Chris winced as he accidentally moved his hand. It hurt like a bitch now, especially after the stitches were placed in. He hadn't seen how deep his gash was until they cleaned his hand of the blood that was still flowing from it. It was pretty bad, a lot worse then it hurt. It sort of went numb when he caught that blow with it that was aimed at Stephanie.

Stephanie—he hadn't seen her since they all came stumbling in, looking like they were in some huge car accident. That was two hours ago. Hunter was in the hospital now, too, but under lock and key—especially after Chris told the nurse that it was he who created this mess. Chris knew he was going to jail, for kidnapping, assault, battery—the works. Just was he deserved. He deserved it all.

Chris was in the waiting room now, waiting to hear about either his girlfriend or Rob—more preferably his girlfriend, but he did care about Rob's well being as well. He had really come through in the nick of time. Chris wasn't even sure if he would be alive at this point if Rob hadn't stepped in. The guys who had come with him—Edge, Kurt, Matt, and Benoit—they were waiting now too, with Chris.

And all at once the news came, that they were both all right, but the bad thing was Rob was awake and Stephanie was not. Chris asked to see her, and the doctor agreed of course. In a minute he was in front of the door, and the doctor was gone. He slowly entered, feeling a little sick all of a sudden. She looked just like she looked when he first saw her. Bruised, but now bandaged.

She had suffered bruised ribs, that's what the doctor said. Hits to the head. Emotional trauma. All not so very good things. He sighed lightly, walking to her bedside, ignoring the gnawing pain in his hand. It didn't matter anymore. She was safe with him again. It was worth all of this. She continued to sleep away as he took her hand lightly. God, I missed her so much.

He refused to cry. She was safe, he should be happy. Still, seeing her this way—it made his blood boil. She didn't deserve this. None of this. Yet it happened, and now she looked like a truck hit her. She suddenly moved, and it made him actually jump. He wasn't expecting that. And when she opened his eyes, he felt relief flood over him.

It was short lived. Very short lived.

"Hey honey.." Even though she looked like she was still woozy, the smile she had on her face was—weird.

"Stephanie?" he asked, uncertain.

"Stephanie? Who's that?" she asked, though not sounding like she cared. "What's your name Blondie? You're pretty cute, you know—"

"Wait a second, are you telling me you don't know who I am?" he asked, his heart falling.

"Well, I don't usually see my clients—it's a little dark there." She winked seductively, and Chris's mouth dropped.

Those hits to the head had turned his poor girlfriend into some person who thought she was a slut. Damn, I'm really feeling bad for calling her one now. "Stay here. I'll be right back Stephanie—"

"The name is Deliah, buddy." She giggled. "But hey, you pay me—you can call me Jerry for all I care—"

"Right. Deliah." He mumbled. "Just—stay there." Chris ran to get a doctor. When he found one, he dragged the poor guy back to the room.

"What's this about Mr. Jericho?!" the doctor asked angrily.

"You have to fix her head. She thinks she's some girl named Deliah—"

"What are you talking about, 'think'?" she pursed her lips, smirking slightly. "You know, baby, if you want some fun—"

"I see." The doctor quickly understood. "I was afraid of this. Come outside with me."

Chris stepped outside with the doctor, not in earshot of Delia—erm, Stephanie. "What's wrong with her?" he demanded.

"Well, you see, in cases like these, with bad hits to the head, they usually lose their memory." He paused. "But it seems that the verbal abuse that was described has gotten to Ms. McMahon."

"Well FIX it!" Chris huffed. "I do NOT want to be dating some hooker named Deliah—"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Jericho, but it doesn't work that way—" he squirmed nervously. "You see, the patient usually has to get his or her memory back on their own—"

"You mean you can't just—force it?"

"I'm afraid not. Usually it comes back in spurts."

"How long does THAT take?"

"Um—a few months?" he coughed.

"A FEW MONTHS?!" he yelped out. "What do you MEAN a FEW MONTHS?!"

"Well, that's how long it usually takes patients—" the doctor replied, sounding more nervous.

"Well can't you like—speed it up?!" Chris asked.

"No." he sighed. "The best thing you can do is surround her with stuff from her past and hope it comes back to her."

"Wait a second—are you saying she might NEVER get her memory back?" he asked.

"Well, it's rare but still it's a possibility—" he replied lightly.

"Lovely. Just lovely." Chris sighed loudly. "I finally find someone for me and she ends up hitting her head and losing her memory. This is just my luck, you know—"

"Chris!" Chris turned around to see Vince coming towards him. Oh, this is just getting better and better. "How is she?"

"Well, hate to tell you, Vince, but your daughter's new name is Deliah." He muttered, annoyed. Vince looked confused. "Stephanie seems to think she's some sort of hooker named Deliah—it's not pretty."

"She WHAT?" he asked, his mouth dropping. "Let me see—" He walked past Chris and the doctor and entered the room.

"Ooh, an older man—hey Blondie, he a friend of yours?" she grinned widely. Vince blinked in shock.

"I told you." Chris muttered. Vince shook his head.

"Stephanie? It's dad—" he frowned.

"Oh, you like it like that, huh?" she giggled gleefully. Chris groaned, smacking his good hand to his head.

"Please come with me, Mr. McMahon—we have to talk about your daughter's—condition." Vince nodded, walking out with the doctor.

"Just you and me now Blondie—" she raised a brow.

"My name is Chris. And YOU are not a hooker."

"You're right. Female entertainer really is a good word—" she laughed. Even though her ribs hurt when she moved, she actually did sit up, grinning seductively at him. "I don't know how I got these injuries, but looking at your hand I'm tending to believe you must have rocked—"

"This is going to be a long night." He mumbled under his breath. "Get it straight Steph—"

"Deliah—"

"WHATEVER! We never had sex. And I especially am never going to have sex with you when you think you're some three cent whore!" he explained.

"Actually, my pay is pretty high these days—" she giggled. Chris shook his head. This can't be happening. I think I HAVE died. Now I'm in hell. "You're so tense, baby—here, I'll give you a free back-rub—"

"No!" he jumped up from the seat he was sitting in. She smirked.

"You know you want it." She sniggered. He groaned.

"Just—sit there and don't talk. I have a headache." He flopped down in the seat again.

"Poor baby—" she grinned largely. "I can make it all better—"

"No thank you." He huffed. She smirked, but before she could continue her little 'fun', Vince and the doctor walked in. Vince frowned towards his daughter.

"The doctor said it would be in the best interest to just let her rest." He explained to Chris as Stephanie listened intently.

"I like resting. Especially next to hotties like you—" Stephanie sniggered. Chris ignored her.

"And since you're so good with her, Chris, I'm intrusting her care with you." Vince nodded.

"Me?" he asked, surprised. "Vince—listen—" He guided him to a corner and continued lowly. "I can't watch her. She's all ready all over me and I don't think I can—"

"I have confidence in you, my boy." Vince clapped him on the back. "Oh, and if you happen to use her like that—I'll snap your neck. All right?"

"—Fine." He sighed.

"Anyway, the doctor said she needs to be in a familiar place, and since she's been staying with you—" he trailed off.

"It's a familiar place." Chris sighed. "I got it."

"Great. I'm glad we're on the same page." He grinned.

"Have you heard about Rob?" Chris asked.

"Yeah, actually. He's all right. Resting now, they want to keep him here overnight. Stephanie, however—"

"They can't even keep her here the night?" Chris asked, exasperated.

"You'll do fine. Just—go with it, to an extent. Help her get the right memory back." Vince explained, then turned to Stephanie. "All right, Stephanie, you're going with Chris—"

"Do you people have some other hooker named Stephanie?" she asked curiously. "My name is DELIAH, and I don't go to hotels without money—"

"Well guess what sweet cheeks, you're coming with me." Chris smirked.

"You can't make me." She pouted.

Chris paused. "My money is in my room."

"Well let's go then." She stood up, wincing as her ribs ached. "—Don't mind if we do it a little softer, do you?"

"Not a problem." He mumbled.

~~

"So, where's the money?" she asked, glancing around. "This place looks like a pig lives in it."

"There's no money." He shook his head.

"You people are fucking insane. I'm out of here—" Chris caught her arm.

"Where are you going to go?" he asked. She paused. "That's what I thought. Listen, I know you think you're Deliah, but you're not. Your name is Stephanie McMahon, and you're my girlfriend."

"You wish, Blondie." She smirked.

"It's true." He just wanted her to believe him. "Look, here, I'll show you—"

She eyed him cautiously. "And how will you do that?"

He got a piece of paper out, and a pen. "Write your name." She looked confused, but shrugged and signed her name. "No, your real name. Stephanie McMahon."

"It's not my real name." She replied stubbornly, but sighed. "Fine, if this'll get you to shut up—" And she signed it.

"Now look—" he walked to a dresser, where the diary Benoit had found days before lay. He flipped the pages and stopped at one of her signatures. He walked over and placed it in front of her.

'Deliah' couldn't say a thing against it, her handwriting was exactly the same.