A/N: You guys are the coolest. Please, feel free to review as well as follow and fav, I love opinions and predictions make me even more happy. The song in this is called The Promise by In This Moment.

Roman had insisted that he escort Chelsea to her shooting session. She made him swear he wasn't going to stand there and watch.

Unfortunately, he wasn't entirely honest. The shoot was held within the hotel, because they had an immaculate suite open and available. The hotel manager was thrilled to have the room used in a WWE video and offered the key card as soon as John Laurenitis had asked.

Even though the shoot looked odd, a lot of cuts and actions, the idea was a solid one. One of the technology team members, the lone woman, had helped Chelsea put on some sort of photo makeup, so her face and skin looked flawless as ever.

He'd watched what Chelsea looked like while she put on her black mask, and wondered if she'd looked that beautiful every morning when she did.

He also watched the woman get frustrated, teary-eyed (with the help of Visine), then reel back and punch toward the mirror, which looked very much like the one at the beauty parlor his mom used to drag him to when he was a young child, to look through tons of magazines while she got her "hair did." He imagined the glass shattering, and thought how, regardless of the concept, she had no reason to be angry over how she looked. People just expected her to be something she wasn't, and that was a heavy load to carry.

But, that dress—he couldn't take his eyes off from her in it. It was a beautiful black and maroon colored gothic style dress, clinging to each of her curves. It fell right above her knees, without sleeves but black armwarmers pulled up to her elbows, accentuating her lean arms. The corset was tied up tightly in the front, pushing her breasts upward, and Roman could've sworn he'd drooled a bit. Wow! She wore black boots and sheer, dark colored tights.

The blonde lady had sprayed her dark hair a thousand times, making certain that not a single hair was going to stray, that her pretty curls stayed in place. Roman wasn't prepared for the final image, though—Chelsea destroying that gorgeous black dress, letting it fall apart in shreds by her own hands. He assumed the camera was staying above her black strapless bra, focusing in on her back tattoo. He was intrigued by the images, and he knew it was some sort of Greek mythology or something by the Latin…he didn't know anything about it, but he hoped that sometime during their stay in his home, he'd find out more.

They took shots around her, showing her grab on to her hair, her arms covered in black armwarmers. They got one final look from her, a look that spelled out death, as she peered from beneath her veil of hair.

And finally, they got her playing with broken glass, as though she was trying to re-assemble a mirror, a delicate red rose off to the side. The image was perfect: she looked like she was finishing a puzzle or sorts, hanging out in her black bra and some sort of spandex shorts.

Stop staring.

"That's a wrap," said someone, and Roman knew it was time to leave before she noticed that he was still being a creep. The woman brought over a robe for Chelsea, a smiled plastered on her face like she'd finished the shooting of an Academy Award-winning movie.

Roman stifled a laugh as he turned to leave, because the robe Chelsea was now wound up in was the most horrible shade of baby pink he could ever dream up.

The drive to Miami with Roman was kind of a long one, but they chattered like old friends. Chelsea couldn't believe how easily and naturally she was opening up to Roman. It was almost like he could pull any information out of her if he so desired. She hoped she wasn't just talking to fill silence, but she enjoyed that he listened, offering advice or comment once in awhile.

Chelsea told him about how her mom had gone off the deep end awhile ago, throwing herself into a life with her new husband. Toby had gone off to boot camp, and that was the only proud moment their mother had of Toby. Otherwise, he was the wild one, always getting into trouble and always causing some. Until Chelsea met Jeff.

She chattered about how she'd trained with Natalie, about how the Bella twins had kept their distance even though they didn't have any direct problem with her, and about how she'd suspected that the blonde woman was behind their silence. She mentioned that the women's division wasn't looking very hopeful right now, because the people with talent had either terrible gimmicks (Naomi) or were just outright hated (AJ).

She mentioned that she was still hurt that Nat hadn't invited her to the greatest Hart Foundation event of the year, her wedding.

She said that she'd hoped that the woman that was to take over AJ's title was an excellent champion, and that WWE didn't turn her into some sort of weak, girly champion that latched on to whoever, like they had with so many others.

Roman had asked her about her tattoo, saying he'd noticed that it was there, but didn't know what it was. And so, she talked about how many hours she'd sat through with her tattoo artist, deciding the perfect placement and imagined what Pandora's box really would have held. She showed him the medical symbol on her wrist, saying she was paying homage to the rap artist, Eminem, because he'd gone through some serious struggles. She'd learned that Roman's own tattoo was a Samoan tribal band, and that many men in his family had similar fashions.

Then she started telling him that no matter what she did, her dreams still revolved around her past. They were only bad memories, but she'd give anything to have the traditional being chased by a lion nightmare.

"Sometimes when you dream something, it's because your subconscious is still stuck on it," he told her. "Even when you think you've moved forward."

Chelsea picked at her dark purple fingernail polish that she'd only just put on last night. He knew that she still thought about Jeff, and saw him in her mind, and felt him every step. He probably also knew that she was dying to just let it all go. But how?

"Chelsea, from a friend—there are six, almost seven billion people in this world. Don't let one continue to ruin your life."

She looked at him, trying to keep her jaw from hitting the floor. For lack of a better metaphor, he'd read her like an open book.

He jerked the wheel, merging onto a highway. "We're only about an hour away now," he commented, catching her eye. As if he never said the previous comment at all.

She slid her sunglasses down from her head, the sunlight starting to annoy her eyes.

"He's not still ruining my life," she stated, trying to sound convincing.

Roman was grinning, almost cockily. "He's still a part of it," he shot back, though the tone was soft.

"He isn't even in it anymore."

"But you want him to be. You've kept the ends of your hair teal, just like his."

Chelsea laughed. "So because I dyed my hair to match his once upon a time, because he had a little bit extra mix, I want him in my life? Superman is actually the Hulk…the green one, with a small brain and a lot of muscle."

Roman dug an elbow into Chelsea's side, trying hard not to laugh and keeping his eye on the road.

"Why don't you change it, then?"

"I will!"

The next major exit, he turned off the highway, finding a drugstore on the main turnoff.

"Pick a color, any color," he said. "Not teal, or any form of teal. I'll be waiting."

He wondered if he was being harsh on Chelsea. But through the whole time they'd talked, he had to admit that she was a lot deeper of a person than he'd ever met. The woman wasn't one-dimensional…with women like Marissa or Summer, what you saw was what you got. Nothing special.

It was, however, high time that Chelsea chopped her damn binds. He'd always heard Naomi say "New hair, new life!" and maybe it'd work for Chelsea, too. At least when she looked at herself in the mirror, she wouldn't think of Jeff in the back of her mind. He was surprised that Dean was completely right about why she kept it the way she did, and he couldn't help but wonder how he'd know something like that.

Chelsea emerged from the building, a plastic bag in hand.

She sat down, clearly a little embarrassed.

"Well?" he said, prompting her to open the bag.

She pulled out a box of the Splat brand that Eva Marie was notorious for using. But instead of the flaming color she had, Chelsea held crimson in her hand.

"The lady at the beauty counter said it would cover the teal," she mumbled.

Roman hugged Chelsea, proud that she'd stuck to her word. She looked up at him, still in his awkward embrace. He was so close, all he had to do was bend down, and his lips would find hers….

She cleared her throat, pulling away. "So about that 2k14 rematch," she changed the subject, avoiding the fact that they just had one intense…moment.

He shifted the car into gear. "You can't beat me. Not this time. I was just going easy on you because I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

What the hell had happened in the parking lot?

Chelsea was pretty sure that Roman was about to kiss her. She sort of wanted him to. After he called her out on her hair, she was done for. She always thought that nobody knew the real reason she'd spent so much time trying to keep it from fading to Jeff's favorite teal to a greenish yellow.

But, you shouldn't miss people who don't miss you, right? Jeff had made it clear that he was done with her. All the times he was silent after she declared her love, and all the time she spent on a very one-sided love...she was starting to get choked up in regret. She closed her eyes, hoping to pull up a good memory.

"Chelsea," she heard Jeff whisper, and she moved, letting him lay next to her.

"I've missed you," she mumbled sleepily, an empty bottle of Jack next to her.

"I know." They stayed like that for a moment, and he pulled her face towards his, his kisses intoxicating. She began peeling her black t-shirt off, her breasts bouncing with release. Jeff breathed into her neck, and she felt his member thick through his basketball shorts. He smoothed her hair, pushing his body on to hers...

"I can't stay for long. I'm not supposed to be here," he murmured, his lips still caught on hers.

"You're only suspended," she spoke back. She hadn't expected him to turn up at all tonight, even though she'd been texting him in hopes that he would.

"For now. What if I won't be here anymore?" he asked, pulling away. His eyes shown in the darkness like stars.

Chelsea pulled herself up, her naked body chilled. She could feel her tears coming, her voice caught in her throat. She hadn't given thought to more action regarding Jeff's current suspension because it didn't seem like an issue. But what if he was fully expelled from the WWE? She'd be alone, without the only person who cared about her.

"This wouldn't work anymore," he said finally. "I mean...we couldn't work anymore."

Chelsea woke up in a second, throwing that memory back into the pile of crap it crawled out of. Who was she kidding? With Jeff, there was no 'good' memory. Besides, she could pull them out whenever she wanted, but the fact was, Jeff wasn't coming back.

She looked at Roman, who was concentrating on his driving. He looked back at her and smiled an almost knowing smile. Both were silent for a moment, and Chelsea fought the urge to pull out her iPod and blow her eardrums out. The ride had become very weird, and the air became almost stiff in Roman's car. Thoughts of Jeff danced in her head. She shifted, pulling her feet up on the seat like a little kid might do, holding her ankles.

Roman must've read her mind, because he flipped on the radio. He toggled the switch for a moment, and settled on something. It had a fantastic guitar riff, then slowed, the melody and female vocalist was haunting, similar to the late, great likes of Cher.

No matter what you say or what you do,

I know how this will end.

So I'm turning away now, before we begin.

I'm dangerous for you, dangerous for you.

Roman reached for the radio again, but Chelsea knocked away his hand. The song had been purely coincidental, but she had to know who and what it was—it was describing how she was thinking perfectly. She had to know how this song ended, because she couldn't help but wonder if that's how this, whatever this was, would end, too.

I'm dangerous, I'm dangerous for you,

My promise is, I will hurt you.

Well, that didn't sound too promising. Chelsea was fully aware that she was running from Roman, who had her back, and so far, hadn't judged her negatively for her past behavior, just the part where Jeff still controlled it. Like a puppet master of sorts. Regardless, she wanted to let Roman get close to her, but she couldn't help but feel like she was going to hurt the memory she held tightly of Jeff, her first love.

But Roman's words still hung in her head, urging her not to keep letting someone ruin her life. Maybe she should let Jeff go...besides, the truth was, there wasn't much left to hold on to.

Taking a deep breath, she switched off the radio, and slipped her hand onto Roman's, which was resting on the drive shaft. She wiggled her fingers into his large hands, and he turned towards her, his face knit together in question.

"If you want to get to know me…if you want to learn more….I think I'm willing to talk," she said, her thoughts just as jumbled as her words. "But it's not all perfect."

He looked at her for a long moment, then turned back to the empty highway. The words hung in the air, and all Chelsea could think was that perhaps she'd read him totally wrong. He was going to shoot her down, too. Take the rug right out from under her feet, and break whatever was left of the heart she had.

"I didn't expect it to be. Besides, perfect isn't real," he said finally, his eyes searching hers. Chelsea breathed a tiny sigh of relief, and he squeezed her hand with his. She had given Roman the go-ahead, the green light. She was going to talk to him about the bullshit she'd gone through, seen, and felt. That in itself was an accomplishment. One step at a time.

Or in this case, one giant leap.

Oh, yeah! :) Looks like a breakthrough, right? We'll see.