I am SO SORRY this took so long to get out...but here it is!

It didn't take long for Gemma to fall in love with Reykjavik. The town was quaint, the people were lovely, and scenery was beautiful. She and Fergal had spent their first day in Reykjavik together, exploring the city; on their second day, they took a day trip to The Golden Circle to see the Strokkur geyser, the Gullfoss Waterfall, and Thingvellir National Park; now, their third day was completely dedicated to relaxation at the Blue Lagoon. She hadn't quite over-exerted herself during the city or Golden Circle tours (half the time Fergal made sure she didn't), but she knew her knee would appreciate this day. Especially since tomorrow they'd be traveling again, flying to London so Fergal could show up at the WWE UK Championship announcement.

The day had been long but relaxing, and they both had a blast. Gemma was able to take off her brace while she was in the Lagoon and it felt amazing to her. She hadn't felt so relaxed in months. It helped that Fergal was there, cracking jokes and chatting up random people. They met a nice Icelandic family there with their children, as well as a Spanish couple who climbed mountains as their holidays. Fergal even got recognized by a fan at one point, right in the water, and Gemma was roped in to take a picture of them. It was awkward, but she didn't think too much of it.

Later that evening, they settled into their hotel room on a resort close to the Blue Lagoon. Fergal being Fergal forgot to change his reservation at the hotel, which meant they were stuck sharing a Queen-sized bed. He didn't think too much of it – it was Gemma trying to figure out all the logistics. She had to sleep a certain way so it wouldn't aggravate her knee; he had to sleep a certain way so he wouldn't aggravate his shoulder – would they be able to make it work? Would there be room? Did he snore? Did she snore? What if he hogged the covers? She needed her covers. He didn't seem to care much, shrugging it off and saying something along the lines of 'Who cares?' and 'It'll work, whatever.' Gemma wished she could just brush things off like that.

After grabbing a late dinner courtesy of room service, they both decided, for one last time, that they'd take their last midnight dip in their semi-private hot spring just a few metres from their door. They changed into their bathing suits and robes and approached the hot spring. There was one more couple, who were occupying the room next to them, enjoying the late-night hot spring, but they were at he opposite end of the spring, which was nice. Gemma took off her brace and Fergal helped her back into the water slowly.

After a few more comments about how good it felt, how they would both miss the feeling, there was a moment of silence between them. "I've been meaning to ask…" Fergal said as he shifted his body to get a bit more comfortable. "How's your therapy going?"

"Oh, it's going well," Gemma said, not even opening her eyes. "My therapist is so good, you know? She gets me. It helps a lot."

"Good. I'm glad," Fergal said.

There was a short moment of silence before Gemma finally opened her eyes and looked over to him. "Have you ever been? To a therapist, I mean," she asked.

"No, I can't say I have."

"Why not?"

What a question to ask. Only Gemma. "I don't know. I guess I've just been fortunate enough in my life that I've never needed one."

She chuckled slightly, looking away. "You're lucky. I've been seeing mine since I was at least 19."

"Seriously?" It was his turn to look at her.

"Mhm. My parents just wanted to make sure I was coping well with everything," she revealed. "The media was getting to be a lot for them, so they thought it was a lot for me, too. But I was fine."

"But you kept seeing her?"

"Yeah…I mean I stopped for a bit, but now that this is happened, I called her again. There's nobody else I'd rather speak to. Well…no other professional. I talk to Jane, and I talk to my parents, and…well, I talk to you now too."

Fergal's smile crept back on to his face. "Well, good to know. I'm glad you feel comfortable talking to me."

"Do you ever think that we were, like, meant to meet each other?" she blurted out, making Fergal figure the question had been on her mind for a while. The hot spring was making her become philosophical, apparently. "You know, like, we kind of got injured around the same time, we both got surgery, we both ended up at the same physiotherapy centre…it's like the universe is trying to tell us something."

Fergal shrugged his shoulders, smiling slightly. "I don't know, I guess."

"I'm being serious!" she nudged him, causing him to giggle. She knew he was just riling her up. "What are the chances that we'd be put at the same physio clinic? What are the chances that we'd become friends?"

"What are the chances you'd be nice to me?" he wiggled his eyebrows comically.

"Stop being an ass," she giggled. "I'm a nice person when I'm not injured."

"To answer your question," Fergal began, pausing for dramatic effect. "I do think the universe works in mysterious ways. And I do think we were meant to cross paths somehow."

"Do you think…do you think that if neither of us got injured, we still would have met somehow?" she asked.

She sounded like a little kid asking a parent if Santa Claus was real. Who was Fergal to deny her the thoughts she had about their friendship? "Of course we would have," he agreed with her. "Probably at a charity event, like a Make-a-Wish. A children's hospital visit, even. There would have been plenty of opportunities to meet each other."

Gemma smiled at his words, clearly finding solace in what he was telling her. "Good," she said firmly, settling back into her position and cranking her head back to stare up at the stars.

She had closed her eyes, after taking in the night stars, and didn't see that Fergal kept staring at her, long after her eyes shut.

"You should probably change your shoes," Gemma said, giving Fergal the complete up down as they stood backstage at the O2 Arena in London. "Your suit looks nice but the shoes ruin the whole look."

"But they're comfy!" Fergal challenged, looking down at them as he buttoned up his suit jacket.

"They ruin the look!" she repeated emphatically.

"I think they look fine," he said. "I'll change if my boss tells me to."

Gemma snorted. "Yeah, don't listen to the girl who's trying to save you from a disastrous fashion choice."

"It's not disastrous!"

"What's disastrous?" a British male voice interrupted them.

Fergal knew the voice immediately, spinning around to see none other than William Regal in a sharp three-piece suit. They embraced each other and exchanged pleasantries; all while Gemma was standing awkwardly, waiting to be introduced. "Will, this is my friend Gemma," Fergal finally introduced them. They gave each other a polite handshake. "We're at the same physiotherapy clinic. Thought she'd enjoy the UK wrestling scene since she doesn't have a clue about the American one."

"Nice to meet you, miss," William smiled at her. "So, no clue about the American wrestling scene, then?"

"None whatsoever," Gemma quipped.

"And let me guess, torn ACL?"

Fergal gulped. He saw the small smile on Gemma's face fade. "Uh, yeah, among other things."

"Torn MCL? Meniscus?" William pestered.

Gemma glanced over at Fergal. "He's good."

William let out a heart laugh but Fergal knew better. Gemma was squirming. "I've been around the block a few times, my lady," William said. "And I've known an injured wrestler or two. What's your sport?"

"Ah, hockey," Gemma said, looking over at Fergal again. "Should I ge-"

"FERG!" another voice called, interrupting Gemma, and Fergal could see her almost seethe and squirm at the same time. Fergal looked beyond Gemma to see Paul walking towards him, a giant smile on his face. "Ferg, my man! How was the flight over?" he asked, shaking Fergal's hand and hugging him tightly.

"Yeah, it was good," Fergal answered, his attention still focused on Gemma. Paul noticed and turned to looked towards her, practically waiting to be introduced. "Paul, this is my friend Gemma. Gemma, this is my boss Paul."

Like with William Regal, Paul and Gemma exchanged a polite handshake. Fergal was about to intervene, to tell Gemma that yes, she could go to her seat now, especially because he knew she wasn't comfortable, but William beat him to speaking. "She's a hockey player!" he announced, continuing the elongated introduction Gemma wanted no part of. "She's incapacitated right now so she's joining us."

With that comment, however innocent it was on Regal's part, Fergal knew Gemma had had enough. She looked at him desperately, begging him to get her out of there. He knew he had to act quickly. "Hey Gemma, why don't you go out to your seat before it gets too crowded out there," he offered, giving her an out.

"I think I'll do just that," she accepted immediately. "It was nice to meet you Paul…William," she nodded at them both. "I'll see you all out there."

The three men stared at her as she limped away, waiting for her to open the door to the room where the announcement would be before focusing their attention back on each other. "A hockey player, huh?" Paul said.

"Yeah," Fergal nodded his head.

"Torn ACL?" Fergal nodded his head. "You met her at physio?" Fergal nodded his head at Paul's question again. "Shouldn't she be out of the brace by now?"

"If you see her again, do yourself a favour and don't mention that to her," Fergal cautioned. "She might tear your quad again."

Paul snorted. "I'll keep that in mind."

As Gemma watched the entire press conference unfold, she couldn't help but notice how natural and happy Fergal looked as he spoke about the wrestling scene in the UK. She knew public speaking wasn't everybody's cup of tea, and she knew Fergal was more shy and introverted than most, but seeing him at the podium, speaking about wrestling, she could see he was truly happy. And why wouldn't he be? Although he wasn't back in a ring, this was the closest he could be to one, and she could tell it made him ecstatic.

She became emotional as she watched him. It was almost too much for her, sitting in a crowd watching someone be so close to doing what they loved, while she was still in recovery. She hated that this ate away at her – she absolutely hated it. She was happy for her, she really way, but deep down, in the depths of her mind, she was still angry, still frustrated, that she was longing to do the same thing.

She left earlier than the rest of the media, and it wasn't because she wanted to waddle out without a bunch of people around her. She slipped away during the photo opportunity, with all the participants in the tournament on stage posing. She didn't know exactly where she was going backstage, but she knew she wouldn't last much longer watching.

Fergal, on his part, noticed her every move. He looked at her more than a few times throughout his speech, although he wondered if she noticed. He saw her leave early, and knew, just by seeing the look on her face, that she had had enough. He was determined to get backstage to find her, and the second he got the okay from Paul, he left the stage. She couldn't have gone far.

He found her, finally, sitting on top of an electrical box backstage, keeping to herself as she almost always did though there were runners and production crew everywhere. As he walked towards her, she noticed him and smiled meekly, looking down immediately to his shoes. "You didn't change them," she remarked, referring to his shoes.

"Paul said I didn't need to."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, if he says so…"

The sarcasm was practically oozing out of her. "Hey, he's my boss. If he says it's okay, it's okay," he shrugged his shoulders.

Gemma nodded her head, looking away from him as if she was trying to hide something. He knew her by now – at least he liked to think. Upon closer inspection, he saw that her eyes were red. "You alright?" he asked, giving her the opportunity to tell him what was wrong on her own.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"Why were you crying?"

"I wasn't crying," Gemma quickly denied his observation.

"Yes you were," Fergal said. Just as Gemma was about to deny it again, he spoke to interrupt her. "Don't lie to me, Gemma. Tell me why you were crying."

At this point he stepped between her legs, so she couldn't look anywhere besides at him. She took a huge breath, and, instead of saying what was bothering her, leaned forward and laid her head, forehead first, on his chest. She kept taking deep breaths, even as her head rested against him, and he knew she was trying to calm herself down, so that she wouldn't cry again. He didn't dare attempt to move. "Gemma…"

"I shouldn't have come," she breathed out, her voice cracking. "I shouldn't have come here."

Fergal furrowed his brows. "Why not?"

"It's hard."

"What's hard?" he asked. She didn't immediately respond, instead choosing to continue her heavy breathing. "Gemma, what's hard?"

"You. This. Watching you do this," she mumbled into his chest before finally raising her head to look him in the eye. There was already a tear falling down her cheek. "You looked so amazing out there…so poised, so natural…you were really in your element. Even if it was just media."

"And?"

"And…it's so nice to see you doing what you love. It makes me wish I was doing what I love right now," she said, looking away. "But I'm not. And I don't know when I will be again. Everything is so up in the air and I don't know what's going to happen and I know this is your day and I'm sorry I'm taking this away from you and -"

"Gemma, stop," Fergal said softly, cutting her off from her rambling. "You don't need to apologize for anything."

"But I do," she emphasized, wiping her cheeks with her hand. "I'm crying backstage at your big event and I feel like such a Debbie downer. But seeing you out there, seeing how happy you looked, it just…it made me want to be that happy, too."

Fergal's heart broke at the words. Fergal knew she was unhappy; that much was clear – her attitude was evidence enough and she had told him she was unhappy in a million different ways. But it didn't make the words any easier to hear, especially now, as she said them so plainly. "What can I do to help you? What can we do to help each other?" he asked, desperate for her to give him answers.

She apparently didn't hear the second question. "There's nothing you can do to help me. I have to find it within myself…at least that's what my therapist tells me," Gemma shrugged him off.

"No," Fergal rejected, stepping as close as he could get to her, the front of his thighs against the electrical box. He grabbed at her arms and grazed his fingers down to her elbows, cupping them in his hands gently. "Tell me what I can do. What we can do." A few fresh tears fell from Gemma's eyes as she shook her head, not saying a word. "Gemma -"

"Ferg!" a voice suddenly called out from down the hallway. Fergal looked towards the source of the voice; Gemma looked the opposite way.

"What?" he demanded, annoyed.

"Paul told me to come get you," Pete Dunne called out again. "Said something about a few media phone calls."

"Tell him I'll be there in two minutes," Fergal said firmly. "Go tell him."

Pete took the hint, disappearing down the hallway again. Fergal focused his attention back on Gemma, who was already looking at him. "You should go," she whispered.

"No."

"Don't worry about me, Ferg. I'll meet you back at the hotel."

"Gemma, stop," he stressed again. "We need to help each other. Tell me how we can help each other."

Gemma took a deep breath. "You can help me by doing what you love. Go back out there and do your job."

"Gemma." He felt like all he was doing was saying her name, but he was trying to get her to see his point.

"Stop it, Ferg," it was Gemma's turn to get firm. "I know you want to help but you're not the solution to my problems. I'm the solution to my problems. Now go," she said, wiggling off the electrical box and pushing Fergal away from her in the process.

"Gemma -"

"I'll meet you back at the hotel, Ferg," she cut him off, already walking away from him. "Now go do your job."

"Gemma!" he called out after her, but she didn't stop her stride. Without looking back once, she turned a corner, leaving him alone in the hallway.

Back at the hotel, Fergal made a beeline for Gemma's room, almost forgetting to drop off his bag in his own room. He wasn't angry, per se, but he was annoyed and slightly irritated that she had left in the way she did, abruptly in the middle of their conversation, seemingly not wanting to solve anything. He understood that she was uncomfortable, but he was reaching his boiling point and she had absolutely no idea. She was completely enraptured in herself that she barely even noticed him.

He knocked at her door frantically, urgently. It took her a while to answer, and she stood at the door, blocking him from automatically walking in. "You're back," she stated, surprised he was there so early.

"Can I come in?" he asked, and she finally moved so he could enter the room.

When he walked in, he saw her suitcase on the edge of her bed, most of her things already packed in. She was flying out tomorrow, while he was staying back for the holidays – a full three weeks with his family that he was really looking forward to.

But none of that mattered right now. He needed to get to the bottom of things. He saw her sitting on the edge of her bed. "Why did you leave like that?" he asked. "You could have at least waited for me. I left only a half an hour after you."

"I told you, I couldn't be there," she told him as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "It was too much for me."

Me. Me me me me me. That's what was making him angry. "Did you ever stop and think that it was too much for me, too?" he demanded, sounding as angry as he felt inside. "Did you ever think that I was having a hard time being around my peers and kids I fucking trained who are getting to do what I love?"

Gemma was stoic. She heard his tone of voice loud and clear. She didn't give him an answer, knowing that whatever she said wouldn't be good enough.

The silence only made Fergal angrier. "You are so incredibly selfish that you don't even see that other people around you are in just as much pain as you are, yet you do nothing for them," he was practically scolding her now.

"Did you just come here to yell at me?" she asked, attitude back in her voice, though she looked like she was on the verge of tears.

"No, I didn't, actually – but your attitude is making me. Eeeeeverybody knows you're itching to get back to hockey. Well I'm itching to get back to wrestling every single fucking day," he emphasized the last four words. "I'm feeling down in the dumps too but I'm not dragging everybody down with me!"

Her eyes began to water, her cheeks flushing red as he laid it into her. "Are you trying to make me feel horrible?" she whined out.

"No. You're doing that by yourself because you know I'm right," Fergal said. "Not everything is about you. I'm trying to tell you how I feel."

"Then why are you here? Why did you invite me to come on vacation with you?" she demanded of him, tears flowing freely now.

"Because, Gemma, you have these moments of clarity where I can see the real you, the Gemma that existed before the surgery, and she's the one I want to know, that I'm itching to get out of you."

"Yeah?" Gemma's tone was sarcastic. "Well what if she's gone?"

"She's not gone. You're still her," Fergal stressed.

It was then that she fully broke down, a sobbing mess sitting on the edge of her bed. She brought her hands up to cover her face as her body shook, and Fergal, despite his anger, felt horrible. He moved to sit beside her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into his body. She responded to him, crying into his chest and not bothering to move away, despite the verbal beat-down he just gave her. "I didn't come here to make you cry. And I'm sorry. But -"

"I'm trying Fergal, I'm trying. I swear I am," she sobbed out, voice uncontrollably loud from her sobs and wails. "I swear I'm trying to be a better person. I swear. You have the patience of a saint for putting up with me for this long. A saint."

"Gemma -"

"I'm sorry for leaving you there. I'm sorry I didn't see how hard it was for you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything," she apologized profusely.

"It's okay, it's alright," he said soothingly, patting her hair. "I didn't mean to make you upset. I just wanted you to know how I feel."

"I know I'm not the only one suffering. I know it's hard for you too," she wept, no signs of calming down on the horizon. "But how can I help you when I can't even help myself? I need do be able to do that first, don't I? Before I ruin your life like I'm ruining mine?"

"Hey, come on, you're not ruining your life," he began to rub her back, a feeble attempt to calm her down. "You're not ruining your life, and you're not ruining my life either."

She waited a few moments before speaking again, taking deep breaths to calm herself down. "It definitely feels like it," she mumbled into his chest, her voice a lot more controlled than before. "I mean it, Fergal. I don't know why you stick around. I don't know why you're so nice to me."

"What did I tell you that day in the car, huh?" he asked. She stayed silent. "I like you, Gemma. I like being around you. I think you're funny, and I admire you passion and dedication for your sport and for charities. There are so many likeable things about you that overshadow your injury and your attitude about being injured."

"I wish you knew me before I got injured," she said. "I wish you knew me when I was normal."

"I don't," Fergal countered. "I like that I'm getting to know you at your lowest point…it makes your climb back to the top that much more incredible to witness."

Gemma didn't respond. There wasn't anything left to say, at least to her. She knew she needed to calm herself down, to stop crying and to take what Fergal was saying to heart. At her silence, Fergal knew, too, and accepted that there was nothing more he could say; nothing more she could say that would make either of them feel any better.

And so, instead of speaking anymore on the subject, they both stayed silent, hugging each other, alone in a hotel room.