Author's note: Only one more chapter to go after this one, you guys.

"I'm glad we finally get the chance to talk," Nina's mother said and he cringed inwardly, because there was nothing in the world he wanted to do less than spend time alone with that woman. In the last 24 hours she had proven to be the bane of his existence, the thorn in his side. Around her he had trouble keeping that famed temper of his in check. On top of that her stares made him feel inadequate and he usually wasn't lacking self-confidence.

Despite all of that he forced a smile on his face and looked at her. "So what did you want to talk to me about?"

Mrs. Stewart threw him a taxing look. There was a brief moment of hesitance, which he would later remember and chalk up as one of the few decent things about the conversation. At least she had some reservations about saying what she was about to say. "Don't take that the wrong way, Stephen, I'm sure you're a nice person, but you're just not right for my daughter."

Now that was a show stopper if there ever was one. He turned towards her, away from the dirty dishes and the water in the sink he had previously dipped his hands into. He dried off his hands with a kitchen towel and just looked at her. She had given off a vibe of disapproval and rejection from the get-go, but her actually saying it was a different matter. He stuck out his chin, straightened his back, raising himself to his full, quite impressive height. "Why?"

"Well...," Mrs. Stewart faltered there. Obviously even the Wicked Witch of Hartford was somewhat self-conscious when it came to telling someone why he was unfit to date her daughter. "There is for one your job..."

"What about it?"

"Think about it, a published author dating a wrestling superstar... Doesn't that strike you as... well, unusual?" she inquired, looking at him pointedly over her horn-framed spectacles.

He narrowed his eyes. "Unusual? Maybe. Impossible? Inappropriate? No," he answered, trying to keep his voice down as his blood pressure was rising. What did she want to imply here? That he was too lowly to be seen dating her daughter?

"You must be aware that you come from two very different worlds. I mean, just look at yourself. You're a very physical person, whereas her job is all about creativity, inventiveness..."

"Things I have no idea of...," he supplied, frowning and cocking his head a bit to the right as he regarded her standing there across from him. She was leaning calmly against the kitchen counter, while she was saying all those nasty, disrespectful things to him.

Had they been in the ring and if she were a man, her little speech about his inadequacy would have been a verified pipe-bomb and he would have slammed her through a table for it. But this was the real world. Tables were used to dine at, not slam people through or sign fake big-ass wrestling contracts on. He tried to remind himself of that as he angrily blew out a bout of air through his nostrils and felt the heat rise from underneath the collar of his shirt.

"That's perhaps a bit harsh. How about we say they are things you have no natural inclination towards obviously...," she tried to amend somewhat. Maybe she had become aware that her words had been too offensive. Or maybe not, judging by what she said next. "This thing," she uttered the word 'thing' with a certain contempt, "between you might feel right now, but it's not going to last. How could it? It's purely physical. It has to be. For some reason I don't think there can be a connection on an intellectual level..."

He was seconds away from grinding his teeth. His options were limited here. Politeness was not one of them anymore. After what she had said to him he couldn't possibly fake anymore of those charming smiles. No. He was down to two options: leave her standing there or give her a piece of his mind. Since he was fuming and there was no other way he could channel his anger in a productive way (jog home instead of driving in the car? Not tempting), he chose to stay and talk to her.

"Okay," he said, clapping his hands together and wringing them for a brief moment. "And suddenly we're way past impersonal and polite..." He leaned against the kitchen island opposite of her, his arms now crossed over his chest. "Because clearly the way you've just said 'intellectual level' made me suspect that you think that I read picture books and doodle around with crayons at home."

"I...," she started, probably wanting to feed him some hypocritical excuse.

He held up his hand. "Nah! Don't bother. That's quite alright. You're entitled to your own opinion. But here's a thought for ya… How could we have made this relationship work over the last five months if there was no intellectual connection when sometimes all we can do at the end of a day is talk on the phone? So clearly this is not just about sex or physical attraction." He saw her flinch at the word sex and couldn't help smiling a self-congratulatory little smug smile.

"Still... Even if that were true..."

"Still the fact remains that I'm just not right for her?" he supplied, finishing her sentence. "Why? What is it that makes me not right?" he took a step away from the kitchen island towards her. "Is it because I love her? Does that make me all kinds of wrong? Or because I'd do just about anything to make her happy? That's got to be it, right? No...Wait!" he motioned at her not to say anything, despite the fact that all she was doing was standing there gaping at him. And she was right, the moment was gape-worthy. He was getting all worked up. "Aaaah! I've got it. Surely it is the fact that me intentions towards her are honorable or the fact that I'm fully committed to this relationship, right?"

"I can't help but notice you've become quite agitated," she observed coolly.

"Agitated?!" Stephen's eyes grew large. Her words had something unintentionally funny to them. He was standing there inside her kitchen, more pissed off than he had ever been in the last couple of years, just barely suppressing his anger and she used the word 'agitated'. A small smile spread on his face. It turned into a fully-fledged grin and then finally laughter broke out of him.

"Aaaaah, Mrs. Stewart, you're a funny ol' lady," he laughed, which obviously perplexed her so much, she remained silent.

"Seeing as I'm not the right fella for your daughter, please do let me in on who you'd prefer her to be with, so I can graciously point her in the right direction, should the right bloke ever come along," his anger had changed into some sort of bitter sarcasm now. He was also well versed in that, because before he had acquired all that muscle, he had had to rely on his wit alone.

Mrs. Stewart hesitated, which was a smart move. She saw the trap he had laid out for her, but could do nothing but walk straight into it. "It would have to be someone cultured..."

"Cultured?" he interrupted her. "So you would prefer her to date a bloke who loves the opera, but is too stuck up to strike up a conversation with her. You know your own daughter, right? She loves to get into those little verbal squabbles..."

"Let me re-phrase that...," Mrs. Stewart said with narrowed eyes.

"Please, do," Stephen conceded graciously.

"Someone intellectually capable of having an interesting conversation with her, someone who is wealthy enough to afford her a certain lifestyle..."

"I don't like to brag about that, but money's certainly not a problem," he interjected again and she just rolled her eyes. "Go on," he said with a smirk.

"Someone who loves her..."

"We've already covered that. Next."

"Someone who makes her happy..."

She paused waiting for him to interrupt her again, but he didn't. He was just standing there, looking at her calmly. "Weren't you going to interrupt me again?"

He shook his head. "I believe she is happy. She tells me she's happy. But if you really want to know, why don't you ask her?" He briefly stopped there for a moment, his face uncharacteristically pensive. His eyes were set on the kitchen floor, on those white tiles and their strange marbleization that made them not entirely white, but almost grey. He raised his eyes to her face. "You know what I've just realized?"

She shook her head.

"Us having this conversation is pointless. What really matters is what Nina thinks. If you want to know whether I'm the right guy for her, ask her. She tells me she's happy. And that's all I need to know for now. It's all that matters..."

Mrs. Stewart tried to come up with a retort. Anything to contradict this man, but there was nothing she could have said to prove him wrong. Begrudgingly she had to admit that that brute of a man, the wrestler who apparently loved her daughter, did have a point. So she resigned herself to a sigh, which indicated she would also have to resign herself to accepting her daughter's life choices, although she didn't like them.

The rest of the evening went by comparatively smooth. Her mother had reduced the amount of verbal barbs directed at Stephen. They were still there of course, just less malicious. Around nine Nina started to place strategic yawns here and there, until her father suggested they should maybe call it a night. About twenty minutes later she and Stephen were standing next to the car.

"Do you want to drive?" she asked him, already throwing him the car keys before he got the chance to answer. Thanks to the amount of food in her belly she felt a bit sleepy. Another yawn followed.

"Sure thing, Nini," he told her with a grin that was bordering on Cheshire Cat dimensions.

She let out a groan. She had been wondering when he would try to get in his first dig about her father's nickname for her. "Stop it!" she hissed as she got into the car. "Not funny."

He looked at the sulking woman sitting next to him and grinned. "Just so we're clear. Sleep all you want on the car ride back to your place, but once we're there, you're mine."

"You're mine?" she repeated with an incredulous snort. "Hello, Mr. Caveman?! Where's you club? You're going to need it if you want to charm me."

He quickly leaned in, so that his face was right in front of hers. She was overwhelmed by the mischievous expression in his blue eyes, the smug smile on his face and his sudden invasion of her personal space that still managed to give her goosebumps and made her stomach tingle excitedly. "I'm not going to answer that. You're not going to like what I'll have to say. You're going to tell me that I'm crude and a pervert. Let's just say I've always got it with me...," he wiggled his eyebrows at her.

"Eeewww, Steve! Seriously?!"

He just laughed at her outrage and started backing out of her parents' driveway. By the time they were driving on the highway her eyes were drooping and halfway on the way back home she was snoring softly, which left him with a little bit of a problem once he had parked her car in the street in front of her apartment building. Wake her up or carry her up? He decided on the latter alternative.

He rounded the car, opened the door and bent over her sleeping form to unfasten her seat belt. Since he would need two hands to carry her, he had to sling her handbag over his shoulder. He made a face and sent a silent prayer into the night that no one would see him like that, especially not one of those pesky paparazzi. He'd never hear the end of it once word got out to the other guys.

She shifted in her sleep and snuggled up against his chest when he lifted her out of her seat. With his hips he bumped the door shut and quickly pressed the button on the key that locked the car. Getting into the building and unlocking the door to her apartment proved to be two other hurdles which he took with some difficulty, but he succeeded without waking her up, which made him feel oddly proud.

He kicked open the door to her bedroom and finally placed her on the mattress, with her jacket, shoes and all. For a short moment he was bent over her when he let go of her. He could feel her breath on his cheek and hear her mumble something incoherent and then finally his name. "Steve." Almost like a sigh. Was she awake? No. He looked at her face. Still fast asleep.

He took off her shoes and when his hands started unbuttoning her jacket her nose briefly twitched. He smiled and stroked his index finger over the length of her nose. She opened her eyes. After all that carrying her around a simple touch like that was all it took? He was surprised, but also amused.

"Hey," she said with a smile.

"Hey," he answered back, looking at her sleepy face with a warm smile of his own.

"Always trying to get me out of my clothes," she remarked in a drowsy voice.

He nodded. "Yes, and for the record, I was going to get you into something more comfortable for bed."

"Sure, dear, something more comfortable. Right." Despite her sleepiness she still had that sarcasm down to scratch, while she blinked at him sleepily.

"No double-entendre there. Cross me heart."

Her gaze was more focused now. "Yeah. Right. How were you going to open the zipper at the back of my dress anyway?"

"Please! As easy as pie. I'm a wrestler, so you'd think I'd be able to get you out of a dress if I wanted to. Just a bit of lifting and bending, that should do the trick..."

"Huh? Lifting and bending... Sounds like the Kama Sutra." She let out a soft laugh and slowly sat up to unbutton her jacket and throw it to the ground.

"Awfully nice of you to bring that up," he grinned.

"Why?" she asked innocently, crossing her arms as she leaned against the headboard of her bed.

"Does it really need saying?" his hand had wandered from its position on the mattress right next to her right leg to her knee and was slowly moving up her thigh.

He had only wanted to provoke her a little. Maybe she was too tired for anything besides undressing and going to sleep anyway. He had been wrong. Apparently that little touch had already been too much. He hadn't counted on her practically jumping him. A soft "ooof" left his lips as she pinned him to the mattress, doubtlessly only succeeding in doing that, because he was surprised and quite honestly, maybe apart from lying on top of her, he couldn't imagine a nicer place to be.

She kissed him hard and already started to open the buttons of his shirt. Her fingers were clumsy and overeager and under normal circumstances he would have been worried for those buttons, but he was too occupied with unzipping the back of her dress to care.

He peeled her out of her dress, kissing her shoulders, running his hands over her skin. He managed to get the dress all the way down to her hips, for the rest however, she would have to stand up. She climbed off of him and got up from the bed. The dress slid down her legs and landed on the floor which left her standing there in only her underwear. He would have expected something black, but what he got was dark green.

"Nice," he whistled through his teeth, as he in turn hurriedly took off his shirt.

"Nice," she complimented him, letting her eyes roam over his chest in an appreciative, yet subtly teasing way.

He got up from the bed and came to stand right in front of her. Now without her high heels on her feet to give her the illusion of being a few inches taller, she felt even smaller standing in front of him. She placed her hand on his chest; underneath her palm she could feel his hard muscles, the warmth of his skin, the beating of his heart. When he placed his own hand on top of hers, she looked up to meet his eyes. For some reason sometimes just looking at him made her smile.

"So what about that club we talked about during the car ride?" she grinned.

His eyes widened briefly in surprise, before he started to chuckle. "How come a nice girl like you can be so naughty?"

She beckoned him closer with her index finger and he leaned down, so she could whisper into his ear. "Newsflash, fella, I'm not really a nice girl," she told him before she pushed him back on the bed.

Two weeks later.

"You know it's a pity, Chris that you never got to bust out those dancing moves against Fandango. I would have liked to see them," Nina told Chris Jericho. They were sitting on a couple of transport boxes in the endless corridors of yet another sports arena. No wonder they preferred those make-shift seating accommodations, because at the end of the corridor a little viewing area was set up with rather uninviting looking metal folding chairs. The TV there was blaring away at a rather high volume, so it was still audible in the corridor.

Chris had done the Highlight Reel earlier and Nina was waiting for Stephen to get back from the showers. They both were bored and chatting away and as if on cue, right after Nina's comment, Fandango's entrance music hit. Chris jumped down from his box with a beaming smile on his face. "Looks like your wish might just come true tonight." He held out his hand to her and beckoned her closer with a gesture.

Nina was someone always open for a little fun and games so she readily jumped down from her box as well and clasped his hand. They assumed dance frame and Jericho whistled through his teeth, clearly impressed by the fact that she knew how to do that correctly. "My mom insisted on us kids taking ballroom dancing classes when we were teenagers. She was quite adamant about it being a necessity, but I think it's a pretty useless skill... well, except for weddings and occasions like this," she explained.

Chris laughed. "I wouldn't say useless. That's a bit harsh. Just not good for anything other than showing off."

"Yeah," she grinned. "Isn't that sort of your thing?"

"Honey, you've got me all mixed up with that Ziggler kid," Jericho smirked and they started dancing a Cha-Cha to the Fandango's entrance song, amusing themselves by doing exaggerated poses and basically goofing around. It was hard keeping a straight face doing that. They both had to occasionally chuckle, but before the whole thing could dissolve into hysterical laughter they quickly admonished each other to keep it together whenever those chuckles threatened to endanger their performance.

Soon Jericho felt someone tap him on the shoulder. "Mind if I cut in?" a voice with a distinct Irish accent asked.

Jericho grinned and stepped back with a smile. "By no means, go ahead," he even did a little mock bow when he stepped away from Nina.

Nina's face lit up when she laid eyes on Stephen. "You can dance?" she asked him as he grasped her hands and pulled her close to him. Instead of an answer he almost immediately stepped on her foot. His left hand was a bit too low on her back and his elbows were down. He leaned down to give her a peck on the mouth. Obviously that had always been his intention, since he didn't seem to have any idea whatsoever how to Cha-Cha.

"Of course I can dance," he said, buffing his chest a little to make his point.

"Mmmmhmmm," she threw him a mocking grin. "Sure thing. That's why you've stepped on my toes just there." To emphasize her point she took a couple of steps back, probably to save her feet from further onslaught by his that were a couple of sizes larger and came attached to a body that was significantly heavier than hers.

"That was just me being excited over seeing you again," he shot back.

"Right, Michael Flatley. Come on, show us your moves," she challenging him with a grin, knowing full well that Stephen never backed down from a challenge.

"I will in a minute. Just you watch!" He held out his arms left and right of his body just like Fandango would do and swayed his hips as he walked towards her. First there was a comical expression on Nina's face. Her eyebrows were so high they almost disappeared in her hairline, then booming laughter broke out of her. She keeled over. The look on his face, those completely uncharacteristic moves... too much. She held on to the edge of the nearest transport box as she dissolved into a hysterical giggle fit.

"Oi!" she heard him call out in mock indignation. "You stop yer cackling instantly, lass or yer gonna get into trouble!"

She just looked at him with an expression that read 'Are you serious?' Tears of laughter were shining in the corners of her eyes and she was only able to maintain her composure for precisely 10 seconds before she burst out laughing again.

"I feel like you're not really taking me seriously," he bent down to meet her eyes, which didn't make it much better because he was grinning as well. She was bent over the transport box huffing and buffing as she tried to compose herself, wiping at her eyes. Her mascara was slightly smudged. He rubbed some of it away with a brush of his thumb, which made her beam up at him with an affectionate smile.

"I am taking you seriously. Who said I wasn't?" she said breathlessly and turned around to lean her back against the transport box. Jericho was standing across from them, smiling a million-dollar-smile. "But that wasn't a Cha-Cha. That was a turkey in heat."

Her remark made Jericho laugh, which, in turn, made Stephen frown in disapproval. That frown was however mostly fake, because it was unsuccessfully covering up a smile.

"Oh, come on! Stop acting the hard-ass!" she nudged him in the side. The smile was still on her face and laughter was shining in her eyes. She was beautiful.

"You know, Farrelly, some people say that your ability to dance says something about your ability to perform in the bedroom," Jericho tried to get in a good dig at Stephen's expense, but he hadn't counted on Nina jumping to his defense.

"If that were actually true, Stephen here would put good old Baryshnikov to shame," Nina smirked and laid a reassuring hand on Stephen's shoulder, who patted aforementioned hand with a huge grin. Forgotten was his previous ill-humor, since she had just given his male ego on hell of a boost.

"Too much information," Chris cringed.

"That's too much information, already? Seriously, Chris? I thought you being a rock star and all that would be a little tougher," Nina teased her friend.

"Right. What the smart lass here said," Steve laid his arms around her shoulders and pulled her closer to his side, his face full of smug pride.

"I just don't want you to put all those gruesome images in my head...," Chris shook his head as if he indeed wanted to get rid of those aforementioned images.

All that did however was bring out Nina's mischievous side. She turned her head to address Stephen with a malicious grin. "Steve, darling, have you put away the whipped cream and the ropes we used last night? I don't want to give housekeeping a massive shock." It was clear, at least to Stephen, but probably not Jericho, that she was joking, so the Irishman grinned and played right along with the joke.

"I have, but I think I've forgotten about the handcuffs and the gag."

Jericho made a retching noise. "Yikes! Thank you! Now I won't be able to sleep at night. Disgusting! I get when my company's not wanted..."

"Wait! We were going to invite you to a little orgy. You can bring your wife along. She's cute. Wear something black. Maybe latex. It doesn't stain that easily," Nina called after his retreating back.

"You're worse than the boys in the locker room!" he called back to them with a smile, which took the sting out of his words.

"I take that as a compliment. By the way, I'm only adapting to my environment, that's all," Nina shouted after him with a grin on her face. Chris waved her off with a grin and a wink.

When Jericho was out of hearing range, Stephen turned to Nina. "So wanna talk some more about how I'm an eye opener in between the sheets?" Stephen wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively. Apparently he was still hung up on the comment.

"Oh, please! You believed that? I only said that because of Chris. You're good, but not that good," she told him with a smirk. After all, that ego of his needed some deflating again. He had just come back from a fight during which thousands of people had cheered him on. He was bound to be a little cheekier than usual and she saw it as her job to put him in line again.

"Good... Right. I'll keep that in mind the next time you're moaning my name while we're at it," he told her with a self-satisfied expression on his face.

She opened her mouth to come up with a retort that would belie his words and to her utmost regret came up empty handed. "Alright. You're a sex god. There you go. I hope you're happy now," she said snidely.

"Yes, thank you. Very," he told her and lifted her up, so she came to sit on top of the transport box again. Now their faces were completely level, which enabled him to kiss her without having to lean down. He positioned his hands left and right of her thighs and stepped between her legs to lean in and press his lips to hers.

"Come on! Gross! If you want to do that, fucking head back to your hotel!" someone complained behind them. That someone was Phil Brooks, aka CM Punk.

Stephen heard him stop walking as if he actually expected them to jump apart at his words. No chance in hell! They both had no mind to do so. However, he did feel Nina remove one of her arms from around his neck. Apparently she had made some kind of rude gesture with it, because as a direct consequence Punk uttered an impressive string of rather rude expletives. Nevertheless Stephen believed he detected a certain amount of barely suppressed amusement and begrudging respect in the fellow wrestler's voice.

He broke away from Nina to see Punk walking down the corridor and gave Nina a questioning glance.

"I flipped him off," she said with a charming smile and a shrug.

"That was rude," he told her, throwing her an approving smile that was putting his admonishing words to shame. "Especially since his idea was rather brilliant. How about we head back to the hotel? I'm knackered, famished and I could use one of your patented back rubs."

She gave him a long calculating look.

"Oi! What's there to think about?" he rubbed the back of his head, regarding her with a puzzled expression on his face.

"Who said I was going to give you a back rub?"

"You. You promised three days ago when you arrived that you would give me a back rub each night."

"Now why would I do that? I must have been completely out of my mind. Did you drug me? Make me drunk? What did you do? Tell me!" she crossed her arms over her chest.

He took a step closer to her to lower his voice. Raunchy comments in the backstage area of a wrestling show were okay, but he wouldn't be able to get away with his next words if the guys heard. "You know full well. I tickled you into submission," he whispered into her ear.

She laid her hand on his chest and gently pushed him back. "You're right. I remember. That was cheating! And on top of it all extortion..."

"Why you little...," he started with a grin and was interrupted by Stuart's booming voice before he could finish the sentence.

"What's going on with you two love-birds? Trouble in paradise or just the usual routine?" He laid his hands on Stephen's shoulder.

"The usual routine," they both answered in unison and grinned.

"Right. Figures," he sneered. "Steve, bossman wants us all to stay a bit longer and do a meet and greet with a couple of fans after the show. Thought I'd give you a heads-up, mate."

"Okay, thanks," Stephen nodded. So dinner and the back rub were postponed to a later date. He threw Nina a questioning look. How would she take it?

The woman in question hopped down from the transport box she had been sitting on and came to stand between the two men. "No worries, sweetie-pie," she had doubtlessly just picked that endearment to torture him in front of Stuart, who registered it with a disbelieving snort. "I'm going to hunt down Johnny aka Fandango and tell him we're going to make his costume even flashier. He'll just love that," she grinned and rubbed her hands together.

"I bet he will," Irishman snorted. "Why do I have the feeling you're picking on that poor fella?" Stephen commented and Stuart nodded his approval.

"Me? Well, with Stu's World Heavyweight Belt gone, there isn't much left I can possibly do to him, can I?" she teased. "And picking on you will only result in me sleeping on the couch... So I chose to focus on my newest charge. Bag of skittles, as Miz likes to call him..."

"Good luck with that, sweetheart!" Stuart called after her with a smirk. The endearment at the end of his sentence was practically oozing with irony.

"Why thank you, grumpy-boo!" Nina called back in a fake British accent that had both men grin in amusement.

"See you later!" Stephen said and threw her one last admonishing glance. "A word of advice, though: Try not to piss off anymore wrestlers tonight, luv. I've already changed out of me gear."

"Yeah! Yeah!" she waved him off before she disappeared around the next corner.

When he got back to the hotel room, he expected her to be royally pissed off with him. They had arrived there separately. The meet and greet with his fans had taken longer than anticipated. On top of that, in front of the arena, he had run into the arms of another group of people who wanted their tickets signed. He had given her the keys to the rental, so he had had to ride the bus back to the hotel with the other wrestlers. All of those things had contributed to him being late.

He pushed the door to their shared hotel room open with a feeling of guilt and exhaustion. This day had been entirely too much. He expected her to be either fast asleep or waiting for him with a frown on her face and a lot of recriminations on the tip of her tongue. Instead he found her sitting on the bed, the muted TV running in the background, staring at the screen of her laptop with a frustrated expression on her face.

"Hey," he said softly, not wanting to startle her. It felt like he was invading a private moment or maybe disrupting her creative process or whatever it was that writers needed to do to get into the zone.

She looked up at him, the expression on her face blank, leaning a tiny bit towards depressed.

"Hey," she croaked and cleared her throat immediately after. That single word sounded a tiny bit nasal, as if her nose was blocked. Was she all right? He stepped closer to her and scrutinized her with narrowed eyes and a frown. The dim light of the TV provided, was not enough to form a sound judgment, so he switched on the lamp on the nightstand right next to her. She narrowed her eyes and hissed just like one of those vampires from the movies when confronted with broad daylight. Only that despite her paleness she wasn't a vampire and artificial light shouldn't have bothered you.

He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. It was warm and clammy, so he knew there was something wrong. "Feels like your temperature is elevated," he told her matter-of-factly and she just waved him off muttering something under her breath ill-humoredly.

He sighed. Great, on top of everything today he would have to deal with a stubborn, pig-headed woman, unwilling to acknowledge that she was coming down with something. It was obvious she was, but letting him see that she had weaknesses and flaws like everyone else was a problem to her. This would not be pleasant. In fact dealing with her in that state would rival a Herculean task. Well, let the games begin!

He closed her laptop. That certainly got her attention. A pair of tired glassy eyes was immediately directed at him in a death glare. "Steve!" she admonished him, her voice sounding raspy and not at all like it belonged to her.

"Don't 'Steve' me. You're coming down with something."

"I am not," she said and started coughing.

"Are too," he told her with in a tone of voice that left absolutely no room for discussion whatsoever. Steve was someone who joked around a lot, but when he got serious, things had to be pretty bad. "Tell you what, lass, if you don't want to rely on my judgment, why don't we call on a professional like say for instance Doc Sampson?" Doc Sampson was the WWE's own ringside physician and on top of that, someone Stephen trusted.

Nina made a face like she had just patted a slimy slug with her bare hands. She wanted to protest that Stephen's idea was childish and nonsensical, but actually it made a lot of sense. She was feeling sort of under the weather. Still she didn't like the idea of letting him see her like that. Like a wounded animal she usually preferred to retreat somewhere away from the rest of the world until the symptoms of her sickness had passed and it felt safe to return to the loving fold of society. She didn't have that option now. It was too late to run and hide away from him. But that didn't mean she couldn't still be gruff and irrational about the fact that he would now see her at yet another personal low point. She watched him with her arms crossed over her chest in defiance as he got out his cell phone and called Sampson without even waiting for her agree with him.