A/N: Jeez I am so horrible to you guys and I apologize. Like I said in the previous chapter; I am currently trying to balance out my two jobs and my relationship since it was kind of in shambles. But ever since I came back from having a week vacation in the Dominican Republic everything is way more straightened out with me and my significant other - and we are happier than before. Regardless of it all, I finally managed to hit sixty reviews on this site and I can't believe that I am getting a following from this story. You guys have no idea how much that means to me simply because this story means the world to me. It's a bit different than my normal pieces because alas I'm allowing my female protagonist to be emotional, to be vulnerable and have some kind of morale. Anyways! Enough of my personal ramblings. I just wish to thank those whom favourited and followed the story. And a special thank you to those whom reviewed chapter nine: Guest, Guest 2, HumanSpectre, HalloweenBarbie, RollinsInTheDean, ThatGirl54, ZizFox, xSamiliciousx, UntilNeverDawns, glamourgalxo. Your words always provide the pat on the back whenever I begin doubting the direction of where my story is heading. I love you all so much and thank you for faithfully standing by side me and being patient with my madness. Regardless of that, please review your thoughts of this upcoming chapter for of course, they are always noted.

I owe nothing that corresponds with the WWE – except for Charlotte. She's my sole creation.

X: Disturbance & Realism.

Flickering lights. The sound of metal clacking up against one another. Panting, heavy breathing. Sweet breath. His sweet breath. This young boy, a teenager with the angst evident in his eyes smiling proudly at her. As though he could see something about her that she couldn't even recognize or acknowledge about herself. A shift in momentum: this time it was then in the locker room. That instance when she felt her skin flush itself with goose bumps as his hands ran up and down her legs. His knee between her aching thighs. His words, dancing on her lips. "Nothing… Charlie?" That once proud smile now fissured with quivering lips and oculars that throbbed with evident sorrow. Fever. That's all she felt, fever. And at keeping her eyes locked into the treacherous pairing before her – she gasped aloud for she felt as though she drowned in his ocean.

Charlotte was convinced that she couldn't be in a room on her own with the likes of Jonathan Good or Dean Ambrose – whoever he is when he is with her. She couldn't quite differentiate the two. And that could possibly be because she's gotten to know the on-stage persona rather than the being itself. Since she's starting working with them both (Dean and Jonathan one could say) – Dean relentless gave her a cold shoulder. Yet, that was the perplexing part about it. Jonathan Good holds some sort of resentment towards her, disdain, something – for his eyes flash from time to time in a variation of emotions. As though she's done something towards him and it's why it all makes sense as to why he most likely, undoubtedly hates her as she mentally thinks to herself. Although on a regular moment in her life she wouldn't care about what anyone else would think of her this was different.

Still, she couldn't justify his actions.

She couldn't accept his irrational behavior.

She couldn't and refuses to accept his cold shoulder.

Especially after all those times… where he would corner her. Trigger her mind into a whirlpool of frustration and cesspool of images that blend like impressionism. Where his sweet Marlboro red breath would dance on her lips as though he kissed and raptured her very essence. Her heart couldn't handle it, her dreams are intensified and her mind aches along with her soul.

This is the maddening process Charlotte Rove finds herself facing for working with the likes of The Shield. Then again, how was she supposed to know that the wild card of the soon-to be faction would be this kind of person. The one whom appears to try to pry something out of her for the sake of him feeding off it. Charlotte throughout short months of working with the three always noted Jonathan the most. But that's simply because she can't shrug out of her mind that look in his eyes when he stares at her.

How they twinkle with some sort of familiar anguish… The thought of it alone caused her stomach to turn in knots. A part of her always crave for instances in which they are alone. She anticipates his rather irrational notions – she wishes to be pinned up against the wall once more and not like Hayden… No never like Hayden. Instead her chin is lightly tilted upwards and the name Charlie rings with much resonance. His knee in between her legs, her body consumed by fever.

It differed greatly from when Hayden has her in a corner. As though the Reaper has her by the throat. She couldn't breathe because he didn't want her to breathe. Her skin ached in warmth because of the bruises that were slowly but surely developing themselves. Her heart, at the thought of Hayden grew heavy for a mild second. But quickly the blood-stained image of her fiancée was replaced with that of the Stray Dog she never had. Washing her with comfort as in her mind, she imagines that precious, auburn coloured dog licking her rosy cheeks with heartfelt concern. Curled up on her lap, to the point she felt so happy she could almost die as the cliché goes.

It was set in stone, as Charlotte stared at the three men practice their entrances for the soon to be stable known as The Shield. Their national television debut being staged for November 18, 2012 at the Survivor Series pay-per-view for apparently they are to interfere within the main-event match which involves CM Punk, John Cena and Ryback for the WWE Championship belt. Basically, as she was told beforehand by the authoritative figures of the company – they would be mercenaries for the likes of Paul Heyman and CM Punk. Charlotte, found herself itching not only with anxiety but with excitement as well thus – well, it's easy to say she's slightly delirious.

And it doesn't help the fact that ever since the incident with the likes of Jonathan Good two weeks ago – she can't get the fever to flush itself out of her body. She couldn't stop dreaming about him, and the Stray Dog, and how their eyes look alike and how they both howl in pain.

But something about today had her a little bit more excited than the usual – and it's not because she's there with her guys – watching them with much dedication prepare themselves for a debut that is most likely to instantly shape their careers. It's the fact that she'll be meeting someone she's grown to admire throughout most of her recognizable youth, Paul Heyman. A man that oddly enough allowed her to learn how to articulate her words at a volume that those within her surrounding would even recognize. It's funny really – Charlotte never really figured out what was about professional wrestling that she loved so much. All she could remember is the warm memories of being able to watch televised events at home and for some reason she felt as though the dog she ardently dreams often about is there with her. But according to the likes of her 'fiancé' and even her parents – they never owned a dog.

That god damn, non-existent dog that torments her dreams with happiness. What a fucking paradox.

Dean, whom was in the ring with his two partners known as Roman Reigns and Seth Rollins would glance towards Charlotte's direction and he noted her nostrils slightly flared. Something he noted in the year that he knew her in his youth that she did whenever she was in deep thought. He noted that throughout passing days – past that incident from two weeks ago that she's kept her distance from him. Something he undeniably found irritable – but he couldn't blame her. He was certain that she noted the tension between the two just as much as he did. It was evident enough that for some reason they couldn't be in a room alone, together. Regardless if he mentally begged for it to happen. As much as she would be distressed, he noted after a while, she would be washed over with some sort of relief, and how her lips quivered when they were ardent teenagers. Wanting him.

And that's simply because of Dean's sick impulses to corner her, to try to make her remember him. Him, the Stray Dog that loyally stands by the owner that has forgotten what they've shared in Cincinnati eight years ago. He knew because of the way her body would react to him, how she would spit her words with soothing venom, that the girl he knew from eight years ago was there. That with him, she found some sort of familiarity that she can't understand. And he would do anything with the little strength he has left – to bring that back.

But she won't be back. Regardless of that dangerous hope that lingers in his heart. He knows the harsh reality of it all. She won't remember him.

Seth whom tossed a towel his way for the sake of distraction would catch on to Dean looking at Charlotte whom blankly stared down at the clipboard before her. All she did was take notes on them whenever they were in the ring – any bit of minutia was jotted down yet today – her pad was empty.

"What do you think is eating her up?" Casually Seth asked as he sat down in the middle of the ring. Roman on the other hang took a huge gulp of water as he sighed in relief and followed suit. Dean leaned against the turnbuckle. He could only shrug his shoulders.

"I wouldn't be able to tell you man."

"Shit – I'm pretty sure you can tell at the least bit something. You've known her for a long time."

Dean once again, with much bitterness shrugged his shoulders. "It ain't the same girl dude. I mean yes it is. And no, it isn't. Does that shit make any sense to ya?" Roman only chuckled as the look of utter confusion on Seth's face was priceless.

"Ya see Colby, she really is that girl he knew back then – but her memories aren't what make her the same girl." Roman summarized what Dean Ambrose couldn't exactly piece together. Seth's lips only made an 'oh' shape as he would nod his head, coming to terms with what was just explained to him.

"Hello?" Finally the voice of Charlotte was heard within the arena as then all three men proceeded and turned their heads to her direction once more. Dean felt something inside of him churn at the phone call she was receiving. Charlotte without even signalizing to the boys what she was to do instead stood up and ran back into backstage. He noted the glare that flashed into her green pools for a mild second and he knew then and there who it was.

Roman, the wise-owl of the group one could say noted the expression on Dean's face. "It's him isn't it?" Dean didn't even reply as all you could heart emit from the ends of his throat an impassioned growl. And before Seth or Roman could even stop right in-front of him to put a halt to his next move – Dean like a wild-spirit already bolted backstage, sniffing out for Charlotte in whatever corner she could probably be hiding in.

"Hayden, stop it. Please. I'm not going to stop working for this company just because you're angry at the fact that your jealousy is overriding your sense of sanity. I never interfere with your career and your personal life because quite frankly I don't give too much of a fuck to ask. I know what you do without you telling me. I can smell the Chanel on the collar of your button-ups and I can see smeared foundation and lipstick all over it."

"Charlotte what the fuck are you talking about?! You're going to bring this shit up again? Huh? You know damn well whatever goes down is all for business sake. You can't even compare whatever happens on my side to yours." Once more, Charlotte sighed as she held the phone away from her ear. Officially, she's little by little becoming desensitized to Hayden Park's antics and that sentiment alone washes relief over her soul. To a certain degree at the least.

Maybe it'll make him more tolerable. After all, he's still meant to be the man she marries. Sadly.

Charlotte found herself leaning by side one of the soda machines backstage and began to wander to catering where she was hoping to find a bite to eat. Her stomach growled as she only kept her cellphone away from her ears, allowing Hayden to believe she's listening to any of his rancid words. Rancid words… It's like she could smell how putrid they are and could feel the malice whiplash into her mind. She stared down at her feet that slightly ached in the ankle strap heels she's been stuck in all day and before she could even look up, she found herself running into a brick wall – for exaggerations and its sake.

Her phone quickly slipped out of her hands, crashing to the ground and Hayden's voice only echoed all the more throughout the line. She groaned as she then looked up and slightly felt her eyes twitch in awe. Although she's never met him personally, she knows damn well who stands before her. Lips pierced, standing in a yellow-shirt with a belt slung over his shoulder that is rumoured to weigh almost about twenty pounds. Tattoo's and tawny hazel eyes.

The Straight Edge superstar – CM Punk. Alongside of course, the man she's been dying to meet, Paul Heyman. '

Before she could even react, Punk simply glanced down to the floor where he could hear the voice of Hayden crystal clear. All he could really make out were words that he's convinced aren't that to call a woman. Grabbing the phone he simply chuckled before he placed it next to his ear. Paul only grinned as he unfolded his arms that were once folded neatly across his chest and shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

"Hey, asshole. I don't think you're well aware how to talk to a woman. Until you stop being such a pussy and have the nerve of saying that here, to her face. Shut the fuck up, and don't bother her." He didn't even allow Hayden to retaliate as he simply pressed the screen, ending the call. He grinned at the clueless expression of Charlotte and she found herself simply clearing her throat before taking the phone back into her own hands.

"Uhm, Thank you very much…" Her words slightly trailed causing her to mentally slap herself. For fucks sake Charlotte you can't even function right with the people you're soon to be working with.

"You must be the new girl in town. You're already placed in such a glorious position of managing and production. It must be because of the work you did for ESPN Sports. Forgive my client here for being so forward, it's in his nature. Paul Heyman, but I'm sure you know that." He smiled as he extended his hand. Holy shit Charlotte, this is it. She took his hand into her own and gave it a firm shake.

Next it was him whom only gave a sheepish grin before extending his hand. "Just call me Punk."

"Charlotte Rove, it's a pleasure to finally meet you both."

Dean Ambrose stood by the entrance of catering, finding himself sucking his teeth simply because CM Punk beat him to the punch. He defended her – when that was all his duty to do so. Selfishly enough he stands by that train of thought. He heard the exchanges between the three and found himself sighing in relief. It seems to be something about Charlotte left a lasting impression amongst the two men that he and his partners would be working with once they debut.

He didn't know why he was about to do what he was going to do. But he wanted to get her out of catering. This was the moment he could grab her, go somewhere with her before the show starts. But he shouldn't interrupt this to her for when he glanced inside the room he noted the gleam in her eye as the three converse about what are their plans in regards of handling the stable and even CM Punk.

She seemed excited, and he didn't want to interrupt that. No, he liked the way her lips were curved right now. How her eyes glistened. How her voice is perked up little by little. It's been a smile he's seen her cheeks blush the way they did and how golden her freckles appear. Last time he's seen her like that, it was two weeks ago when he had her cornered into a room… He shook his head before he proceeded to walk away.

Charlotte knew he was there, and although her heart rushed with excitement at speaking to the two male figures before her; the thuds were a little bit heavier than the normal. She found herself no longer thinking about work, she no longer was thinking about Hayden and her excitement to meet the likes of CM Punk or Paul Heyman diminished in milli-seconds. She could tell when he's close; she could tell when he's right behind her. She doesn't know why she knows he's there – but she feels as though regardless if she's truly alone, somehow someway he's there, watching over her. Making sure she's okay. The thought of being underneath his watchful eye brings back the image of the dog biting Hayden, and the image of Dean beating Hayden to a bloody pulp.

The Stray Dog | Jonathan Good.

That was the thin line between the two. That something about the two rang with so much familiarity. Resonance. The thought alone made her head hurt. And suddenly she felt this sudden shift in the universe. She felt everything grow cold as the only colors in her world now faded into nothingness. She could hear Punk and Heyman still talk but their words sounded as though they were being steered in some kind of stew pot. The little bit of logical noise in her world was suddenly drawn to a sharp halt and came in the sound of screeching tires in her head, glass shattering, sirens.

She couldn't take it.

She gasped.

Tried to breathe and the last image that came into her mind was him.

Jonathan.

No, he looked like Jonathan.

No, the Stray Dog.

Her vision blurred and the next thing you know she succumbed into a dark abyss of nothingness.

Jon… I'm going to miss you so much.

Those were her last words. He remembers them every night. The gentle smile on her face. Dean was rushing, pushing past anything that got in his way. Apparently, in accordance to CM Punk, he said that all she began to do was cry out in pain, before she passed out from the pain so they rushed her as soon as possible to the closest hospital. Of course, down the corridors of emergency right behind the Stray Dog was Seth Rollins and Roman Reigns.

"Jon! Chill out man you're just gonna get us kicked out!" Seth cried out but Dean was only set on one thing only: finding her.

Roman only nodded his head in agreement to Seth but regardless of it all the three ended up by the reception desk as they tried to hold back a rather enraged, concern, Dean Ambrose. Never have they seen the look he bears right now. Desperation, anguish, concern. It is as though this Charlotte Rove brings out a side of him that nothing else in the world could.

Dean Ambrose was never thought out to be the kind of guy that concerns himself over women for he just fucks the rats and kept it pushing, cool, and calloused as ever. He never pitied, nor cared about anyone more than his damn self and the wrestling ring. So this, this was something new for the two men whom always toured around together alongside him. To see this.

But it's like he told them. She's a piece of home. And the only thing he loved more than professional wrestling. So it makes sense, why he's like this.

"Charlotte Helena Rove, where is she? What's wrong with her?" Hell, his voice cracked. He couldn't put himself together. Last time something happened to her and she ended up in a hospital she woke up not being able to call out his name – for she didn't even know his name. She didn't know him at all actually.

He didn't want that again. No, he's pretty sure he can't handle that again. He can't handle the dependency of pain-killers to ease his heartache. He can't handle picturing her through other women again regardless of that being a terrible habit he hasn't managed to let go of. He can't handle the process of her trying to know him once more. The thought alone of her forgetting him once again pained the little that remained of his aching heart. Rollin's squeezed the shoulder of Dean whom with much hesitation from the head-nurse, she pointed to the room where apparently Charlotte was in solidarity.

They were warned not to make too much noise.

And of course, the stable would simply with tamed sentiments walk towards the room in pure silence. Roman and Seth not only worried for Dean, but for Charlotte's welfare as well. Seeing as they've managed to develop a bond in over a short amount of time that is almost indescribable. Simply because they both acknowledge the constant sacrifices that Charlotte has put herself through with sleepless nights and double-fisting of coffee mornings just to make sure that they are ready, that they understand the characters they are to become.

"Dude, go on ahead, we'll join you in a bit. We'll get some details on what the hell is going on while you're in there. I think, no, we both think you need this." Roman grinned as Seth only nodded his head in agreement, signaling Dean to enter the room. Dean didn't even think about it twice, nor did he even thank them for their kind gesture and respect to privacy. Instead he stood right before the room labeled A165, CHARLOTTE HELENA ROVE. That was her, there's no denying it.

Stepping inside, he felt the little bit of him that remain flush right out of his system as her eyes stared right at him. Oculars once filled with life and answers, find themselves deprived of their enriching color, dumbfounded, and even lost. His bottom lip quivered, she didn't remember him? Was this some kind of sick fucking repeat of eight years ago? His hands that were shoved into his denim pockets would try to dig themselves deeper as little by little he approached her. She kept her vision locked on him and the knot in his throat tightened little by little.

Charlotte, whom rested in her bed, whom stared at the IV that was stuck in her arm found herself in a predicament that rang with much familiarity. She didn't feel comfortable right now. This was just like then, the instance where she woke up and didn't even have much of an understanding regarding herself. She remembered waking up, eight years ago, where her parents and Hayden were by side her, when the Doctor asked her questions regarding herself. And she didn't know.

She remembered, one quiet night alone in that hospital room where she was startled out of her sleep due to an unknown presence in her room. Whom she stared at with much question. All she could remember about him was the pained expression in his treacherous blues. How he would call her out by Charlie… Her response? Who's Charlie? Who are you?

And this time?

She finds herself staring at this specific shade of blue, which bared that same painful expression and how it'll whiplash between the image of Jon and that of the Stray Dog.

"Charlie…?"

His voice echoed in the darkness of the room, overpowering the sound of her heart monitor. She knew he was here. But was it the same boy of eight years ago? Silence eloped the room once more, as she felt the cold of the room being flushed right out of her. His hand rested on hers, he gave her a firm squeeze, and she could feel the tears as he towered over her burn her flesh like acid.

"Please tell me, not again…?"

She knew it was him before he even spoke a word. She knew by the way she felt her body being consumed by some fever that wasn't out of sickness. She knew it was him because her heart felt as though it was going to rupture right out of her chest and onto the sheets. She felt herself choke up at the tone of his almost feeble voice. That vulnerability she's developed familiarity seeing as he's only had the comfort of exposing himself to her.

Again?

Charlotte only chuckled – as if that was the appropriate reaction at the time and with her head signaled to her lap. Shaking hands would lightly pat it and through the dimmed room that was almost swallowed in darkness – Dean stared at her slightly dumbfounded. With the back of his hand he wiped away the tears that he found himself mentally cursing himself for.

But he couldn't protest her gesture as he pulled a seat by side her and his head would lay on her lap. He sighed in relief as for some reason, this answered his question. This tucked away the fear of being forgotten again. His hands would take a handful of the sheets that covered her cold frame and gathered a deep breath. Charlotte with the little energy she had in her body she would begin to comb her fingers through his shaggy auburn hair. Her breathing, little by little doing so got heavier as she managed to grab up this dream-like musk that emanated from his body.

"Jon…?"

His eyes were closed as his response was a simple 'Mhmm'. He nuzzled her leg with his cheeks, he bit his bottom lip and that smirk of his danced on his lips. But Charlotte couldn't shrug off the feeling, even if she can't remember him, even if she can't figure out what it is about the likes of Jonathan Good that brings her back to a time that seemed it was possible to be happy. He brings hers to a whirlpool of uncertainty, of question, of dreams that she can't quite figure out if they are dreams or memories…

"Please, stop with the silly questions that you don't even answer… Please tell me why you and this fucking dog that I constantly dream about bring me back Cincinnati are one in the same? Please tell me you fucking know me from somewhere because it's impossible for me to dream about you, the dog, and the same guy I woke up to eight years ago and couldn't remember."

That's where Dean picked his head up, slightly pushed the seat back and stared at her. The corner of his eye twitched, and for some reason Charlotte knew he was about to lie. Maybe because whenever the Stray Dog of her dreams would do something bad, he would always try to cover his right eye with his paw.

"And don't lie to me."

Silence.

Dean parted his lips for a second, yet no sound came out.

"Why the fuck are you doing this to me Charlie?"

Now she was confused.

"It was fine, I was fine, without you around and now eight years later you want to somehow, someway miraculously appear in my god damn life and yet you don't even know who the fuck I am? What I was to you?"

He glanced at her heart monitor as he would only shake his head, this time the feeling of bliss he was once gathered up in diminished like nothing and the frustrations he bore for almost a decade felt as though they were going to erupt like vomit.

"You don't fuckin' remember me? I'm that fuckin' Stray Dog."