A/N - Oh my word, I have been blown away by the response to this story! I'm so glad that people have taken to the planned pairing and that you guys are looking forward to reading more - I really do hope you guys enjoy this second instalment. As always, please leave me your feedback as I love hearing from you all.

Thank you again for reading and please let me know what you think!

July, 2013

The limited space of his tour bus had never been more obvious to Randy as he attempted to stretch out his arm, the after-effects of the LeBell lock still causing him problems hours after his match. How it had come to him wrestling Daniel Bryan, he couldn't quite remember… Something about a weak link, had that been it? Truthfully, he didn't care – wrestling alongside Daniel and Kane had been holding him back and it was best to shed that kind of dead weight. The kind of dead weight that made him submit, admittedly, but it was still dead weight.

Slumping onto the sofa, he heaved a sigh; in less than a year, he had gone from being on top of the world, World Heavyweight Champion and ruling SmackDown to… Getting beat up by a man who looked like a homeless goat. And smelled like one too… Randy thought bitterly, helping himself to a bottle of Jack Daniels from the small drinks fridge he'd had installed the moment he bought the bus. He'd had ideas of grandeur back then, assuming he'd be entertaining at least occasionally but, as it had gone, entertaining had been the last of his worries over the last few years. Pouring a large measure, Randy raised the glass to his lips.

He'd never been particularly popular within the company, though he had had some temporary acquaintances over the years – temporary acquaintances who, he had found, were quick to leave when you kicked them in the head… And once again, he had been left to his own devices. Except this time, he truly was on his own.

The divorce had been finalised little over a week before and, though he had certainly been aware of it – hell, he had actually been thankful of it – the finalisation of the process had hit him a little harder than expected. Thirty-three years of age, no title prospects and a recent divorcee: it was not how he'd pictured things ten years ago...

Ten years ago, he'd been the shining star, the bright up-and-comer, the one that Vince McMahon bragged about. Better than his father, better than his grandfather, hell Vince even joked that he had potential to be better than Triple H… Gulping down his drink, Randy quickly filled his glass again, keen not to let it empty. Less than a year later he'd proved to the world that Vince was right all along – that he was better than Triple H. And he'd paid for it ever since.

He knew the obsession with Hunter wasn't healthy – that's what Samantha had called it. An obsession. Said it wasn't normal for a grown man to be so fixated on another. But she didn't understand – she couldn't! – and all she saw was the wreck their home had been in after Hunter had broken in. But the fact was that everything – everything – about Randy's life in the last ten years had some connection to that bastard. Even the bus had been bought out of sheer jealousy and spite.

Draining and refilling the glass a second time, Randy pushed to his feet and taking a handful of steps, made his way to bed. The bus had been a good idea though, he thought, settling in amongst the pillows. Perhaps it was because, at home, he still slept in the bed he'd shared with his now ex-wife, but the bed on the bus felt like sleeping on a cloud in comparison. Settling his bottle and his glass beside him, he made himself comfortable before reaching for his phone.

He knew why he lost that evening, of course: it had nothing to do with Daniel Bryan's ability and everything to do with what he'd seen – no, who he had seen – just ten minutes before his match. He'd heard whispers for weeks now that the old man couldn't cut it, that he'd grown tired of running the day-to-day business. Some had even gone as far as to blame Randy – "Vince hasn't been right since he was punted in the head," he'd heard one lackey say and, frankly, there had been a hint of pride to know he instilled that level of fear amongst the guys backstage but he doubted that he had anything to do with Vince's taking a step back. No, that would have been all Hunter's doing.

Vince reducing his duties within the business hadn't been a shock to him – no, that day always had to come – but seeing who would be stepping up? That had been the real shock. In truth, he had expected to see Shane to put up a fight, to see a bit of a power struggle backstage between he and Hunter. But instead there was a distinct lack of the older McMahon and, in his place, side by side with Hunter was her.

There had been a moment – just one – when she'd caught his eye and, while he had undoubtedly won the staring contest, there was no denying the fearful look in her eyes. But what was she scared of, he wondered? Was it that she worried he would hurt her? It wouldn't be the first time, admittedly… But no, he thought, it couldn't be that. She knew him better than that. There was no statement to be made by hurting her backstage, not after all these years. Instead, he was sure she was worried that he would expose her in front of Hunter. That was much closer to his wheelhouse.

Taking another sip of his Jack Daniels, Randy frowned. When had he last seen her in person? It was certainly years rather than months. Sure, their paths had crossed plenty of times and she'd been backstage at multiple pay-per-views but he had always been careful to avoid her… but had it really been three years ago? Brow furrowed, he placed his glass on the side table and began to pick at his lip while he thought. Had it really been back when he'd kissed her?

Now that, he thought, had not been a lapse in judgement… He could still remember how angry Hunter had been, positively spitting in anger, horrified not just at Randy hurting his wife, but that he'd been twisted enough to kiss her, right there in the ring when she was out cold... right in front of him. If only he knew what I done when his back was turned…

Without taking a moment longer to think about it, Randy opened up the 'New Message' option in his phone, seeking out her number before typing out a solitary message: We need to meet up. I have a proposition for you.

It took her four days to reply, and after three he began to think that perhaps she had changed her number in the last few years. Not that that would matter, of course – one of the perks of her being a beneficial owner of the business was that HR would almost definitely give him her number, despite their questionable history. But, when she finally replied on the fourth day with a simple 'I'll be at Raw', he was glad that he didn't have to go to the added hassle, especially when he had some logistics to work out.

When Monday finally came around, Randy was more than ready and, texting her with direction to meet him in one of the production trucks, he made his way to RAW. They'd used the production trucks before, back when they needed the privacy from Hunter, and he knew just how easy it was to clear them with a menacing look and a growl, which was exactly what he did once he reached the arena.

As the crew scuttled from the truck, one of the assistants near tripping over himself as he fled down the stairs, Randy made himself comfortable. While he waited, he glanced over the television schedule for the evening. A match with Kane? That would not be happening. Not if Steph agreed to his proposition and, funnily enough, he had a good feeling that she would.

When he heard the tapping of her heels on the metallic steps outside, the former champion turned in his chair, wanting to look her dead in the eye when she finally entered. In a tight pencil skirt and a deep red silk blouse, Steph looked every bit the perfect businesswoman, though there was something about the way she walked in those skirts, in those heels that was anything but professional in his eyes… Randy felt his lips pull into a smile as she closed the door behind her. "What do you want, Orton? And make it quick," she said, drawing his eyes to her mouth, her lips matching the colour of her blouse.

"Orton, is it? And here was me thinking we were on first name terms." Randy stretched out his legs, bringing his hands to rest behind his head as he watched her.

"I'm not joking around. What do you want?"

"You used to be a lot more fun…" he teased, though he knew he was chancing his luck. No doubt Hunter had her on some sort of timer, terrified to let her out of his sight in case one of the bad-guys got their hands on her like last time. "Like I said, I have a proposition for you. One that could benefit both of us…and Hunter."

Stephanie's lips pursed and he knew she didn't trust him but he could tell from the way she watched him that she had no intention of leaving without hearing him out. "You and Hunter are taking over RAW. Everyone knows that - but no one respects you. Last time Hunter tried to show any form of authority he had the entire roster walk out on him. He was a laughing stock. A joke. He –"

"You've made your point, Randy."

He tried not to laugh at the shrillness in her voice or the way her jaw tightened. She really hadn't changed at all. "I can get him that respect. I can help him get the roster under control. I can help him – help you – take over."

The silence which followed his words were deafening and he was sure she'd want to hear more of his plan. His plan which, admittedly, was risky and relied far too much on people he mistrusted. But instead, she said simply, "And what do you want in return?"

He toyed between telling her the truth or giving her his rehearsed line. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to make eye-contact. "I want to be champion again," he said, and hoped that she couldn't still tell when he lied.