A/N: School's over, but now I'm working six days a week. The world seems to be conspiring against me ever updating again. Regardless, here I am, finally. Oh and just a note, I didn't realize that we'd hit 100,000 words with last chapter, but that's a huge milestone, so thank you guys for sticking by this story for as long as you have. And thank you especially to my reviewers. I love you guys.

I woke up the next morning after sleeping for an amount of time that could be loosely classified as a coma, feeling like I'd gotten run over by a Big Red Mach Truck. Which, I suppose, I had been. I only remembered that I was in Phil's room when I saw him sitting in a chair, grinning slyly at me. "What?"

He smirked. "Just thinking."

I raised an eyebrow, and when that actually caused pain, I was suddenly struck with a determination not to move from my current position for the rest of the day. "About what?"

"Well," his patented Punk smirk remained on his face as he answered. "I just realized that while we've had our first sleepover, I haven't actually taken you on a proper date yet. And since we don't have to get on the road tonight, I was trying to figure out the proper way to ask you out. But then you woke up and ruined my plan."

I laughed. "Sorry about that. So, you were planning on asking me out?"

"Something like that, yeah. So, are you interested?"

I grinned. "When did you have in mind?"

"I just got us reservations for six if that works…" he answered.

"Perfect" With that in mind I dragged myself out of bed with no small amount of effort, cringing often, and letting out a soft gasp as my right leg hit the floor and pain shot through my knee. Fuck me. I hope this doesn't happen every time I have a match. Otherwise there's gonna be a real problem.

"How's your knee feel?" Phil asked. I was facing away from him when I rolled out of bed, so he didn't see my reaction, but was being his usual intuitive self.

I gritted my teeth and turned towards him putting what I was hoping was a convincing smile on my face. I didn't want him worrying about it when I was in the ring. "It's fine."

He raised his eyebrows at me and said in a patronizing tone, "Sure it is. But you should still put ice on it before we go out."

I agreed, saying I'd do it right after a much-needed shower. The shower gave my muscles an excuse to relax a bit, and between that and the required icing session I felt considerably better, and was able to get ready for our date with relative ease.

Phil assured me that the restaurant was informal, so my preparations were minimal. My one nod to the fact that it was a date and not just a normal outing was that I wore my hair down for the first time in months. The rest- a silver v-neck shirt and black pants, was fairly standard for me. Phil wore a plain black t-shirt and jeans, which just further assured me I wasn't underdressed.

We acted entirely normal until we left the hotel, not wanting our relationship public. But once we walked into the restaurant, Phil took my hand. "What if someone sees?" I whispered.

"Fuck them." he said easily.

I laughed, and followed him to the table. We ordered a couple of Pepsis, then began to engage in some idle chit chat. I realized that I really had no reason to be nervous that dating him would change much. It was just like our outings when we were just friends. The only difference was our clasped hands resting on the table. It's just Phil, I reminded myself, calming the butterflies in my stomach. He's the same sarcastic, sweet, caring jerk he's always been.

Our meals consisted of fantastic Mexican food. Phil insisted on covering the bill, despite my protests, then we walked around the city for a while, just enjoying the sights. The night was simple, but in my eyes, it was perfect, and I told him so when we got back to the room.

He responded by planting a kiss on my lips that made my heart race and saying "perfect huh? I've gotten plenty of compliments in my life, but that's a new one. I guess I gotta keep you around then." I swatted him and turned on the tv, and as we settled in to watch, I realized I was happier than I'd been in a long time.

Neither of us got much sleep that night, for no real reason, so by the time we got on the road the next day we were both tired. Or at least I was. Phil, on the other hand, had told me once that he was fine only sleeping a couple times a week. At the time I'd found it hard to comprehend. Seeing it in action, however, had made me decide he was just one of those lucky people who could get away with it.

The ride wasn't bad, but the house show wasn't anything to write home about. I faced Evan Bourne, getting the win by keeping him from going all high-flyer on me. Punk faced the Miz in a squash match. All in all, the card was a bust, and the crowd knew it. They were dead practically the entire night. "Who the fuck set these matches?" I asked to no one in particular as I peered through the curtain at the eerily silent crowd.

Zack Ryder-who had apparently materialized out of nowhere as I watched the crowd- answered my question, startling me in the process. "I guess Triple H had a family emergency or something. The card was set last minute."

"By who? A garden gnome?" I ranted, pissed that the crowd who had paid good money to come see us was getting the short end of the stick.

"Vickie apparently" Zack replied. Well, that answers a few things.

"Is she running Raw next week?" I groaned at the prospect. We didn't necessarily have any bad blood between us, but I got the sense from the looks she gave me that she wouldn't mind seeing me get run over by a passing train. Then again, that could just be her face. I wasn't sure. Regardless, she was incompetent, and I didn't want to see her in charge of anything more complicated than a mop.

"There was some talk of it, but I doubt it after tonight. Hopefully Hunter will be back. Otherwise, I don't know." Zack shrugged, getting ready to make his entrance.

"Alright. Well, good luck out there."

I gave up on staring through the curtain and went back to the backstage area, finally finding Phil's locker room and entering quietly. What I saw scared the hell out of me. Phil was sitting on a bench, his head in his lap, and from what I could see of him he was as pale as a sheet. "Phil?" I asked tentatively, "what's wrong?"

He looked up at me, and I saw unshed tears in his eyes. "I just got a call….my sister… she's in the hospital… she may not make it."

At his words I sat down next to him, wrapping my arms around him. "Oh god Phil, I'm so sorry. What happened?"

He shook his head, rage fighting to win out over sadness in his eyes. "Some asshole ran into her with his car. Hit and run. They can't find him, but they think he was hyped up on something."

I began to feel anger of my own at whoever the driver was for causing Phil that much pain. "Okay. What do you need?"

"I've got a flight out in an hour. Can you drive me to the airport?" he asked quietly, staring at the wall eerily.

"Of course." I grabbed his hand and dragged him to his feet. "Come on. We'll get your stuff and go."

He followed me, moving with a level of speed and determination only reached by someone who is desperately afraid. We made a split second stop at the hotel to grab his bags, then I proceeded to speed to the airport. The car ride was silent. Icouldn't figure out what to say. No words can make that easier to deal with.

I let him out at the door for the sake of speed, though I wanted to walk him to the gate in the hopes of finding some sort of encouraging words at the last minute, but there were none. Instead I pulled him into a hug as best I could in the car. "Call me okay?"

"I will. Thanks."

I nodded, and waited until he was out of sight to drive away, ignoring the car horns behind me. Driving back to the hotel, I realized I was scared, scared for him. His sister was basically the only family he had, and I knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself if something happened to her. He took his role as the older brother very seriously, and would blame himself despite, or because of, the fact that he was nowhere near Chicago when the accident happened.

Finally I got back into the room , and I curled up in a ball on the bed, waiting for his call. It didn't come, and I finally fell into a dreadful, restless sleep. I woke up every ten minutes or so, checking my phone, then rolling back over, trying to ease the knots in my stomach from worrying about him so much.

When it was finally a decent enough hour, I rolled out of bed and packed my things. The tour bus was waiting for me, in spite of Phil's absence, so I spent a long, nearly twenty-four hour bus ride entirely alone. Finally, the next morning, I got the call. Phil said that his sister was stable, but in a coma, and that he wouldn't be coming back until she woke up and he got to talk to her. According to the doctor, that could take a week or more.

"Do you want me to come?" I finally asked, wanting more than ever to be there for him. To be there with him.

"Vince won't let you." Phil said, and I knew he was right. "And even if he would, I don't want to drag you down here. But I appreciate it. You have no idea how much that means."

I growled at the stupid restrictions in WWE but agreed. "Keep in touch alright? And let me know if you need anything."

"I will" he promised, and we hung up soon after. I flopped back onto the tour bus couch, only slightly less concerned than I'd been before the phone call. Phil had sounded marginally better, but his sister was still clearly in dire straights, and knowing him he was spending 24 hours a day at the hospital, not sleeping at all. I should fucking be there. I berated myself, the WWE, and anything else I could think of, but to no avail. There was absolutely nothing I could do. And I hated it.

My thoughts were cut off as we reached the hotel. I thanked the driver and dragged my bags into the hotel before forcing my way through a painfully long workout at the gym in the hopes of wearing off some of my energy. I had just enough time to shower before heading to the house show.

My opponent for the night was Damien Sandow. Now, normally I have no problem with the guy. In fact, I like him. But I was pissed. And he was in my line of fire. It was a slaughter match in which the Intellectual Savior of the Unwashed Masses barely walked out of the match. I felt bad about it, but not all that bad. I didn't really have it in me to feel all that bad.

After my match I stormed through the hallways to catering, or at least that was my destination before Lita grabbed me. "Hey. Why do you look like you want to rip out someone's throat? And why did you torture Damien?"

"It's Phil" I explained. "His sister's in the hospital and… I'm just worried about him. And pissed that there's nothing I can do."

She nodded. "Is she okay?"

"She's in a coma. I guess the doctors think she'll be alright eventually but Phil's obviously going to stay until she wakes up."

After considerable prodding, she convinced me to go out with her and Adam that night. It ended up being a really good decision. Nothing could really take my mind off Phil, but even the partial distraction was good. And it gave us all a chance to talk strategy. I guess Kaitlyn was coming up next week to be a part of what was now Lita's movement in the women's division, and the Bellas and Eve were on their way out. That just left Beth and Natalya as the black sheep, which was fine. Meanwhile, Adam and I discussed all the members of the Elimination Chamber matches and who would be best to face at Wrestlemania. Then the conversation moved on to non-wrestling things, and I found that I was having a good time in spite of myself.

I went back to the hotel that night and talked to Phil for a while on the phone. There had been some slight improvement in her brain function, and his voice sounded a bit brighter. I reassured him as best I could with my nonexistent medical knowledge, and when we hung up I at least felt confident that he would be okay.

The next few days passed in a blur. House shows came and went, but their significance was lost on me. It was only that Saturday, when I finally got the call from Phil that his sister had woken up and was definitely trending in the right direction for a full recovery that things started to return to normal. He said he'd be back in time for Monday Night Raw, despite everyone's insistence that he not rush things. I had to admit… I couldn't wait to see him.

He got off the plane just in time for us to head to the arena, but that didn't stop me from pulling the car over to the side of the road and pulling him into a kiss that lasted for several minutes. "I'm so glad she's okay." I finally said when we pulled away.

He smiled back at me. "Me too. By all accounts she…she shouldn't be. But she is, and that's what matters."

"Yeah, it is."

"Listen, thank you for… you know…" he began.

I shook my head. "Oh no. None of that. Phil, leaving out the number of times you've saved my ass in the past six months alone, that's what…" I stumbled over my words, looking for the right one "…partners. That's what partners do. Besides, I feel like I should've been there."

He shook his head. "There's no way that you could have been. And honestly, there wouldn't have been anything for you to do that you didn't do on the phone anyway." He looked at the clock. "Fuck. We're gonna be late."

Looking at the clock as well I realized that we had lost a lot more time than I'd predicted. With that, we sped off to the arena, leaving the serious discussion behind us. By the time we reached the arena, I was calling Phil a girl, and the status quo had been restored.

A/N: I hate this chapter. Like, you guys have no idea how much I hate it. That's why I cut it short. I'm hoping I can actually get my writing abilities back, and next chapter will be about 1000% better. Until then, please consider this a fluke and a filler chapter. And I promise the next update will come more quickly. And it'll hopefully suck a lot less.