Bumps, Bruises and Bonds

The audience seemed to receive the new shift of storyline in the Women's division. They called it The Story of the Naked Champ.

They started to enjoy the panicked look on Ivory's face as she rambled about the missing belt to the officials, only with Lou Smith creeping in the background before dissolving behind the shadows again. They made a laugh at her even more when during the RTC match against the Acolytes, Lou Smith made a presence somewhere backstage, wearing the belt like an everyday bag. Ivory had already abandoned her team, and Lou Smith had already left again.

Ivory decided to take matters into her own hand and turn the tables. In a match between Lou Smith and Jacqueline, Ivory came to attack Smith. Though when Ivory thought she could retake her belt, Lou Smith outsmarted her into taking the fake cheap belt that easily snapped where the real gold was still Smith's grasp.

Lifting the Women's Championship Belt above her arm, she sneered. "You want it, Ivory? Come get it…at Now Way Out!" Lou Smith laughed devilishly before making a run out of the crowd — this time with more caution on the steps.

That promo line promised the audience another title match on the PPV at the end of the month.

"Hey, you know what? I have a couple ideas on how the match could go." Lisa said between the swipe of cotton pads on her face.

The French snorted. "Already planning to break me, huh?"

"Just want to figure out a way to hype the match." The older woman shrugged. "Also, yes."

Outside of the ring and behind the facade of characterization, Lisa Moretti and Lou Smith were friends. Lisa and Lou had worked together for some time and shared the same ring. They often found discussion over a couple of technical moves and personified performance, and when they did not have any matches that day, they simply chill out by themselves.

Although the current rivalry exempted them from going out in public.

This made traveling so much lonelier.

Taking the last chug of water, Lou left the locker room and went to the parking lot. The breeze hit her face and she automatically tightened the coat around her body. The night was chilly to frigid, with a sharp, biting cold typical of a Midwest winter.

As she approached the lot, a strong stench of tobacco filled the air. Lou came to an abrupt halt; her path was blocked by a figure, too engrossed in his phone to notice her presence.

"Excuse me, Steve, can you move?" Lou asked, her voice cutting through the quiet night.

"Oh, sorry. Didn't see ya comin', lil' miss." He said, sliding aside with a slight smirk.

"Thanks." She nodded, eyeing him. "What are you doing out here in just a T-shirt? Isn't it freezing?"

He glanced down, as if only now noticing his thin shirt. "Forgot my jacket inside." He replied, gesturing to the lit cigarette between his fingers. "This helps a bit."

"Right." She paused, then added, "Mind if I have one of those?"

Stone Cold looked at her with a glint of amusement before pulling out a pack of Marlboro Reds and a lighter. She took them, setting her bag down. "Didn't know you smoked." He said, arching a brow.

"Not usually. Just when I'm in the mood." She exhaled a small puff, watching the smoke drift away. "It's the burn, y'know?"

Lou settled onto a nearby bench, and Steve leaned back against the wall. They sat quietly for a while, their breaths visible in the cold, sharing the occasional drag without conversation.

After a bit, he broke the silence. "You seen JR inside, by any chance?"

"Jim Ross? Not tonight. He wasn't at the briefing either." she replied, glancing at him. "Why? You need to find him?"

"Nah." Steve shook his head, puffing out a cloud of smoke. "Just supposed to share a ride back to the hotel. Been out here waitin' on him for over fifteen minutes. I'm starting to lose patience."

She chuckled. "You've been freezing out here for fifteen minutes? And without a jacket, too?"

"Of course not." He retorted. "I was inside. Just stepped out for a smoke."

Lou shook her head, amused. "I didn't see him after the show wrapped. I could give you a ride if you're tired of waiting."

He glanced at her, considering. "You sure?"

"Yeah, not a problem. Nowhere else for me to be tonight." She shrugged. "I can even let you drive if that'd be more comfortable."

"Who says I'm uncomfortable with you drivin'?" he replied, amused.

"Just offering." She said, stubbing out her cigarette with a twist of her boot. "So, what do you say? Want a lift?"

Steve paused, then nodded. "Yeah, give me a sec to grab my stuff."

"Take your time." She held out her hand. "While you're at it, mind if I have one more?"

Without a word, he tossed her the pack and lighter, which landed smoothly in her lap. Lou smirked, already lighting up another.

…

Steve offered to drive, not because he doubted Lou's ability to handle the icy roads, but because he noticed her favoring her ankle as she climbed into the SUV. She'd tried to brush it off, muttering, "It's just the climbing part. I can drive just fine—I drove this morning."

"Don't matter. You're still hurt." He replied firmly. "I can't believe you went through a match with a busted ankle and are still walkin' on it."

"It's not busted." She protested. "Just a little swollen, that's all."

"Yeah, right." He scoffed, shaking his head. "You shouldn't take it so lightly, Smith."

"I got it checked before the match." she sighed, growing slightly defensive. "I know what I'm doing."

"Sure ya do." He jabbed, smirking.

She shot him a look, then quipped, "My rolled ankle is nothing compared to your neck anyway."

She regretted it instantly, realizing she might have overstepped. Sure, the writers loved her character's brash style, but calling out Stone Cold Steve Austin in real life might've been a bit much. If anything, it made her look like an insolent child.

His piercing blue stare didn't help her nerves, either.

"Sorry." she muttered. "Didn't mean that."

"It's fine. Nothing I'm not already aware of." He shrugged. "You're not the only one around here who's prone to injuries, missy."

She couldn't help but snicker at the nickname, whatever it was supposed to mean. Deciding to keep the conversation going, she asked, "So, about Summerslam—I was backstage, but I didn't catch all the details. People said you went paralyzed mid-match. What was that like?"

"The numbness hit right after the impact." He replied matter-of-factly. "I could barely feel anythin'."

"Wow…can't imagine the panic."

"You have no idea." He said, his voice low.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked after a pause.

"Not really, but sometimes my neck still stiffens up." he said. "Surgeries went well, but now I've got metal plates supportin' my neck. Guess I'll be fine."

Lou cringed, feeling a chill run down her spine. "Geez. That's rough." she muttered, prompting a low chuckle from him.

"What's so funny?" she asked, half-amused, half-bewildered. He just shrugged, glancing back at the road. Ignoring it, she added, "Now that I think about it, my old coach used to scold me for getting so many strains."

"Old coach? Wrestling?"

"No, my gymnastics coach. I was a gymnast before wrestling. Didn't you know?" she asked.

"Didn't know that." he replied, intrigued. "A gymnast? Like Olympic level?"

She nodded. "Competed in the '92 Olympics in Barcelona."

"Impressive. How come that's not part of your ring persona?"

She smiled, shrugging. "Like Kurt does? It didn't really fit, I guess. Kurt's transition made sense for him. For me, wrestling came after gymnastics, and I found I liked it."

Steve nodded. "But what made you stay in wrestling?"

"My brothers got me into an indie wrestling gig. Tried it out and…it just clicked. It felt natural." she said, chuckling. "Of course, it all started because I was out on injury leave from gymnastics."

He shook his head. "You and your injuries."

"Don't give me that look, Austin." she shot back, smirking. "Anyway, there's a whole write-up in this month's PWI, if you care about that sort of thing."

From his questions, she had a feeling he hadn't read it.

After a quiet moment, he spoke up. "You know, swimming helps. It's therapy, kind of. My doctor recommended it for my neck."

"Oh, so that's what you were doing back then—water therapy in the middle of the night?"

"Good for muscles and joints." He replied with a shrug. "Like I said: you're not the only one prone to injuries."

Let's look back to the start of the event that led to the most anticipated comeback in his wrestling career.

The night was set for fireworks at Survivor Series 1999 for a massive triple-threat match between Steve Austin, The Rock and Triple H. Fans were on their feet, ready to see Austin take down his rivals and, as always, dish out some Stone Cold justice.

But as the evening unfolded, headlights pierced the darkness, and a car roared to life. Fans could barely process what they were seeing as the car accelerated, tires screeching, aimed directly at Austin, wondering if what they had witnessed was part of the show or something much more real.

That night, Stone Cold Steve Austin, the anti-hero who had captivated millions was gone, taken out by an unknown assailant, and WWF Fans was suddenly missing its biggest star for almost the next year.

In reality though, the 'accident' was a smooth design to have Steve Austin out of action and into the surgical ward. His neck was acting up again and it was only a matter of time did Steve need to choose between taking a year leave to have the surgery done or a forever-leave when he would probably botch another move, paralyze him or his life permanently. He had chosen wisely.

The surgery, was a success and the rest of ten months he spent contemplating, cursing, weeping. The idea of an athlete to stop doing sports for a long time felt worse than the injury itself.

When Stone Cold finally returned in late 2000, he was a man possessed, determined to uncover the truth. This wasn't about titles or fame anymore—it was about revenge. Austin was back, angrier and more dangerous than ever, ready to make his attacker pay.

And in reality, Steve was just excited to be back into the ring.

It took all his willpower to convince the doctor and have Vince agree for a more extreme match environment.

And so announced the match card of The Three Stages of Hell at No Way Out.

That said, he knew there was a shift whenever he was in the ring. He didn't like the way the crew or the wrestlers looked at him. It wasn't a pity. Rather, it was the way a person might look at a flower vase sitting too close to the edge of the table, or the sheer discomfort when seeing a child running on the wet poolside. Raw panic glinted behind their eyes every time Steve sold an opponent move and laid there unmoving, worrying if they hit him too hard. People started treating him like a fragile glass and he didn't like that.

"Mr. Austin, I'm doctor Hayes. I'll patch up that nick on your forehead." The doctor said, "While so, I'm also gonna be checking for any signs of neck or shoulder pain."

"My neck's fine." He grunted, already failing to hold his annoyance. "I thought I'm here because of the blood."

"You are but you received a few chair shots and it's my job as a doctor to check on it too. So, appreciated if you could cooperate, Mr. Austin. It won't be long."

He let out a deep sigh and leaned back as the medic began tending his body, especially the rough gash on his head from the Street Fight. Thankfully the doctor didn't mention any stitches necessary. What the doctor did after that was a series of muscle tests to check on his neck and shoulders.

"You okay, Austin?" Vince himself had to come in and take a real look. The medic scrambled away to give him some space. He casually took a seat next to the bed. "I gotta say, I ain't worried about the blood. It's your neck I'm looking after."

"I'm fine Vince. We nailed all the moves. No botches." Steve snarled, clearly not happy about the sudden visit.

"I understand. But as your boss, I have the good consciousness to even ask you the damn question." He said. "I have to be honest, I didn't like what I saw in the ring. Especially that last chair shot in the head." The boss grunted. "Four. That was one too many from what you and Hunter told me. Not the amount we've agreed on."

"Didn't know your old ass could count." Steve let out a sigh of defeat of getting caught. "The added one was my idea. Don't blame H."

"If you would've told me about it prior, I would have considered it to agree."

"Just one last chair shot to the head, Vince. No need to be a jerk about it."

"I don't like it when you do stuff outside of my knowledge."

Steve mumbled. "Won't happen again."

"Look at me when I'm talking to you." He warned. "I know the likes of you, Austin."

People started treating him like a child and he hated it.

With a deflated sigh he turned to meet the old man's eyes. "It won't happen again, Vince. Now get the fuck out and stop botherin' me, wouldja'?"

"Who says I'm only here for you? You selfish sumbitch." Vince had gotten up and moved to the other occupied bed at the far corner of the medic room.

Where Steve already knew that Triple H was patching up in the second medical room, it had not occurred to him that he was never alone in this smaller room. There, a few beds away, sat a wrestler with a rather obvious bandage on the side of her forehead. Vince walked up to the occupant and exchanged brief words, before he patted her shoulder as a form of encouragement.

He nodded briefly to Vince who left, before glancing back at the bed. "How long have you been there?"

"Well, since after my match. That's like the fourth card, if you don't remember."

"Didn't watch it." He said, matter of factly. "What the heck happened to ya' Smith? Were you bleedin'?"

He meant it as a joke but then she replied: "Yep." popping the p.

"Was that a gig?"

"No. It was a shoot."

"Were you really?"

She nodded. "When Ivory booted me, her heel cut my temple. Therefore bleeding." She gestured to the bandage above her eye. "It wasn't as exciting as getting poked by the barbed wire though."

He snickered. "You would not want that to happen to ya', miss."

"True. Neither getting bonked by a beer can." She grinned. "That was funny."

His lips twitched into a small snort. It did happen out of nowhere, rewatching the footage. When he and Triple H supposedly laid there unmoving, a can of beer flew its way in the ring and actually hit him dead center in the forehead. He actually flinched. He knew it wasn't one of the stage crew - Steve found it hilarious.

"You know, excuse me for being nosey but the stunts you did there with Paul were dangerous, no?" She said again, "I watched from the beginning. All the drops and the bumps seemed a bit too risky for your neck."

"You don't need to worry, lil missy. I know what I'm doing."

"Sure you do."

A surge of familiarity hit him when she said that. It was the same remark in an exchange they did about a week ago when he addressed her so-called broken ankle. He couldn't help but shake his head. He just ate his own words. "Nice one, Champ."

Lou Smith just laughed.