Chapter 5 - …And all the Smoke is Cleared

Commissioner Mick Foley stood in between the corrupt couple and the Olympic home-wrecker. He had to preserve the peace between Kurt Angle and Triple H before the situation worsened. Mick fumed at how they handled themselves. They couldn't have chosen a better moment to cause a ruckus and wake up the entire WWF roster. It was time for this entire thing to end and end right now if Foley could help it. Turning to Kurt, Mick motioned towards the hallway where some of the wrestlers still mingled around gossiping about the trio.

"Kurt, go to your room. We'll discuss this in the morning."

"My medals please," Kurt mumbled under his breath unlike his usual loud boasting.

"Hunter?" The Commish turned and nodded at him to give up the gold.

"Take your damn medals." Triple H threw them at the wall.

Stephanie released her husband's hand and bent down to retrieve the medals. She rose slowly and gave them to her Olympic Hero. She placed them in his open palm and his hand closed on hers. He felt her fingers go limp in his. He nodded and tried to look into her eyes, but she avoided all eye contact with him. Triple H swung his arm under Kurt's and he released his hold on Steph.

"Don't touch my wife," he growled.

"I already have."

Before they could start shooting fists at each other, Mick stepped between them and pushed them away. Steph stood in her own world; her eyes remained glassy and she didn't flinch at Kurt's words.

"I want to settle this now damn it." Triple H pointed at Kurt Angle.

"No. In the morning it will be over," Mick ushered Stephanie to her husband.

"We'll go now. Thanks for everything. Hunter let's go."

She grabbed his arm and slowly walked back to their room slowly with him. The wrestlers watched as the couple parted from the crowd. Triple H kept on turning around to throw swords in Kurt's direction and his hazel eyes foretold that he would indeed have revenge on the Olympic Gold Medallist one way or another. Steph's head was bowed and she stared at the floor as she led him down the hallway. Mick watched until they went into their room. The drama was over. The wrestlers dispersed and eventually went back to their rooms to catch up on lost sleep. Kurt lifted his medals to the light and was able to trace a urine stain on his most prized possessions. He lowered them and jammed them into his pockets.

"Good night, Kurt. See ya in the morning."

Kurt watched as Mick shuffled back to his room. He thought they were going to exchange words or arrange a time for tomorrow morning. I guess not. Mick's door closed and Kurt realized he was in the hallway all by himself. With nothing else to do except try and figure out how he could still see Stephanie without Triple H posing a threat, the Gold Medallist slowly strolled to his room. He locked the door behind him and stretched his aching muscles. He plopped down on his bed and decided he would need to get some rest for tomorrow. Maybe things would be settled for good between him and Hunter. Maybe he could still maintain his "friendship" with Stephanie McMahon-Helmsley. Maybe...

oOo

It was settled in the morning as Commissioner Mick Foley had said it would be. It wasn't settled in the most suitable and dignified way, but nevertheless, the conflict was brought to a resolution.

Kurt Angle, 1996 Gold Medallist and the only "real athlete" to step foot into the World Wrestling Federation since his debut in Survivor Series 1999, staggered into his hotel room at six o'clock in the morning. He put his hand on his aching jaws and felt the blood ooze from the corner of his lips. He swallowed and tasted his mucus and salty blood blended together. His stomach churned and he placed his hand on his sticky throat to stop himself from throwing up sour yellow bile. He limped over to the bed dragging his right leg behind him. His right ankle slammed into the wall quite by accident and he howled in pain. He didn't care if he made noise. Everyone was still asleep in the wee hours of the morning. He fell to the floor and threw out his arms to break the fall. It didn't help—his forehead smacked the ground with a dangerous thud and Kurt swore he felt his brain shift crazily inside his skull. He pulled himself together and tottered over to his bed.

"Fuck you," he pointed at the bed as if it were the inanimate object's fault that he had made the decision to sleep around with another man's wife. The bed smiled back a Cheshire grin not caring if the sheets were unmade and the pillows were lost.

Kurt stumbled to the bathroom. Flicking on the light switch, he beheld the battered, bloody, and bruised face that stared back at him in the mirror. It certainly wasn't the face of an Olympic Hero. His left eye was purple and half closed. Dark circles rimmed both eyes like a raccoon's and his lips looked like they would fall off his face. He touched his nose and his nose screamed back at him to be left alone. Clumps of dried blood flaked his hair. Kurt swallowed painfully, his throat vibrating with sharp pangs. He bent down into the ivory sink and coughed up drops and then pints of blood. He took a few steps out and then changed his mind. He turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face. His tears mingled with the water and then he wiped them away.

When he looked at his reflection again, he saw Stephanie's face staring back at him.

Stephanie McMahon-Helmsley who had watched silently as her husband and his friends beat the living crap out of Angle. She had been there and hadn't done anything. Triple H held her for a short time. When Kurt looked up he'd catch a very brief glimpse of Helmsley's accusing finger pointing down at him, before another boot was smashed in his face and groin. Steph watched and didn't protest, unless one could consider her tears as her form of protest. They were brief and quick tears and too quickly they were gone as if they had never been there. Kurt figured he must've imagined her being upset. Upset to cry crocodile tears, but not too upset where she would stop Hunter, X-Pac, Road Dogg, and Billy Gunn from beating the Gold Medallist to a pulp.

You ice bitch, he had wanted to say, but he couldn't even bring himself to feel that way about her even as he kissed the pavement and test tasted it for flavor. He kept wondering when the beating would end. It was unfair to begin with and he never had a chance when Triple H dragged him out of his room against his will along with his friends to assist him in their punishment for the criminal Angle. Now he knew why he couldn't hate her if ever.

Triple H had used her as bait to lure Kurt out of his room. He used his very own wife, whom he claimed to love and cherish, as bait to beat up Kurt Angle. He had been so happy when he heard Steph's voice on the other side of the door asking to be let in because she needed to talk. When he had opened the door he was shocked to see her gone. He was going to close the door, when suddenly he was shoved to the floor. He stared at the ceiling in a daze. Triple H's hot angry face loomed in his vision and he knew that the matter would be settled quickly and promptly without any intervention from Commissioner Mick.

Kurt was dragged unceremoniously from his hotel room, yanked down the stairs from the fire escape route and slammed into a cold hard wall in a remote corner outside of the hotel. His beating was slow and painful and he never had a chance to defend himself and fight furiously against the four men that overpowered him. He hated every second of it because he knew he could easily overtake them any day, but this time Triple H had the upper hand. And he never let Kurt forget that for one minute.

It was all over now and Triple H had made sure to jam that point down Kurt's throat. Steph and him were a thing of the past and if Angle ever dared to look in her direction again, Triple H would see to it that Angle never stepped foot into the World Wrestling Federation again. He threatened to completely end his wrestling career and make him a permanent invalid.

If you want to piss in a bedpan and drink from a straw stuck in your veins for the rest of your natural life, then just look at her once. Once is all it takes. Then Steph will have to visit you one hour a week with a security guard by her side. You better start using that intelligence that you claim to have, but seriously lack in. Am I clear as crystal?

Kurt had only murmured out a broken "yes," before he was snatched from off the ground and escorted back to his hotel room. He was left huddled and humiliated next to the door, shivering in rage, fright, and humiliation. Finally, when he was able to gather what little strength he had in him, he jammed his key card in the slot and pushed the door open to his room. He was enveloped in a cocoon of pain. He wished he would die and hated himself for thinking this way. He wanted to love Steph and only received pain for his heroic efforts.

Pain is only a four- letter word. And so is love.

Kurt opened the sliding doors and stepped outside to the deck that overlooked the Nassau Coliseum. The sun was coming up and the sky was ablaze with hot colors of ruby red and flashing orange. As he gazed into the never-ending sky, he realized that the stars were fading into the blue nothingness and soon even the morning star became invisible to him on his side of the planet. He had nothing to hope or wish for as his star burnt out long ago. Kurt wobbled back into his room. He took one last long look at the bed he had shared with Stephanie McMahon-Helmsley only several hours ago. His heart sunk into his chest and hardened with half-minded regret. Maybe when all the physical and emotional pain went away, he would be able to focus on Steph again. Maybe they would be friends again and maybe they wouldn't. Maybe one day she would see the light and realize that Triple H was a big bully and a poor excuse for a dear and loving husband.

"Maybe…"

Kurt Angle murmured dreamily to himself as he collapsed face first onto the bed and drowned himself in his passionate regret for the remaining hours of the young new morning…

The End?