A/N: Danielle, I'm on a severe Cody withdrawal. And Brittany already heard about my little…crush on Reid Flair. Oh dear, this is going to be dangerous. Very dangerous. And it doesn't help that the Bucks played Indiana tonight…Oh, god. I'm sorry, I meant "Oh, Edge."

"Oh, world's biggest douche bag doesn't even begin to describe you, John," Danielle snarled as tears started pouring down her eyes.

"Don't cry, Danielle, please," John begged, reaching across the table to grab her hands, but she angrily pulled them away and shot John a death glare. "Jesus Christ, woman, I try to do one right thing…" John muttered under his breath, but it was a mistake. Danielle heard him.

"One thing? One thing? You try to do one thing? Oh no, fucker, you didn't try to do anything. You didn't try to save us, alright? You didn't try to do anything. You are a lazy son of a bitch. I hope you know that. If you wanted to try, you wouldn't have broken up with me in the first place. I guess you love the camera more than you love me. You know what? Fuck you," she finished and got up from the table.

"Danielle, wait," John said, trying to stop her. He stood up and grabbed her arm, but she quickly swatted him away.

With a stream of tears and mascara running down her eyes, she whispered, "Go to hell, John," and left the restaurant.

John sat back down at the table and thought everything over. "Mother fucker," he whispered to himself.

Once Danielle got outside, she headed for her car. The only problem was that she didn't drive there. John did. Danielle stomped her stiletto clad foot down on the concrete of the parking lot. "Shit," she cried, pulling out her powder compact and trying as best as she could to wipe away the mascara ridden tear track with a shaking finger. After that task was completed, she pulled out her phone to call Brittany. She flipped open her phone and scrolled down her contact list. She was just about to hit the call button when a strong hand reached from behind her and closed her phone.

"Go away, John…" Danielle sighed, taking a few steps forward to get away from him.

"What, are you going to walk home?" he asked.

"I'd rather walk home than sit in a car with you," she growled, turning around and shooting him the familiar glare of hatred. "Besides, Brittany will come pick me up if I call her."

"You can't keep depending on her. Trust me, Danielle, you're running her to the breaking point. She is going to get sick of you really quick. Hell, with what I've heard from Chris, she's nearly there. Just one more step, and you're going to push her over the edge. You don't want to do that, do you? Do you still want to walk home?"

Danielle looked at the ground and slowly nodded her head.

"Fine, but don't call me when your feet start hurting," he said, shrugging and nodding at her shoes that just happened to have a very high heel on them. He turned around and started walking to his car.

Danielle pursed her lips and squeezed the last bit of tears out of her eyes. "John, wait," she said, scuffling up to him.

John turned around and smiled at her. "That's what I thought."

"Just do me a favor, please?" she asked.

"What?"

"Just none of your rap music on the way home, okay?"

"Sure."

Brittany was having quite the peaceful evening at home while Danielle was out with John. Her night consisted of watching television, flicking through fashion magazines, and having an hour long phone conversation with Chris.

She was lounged across the couch, perusing the latest issue of Cosmopolitan. The door blasted open, but she didn't even bother to move. In fact, she didn't even flinch.

"How was it?" Brittany asked, not looking at Danielle or removing her eyes from the magazine.

"Screw you," Danielle said as she quickly slammed the door shut and hurried to her room.

"Good. Glad you had a good time then," Brittany said, secretly laughing to herself after Danielle had shut herself in her own prison.

"Cheer up, man. You're such a downer," Chris said to John at the next Monday Night RAW show. "I take it that the thing with Danielle didn't go so well, huh?"

"Does it ever?" John sighed, pulling his new eight bit t-shirt over his head.

"Well, why do you think that is?"

John opened a new pack of sweatbands, and crumpled up the plastic wrapper, throwing it at Chris. "I don't know. I don't want to know. I'm pretty sure it has something to do with me, because I know it's not her."

Chris broke down in a fit of laughter. "You are the most dense little bastard I've ever met in my life."

"What the fuck are you talking about? I'm trying the best I can, man."

"No, you're not trying at all, man. You're not thinking about her and what she might want to hear. You're doing what you think is right, but that's not what you should do. You need to think about what would make her feel good about this whole thing. Taking her out to dinner at the restaurant you dumped her in, which was a bitch move, by the way, isn't going to cut it," Chris explained.

"Yeah, this coming from the man that just got a divorce."

"But I already have another chick," Chris grinned.

"Screw you."

"No thanks. I'm not Batista."

"I really need to save my relationship with Danielle, man," John sighed, lightly pounding the locker in front of him.

"Well, my friend, you are going to have to work a bit harder at that than I would have to."

"And why is that?"

"You can't just run around saving things. After all, you're not Chris Jericho."

"Yeah, but you aren't Superman," John said, rolling his eyes.

"Neither are you, my friend. Neither are you."

A/N: Wow, long time, no update.

Danielle, I now pass the torch…pen…keyboard…whatever, to you.