"Where the hell are Phil and Kofi?" Randy growled. He was trying to get ready for his match tonight and he couldn't do that when the two people he was trying to trust with Jeff's safety hadn't shown up yet.

Jeff looked up from the magazine that he was reading. "Calm down baby. They'll be here soon."

"Not soon enough," Randy muttered. He had been deadly serious about not letting Jeff be alone at any time. Having Tomko and X after his future husband had him completely on edge.

At that moment, Phil and Kofi came in, only to be closely followed by the Big Show. "We stopped and got some extra protection," Phil explained, pointing to Big Show.

Randy nodded in approval. "Brilliant." He grabbed his water bottle and took a drink of it. "Ugh, it's not cold anymore."

"That's because you left it in here while we spent that half hour walking around the arena," Jeff reminded him. "I told you to just get a new one."

"No time for that now." Randy got up and kissed Jeff. "I've got to go."

"Kick Batista's ass Randy!" Kofi cheered as he left.

"Make him bleed Orton!" Phil added.

Randy shook his head. "Those two are so dumb."

The match went as well as it could, considering that Batista was hurt and Randy was preoccupied with worrying about Jeff. Randy won with the RKO and then all but ran to the back. Jeff was fine; neither Tomko or X had tried to go after him at all. Maybe I should employ the Big Show more often, Randy thought to himself.

"Hey, we're meeting the others at a club tonight," Phil told Randy and Jeff. "We're celebrating Mark's surgery for him since he's not up to doing it himself yet. You guys want to come?"

Randy took another drink out of his old water bottle. The only reason he did it was because he was dying of thirst. "You up for it?" he asked Jeff.

Jeff nodded. "Yeah. I could use some fun."

After quickly rinsing off in the shower, Randy and Jeff dropped their things off at the hotel and then followed Phil and Kofi to the club. It was like almost every other club they had been to before: dark, crowded, noisy and filled with booze. Randy kept a tight grip on Jeff's hand as Phil led them to the table the others had saved for them.

"Okay people, listen up," John ordered. "We've got two bottles of tequila, salt and lemons. We will not stop drinking until all of this is gone. And if we are not completely plastered by then, we will get more booze until that plastered thing happens."

Randy frowned. "If we're all getting completely plastered, then how are we getting back to the hotel?"

"Don't ask questions Randy. Just drink up."

Mickie sighed and shook her head. "You'll have to forgive him. He's been looking for any excuse to get drunk off his ass."

"Actually, I don't have to forgive him," Randy replied. "But I will take that booze."

So they drank those two bottles of tequila. Not satisfied with their level of intoxication at that point, John got them another two bottles. Needless to say, Randy was feeling out of it by the end of that fourth bottle.

"I want to dance," Jeff said. He got up and pulled on Randy's hand. "Dance with me."

Randy let himself be led out to the dance floor, barely aware that John and Mickie were right behind them. He wrapped his arms around Jeff as he danced, his head swimming from all the alcohol. Jeff was all over him. The Rainbow Haired Warrior always got a little overly affectionate when he was really, really drunk.

All sense of time was lost to Randy. He could see Mickie, John, Katie and Matt all dancing near him. Ted, Cody, Kofi and Phil were up on the bar, making complete asses out of themselves. Jeff was still all over him, leaving large hickeys all over his neck. Yet something was wrong. He felt incredibly hot, and it wasn't just from the alcohol and the bright lights. It felt like his entire body was baking in an oven or something. His legs felt weak and a terrible pain was going through his stomach. "Oh no."

Jeff pulled away from him. "What's wrong?"

Randy couldn't answer him. He stumbled as fast as he could to the bathroom, barely making it to one of the stalls before he threw up. He puked until it hurt, and then he did it some more. Jeff rubbed his back the entire time, trying to be comforting. "Holy shit," Randy muttered as he stood up. He flushed the toilet and stood up. His legs still felt like pudding.

"Are you okay?" Jeff asked.

Randy started to reply when he lurched forward and spit out a mouthful of blood. He collapsed to the floor, his body moving uncontrollably and more and more blood coming out through his mouth. He could barely hear Jeff yelling his name. All he could focus on was on how bright the blood seemed to be. Didn't Mick Foley always used to say internal blood was the brightest? That he was last coherent thought before he lost sense of everything except his pain.