No One Gets To Push Me Around.

Bill DeMott was officially the head trainer of FCW and Darcy couldn't have been happier. He was going around speaking individually to all of the talent, getting to know them before he officially started his work.

He stopped Darcy in the middle of her attack of the punching bag, getting her attention by clearing his throat beside her. Darcy knew, without even having to look, that everyone had stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to her. She took a deep breath and turned to DeMott with a sour smile.

"It's nice to meet you, Miss Quinn."

"It's an honour." She wiped her hand on her shorts before extending it to DeMott who shook it slowly.

"I've heard mixed things about you."

"More bad than good, probably." She was only half-joking, knowing all too well that Prichard would have told his successor all about her bad habits.

"I have to meet the rest of this misfit bunch but I'd like to have a meeting with you this afternoon."

"That sounds good," Darcy deadpanned. "Might as well fire me here on the spot." Over DeMott's head she saw Conor O'Brian trying to listen to the conversation. No time was wasted in flipping him the bird.

"Is there a problem?" Darcy shook her head vehemently and sighed when DeMott turned around to see Conor still watching them. When he turned back to Darcy he was no longer smiling at her. "I'm not going to fire you. I just want to talk to you about a few things."

"I guess I can do that," Darcy shrugged at him, chewing on the inside of her lip to keep from shouting at Conor.

"You're set to work with Smiley until half past 3, correct?" Darcy nodded at the new trainer, clenching and unclenching her fists, ready to get back to the punching bag. "Then I'll see you at four in my office, give you a chance to cool down and clean up."

She shot him a tight lipped smile and returned to using the punching bag, picturing Conor's face. There was no denying that it made her more aggressive, her punches becoming faster and much harder. Ashley took notice of her rise in anger and paused in the middle of her stretches just to watch and make sure the small blonde didn't hurt herself.

Darcy stood outside Bill DeMott's office and stared at the door in contemplation. He told her he wouldn't be firing her, but she wasn't sure she believed him. Once again she was wearing jeans and a tank top – why ruin her streak of wearing inappropriate attire for meetings? Given that she was definitely not expecting to be called into an office, her jeans had holes in the knees and her black shirt had 'holy shit' written across in it in huge white letters. She made a point to zip up her jacket.

With a heavy knock on the door, Darcy exhaled deeply. Moments later she was called inside and she opened the door to see DeMott sitting at his desk, no one else in sight.

"Are you sure I'm not about to be fired?"

"That's not my area," DeMott answered, setting his reading glasses beside his laptop. "If you get called into Keirn's office that's when you need to be worried. Have a seat." She did as she was told, dropping down into a chair opposite him. Slouching immediately, it did not cross her mind that it was disrespectful. "I felt that we needed more than a quick introduction."

"My reputation precedes me, I'm sure of it."

"You'd be right in saying that, Miss Quinn. But I'm not here to talk about your attitude; I'm here to talk to you about wrestling." Darcy sat up a little straighter upon hearing that she wasn't about to be reprimanded. "I've watched some tapes."

"I have tapes?" she asked in confusion, she'd never even had a match.

"Only a couple and they're not the best I've ever seen." He paused before continuing honestly, "Actually, they're amongst the worst."

"Good to know," Darcy deadpanned, staring at him disinterestedly. "I was brought here for a reason; they obviously think I can do something."

"I think they were expecting a cheerleader, Miss Quinn." DeMott sat forward in his chair, resting his arms on his desk.

"Call me Darcy," she said through gritted teeth. Miss Quinn sounded too pretentious.

"Darcy," DeMott repeated with a nod. "As I said, they were expecting a cheerleader with finesse, grace and athleticism. Not the train wreck that happens whenever you enter a ring."

"I don't want to be a cheerleader, sir," Darcy retorted, putting on her serious face.

"You were a cheerleader for the-"

"Philadelphia Eagles," she cut him off without hesitation. "I'm aware; I was there for 2 years. But I'm a wrestler now. I left cheer because I wanted to become a wrestler."

DeMott nodded in understanding, "Plenty of the Divas have a history in cheerleading or dancing. They use it to their advantage."

Darcy stood up abruptly, "Are you deaf? I don't want to be a cheerleader." She raked a hand over her face and sighed in frustration. "I know very well that I'm not a good wrestler. I get told all the goddamn time, but I'm improving. No one here started out perfect – especially not the cheerleaders and dancers." She could feel her nostrils flaring.

DeMott, much to her surprise, smiled at her, "I respect that, Darcy."

"What? Are you high or just bipolar?" she demanded to know, clenching her fists at her sides. "What's with the complete fucking 180?"

"Wanted to see if the woman stood up to the myth," he told her without hesitation, standing up to extend his hand. "We'll start working on everything – including your attitude – when you come in tomorrow."

Darcy wordlessly shook his hand, her breathing heavy and frustrated. Confusion was coursing through her mind but there was no way she was going to let him see it. She couldn't wrap her head around how quickly he had changed his approach. It was clear to her that he had been trying to get her angry, to rile her up and it annoyed her in how quickly he had succeeded.

Exiting the office quickly, she was still huffing when she picked up her bag and started walking to the main entrance.

"It's 80 degrees out, what's with the zipped-up leather jacket?"

Darcy turned to Moxley and unzipped her jacket, shrugging it off her shoulders. "I had a meeting with DeMott."

Moxley laughed, noticing the text. "Good idea. What was the meeting about?"

"He wanted to tell me how terrible I was in the ring."

"Right," Moxley said hesitantly, unsure if Darcy was being serious. "Do you need a light?"

Darcy looked up at him and nodded, reaching into the side pocket of her bag for her cigarettes. Putting the cigarette into her mouth, she held out her hand for the lighter and instantly brought the flame to her cigarette.

Without any conversation, they walked around to the corner of the building where they had met. It was by far the most secluded corner and the least likely place in which they would get caught. Moxley leant up against the wall, sitting precariously on a tiny ledge; his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. Darcy stepped over his legs and leaned against the same stone wall she had on that day, this time not afraid to look directly at him.

"This is my spot," she told him, blowing smoke from her nose.

"It's my spot, too, babe," he responded, looking down at her lazily. "I've never seen you use it."

"Likewise. We must've had different schedules up until a few weeks ago."

Moxley drawled, "We're the only two idiots here who smoke."

In the silence that followed, Darcy could hear, clearly, the burning on the end of her cigarette and the scraping of Moxley's jeans against the stone ledge. June had come much quicker than Darcy anticipated that year, leaving her with a suitcase full of inappropriately warm clothing – she had purged all of her summer clothing before moving down to Florida, leaving her with too many pairs of jeans and a few leather jackets.

Her misjudgement of the weather was something Matt had never let her live down.

"I have to bail, see you around?"

"We aren't friends, Moxley," Darcy said through gritted teeth, glaring at him.

Moxley shrugged at her, "That'll probably change pretty soon."

Darcy rolled her eyes and watched him disappear, thinking that he was insane for thinking they would ever be friends. They were acquaintances. They talked. And smoked in silence. They were not friends.

She finished two cigarettes before she decided to head back to Colby's house. The retrieval of her bag was quick and subtle – she was yet to see DeMott's reaction to her smelling of fresh cigarette smoke – and she discretely left the building through the back door.

On the way she shoved her jacket into the bag, thankful for the holes in her jeans as they provided a slight breeze on her otherwise boiling legs – the Doc Marten boots she had one did little to cool her down.

She decided that over the weekend she would go for a quick shopping tip and buy some shorts, as well as get to work designing her wrestling gear.

The idea was pretty simple – a pair of patterned tights teamed with a tank top or cropped shirt with writing printed on it, and her Doc Marten Triumph boots, the pair she'd bought as a self-congratulation gift when being signed. It was all given the go ahead by Steve Keirn and Dusty Rhodes when she came in with an example. It was all easily replicated given that the only need for a seamstress came along with her tights, her tops could be bought from any store.

When she let herself into Colby's house, Darcy was startled to hear a not-so-quiet argument between Colby and Leighla that ended the instant the door shut behind her. She furrowed her brow and walked further into the house, looking into each room as she did.

"You two okay in here?" Darcy asked hesitantly when she saw them standing by their bedroom door, neither trying to hide that they'd just been fighting. "Do I need to come back later?"

"Don't be stupid," Colby said firmly, shaking his head. Leighla however didn't say anything to Darcy, instead moving into the bedroom and shutting the door firmly behind her.

"Is this my fault?" Darcy's question came out worried. "You know I don't want to cause trouble, Colb."

"It's not your fault, Harlequin," Colby said in the most assuring tone could muster, taking her bag from her and dropping it to the floor. "Just a small fight. They happen."

"Yeah," Darcy agreed. She had, after all, had many with Harry. "If it was... You'd tell me right? I don't want to overstay my welcome."

"You haven't even been here a month. You haven't overstayed your welcome at all."

Darcy watched as Colby moved to the living room and dropped down onto the couch. She then looked to his bedroom door and pulled her lip ring between her teeth.

Maybe she shouldn't have walked around in her underwear that morning.