Disclaimer, etc., in part 1.

Part Fifty-Eight

He came to her place after the pay-per-view.

It took a little while for him to get there... First of all, he had to clean up after his match, and then he had to do an interview with the WWE's website (he'd texted her to tell her he would be running late), and then he had to actually make it to her place... And despite the fact that she actually lived in Los Angeles, it could still be quite a drive from the Staples Center to where she lived. Traffic in LA could be rough at the best of times, but around an arena after a pay-per-view was even worse. On top of that, it wasn't that late at night yet... Because of the time-zone differences, the show had to start at five in the evening in LA to be airing at eight in New York. That meant that the show was over by eight, and Punk was out of the arena by a quarter until nine... But he didn't make it to her place until after nine-thirty.

She heard the sound of the car pulling into the drive as she sat there on her couch, the diva smiling a little as she rose to her feet and headed for the front door. Pulling the curtain to the side, she looked out the window that was there, finding the car that had pulled up, watching the man start to get out. After making sure that it was definitely him, she opened the door and headed out to greet him, the woman frowning a bit as she took in the stiff way he was moving. Shaking her head, she made her way over to where he was standing at the trunk of the car, reaching in to grab his bags before he could do so. He flicked a surprised look her way, like maybe he hadn't even noticed that she'd come outside... Or maybe he was just surprised that she seemed to be taking care of his luggage for him.

"I can handle my stuff, you know," he said quietly, and Eve turned to look at him, hefting the strap of his duffle bag up onto her shoulder. She was pretty sure it was the bag that he kept his gear in; she thought she felt his wrestling boots pressing up against her side.

"I'm sure you can. But that was a really rough match, Punk. Just let me take care of it for you," she said, meeting his gaze for a long moment, shifting a bit closer to him, but before she took that final step to close the distance and lean in for a kiss, she instead pulled back, reaching for the retractable handle of his suitcase, sliding it out so she could more easily pull the wheeled bag inside. Punk frowned a little at that, but he didn't say anything about it, instead reaching out to slam the trunk of the rental car shut, the man then following Eve through the door and inside.

Once inside, the diva paused to close the door and lock it, then headed for her bedroom to put Punk's things down. She could sense him behind her as she made her way down the hall, the woman dropping the bag on the dresser and leaving his suitcase sitting upright on the floor... Turning around, she found herself nearly running into him, the man standing so close behind her that they were practically touching. Reaching up, she pushed his hair back from his face, biting her lip before she spoke, her hand sliding from his hair, running over his cheek, then settling at the back of his neck.

"How badly are you hurt?" she asked, concern evident in her gaze, and he gave her a small smile, stepping even closer to her, their bodies brushing against each other.

"Not so badly that I can't do this," he replied, lowering his head to find her mouth with his own, his arm wrapping around her waist to draw her even closer to him, her hips against his... Eve let her hand slide from his neck to trail over his chest, the woman keeping the pressure light, all too aware of every hard hit he'd taken that night. Breaking the kiss, she let her hand drift to his side, lightly stroking up and down.

"You're probably in no condition to do much else," she said quietly, and he sighed, lifting his hands so that he could cup her face.

"Eve, I'm okay. I promise. No serious injuries-"

"No *serious* ones. That means there's still injuries-"

"Bumps and bruises. I'm sore, and I will be for a few days. Going into the match, I knew I was at risk of more than just that," he reminded her, his hands moving to her shoulders as he spoke, and she nodded slightly. She knew that he'd been fully aware of what could happen when he stepped out there for a TLC match. Guys had literally been carted out of there before, unable to finish competing in the match. People had been bloody and bruised and barely able to walk the next day. In all honesty, Punk seemed remarkably well for someone that had just competed in a Tables, Ladders, and Chairs match not two hours before.

"You still took some hard hits. Some really hard ones. When you jumped off the steps at him and he hit you with that chair and when he knocked you out of the ring and through that table... And when he did that stupid Swanton Bomb off the ladder and through the damned announce table like an idiot... Not to mention the things you did yourself," she said, giving him a look. "A superplex onto a ladder? Really? You really could have hurt yourself with that one. Jeff landed entirely on the ladder, but you hit the top of the ladder with the middle of your back," she said, unconsciously reaching around to touch his back as she spoke, her hand sliding up beneath the shirt he wore to find warm skin.

Punk reached out, taking her face in his hands again, leaning forward to press a kiss to her lips. Lifting his head again, he met her eyes. "I scared you tonight. I'm sorry for that."

"Punk-"

He cut her off with another kiss, then leaned his forehead against hers. "I am sorry for it. For scaring you. But I'm okay," he told her, then arched a brow, pulling back enough that he could get a better look at her face. "And if it helps, I don't plan to be facing anyone in a TLC match again anytime soon... Well, not for awhile anyway. I'm pretty sure he won't ask for another TLC match for the rematch."

"You'll have to face him again," Eve said softly, and Punk sighed, the man stepping away from her, wincing a little as he moved. Clearly, he was banged up and in pain, but he seemed pretty much whole, so Eve was feeling as grateful as she was worried at the moment.

"He gets a rematch. Automatic clause. I'm not sure when it will be. It could wait until the next pay-per-view, or he could try and demand it as soon as SmackDown. I don't know what he'll do. I do know that he was just as banged up as me, maybe more, so he might not want to fight for the title so soon after a match like that. He may want to wait until he's at his best... Or he may figure that I don't take painkillers and he doesn't worry about being high as a kite, so he may as well just pop some pills and demand his rematch."

Eve winced at those words, the diva all too aware that there was probably more than a little truth in them. She knew that Jeff took painkillers, she'd known it for most of the time that she was managing him... And though it had concerned her, she'd figured that, given the types of matches he'd been in during his career, it wasn't that surprising that he had a lot of pain. Of course, that was before she'd realized just how much he was using... The realization that he'd gotten high in a rest stop bathroom had been a hell of a wake-call, and Eve couldn't help but wonder what other signs there had been before that, signs that she'd missed or overlooked or whatever. She couldn't help but wonder if she'd been at ringside for him during matches in which he'd taken some pills or something beforehand. It really wasn't something she wanted to think about.

Punk sent her a questioning look. "Eve?" he prompted, the man sitting down on the end of her bed, and Eve sighed, making her way over to where he sat, moving to stand in front of him.

"The thought of you being in the ring with him when he's high... It scares me. And I'm not sure I would put it past him to take some pills to kill the pain before going out there... Even for a match as important as one for the world heavyweight title. It just makes him that much more dangerous," she said, and Punk sighed, reaching out to put his hands at her waist, his fingers slipping just underneath her shirt and brushing over her skin.

"I know he's dangerous, Eve. But I am, too. And I have more to fight for than he does, because it's not just the world heavyweight title to me. Not that I'm not happy to be the champion again... For the third time, actually," the man said. "But there's you, too. Whenever I see that bastard... I remember finding you walking down the side of the road without any damn shoes on, and it pisses me off all over again. I might have some anger management issues; I don't know."

"I'm not exactly going to be upset with you about that. Not when you're aiming the anger at him, anyway," Eve replied, reaching up to run her hands through his hair. Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. Pulling back, she arched a brow as she saw the look he was giving her. "What?"

"I don't know. Just thought you might kiss something else," he said, a small smile curving his lips as he spoke, and Eve rolled her eyes... The diva then squealing as Punk wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down with him as he flopped more fully onto the bed. "That's better," the wrestler said, his smile widening as he tugged her closer, finding her mouth with his own, rolling over onto his back and pulling her with him, the woman ending up on top of him...Then quickly rolling back off when he flinched, the man hissing in pain.

"Punk?" she questioned, her expression full of concern.

"I... I'm fine," he said, reaching for her again, and the diva shook her head, shifting so that she was leaning on one elbow. Carefully keeping herself from putting any pressure against his ribs, which seemed to be what had caused him to wince, Eve shifted forward to kiss him again, then pulled back.

"No, you're not. You're clearly hurting, and as much as I would like to celebrate with you... I'm pretty sure you couldn't manage it right now. Or you'd get hurt trying. So go to sleep."

"And what about my celebration? Do I get balloons?"

"Balloons, maybe. A celebration? Oh, you'll get one. Once you're actually in condition to join in without ending up in the hospital or something."

"Where's the fun in that?" he muttered, and she grinned.

"Oh, trust me, Punk... There will be plenty of fun in that. But only when you're healthy enough to actually take part in it and enjoy it. Now get to sleep. And maybe dream of me."

"You can bet on it."