"You go," said Leif, nodding at the almost-full car. "I'll meet you at the hotel."
"No, babe, we-" Marty broke off, sneezing. Leif pulled a pack of tissues from his fanny pack and handed it over.
"Marty, come on, it's going to rain and you're getting sick already. I'll be fine, I promise." He threw an arm around his partner's shoulders and gave a reassuring squeeze.
"You sure you can find a ride?" Marty's voice was muffled by the tissue. He sneezed again.
"Positive."
"Come on, Marty, hop in. You can have tea waiting when Leif gets home," Henry coaxed.
"Okay," said Marty, stuffing the used and unused tissues in separate pockets. He hugged Leif tightly. "Be safe."
"I will," he said, pressing his cheek against Marty's. Then, to the rest of the car, "Thanks, fellas. This one's in no shape to be out in the elements."
"We'll make sure he buttons his raincoat," said Phineas, with a wink.
Little Jeff Hardy bit his lip. "You sure you don't want to swap with me, Leif?"
"Yeah, Jeff, I'm sure, thanks," said Leif, who was very sure indeed and hoped Matt would give his brother an earful about that bright idea when they got to the motel. The kid was sweet as pie but if he was a day over sixteen, Leif was Miss Elizabeth. Jeff wandering off on his own to bum a ride wasn't a plan, it was the premise of an ostensibly cationary exploitation flick.
Matt cast Leif an exhausted, grateful look, and added, "You might try Scott Taylor, he had an open spot yesterday."
"Thanks." They said their goodbyes one more time and Leif waved as he watched the car pull away. Scott was a good guy. He and Leif had spent many an evening commiserating over their respective losses, before Leif had started tagging with Marty. It would be nice to catch up with him again.
Hunter Hearst Helmsley swept out of the out of the building on the arm of his companion, relishing the shocked stares they recieved. If anyone from his usual circles were to spot them, this little assignation would be the scandal of the season. All the society papers would be atwitter with speculation about what that Helmsley would get up to next. Here it would be relegated to crude locker room gossip, of course, but one must make do.
He spotted Mr. Perfect and smirked. Make a pass at this one, Perfect, seven feet of white trash rough trade would suit you.
They approached his car in silence and he felt a thrill of anticipation as his guest opened the passenger side door for him. Letting the man drive was the least of the risks he was taking tonight. Oh, Waylon Mercy had a certain southern charm about him, to be sure, but Hunter had seen what he did to people in the ring. The man was vicious; a mad, cracker Steven Regal.
"Thank you, Waylon," said Hunter, settling gracefully into the bucket seat.
"You're very welcome," replied Mercy with a warm smile, reaching across his lap to buckle the belt for him. "Comfortable?"
"Very." Hunter watched with interest as Mercy closed the door and made his way to the driver's side, stooping to fit his long frame into the car. "Will you need a map?" he asked.
"Oh, I know the way. Don't you worry about that, darling, you just sit tight and let old Waylon Mercy take care of you. Know what I mean?"
Hunter smiled. They didn't make them like this in Greenwich, that was for sure. Not this attentive or this dangerous.
Walking through the parking lot on his way to the secret, free parking lot behind the church across the street, Fatu threw a smile and a wave to the champion. They'd never been close, but Shawn was alright. Besides, Fatu liked seeing a fellow six foot one, former tag division guy making it big.
Shawn returned the smile dimly, looking distracted and more than a little lost. It struck Fatu that, champion or no, Shawn was short on friends lately.
Razor left. Diesel put him through an announce table and then left. Ahmed was out injured, maybe for good this time for all anyone knew. Who was Shawn riding with these days? Bret at least would have made sure Shawn got to the next town safe if he were here, but he wasn't, he was off on some cruise ship God knows where.
Aw, hell with it.
"Hey, Shawn, you got a ride?"
Fatu could see the relief behind the cocky grin as Shawn shot back, "I do if you've got a spot in your car."
"Yeah, come on."
Shawn sauntered over to join him, walking a little too close by Fatu's side for it to be accidental. He always had been a flirt. He looked lonely as hell. Fatu threw a friendly arm around his shoulders and steered him towards the car.
"Of course you can, where's Marty?"
"I made him go in the Godwins' car, I didn't want him waiting in the rain." Leif looked at him ruefully. "He has a cold."
He really was head over heels. Scott smiled, happy for Leif, hell, happy for Marty too, the guy deserved a lucky break after all he'd been through.
"Come on, it's just over here." He walked towards the car, Leif at his side. "So, do you have any idea where this next town is?"
"No clue, man." Leif shook his head. "You got a map?"
"Yeah, and-" They both stopped short as they came into view of the car. "And a good navigator," Scott finished, distracted.
Fatu and Shawn Michaels were leaning against the car, chatting amiably. And why not? They'd ridden with Yoko enough times after he split with Camp Cornette. Scott offered rides to his undercard buddies, Fatu offered rides to the old tag crowd, that was just what they did. And now, Leif Cassidy and the Heartbreak Kid were going to spend six hours together in their car. Fantastic.
Fatu drove with Shawn riding shotgun beside him. Leif would prefer to think that was Scott's spot that they were letting the arrogant main-eventer userp, but he suspected that Scott was the usual wheelman, sitting back here to keep an eye on poor, pitiful Leif Cassidy. It wasn't like he didn't see Scott's worried little glances, probably wondering how many times Marty had called him "Shawn" in bed.
The answer was once, at about 3:30 AM in a crummy motel off of I-80. Leif was up getting a glass of water when he heard Marty's sleepy mumble from the other room.
Come back to bed, Shawnie.
When Leif had come back from the bathroom Marty was sitting bolt upright in the dark.
It's okay, Leif had said. And it was okay. Marty'd been with his ex for almost seven years, for God's sake.
What wasn't okay was the stricken look on his Marty's face. Oh god, Leif, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, baby.
Marty, I'm fine. It's okay, he'd said again. No one I loved ever put me through a window, he didn't add.
It was a miserable, silent car ride and neither the weather or the weird, unwelcoming swampland their route led them through did anything to brighten his mood. Fatu drove grimly as the rain came harder and the sky darkened, Scott occasionally leaning forward to pat him on the arm or mutter some thanks for driving.
"Oh shit!" The cry and the sudden stop jolted Leif out of his revirie. They were at a four way intersection, the first in miles, and the branch ahead, the one they wanted, was not so much a road as a river. "Pass me the map, Scotty."
Scott handed him the map. "Do you want me to take a turn?"
"Nah, I'm okay. Last thing we need is to get soaked switching places."
As an increasingly disconsolate Fatu pondered the map, another car pulled up behind them. Leif was no Sparkplug Holly, but he could tell the thing was fancy. With barely a pause, it signaled right, flashed its brights breifly, and passed them in a slow, graceful motion.
For the first time since their stiff introductions, Shawn spoke. "That's Helmsley's car."
"Yeah?" Fatu brightened. "You think he knows where he's going?"
"Yeah, probably. He probably found some swanky bed and breakfast to stay at."
"Okay." Fatu sighed and passed the map to Shawn. "Okay, I think we'd better follow him then, because I don't see how we're going to get anywhere tonight. There are a couple back roads we could try, but if this one's washed out..."
They agreed and Fatu turned right. It didn't take long for them to get in view of Hunter's lights, even with the limited visibility.
They followed the car for miles, Fatu occasionally asking Shawn to make a note on the map. "Right turn, unmarked, facing north now" or "road curved left, wanna say south west. Scotty, check my compass."
Eventually, they came to a clearing around huge, old mansion. Firelight flickered in the windows. Jesus, this was where Hunter was staying? Was this some weird, jet-setter trend? Retro-gothic Amnityville chic?
Fatu pulled to a stop beside the other car, sighing as he turned off the engine.
"That was some fucking heroic driving, man," said Scott, throwing his arms around the seat in front of him and making Fatu smile for the first time in hours. Leif and Shawn both added their thanks.
To their left, a man far too tall to be Hunter stepped out of the driver's side. As he rounded the front of the car, Leif recognized Waylon Mercy.