Title: Trials and Tribulations
Note: This story belongs to Lady Maria, I am posting it under my name in order to continue it. Every new chapter (chapter 3 and following) are written by me and beta-read by Lady Maria. The first two chapters and the plot are not mine! But I am allowed to continue the story.
Summary: AU. Two troubled girls are forced to live with family members that work for the WWE. Neither girl is happy but what can you do when your parents are dead?
Pairings: None as of now.
Warnings: This is AU folks; it's not going to follow any particular episode, match, or canon history.
Rating: Pg-13
Final note: No Hellmouth, Slayers or witches in this fic.
Willow Rosenberg was scared. Shitless, if the truth were told. She'd grown up far removed from her siblings' world, knowing less than most fans. Then her parents had died and at fourteen Willow had found herself here, in LAX, waiting for her flight. She was meeting up with another girl who was going to the WWE for the first time. Like Willow herself, the other girl had grown up in California knowing only what she saw on the T.V.
"Hey, you're Willow right?" a perky blonde asked. "I'm Elisabeth Summers. My mom called me Buffy."
"Yeah, I'm Willow," the redhead stammered shyly. "What do you think traveling with a bunch of wrestlers will be like?"
"I have no idea. I do know I'm petrified. I've never even met my mother's sister's family. Now I'm going to live with the McMahon's for at least four years."
"I know the feeling. I think I've seen my brothers, Matt and Jeff, all of two times. I've seen my sister, Lita, maybe three times. And I don't know anything about wrestling. I'm more a bookworm than an athlete."
As the pre-boarding call for flight 790 sounded, two troubled teenage girls bonded.
**************************************
Buffy had been through more in her life than even Willow could have guessed. Her parents had always fought. Her father was old-fashioned, believing that his wife's only job was that of a homemaker. Joyce had always wanted to be a lawyer but had put aside her dreams to do as her husband wanted her to.
As Buffy grew, the arguments intensified. Hank wanted his daughter to go to a private school; Joyce believed in children going to public schools because it made them more adaptable. At least, that was what her father had said and it had worked for her and her sister.
Then the real trouble began. Someone had gotten Hank hooked on steroids. Buffy was twelve, almost thirteen, when she started carrying mace at all times. When he got mad, all she had to do was spray it in his eyes. As the troubles increased, the beatings Hank had always given his wife became worse until she pulled her daughter out of class the day before her fourteenth birthday.
For three months, the two traveled around the state of California constantly going to one place and then another. It never occurred to Joyce to call her fraternal twin up and ask for help. The two hadn't spoken since they'd fought over a boy their senior year in high school.
And then he tracked them down. He killed his wife while his daughter perched on top of the shower curtain rod. He didn't think to look up, so he never noticed her. The police tried to get him to give up, to surrender, but instead he turned the gun on himself.
The police had broken down the door when they heard the young girl's sobs. They found her mother gunned down by the bathroom door. Even as she fought her final battle she'd tried to protect her daughter. The gunman, Hank Summers, was practically missing half his head and had splattered brains all over the two beds, dead the moment the gun went off.
The blonde girl was still crying as they led her out of the rundown motel room. The police were deeply disturbed by the fact that was she so young and yet so hardened. One of the policemen managed to track down her relatives, who were more than upset over Joyce's death. Her grandparents had told them that they couldn't take her in but that Linda would be glad to be able to treat her niece as a daughter.
And so, that was why Buffy was sitting next to a redhead on a red-eye flight bound for Minneapolis, on her way to meet her Aunt Linda and Uncle Vince. They even had two kids, Stephanie and Shane. Steph was her age, they'd told her during the course of the one phone call they'd had. Shane was a year older and already training to be a wrestler. She could only hope that her new-found relatives were nice.
****************************************
Willow's life wasn't as spectacularly hard but it certainly hadn't been easy. She'd been abandoned by her parents for the most part, left to raise herself. Because she had been forgotten by her parents, she'd often hacked into their accounts and taken the money she needed. She doubted that her siblings even realized the way her life had turned out.
Jeff, Matt, and Lita Rosenberg had been the product of Dr. Michael Rosenberg's first marriage. All three had grown up living with their mother's brother. Their mother had died when Jeff was born. When Matt was eight, Lita was seven, and Jeff was five, their father remarried.
Four years later, Willow had taken her parents by complete surprise. They hadn't wanted a child, and would have gotten rid of her but it had been too late for that. By the time they found out, Karin was already in her second trimester.
For awhile, they'd had to pay attention to her. She'd been too young to take care of herself. Then she started preschool and the nanny started taking care of her full time. By fourth grade, they didn't even come home for holidays. They simply mailed money at the beginning of every month. About the time she started 7th, however, they had decided she didn't matter anymore.
But to the girl who'd grown up in San Francisco, hacking was as normal as breathing and she put her skills to good use. She never took any more money than she needed and she never did anything that could be traced back to her. As far as the bank was concerned, her parents were the ones that put the money in the account every month. Willow never enlightened them.
Two weeks before the start of Chanukah, she received a letter. Not even a week later, the contents were still fresh in her mind.
Ms. Rosenberg,
While in Rome your parents decided to visit a museum. A policeman thought that they looked like two suspects that were wanted in a murder case. He called for them to stop in Italian but they didn't understand him. He did as was told to, which was fire if the suspects proved to be uncooperative. He fired four rounds, two shots for each of them. Both died immediately. I am very sorry.
Your parents left you so many trust funds that the day you turn eighteen, you will be an extremely wealthy young woman. Until that time, you must live with someone and your parents named your older half siblings as your guardians.
Again, I express my condolences to you on behalf of this firm.
Arthur Michaels
She'd been taking care of herself for years, and she'd never needed her siblings watching over her. Now her parents were officially dead to her and she had to leave San Fran. How abso-bloody-lutely typical of her parents.
******************************************
Both of them were caught up in their own thoughts, almost forgetting that the other existed. Then the flight attendant came around with dinner and they chose the same thing. Looking over at her seatmate, Buffy recognized the same hurt look that she often wore when she thought no one was watching. "What's your story?" she asked the red head.
"What do you mean, 'my story'?" Willow questioned, looking up from her laptop.
"Why do you have to go live with siblings you've seen only a couple times?" she clarified.
"My parents finally died. Unfortunately, my day of happiness was marred by the fact that they'd named my half-sibs as my guardians. So, here I am."
"You're not telling me all of this, are you?"
"No, I'm not. I'll tell you more, someday. I promise," Willow said with a half-smile.
"My parents died, too," Buffy told her. "My dad killed my mom and then killed himself."
Willow's eyes filled with tears on Buffy's behalf. "Poor you."
"No pity," the blonde said firmly. "I can't stand pity. I have relatives I've never met who are anxious to meet me. How many people can say that?"
The last question caused both girls to laugh, breaking the tension. And with that, both of them drifted off to sleep.
Note: This story belongs to Lady Maria, I am posting it under my name in order to continue it. Every new chapter (chapter 3 and following) are written by me and beta-read by Lady Maria. The first two chapters and the plot are not mine! But I am allowed to continue the story.
Summary: AU. Two troubled girls are forced to live with family members that work for the WWE. Neither girl is happy but what can you do when your parents are dead?
Pairings: None as of now.
Warnings: This is AU folks; it's not going to follow any particular episode, match, or canon history.
Rating: Pg-13
Final note: No Hellmouth, Slayers or witches in this fic.
Willow Rosenberg was scared. Shitless, if the truth were told. She'd grown up far removed from her siblings' world, knowing less than most fans. Then her parents had died and at fourteen Willow had found herself here, in LAX, waiting for her flight. She was meeting up with another girl who was going to the WWE for the first time. Like Willow herself, the other girl had grown up in California knowing only what she saw on the T.V.
"Hey, you're Willow right?" a perky blonde asked. "I'm Elisabeth Summers. My mom called me Buffy."
"Yeah, I'm Willow," the redhead stammered shyly. "What do you think traveling with a bunch of wrestlers will be like?"
"I have no idea. I do know I'm petrified. I've never even met my mother's sister's family. Now I'm going to live with the McMahon's for at least four years."
"I know the feeling. I think I've seen my brothers, Matt and Jeff, all of two times. I've seen my sister, Lita, maybe three times. And I don't know anything about wrestling. I'm more a bookworm than an athlete."
As the pre-boarding call for flight 790 sounded, two troubled teenage girls bonded.
**************************************
Buffy had been through more in her life than even Willow could have guessed. Her parents had always fought. Her father was old-fashioned, believing that his wife's only job was that of a homemaker. Joyce had always wanted to be a lawyer but had put aside her dreams to do as her husband wanted her to.
As Buffy grew, the arguments intensified. Hank wanted his daughter to go to a private school; Joyce believed in children going to public schools because it made them more adaptable. At least, that was what her father had said and it had worked for her and her sister.
Then the real trouble began. Someone had gotten Hank hooked on steroids. Buffy was twelve, almost thirteen, when she started carrying mace at all times. When he got mad, all she had to do was spray it in his eyes. As the troubles increased, the beatings Hank had always given his wife became worse until she pulled her daughter out of class the day before her fourteenth birthday.
For three months, the two traveled around the state of California constantly going to one place and then another. It never occurred to Joyce to call her fraternal twin up and ask for help. The two hadn't spoken since they'd fought over a boy their senior year in high school.
And then he tracked them down. He killed his wife while his daughter perched on top of the shower curtain rod. He didn't think to look up, so he never noticed her. The police tried to get him to give up, to surrender, but instead he turned the gun on himself.
The police had broken down the door when they heard the young girl's sobs. They found her mother gunned down by the bathroom door. Even as she fought her final battle she'd tried to protect her daughter. The gunman, Hank Summers, was practically missing half his head and had splattered brains all over the two beds, dead the moment the gun went off.
The blonde girl was still crying as they led her out of the rundown motel room. The police were deeply disturbed by the fact that was she so young and yet so hardened. One of the policemen managed to track down her relatives, who were more than upset over Joyce's death. Her grandparents had told them that they couldn't take her in but that Linda would be glad to be able to treat her niece as a daughter.
And so, that was why Buffy was sitting next to a redhead on a red-eye flight bound for Minneapolis, on her way to meet her Aunt Linda and Uncle Vince. They even had two kids, Stephanie and Shane. Steph was her age, they'd told her during the course of the one phone call they'd had. Shane was a year older and already training to be a wrestler. She could only hope that her new-found relatives were nice.
****************************************
Willow's life wasn't as spectacularly hard but it certainly hadn't been easy. She'd been abandoned by her parents for the most part, left to raise herself. Because she had been forgotten by her parents, she'd often hacked into their accounts and taken the money she needed. She doubted that her siblings even realized the way her life had turned out.
Jeff, Matt, and Lita Rosenberg had been the product of Dr. Michael Rosenberg's first marriage. All three had grown up living with their mother's brother. Their mother had died when Jeff was born. When Matt was eight, Lita was seven, and Jeff was five, their father remarried.
Four years later, Willow had taken her parents by complete surprise. They hadn't wanted a child, and would have gotten rid of her but it had been too late for that. By the time they found out, Karin was already in her second trimester.
For awhile, they'd had to pay attention to her. She'd been too young to take care of herself. Then she started preschool and the nanny started taking care of her full time. By fourth grade, they didn't even come home for holidays. They simply mailed money at the beginning of every month. About the time she started 7th, however, they had decided she didn't matter anymore.
But to the girl who'd grown up in San Francisco, hacking was as normal as breathing and she put her skills to good use. She never took any more money than she needed and she never did anything that could be traced back to her. As far as the bank was concerned, her parents were the ones that put the money in the account every month. Willow never enlightened them.
Two weeks before the start of Chanukah, she received a letter. Not even a week later, the contents were still fresh in her mind.
Ms. Rosenberg,
While in Rome your parents decided to visit a museum. A policeman thought that they looked like two suspects that were wanted in a murder case. He called for them to stop in Italian but they didn't understand him. He did as was told to, which was fire if the suspects proved to be uncooperative. He fired four rounds, two shots for each of them. Both died immediately. I am very sorry.
Your parents left you so many trust funds that the day you turn eighteen, you will be an extremely wealthy young woman. Until that time, you must live with someone and your parents named your older half siblings as your guardians.
Again, I express my condolences to you on behalf of this firm.
Arthur Michaels
She'd been taking care of herself for years, and she'd never needed her siblings watching over her. Now her parents were officially dead to her and she had to leave San Fran. How abso-bloody-lutely typical of her parents.
******************************************
Both of them were caught up in their own thoughts, almost forgetting that the other existed. Then the flight attendant came around with dinner and they chose the same thing. Looking over at her seatmate, Buffy recognized the same hurt look that she often wore when she thought no one was watching. "What's your story?" she asked the red head.
"What do you mean, 'my story'?" Willow questioned, looking up from her laptop.
"Why do you have to go live with siblings you've seen only a couple times?" she clarified.
"My parents finally died. Unfortunately, my day of happiness was marred by the fact that they'd named my half-sibs as my guardians. So, here I am."
"You're not telling me all of this, are you?"
"No, I'm not. I'll tell you more, someday. I promise," Willow said with a half-smile.
"My parents died, too," Buffy told her. "My dad killed my mom and then killed himself."
Willow's eyes filled with tears on Buffy's behalf. "Poor you."
"No pity," the blonde said firmly. "I can't stand pity. I have relatives I've never met who are anxious to meet me. How many people can say that?"
The last question caused both girls to laugh, breaking the tension. And with that, both of them drifted off to sleep.