~*~chapter two~*~

pain, you just have to ride it out, hope it goes away on its own, hope the wound that caused it heals. there are no solutions, no easy answers, you just breathe deep and wait for it to subside. most of the time pain can be managed but sometimes the pain gets to you where you least expect it. hits way below the belt and doesn't let up. pain, you just have to fight through, because the truth is you can't out run it and life always makes more.

meredith grey, grey's anatomy -

Other than the low hum and soft beeps of the monitors and machines Paige was hooked up to, the only other constant sound was the ringing of Seth's cell phone. He knew Hunter and Stephanie weren't patient people [ha!], and that eventually [sooner rather than later] he'd have to face them. He knew they wanted him to at least get back in the ring to cut a promo in the wake of his injury, which by now everyone knew about. Just like they all knew about Paige's.

And if he didn't cut the promo, they were going to throw him into the ring for a one-on-one match that he would lose, which is how he would get his time off to heal.

Either way, he wouldn't be the only one losing. Roman and Dean would as well. They weren't just a group, they were brothers and though they had singles matches and he and Roman held the Tag Team Championship belts for a while and Dean the United States Championship belt, they were stronger together than apart.

Everyone knew Roman was 'the next big thing,' that if The Shield were to ever disband, he would be on his way to being the face of the whole company. The big man, of course, just shrugged his shoulders at the hype machine. Being the next big thing wasn't of any consequence to him. He just wanted to do his job better than he should, to prove that he put in the time and the effort that was necessary to get to the top, that he wasn't getting a push just because of the family he came from.

And Dean wasn't a slouch, either. With Punk having retired, he had the best mic skills in the company. He was unpredictable, strange and had charisma to burn. There wasn't anyone on the roster quite like him. With all that energy being channeled into an intense rage that made it hard for you to take your eyes off of him.

So, until his wrist healed where did that leave him?

He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose, as he looked at Paige who was eerily still, laying limp in the hospital bed, not breathing on her own but with the help of machines.

He wasn't just uncertain about his future, he was uncertain about hers as well.

The state of the Diva's Championship was obviously in limbo, and Stephanie wasn't going to sit idly by and let it remain that way. TLC was the next opportunity Paige had to defend her title against Summer Rae. That, obviously, wasn't going to happen now. He knew she'd be devastated when she finally opened her eyes and had to face the truth that she couldn't compete until she was fully healed, which meant giving up the butterfly.

He knew how much that piece of silver hardware meant to her.

It made him sick, knowing she'd have a stiff upper lip and show a strong facade while on the inside she'd be crumbling.

His phone rang again; Hunter's name flashing across the screen and just as he was about to hit ignore, a low groaning noise caught his attention.

The soft, velvet of her lashes fluttered like a humming bird's wings before her lids lifted slowly, revealing the dark eyes he'd come to know as well as the ones that stared back at him in the mirror.

Hitting the alarm by her bed, as the nurse instructed him to do once she woke up, he didn't care if Hunter and Stephanie – fuck, if Vince McMahon himself – showed up.

Paige was awake and that's all that mattered. Finally.

"Welcome back, Miss Bevis." The voice was even keel, hinting at amusement, but it was one she didn't recognize.

The sight that greeted her, now, fully opened eyes was light.

Light. Had she been surrounded by light before? Oddly enough, she couldn't remember. Why was this room so light? Her bedroom was dark, on purpose, despite her mum's joking that she wasn't a vampire and therefore didn't need to sleep in a coffin, surrounded by black on three of the four walls, except for the dark purple on the far right wall. The only color she favored. Because as her arsehole of a brother pointed out, time and time again, black isn't a color, it's a shade.

She had the instinct to roll her eyes, but couldn't. Not with the pounding in her skull that was thundering as if Keith Moon of The Who was pounding his bass drum in her ears.

Reaching up to rub her temple, only made the pain worse, and what caught her attention was the bracelet around her wrist – not the leather one with spikes, but the same kind she wore as a kid when she had her appendix removed – which let her know she was in the hospital. But how did she get in the hospital, in the first place?

Again, she couldn't remember.

As she tried jerking the IV out of her arm, a wrist covered in a hard cast stopped her. "I'm not a doctor," The voice was unrecognizable, but it was low and warm, smooth like honey and the chuckle underneath was bright just like the smile that came with it. "But that's not a good idea."

Her brows furrowed down, in confusion, as she stared at the owner of the cast covered wrist. Like his voice he was unrecognizable. His hair was long, she could tell, even though it was tied back in a bun at the nape of his neck. It was also two-toned; the entire left side was a shock of blonde compared to the right which was either very dark brown or black, it was hard to tell. Though, judging from the beard that covered his otherwise boyish face, it was mostly likely very dark brown vs black.

If it wasn't for the boyishness of his face, he'd look like the guys her father was promoting all around England, the bare-knuckle brawler types, trying to capitalize on Wade Barrett's – the best known English wrestler – gimmick as he was currently taking the WWE by storm with the Nexus.

But who was he? And why was he here? Especially since he told her he wasn't a doctor?

Answers would have to wait as the confident clack-clack-clack of high heels captured her attention. Which was a feat, because she felt strange looking away from the two-toned man with his wrist in a cast. She got this feeling, though she couldn't explain why, that it took all of her strength to look away from him. That when he was in the room with her, her eyes would automatically find him, no matter the circumstance.

"I would've expected this from Ambrose," Accompanying the confident clack-clack-clack of heels was the low rumbling voice of... her heart sped up and her palms became sweaty, as she recognized the hulking frame of Triple H – even though his hair was cropped close to his head, striding powerfully into the room. "Not you, Rollins."

"Hunter and I know this past week," Standing next to Triple H with a surprisingly soft smile on her graceful features was Stephanie McMahon, making her head spin; why were they here?! "Has been more than difficult for you, Seth, and you as well, Paige." The billionaire princess acknowledged her presence, reaching out to pat her hand sympathetically. "But you simply cannot ignore your responsibilities to the company."

"I'm sorry..." Somehow she found her voice, which was raw and scratchy, sounding like it had been out of use for far too long, which didn't make any sense to her. "But..." Her eyes darted between Triple H's sable to Stephan's ice blue and finally on the two-toned man The Game had called 'Rollins.' "Would someone tell me what's going on?"

Panic seized Seth's veins. A panic like he'd never felt before. His throat turned into a vice, as if it was being squeezed by Kane's meaty hands, as the former Big Red Machine got ready to choke slam him. He stared into her eyes, those eyes he knew as well as his own, maybe better and there was nothing; only blankness.

Where a familiar spark of brightness used to be, there was nothing. A hint at cheekiness, like she was up to something, always one step ahead of him even if the was The Architect of The Shield, wasn't there. Just like that unbriedled determination that was always there, whether she was happy or sad, was gone.

She looked at him, teeth sinking into her lip, nervously, like he was a stranger.

He'd been slammed into barricades, curb stomped, choke slammed, taken chair shots, jumped off of titrons, top ropes, flown through the ropes of the ring and nothing was as painful as her looking at him like he was a stranger.

"I'm sorry." The doctor spoke up. "But I'm going to have to ask all of you to step out. I need to examine Miss Bevis."

He wanted to protest, to stand his ground and say he wasn't going to leave her, but he felt like he was going she kept looking at him like that, so he had to leave.

And the last thing he wanted was to fucking cry in front of Hunter Hemsley and Stephanie McMahon.

"This is obviously more serious than you were lead to believe," Stephanie spoke, her voice as cool as ever. "And there's a lot for you and Paige to sort through, so Hunter and I are going to give you all the time you need. You have two choices, Seth, either you shoot the promo with Dean and Roman, effectively putting The Shield on the shelf for the time being or you take the one-on-one match and you lose to whoever we put you up against. You have until the end of the week to decide. It's sad," Stephanie mused, shaking her head. "That this happened to two A+ players such as yourself and Paige, Seth. Your futures were very bright."

He'd never put his hands on a woman, not even one like Stephanie McMahon, but in that moment, Seth wanted to. The smug tone in her voice when she said the word 'were,' as if he and Paige weren't going to come back from this, made his veins burn with anger.

She had a ringside seat to what he could do. After all, it was him who had out witted The Game. Hunter thought he had gotten him to turn on Dean and Roman the next night on RAW after their historic victory over Evolution at Payback, but instead of it being a straight double cross, it had been his plan all along to take out Evolution from the inside. Something he had planned with his brothers, as they decided, it was time to move the company out of the past and into the future.

Just like she had a ringside seat to what Paige was capable of.

Though, she was the youngest Diva's Champion, she was a force to be reckoned with since she set foot in NXT.

A third generation grappler, she knew the ins and the outs of the business better than most veterans. She knew most of the other divas would underestimate her and she used that to her advantage. Like him she was athletic and known for using her opponent's weaknesses to her advantage. She was just as smart and had the same never give up attitude. She had a laser focus and she made sure not to rest on her laurels, training even harder now that she had been Diva's Champion for over a year.

As she told him more than once, if Summer Rae wanted to be Diva's Champion, she was going to pry the silver butterfly out of her cold, dead hands.

But the Paige he knew... That Paige who curled around him at night, who teased him about being sentimental and jokingly called him her girlfriend, wasn't inside the hospital room. No, the Paige that was there was someone who didn't recognize him. At the same time, she was someone he didn't recognize, either.

He sighed heavily, pushing his fingers through his hair, loosening it out of the bun and letting it fall against his shoulders.

"She's going to be a little groggy, so let's just give her some space," The doctor instructed, her voice far too gentle for Seth to take, as she lead him back into the hospital room.

"You're a sight for sore eyes, you know that?" He spoke softly, as softly as he had when he took care of her after she suffered a concussion during a match with Rosa Mendes a couple months back. "I'm the one who's supposed to scare you, remember? You get so feisty after I come backstage when I jump off the turnbuckle or do a flip dive and bowl through two or three Superstars at a time. You always hit me and then grab my face and tell me not to mess it up cause I'm such a pretty boy."

"I do?" Those two simple words hit him like an unsuspecting chair shot square in the back. Or when Hunter's infamous sledgehammer was swung into his gut a little over a year ago.

She looked so small in that bed, her skin more sickly pale than its warm porcelain that was such a gorgeous contrast to his own deep tan. She looked every bit the twenty three year old she was, a world away from home and her family, not aware of the new one she had made here. Or the life they had together. How she'd jump on his back as soon as they piled out of the car they rented and he'd give her a piggy back ride through whichever arena they were in. How sometimes she wouldn't change in the Diva's locker room, but in the locker room he shared with Roman and Dean. How after matches, they'd shower together, her voice bright and bursting with giggles as she teased him about using a loofah and how he was going to smell like her, fresh lilies and just a hint of licorice.

And when they would come out of the shower, as revenge, he'd shake out his hair like a dog, splattering her, as she shrieked and would try to whack him with her towel.

He'd get her first, fingers sinking into the freshly scrubbed skin of her hips, and tickling mercilessly until they fell into a heap, laughing so loud that Dean would yell, "Fucking pipe down, ya weirdos! It's a freaking locker room not your house! Go tickle each other to death or whatever freaky stuff you're into, there! Jesus!"

He knew he shouldn't ask this question, it was obvious what the answer was, but he couldn't stop himself.

"Y-you... Know..." He sucked in a deep breath, letting out from his nose. He felt like he did when he was first trying to ask her out, like his brain was going in five different directions and his mouth couldn't keep up. He even stuttered, making her laugh.

"Y-you k-n-know," He regrouped. "Who I am, don't you?"

"You... You're..." Her eyes darted from her doctor and back to him, tears shimmering, as she struggled behind a rising sob in her throat. "No," She answered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know who you are."