take over my role as the gorgeous sweetheart of the WWE. Everyone can't stop raving about her and it's all I can do not to throw up anytime she's mentioned nowadays.

Without having to think about it much, my face lights up as I reach the duo. "Hey Barbie!" I greet enthusiastically, wrapping an arm around her shoulder in a light squeeze.

"Steph! We were just talking about you!"

I laugh out loud. "Oh really? I could've sworn I just saw Paul showing you how to throw punches. Not sure I like the direction of that chat," I joke.

"Oh don't be silly," she says good-naturedly, waving my fake suspicion off with her hand. "It's not like that. He mentioned a restaurant near the hotel that you guys enjoyed yesterday."

"Ohhhh," I drag out. "Gotcha."

"Now had you arrived earlier, he was demonstrating a submission technique. That one, I might use on you," she says playfully.

I snort back. "Please, Barbie. I'll break you." Though I chuckled through my statement, I mean it. If she keeps rubbing me the wrong way with her innocent, blonde twit act I will break her in various senses of the word. "I wouldn't take advice from Paul on how to get me to give up a fight," I suggest with a wink.

"Paul is standing right here, by the way," he chimes in, waving his hand in front of me. He's pouting as if he isn't serious. But I know better. He isn't thrilled that we girls are having a chit chat that he's not actually a part of.

With much exaggeration, I roll my eyes and sigh before turning to Kelly. I shrug at her and gesture to the tall blonde standing next to us.

Barbie holds her hands up in surrender. "All yours now, Steph," she says sweetly. She pats Paul on the arm briefly as a goodbye. She grabs me in a quick hug before walking back in the direction I came from.

"So," I begin slowly. "According to Blondie, you're now mine."

Paul pretends to be offended. "Do I even get a proper hello before you start," he waves his hands in random motions, "trading and selling me and stuff?"

I crack a smile and walk the couple of steps that it takes to reach him. I wrap my arms around his neck. "Hello," I whisper against his lips before I kiss him.

"So, what will you do with me now that you've got me?" He asks as we pull apart.

A tiny piece of me aches at this. I wish things could be different between us. I wish that he could look at me this way all the time. Lovingly. Longingly. Like I'm the only woman who exists in his universe. But it won't last. It never can…because even I am incapable of pretending forever. I consider these truths as…chinks in my armor. They're very small and not easily noticeable. But after being with someone so long, one builds a certain level of comfort. One momentarily forgets to continue to be what they are not, particularly in moments such as these. The armor begins to crack and vulnerabilities are revealed, in tune with the truth.

When I see it coming, I control these moments as much as possible.

"Hmm," I mutter as if I'm considering something wifely. I'm not. I sought him out and made sure he was in this kind of mood for a reason. I have news. "Unfortunately, I don't have enough time to do what I want with you," I say, my tone laced with regret as I intertwine my fingers with his.

"Oh," he says, less hopefully. "What's up?"

I glance around nervously; making sure no one is within earshot. "Shane. He's in deep shit. I'm walking around on eggshells so I don't end up in it with him."

His brow furrows with concern. He and Shane have grown relatively close over the years. "What happened?"

My shoulders lift in a shrug. "I'm not sure. My Dad was just…ranting and raving about him and not making a whole lot of sense. I just let him talk…even though I was in the room he didn't really seem to be speaking to me anyway. I'm technically just supposed to be going to the bathroom right now," I tell him with a little mischievous smile.

Paul smiles at my craftiness in getting a breather, and then shakes his head in the negative. "Neither of them has said anything to me about any issues. Maybe later I can-"

I squeeze his hand affectionately to stop him. "This is between them, Paul. Believe me; we have enough to worry about." I lead his hand until it is resting on my swollen stomach. The baby actually kicks right underneath our hands, solidifying the suggestion I just made. Still in the womb and already I know that this child will be my ally in keeping this marriage together.

I also know that Paul won't listen. His desire to be golden in the eyes of my family won't allow him to let this go. He likes to play peacekeeper and problem-solver. Almost as if to prove his worth…to prove that he's really an emotionally invested member of the McMahon family, rather than just having married into it for money and status. So he will insert himself into this situation sooner rather than later. Best of all, he'll leave me the hell out of it. He won't say that I mentioned the unidentified conflict.

Intricate webs weave together a mind. Studying and analyzing these webs is the key to understanding the way a person worked. Once you had that, you could plan and predict. You knew their limitations and could work with those, to get what you needed. Or wanted.

Clarification: I love my daughters. I love the baby I'm carrying, whether it's a girl or a boy. I love Paul. I love my friends and family. Sometimes I don't have to…maneuver things. That's a nice word for it. I just have restrictions on how many chinks I can afford to allow my armor to have before I am too weak.

Strength is power. To those that possess it comes the ability to build, destroy and expertly manipulate everything around oneself. To create a life that was ideal – the very best that you could do, given your potential.

I understand that I cannot be nor demand perfection in the literal sense of the word. After all, a life that's too perfect seems fishy. For me, perfection comes with knowing, predicting and creating situations, with total accuracy. I have limits on how far south things can go before I find it utterly ridiculous. I always know when Paul is doing too much damn thinking regarding our marriage – having doubts, regrets or plans for drastic change.

When that happens, it's time to reel him back in. I'd carefully dangle something and wait. Patiently. As soon as he's taken the bait I'd think: gotcha!

Happy again. In love again. Mine again.

I'm broken out of my thoughts by his hand leaving mine. He touches my face for a second instead. "You okay, Steph?"

I don't know why he's asking this. He didn't even respond to my request to stay out of my father and brother's drama. Perhaps he's seen something in my eyes. Was I smirking while I thought of how effectively I pulled him back to me after the Hall of Fame ceremony last month? "Huh?" I ask, unintelligibly.

"What were you thinking about just a second ago? You had this…look," he says vaguely.

Sad? Happy? Mean? Help me out here. I need something good and safe to say. Something that can easily explain any 'look' my face was displaying. "Oh. The baby kicked me."

Lie. But his hand wasn't on my stomach so he'll never know.