Disclaimer: I don't own anyone, other than Lily and Madison.
Rated: M
Warning(s): Slash, Past Mpreg, Storyline Fanfic, etc.

Hunter had just finished giving Madison her bath when his cell phone rang. A quick glance at the Caller ID revealed the caller to be none other than Stephanie McMahon. He pressed 'accept', before grabbing a towel and wrapping up the baby, "Yes?"

"Do you have any fucking idea what your husband is threatening to do?" Stephanie sounded absolutely livid, but there was also an undertone of panic that couldn't be missed. "He just came into my office and threatened to break his contract and back out of his match at WrestleMania!"

Hunter paused. His heart was beating so fast that he could hear it thundering in his ears, and he didn't realize he was holding his breath until he nearly choked. "Wait... what?"

But Stephanie wouldn't have it, "You heard me perfectly fine the first time, Hunter. Your husband is threatening to tank WrestleMania."

"No, no, I heard you. It's just... that doesn't make any sense. Backing out of a match with the Streak on the line would make it look like Mark is afraid that he's going to lose, and Mark isn't afraid of anything." The very idea of it was deeply unsettling to Hunter.

He knew how much the Streak meant to Mark - it was the greatest winning streak in sports entertainment history. But it was also the reason that their marriage was on the rocks and they were spiraling down a one-way track to divorce. To think that he would go to Stephanie McMahon and threaten to back out of it... that just didn't make sense. There had to be more to this, something that he was missing, something that she wasn't telling him. What could possibly be so important that Mark would lay down everything for it?

"You need to go and talk some sense into that man, before I'm forced to pull the match off the card." Stephanie hissed, her disdain toward the Deadman clearly evident in her tone.

Hunter rolled his eyes. "In case you've forgotten this, Steph, Mark and I aren't exactly on the best of terms."

Stephanie wasn't about to let that deter her, though, "Then get back into his good graces. Kiss and make-up, have angry I-hate-you-but-still-love-you sex, scream your love for him off the fucking rooftops, I... Don't... Care... Just get it done."

"Steph..." but it was meaningless, because Stephanie had already hung up. "Fuck!"

The little baby cooed in his arms, and he was suddenly thrust back to reality. He needed to get her dried and dressed before she got sick. Carrying the little towel-bound bundle in his arms, he went over to his suitcase and pulled out a black onesie with the Undertaker's symbol on the front and little black pants. After putting her in a fresh diaper, he slipped the little outfit on and ran a small, fine-toothed comb through her tangle of reddish-brown curls. It was almost scary, how much she was beginning to look like her father. The uncanny resemblance made it almost painful to look at her.

What the hell was he expected to do to change Mark's mind? Mark could be as stubborn as an ox when he wanted to be, and if he had good reason to mess up the entire framework of WrestleMania by pulling out of one of the most anticipated matches on the card... Hunter didn't think that he could stop him. Picking up the baby again, Hunter felt a sharp twinge in his lower belly. It came on so suddenly, he almost dropped her. It was like someone had stabbed him with a flaming-hot knife and was slowly using it to rearrange his insides. Sucking in a deep breath, he quickly transferred Madison to her swing.

No sooner had he turned it on then his back hit the wall and he slowly slid down to the ground. He slammed a fist into the carpet, biting down on his bottom lip so hard that he could taste the coppery tang of blood. "Lily!"

Lily came out from the bedroom, her dolly tucked securely under her arm. She'd already had her bath, and her still-wet blonde hair was pulled back in a loose braid. Her feet were bare, and she wore a little blue sweater dress. "Yes, Mommy?"

There was immediate concern on her face when she saw Hunter on the floor. "I need you to bring Mommy the medicine bag, okay? And one of the bottles of water from the mini fridge. Can you do that?"

Clutching her dolly closer to her, she shuffled over to the suitcase and pulled out a small blue pouch. "This one?" Hunter nodded. Going over to get the water bottle, she soon returned with both and handed them over worriedly.

Hunter opened the medicine bag and pulled out the morphine, which he'd been given at the hospital after the birth. He'd been experiencing a great deal of pain because of multiple complications during birth, and they'd been able to prescribe a narcotic because he wouldn't be breastfeeding. Taking one of the pills, he swallowed it down with a mouthful of water and allowed the pouch to fall to the ground. Lily had gone to sit next to the swing, and was stroking her doll's soft brown hair like one would stroke a comfort blanket. She was incredibly uneasy, and Hunter hated that he'd made her feel that way.

"It's okay, sweetie. Mommy's okay. See?" He forced a smile, but his breathless tone still left Lily uncertain.

"Mommy sick?" She asked. He looked sweaty and sticky, which was what she looked like when she had the flu.

He shook his head, swallowing hard and sucking in a deep breath. "No, I'm not sick, j-just - gah!" His body practically jolted as he was hit with another stabbing pain, and, much to his horror, Lily started to cry. "D-Don't cry, sweetie. It's okay. It's okay..."

"M-Mommy..." she was crying so hard that she was on the brink of hyperventilation, and there was practically nothing Hunter could do.

"C'mere, sweetie." He sucked in another deep breath, praying that the medicine would kick in sooner rather than later, that the pain would go away... Lily shook her head, and Hunter sighed, "Lily, c'mon, it's okay. Just c'mere and let me hold you."

"M-M-Mommy..." she was squeezing her doll so hard, Hunter was afraid she'd break it. "M-Mommy..." and then she finally came over.

She fell into his arms and he pulled her close, careful to avoid his still-aching abdomen. The doll was pressed between them, cradled tightly in her little arms. His shirt was wet in a matter of seconds, and she was sniffling and coughing against him, but he never stopped rubbing soothing circles into the small of her back. Lily rarely, if ever, cried. She often came close, but she rarely cried. But she knew that Hunter was hurting and it was scary to watch, and he silently wished that there had been a way around involving her.

It took about twenty minutes for the pain killer to kick in, and by that time Lily's mutterings had quieted considerably. Gently patting her on the back, Hunter decided that now would be the best time to try and get back to his feet. Lily slowly unraveled herself from around him and then, grabbing onto the wall for support, Hunter hauled himself to his feet with a low groan. As soon as he was standing relatively normally, Lily latched onto his leg and refused to let go. The pain was a little bit better, but it wasn't completely gone. Perhaps this was a hint that he should take things easy today.

But he couldn't make things easy for himself. The countdown to WrestleMania would continue, regardless of whether or not he was having a difficult day. After turning the kids over to Randy, who had also told John that he would watch Dexter while John handled some last-minute affairs at home, he'd gone down to the gym with Shawn. By this time, he'd taken another morphine and had scarcely eaten anything. When the pain came, it irritated his stomach to the extent that he could barely keep anything down. He was even afraid to drink water, because even that would come back up violently.

He kept things easy, deciding to focus on cardio. The treadmills were practically abandoned anyhow, which was good, because if he had another adventure like he did that morning, he wasn't too keen on attracting an audience. He'd worked his way up from the warm-up, which was little more than a slow crawl, to a full-blown sprint. He intended to keep it up for as long as possible, but it was ticking him off that he was almost breathless after only a few minutes on the treadmill. And, to make things even worse, his abdomen was beginning to become funny again.

Shawn was on the treadmill beside him, keeping up a steady pace that was probably healthier than the sprint that Hunter was struggling to maintain. When Shawn had come to pick him up earlier, he could tell that something was off, but after the first time he knew better than to mention anything. He was making sure to keep an eye on Hunter, though. The man had been fatigued lately, and his face was sallow and sickly. Didn't he realize that killing himself before WrestleMania would be exponentially worse than showing a little paunch on the grandest stage of all?

"I got a call from Stephanie this morning." Hunter said breathlessly. It was like he could read Shawn's thoughts and he wanted to change the subject before it even got the chance to get started.

"Oh yeah? What was it about?" Shawn sounded considerably more put together than Hunter. He'd last much longer, undoubtedly.

There was a pause, then he started to try and regulate his breathing, "Apparently, Mark is threatening to back out of his match at WrestleMania. She wants me to get in touch with him and try to talk some sense into him."

Shawn raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't she realize that the two of you are separated? That isn't necessarily the best scenario for a heart-to-heart about his career." But both knew that it wasn't Mark's career that Stephanie was worried about.

And really, was there any other superstar that knew the pains of being screwed-over by Creative like Shawn Michaels? Way back when, he'd suffered through the pain of the Montreal Screw-Job and how it had almost destroyed his relationship with Bret. Hunter still didn't understand how they'd managed to pull themselves back together and raise three beautiful children, and then have another shortly after Shawn's retirement. It was their example that gave him hope that there was something that could be done to save himself and Mark... but that chance was growing smaller and smaller every day.

"She can't reasonably expect you to do that. It isn't okay." Shawn said firmly, shaking his head. Reaching down, he grabbed his water bottle and took a swig. "But if there is no way that you can get out of it, I'd recommend having someone else setting up the meeting. It might be too soon for you to try and do it."

Hunter looked at him suspiciously. "You mean lie to him and trick him into meeting me? There are so many ways for this to backfire, I hope you know."

Shawn rolled his eyes, "And the world might end tomorrow. We can sit back and watch everything go to Hell, or you can do what Steph wants and get her off your back." Shawn shrugged, "I'd be more than happy to set up the meeting, if you want. I'll ask him to go get coffee or something."

"Don't you think that he'd find that a little bit suspicious?" Hunter still seemed skeptical of the entire ordeal.

"We still have a good relationship. Believe it or not, it won't be all that out-of-the-ordinary." Shawn said.

Hunter wasn't sure what to make of this. He'd been struggling more than he liked to admit with Mark's absence, and he knew that that was manifesting itself in over-exercising. He was doing damage to his body to punish himself for his perceived short-comings in his relationship with Mark. To be granted the ability to talk to him... to try and work things out... that would be amazing. But would Mark listen? Would he want to hear what Hunter had to say? Or would he simply brush him off, just like he did in the hallway just a few days ago?

"I guess it's worth a shot." Hunter said, just as the timer went off, declaring his work-out over. He killed the treadmill and stepped down, feeling achy and nauseous. Deep down, he hoped that it wasn't a return of what had happened that morning. "Ready to hit the showers?"

Standing in the shower, Hunter tilted his head back, allowing the hot water to pound against his throat and trickle down over his chest. His eyes were closed, his hands positioned against the walls to keep himself steady. He didn't trust his body to keep him upright. Just as he expected, the stabbing pain returned. The white-hot ripping pain tore through his lower belly and turned his knees to jelly. And then, a wet, hot stickiness began to trickle down his thighs. He didn't need to look down to know that it was blood.