Randy stood in front of a mirror, examining himself. He was in the locker room of the hotel's gym, staring intensely at the reflection in front of him. He was tall, six-foot-four actually. He was also pretty dark too, hell, he looked like he spent hours tanning everyday—which couldn't be further from the truth. His hair was really short—a buzz cut. He liked it; he didn't have to worry about it at all, not to mention it took seconds to dry when he got out of a shower. Overall he had to admit he was pretty pleased with his reflection; he'd trimmed up a little bit in the past couple of years, and his muscles looked more ripped than ever.

"Like what you see?"

John Cena's reflection appeared behind him, the slightly shorter man grinning.

"Yeah, actually I do." Randy smirked, reaching up his arm and flexing pompously.

John laughed, "Alright, alright, we don't need your ego getting any bigger."

Randy laughed at that. Really, John was the only one who could ever make him laugh. Everyone else just sort of annoyed him. For the past few years John Cena had been one of the very, very few to befriend Randy Orton—and they were now better friends then ever. It probably had something to do with the fact that Cena didn't take Randy's bullshit, or maybe it was because nothing Randy did seemed to bother John. Either way, the two were pretty close, even if they didn't show it all that much. Morning workouts had been one of their traditions since they'd become friends, and this morning was no different from the others.

The locker room was rather ugly, with mint green tile flooring and bland white walls with no decoration. But at least it was clean—more then clean actually, it was spotless. And beggars can't be choosers: Randy hit up any gym he could while on the road. Even if they had ugly locker rooms.

Cena walked over to a wooden bench and sat down, looking over at Randy, "So—tomorrow morning. Breakfast, don't forget."

"Are you buying?" Randy grinned, looking over his shoulder at his one and only true friend.

"Fuck no." John growled, "You're a big boy, you can pay for your own damn self—"

The door to their locker room swung open unexpectedly, and in strode two people John and Randy had not expected to visit them during their morning workout.

As the two people walked in, Randy couldn't help but be struck by how different the two people were from each other. Mark Callaway was big—ok, so big was an understatement. He was huge. As usual he was clad in all black with his dark hair hanging across his shoulders. Also as usual, he was scowling deeply—not looking too happy at all. Shawn Michaels seemed to be a polar opposite of Mark: he was on the shorter side (for the wrestling universe, anyway) and he was wearing normal blue jeans and a white t-shirt. Also, unlike the Deadman, Shawn was smiling brightly, revealing straight, white teeth.

The first time Randy heard those two were dating he'd laughed. He'd figured there was no way in hell those two completely different people could ever coexist with each other. That was, what, three years ago? And here they were, still together, and—according to the rumor mill—still as happy as ever. Hell, Randy'd even heard that Hunter had joined them…but that had yet to be proven. There were plenty of people who claimed they'd seen Hunter entering Shawn and Mark's room late at night, and there were even a few who swore they'd seen Hunter and Shawn kiss… But so far nothing had been proven. Randy wasn't much one for gossip, so he'd thought of Hunter as innocent until proven guilty.

"Mark, Shawn." Cena nodded politely, smiling at Shawn as he did. They had always gotten along well.

"Hi John." Shawn smiled back at him, obviously in a much better mood then the Deadman.

"Clear off Cena." Mark growled, his hands clenching into fists, "I need to talk to Orton."

John frowned and turned to Randy. The Legend Killer did not look at him, his icy blue eyes merely narrowed, focusing on Mark. For a brief moment, Cena wondered what Randy might've done to piss off the Undertaker. Hell, Randy was always making trouble so it could be anything—no, that's not true, John thought, Randy had been doing better lately. What could he have done to set off Mark?

"Anything you need to say to Randy," John spoke slowly, looking up at Mark from where he sat, "You can say in front of me."

Mark frowned; he was not used to people defying him. Then again, Randy and John were both known for never backing down to anyone. Maybe that's why they got along so good. Oh well, Mark didn't care. If Cena wanted to stick his nose into Randy's business, fine.

"We need to have a talk about last night." Mark said, his voice deep and angry.

"What about last night?" Randy growled back, feeling a sense of unease coming over him.

"You know exactly what about last night." Mark hissed, stepping forward threateningly, "Jeff."

"Fine then." Randy scowled, "What about Jeff?"

"Stay away from him." Mark ordered, lowering his voice.

"I think that's Jeff's decision," Randy said, his own hands clenching into fists, "Not yours."

"You listen to me, Orton." Mark pointed a finger at him, "If you want to live to see your next birthday, you better stay away from him."

"What are you going to do about it Mark?" Randy smirked, taunting him, "Going to beat me up? You really think that's going to stop Jeff if he wants to see me again?"

"You little fucker!" Mark lunged forward, grabbing Randy by the collar, "You stay the fuck away from Jeff! I'm not going to let you fuck with him!"

Randy pushed Mark away and grinned darkly, "Too late."

Mark let out an animalistic roar and jumped forward, tackling Randy to the ground. Cena and Shawn reacted instantly, both rushing forward to stop Mark from strangling Randy. Grunting with effort, Shawn grabbed Mark around the waist and pulled him up. To their surprise, Randy leapt up from the ground, his hands curled into fists, ready to beat the shit out of Mark. Cena caught him though, pulling him back and away from Shawn and Mark. Randy struggled, but thankfully John managed to hold him down.

"You stay the fuck away from Jeff!" Mark snarled and Shawn pulled him to the door.

"Fuck off!" Randy roared back, struggling against Cena's hold, "I'll do whatever the fuck I want to do!"

"Well John," Shawn panted, yanking Mark toward the door, "It's been nice seeing you again, but I think we should be going."

"Yeah," Cena grunted, managing a charismatic smile, "We'll have to do this again sometime."

"Of course!" Shawn pushed the door open and shoved Mark outside, "Call me!"

With a sigh of relief as Shawn and Mark disappeared, John released Randy. Immediately the taller man kicked the wooden bench. Turning around, he pulled his fist back and punched the nearest dull green locker, howling in pain as his fist connected with the hard metal.

"Oh yeah," John rolled his eyes, putting his hands on his hips, "Real smart Randy."

"Fuck off." Randy hissed. His hand was hurting so bad he was seeing stars. Cradling it in his other hand, Randy winced as he looked down at his injured hand. It was purpling already, swelling up as he looked at it. But it didn't appear to be broken…thank god. He would've felt like an idiot if he'd had to explain this to Vince…

"So…" Cena broke the silence, giving Randy a hard look, "Care to explain what the fuck just happened?"

Randy scowled, looking up into Cena's angry eyes, "I'm sure you can put the pieces together."

"Let me guess," Cena rolled his eyes, "You fucked Jeff Hardy—didn't you?"

"It wasn't like that—" Randy mumbled, sitting down on the bench, still holding his hand.

"For fuck's sake Randy!" Cena groaned, "You were doing so fucking good! It had been, like, months since you'd pissed someone off! And now you go fuck a guy who's already got a boyfriend—you don't fucking learn, do you?"

Randy hung his head, scowling as his face reddened slightly.

"Ok, ok." John sighed, sitting down next to him, "Sorry. That was a little harsh. But seriously, of all the guys—why Jeff? You know how protective Mark and Matt are…and there's Adam too…"

"He came on to me," Randy said, looking to his left at John, "I didn't go after him. He came to my room last night and—"

"I don't need the details." John interrupted, "But you could've said no Randy. You didn't have to take him in."

No, he couldn't, Randy thought. He couldn't say no to Jeff, not after Jeff told him he'd caught Adam cheating on him…

"I couldn't say no." Randy sighed, "He told me Adam was cheating on him.

"Oh." Cena's eyes widened, "Oh." Suddenly, Randy's actions were a lot easier to understand.

"He was so upset," Randy continued, "He reminded me so much of how I felt after what happened with Jacob… I couldn't say no to him."

"Shit." Cena reached up, rubbing his eyes tiredly, "I guess that complicates things, huh?"

"Yeah." Randy frowned angrily, "Doesn't matter though. It was a onetime thing."

"So…" Cena spoke, thinking hard, "I'm guessing Jeff told Mark and Shawn."

"Yeah, I guess so." Randy sighed, "But Adam and Matt don't know, and hopefully it stays that way."

"You just can't stay out of trouble, can you?" Cena smiled, his words teasing.

"No, I can't." Randy frowned deeply, staring at the floor.

"Hey," John punched him lightly on the shoulder, "Look, you said it was a onetime thing. Adam and Matt don't know, and that's the important part. So just move on and forget it ever happened. You don't have to beat yourself up over it, you've been doing so good these past few months, you can't let one slip up get you down."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Randy mumbled, but he didn't sound convinced.

John stood up, "I've got to get going. Don't forget about tomorrow morning, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah." Randy sighed.

"I mean it." Cena went on as he walked toward the door, "If I show up and you're not even awake yet I'm gonna be pissed!"

"Oh quit your bitching." Randy groaned, "I'll be awake, I promise.

"You better." Cena finished as he stepped out, the green door closing behind him.

Randy sighed deeply, looking down at his injured hand. The damn thing was grossly swollen, and a nasty shade of purple and blue around the knuckles. Damn, it was really going to be hurting tomorrow. Oh well, wasn't the first time he'd nearly broken his hand by punching something, and it probably wouldn't be the last. His hand was the least of his worries, anyway. Fucking Mark Callaway wanted to break him in half, and Shawn and John now knew everything about him and Jeff. Randy shook his head, he didn't really understand Jeff. He'd told Randy not to tell anyone, but then goes and blabs himself? Didn't really make much sense. Then again, the whole situation didn't make sense. He did feel bad about it—no, that was a lie. He didn't regret fucking Jeff Hardy at all—Adam deserved it.

It was probably a really good thing John was here when Mark showed up, Randy thought, staring at the green tile beneath the bench. Who knows what might've happened if John and Shawn hadn't pulled them apart… Randy had been relieved when John refused to leave. But John was a good friend like that; he'd always stuck by Randy's side, even through the worst of times. Hell, John was his only real friend nowadays. Oh, he was pretty close with Ted and Cody, but John had been his friend for years. Cena was the first person Randy ever told about Jacob. And it was Cena who convinced Randy to move on, to stop hating the world just because of one man. Cena had been the one to convince Randy to change, to try and become a better person. It was like Randy was addicted to being cruel, and John was his mentor, trying desperately to help him kick the habit.

Standing up, Randy headed for the door.

He was tired of thinking about Jeff. He was tired of thinking about Jacob. He was tired of thinking about Mark Callaway. He just wanted to lay down and stop thinking for a couple of hours…clear his head.

What he really wanted was a damn drink.

Jeff found himself walking down that red hallway again. For some reason his heart was racing with each step, and he could feel himself growing more and more nervous. And why shouldn't he get nervous? Last time he walked down this hall he'd found his boyfriend on his knees for another guy—his anxiety was well founded.

It was nearing five o'clock in the afternoon. He'd been avoiding Adam all day… The first time his boyfriend called, Jeff said he had a meeting with Vince. The second time he told Adam that he was out grabbing a bite to eat. Jeff didn't answer after that, and four missed calls later, Adam seemed to give up. Jeff felt slightly guilty; he had ran off last night, never came home, scared the shit out of Matt and Adam…and now he was blowing Adam off. He hadn't talked face to face with his boyfriend in almost twenty-four hours now. But really, was that his fault or Adam's? Maybe if Adam wasn't such a cheating bastard, none of this would have ever happened…

Sighing deeply, Jeff swiped his keycard through and gently pushed open the door. He walked in silently, running a hand through his hair. The lights were on this time, and Jeff made his way to the main room. There, sitting on the right side of the bed, wearing a furious expression, was his boyfriend. Adam was wearing nothing but a pair of gym shorts, and he was scowling madly. The fury in his hazel eyes told Jeff that he was about to get chewed out.

"How nice of you to show up." Adam snarled, glaring up at Jeff.

Jeff folded his arms across his chest, "I'm sorry. I had a busy day."

"Yeah?" Adam hissed, "You have a busy night too?"

"I went over to Mark's." Jeff answered, "I'm s-sorry, alright? I lost track of time."

Adam fell silent, still glaring at Jeff with just as much rage as before.

"Look," Jeff sighed, staring down at the floor, "Can we p-please just talk about this later?"

"No Jeff," Adam swung his legs over the side of the bed, still looking up at Jeff, "We need to talk about this now. You were gone all fucking night, and then you don't show up today until fucking five o'clock? What the fuck is this?"

"I t-told Matty what happened—" Jeff began.

"Yeah, and I've been waiting for you ever since!" Adam growled, "You expect me to believe you were 'busy' all day? That's bullshit!"

"Yeah?" Jeff raised his voice, feeling angry that Adam was angry, "Well what the fuck about last night? If you were so concerned about it why didn't you fucking call me last night?"

Adam hesitated, his mouth dropping open. But no sound came out.

"You sure as fuck didn't try to call me last night!" Jeff snapped, "Were you busy Adam?"

"Of course not!" Adam hissed back, standing up, "I was waiting around for you—"

"That's a fucking lie!" Jeff yelled, clenching his fists, "If you were waiting around for me you would've tried to call!"

"I fell asleep—" Adam began.

"Well so did I, so you can't get pissy at me for that!" Jeff interrupted, his glittering green eyes glaring at Adam.

"You never fucking came home last night!" Adam roared, "And you fucking blew me off all day! I have every damn right to get pissy with you!"

"No you don't!" Jeff stamped his foot childishly, "I'm not in the fucking mood to deal with this bullshit right now—"

"Well you're going to have to get the fuck over it," Adam yelled, "Because I'm not dropping this until we talk it out!"

"Fuck you Adam!" Jeff screamed. God, he'd never felt so mad in his life…

"Fuck you too!" Adam shouted back.

"I'm not fucking dealing with this bullshit right now!" Jeff turned around, walking toward the door, kicking the bed as he did.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Adam roared.

"Away from you, asshole!" Jeff slammed the door shut behind him so hard that the walls shook.

Adam let out a guttural scream and turned, kicking the nightstand as hard as he could. The wooden structure fell to its side with a loud 'thump'. Pacing back and forth across the room, Adam ran his fingers through his hair. His heart was racing, he was so fucking angry. If Jeff was anyone but his boyfriend Adam probably would've punched him… God, he was ready to break something he was so fucking mad! Little bastard ignored him all day then came in like he was the one who'd been wronged! God, Jeff was almost acting like…acting like…

Did Jeff know about Dave? No, Adam shook his head, there was no way he could…they'd covered their tracks pretty well. Goddamn little prick was probably just in a bad mood or something… Adam growled deep in his throat. Jeff had gotten him all riled up, and now he was going to have to do something about it.

Bending over, he picked his cell phone up off the carpet, where it had been flung after he kicked the nightstand. Dialing the familiar number, he held the phone up to his ear.

"Hey Dave," Adam purred, "You mind if I come over to your place for a little while?"

Jeff was going to take a few hours to stew. In the meantime, Adam needed to vent his rage, and what better way to do that then through hot, angry sex? Besides, Jeff would come back after a while. And when Jeff was ready to apologize, Adam would welcome him back with open arms. It was the least he could do after sleeping with Dave.

"I'll see you in a couple of minutes." Adam said, shutting the phone.

For a moment the guilt overcame him, but only for a moment. The anger returned quickly, and Adam stomped out the door, intent on forgetting about Jeff and focusing on Batista.

As long as he focused on Dave, he didn't have to think about how much he was hurting Jeff. Or how much Jeff was hurting him, for that matter.