A/N: This is probably gonna be a short chapter guys. Sorry about that, but I'm super busy getting ready to leave for Miami in a couple days. I'm gonna meet CM Punk! I can't wait! The good news is, it's a 22-something hour car ride, so I'm probably going to be doing a lot of writing. Which means you guys will get a lot of chapters soon hopefully.

A/N #2: Someone asked me for a description of Amber in their review, which made me realize I really hadn't given much of anything in terms of one, except for a brief overview in the opening chapter(s). And since I'd have a hard time incorporating it into the story now without it being extraordinarily awkward, I figured I'd post it here instead: 5'9", light brown hair, hazel eyes, muscular build, picture a slightly emo look in terms of her clothes, but minus the makeup because she doesn't really go for makeup. She has a tattoo, but that will come up in later chapters, so I'm gonna make you guys wait on that one ;) And she has no visible piercings. Sorry I didn't include that earlier, it's one of the perils of a first-person writing style. If there's anything else you want to know, just let me know in a review.

And think about it I did. In fact, I probably spent way too much of my four days of vacation thinking about Phil Brooks, whether missing him and his snarky commentary, or wondering why I missed him so damn much.

Mid-day on Friday I got a text from him with one of the many pictures from his photo shoot. I had a sneaking suspicion that they wouldn't be using that particular image however. Phil was standing in his ring gear on top of what looked like a very expensive car, (why do they ALWAYS use cars in photo shoots that actually have nothing to do with cars?), sticking his tongue out absurdly and giving the cameras—and the poor bastard who was holding his phone taking the picture—the Stone Cold Salute.

I laughed my ass off for a moment then texted back. Behave you… :P—Amber

He responded, Oh sure. Judge me. You're probably sitting on a fucking beach right now. – Punk

I was in fact sitting on a beach. Guilty. Stalker. . - Amber

How's vacation treating you? Jealous by the way. – Punk

I had to think over my answer for a moment before deciding to just be honest. I'd rather be on the road. – Amber

Miss me that much? ;) – Punk

*eyeroll* Totally. That's exactly why. – Amber Isn't it funny how often sarcasm conceals the truth? Although that was far from being the only reason I was looking forward to getting back on tour and leaving my quote-unquote home. As exhausting as that life was, I was growing increasingly restless without anything to do, even from only being stuck in the same place for a couple days. It was boring, and I ended up spending nearly all of my time at the gym anyway, which was much less interesting without a sparring partner, because I didn't have anyone to hit the ring with. On the plus side, however, I loved the climate of Florida, and got a chance to catch up on my sleep, which was always good.

I knew it :P Well, at least you aren't being forced to pose for 235763623 photos. – Punk

I laughed. Life of a superstar. I want to be doing that, it means your at the top and people actually *want* to see you on the cover of…whatever the hell you're posing for. – Amber

Wanna switch places? – Punk

I really didn't. As much as I wanted to do something like that that highlights the fact that you're at the top of the company, I really wasn't a big fan of photoshoots either. That's not really how it works. I think someone would notice. :P Give 'em hell. I'll see ya in a couple days. – Amber

Ah, but we look so much alike… XP Meh. Alright. See ya soon—Punk

I slipped my phone back into my absurdly large beach bag and made a beeline for the ocean. A long swim against the spectacular surf cleared my mind, just as I knew it was. The ocean had always been the closest thing I had to a home until I found my way into the ring, and even now it was an extremely close second. I fell into bed that night, blissfully too tired to think.

The next day passed far too slowly, but eventually Sunday morning arrived, and I flew out to Texas eagerly, glad to be heading back to the world I had grown to love even more since joining the WWE only a few weeks previously.

Arriving at the arena where the Night of Champions pay-per-view would take place, it didn't look any different than any other arena I'd seen. Of course it didn't. Somehow, though, it felt like it should. Probably just my misplaced sense of priority needing to translate into appearance, I mused as I wandered around.

I was fairly late in arriving, even though the show wouldn't start for several hours. Most of the Superstars were already there, warming up, working with the trainers, or, in some cases, begging to be a last minute addition to the card. None of the latter were successful, from what I heard.

I wasn't entirely sure what my role was, so I basically walked around, chatting with people as I saw them. I felt entirely out of place among the pay-per-view caliber talent, and for the first time since entering the WWE, I didn't really feel like I belonged. Rather, I felt like a school girl exploring the White House—like an observer who really had no business being in such a large and important place, but was pretending they did nonetheless. It was unsettling.

Eventually though, I started chatting with Randy Orton, and we fell into an easy pattern of small talk for a while. He seemed entirely calm, despite his title match, and the sense of normalcy he was exuding comforted me somewhat. I spotted Phil after a while though, and excused myself, wishing him luck, not that I thought the Viper would need it.

Phil was chipper, well, as chipper as he ever actually got. He relayed stories of the fans he had met yesterday, and his absurd outings with Colt Cabana. "Time off did you some good," I remarked.

"Well, having a title shot tonight doesn't hurt either" he reasoned.

"Ready to kick some ass?"

He smirked. "You better fucking believe it. I'm ready to win." He was already in his ring gear, and I could practically taste the excitement radiating off of him. Having held the title at FCW, I had some small idea of what he was feeling, but I had no concept of what it must feel like on such a broader scale, every emotion I felt leading up to those matches magnified ten, a hundred, a thousand percent. Yet if he was nervous, he didn't show it in the least. I'd always admired that about him, from the time I started watching wrestling on TV as a teenager. No matter who he was facing, no matter what the stakes were, no matter how hurt he obviously was, he never showed fear. He would glare at anyone from the smallest man on the roster to the strongest with burning defiance in his eyes, and make them believe he had ice running through his veins. It was something I tried to imitate in my own career, but of course, I could never do it quite as well as he could.

The matches drew nearer and the tensions grew more and more palpable. Phil and I retreated into a viewing room simply to avoid being in the warpath of some of the more hostile Superstars. Dolph Ziggler apparently went into a rage at Triple H about the fact that he wasn't in a match. I didn't see him for the rest of the night, so I assumed the King of Kings had put him back in his rightful place. I did, however, see Vickie Guererro later in passing, and she was talking to David Otunga while wearing a look that, to quote Tolkien, "could curdle new milk." That only confirmed my suspicions. Then again, she kind of always looks like that.

Eventually the TV in the viewing room began to play music, and the pay-per-view began. Zack Ryder's match was up first. Wade Barrett came out onto the stage looking absolutely furious, whether at Triple H or Zack Ryder no one knew, but it ended up being his downfall. He made one stupid mistake while fueled by anger, and Zack capitalized with a Rough Ryder for the win. Phil and I both cheered when the referee's hand hit the mat for the third time, glad Zack had gotten what he deserved, finally.

Phil's match was last on the card, but he left me at this point, saying he wanted some time to meditate before the match. I got that, and wished him luck.

The women's match was up next, and as Beth came down to the ring, Josh Matthews came into my viewing room and asked if he could interview me after the match. I agreed, and he waved the cameras in. I guess I'm gonna have my pay-per-view segment after all, I thought wryly. I didn't mind interviewing, but it wasn't exactly what I had in mind.

Beth dominated the match. I could see her hesitating at moments, presumably to prolong the match, but there was no question of who was in control the entire time. When it was over, she predictably still held the belt, and Eve seemed injured, or at least feeling the effects of the intensely physical bout.

Josh signaled me that the interview was starting. "Amber, what do you think of the results of the match?"

I smirked. "Josh, I couldn't care less who won. I can beat either of them. Although I have to say, destroying Beth Pheonix will be fun." My smirk transformed into a slightly sadistic grin.

"You seem to have picked an interesting person to challenge, especially for a rookie. What was your reasoning for that?"

I shrugged. "Honestly, I saw no point in starting at the bottom when I know I can easily beat the top. Not to mention, I stand by what I said on Monday: I can't stand hypocrites."

He raised an eyebrow at me. "You're still very new to the WWE. How do you plan to get a title shot?"

"I'm a patient person," I replied. "I'll earn a shot at the belt one way or another, but no matter how or when I get there, it will be through hard work, and because I am good enough to deserve a chance, and I'll make sure everyone knows it." I walked off camera, signaling the end of the interview. I didn't really plan on leaving the room, but the interview had to end somehow.

The next match had commenced by the time Josh Matthews and his camera crew had departed. Kofi Kingston was defending the United States title against Hunico. It was a good match, unsurprisingly, given that Kofi was in action. After a few high-flying moves, however, Hunico was winded and couldn't really keep up. Kofi pinned him after a Trouble in Paradise, and that was it. I don't think anyone actually expected Hunico to capture the title, but he was the closest thing to a Number One Contender who had presented himself a few weeks before the pay-per-view, and every title had to be defended. Regardless, they had put on a decent match.

A quick promo video and a mention of WWE's sponsors killed a few minutes so the fans could leave their TVs without fear of missing something critical, then the World Heavyweight Championship match was announced.

Randy Orton, the champion, joined Sheamus, Christian, and Mark Henry in the ring, and just as the referee was gesturing for the bell to be rung, Motorhead hit and out came Triple H. He declared that due to the intensity of the recent feuds, the match would now be a no-disqualification match. The crowd cheered, excited at the new development. Stipulation matches, especially ones that affected more than just the number of competitors in the ring, were always exciting.

All the competitors donned sadistic smiles at the news, but the grin on Randy Orton's face was particularly disturbing. You could almost see the violence he was planning to inflict on his fellow competitors if you looked deep enough into his fiendish eyes. Frankly, however, I didn't want to. The look he wore suggested exactly how dangerous his mind was, and I didn't much relish the idea of delving into its inner workings. The Viper was coiled, and I was sure, in that moment, that the match was already decided.

It turns out, however, that I was very much mistaken. Randy dominated the early parts of the matchup, but when all was said and done it was Christian who emerged from the carnage as the victor and new champion. It was ultimately his skill as a strategist rather than his skill in the ring that allowed him to win the title, but a win is a win, regardless of how you get it. He had crawled out of the ring when the match began, and had been all but forgotten as the three remaining men had worked methodically to destroy each other. Finally, when Sheamus had taken a World's Strongest Slam, and Mark Henry had been RKO'ed straight into a steel chair, Christian had rejoined the fray, delivering a Killswitch to a battered and unsuspecting Randy Orton, who was in the process of covering an unconscious Sheamus at the time. The shock factor, and the effectiveness of his one move, executed perfectly since he had not expended any energy yet, was enough to get him the win. And we will never hear the end of it, I thought dully as his music hit. I liked Christian more than most of the heels on the roster, but nonetheless. He would probably be almost as bad as Daniel Bryan was during what I like to call 'the era of the YES!'.

The tag team championship match was infinitely less thrilling. It was, in essence, a massacre. The Miz and, speak of the devil, Daniel Bryan, were both former World Champions of one sort or another. Santino and R-Truth were decent wrestlers, and very entertaining, but there was no contest in terms of skill level or experience. There was no way the titles were changing hands, and no one was surprised when they did not. There were, however, many murmers of disappointment from the crowd.

Finally the WWE championship was ready to be contested. I found myself on the edge of my seat as Punk entered the ring. He was the last of the three to enter, and the match began almost immediately after.

The match went back and forth, and back and forth again as the momentum shifted around between the three men. Tense moments ran rampant through the match as near-fall after near-fall got broken up by the third man in the ring. I found my hands clenched into fists as the intensity of the match took hold of me. The outcome, however, ended up embodying the worst of all possible scenarios, short of a serious injury. Alberto Del Rio capitalized on Punk's distraction after Punk knocked Cena out of the ring with an amazing kick to the temple while Cena stood on the apron, allowing Del Rio to lock in the cross-arm breaker, and ending the match in a submission.

I sank back into my seat, not even sure of when I'd stood, slumped in defeat. I felt I had much more of a stake in the mach than I actually did, but knowing that rationally didn't quell the feeling of extreme disappointment. Naturally I felt bad for Phil, and for John Cena to a lesser extent, but I also felt a sense of dread in terms of what the now three-time WWE champion would bring to the table.

I didn't see Phil again until we met to go back to the hotel considerably later that night. We actually left after the bus did for the first time. "You alright?" I asked carefully once we were belted in.

He shrugged. "Six seconds or six months. I shouldn't have let myself get distracted, but I'll get him next time. I just hope Cena wins his rematch. I don't want to listen to Del Rio's 'destiny' bullshit until Hell in a Cell rolls around."

I groaned, having momentarily forgotten Del Rio's tendency to go off on long schpeels about his supposed 'Destiny'. "Agreed."

The rest of the ride was silent, and I could tell Phil was thinking over every moment of his match, probably trying to learn from his errors. That or he was plotting Alberto Del Rio's sudden and…unfortunate…demise. Either way. I fell into a state of sullen pondering after important losses as well, and knowing how torturous it could get, I offered to take him to dinner to get his mind off things, but he refused. I didn't press the matter. Sometimes it's better to just get the brooding period out of the way rather than putting it off and having it hang over your head as a silent inevitability.

Since tomorrow's Raw would be held in the same arena as tonight's pay-per-view (for some reason that no one really understood; they almost never did that), we got to spend the night peacefully at the hotel instead of moving on immediately. In fact, we would be here for two nights, since the Raw roster had Tuesday off. Tuesday night would be spent on the road, but until then we got the opportunity to avoid the busses.

I attempted to sleep as soon as I got in, but the sleep I was looking for stubbornly avoided me. I'd slept a fair amount during my time off, however, so it wasn't really unsurprising, or that much of an issue. You can sleep when you're dead, I reminded myself dryly, settling in for a long night of watching crappy late-night TV.

A/N: It's really short, and yet, I think it took the longest time out of all the chapters so far to type up. Probably because I'm so distracted. Anyway, let me know what you think. I'll probably update again between Wednesday and Friday.