Lita

I tap my foot nervously against the floor as RVD and I wait in the courthouse to try and get our marriage annulled. What the hell could be taking the couple ahead of us so long, anyway? I sigh irritably and blow a strand of hair away from my eye; we totally should have camped outside and been the first ones to get in, but RVD's very determined to get his beauty sleep, especially since I don't snore (Lance Storm) or try to remake "Welcome to the Jungle" in my sleep (Chris Jericho--who else?). And of course, thanks to Trish and Jeff's big mouths, everybody on the Raw roster and their mother knows about our little Vegas wedding, and as if that's not bad enough, Shawn Michaels and Triple H actually had the nerve to cancel my and RVD's separate room reservations and book us into the hotel's Honeymoon Suite together! If I hadn't been so damn distraught over being Mrs. Rob Van Dam, I would have surely kicked both their crippled-and-giant-nosed asses all the way to Timbuktu. As it stands, Ivory and Hurricane have already gotten their marriage instantly annulled, while Stacy and Test actually tried to make theirs work, before marching down the courthouse one week later to get their own marriage annulled as well. That leaves Rob and myself as the only Vegas-hitched couple still wedded to each other, but as soon as that slow-ass couple is done, RVD and I are so going to be history as a married couple.

At that moment, the office doors open and a couple who somehow manage to look even more redneck than Jamie Noble, Nidia, and Stone Cold put together finally stumble their way out, looking every bit as drunk as they probably were when they got married in the first place. The court clerk looks at her clipboard, and calls out, "Mr. and Mrs. Van Dam?" I cringe at my new moniker, but quickly stand up and drag RVD with me as we're ushered into the office.
"Remember to mention that you were very drunk," I hiss into his ear as we sit down. RVD looks annoyed, as he whispers back, "What about you? You were as wasted as I was, if not more!" I scowl, and retort so very cleverly, "Just because! Tell her you were drunk!" RVD huffs, looking insulted.
"I am not going to announce the degree of my drunkenness just so you can ensure our marriage will be annulled--" he starts to babble, when I discreetly stomp down on his foot with the heel of my left boot.
"Ow!" If the judge is surprised to see the husband suddenly start hopping up and down doing a cross between the chicken dance and a kangaroo imitation, then she's certainly hiding it very well. Either way, I--or my black leather boots--have convinced RVD to proclaim as I told him, because as soon as the judge begins to speak, "Now, Mr. and Mrs. Van Dam--" good old Robby boy instantly straightens up like some cadet at attention and fires off, "I was drunk, Your Majesty--I mean, Your Eminence--I mean, Your Awesomeness--I mean...I've got to stop hanging around Christian!" The judge rolls her eyes, and I quickly step in and clamp my hand over Mr. Smooth's mouth before he can blabber anything else.
"I'm really sorry, Your Honor," I hasten to say apologetically, then get an idea as I add, "I'm sure you can understand why our marriage has to be annulled immediately!" I fix a pointed look at RVD, who simply nods enthusiastically.
"I understand the two of you were inebriated when you were accidentally married at a Las Vegas wedding chapel," the judge begins to say, and I nod.
"That's right, Your Honor; you see--" I start to explain, when a loud ringing noise interrupts me. The judge frowns and crosses her arms, clearly annoyed, as both RVD and I desperately search around our pockets to see whose cell phone is ringing. Finally, we discover that it's--well, my hubby's, I guess that's what he is now--as RVD pulls out his cell phone and flips it open, speaking cheerfully into the mouthpiece, "Hey, what's up, dude...Oh, it's you, Vince! Sorry." I dart a helpless look from RVD to the judge, mouth the word, Sorry, and grudgingly settle back in my chair to watch and wait as he finishes his conversation with Vince McMahon.
"Oh, I don't know about that, Vince...Well, I guess it might draw some cheap ratings...Are you sure Lita will be pleased about this?" My ears perk up at the mention of my name, and I scramble toward RVD in an effort to listen in on his conversation. After a couple of, "Uh huhs," and, "Yeahs," he finishes his conversation and flips the cell phone closed. I lean back, still clueless since I had heard only bits and pieces of whatever it is that he just finished discussing with Vince, and arch my eyebrows as if to say, "Well?" RVD shrugs.
"It looks like we can't get our marriage annulled today--Vince is expecting us to catch the fastest flight to Stamford to discuss a new storyline idea with him," is all he can say.
"No!" I almost shriek, biting down on my lip just before the sentence, "I want to get this damn marriage annulled now!" childishly escapes my mouth. RVD looks taken aback.
"Jeez, Lita, chill out," he advises wisely. "We can get this silly wedding thing annulled any day, but right now, Vince really needs to see us, quote-unquote." I sigh heavily, and give in.
"All right," I concede, throwing my hands up in defeat as I add (while fervently trying to ignore the Kane-Triple H-necrophilia angle), "I'm sure that since it's Vince, the storyline idea can only help the company."

My mouth drops open in shock, and had I not been sitting down, I would have surely fallen very unceremoniously on my ass as Vince relays his "brilliant storyline idea" to RVD and I.
"Vince--you can't be serious!" I gasp. "You actually want Rob and I to remain married so we can hold some sort of silly wedding ceremony on Raw and make the angle more legit?!" Beside me, RVD winces at the high octave my voice has hit; Vince, however, doesn't look fazed at all by my shrill whine--he must be used to it after living with Stephanie for twenty-six years.
"Well, the Internet smarts have already gotten wind of your Vegas wedding to RVD; the headlines are splashed across every WWE news and rumors webpage," he points out, as though that makes things even remotely different.
"Vince, I still don't understand how our marriage being legit is going to help ratings," I hear RVD speak up reasonably. Good, because if I had spoke right then, it would have seriously jeopardized my whole career. I tune out the rest of the conversation between the two men, hearing only snatches from it, including something along the lines of how today's wrestling fan is smart enough to want logic in his storylines and more incessant blabber about the whole Sara/Taker crap. I probably would have continued sitting there like a zombie, had Vince's next words not decisively snapped me out of my trance.
"Now, since we really need something to shock the audience, the bookers are already working on a way to introduce a pregnancy angle," our benevolent boss drops the bomb, and this time, the chair is unable to stop me, as I snap up in astonishment and my sudden movement causes my chair to tilt backwards and dump me unceremoniously onto the back of my head.
"Um...Lita? Are you all right?" RVD's concerned voice breaks into my dazed mind while I'm busy thinking up names for all the pretty stars dancing over my head.
"Am I all right?!" I scoff, fighting the impulse to break down and bawl my eyes out. "I'm going to be pregnant! Oh, my God, I'm getting pregnant!" RVD rolls his eyes as he reaches down and helps me up, still clueless as to why that's so bad.
"So what?" he wants to know, giving a careless shrug. "So you'll have to wear a fake gut for the next couple of months, big deal."
"So what?!" I whirl around and glare at him as though he's crazy. "So this is Vince McMahon's WWE we're talking about! Knowing our track record, I'm probably going to pick up where Mae Young left off and give birth to a damn foot or something! Now I know why Ivory and Hurricane and Stacy and Test had their marriage instantly annulled!"
"Hey!" Vince speaks up sharply, and RVD and I both look at each other as though to groan, "Oh, shit! I forgot he was in the room as well!"
"Now listen, nobody would like to forget that angle ever happened more than me," Vince begins to lecture. I snort and mutter none too discreetly under my breath, "Try the fans!" Vince gives me a sharp look, and I bite down on my lower lip before I can further jeopardize my position within the company.
"However," our beloved boss continues, "desperate times call for desperate measures, and what we need right now is an engaging storyline for today's audience, and unfortunately, WWE fans don't want pure wrestling, they want angles as well." I tune out the rest of Vince's long speech about smarts and angles, and instead opt to sulk over my long and gloomy career ahead of me as the pregant-but-not-really-pregant legitimate wife of Mr. Monday Night, Rob Van Dam. Oh, God! Somebody shoot me!

RVD

I walk along the hallways of the backstage locker room area, frowning and trying to figure out just exactly what Kurt Cobain is shouting into my Walkman's headphones. Something about mulattos and libidos, I think...Dude, how the hell can Lance Storm listen to this stuff without getting both confused and a massive migraine? No wonder he looks so grumpy and serious all the time; I'd be depressed too if I were constantly listening to the music of a guy who kept on whining about how he was going to shoot himself, and then went ahead and did it three years later! But then again, I can't exactly return to my mindlessly-happy-and-partying KISS CD's--tonight's the famous live wedding ceremony between "Mr. and Mrs. Van Dam," and Lita's so depressed at the prospect of being married and pregnant that she's making damn sure nobody else--especially not me--can be happy. I frown; okay, so I know I tend to space out occasionally, but would I make that bad of a husband and father? Either way, Lita shouldn't worry so much over this silly wedding and pregnancy angle--first, it will give her unsightly gray hair, and second, I've already found a way to get out of this whole thing.

I arrive at the women's locker room, and am about to knock on the door and ask for only Lita when I hear my name being mentioned. Now, I'm not the eavesdropping type...but what can I say, Mr. Monday Night's only human. Besides, Integrity ain't one of my three I's.
"Don't be stupid, Trish, you know I can't date him!" I hear Lita scoff, to which Trish replies in that maddening singsong tone of hers, "Why not? You're legitimately married to him anyway, not to mention about to carry his nonexistent child, might as well get something out of it." I can almost see Lita rolling her eyes, as she huffs, "C'mon, how can I date the guy when he's prettier than me?! I mean, I'm going to look real stupid walking into a room on his arm, and he's just going to have prettier hair than me, and be able to get away with wearing tighter jeans than I can, and have a cuter ass than I do! You don't date guys who're prettier than you, you just don't!" Trish throws back her head and laughs, and now I'm seriously interested in their conversation, having figured out they're probably talking about me--unless Lita's secretly gotten our marriage annulled and convinced Vince to use somebody else as a storyline replacement for me--but unfortunately, I find out then that the divas don't usually keep their locker room doors locked, as I slip on the linoleum tiles and accidentally stumble inside. Remembering the little hotel shower room incident with Lita a few weeks earlier, I instantly cover my eyes with my hands and call out, "Sorry!"
"Rob?! What...what are you doing here?" Lita squeaks out nervously, and I can hear the guilt in her voice.
"Well, I'd answer that, but since I can't see a thing, I really don't know which direction I should be facing," I mumble.
"It's okay, Robby-boy, you can lower your hand, we're both dressed," Trish speaks up pleasantly, and I lower my hands to see both divas seated on metal folding chairs in front of a TV, which is playing a tape of an earlier Raw. Specifically, the episode where Shawn Michaels and I battled for his heavyweight title. At that moment, the tape goes to the part where HBK abruptly slaps me, and I waste no time in slapping him right back, and Trish lets out a low whistle.
"Go Rob," she jokes. "Where did you learn to bitch slap like that?"
"Gee, I think I picked up a few tricks a while back when someone used me for practice," I remark dryly, and Lita blushes, obviously getting the hint about the shower incident. As she does so, I notice that she's already dressed in her wedding gown, and when I turn around to get a better look, my breath catches in my throat. She looks...gorgeous. I have never seen her before dressed like this; she'd always been crammed into ripped fishnet tank tops and glow-in-the-dark cargo pants as part of her Xtreme Girl image, but tonight, I realize for the first time just how beautiful a woman Lita really is. Her makeup is done perfectly, her hair cascades around her shoulders like waves of flaming silk behind her gossamer veil, and her white wedding dress, fashionably designed to be short in the front but long in the back, looks just stunning on her.
"Rob, wipe that drool off your chin, will ya?" Trish's sarcastic joke snaps me out of my daze, and I realize that I'd been staring. Lita herself is blushing rather self-consciously, as Trish rolls her eyes at both of us and remarks, "Jeez, you two, you're both acting like nervous fifteen-year-olds out on their first date."
"Trish, grow up," Lita mutters grumpily, as she hurriedly gets out of her seat and smoothes over her pearly skirts. Trish laughs good-naturedly, then darts a lazy look in my direction and smirks as she cracks with a fake British accent, "Aw, well don't you look just dashing tonight, good sir!" I realize then how silly I must look in the all-white tuxedo and top hat that Vince has forced me to wear, and try to joke it off by mumbling, "Yeah, well, when Vince said he wanted a traditional white wedding, he really meant it."
"Don't listen to her, Rob, I think you look just fine," Lita defends me as she gingerly tests out her three-inch crystal heels. I turn around to stare at her.
"You do?" I ask, and Lita bursts out laughing as she jokes, "Not really--you look like the Penguin!" I huff and pretend to be insulted as I say dryly, "Gee, thanks, that's really going to boost my self-esteem!"
"Hey, hey, at least you don't have to wear a jumbo gut for God knows how long before giving birth to a damn hand!" Lita mumbles. I arch an eyebrow at this.
"You don't know if you're really giving birth to a hand like Mae Young did," I reassure her. "Besides...if things go as I've planned them, you and I will get our annullment soon enough, and this whole white wedding ceremony won't even proceed." Lita snaps up.
"What do you mean?" she asks. I hesitate; I'm kind of regretting that I won't get to see her in her wedding dress for much longer, but then again, I can't just let her walk around all miserable about her impending pregnancy angle (and thus forcing me to give up my KISS for some Nirvana to make me equally depressed as well!)
"Let's just say that Philadelphia is ECW turf," I reply mysteriously. "You'll see what happens later tonight."