Uncommon Sense

by batistafan

Can a plan by Triple H aimed at destroying Batista's life and career be stopped before it's too late? And will a hot romance with Batista help a shattered woman regain her life or put her right back in harm's way. Sequel in progress.

29. Chapter 28

Uncommon Sense Chapter 28
By Batistafan
Rating - NC-17 for violence
Distribution: If you would like to add this story to
your site that's fine, just let me know.
Main Characters include: Batista, Triple H, Chris Jericho, Christy
Hemme, Nancy Adams (Original Character).

Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers.
This story contains violence, coarse language, as well as mature
sexual situations (some may consider explicit), and these would not
be deemed appropriate for all readers.
I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its
characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any
original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that
ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my
characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of
the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.
I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name
products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim
to them as they are property of their respective companies of
license. Thank you kindly for not suing.

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"The pure and simple truth is rarely pure and never simple."

-Oscar Wilde

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For almost two hours he had been reading and re-reading, poring over portions, and skimming over others because he was bothered by what he saw. He'd been subconsciously clenching his jaw the entire time and now it hurt like hell. Half a dozen times, his eyes had brimmed with tears and another half a dozen he'd found himself so angry that he'd wanted to tear the table from it's base and send it flying across the room…but he understood…understood the whole thing. Maybe he even understood better than most… because he had two little girls of his own.

Dave Batista surveyed a dossier of transcripts, news articles, medical records and photo static copies of her life events, a black and white glimpse into her past…a past he knew she regretted. He held between his thumb and forefinger a copy of her birth certificate…no different than any other by it's appearance, but different to him, because it was hers, and because it was information she'd left out of their discussions. She had been born in Blessings Point, Michigan on May 14th, 1974 to Charlotte Elizabeth Rogers and Army 1st Sergeant, John Kinsley Adams. He smiled when he saw that she'd weighed little more than 6 pounds, somehow he'd not found it hard to imagine she'd been born small.

The school transcripts he'd held showed him that she'd been a relatively good student, better in math than the other subjects…it stood to reason, being as she dealt with numbers and fractions on a daily basis…it didn't surprise him, either that she had managed to pull an 'A' in home economics. There evidenced more than a dozen different schools from Kindergarten through graduation, all of them having a disturbing break in the sequence of dates, indicating that she hadn't stayed in any one school for very long.

She'd been part of a track team, for a short time in junior high school according to one of the transcripts, but for less than a season. That would explain why, despite her lack of coordination on occasion, she was so very fast on foot. He could remember her running barefoot in the rain to the hotel lobby the night they'd been caught in the storm on the river walk. Dave leafed through several news articles, latching onto one in particular. 'Local Bakery Owner Killed During Robbery', the article entailed a botched robbery in which Nancy had lost her father and been witness to his murder. The black and white military picture of her father that they had used for the article, told him exactly where she had gotten her looks. Another article detailing the same incident, written by another local paper, had shown a snapshot of a crying little girl being carried by a police officer, who was trying to shield her face, with little success, from the camera with his gloved hand. It was a black and white photo, but he had some idea as to what the darkened splotches on the front of her tiny woolen coat had been.

Laying the article face-down, careful to shield it from anyone who might venture into the back part of the cafeteria, he glanced at one other small article, less than an eighth of a page in newsprint with the heading – 'Local Teen Apprehended in Stabbing Death'. The title had been morbid, but the limited text below it indicated that Eddie Pritchard, Jr. had been stabbed once in the stomach, by a teen whose name had been withheld, and had been found dead at the scene. Though the name had been withheld, Dave knew who it had been.

He skimmed over her juvenile arrest record. It told him she had been a five time runaway. He read every single police report and pieced together a string of events, times she'd run and been returned. It dumbfounded him that the reports had all indicated the possibility of abuse, and yet no one had done anything…the reports were almost all from different states and cities, but all had been ingrained with the same red-flag. She had run and each time she had been dragged back.

The final police report revealed her arrest for homicide. Indicating that she had been found at the scene, had called the police, not for help but to admit that she had stabbed her mother's boyfriend. The officer who had written the report had stated that the victim had apparently 'bled out' on the teen's floor and that the scene indicated possible sexual assault, but that the teen had been unwilling to admit to more than her culpability in his murder. The officer documented wounds he had identified on Nancy by sight, a split lip, a blackened eye and numerous scratches on her neck and shoulders. The report spoke of the volume of blood on the front of the teen's body, apparently from the victim, and of the blood that had been found on the bed in a pattern that suggested the man had been stabbed while on top of her and then pushed off onto the floor where he'd finally expired.

Dave knew what had happened…he wasn't stupid…but what he couldn't figure out was why she hadn't admitted to what he'd done to her instead of carrying her silence and allowing them to cart her away. His question was answered in the documents he pored over next. Nancy had been sent to a county Detention Center and been put under the guidance of a counselor, who had evidently known all the right questions to ask. He glanced over the counselor's detailed reports, reading the confession of a tearful teenager, who admitted specifically to the abuse, had begged the counselor to keep it quiet, had broken down in front of the woman and admitted that she felt safer in her cell than she ever had in the trailer park.

He could clearly tell that the counselor had been trying to build a case for Nancy, through her sessions, so that the court appointed defense attorneys would have something solid to use in her behalf when her trial ensued. He read as she told the counselor about the addictions her mother had become slave to, and the man that her mother had moved into the trailer in the early fall…how she'd been scared of the way he looked at her. Finally after long hours and countless pages of text, she had admitted to the counselor what she had endured, when his leering perusals had become something more.

Along with the report from the medical exam that the Detention Center had forced her to undergo upon her arrival, the counseling session transcripts and Mrs. Masey's testimony had proved to be the deathblow to the prosecution's attempt to keep her incarcerated for life or longer. The old woman had sorrowfully told of how she'd been walking her retriever down the alley when he'd gone after a stray cat in the bushes behind Nancy's trailer and she'd followed, finding herself below the girl's window. She explained how she'd heard the struggle, seen Eddie Pritchard shred the red prom dress with his bare hands and then strike her in the face twice. Mrs. Masey had rapped on the window, momentarily breaking up the violent encounter…she told of how afraid Nancy had appeared to be, how she knew that her own interference might have just made things worse for the teenager.

Mrs. Masey spoke of how she'd raced back to her trailer and called the police, and been told by one of the officers who was familiar with the young runaway that he would no longer take a report involving her. "His exact words," Mrs. Masey told the court. 'We've been out there more times than you can count and found nothing but a lying, rebellious teenager hell bent on causing problems for everyone…Don't call back unless you have a murder to report!' He couldn't have known how prophetic that offhanded comment would be. The jury had dismissed the charges, the police department had narrowly avoided an embarrassing scandal and the prosecuting attorney conceded without so much as a fight.

Nancy's young and eager, state appointed attorney had pushed for her records to be sealed by a federal judge, his petition citing that 'something of this nature would assassinate any future career possibilities and most likely subject her to pariah status if she chose to stay within the current county of her residence'…and he had been granted that request, posthaste. Her records had been sealed by the federal judge with the promise the she would have a fresh start. Nancy had been released into the custody of the state at the age of seventeen and her trail had gone cold from there.

Dave only skimmed over the medical records, but he knew that tonight had been the fourth time in her life that her shoulder had been dislocated and he suspected that her mother, whom he had now concluded was still alive and kicking, had been undoubtedly responsible for the other injuries. He could understand why she had been afraid for the entirety of her life events to be revealed, something like this had to be humiliating for anyone. He was saddened to think that while other young ladies had been dating and attending driver's education, she had been locked in an 8 x 8 concrete cell, thankful for her solitude.

What he'd been able to determine as an indisputable fact was that the social system had failed her, not because it was horribly flawed, but because it was undermanned and overworked. She had been branded a trailer-park runaway and that stereotype alone put her down in the lower one-third of the food chain in the eyes of the law, even though the police had suspected she was abused…likely it was a result of the fact that she was too afraid to tell anyone what was happening, that resulted in her being swept under the proverbial carpet. And something he knew for certain was that she had been very lucky to have had the nosey Mrs. Masey walking the dog when she had. Yes, he could almost bank on the fact that there was some divine intervention on her behalf. And even though the social system may have failed her, thankfully the judicial system had not.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes in exhaustion and breathed out, stretching his arms. Everything he had read could only give him a foggy glimpse of what had happened…he knew that in order to understand her perspective he would have to hear it from her. None of it had been her fault, he knew that for sure…and true she could have called the police before the man had bled to death…but he knew he would have done the same thing had he been in her shoes. And she could very well have allowed the experience to destroy her life, but she hadn't, she had gone from a shabby trailer park runaway to a striking, intelligent woman, maybe even a little refined despite everything…And like always, he was sure she had stiffened her chin in defiance right in the middle of the crisis and kept going.

Dave was bothered mostly and angered greatly by the fact that she had been exploited, blackmailed and taunted with her past. He didn't have all the facts and that alone made it hard for him to understand why she had been the target of Triple H's fury and sport. He was sure that it most likely had something to do with the fact that Triple H had been on the McMahon leash as of late, every attempt to return to the ring, having been stymied by his wife. She had tried to tell him, he reminded himself…but Dave hadn't wanted to hear her explanation of things, because somehow he'd thought she would say she loved him and that it would be untrue…he hadn't known if he could take that sort of rejection…not from her anyway… and now he felt like an ass.

He'd rebuffed her, though not hatefully, several times…thinking that whatever she'd done, it had been a crime of her own volition…he'd half expected her to have been some sort of corporate criminal in an embezzlement scheme…he should have known better. He owed her an apology in the worst way, but before he could do that, he owed her a favor…and he knew Max would be glad to help.

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Triple H growled with barely leashed fury as he cradled the cell phone to his ear and paused in the hallway just outside of his locker room.

"What do you mean she just got out?" He snarled, feeling the instant rise in his blood pressure, his huge, hulking figure casting an ominous shadow over the hallway.

"Sir, I'm sorry…she just kept slurring something about being lied to…something about how she should have known better than to think her daughter would be anything more than a whore…" Phillip Sands, the limo driver stuttered nervously as he wheeled the gargantuan vehicle around the block, to head back in the direction of the arena. "Then she just jumped out at the stoplight and got into a cab…and…she sort of…has the money that you said not to give her until she got to the hospital." The last part of his comment came out almost as an afterthought.

"First of all…I find it very odd that she just managed to get out and disappear into a cab…she was so drunk she couldn't even find her ass with a map! And why in the fuck would she have the money that she's wasn't supposed to have until she got to the hospital…being as she's not at the hospital?" He roared, thinking of the small three-thousand dollar cash incentive he'd used to get her out here from the trailer park to begin with. The money was merely pocket change for him, but he hated the thought that he had been hamstringed by two women who were genetically connected, and both in the same night.

"Well…" Phillip croaked his explanation. "I sort of had to use it to coax her into the limo…she was pissed that her precious daughter…the supposed "wife" of the arena owner…nice lie by the way…had snubbed her and hadn't even come to the press box to visit her all night!"

Triple H resumed his trek down the hall toward the parking garage. "You didn't follow the cab?"

"With this 30 foot monster in down town traffic? Are you high?" Phillip barked sarcastically, "She's probably at the airport by now…she mentioned that earlier when I was trying to get her into the limo." He gunned the limousine and traversed the freeway on ramp. "Just let her go…you already have another plan in the works, you said so yourself. Using the old lady at the hospital was a nice thought, but you still have the news article and that'll hit the papers tomorrow evening or the next day…let it go."

He had to admit that even though several facets of his plan had fallen through, tonight alone, he did still have the news article and he still had one other plan in the works as he spoke. "Maybe you're right Phillip…" He smiled irreverently as his hand made contact with the bar on the door leading to the parking garage. "At any rate, I'll be happy to recompense myself the three grand I'm out, on your next payday." He whipped the door open, laughing as he heard the protests gurgling from Phillip. "Well if I can let it go…then you should…too…" His jaw dropped, along with his bag…and then the cell phone followed, clattering against the concrete. His eyes locked on the mangled remains of his precious Modena. Sitting like a forlorn junk yard trophy and anyone within at least a hundred yards found their ears party to an angst filled roar.

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"Every piece, Max…Nothing gets left." Dave Batista ordered gently as he kneeled on the concrete behind the dumpster, less than 10 feet from a sign in the loading dock that read 'No Smoking By Order Of Fire Marshall, violators may be prosecuted.' He twisted each and every document lengthwise, some intertwined with others and lit them on fire one by one, holding each and watching it burn until his fingers nearly caught fire. A few times he cursed when the flames licked at his flesh, and a few times he laughed because it was as much a release for him as he knew it would be for her. And secretly he knew that even though he wanted Triple H to suffer some serious legal repercussions for what he'd done, he knew that in order for that to happen, her past would have to come out…and he wasn't about to let that happen. Watching Triple H become an outsider behind the curtain, and being witness to a speedy reign in on the McMahon leash would have to be sufficient. Respect was everything in this business, and so he knew with a measure of satisfaction that what had happened tonight was going to pit the other wrestlers against Triple H. He would have some serious trouble coming his way in future weeks, from people who had once been his friends…if he hadn't already been the recipient of some difficulty before leaving the arena.

Max was nearly in tears the entire time the two knelt on the concrete, as he helped to incinerate her past, every letter of text, every smudge of black and white. Soon there was nothing more than ashes to contend with, and even those got wadded up in a paper napkin and then scattered into the grease trap behind the hospital cafeteria. Both men knew that nothing could have been gleaned from the ashes, but neither was willing to take any chances.

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The dream, if it had even been a dream took shape behind the haze of anesthesia. It formed like a vapor that shape-shifted in the wind, and she found herself at the edge of the water again…tossing the bread crumbs at the ducks, with the sound of her father's laughter, like a pleasant song floating in the air behind her. Ever closer, they were coming…those ducks…snapping up the bread crumbs in haste…as her tiny black Mary Jane's scooted back away from their yellow and grey webbed feet. She squealed when one of the braver ducks dared to snap at the crumb in her hand, but her Daddy saved her, snatching her up, and seating her on one of his huge shoulders.

"Feed them from up there." He laughed and let the eager ducks surround his long legs as the crumbs came showering down from above him, all over his head, his shoulders and the backs of the ducks…

…And then she was sitting Indian style on top of the bakery counter holding the huge wooden spoon, with her father's baker's hat at a gaudy tilt atop her Shirley Temple curls. She was giggling and smacking the batter ruthlessly with the spoon, successfully keeping her father at bay with a spray of chocolate. He was laughing again. "Not like that, Nancy!" His huge hands were held up in the air, in front of him acting as a shield. "Stir, don't slap…" He said through his laughter and the saxophone music in the background…

…She watched him strap the tree on top of the car giving the yellow rope one last tug, and then he cast a worried look at her mother in the front seat. "Cookies?" He smiled and asked Nancy, and she squealed in delight hugging his leg. "Macaroons, Daddy." She slid into the back seat, a small gouge in the leather, hooking her coat…

…Too dark…too dark in here for her Daddy to find the cookies, she thought, her tiny hand slipping over the smooth wall by the door, feeling for the light switch. The men, her father, the noise, a blinding flash of light and the smell of sulfur…too fast for her to know how to help...But maybe if she just hugged him he would be okay, maybe, because saying his name over and again, and shaking him like she did on Saturday mornings to wake him for cartoons hadn't worked. "Wake up." She whispered against his neck, now covered with something warm and sticky, and he didn't, but maybe she could just stay here and hug him awhile…maybe then…

…Her lungs were nearly bursting, the burning pain of exertion as her legs pumped furiously, the lines of the track lanes a blur, her grip on the metal baton in her hand tightening…and she knew no one was anywhere near her…she knew it…and everything else painful fell away when her chest snapped the ribbon amongst a loud pop of cheering...

…Then the same physical sensation in her lungs as she ran for a different reason, through the field, across the train tracks, down the steep hill behind The Ferrin Homes Development. And she knew no one was anywhere near her…under the highway overpass and then down on her knees in the grass behind the convenience store…

…The flash of red, first from the iridescent crimson fabric of her dress and then from the blood on her body, a distinct metallic smell filling her nose, and his gurgled begging for her to help as his already drug inundated body spilled his life's blood. Then the threats of what he would do if he did live…and then her…in the corner, shaking fingers curled around the knife, her knees tucked up to her chin having made her decision already…

…The gavel smashed down, signaling her freedom…Mrs. Masey shoved a rolled up wad of cash into her hand, and tearfully reminded her that she had to be careful never to let anyone know. Success…she could see herself even now, who she had become and yet she appeared to be trapped, unable to go further. And then her dreams took her into a deeper fog, plunging her into deep, dark waters, where she could sense things unresolved…where she could not catch her breath…where her father was not able to save her…where she had to swim on her own to reach the surface. But it was so very hard, taking so long, and the weights around her ankles…they were very heavy…and yet she did not know how she even knew that they were weights, making it more difficult for her to reach the top, no matter how furiously she swam. But then she could see the light, a mere silver shimmer through the blackened and fearful waters, and something…there was something plunging through the murk to find her. The long and sculpted fingers seeking hers, the strong, familiar hand and the chiseled forearm…clamping onto it she felt the strength of his grasp…she felt the weights slip off of her ankles as if they'd never been there…she sensed herself being drawn up from beneath the water, inch by inch until her head surfaced and she gasped, filling her lungs with life giving air.

And she had seen a light…and she did gasp, but she hadn't been under the water…hadn't been pulled from it physically and yet his hand was there clasping hers, along with his worried frown, as her chest heaved, sending a slight tingle of pain through her injured arm…He spoke her name.

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Dave Batista was walking in from the outside, with Max at his side…and Christy could see that they both had solemn but satisfied looks on their faces. She knew she probably shouldn't even be there, out in the hall not far from Nancy's room, though she hadn't been permitted by the nurse to enter. She noticed that he wasn't walking with a limp either and that was good…good for his career, but bad in a way because it meant that she wouldn't be needed to nurse him back to health. And he was here…still…nearly twelve hours after he had hitched a ride in the ambulance when he could have already gone back to the hotel, and that wasn't a good sign either…because it meant that he was here for Nancy.

Christy might have guessed that Max would be giving her a look that suggested she go to hell, but she hadn't been prepared for the stony unresponsiveness that flickered across the face of the Champion, the slight flare of his nostrils and the clenching of his jaw suggested that he was suppressing a tirade. She stood to her feet when he finally reached the row of chairs, just past the nurse's station.

"Hi…" She spoke, softly. "I just came to see if she's okay." Christy fiddled with the zipper on her flannel jacket, and stared at the floor. She knew she couldn't look him in the eyes, because she was ashamed. Something about the way he was staring right through her, as if he'd known every sin she'd ever committed and had already judged her accordingly, made her want to sink through the floor.

"Hmmph." The small huff, another clench of his jaw. "Because you care so much, right?" His sarcasm was evident in the nuance that swam through the low rumble of his voice and his tongue set between his jaw and cheek.

"I know it doesn't seem like I care…" She licked her lip and cleared her throat. "But I do." She cared for him…and she did feel a twinge of guilt for what would undoubtedly happen tomorrow when the scandal hit the tabloids.

"Oh, really?" His tone was lackluster. "You're a hell of a gal."

She hadn't missed the dryness in his voice. "I didn't come here to fight with you." Her voice cracked.

"Why did you come here?" His brow creased and his voice was tight with suppressed frustration. "Did you come thinking you could score some points with me…how's your chest, by the way?"

He hadn't hidden the smirk when he'd made that remark and she felt the sting of his words. "I didn't know whether she would be awake, yet and I just thought that I could talk to her…I feel like I owe her an apology." Christy stammered, looking at the floor again to avoid his scathing glare.

"You owed her an apology a long time ago…" Dave crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. "But its okay…I already made amends for you...its how I ended up getting to know her in the first place." He grinned unable to resist the verbal jab and then it dawned on him why the two women had been engaged in their own personal warfare tonight in the match. She knew…Christy knew and had probably known all along. His eyes narrowed as his pulse began to pound rhythmically, furiously in his ears.

Christy must have sensed the dangerous shift in his demeanor, for she stepped back and began to chew the inside of her cheek. "I just meant that the match was a little rocky and because we're new at this and all…" She began to backpedal, having suddenly realized that she'd given herself away.

"Stop it." He warned keeping his distance. "You knew what was going on, and you went right along with it, didn't you?" He smiled and shook his head in disbelief. "You're pathetic."

"I don't know what you mean." She wouldn't look him in the eye, yet again. "We just had a rough match, that's all."

He could tell she was lying by the way she dodged the issue. "You're as bad as he is…" His voice was low and dark. "Maybe even worse…Because you had an opportunity to do the right thing, and you didn't…what was in it for you?" He knew he would never get an honest answer, but at least she knew that he was wise to what she had done.

"Dave, I didn't do anything to hurt her…th-things weren't supposed to go this far…" She began to defend herself. "I'm the one who's gonna have a bruise from here to here in the morning." She gestured to her aching collarbones with her hand as tears began to form on her lower lashes.

"Poor thing." He glowered as he spoke derisively.

"I know that you're mad at me tonight, but by tomorrow morning…or evening at the latest, you're gonna realize that I've been here all along…She's lied to you…sh-she used you…" She began to sob. "You'll understand that I'm the one who's been honest with you this entire time." She reached out and laid her slender hand on his forearm.

Her roundabout confession, the sheer knowledge that she knew about the package that was supposed to have been on its way to the publication, vexed him. He flicked her hand off and swallowed, staring in her eyes he found a look of calculation…he suspected that even if her tears were real, her sense of logic was completely disjointed.

"I know we had something good when we were together…its still gotta be in there somewhere." She pleaded, touching his sternum gently with her fingers, indicating his heart.

"Yep…" He nodded, and laughed callously. "We had sex…that was it…it wasn't ever meant to be anything more than that…sorry you got the wrong idea." He announced flatly, gently brushing her hand off of his chest.

His words blasted her painfully, nearly shattering the idea that there would be more between the two of them. "Don't do this…you don't mean that, Dave...I know you're not that cruel…I'll give you more time…as much as you need." She stepped closer, clasping his forearm with her hands. "Being with her, will destroy your career, it's gonna ruin your life…hurt your daughters…I just want what's best for you…you know that."

Her feigned concern for his daughters nearly enraged him, and her misguided empathy had him summoning all of his willpower just to stifle the urge to throttle her. "Christy…" He began, with a dangerous calm, a dark glimmer flashing in his deep brown eyes. His voice remained miraculously steady, even and threatening, "Don't try to appeal to my better nature…because I don't have one." Again he estranged himself from her grasp. "You need to leave, now."

Christy pulled her hands away as if she'd been scorched and stuffed them into her pockets. He had turned away from her and though she wanted to press herself against his huge back and beg for his forgiveness, she reminded herself that Triple H had promised another avenue…a back-up plan. He had promised that he would deliver Dave…and even though right now the handsome champion wanted nothing to do with her…he would come around, as soon as the scandal hit the papers…he would see that she was the one for him. She trudged down the hall and hit the button on the elevator, watching Dave converse intensely with Max as she waited.

The tone signaled the elevator's arrival and she stepped inside, turning to face the man that she loved, but he never even gave her a parting glance…the doors shut and she slid down the mirrored wall of the elevator car, hugging her knees to her chest, unable to cry, numb and terrified. Maybe she had gone too far, maybe he would never want her again…but maybe…just maybe the tiny spark of fight left in her would be enough to rekindle his affection. She wasn't giving up yet.

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His neck and back were throbbing from hours of seeking a comfortable dozing position, to no avail, in the much too small chair in the corner of her room. He had seen her jerk, heard her stir and he scooted the chair up next to the bed, grasping her hand. Her breathing became slightly labored, as if she'd been holding her breath, but she wasn't writhing in pain, though she did wince when the involuntary jerk jarred her arm, which was now wrapped and in temporary traction against the side of her body.

"Nancy…" He whispered, wondering if she were about to wake. He watched her swallow and with very great effort, she lifted her heavy eyelids as if they had been glued shut. He smiled, thinking that it was like watching a baby wake after being fed. Her color was good and though her curls were in shambles, one would never have guessed the events that led up to her being here in this bed. "Hey…how do you feel?" It was a stupid question, because he knew she probably felt like hell, but he asked it anyway.

She turned her head toward the source of the voice and smiled slightly through her droopy eyelids. Swallowing again…her throat felt raw and she cleared it slightly. "I feel like I just had surgery." She croaked and laughed softly, and then winced again when the laugh shook her arm.

He found himself laughing with her, relieved…because she still managed to weave her humor into a bad situation. "I think you're gonna be fine." He had no idea where Max was at this hour, but he was glad that he had been the first one to see her after she woke up.

Nancy squinted at the glaring halogen light in the corner, thankful that the overhead lights had been turned off…His hand, warm and solid was holding hers…but for how long? She guessed it was late morning maybe even almost noon…her life was about to take a turn for the worse. "Where's Max?" She asked glancing toward the door.

"Not sure." Dave shook his head. "He's been here, though…the whole time." He perceived something as it crossed her features, but he wasn't sure whether it was gratitude or relief. A few silent moments passed, as he watched her eyes move from place to place in the room…it was awkwardly quiet. He had to say something…tell her what he knew…that it didn't matter, and let her know that she was safe…but how to go about it was another affair.

"I know everything." He didn't mean for it to come out the way it did, like a blast from a mace can and yet he knew no other way to tell her. He watched as she stared at the ceiling for a few seconds and then closed her eyes.

"Bought the morning paper, didn't you?" She didn't bother meeting his eyes…if he knew everything then it was only because the story had broken. Why was he even still here, why was he holding her hand in his?

"No." He shook his head.

"Tabloid then?"

"No." He told her, attempting to reassure her. "Nothing's going to be put in the papers…Max intercepted everything, I don't know how, but he managed to steal the papers from Vicki."

"You have them." It wasn't a question, but rather a confirmation. She felt her breath leave her, and she didn't dare hope that he hadn't read them. "It doesn't matter. Triple H is probably just getting another copy ready, now that he knows you have it."

"He doesn't know." Dave told her. "He has no idea that Max took the documents. He thinks they're in the hands of some columnist, but I assume he's done it anonymously because having possession of those records to begin with was a felony, so it's not like he can race in there demanding that they print your story." He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, where they had just recently removed the IV and bandaged it and yet she still didn't look at him. "I read…them…I know it wasn't really my place or maybe it was, but I know all about what happened…I know how your dad died."

Her eyes blurred with tears and she still stared at the ceiling…she thought of the dream. "I remember every single thing about him…" Her voice was wavering when she spoke, but he heard the degree of fondness. "I can tell you exactly what he smelled like. Ask me what side he parted his hair on…I can tell you that too." She worked her jaw…he assumed it was to keep from crying. "His hair was curly like mine…I got my green eyes from him. He was so tall and he had these…huge hands…I miss…him." Her voice caught in her throat and though he wanted to soothe her, to tell her that she didn't have to tell him if it hurt her to do so…he let her continue, because she seemed to need to tell someone.

"Your mother's still alive, isn't she?" He asked her gently.

Nancy nodded, a wry smile twisting her features. "She was in the press box last night…"

"What?" Dave was confused.

"He put her in the press box as insurance for my obedience." Nancy shook her head, the tears burning her eyelids. "But yes, she is very much alive…and maybe I just thought somewhere deep down that if I convinced myself that she was dead, then she really would be." She continued. "She was always, just…a functioning alcoholic, and he loved her so much…my dad. He tried to get help for her, but she refused it." The confession of her past was lifting a burden and though she surmised he already knew the bulk of her dirty secrets, she found she couldn't stop...somehow she felt safe in the telling of it. "After he died, she went…crazy…it was my fault…that's what she always said, and I know better, now…but when you're little you don't know better."

It was hard for him to imagine…he'd only ever known good parenting. His mother had been wonderfully sacrificial and altruistic, his ex-wife was a magnificent mother…his daughters had every advantage possible, and so it was hard to grasp what he heard, even though he knew it had been true. "She hurt you." He admitted it for her.

"Sometimes…mostly when I was little, when I couldn't get out of her way, but as I got older, she became more of a clumsy drunk…usually I just ran or dodged fists." Nancy laughed a little, but he didn't seem to share in her humor. "But sometimes she got a good one in…no big deal." He watched her try to reconstruct her shell of dignity, but she was failing, he knew it because her eyes closed when as she related the story. "I ran away a lot…sometimes she called the police, other times, she had no idea I was even gone until after I came back…and then she let Eddie Pritchard move into our trailer." She forced herself to breathe, as she formed the words. "I hated him before I knew anything about him…I used to stay away for hours, when I was supposed to be home, to avoid him…I went to libraries, conventions anything I could get into for free. My dad told me when I was five…and yes I can remember back that far…he said that every time you taught yourself something of value, you took a step further away from poverty." She shook her head, and smiled. "I had to ask him to tell me what poverty was…I didn't know…" She laughed. "I studied art at the museums on Saturdays, so I could be away when Eddie's dealers showed up, I read for hours at the library, and Mrs. Masey taught me how to sew…she's the reason I have this skill and have this career."

Now he knew why she'd always seemed to know so many different things, how she had been able to tell him which flowers had been what, and how she'd known who the artist had been…from the painting in his cabana. "Why didn't you tell the police what he did to you?" He knew that to him it didn't matter, but he wanted her to admit it, to face it and work through it.

"They knew…" She frowned. "You could see it on their face…How could they not know?" She looked at him for the first time since he had initiated the conversation. "I could have called for help…or better yet I could have left that knife in the kitchen drawer…but I knew he would do it again...I just couldn't let him do it again. I let him die…I knew what I was doing…and I had heard him tell my mother that morning that he was moving us to Kentucky as soon as summer came…I just wanted him gone." She searched his eyes, for some hint of disgust…something to tell her that he was through, and her hope kindled when she saw none. "I know what I did was wrong."

He shook his head and breathed in deeply. "When you can't get help…then any measure you have to take to preserve yourself…or what's left of what you have, isn't wrong." He held her fingers against his lips, as he spoke.

"I took a human life." She admitted, again searching for some hint of reproach in the deep brown pools.

"And he didn't?" He asked. "He may be dead, but do you actually think you were in anyway alive when he was hurting you? Human life isn't just in blood and body…it's in your spirit too, he broke your spirit…so it seems to me like it was a fair debt paid."

"I'm sorry I lied to you." She said, as tears dripped down the side of her face. "I just never even anticipated you…" She admitted. "It was coffee on her…and you just happened to be there…" her chin quivered as she stammered.

He was smiling because he understood exactly how she felt…he'd definitely never anticipated her either.

"It wasn't supposed to…it was just a ride, and then just breakfast…and you look at me like I mean something to you…and then I couldn't walk away…I thought about it, but I couldn't." She shook her head, and cupped his cheek with her hand, grazing his five o'clock shadow.

"Did you think I wouldn't understand?" He asked, his voice thick with the effort to hold in emotion.

"I don't know what I thought…You deserved better I guess, your girls…I never wanted you to be ashamed that you knew me…or second guess yourself."

"Why? Because that's what he told you, when he forced you to help him, or because you really believe that's the kind of man I am?" He asked. "Because I can promise you that whoever he tried to convince you I am, isn't even close…you know me, don't you?" He touched his chest. "None of your past matters to me…because it's over, it's not who you are…if the system buried it, then so can you." He cast caution to the wind. "Why in the hell did you go after that belt, when you knew what he wanted to do?"

"He was expecting me to fail you…I tried so hard to get her to help me…he was watching me, mocking me when he had that chair and he hit you…I was so angry and scared." She nearly sobbed through clenched teeth. "You weren't gonna want me once you knew what I had done…I didn't have anything else left to lose…I didn't know at that moment that you had overheard, that you already knew that I had planned to let you down…I had to prove to myself that I could make the right decision, I wanted to take the control away from him."

"It's just a belt." He said softly. "It's important…but not that important."

"I know…but it meant something to me…winning it for you, when just seconds before I was supposed to take a fall and help you lose it."

"And Christy?" The name was acid in his mouth. "How does she figure into all of this." He was sure he already knew the answer.

"She knew everything, but she was so scared of him…she was never going to help…but that didn't mean that she didn't deserve her secrecy too. He had dirt on her, just like he did on me."

"And so you knocked her out to protect her?" He almost laughed at the irony. Nancy had risked herself to shield from retaliation, someone who would just as soon throw her under the bus as give her the time of day.

"Well, yes that, and because I really wanted to prove to you that I could execute that kick."

He nearly roared his laughter, head tilted back. "You and Audrey are cut from the same cloth." And he couldn't stop himself from planting a kiss on her lips, and whispering the same three words that he had in the closet, against the satin skin of her cheek.

Before she could respond, the door opened and in swept Max. He had a lunch tray in hand and a portly nurse hot on his heels, protesting his having brought food in without her consent. "Oh damn…I always do that...I missed something good again, didn't I?" He referred to his habitual interruptions. Max then turned to the nurse behind him who had begun a tirade of incessant chattering about his food tray.

"You can't share that with her." The nurse informed him wagged her finger sternly. "The last thing I want is for her to throw up and put strain her shoulder!" The woman was curt and frowning fiercely.

"Damn, lady!" Max matched her glare. "Look at me…guess my weight…do I actually look like a person who would share my food with anyone?"

The nurse glowered, huffed and turned to exit the room.

"Yeah, I didn't think so." Max retorted to her retreating figure, then he turned as soon as the door shut and placed the tray on the bedside table, pulling it directly in front of Nancy. "I know they're starving you in here…so I got some of your favorites…Sorry Big Dave, but you're on your own for lunch, I couldn't carry two trays and her dismissal paperwork at the same time."

"That's fine." Dave smiled good-naturedly, even though he had a strong desire to cuff Max in the back of the head for walking in on a private moment, yet again.

Max produced a folded stack of papers from his back pocket. "Okay Twisted-Sister, here's the plan." He teased plucking one of her stray curls and watching it spring back. "So they say that they're gonna release you this evening." He chattered, as he pulled a second chair up to the opposite side of the bed. "I spoke to my mom and she said she's more than happy to help you rehab at the ranch until you're better, she said to tell you she loves you." He continued to rattle on. "I can book a flight for you tonight, but since I won't be able to be on it…Bischoff won't give me anymore personal days this year, egocentric prick…I'm gonna pay for one of those liaison…security people…you know, the ones that fly with under-aged kids…"

Dave interrupted as soon as he saw the look of doubt cross her face. "Max, can I talk to you for a second?" He didn't wait for a response, but rather he stepped out into the hallway motioning his fingers in a come along gesture, expectant that Max would follow. He did.

Nancy was left to the task of picking at the variety buffet on the tray, oddly finding her appetite lacking. The only thing of interest to her was a slice of chocolate mousse pie and a glass of water and she devoured both and pushed the tray away. Twenty minutes had passed and neither Max nor Dave had returned. Sighing, she concluded that they were both, most probably contracting a pay-by-the-hour security officer to baby-sit her on her flight and carry her luggage to Max's mother's SUV. Nancy did love his family, and they had just as readily made her a part of it, and yet still she felt a little less than enthusiastic about pawning herself off on such giving people. Yet at the same time, she had no home of her own at which to convalesce, having given that up for a life in hotels.

A half hour later, the door opened again, causing Nancy to jump thinking it might be the nurse who had hassled Max about the food tray. Thankfully it was not. Dismissal paperwork in hand, Dave sat back down in the chair beside her bed.

"Not hungry?" He queried as he glanced toward the tray and then settled his eyes on her.

"No." She admitted, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable under his intense gaze. 'Here's the part where he bows out gracefully' her inner voice announced.

His thoughts had been in place before he had come in again. He'd even mentally rehearsed the speech, but now his inner animal cruelly scattered his practiced words like marbles on a stone floor. For the life of him he could not imagine how to ask her without sounding like a complete idiot. He stared at her for a moment longer, grasping for the words.

"Don't go to Colorado." He blurted and then silently chastised himself. "I mean…you don't, uh." He scratched his chin nervously, Bloody hell! He sighed and righted his thoughts before he began again. "I have a week…it's what I could get…and I'm going home." He cleared his throat praying that the words would come out the right way. 'Say it, say it' The beast taunted. "Come with me…let me take care of you for a week…and then after that if you wanna go to Max's ranch, I'll fly you there." The words fell out of his mouth like confetti from the ceiling of Madison Square Garden.

A small ache settled in her heart, in that place where all her hope lay…and she wanted to answer him…her throat was dry all of a sudden and her conscience having sensed her innermost desire, pushed forth one highly profound word from between her lips.

"Okay."