Disclaimer: I don't own anyone, other than Christabel.
Rated: M
Warning(s): Slash, Mpreg, Violence, Domestic Violence, Murder, etc.

"You there, Cena?" These were the first three words to break into the haze of John's delirium. Pained eyes slowly fluttered and worked to focus in on his boss, Vince McMahon.

"Yeah. I'm here." John cursed under his breath as he shifted uncomfortably. His knee was incredibly stiff and it took him a minute to realize that it was concealed in a heavy white cast. "What happened?"

Vince chuckled dryly. "What happened? Evan Bourne went off the deep end, that's what happened. He broke into your hotel room and put three bullets into Randy and then shot you in the knee. He's dead now."

John was hesitant to ask, but he knew that he had to. "Did he… kill himself?" His voice was low and shaky. He didn't want to think that such a sweet boy could do that, but at the same time, he didn't think he could shoot them either.

"No, he didn't kill himself. At least, I don't think that he did. The back of his skull had been crushed by a blunt instrument. Most likely, it was the bloody base of the umbrella found nearby."

He felt a pang of remorse as he remembered putting the base of the umbrella through the poor boy's head. "Have you heard about Randy's condition?" He asked.

Vince met his eyes. When he saw the worry there, he motioned for John to relax. "I haven't heard much. Doctor-Patient confidentiality laws and all that. But, I do feel the need to tell you this…"

John's eyes widened. "What is it? Does he have a fatal wound? Does he need an operation? A transfusion? A transplant? Whatever he needs, I'll -," but Vince raised one hand and cut the Cenation leader off.

"It's not like that, John. This isn't a bad thing. The doctor wanted me to inform you that Randy is three months pregnant. The bullet in his spine missed the baby by mere centimeters. You were incredibly lucky."

John's eyes widened considerably at the mention of the 'b'-word. Sure, he and Randy had occasionally entertained the idea of children. However, it had never been a topic which John had approached seriously. After all, both he and Randy were all-but-married to their careers. John was knee-deep in a feud with WWE Champion CM Punk and Randy was recovering from a nasty beat-down at the hands of The Shield.

It seemed more than a little foolish to force an innocent child into this mess. Randy would be on maternity leave back at their home in Florida while John traveled. John would offer to stay home with him, but Randy would refuse. Like the stubborn mule that he often epitomized, he would suffer in silence so that John could be happy. Randy was always incredibly conscious of what John wanted out of life and, more specifically, out of their relationship.

A child? A child. How the hell could this have happened? He almost asked the question aloud, but when he realized how stupid it sounded, he hurriedly brushed that idea aside. The last thing he needed was to have 'the talk' with his boss. He was fully aware of how babies were born and conceived, and after witnessing Ricardo carry Christabel for seven months and ultimately have her cut out of his body in a c-section, he realized that anything was possible.

But it also stirred up several questions as well. Randy hadn't exhibited any of the normal signs of a pregnancy, like morning sickness or odd cravings. If he was three months along, surely John would have noticed by now? Or, the fact that he hadn't put on any weight. But that could have been a combination of stress, extreme work-outs, and his pack-a-day habit. It was just so much to take in, and in his medication-hazed state, it was all very difficult.

"Have you been in to see Randy?" John asked after several moments of silence. Vince nodded absently. His fingers worked furiously over the silver keys of his laptop. "What did he look like?"

"Well, Johnny, that depends." Vince finished his e-mail and closed the lid to his computer, setting it aside for a moment. He leaned back in the chair and crossed his hands behind his head. "You want the truth, or the sugar coat?"

John shifted uneasily. It was never a good answer when someone had to preface it with that sort of statement. "I want the honest truth, Vince. I can take it."

"Randy looks like shit. I know that I told you that the baby survived the rain of bullets, but I can't honestly say that I understand how. He looks like a human cork-board, John."

Blue eyes watered as he realized that, had he been a little faster, a little stronger, he could have defended his boyfriend better. "That good, huh?"

Vince noticed the tears before John did. "Don't let it get you down, kid. Randy's a trouper. He won't let some silly little mess like this get the best of him. The doctor's say he'll regain consciousness soon, and -,"

"He's not even conscious?" John screamed. His heart monitor started to beep erratically.

"He lost a lot of blood, John. He's lucky he's not dead."

A cold wave of dread washed over the Cenation hero. Even as the heater kicked on in the distance, he felt his body slowly succumb to the icy cold of self-hatred. It was his fault that Randy was like this. He shouldn't have woken him. It had been such a stupid decision and not only had he endangered Randy's life, but he had put the unborn child's life on the line as well. How could he live with himself if one of them died?

He was sure that Vince noticed his mental rant, but if he did, he didn't mention it. Maybe it was because Vince blamed him as well. Everyone blamed him for this mess. Anger bubbled in him as he stared down at the cast on his knee. Why couldn't he have been the one to be shot three times? Why couldn't his body have been torn to shreds by the bullets? Because surely, that pain would have been pleasant compared to the way his heart ached right now.

"I can see that you need some time to digest this information." Vince said as he started to tuck his stuff away. "You two have as much time off as you need to heal. Don't rush it. That'll only make it worse."

Vince was almost out the door by the time John called out to him. "Vince?"

"What is it, John?" Vince turned around to face him, a sympathetic look in his eyes.

"Could you send in the nurse with my pain medication? It's almost time for it and I feel like I'm about to die." He said weakly. And every word that he uttered was true. But morphine wouldn't fix the pain he felt in his heart.

"Can do, kiddo." The door slid closed with a soft click behind him.

The nurse arrived a few minutes later, his morphine in a tiny condiment cup in her left hand and, in her right, a Dixie cup filled with cold water and ice chips. He thanked her with a weak, but still effective smile. Swallowing the pills dry, he took a few gulps of water and then threw both into the nearby trashcan. The nurse scribbled a few notes into his chart, shot him a brief smile, and then went off to find her next patient.

Two hours later, they were on their flight. Since there had been no flights directly to Mexico at such short notice, Alberto had booked them two different flights. The first left from New York City and would travel to New Orleans. From there, they would take their connection to Mexico. Alberto had called his father earlier and he anxiously awaited their arrival. Like Alberto had predicted, he had been skeptical at first. But he had started to come around.

Ricardo nervously toyed with Christabel's silken brown locks. Even with Alberto's constant reassurances about his father, he was still incredibly uncomfortable with this entire ordeal. Alberto attempted to reassure him that his father had changed. Just like Alberto had been through a transformation, his father had been through one as well. He had seen the light in Christabel's eyes and he wanted to see her. And of course, he would love her mother also.

But Ricardo was not so sure. Ricardo had been Alberto's first 'rebellion' from his father, so to speak. Alberto's father was well-aware of the fact that Ricardo was homosexual, even before Alberto himself knew. His father liked to call it 'fatherly intuition'. He had lectured Alberto about not associating with his kind, but Alberto had been adamant. And when he called Ricardo his friend, his father had disowned him for the first time. It lasted two and a half hours.

Alberto was an only child. And, as a child, he had been a prodigy. Gifted at almost everything he attempted, he was the light of his mother and father's eyes. It was in his teen years, however (this, of course, had been when he first met Ricardo) that he started a silent 'rebellion' against them. Since he was their only child and they claimed to love him unconditionally, they would never disown him for long. But it killed Alberto every time that they did so.

Alberto assured Ricardo that his father would be able to connect with Christabel because they had always wanted a son and a daughter, but God had gifted them with a son and, try as they may, that was the only child that they were meant to have. Even if she were his granddaughter, she would still be the daughter that he had always desired. That was something that clicked for Ricardo. Maybe there was hope for this visit…

However, as they drew closer to their connection site, he only drew more uncomfortable in his own skin. Not only was Alberto's father incredibly homophobic, but he was also abusive. Not to his wife or child, of course not. He was abusive to the staff that served him and his family, which included Ricardo. On one memorable occasion, he had been spanked in front of Alberto for not folding the napkins on the dinner table correctly. It had been awful.

Wrapping his arms around his two loves, he promised Ricardo that that was all in the past. He may have been abusive then, but he was different now. Time doesn't stand still just because the players on the board don't know what move to make. His father had suffered, just as Ricardo and Alberto had suffered. Maybe the context was different, but the end result was much the same. He was a different man. He was a better man.

Ricardo looked down into Christabel's sweet face. The three-month-old suckled on her binky, her tiny fists balling Ricardo's expensive suit into equally expensive wrinkles. Mentally, he calculated how much it would cost him to have those smoothed out at the tailors. Almost two month's salary, to be honest. But then he remembered that they were married now, Alberto's money was his money. And a thick hand slithered across his chest to smooth out the wrinkles.

Their eyes met. Alberto's were hopeful. In them, Ricardo could see how much he truly wanted all of this to work. He wanted everyone to walk away from this experience satisfied, no matter how difficult that seemed. He sighed. When had he ever been able to deny Alberto anything? It wasn't in his nature. No, it was Ricardo who would submit to Alberto's desires and follow him to Hell and back, if Hell was where he desired to go.

And it was in that moment that he realized he would do so without complaint, because that was how much he loved his man…