Judging by the light that fell into the room it had to be afternoon. They were lying sprawled out on her bed, just dozing. The blanket was covering them; the vital parts anyway, because Nina's legs had worked their way out of the blanket. Her head was resting on the crook of Stephen's arm. It was comfortable - more comfortable than her pillow at any rate.

It was time they started moving, time to take a shower, time to eat something. Oh hell! She just didn't care. When she thought back on the last couple of years, she couldn't pinpoint one single moment she had been more content, more relaxed, or more at ease with the world and her existence in general.

That thought made her drift closer to him. She placed her hand on his chest. It came to rest directly over his heart. His hand found hers and he started playing with her fingers, stroking them, interlacing them with his, kissing them.

"Let's tell the rest of the world to go feck itself and stay like this forever," he told her. His voice sounded just as mellow and relaxed as she felt. It was rougher than usual and there was a slight scratch in it. She rolled over and rested her chin on his chest, looking at him and his sleepy face with adoration shining in her eyes.

"So you think this is as good as it gets?"

His eyebrows shot up at her question. There was a look of genuine puzzlement on his face. "Isn't it?"

"What if what comes next is better? After all this is only the beginning," she told him sitting up. She hugged the cover to her chest and climbed over him. Her retreat was sort of clumsy and wobbly, but nevertheless managed to immediately claim his attention.

"Hey!" he called after her in indignation, but only indignation of the mild variety, because he got to see her backside as she slowly walked up to the door and left him lying there without a blanket and completely naked. At the door she let the blanket slip to the floor and threw him a look over her shoulder. "You coming? I was going to take a shower." With those words she exited the bedroom.

She was waiting for him in front of the shower cubicle. She didn't have to wait long. He soon entered the bathroom. His eyes roamed over her naked body. Though he had had time to study it up close and get acquainted with it over the last couple of hours, it never failed to attract his attention. However, right now he was in no mood to drag her under the shower spray and perform half the positions from the Kama Sutra with her. He just wanted to enjoy this moment and be close to her.

"After you, me lady," he said with a grin and she climbed into the shower. He followed, pulling the door shut behind them. The small enclosed space of the glass cubicle didn't leave them any other choice but to get close. She smiled as she reached around him to turn on the shower. The first cold droplets of water rained down on them. Both of them yelped. Well, hers was high-pitched one, whereas his was a more like a manly 'aaaaah'-like sound.

"Sorry, the pipes are kind of old," she smiled sheepishly as the water gradually grew warmer and finally reached a pleasant temperature.

Thanks to the water his hair was now plastered to his forehead. He was squinting his eyes shut in order not to get any water in them. "You look really goofy," she told him and brushed his hair back from his forehead and somehow from there they ended up sharing a long kiss that was tender and very thorough. His arms were slung around her neck and the water was dripping down on them. It felt more pleasant than anything she had experienced in a long time.

She noticed how his mood had changed now. When he pulled back to look at her, his arms were still slung around her shoulders, there was a look of sincerity in his eyes and a vulnerability she had not seen before. They had somehow made it past jokes, façades and appearances. Who knew it would have taken that long for him to let his guard down? How could she have never been aware it had been up in the first place? She smiled at him tenderly, almost shyly and he reciprocated that smile. It was a cliché saying something about warm feeling inside of her chest and the sensation of melting, but she did feel like that right then and there.

Nina reached for her shower-gel and squeezed some of it unto her palm. "Mint scented," she explained and waited for his nod of approval, before she gently maneuvered him out from underneath the shower spray and started lathering up his chest and arms with it. There was so much kindness and caring to her touch it almost took his breath away. His eyes were on her as the droplets cascaded on her head and made her body glisten. He slicked back her hair, just like she had done for him. As a thanks she motioned him to turn around to lather up his back with the shower-gel as well. The muscles in it started to relax as her fingers trailed down over his skin, applying gentle pressure. It almost felt like a massage. He let out a sound of contentment.

She continued until his whole body was soapy and then she pulled him against herself with a smile. It was a tight, full-on body hug and that way she got the shower-gel all over herself too. They stepped back under the spray and waited until the water had washed all of it away. In fact they even waited a little longer.

She wanted to reach for the shampoo, but he beat her to it. He switched off the shower for a moment and the constant backdrop noise of the falling water disappeared. She could hear him breathe; hear the water drip off both of their bodies.

He started to gently massage the shampoo into her hair and her eyes drifted shut. Those fingers of his were truly magical. He had not lied back when when he claimed they were nimble. She felt the last remains of stress fall away and concentrated entirely on the sensation of those fingertips moving over her scalp in soothing circles.

"Tilt your head back and keep your eyes closed," he told her and shortly after she felt the spray of the shower on her skin again. His fingers stroked over her hair to get the shampoo out and when he was finally satisfied, he told her to open her eyes again. She did and found him standing directly in front of her.

"You have no idea how good that just felt," she smiled up at him.

The corner of his eyes crinkled in delight. "Really?"

"Really," she confirmed and kissed him. "Let me return the favor. I promise the shampoo doesn't smell like coconut."

He laughed. "That's a relief."

She again she pushed him back a bit, until he wasn't standing underneath the shower spray anymore. The shampoo bottle let out a protesting squeak as she squeezed it. They both laughed. He lowered his head obediently, so she could apply the shampoo without having to stretch or stand on tiptoes. Thanks to the red hair dye, the foam of the shampoo soon turned a girlish pink. She grinned but didn't say anything.

She wanted him to relax so she took care to be especially gentle with him. Apparently she succeeded because he let out a hum of contentment when she massaged his scalp. As she later rinsed the shampoo out, she placed herself behind him, running her fingers from his temples to the back of his head. She continued to do so even long after the shampoo was gone, because, judging by those little sounds of approval he made from time to time, he enjoyed it a lot. When they were done, he turned around and engulfed her in a tight hug that almost took her breath away. He brushed his wet nose against her and she looked in his eyes.

For some reason he looked happy, but also a bit tired. Not physically tired, but tired as though he was worn out by traveling, by smiling at cameras, by life in general. It had never occurred to her that he could be, because he was always so energetic. He joked, he teased, he seemed like he possessed an endless supply of energy. Why had she never noticed before? Had she been too blind or distracted to see it? Or was it simply that he was too good at hiding his emotions behind a professional facade to have her notice? It had to be the latter. She hoped it was. Because if it wasn't like that, it meant she was an insensitive, egotistical cow.

They stepped out of the shower cubicle and dried themselves off. She wrapped the towel around herself and so did he. Back to square one. It had all started with him wearing a towel around his hips. Apparently he had similar thoughts. "Listen, about earlier. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have read..."

She silenced him mid-sentence by placing her index finger over his lips. "You don't have to apologize. It wasn't your fault. And I shouldn't have made such a big deal out of it. You can read my stories. Actually, I want you to read them."

His fingers wrapped around her wrist as he pulled her hand away. "Really? What changed your mind."

She gave him a long look. "You."

"Me? Such a corny thing to say," he chuckled. "But I gotta admit it's quite flattering. But the explanation seems a bit too simple."

"No, it isn't. I want you to know me. The real me. You know how words can sometimes be inadequate and how they don't come out right? Language is such a stupid thing. I often have the feeling that what leaves my mouth is a bunch of rubbish. It is an inadequate echo of my thoughts. When I write, I feel like I do on occasion get it right."

"So that's why you were so pissed off before…," he amended, looking truly rueful.

"Yeah, but I was being stupid. I really shouldn't have gotten in such a hissy fit about it," she smiled at him. He smiled back and she couldn't help but hug him.

She stroked his back, letting her fingers trace down his spine and she felt him relax against her. "Steve?" she whispered into his ear. "Are you okay?" Perhaps she was reading too much into something as trivial as a look on his face. Who knew whether she had read him correctly?

"Of course, I am. Right as rain. Had fantastic sex, got to shower with a beautiful lass… Life's good," he answered, his voice all drowsy and relaxed.

"I'm not talking about right now. I'm talking about in general."

He pulled back a fraction to look into her eyes. A moment passed, then another. "Just a bit tired, I guess," he finally admitted.

She nodded. "I've never really told you why I quit my job as a lecturer, have I?"

"No," he said, startled by her sudden change of subject. They were now standing in front of each other. He was leaning back against the wash basin, his hands on her hips. His eyes were level with hers as he regarded her, waiting for her to start talking.

For a second holding his gaze was almost too much. Her eyes drifted to the floor, then back at him. She had trouble acknowledging her weaknesses. It had always been like that. It was her Achilles Heel. "Burnout," she said finally. It was a one word admittance, but judging by the way his eyes widened he got the meaning and the gravity of that single world.

He wanted to say something, but she shook her head. "Not now," she said gently. "We'll get there."

"What the feck?" he looked at her with a frown. "You drop a bomb like that on me and then you go and say something like 'We'll get there'?"

"'Cause I don't want to talk about it now, okay?" Her 'okay' at the end of that sentence warned him to leave well enough alone. If he continued to try to get anything out of her now, she would only close up and act her usual stubborn self.

"I'm just surprised, is all. What do you want me to say? Shrug me shoulders and say 'Oh, well'? I care about you…," he thought for a second, realizing that the words 'I care about you' were not strong enough. "Scratch that! I love you, so if you decide to tell me you had burnout, it strikes me as a natural reaction that I want answers."

"Yeah, only not now," she repeated again. "I can't. I'm not ready."

She saw a muscle in his jaw work; saw how he was trying hard to reign in his temper and that impatient streak of his. "Alright," he said finally. And then a slightly softer spoken "okay" followed which was accompanied by a begrudging, but tender kiss to her cheek. "We'll get there." There was a pause and it was growing longer and longer, until he eventually decided to fill it with words. "So what are we going to do now?"

She smiled and it was a radiant smile. One that lit up the entire room. One that had him wondering how a woman like her could ever be anything other than happy. It seemed hard to believe there had been a phase in her life where she had been as well-adjusted and down-to-earth as she was now.

"Glad, you've asked," she grinned at him. "We're going to refuel those energy reserves, handsome."

"With what? More sex?" he joked.

Her face assumed an almost comic expression. It was a mixture of embarrassment and an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, but that will have to wait for a while."

"Sore?" for once he was the blunt one of the two of them.

"Well, yeah," she lowered her gaze for a second. "It's been a while. Perhaps doing it twice in a row was not the smartest move in retrospect. And before you say anything, it's not your fault. It's mine. I was perhaps a little overeager."

"It's been a while? How long exactly?"

"That's what you've picked up on?" she gave his chest a gentle swat with the back of her hand. With a mock disapproving head shake she stepped away from him. "Really, Stephen..." He watched her exit the bathroom with an amused grin on his face.

"Come on, how long?" he called after her.

Eventually she popped her head back into the bathroom. She gave him a long appraising look before she spoke again. "I swear if you laugh or make a mocking comment, I'm going to throw your half-naked ass out of my apartment quicker than you can say the words 'I'm sorry'."

He made an appeasing gesture with his hands. Still she hesitated.

"Two years," she said finally.

"What…?!" he started. A dark glance from her silenced him immediately, but it wasn't enough to erase that smug grin from his face.

"Stop grinning, eejit," she reprimanded him.

"Hmmmm, the lady is finally picking up on some Irish. Great. Had to be the insults you mastered first, right?" he teased her.

"Well, the useful things first."

"Course. As much as I love trading insults with you, darlin', I'm going to shave now," he told her.

"Yeah?" she asked, throwing him the sweetest of smiles. "Word of advice: While you're at it, shave of the whole damn thing. You gave me a beard burn," she indicated the red rash on her chin with a reproachful expression on her face.

"You didn't seem to mind earlier. Maybe that's not the only place. You should check lower as well," he wiggled his eyebrows at her.

A blush spread on her nose. "You're rude."

"And ginger," he added.

"Oh my God! Have you or have you not just quoted Doctor Who? Forget everything I said. You're forgiven. I totally love you," she beamed at him. Part of her statement was of course to be taken with a pinch of salt, because of all that irony dripping from her words.

"If that's all it takes...," he told her with a grin.

"Actually it takes quite a lot," she told him, now leaning against the door frame. It was a quite suggestive pose because she was only clad in a towel and the way she was standing there accentuated her curves. He tried ignoring it since sex was off the menu for now.

"Is that why you lapsed into celibacy for two years?" He grinned.

"Let me put this in words you're going to understand. 'Feck off'," she told him with a sweet smile before she exited the bathroom once more.

"I'm going to order in. Chinese okay?" she called out to him from the hallway.

"Fried duck with plum sauce, if they have it," he called back.

She had just gotten off the phone when he came out of the bedroom. He had put on some jeans and a T-shirt whereas she had opted for a tank top and some sweatpants.

"Dinner should be here in 40 minutes. They are kind of busy right now," she told him. She pensively tapped the phone against her chin. "Just enough time…"

"Enough time for what?" The grin on her face made him suspicious, because most of the time it meant nothing good.

"Take off your shirt and stretch out on the couch with your back facing up," she told him.

"What?!"

"Don't play coy with me now, Farrelly," she shot him teasing glance. "There's nothing I haven't seen yet, especially not after the last couple of hours." She let her eyes purposefully roam up and down his body.

"Okaaay," he said slowly, taking off the T-shirt despite of his skepticism.

"And now stretch out on the sofa. Come on! Shoo!"

"Have you just shooed me?" He looked at her as if he didn't believe his ears. Nina rolled her eyes and bodily pushed him in the direction of the couch. He let himself be pushed and even made as if he was stumbling. She didn't seem to believe that she was able to shove around a roughly 260-pound-man and glared at him. He just shrugged and stretched out on the couch.

She breezed out of the room and was back in the blink of an eye. He felt her pass him when a whoosh of air hit his arm. Seconds later someone straddled his hips and started massaging his back.

Her fingers were oily and her grasp strong and self-assertive. It didn't seem like she was doing this for the first time. A brief flash of possessiveness and jealousy swept over him, but he didn't have any time to hold onto those thoughts. They drifted away quickly and as he focused more and more on the pleasant sensation of her touch. Slick fingers traced up and down his vertebrae. The motion was repeated over and over, until his senses were purely focused on tactile input.

She shifted her weight and started to work the kinks out of his shoulders. First of all she set about the task of detecting the places in which his muscles were tense and after she had found them, she applied gentle pressure. A groan escaped his lips.

"Too much?" she asked worriedly.

"No, just right," his voice sounded sleepy and completely relaxed, but there was a certain urgency in his voice when he spoke the next words. "Don't stop!"

"I won't," Nina smiled and continued massaging his shoulders. Most of the lotion on her fingers was gone now. As if on cue the doorbell rang. She jumped off his back and ran to answer it, leaving him back on the couch wondering whether or not he had just dreamed that she had given him a back rub.

He heard her talking to the delivery person. They had gotten as far as paying, but now there seemed to be some sort of problem. "Erm... Steve, I'd need a hand here!" she called out to him. As to be expected the logistics of carrying more than 5 little white cardboard boxes exceeded a single person's capacity.

He got up with a groan, pulled his T-shirt over his head and padded towards the door. When he appeared behind Nina, the delivery boy started to fidget as if he had something to say, but just wasn't brave enough to get it out. Eventually he worked up the courage. "Hey, aren't you...," he started.

"No, definitely not," Nina interrupted him, smiling a dazzling smile at the poor boy as if she wanted to hypnotize him, which reminded Stephen oddly of Kaa, the snake from the Jungle Book. "Distant cousin twice removed. Puzzling resemblance, isn't it? Thanks and bye!" She exclaimed and closed the door in the poor man's face with an apologetic smile.

"That was rude," he grinned at her and opened the door again. He was amused by her antics, but just couldn't quite convince himself to leave the poor bloke standing there like this.

Stephen reached for the pen in the man's breast pocket and the brochure of the takeaway. His "Mind if I borrow these?" was completely superfluous because the lad didn't react. He scribbled his signature on the brochure and held it out to the delivery boy who started smiling like it was Christmas Eve.

The door closed a second time. The smiling delivery boy remained standing there for several more moments before he left. Inside the apartment Stephen and Nina started setting the table for dinner. Well, "setting it" was a perhaps bit exaggerated, since they only got out glasses and something to drink. Somewhere along the way they had agreed to eat straight out of the boxes.

Nina nearly choked on her first piece of sweet-and-sour crispy duck when Stephen directly addressed the serious subject they had only briefly grazed earlier. "I'm sorry, but I just have to ask. It's been on me mind the whole time. How did you happen to get burnout?"

"You wanna talk about that now?" she asked incredulously.

"Anything speaking against it? Would you be ready to talk about it at any other time?" The piece of food was sitting at the end of his chop sticks. He didn't eat it yet. He would probably wait until he had gotten his answer.

Nina pushed the box with food away from herself. She wasn't that aloof about the subject to be able to continue eating. He noticed and apologized.

"It's okay, I can understand where this question comes from. If someone dropped a bombshell like that on me, I'd like to know more as well," she replied.

He waited for her to continue speaking. His chopsticks were sticking out of the food container now. He had rammed them unceremoniously into the rice. She started talking hesitantly. "It's not like you wake up one day and say: "Wow, I think I have burnout." It's gradual... At first I hardly noticed, but towards the end I didn't feel like myself anymore. I felt drained all the time... I retreated into myself, didn't talk to anyone. I thought that I could cope on my own; that I didn't need anybody's help. I was wrong."

"But you're over it now?"

"It doesn't work like that," she shook her head and smiled at him gently. "It never goes away."

"So there is a danger of you relapsing?" Someone other than Nina might have thought his questions insensitive. Perhaps they were a little, but at any rate they signaled his interest. It was visible in the way he looked at her, his face all serious in concentration and concern.

"Yes, sometimes I find myself slipping," she admitted with some difficulty. It was hard meeting his gaze. She fiddled around with her chopsticks instead. He laid his large hand on top of hers. Her fingers stopped moving. His thumb stroked over her knuckles.

"When?" he asked.

"When I forget to take my lunch break. When I push myself too hard once again. When I think I have to do everything on my own..."

"Is there any way I can help you? Anything I can do?" Nina looked at his face and took in the sincere expression there. She sighed and reached out her hand to cup his cheek. The gesture was inadequate to convey the gratitude she felt upon hearing him offer something like that. She slung her arms around his neck and he pulled her onto his lap.

"Thank you for asking," she told him quietly and nuzzled his cheek.

"That's not exactly an answer," he told her and she could see the slightest bit of reproach on his face when she pulled back.

Nina thought for a moment. "I'm not sure there is one. If there was a patented solution to this problem, I wouldn't have to see a shrink every now and then." The reproach one his face had been replaced by true concern. Perhaps this once she had gone too far. There was a reason why people shied away from saying certain things.

She covered her mouth with her hand, horrified by her own frankness. "I shouldn't have said that! Now you think I'm a complete nutcase." She made as if to get up, but he pulled her down on his lap again. She looked confused, so he felt the need to set a few things straight.

He framed her face with his hands, looking deeply into her eyes. "It was right to tell me. And no, you are not a nutcase… Wait. Let me rephrase that. I enjoy the amount of craziness you have in you, it goes nicely with my own."

She made a face. His words still hadn't managed to get through to her. Maybe it had been because of his joking tone, but once he had to get serious, he felt insecure and exposed. Well, she had just opened up to him in a way she never had before. It was only fair if he returned the favor. He let go of her face and ran his hand through his hair, frustrated with his inability to make her understand. "Listen," he tried again, "you have to know that I'm not the guy for all that romantic shite. I won't give you a Claddagh ring, I won't buy you flowers or chocolate..." She grinned as he said that, so he knew he was reaching her. "But Nina," he continued, hoping that his next words would also manage to get through to her like those before, "to me you're perfect."

"Perfect?" she repeated in a frail voice that was threatening to fail her. Without knowing it he had found her one Achilles Heel. Perfect. She couldn't even begin to describe how big of an issue that seemingly harmless word was to her. Ever since she had been a child she had tried to meet expectations, to not disappoint anyone. Pathetically low on self-esteem, she had desperately craved the approval of others while it should have been her own approval she should have been after. So inevitably his saying that little word, ripped open a wound that she thought had just begun healing.

"Perfect," he repeated. "But I don't mean it in the usual sense of the word." He had a suspicion that his explanation barely made sense, which made him think the frown on her face meant that she was equally frustrated with his ineptness to communicate his true feelings on the matter. Though in fact he couldn't have been further from the truth. She was struggling not to burst into tears, while he thought that the only problem was that he needed to be less clumsy with words and finally get around to saying what he actually wanted to say. "How can I explain this...," he sighed. "There is only this one you and this one me... And I wouldn't have you any other way. You're just right the way you are. The whole package of outspokenness, cheekiness, loveliness, occasional rudeness and madness. And why are all these blasted words finishing in -ness?"

The whole "ness-part" of his little speech prevented her from becoming a sobbing mess for now and distracted her from her emotional upheaval. She laughed at his puzzled and sort of bemused facial expression. Though a little ineptly, he had managed to make his point. She gave him a quick kiss. Her eyes were shining. "Okay, I think I get what you mean."

"You do?" he seemed surprised. "Do you get that I don't want you to be anybody else? And also that you're just perfect the way you are? You don't always have to try so hard, you know... "

"I don't always have to try so hard...," she repeated those words. Her smile faltered, even turned briefly into a grimace. A small sob burst from her throat. It almost sounded like the whimper of a hurt animal. She turned her face away.

"Have I said something wrong?" His hands hovered over her shoulders. He was unsure whether it was okay to touch her or do something more proactive like forcing her to turn around and look at him.

"No," she laughed with a very shaky and small voice and tried to quickly wipe the tears from her eyes, so he wouldn't see them. When she finally turned around to him again, there were no more tears, but her eyes were still red and watery. "No, just the right thing in fact." She rubbed her hands over her face. "My therapist would probably high-five you for that sentence. That's what he's been trying to tell me for the last couple of years. I can sometimes convince myself to believe it. But not always."

"Are you sure there really nothing I can do? Nothing at all?" he tried again.

She smiled. "Only this: Be there. Kick my ass when I overdo it and work too hard. Suggest that we do something fun together. Come with me and have fun yourself."

"Sounds easy," he said.

"Yeah, sounds easy," she put a lot of emphasize on the word "sounds". "Ever tried to get me to drop something work-related I'm doing. No? Good luck, Mister," she told him.

"I don't give up easily," he remarked.

"I know that. Which in turn makes you just perfect."

"Hardly," he said with a self-effacing snort.

"Hard to take that little word, isn't it? And I could go and wax on about your perfectness," she smiled. "Skin like snow, eyes like sapphires...," she thought briefly, then smiled a quite cheeky smile when she came up with another simile, "hair like burning flames and a honey tongue. Who could resist a guy like that?" Clearly she was teasing him, but in a very affectionate way.

"Lots of girls back home in Ireland."

"Back when you were younger?" she asked with very real sympathy.

"I was very... extremely... overwhelmingly popular with the girls," he told her and punctuated every one of those adverbs with a peck to her cheek.

"Their loss my gain," she shrugged.

"Yeah, I'm some catch alright," he said in a self-depreciative tone of voice, "I spend most of my time on the road. Thanks to my job I'm guaranteed to end up in hospital once or twice a year. Any relationship I can have is bound to be a long distance one... Worse yet, I won't always be there when you need me..."

"What are you doing selling yourself short like this? Do you want to tell me that being with you is a stupid idea?" She shot him a stern, but also somewhat questioning look.

"No, absolutely not. I just want you to be realistic about this. I'm just warning you that me life is a bit of a mess."

"Stephen, I am being realistic about this. I'm all about realism. Look, what I've just told you," the use of his full name, without abbreviating it or substituting it with a term of endearment as she usually did, made clear she was very serious about what she said. "I'm under no illusion this is going to be easy. Life's kicked me in the teeth way too often for me not to know that. But I'm willing to fight for the things I want."

"Okay," He nodded pensively. Should he tell her everything that was going through his head then? After all she had just said that she wanted to be realistic about their relationship and in order to be just that she needed to know the whole truth about his life. There was even a high chance she was going to be able to stomach it. He had already said enough to send any sane woman running for the hills and yet she was still sitting on his lap like nothing had happened. Perhaps he should get everything out in the open. It made no sense leaving things unfinished now. He cleared his throat and started talking again. "There's another thing, though…," he tried to gauge her reaction by looking at her face. The expression on it could best be described as curious, so he continued. "I told you why I keep wearing that cap, right?"

"So you won't get recognized so easily?"

"Yes. I hold my face into a camera on a twice, sometimes thrice weekly basis. Then there are all these PR events I do: autograph sessions, radio interviews, morning shows... It's a blessing and I'm more grateful than I can say, but the other side of the coin is that privacy becomes an increasingly rare occurrence," he told her.

She nodded slowly. "So you're telling me I can't take a stroll down Main Street with you without causing a spectacle?"

"Yeah, and if you did, you'd be the center of attention as well," he said. The way he looked at her told her he was unsure about how she would take the whole unadulterated truth about his life.

Since they were getting everything out in the open now, he seemed to have decided to go the whole way. "And that's only the tip of the iceberg. There's also the fact that I'm stubborn to a fault, I have a temper, in case you haven't already noticed...," he paused to give her time to say something, which she did.

"Oh dear! Is this a pity party? I've forgotten my invite," she drawled sarcastically. "Why are you destroying my girlish dreams of an Irish Prince Charming? Relax I've kind of gotten the idea that you're a mere mortal ever since you snored right into my ears the first night we spent together."

He looked at her in surprise. Where was this conversation going?

"Oh, don't look so shocked. I'm really okay with a little snoring. I mean, look at you, I expected you to bolt after what I told you. You didn't. Instead you kept insisting that I'm perfect. You know what? You are really an odd guy. And the fact that you think that I'm going to let someone slip through my fingers who believes that I, the Queen-of-Messed-Up, am perfect, now that makes you even odder."

For once Stephen was speechless. It was actually the first time since she knew him that he had absolutely nothing to say. "I can't tell you how well I'll be able to cope with all of those things you've just told me about, but I'll try for you. I'll try as hard as I possibly can because you're worth it, because honestly, the alternative is for cowards. And I'm surely no coward. Are you?" By adding that question at the end she was trying to help him back into the conversation, actually she was baiting him with a challenge, knowing that he was someone who never backed down from a challenge.

"You know I'm not. The last guy to call me a coward went home with a massive shiner," he told her and she nodded grimly at his words. "Aaaah, love," he ran his hand through the soft and short hair that covered the sides of her head, "why does realistic always have to be so feckin' complicated?" he sighed.

"Cause less complication would make the important things in life also less important," she suggested and he had to smirk at how easy she was making things sound thanks to her nonchalant tone.

"I don't know about you, but I've had enough of all that serious talk. Can we continue eating now? I'm kind of hungry, though I suppose dinner's gone cold now. Well, what do I have a microwave for?"

He chuckled at the comment that was just so typically her and nodded.


Mike was on the war path. He was sick of Nina's smug grins in the conference room. At first her presence at the WWE had been a nuisance, but now that she upstaged him on a weekly basis he knew he had to get rid of her.

What Nina didn't know was that he had been present the night when Mark Henry had whipped Sheamus with a leather belt. He had been watching quietly from the shadows when Nina welcomed an injured Stephen backstage. Though they had been careful to be discreet about how they felt about each other they had not been able to conceal it. The looks they exchanged betrayed them as did all of those small gestures.

So basically Mike now had enough ammunition in his hands against her, but he wouldn't do something as inelegant as to blab to the boss about it. He'd destroy her reputation, so nobody would work with her anymore.

On the road wrestlers didn't have much to entertain themselves with, so the rumor mill backstage was quite active. All he had to do was single out some particularly gossipy individuals and carefully let some comments slip. Actually, when the piece of information was juicy enough, it didn't matter if the first one to hear it was talkative or not, news would travel on its own. The one thing Mike could count on was people's need to pry into everyone else's business.

He had just finished briefing Randy Orton for his next couple of matches. Mike liked to go and meet his charges once or twice a month to keep them updated and exchange ideas, so he was backstage of this Monday night's show.

"Thanks for dropping by," Randy slapped him on the shoulder.

"Yeah, any time, man," Mike replied. "You know I like to take good care of my charges though some people clearly take it too far."

Randy frowned. "What do you mean?"

Actually that had just been the question Mike had been waiting for. "Well, my young colleague responsible for Sheamus and Barrett seems to take it very seriously. I've heard she sees to every single one of their needs." His tone was very suggestive and didn't fail to convey what he actually wanted to say.

"No way," Randy's eyes narrowed, but Mike could tell that he was already asking himself whether what he had told him was true. He just smiled at him and shrugged his shoulders.

Randy wasn't the type to ask further questions about it. If he did, it would be at a later point of time. And he wasn't Mike's prime target. Who he had in mind was a little more talkative, a little more flashy. Someone he shared his first name with. Someone like Mizanin. Mr I-Am-Awesome had to be around here somewhere.

He bid Orton goodbye and went to search the Miz. He didn't have to look very hard. He soon found him hanging around in one of those corridors in the backstage area, talking to someone from the crew.

"Hey, Miz, good luck winning back that championship belt from Barrett!" Mike said and slapped the other man on the shoulder companionably.

"Yeah, thanks, man," Mizanin replied. The guy from staff scurried away and both men saluted him with a nod.

"So how's it going, man?" the wrestler asked Mike. The sole question was already a big mistake because it invited Mike to start talking and further spread his nasty rumors about Nina. After roughly ten minutes he had convinced Miz that Nina was sleeping her way through the locker room to make up for her lack of talent as a writer. Initially the wrestler had sided with Nina and protested against the other man's allegations, but eventually, as Mike made up more and more incriminating evidence, he started believing him.

Now that Mike had reached his goal, he felt it was time to leave. It was foolish and slightly risky to stay around; somebody might discover what he had done. "Don't tell anyone you have it from me, okay?" Mike admonished Mizanin in parting, who looked about ready to burst if he couldn't share this newly acquired piece of information with anyone soon.

"Of course," the Miz said and so Mike was off with a satisfied nod.

Mizanin strolled down the corridor his head still spinning with Mike had just told him. He didn't know what to make of it. It was driving him crazy. He needed to talk to someone about it. He soon found that someone as he pretty much collided with Chris Jericho.

"Sorry," he told the other man, who was as usually sporting a leather jacket and sunglasses despite being inside a building.

"Watch were you're going, Mizanin," Jericho told him with a grin, "Or is the loss of your belt that traumatic to you, you can't pay attention anymore to where you're going?"

"I was just lost in thought, okay?" The way Miz pronounced the 'okay' of the sentence demonstrated that everything was not as okay as he pretended it was.

"Yeah, well good luck with that...," Jericho was about to leave.

"It's just…," Chris stopped moving with a sigh as he heard Mizanin's voice again, "I've heard something about a friend and I don't know whether to tell anyone or just leave my mouth shut."

This comment piqued Chris' interest somehow. He turned around and walked closer. Unbeknownst to both of them Stephen was approaching them from the other end of the corridor. Some transport boxes were stacked up left and right of it, which obstructed the view and made it sort of hard to see even someone of the Irish westler's size and stature.

"All right, now I'm curious, so start talking," Chris leaned against one of those boxes.

"It's about that writer chick Nina who was hanging out with us at Wrestlemania. People say she's sleeping around to work herself up the career ladder and that she..."

Miz didn't get any further than that because he was grabbed by a pair of hands that belonged to a very enraged redhead. He was pinned against the wall and soon came to stare in shock at Stephen's angry sneer. Uh-oh! One glance at Stephen's face made clear that he was barely keeping his temper in check. There was that half crazed expression in his eyes that Miz only knew from the ring when he acted the part of Sheamus. Now there it was again, but only this time it was much scarier because it was one hundred percent real.

"Who the fuck told you that, Mizanin?" the Irishman's grip on the front of his T-shirt tightened a little more. At this point lying to Stephen would have been like throwing stones at a raging bull to get his attention - extremely stupid.

"It was Mike. Mike told me," Miz said and was relieved to discover that Stephen almost immediately let go of him.

"Wow, that was close," he remarked, addressing Jericho who looked on with an extremely worried expression as Stephen marched off, undoubtedly with the objective of locating and killing his former writer.

"You're an idiot, Miz. It's like you just started the countdown on a nuclear bomb. Once he gets his hands on Mike what do you think he will do?"

"Beat the shit out of him?" the Miz supplied with a sheepish grin.


Author's note: And we finish this chapter with a cliffhanger and a bit of bad news. There's not going to be another update for the next 10 days or so, because I'm going on vacation. (Well, the vacation is not bad news for me, I guess, only for you.) Sorry 'bout that! I'm aware I'm a bit of a meanie...

Punk81: Thank you for your kind words! There's probably no higher praise one can get than that, so THANKS again in capital letters, because the first time around didn't seem enough. ;-)