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I hope you're enjoying this old fashioned dip into Kayfabe. Lovely's a slow burn, but I have already written 9 of the 16 chapters this fic is projected to be. Expect updates fairly regularly :)

Raw 3/25/02

"Acceptance"

"Na na na na, na na na na, hey hey, goodbye!"

There wasn't a person in attendance, or in the back, that was sad to see Stephanie McMahon-Helmsley go. She threw a tantrum of epic proportions, clinging to the ropes with all her might and throwing herself beneath the ring. It didn't matter. She'd lost. Hunter had given her a brutal DDT and pinned her, 1,2, 3. He was still the Undisputed Champion and she was barred from the World Wrestling Federation.

Her emotions ranged from furious to devastated by the hour once she'd left the arena that night. Her temper spiked around midnight so she pulled every string she could to charter a private plane to New York City. Her equilibrium wouldn't return for much longer.

For a week, she stayed in the city, binging on everything but men. She indulged in food, booze, and clubs of every variety. She connected with the worst of her old friends and cut off the little communication she had with her brother. From morning to night, she numbed her body and mind as best she could. Anything, everything to escape her thoughts.

Stephanie didn't know what else to do but self-destruct. Hunter had barely given a reaction to anything else she'd done. What else could she do? Nothing had worked. Not destroying his things, or his dog, or trying to destroy his career. She'd attacked everything he cared about. There was nothing. She could do nothing to get back his attention. His love, the back of her mind whispered.

She drowned the thought in tequila, rum, and whiskey.

The Monday after her dramatic departure from the company, she watched Raw from an upscale bar in Manhattan. He and the Undertaker argued onscreen about the championship and title shots. She barely listened. He looked so good. The belts complimented him. They added to his aura of power and the small smirk that tugged his lips to the side lit up his handsome face. Her blood soon boiled. He'd thrown her away, just like that.

Her skin was crawling.

The anger propelled her from the bar to the extravagant lounge of her five-star hotel. And then it burned her from the inside out. She was out of ideas, out of time, out of everything. He wanted her gone and now she was and the rage she'd felt for months was fueled again by an opportunity of vengeance. There was a dark figure across the bar willing to help.

His skin, eyes, and hair were all fair but his gaze and aura were as black as her heart.

So the two migrated towards one another and wasted no time exchanging pleasantries before promptly splitting a bottle of gin. He was forward and his grip on her hip was firm and demanding. The pressure soothed her anger. Like a deep tissue massage, it burned but released the pain. She let him follow her up to her room and kiss her with a force a bit too comfortable for a stranger.

Soon they were naked and tangled on the bed, him on top of her, kissing and stroking and building pleasure to a peak. He turned her, and she felt like a driver drunk at the wheel when he entered her. Everything was blurry and in slow motion. His thrusts felt good, in a far away, dejected sort of way.

Her conscience cried softly in the back of her mind, but the McMahon illness of ego and narcissism suffocated it. She pushed back against the stranger and groaned when the pleasure mixed with the pain. He gripped her hair and tugged gently to encourage her to rise from all fours and rest against his chest. She let him take the lead and groaned again when the new position benefitted her. She felt the man's smile against her ear and his fingers tightened in her curls.

"You like that?"

His voice was like a deer in the middle of a dark road. She was suddenly no longer drunk. She was screaming and swerving the wheel to avoid the collision but it was too late. Her body braced for impact as he let her fall to her hands again.

Her one-night-stand was oblivious to her internal crash. He took her gasp at his words to insinuate approval and went to work in taking them to the finish. His hands gripped her hips as he appreciated the curve of her ass and he bounced against it. Beneath him, Stephanie's eyes were wide and panicked as everything hit her at once.

Her marriage was over. Her husband was gone. She'd let a stranger into her room, her bed, her body. She felt sick. The hands holding her were foreign. The pleasure was gone. She felt nothing but disgust and shame. Her chest tightened and tears sprung to her eyes. She cried out in agony, the pain from deep within her.

The stranger misinterpreted her again and groaned with ecstasy. He pulled out, and despite the condom that contained him, chose to rip it off and finish on her backside.

"Shit, that was –"

But his panted words of praise died as she practically ran from the bed. Stephanie slammed the bathroom door shut behind her before spewing every ounce of the gin she had drunk into the toilet. She'd cheated. She'd had sex with someone that wasn't Hunter. His mouth and hands weren't Hunter's. She touched someone else, kissed someone else. She cried and vomited and tried not to choke.

Holden, or Henry, or whatever the fuck his name was, was knocking on the locked door in concern. She paid him no mind. Her ears were ringing and she could barely see through her tears. Her stomach clenched when it was empty and she couldn't think of a worse feeling than how hollow it felt. How hollow she felt. There was a weight on her chest and her hands shook trying to flush down her dinner of alcohol and mixer.

She ducked her face beneath the sink faucet and washed out her mouth with freezing water. Then she unwrapped the hotel soap bar and scrubbed her hands like they were biohazard. A sob echoed throughout the room when she realized what was still on her. A towel was promptly drowned in the cold water before wiping away the evidence of the stranger in the next room. She wanted to scrub herself clean, she wanted to hide, and she wanted help. But all she could do was run.

Stephanie charged back into the bedroom and expected to unload her frustrations. But the man was gone. Her panic spiked. The vibrations in her hands spread to her torso and legs, and before she knew what she was doing, she was dressed and sprinting from the room. She ran to the elevator, and then to the front desk and demanded her car from the valet. She allowed no one to argue with her, unconcerned with the amount of alcohol she'd drunk or the blurriness of her vision.

She needed to move, fast. From her thoughts, her feelings, what she'd done. Everything. She just needed… she didn't know. To go home, she thought. But she had no home. Not anymore. Hunter was her home. He was the only person she'd ever felt safe with. And now he was gone and she needed to run, but she had nowhere to run to.

As she flung herself into her car in the round driveway of the luxury hotel, an image of her father flashed across her mind. He wouldn't understand. He didn't feel. She didn't either. Not usually. Not unless Hunter was involved. Her insides shuddered as she sped towards Connecticut. Greenwich was just under an hour away. And she could get there even faster with her lead foot.

But there was nothing in Greenwich. No house, no husband. No loving arms to hold her, to shield her.

Mom.

She'd never sought shelter from her before, never accepted her conditional affections. But the blue of her mother's eyes refused to leave her thoughts so she shifted into fifth gear and flew towards the McMahon mansion. For just over 30 minutes, she traveled 100mph until the small town's welcoming sign came into view.

The coupe sped alarmingly fast through the streets of Greenwich. It should have been stopped multiple times but the local police knew the car. And even if they didn't, it wouldn't have mattered. One glance at the driver's license and she would have been on her way. The antics of the McMahon princess were legendary. She had been a wild child with no consequences in high school. Daddy stomped down any physical or legal interventions to her behavior. Everyone knew it was better, easier, to just leave her alone.

She was lucky to make it to the mansion in one piece. Even luckier for the front gate's sensor to still recognize her old fobber. Lucky the guard dogs were put away for the night. Lucky her father wasn't home. Luck was something she was born with. It followed her everywhere – she knew she could rely on it.

Until her mother had stopped it.

But now all Stephanie wanted was the woman who had caused all this. The woman she'd resented since the age of thirteen. The woman who had been right about everything.

"There's gonna come a time, Stephanie, when all this hurt you cause is gonna come back around."

Why did it have to come in this form? Why couldn't have it been physically? Why did it have to hurt like this?

The tears flowed with a vengeance as she stumbled out of the car. Her sobs continued to wrack her body. She was hunched and all but crawled to the front door from the grand driveway.

Her key didn't fit. The locks had been changed. It was a final punch to the stomach. She wailed with vigor. Her fists pounded on the door as she called for her mother. Her tone was desperate; not demanding as it so often was.

Stephanie caused a commotion within the house. The dogs, the housekeeper, all sleeping on the first floor, scrambled to the door. It was an emergency. It had to be. What else but bodily harm could cause a person to bang on the door so irrationally? Insanity, maybe. Particularly in this family. But in this instance, it was clarity.

Someone, for the first time, was seeing herself as she truly was. And recognizing what she just lost. Who she just lost.

And not having the emotional maturity, the tools, to handle it. A princess raised without consequences. A young woman with the world, and everyone in it, at her feet. Now having to face her worst mistake. Now having to live without the person she loved most.

A breakdown was inevitable.

When the housekeeper opened the double front doors, Stephanie almost fell to the floor.

"Ms. McMahon?" The old woman was beyond surprised to see the heiress. It was a testament to the long-time McMahon employee that she sounded concerned over Stephanie's appearance. The younger woman had never been kind to her.

She stumbled into the foyer, frantically looking up the two winding staircases that led to different ends of the mansion. Her tears were hysterical now and she cried out for her mother again.

"Ms. McMahon, are you alright?"

The dogs grumbled and growled bedside the newcomer. She hadn't been particularly kind to them either.

"Shannon, what's going on?"

The matriarch appeared. Finally. At the top of the left staircase, she stood confused and disoriented from sleep. Linda became alarmed at the sight of her daughter.

"Stephanie?" What–"

"Mom!"

It was Stephanie's most desperate cry yet.

Linda bounded down the steps as quickly as she could, holding up long nightgown to avoid tripping. Her bare feet met the first floor for one second before she was skidding in front of Stephanie, accessing her for damage. She looked terrible; like a prostitute in a crime television show. Her tight leather pants and crop top allowed Linda to see how much she was shaking. Her hair was disheveled and her heavy makeup streamed down her face in dark lines from her tears.

Linda thought the worst. Her eyes went wide and her heart plummeted as she asked, "What happened?"

Stephanie just continued to wail and shake her head. Linda panicked and grabbed her daughter by the shoulders, needing an answer.

"Steph, talk to me!"

"Mom–" Her cries cut her off again and Linda knew true fear when Stephanie dropped to her knees. She grabbed the front of Linda's nightgown and sobbed into it. Her knuckles around the fabric turned white.

Linda and Shannon made frightened eye contact. Thoughts of calling the police entered both of their minds, but then Stephanie found her voice.

"I'm sorry, mom. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Between sobs, hiccups, and to her mother's feet, Stephanie rambled on. Apologizing for everything that seemed to have ever happened in the dysfunctional family.

"I'm sorry for everything. I didn't mean it. I'm sorry. He's gone. Oh my god, he's gone. I slapped you! I'm so sorry! Shane bought WCW. I went along with it. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have done anything I've done. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, mom. Please forgive me. He's gone. I'm sorry."

Over and over. Barely understandable rants strung together with apologizes. Linda felt shell-shocked. Her and Shannon looked at each other stunned as the top of Stephanie's head bobbed from her emotion. She stayed on her knees begging for forgiveness as the older women cried silently. Slow tears streamed down Linda's face as her daughter finally recognized, acceptable, and took responsibility for her despicable behavior.

She felt no pride, no joy from Stephanie's omissions. In fact, she felt nothing but pity. And guilt. She'd raised this woman and was responsible for whatever she'd become. And it had broken her. Carefully, she rested her hands on the top of her daughter's head.

"Shh, Stephanie."

But the comforting coo heightened the princess's cries and soon Stephanie was gasping for breath, hyperventilating from the hysterics. So Linda joined her on the floor while Shannon tended to the confused dogs, shooing them away into the living room.

"Shh, it's okay. Breathe, baby. I'm right here. Shh." She repeated similar phrases for what seemed like hours. Linda brought her daughter's head to her chest and raked through her hair to offer as much comfort as she had done when Stephanie was a child. Maybe she should have done this more. Maybe she shouldn't have allowed Vince to monopolize Stephanie's attention and affection.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Stephanie's apologizes were finally quieting. Raw whispers seemed to be all she could manage. She was loosing her voice.

"Come on," urged Linda gently.

The matriarch and Shannon gradually assisted Stephanie in standing, and then, up the stairs.

Her childhood bedroom had been turned into a comfortable guest suite. By the time the three made their way through the threshold, Stephanie stood a bit more independently. But her head never lifted. She didn't watch Linda turn down the bed or Shannon enter the bathroom to turn on its nightlight.

"Shannon, get me one of Vince's undershirts, please."

The housekeeper disappeared from the room. Linda guided her daughter to the bed and gently, but as quickly as she could, removed her clothing. No bruises, no blood. Stephanie's skin was unmarked. Her mother breathed a bit easier. She was still confused, still unsure as to what led her daughter to her. But she was confident that a stranger hadn't caused it.

When the caretaker returned, they pulled the plain white shirt over her head, and mindful that she wore nothing but the t-shirt and panties, pulled the covers up to her chin. Stephanie burrowed her blackened face into the comforter; only her hair could be seen. Linda sat beside her and stroked the brown curls comfortingly.

Shannon hovered, torn between concern and confusion, she didn't know whether to leave the two McMahons or not.

"It's alright," Linda whispered, "I got her. Thank you for your help."

Shannon nodded and gave the top of Stephanie's head a final look of concern before bowing out of the room. With a soft click of the door, they were alone. Linda ducked her head and pulled back the covers just an inch to see the side of Stephanie's face.

A brief, but forever engrained in Linda's memory, conversation took place. They spoke in whispers.

"Did someone hurt you?"

"No."

"Do you need a doctor?"

"No."

"Are you in trouble? Should I get Jerry?"

"No."

"Stephanie, what's this about? I can't help you if I don't understand."

"Mom –"

Her daughter's voice cracked and it broke Linda's heart. Pausing her interrogation, she stroked Stephanie's hair as the young woman's sobs quietly resumed.

"Don't do that," she instructed when Stephanie buried her face into the pillow, suffocating her cries.

For minutes, Linda listened to Stephanie's whimpers.

"I'm sorry, mom."

"What are you sorry for?" Finally growing a bit impatient, Linda crouched her face to see her daughter's. The younger woman's expression was cringed in pain.

Breathlessly, Stephanie answered, "Everything."

Linda sighed with pity. She swallowed the lump in her throat and fought back her own tears.

"Why now, Stephanie? What happened?"

A minute of dreadful silence then, "Hunter's gone."

Linda's fingers, that had been pushing her daughter's hair from her forehead, stilled. Stephanie sounded every bit as defeated and heartbroken as she looked. Though her voice continued to crack and sound strained, she finally let it out.

"He's not coming back. I thought we'd fix things when it was over. But he's gone. And –" She whimpered, "I love him. I love him more than I've ever loved anyone. And now I can't have him because I ruined it like I ruin everything. But I love him."

Her sobs were rekindled. Linda's own tears silently streamed down her face. It was awful listening to Stephanie. Despite everything, he felt every bit of her daughter's pain. Linda had recently wondered if Stephanie could love at all. And though the answer was before her, it was difficult to listen to on a variety of levels.

It was clear that her daughter loved Hunter more than she had ever loved her own family. They'd all fallen out countless times, but it had never driven the young woman to repent. Now, Stephanie lay in her mother's arms, crying, and repeating the same phrase.

"I love him. I love him. I love him so much."

Had Stephanie not told her estranged husband this enough? Linda doubted it. The two were always sickeningly sweet to each other. Had he spoken to her tonight? Was that what sparked the breakdown? Again, she shook her head at the idea. It seemed unlikely.

Maybe Stephanie just now understood what the words she whispered meant. Linda felt her own heart swell. How long had she been trying to teach this woman to love? How many times had she wasted her breath trying to explain the preciousness of family? Was this it? Was this the moment when her daughter finally grew up? It felt like it.

But a realization snuck darkly into Linda's mind. Hunter wasn't coming back. There was no fixing what Stephanie had done. And the guilt for having been the one to tell him that she'd lied, tightened around Linda's neck like a noose.

It took losing the man she loved for Stephanie to understand the power of the word. And now she had a lifetime to cope with the pain. Loving a man that didn't reciprocate the feeling, there was so little that could ease that kind of agony.

At least Linda could relate.