This is my first go at a wrestling story, and it took me
more than six months. I have ideas for a follow up, but who
knows how long it will take me to write it. In the
meantime, I hope you enjoy this offering.

This is the way I think that the Invasion storyline
*should* have gone. And some elements actually showed up in
the real WWF's storylines, proving either that I'm psychic,
or they're predictable.

----------------------------------------
The Art of the Takedown
by Lianne Burwell
March 2002
----------------------------------------

Shane McMahon leaned back against the wall of the hotel
room, letting the jubilant sounds of victory wash over him.
Even the wrestlers that lost their matches were
celebrating, although they were getting some good-natured
ribbing over their performances. Certainly, none of them
had anything to be ashamed of, although he would have
preferred a clean sweep. Van Dam was also a center of
attention, the Hardcore belt he'd taken from Jeff Hardy
slung over his shoulder, the only belt that had been on the
line.

However, belts and championships hadn't been the point.
Teaching Vince McMahon a lesson was. The SOB had been in
control for too long. Letting him snatch up the WWF's main
competitor would have left him thinking he was the most
powerful man in 'Sports Entertainment.' And maybe he was.
He was certainly close, thanks to a cold-hearted
personality that had left him with a demolished marriage,
two children who hated his guts and a string of demolished
careers, none his own. Well, this time he wasn't going to
win. They were going to destroy the bastard, he and
Stephanie. They would pound him to mincemeat, then piss on
the remains. And then they would take his precious WWF and
run it the way *they* wanted to.

And in a way he'd been hoisted on his own petard, Shane
thought, staring at the man sitting hunched over at the end
of one of the sofas, finishing yet another can of beer.
Austin wasn't celebrating. In fact, he looked like a wreck.
Of course, after being fucked and fucked over by the great
Vince, who wouldn't be? The poor sap actually made the
mistake of falling for the act. The mighty Stone Cold Steve
Austin, in love with his boss. What a shmuck. It hadn't
taken much to turn him. Just a few words, a few
insinuations that played up to his insecurities. Hell, who
knew. They might even be true.

Shane made a note to himself to keep an eye on the man. He
was talking tough right now, but under the right pressure
he would crumble. He'd always been unstable, but this was
ridiculous.

Across the room, Stephanie was partying hearty. She waved
to him and he lifted his own glass in a silent toast. Her
idea of buying out the WCW and ECW before their father got
his hands on them had been fantastic, although he was
surprised that she had come up with it. And now they were
going to force Vince into retirement, which is where he
*should* be.

But they still needed more muscle. The kind that was
popular with the audience. Sure, they had Austin, but they
could lose him just as easily as they'd gained him. If
Vince were smart enough to apologize, grovel a little,
swear that Austin was the only one for him, Stone Cold
would be back in the WWF fold before they knew what was
happening.

Maybe seduction of a more... primitive sort, Shane thought.
Then he shook his head. Despite his act, Austin was one of
those hearts and flowers types, wanting romance and
fidelity. Pretty ridiculous from a man who had a wife.
Still, Shane wasn't going to inflict the possessive bastard
on anyone. Sure, he could do it himself, but he wasn't
*that* good an actor, even if the man was attractive in a
Mr. Clean sort of way.

No, definitely more muscle. Hogan said no and Hall was
happy in Japan. But that was okay. They weren't the only
fish in the sea.

And he had his eye on one very big fish to start off with.

>>>~~~<<<

Kevin Nash stared at the smarmy kid in disbelief. "Are you
insane?" he said, both of his eyebrows trying to reach his
hairline. "Why the *hell* would I want to come back to the
WCW?"

Shane shook his head. "Listen, I know you're pissed off
about what happened when the WCW was going under, but that
was before I got involved. Things are different now," he
said in an earnest tone. Kevin didn't buy it.

"I don't give a shit if things are different. I'm out of
wrestling and happier for it. Wrestling nearly wrecked my
body and my life. There is *nothing* you can offer me that
would change my mind."

"Not even a chance at revenge?" A small smile hovered on
Shane's lips.

That stopped him in his pacing. Kevin turned to face the
baby-faced McMahon sitting on his sofa. "If Vince thinks
that he's worth it, he's got another thing coming."

"I wasn't talking about my father. He's a washed-up has-
been. He's out of business, he just doesn't know it yet.
No, I'm not talking about him."

"Then what the fuck *are* you talking about?" Kevin
snapped, losing patience with the little bastard. As far as
he was concerned, Vince's kids were clones. They were
exactly what the man deserved.

Shane smirked. "I know the way my father thinks. You weigh
in on the side of the WCW, he's going to counter with a
certain Texan that I'm sure you remember well. Heartbreak
was a pretty good name for him, wasn't it?"

Kevin went still, deadly still. "I haven't a clue what
you're talking about," he said stiffly.

Shane snorted. "Sure you don't. My father never bothered to
hide his conquests from me, my sister or even my mother. I
know *exactly* what was between him and Michaels. Of
course, Shawn wasn't the first and he sure as hell wasn't
the last."

Kevin turned away, the muscle in his jaw twitching. He
headed over to the bar in the corner of his living room and
stared at the bottles sitting in the back. Finally he
turned away, leaving them untouched. He'd used alcohol as a
crutch once, back when he'd left the WWF, he and Scott
both. But they were both clean now, and better off for it.
He wasn't going to fall into that trap again. God, he
wished Scott was there right now.

"I'm not going to wrestle," he finally said, surprising
even himself.

"Hey, did I ask you to?" Shane said, all innocence.

Kevin stared at him for a long moment, thinking of the pain
he'd like to inflict on the kid, until Shane squirmed
slightly. He would have been happier if that squirm hadn't
been accompanied by a glazed expression and a bulge in the
boy's pants. Kevin's lip curled in disgust. "I don't have
the time for this," he said, more to himself.

"All those trips to La-La Land?" Shane was back to the
smirk. "I hear you're going into acting. A few lame guest
shots on lame TV shows, while the Rock gets a starring role
in a movie. Well, I can change that. I can make things
happen for you."

"Bullshit."

Shane shrugged. "Fine. Try me. I can make things happen.
But I can also make things *not* happen."

Kevin rolled his eyes. The carrot and the stick. Could this
kid be any more obvious? "Yeah, right," he sneered. Still,
part of him was listening.

"Like I said, try me."

Kevin glared at him, but Shane didn't flinch. That,
combined with the flat tone of voice, made him wonder if
maybe Shane *wasn't* blowing hot air. "What the hell do you
want from me?" he said, frustrated.

The expression on Shane's face said that he knew he'd won.
"Just a few personal appearances, that's all. Just let the
world know that Big Sexy weighs in on the side of the WCW.
In return, you'll find your career taking off just a little
faster. And... I promise you another shot at your old
partner, Shawn Michaels."

Kevin considered it for a moment. He wasn't sure he could
afford to assume that Shane couldn't follow through on his
threats. And yes, he *did* want another shot at Shawn.
Maybe he'd finally get answers to the questions that had
nagged him for years. As well, despite his earlier words,
he *did* want revenge on Vince. No. He wanted *more* that
just revenge.

Fine. He'd use Shane, just like Shane wanted to use him.
"I'll give you until Survivor Series. After that, I'm
gone."

"Deal," Shane said, bouncing to his feet with his hand held
out.

As he shook it, Kevin wondered if that deal had been made
with the devil.

>>>~~~<<<

Another night, another arena, another city. It was a life
he didn't miss, and didn't really want to be sucked back
into. Second and third thoughts were telling him to forget
it, go home, but he'd given his word and his personal sense
of honor wouldn't let him back down.

So here he was, dressed in the spandex once more. Shane had
wanted him to wear the WCW shirt that so many others in the
organization were wearing, but Kevin had drawn the line at
that. Black spandex pants, black boots and a black muscle
shirt, not even with his own name on it, let alone the
WCW's. If the McMahon brat didn't like it, Kevin would just
go home.

Wisely, the boy had agreed.

Shane was out at ringside, blathering on into the
microphone about how wonderful the WCW and ECW were, and
how they were going to destroy the WWF. The crowd was
booing wildly, but Shane and Stephanie seemed oblivious to
it. Austin was standing next to them, the WWF championship
belt over one shoulder, ignoring the way Vince was glaring
at him, as well as the shouts of the crowd. Kevin stood in
the wings, having snuck into the arena to the locker rooms,
then from there to the curtain, trying to keep from being
seen. Not easy when you're seven feet tall.

Finally, Shane got to the point and it was show time. The
old music started up and Kevin was a little surprised at
the rush of adrenaline it brought on. He liked being
retired, but he'd forgotten the rush of going out in front
of a live audience.

He pushed his way through the heavy black curtains and
strode down the ramp like he owned the place, the old act
surging to the fore. There was a moment of silence, then a
tumult of noise that he couldn't recognize as cheers or
boos. On the faces closest to the ramp, he saw mainly
shock.

If anything, *he* was shocked that they even recognized
him. Wrestling fans seemed to have such a short memory,
booing a wrestler, then cheering him the next month when
the writers wrote in a change of face. He hadn't been in
the ring for more than six months now, and it had been
years since he'd been to a WWF event.

Shane was waiting, microphone in hand, nodding with that
annoying self-satisfied smirk on his face, matched by his
sister's expression. Austin's expression didn't change.
Kevin was beginning to wonder just what the man was on.

But Vince... Kevin almost shuddered at the expression of
pure hate on the man's face. Then he steeled himself. Now
was the time to face the man who'd tried to destroy him,
several times over. Well, Vince may have tried, but he'd
failed. Time to get a little of his own back.

>>>~~~<<<

What the fuck?

Vince stared in disbelief at the seven foot tall man
walking down the ramp towards the ring. Kevin Nash was
retired. A washed up has-been. He'd bailed on the WWF for
the WCW, then dropped out of wrestling altogether.

So what the hell was he doing *here*?

Shane was smirking like he'd pulled off the coup of the
century, and Vince quickly controlled himself. He schooled
his face into a careful sneer as Nash reached the ring and
hopped up onto the apron.

"Is this supposed to intimidate me?" he said, bringing the
microphone up. "Is this supposed to *scare* me? An over the
hill wrestler with a bad knee?

Actually, he had to admit that Nash looked pretty damned
good. He'd dropped weight since Vince had last seen him,
but that weight had been all fat. Now he was lean and
muscular. As well, he'd quit using the blonde dye, going
back to his natural brown hair color. He looked more like
the man he'd been when Vince had first recruited him,
nearly ten years ago.

Vince's stomach churned with anger at that. Nash had been a
nobody up until then. *He'd* made the man a star, only to
have him dump the WWF after the WCW offered him more money.
No loyalty in this business. That was the problem, no
fucking loyalty.

Nash had the microphone now. "Some of you may remember me.
Remember me from my days in the WCW. And from before that,
my days in the WWF.

"Well, both of them screwed me over but good. Neither
organization can claim to be on the side of the angels. One
fired me, and the other made my life hell until I had no
choice but to leave. I'll leave it up to you to figure out
which is which. Certainly, I have no love for either."

Vince snorted to himself at the expression on his former
son's face. This was obviously not what he'd expecting when
he'd pulled Nash out of retirement.

"But!" Nash shouted, holding up a hand. "But I know where
to place the blame. The WCW now is not the same
organization that canned my ass several months ago. That
one was in a financial trouble. That one was facing
complete destruction. That one was so desperate that they
turned to Vince McMahon, and they were desperate enough to
do whatever he demanded in the hopes that he would save
them."

That sent a rush of cold through Vince's body. How the hell
had Nash found out? Then he saw the expression on Shane's
face and knew exactly who had told Nash about that little
codicil.

>>>~~~<<<

Nash turned to Vince, and the hate he'd had a glimpse of
earlier was gone. Instead, he saw unease. "Did you think
that I wouldn't find out? Did you think that you would get
away with it?" he demanded, his stomach churning at the
memory of what Shane had told him. He'd had the proof too;
memos with Vince's distinctive signature.

"The WCW dumped me, but they did it because you told them
to. I'm not sure why you hate me, but you're obviously out
to get me. Well, you're not going to win. You won't beat me
and you won't beat the WCW. They found a different savior.
And together, we're going to bring you down."

Nash handed the microphone back to the ring announcer and
headed back up the ramp to his signature music. He was
shaking inside from repressed anger, the staged little
confrontation having brought up old resentments once more,
but he was too much of a professional to let that show to
the crowd.

Backstage, he passed more of the WWF wrestlers than he
should have. Most of them, he'd never met, but a few
familiar faces were there. Sean -- now called X-Pac --
watched him especially intently as he passed, even though
he didn't say a word.

In one of the locker rooms assigned to the WCW wrestlers,
Kevin quickly stripped and headed for the shower, ignoring
the others in the room. He may not have wrestled, but anger
and TV lights combined to make a guy sweat.

By the time he was done, he had himself back under control.
He was living up to his old nickname of 'Big Daddy Cool',
he was so cool. Cool was his mantra.

Finding Shane waiting for him was *not* cool, though.

"Did you see him?" Shane crowed, practically bouncing off
the lockers, walls and ceiling. "He was practically foaming
at the mouth."

"Yeah, whatever," Kevin said, pulling on civilian clothes.
"You got anything else to say before I head for the hotel?"

Shane looked a little disappointed at his lack of
enthusiasm, but it didn't slow him down. "I just wanted to
congratulate you. You were absolutely perfect." The slow
once over he gave Kevin said that he wasn't just talking
about his little speech.

Kevin snorted, then pulled on his leather jacket. "Forget
it kid," he said bluntly. "You're not my type."

At least Shane had the decency not to pretend he didn't
understand. "I could be," he said with a seductive smile,
obviously not caring that they weren't alone in the room.
Kevin didn't smile back.

"Not in this lifetime," he said, then brushed past Shane
and out of the locker room.

Climbing onto his bike in the underground parking garage,
he wasn't cool anymore. Instead, he was just tired.

>>>~~~<<<

Kevin didn't wake until nearly noon the next day, drained
emotionally and physically by the previous night. He was a
little surprised at how good he felt, though. Maybe what
they said about an emotional catharsis was true. Certainly,
he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders,
if only partially.

He was about to head downstairs to find some food when
there was a hammering at the door. He rolled his eyes and
opened it, knowing what he was going to find there.

Yep, it was Shane.

"Looks like you're getting what you wanted even faster than
I expected," Shane said, pushing his way into the room. He
dropped onto the king-sized bed that was the only thing
Kevin could fit on, bouncing slightly. Didn't the brat ever
give up?

"Oh?"

"Guess who was on a plane to Texas first thing this
morning?"

The air seemed to suck out of Kevin's lungs. "Doesn't mean
Michaels is going to agree," he pointed out. "Assuming
that's even what Vince is going for."

Shane snorted. "Oh, that's what he's going for, all right.
And as for good old HBK... Trust me. He won't say no to
Vince." He smirked.

No, he wouldn't, Kevin thought to himself. Why would he say
no to his former employer and lover?

Suddenly, he wasn't hungry anymore.

>>>~~~<<<

Shawn Michaels walked through the gym, headed for his
office. He stopped a couple times to watch teachers and
students. With the damage to his back, he was finished as a
wrestler, but wrestling was all he knew. That's why he was
here, running a gym, training a new generation of morons
ready to risk life and limb in the hopes of being one of
those few to make the big bucks and have their faces
plastered on posters, t-shirts and video tapes. Even the
death of Owen Hart hadn't slowed them down.

Some days he just wanted to yell at them. He couldn't name
even one of his current students who had a hope of making
it to the top. Most would try the local circuits for a year
or two, get hurt and finally get smart. They'd probably
also be up to their eyebrows in debt. So why the hell were
they trying?

Because they were young and confident, certain that they
were going to be the next great superstar and that they
were immortal. He'd been the same way, once upon a time.
Now, he was just killing time.

The office and the paperwork that went with running this
place were waiting for him. It was the one part of the job
that he *really* hated. He opened the door, steeling
himself for a couple hours dealing with that shit.

And the shit just got a hell of a lot worse.

"What do you want?" Shawn snapped at the man sitting behind
*his* desk. Vince McMahon was the last person he wanted to
see that day, or any *other* day. Too many bad memories

"Oh, I want a lot of things," Vince said, leaning back in
the swivel chair. It squeaked loudly. "You should oil this
thing," he snapped as if the rude noise had been arranged
just to make him look bad. He looked tired, with even more
grey hair than the last time they'd been in the same room
together. He was showing his age and more these days, but
he wasn't the only one.

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Why are you here?" he
clarified. This was one thing he hated about Vince: the
mind-games, and the word-games that went with them.

Vince chuckled. It wasn't a pleasant sound. "I'm here to
collect you. You're going to make a few appearances for the
WWF."

Shawn snorted. "The announcer gig again? I don't think so."

"Do I have to remind you that you're still under contract?
I can sue your ass off."

"Ask me if I care. You said you would keep the hell out of
my life. I'm holding you to that."

Vince glared at him, his mouth tight with anger. "Things
have changed. You're coming back, today, so go pack your
bags."

"Go to hell. Sue me if you want. You've got no hold on me
anymore."

Suddenly Vince was smiling. It was a sight that made
Shawn's blood run cold. "Don't be so sure about that."

"What do you mean?" Shawn asked suspiciously.

"Haven't you been keeping up on the wrestling news?"

"I know you're having a few family problems. Poor Vince,
the kids not under your thumb anymore?"

"They'll get what's coming to them," Vince said. "But in
the meantime, they've brought back an old friend of yours."

Shawn stiffened. "Kevin?"

"In the flesh. I must say, he looks good. However, I hear
his knee still isn't a hundred percent."

"Vince..."

The man stood up. He pulled a packet out of his pocket and
threw it to Shawn. Shawn caught, purely by instinct.
"You've got three hours until the plane leaves. You better
be there, Michaels."

Vince moved around the desk and headed for the door. He
stopped as he passed Shawn and looked him up and down. "At
least you haven't let yourself go completely to seed," he
said, running a finger down the inside of Shawn's arm where
it wasn't covered by his T-shirt.

"Forget it Vince," Shawn said, jerking away. "I'm too old
for you, remember?"

Vince smirked. "Maybe my tastes have changed."

The door closed quietly behind him, leaving Shawn alone in
the stark room. Dingy white walls and a battered metal
desk. This was the sum of his life now. He looked at one of
the framed black and white photos that were the only
decorations in the room. Kevin, Hunt, Scott and himself,
dressed in casual clothes and smiling at each other instead
of the camera. He remembered that night well. It was one of
the last good night before everything had gone to hell.

And now he was being forced to walk back into hell.

Shawn slammed a fist into the wall, punching a hole in the
drywall and making one of the pictures drop to the floor,
shattering the glass. Kevin grinned up at him through a
spider's web of cracks.

Then he left the room, looking for Jose, his mentor and
partner, to tell him that he was going to be running the
place on his own for a while. He didn't have much time to
go home and grab some clothes before heading for the
airport.

>>>~~~<<<

A couple nights after Vince McMahon had appeared to turn
his life upside down again, Shawn was backstage in Boston.
Vince was even more pissed off than he'd been in Austin.
Whispers in the back halls said that the Rock was holding
him off, despite being reinstated. The two favorite rumors
were that he was going to stay in Hollywood where he was
making big money as an actor or that he was planning on
joining the WCW/ECW alliance.

Shawn shoved his duffle bag in the locker he'd been
assigned and slammed it shut. He didn't have to change.
Tonight he was going to get sandwiched between Mike Cole
and Tazz as a color commentator. It was a job he remembered
well, since it was something he'd done in the past to fill
in time while recovering from a string of different
injuries that kept him out of the ring. That experience had
even led to a stint as WWF commissioner, back before he'd
bailed altogether.

But the next week he would be a special referee for a title
match on SmackDown, and he was expected to make sure that
the WWF challenger won, no matter what. That really galled
him. Sure, the dirty tricks were all part of making the
show more fun for the audience, but making sure of the
outcome, especially when it hadn't been agreed to by *both*
wrestlers, tasted bad. Doing it in front of a pay-per-view
audience would be even worse.

The door to the locker room banged open. Shawn glanced up,
then quickly looked away when he recognized who it was.
Sean Waltman.

The kid didn't look as young as he had back when he'd been
calling himself the 1-2-3 Kid. Hell, he looked older than
he had only a year ago when Vince had finally allowed Shawn
to leave. Long hair, beard and mustache -- Shawn wondered
if the look was a deliberate imitation of Kevin's look --
and a bandana around his forehead was more in line with his
more recent grunge act. He'd been a friend, once upon a
time.

Not anymore. Sean looked at him briefly with the sort of
expression you'd expect from someone who'd just seen a
cockroach scuttle across the floor, then very pointedly
ignored him. He supposed he should have expected it, but it
still hurt. The wide-eyed kid who'd looked up to him like
he was some sort of hero was gone. Sean disappeared around
the corner, heading for his own locker probably.

The door opened again, and this time it was Vince. "We
start in five minutes, Michaels. Get your ass out there."

Shawn spun the lock, then turned around. "Give it a rest,
McMahon. I don't want to be here, and if you push me I'll
leave, consequences be damned."

Vince snorted. "Those consequences kept you in line before.
Don't expect me to believe that you've changed your mind
about that. But if you have, just let me know so I can give
Bradshaw a call."

Shawn stiffened. Bradshaw and his partner were Vince's
favorite enforcers. Pay them enough and they'd do just
about anything.

"No comeback? Well, if you're not planning on doing
anything stupid, get moving. And just remember, the APA
likes *big* challenges."

While Shawn would have loved to wipe the smirk off the
older man's face, he satisfied himself by brushing past the
man hard enough to push him into the doorframe.

When you're getting screwed, get what few jollies you can.

>>>~~~<<<

Sean listened as Vince snarled under his breath, then left
the locker room. He was on the other side of a bank of
lockers, so the boss man hadn't realized that he was there.

Okay, Shawn *had* known, so the conversation could have
been staged for his benefit, but somehow he didn't think
so. Shawn's tone... No one was that good an actor,
*especially* Shawn. He sounded tired. Defeated.

Quickly changing into his ring gear, he started to make
plans. He knew a few people who might be interested in this
little tidbit, assuming that they knew what it meant.

>>>~~~<<<

The SmackDown taping went pretty much as he expected. Cole
and Tazz were bickering back and forth like an old married
couple holding a grudge. Shawn didn't know what the scoop
was, and he didn't much care. All he cared about was
getting through the night. Thankfully, this was old hat to
him, so he was able to do a pretty decent job of it. He
even had a few fans squirming their way up to the barriers,
wanting to touch him. For them he had genuine smiles. He
even signed autographs until he was in danger of getting a
cramp in his hand.

The only thing that came close to breaking his composure
was the main title match. Booker T against Kurt Angle for
the WCW belt. Again. Damned thing had changed hands three
times so far, but neither one was willing to let it rest,
much to the delight of the crowds. Usually, according to
the briefing he'd been given, Booker showed up alone, but
Austin would rush out to his defense if things looked to be
going against him. Looked like Vince might have been
replaced.

The thought made him shake his head. Pro-wrestling seemed
to appeal mostly to rednecks and kids. He wondered what the
reaction would be if the audience found out just how many
gays were in the industry. Nearly every relationship that
the fans knew about was staged for their benefit. The only
exception that Shawn knew of was Matt Hardy and Lita. They
actually seemed to be the real deal.

So it was a bit of a surprise when Booker came down the
ramp with Kevin Nash right behind him, and not just to him.
Both Mike *and* Tazz looked confused. Shawn stayed silent
as they speculated about why the big man was there.

Both men climbed into the ring, Booker with the WCW
championship belt over his shoulder. He postured in each
corner in turn, despite the boos from the audience. Kevin,
on the other hand, just stood in the middle of the ring.

Booker moved over to the announcer and grabbed the
microphone from the woman just as Angle's music started and
the man strode down the ramp. He waited until Angle reached
the ring, and for once, didn't rush the man as soon as he
was up on the apron.

"And here we have him, Vince's favorite sucka," Booker
announced. Shawn winced at the implication, although he
wouldn't bet against it. The expression on Angle's face
said he caught the implication too, proving that he wasn't
quite as naïve as he seemed.

Angle glanced at Kevin, then said something. He was too far
from the announcers' table or the mic for Shawn to tell
what he was saying, but he could guess.

"What's he doing here?" Booker asked, confirming Shawn's
guess. "He's here to keep things clean." Angle snorted.
"How many times we done this, boy? Every time, win or lose,
there's someone to blame. You say I won 'cause I cheated.
When I lose, it's 'cause someone interfered, your side *or*
mine. Well, that ain't happening tonight. Tonight, you
lose, you got no one to blame but yourself. Nash, here,
he's gonna make sure *no* one gets in the way. You and me.
Tonight, we find out for sure who's the better wrestler."

Angle looked as skeptical as the audience. Then he looked
to Kevin, who took the microphone Booker was holding out to
him. "You've got my word," he said, eyes locked with Angle.
"No one is interfering with this match; WWF, WCW or ECW."

"And then that's it," Booker said, Kevin holding the mic
for him to speak into. "No more matches. You beat me, the
gold is yours and I go after something new. You lose, no
more challenges. Agreed? Or are you chicken?"

Angle thought it over. "All right," he said into the
microphone held out to him. "As long as this match stays
clean, I agree."

The audience was murmuring in shock. Tazz was blustering,
but Shawn could tell that this had taken him off-guard, so
he hadn't known about it ahead of time. Cole obviously
didn't believe it.

Shawn, on the other hand, did. If Kevin was giving his
word, he would keep it. He always did.

Booker handed the belt to Kevin, who stepped out of the
ring and handed it to an official. Then he stood there, not
moving until the referee called for the bell. No sneak
attacks or anything.

Shawn almost forgot what he was supposed to be doing. The
match was the sort that was rarely seen these days. The two
men in the ring were obviously performing, timing moves and
falls for the audience's benefit, but he didn't see a
single dirty trick. Completely clean, just like Booker had
promised. Instead, it was a demonstration of pure wrestling
art. Neither went for the quick, high flying moves that
Shawn preferred, but it was still impressive.

And the crowd was getting into it, obviously realizing what
they were seeing. They even started cheering when Booker T
got the upper hand. Commenting on that with a grin, Shawn
knew that Vince had to be foaming at the mouth.

And he started to realize just what was happening here.
This was part of Shane's plan. Either that or someone had
talked him into it. He was making his wrestlers look good
to the audience by cleaning up their act. Van Dam was
already getting more cheers than his WWF opponents. If he
could capitalize on that, the public opinion would start to
sway in his favor. Shawn wasn't sure Shane was *really*
that smart -- and he *knew* Stephanie wasn't -- but someone
in the WCW/ECW camp obviously was.

And Vince wasn't. Mid-way through the match, when Angle
started to tire, Chris Jericho came rushing down the ramp.
It was obvious what his intentions were, but Kevin was
between him and the ring. Jericho's momentum worked against
him though, driving him right into the waiting clothesline.
He went down hard, writhing on the carpet-covered plywood,
probably trying to remember how to breathe. A minute later,
Booker managed to pin Angle, getting the three count.

There was a moment of silence, then the audience erupted.
The boos still dominated, but there were definitely more
cheers than there'd been before. Booker T took the belt
back from the official, held it over his head, then held
out his hand to Angle.

After a moment, Kurt took it. Booker hauled him to his
feet, then shook the hand before letting go. Kurt watched
with a puzzled expression as he stepped between the ropes
and head back up the ramp with Nash beside him. They
stepped over Jericho, but didn't even pause to kick the man
while he was down. Very un-Alliance like.

Then Kurt followed, pausing only long enough to glare at
the downed wrestler. If that "I" for "Integrity" really
meant anything to him, he had to be pissed, Shawn thought.
He said the same out loud, trying to hide his grin. Vince
had to be *livid* backstage.

Suddenly, he wasn't so upset about being dragged back into
this. It looked like this war was going to be one hell of a
show.

>>>~~~<<<

The Alliance had one of the hotel ballrooms reserved back
at the hotel, and everyone was expected to gather before
heading to their rooms. Kevin kept to the edge of the room,
on the fringes but not really part of the group. Champagne
was passed around and Booker T was toasted on his win.

He deserved to be toasted. When he dropped the gangsta act,
the man was a good wrestler. The match had been impressive.
It reminded Kevin of a few others he'd seen in the past.

"SummerSlam is in a little more than a week," Shane was
saying. "Since Angle can't go after Booker anymore, he'll
be after Austin for a title match."

"I'd like to see him try," Austin muttered under his
breath. His wife, Debra, was hanging on his arm, but he
ignored her as if she weren't there at all. The man was
beginning to seriously worry Kevin.

"But now we need to arrange something for our man, Booker.
Something... impressive. The Rock, if the old man convinces
him to come back. But we need to keep the momentum going. I
want you go after Jericho. His attempt to interfere tonight
made him look bad, so we need to capitalize on that."

"And the bastard needs to pay for what he said about me,"
Stephanie added shrilly. Kevin shook his head ruefully.
Jericho's comments about her breasts and her personality
had been rude and crude, but definitely right on the money.
The last is probably what bothered her the most.

Booker nodded. "Leave him to me," he promised.

"All right. Next we need to pump up the audience in our
favor some more. Rob, you're going to have a title defense
the same night."

"Who? One of the Hardys again?"

Tired of listening to the planning session, Kevin pushed
away from the wall and slipped out through the door. Shane
glared at him, but everyone else was too distracted to
notice. Not that Kevin cared. He was tired.

Out in the hallway, he punched the button for the elevator
and closed his eyes while he waited. It had been a long
night. He was finding it very easy to fall back into the
old backstage mindset, but seeing Shawn had been like a gut
punch.

He was just as good-looking as Kevin remembered, if a
little ragged around the edges. There were a few lines on
the handsome face that he didn't remember, although that
could be explained by the fact that it had been five years
since they'd been face to face. But Kevin knew Shawn. He
hid it well, but the man was tired. Kevin found himself
wondering why, then cut off the concern. Shawn had made his
choice. He would have to live with it.

Didn't stop Kevin from missing him, though.

The elevator door pinged, and he opened his eyes and
stepped into it. He turned to press the button for his
floor when he felt someone brush past him. He turned and
was surprised to find Sean in the elevator with him. He
hadn't seen the kid since his very public return to the
WWF, trash-talking the WCW all the way.

"We need to talk," Sean said softly as Kevin pressed the
button for his floor. He hesitated, then nodded.

When the elevator stopped, he exited and headed for his
room. The hallway was deserted, so no one saw as Sean
slipped into the room ahead of him.

"Make it quick, Kid," he said, pulling his leather jacket
off. "You don't want to be seen here. If word gets back to
Vince..."

Sean waved off the worry. "Overheard an interesting
conversation tonight. Vince and Shawn."

Kevin's jaw clenched. "I don't want to hear about it."

"I think you should," Sean said, grabbing his arm. "Shawn
threatened to leave, but Vince said something about
consequences that worked before. Something about the APA
liking *big* challenges."

Kevin froze, starring down at Sean. "What the fuck does
that mean?" he said, although he had a sinking feeling that
he knew. Things had just gotten more complicated.

Sean shrugged. "Your guess is as good -- maybe better --
than mine. All I know is that Vince made the comment about
those consequences kept him in line before and that he
didn't think it had changed. I don't think Vince knew I was
there, but Shawn did, so it might have been an act, but..."
He hesitated, then shook his head. "I don't think it was,"
he said firmly, aiming a level stare at Kevin. Sean had
made no secret of the fact that he thought there was more
to what was going on than what they saw on the surface,
back when Shawn had turned his back on them for Vince, but
Kevin hadn't been interested in listening then.

Kevin sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, thinking
about what Sean had said. The implications were mind-
bending, turning all his assumptions around.

"Kevin?"

He jumped slightly, suddenly remembering that he wasn't
alone. "Yeah?"

"What do you think we should do?"

"I'm not sure what to think." Out in the hallway, raucous
voices announced that the strategy meeting had broken up. "
I need to have a little talk with Shane-O. Wait until it's
safe for you to leave. Don't let anyone see you."

Sean nodded. "You know, I'm going to be real glad when this
is over."

"You and me both, Kid."

>>>~~~<<<

The door to Shane's suite opened after he'd been hammering
on it for a couple of minutes. Shane was wearing just a
pair of silk boxers, and his hair looked like he'd been out
riding with the top down. It hadn't been like that
downstairs.

"Get rid of her," Kevin growled.

"Can't it wait until morning?" Shane asked. Behind him, a
familiar female voice called his name impatiently.

"No," Kevin growled. "It can't."

Shane looked like he was going to blow him off, but a
second look at Kevin's glare obviously convinced him that
it would be a bad idea.

"Trish, hon, I'll just be a sec," he called over his
shoulder. Kevin's eyebrow went up. He'd thought Trish
Stratus was firmly in Vince's camp.

Shane ushered him into the other bedroom. Supposedly his
sister was sharing the suite with him, but there was no
sign that the room had been used.

"All right, what the hell is so important? And make it
fast, would you," Shane said, sitting on the edge of the
bed. He was trying to look intimidating, but it came out as
a pout. Not a very attractive one either.

Kevin leaned back against the door, making sure that no one
was going to come in and interrupt them before he got the
information he wanted. "What does Vince do if someone tells
him no?"

"*That's* what this is about? How the hell should I know?"

Kevin growled deep in his throat. "Don't give me that
bullshit. You said your dad didn't bother to hide what he
was up to, so you know."

Shane stared back at him for moment. "Fine. No one says no.
If they try, he's always got some leverage. He finds out
what they want before he makes his move."

"What if they don't want anything?"

Shane snorted. "Everyone has something they want. Vince
could make or break a career, so very few would play hard
to get."

"Would he use threats?"

"If that was what it took."

"Physical threats?"

"If that was what it took," Shane said again.

"Shawn?"

Shane shrugged. "That, I don't know. Really." He didn't
look like he cared much.

This time, Kevin believed him, and it was frustrating.
Still, it was something to think about. Suddenly he was
looking at everything in the past in a new light, and
cursing himself for not asking the questions back then.
Well, he was going to ask them now.

He moved away from the bedroom door so that he could open
it. Shane called out as he was leaving, "So that's it? No
thank you?"

Kevin's jaw clenched at the mocking tone. "Thank you," he
ground out.

As he headed for the suite door, he heard laughter from the
other room. Two voices, both female. Kevin looked back as
Shane crossed the sitting room, heading for the other
bedroom. When he opened the door, Kevin had a brief glance
of the bed and female form with light brown hair.
Definitely not Trish.

Trying to forget that image, he left.

>>>~~~<<<

Finding Shawn was more difficult to find than it seemed.
The WWF team was housed at a different hotel, one that
wasn't about to hand out his room number. Sean had already
asked around, but Shawn hadn't been seen, which suggested
that he wasn't on the same floor as the wrestlers. After a
day of trying, Kevin finally gave up.

Or maybe it would be more on target to say that he decided
to bide his time. He wasn't going to find Shawn outside of
the arena, so he would just wait until they were in one.
Shawn didn't appear at the taping for RAW, but it was
announced that he was going to be the guest referee for the
Booker-Jericho match at the next SmackDown, the last show
before SummerSlam. Kevin was planning on getting the man
alone then, preferably before the show started.

Kevin was a patient man when he had to be.

>>>~~~<<<

The arena was buzzing with excitement, hours before the
start of SmackDown. It was only a few more days to
SummerSlam, which pretty much guaranteed that something big
was going to happen. At a minimum, a few more matches for
the PPV event might be announced. Between that and the pre-
show promotional activities -- photo ops and autograph
sessions -- the place was full before mid-afternoon.

Equally frenzied was the backstage activities. Roadies were
busy setting up the ring and all of the stage trappings
that made a major WWF show. The wrestlers who weren't
involved in the hoopla upstairs were warming up, stretching
and practicing moves. Despite the ongoing feud between
Vince and his kids, most of the wrestlers themselves didn't
seem to be dividing up along organization lines. They mixed
in the conference room where the food was set up, talking
about their personal lives and ideas for making the matches
more exciting for the audience.

Shawn arrived early, not wanting to deal with any crowds.
Vince had tried to talk him into doing an autograph
session, but Shawn had refused. He didn't want to be there,
and he certainly didn't want to sit behind a folding table
for a couple hours, signing eight by tens and making nice
with the fans. He liked the fans, he really did, but he
didn't think he could do it, and Vince was smart enough to
realize it. Of course, he'd complained bitterly before
giving in.

So, instead Shawn had gone immediately to the officials'
locker room, not stopping to talk with anyone. It was early
enough that he had the room to himself so that he could
brood.

Vince had given him his instructions earlier in the day.
The title match he was going to referee was the match for
the WCW championship, and he was to make sure that Jericho
won. It made his stomach clench, but he knew better than to
say no.

There wasn't much in the room to sit on, so instead he lay
down on one of the hard wood benches. It wasn't long enough
to stretch out on, but it was more comfortable than the
cold concrete floor. He stared up at the grimy ceiling,
wondering who he'd managed to piss off in a past life to
end up in this shit now.

He surprised himself by actually dozing off, when the door
opened. He didn't move, hoping that whoever it was would
either leave or ignore him.

After a few minutes of silence, after the door shut again,
his skin began to prickle. He could feel eyes on him,
watching him. He pretended not to notice, hoping that his
watcher would get the point. He hoped in vain.

The feeling of being watched intensified until his skin was
practically crawling with it. The more he tried to ignore
it, the worse it got. Finally he sat up, hissing a little
at the twinge brought on by the sudden movement. "What?!"
he growled, opening his eyes.

And found himself staring at the last person he wanted to
see.

Kevin was sitting on the bench opposite. His hair was loose
around his shoulders, just the way Shawn had always liked.
He was wearing a white dress shirt under a black leather
jacket. His pants were also black leather, hugging every
muscular curve of his legs, ending in a pair of well-used
motorcycle boots. He was a walking wet-dream.

Worse, he was every wet-dream Shawn had had in last five
years since Kevin had left the WWF. No, longer. Since the
day Kevin had found out about Vince and walked out of his
room and his life, for the last time, he'd said.

Shawn pushed his hair out of his eyes, feeling very old. He
still hadn't completely regained muscle tone after
recovering from the series of back injuries, and he didn't
need to look in the mirror to know that he was developing
wrinkles. Kevin, on the other hand, looked ten years
younger than his real age. The last year had been very kind
to the man.

"What do you want, Kevin?" he asked with a sigh.

The intensity in Kevin's eyes was starting to make him
nervous. The man's words didn't help.

"I want answers to some question. Questions I should have
asked years ago."

Shawn's entire body went cold, and he could feel a fine
sweat breaking out on his forehead. The last thing he
wanted from Kevin was questions. At the moment, all he
wanted from Kevin was to be left alone.

Unfortunately, Kevin wasn't cooperating. "Why did you sleep
with Vince?"

Shawn scrubbed his face with a hand. Yeah, he must have
done something *really* bad in a previous life. "He asked,"
he said. Maybe it would piss Kevin off enough to keep him
from asking the rest of his questions.

"And what did you say?"

Shawn snorted. "I think that would be obvious."

"What did you say the *first* time he asked?" Kevin was
waiting, but Shawn stayed silent. Part of him wanted to
make a run for it, but Kevin was between him and the door.
The only place he could go was the showers, and there was
no other exit from that tile-covered room.

"Shawn," Kevin said coldly. "What did you say?"

"Does it matter? In the end, the answer was yes."

"Kid came to see me on Monday."

Shit! Shawn had forgotten about that. Sean hadn't left the
locker room when Vince came in. If Vince found out that the
Kid had heard -- or that he'd told *Nash* what he'd heard -
- his ass would be grass.

"Kev, don't go there. *Please*."

"Tell me."

Shawn's jaw clenched, and he wrapped his arms around
himself. The room was warm, but he was starting to shiver.

"Shawn?" Kevin's voice was almost pleading now.

"No." He paused, then whispered, "I said no."

Kevin stood up. For a moment, Shawn thought he was actually
going to leave. "Shane says that his father doesn't take no
for an answer. Sean says that Vince threatened you Monday.
That he mentioned the APA, and what they could do with
'big' challenges."

Shawn refused to look at Kevin. Instead, he stood and
turned away to stare at the row of dented lockers. He
jerked in surprise when he felt a light touch on his
shoulder. For such a big man, Kevin could move silently
when he wanted to.

Shawn looked up at the well-remembered face. He was
surprise to see no censure there, just a firm
determination. "What did Vince say to make you say yes?"
Kevin asked.

"It's in the past," Shawn said, shaking his head. "Leave it
be."

Kevin's fingers were digging into his shoulders, almost
painful. "I can't. He took you away from us. Hunt, Scott,
Kid, me. Why didn't you say anything?"

Shawn pulled away, but Kevin followed, wrapping his arms
around him to stop him. Shawn had to fight to keep from
leaning back into the embrace. "Because it wouldn't have
made any difference."

"We could have..."

"Done nothing except destroy your careers or end up
crippled," he shot back, starting to shake. He quickly
controlled himself.

He felt more than heard Kevin's sigh against his back. "All
right, maybe that's true. But that was then. Things have
changed, so why keep playing his game?"

"Because I don't have any choice," Shawn practically howled
at the ceiling.

"The Alliance will protect me if he tries anything, if I
need them. You don't need to protect me anymore."

Shawn ground his teeth in frustration. "You're not the only
one I'm protecting. Shit, if he finds out that the Kid
talked to you..."

"He won't," Kevin promised. "And if he does, he won't have
the chance to do anything about it."

The confidence in his voice made Shawn turn around, eyes
narrowing. "What are you up to, Kev?" he said. The big guy
didn't just sound confident, he sounded smug.

Kevin shook his head. "I can't tell you," he said
reluctantly, and Shawn felt a pang. It shouldn't have
surprised him that Kevin didn't trust him. Once upon a
time, there had been no secrets between them. Then Vince
had come along and destroyed that trust.

But Kevin was brushing very gentle fingers along his cheek.
"Shawn, I need you to trust me. Please?

Shawn wanted to protest, but held his tongue. He might have
lost Kevin's trust, but maybe, just maybe, he could get it
back. "All right," he finally said.

The smile on Kevin's face was almost blinding. "This
weekend at SummerSlam, there's a big change coming. You
just need to hang on until then, okay?"

Shawn wanted to ask what sort of change, but he just
nodded.

Both of Kevin's hands were cupping his face now, and the
man was leaning in, closer and closer. Shawn sucked in a
deep breath, but before he could exhale again, Kevin's
mouth was covering his. He groaned at the intensity of the
kiss he'd never expected to feel again. The sensible
portion of his mind was yelling that this was crazy: Anyone
could walk in on them. The rest of him, though, wanted to
melt into the kiss and just *feel*.

In the end, it was Kevin who broke the contact, an
expression of regret on his face. Shawn was swaying. He
felt drunk. Giddy.

"I have to go," Kevin said, stepping back. "But remember
what I said. Trust me."

"I do," Shawn said softly, closing his eyes so he wouldn't
have to watch the man leave. Five years since they broken
up the last time and he still trusted the man, even though
no doubt Vince would call him a fool for it.

He heard the door open, then close, and slumped back. A
moment later, he jumped as the door slammed open again.
"What the hell was *he* doing in here?"

Speak of the devil. Vince. Shit. He did *not* want to deal
with this.

He made the mistake of turning his back on the man. Vince
grabbed him by the shoulder, spun him around and slammed
him against a locker. Shawn hissed as a lock jammed against
his kidney.

"I asked you a question," Vince hissed. Shawn's nose
wrinkled as the odor of alcohol assaulted him. "What did
that traitor want?"

Shawn's jaw tightened, and he shoved Vince away. "Don't.
Touch. Me," he said tightly.

Vince's face was turning red. "What was Nash doing in
here?" he demanded for the third time, although this time
he was smart enough to keep his distance. It was a good
thing, since Shawn was feeling stretched so thin that he
was about to snap, and if he did, he would slug the man. He
wasn't even sure that he would be able to stop there.

"He wanted to ask questions I had no intention of
answering," he said instead, completely truthful.

Vince stared at him hard. Shawn prayed that the man
wouldn't ask any more questions. Finally he nodded. "See to
it that you keep it that way," he said curtly. "You know
what you're supposed to do tonight?" he asked, suddenly
changing the subject.

The question caught Shawn off guard, reminding him of just
where he was and why. He nodded reluctantly. "See to it
that Jericho beats Booker," he said with a sigh.

"Good. Oh, don't look so put out. It'll keep you on my good
side. That's a good place to be," Vince added, moving
forward with what was obviously intended to be a seductive
smile. Shawn quickly stepped out of reach and the smile
disappeared. "Fine. If you want to play it that way. Just
make sure you don't screw up. Or else."

With that last little threat, Vince turned on his heel and
stomped out, slamming the door behind him.

Shawn turned around and hammered his forehead against a
handy locker, wondering what else could go wrong that
night. He had the sinking feeling that he was going to find
out.

>>>~~~<<<

Shawn was introduced as special guest referee to a thunder
of cheers. He waved to the audience, although he had
trouble working up a smile. In his mind, he was still re-
hashing the conversation with Kevin and the follow-up with
Vince. The man who had once loved him and the man who
controlled his life, with Shawn caught in the middle,
pulled in both directions. He felt out of control, and he
hated it.

Booker T came down the ramp, all serious, with the belt
over his shoulder. Again, he passed on the ridiculous dance
that used to be his trademark. Instead of looking stupid,
he now looked dangerous. Surprisingly, he was also alone.
No Shane. No Stephanie. No Kevin. Shawn was a little
disappointed -- or was that relieved? -- at that.

Jericho, on the other hand, was an asshole. He got wild
cheers from the audience, of course. Then he had to spoil
it by picking up a microphone and opening his mouth. Shawn
found himself wondering if Vince had written Y2J's drivel,
or if Jericho was just trying to get the man's attention.
Guaranteed, the pretty blond was one of Vince's conquests.
He was just the man's type. But Vince's attention was
fleeting, and Shawn had seen wrestlers do stupid things to
try to get it back in the past.

Finally, Jericho shut up and rushed the ring. Shawn waved
for the bell to be rung as the man dived under the bottom
rope and straight into a Book-End from Booker. He kicked
out easily, but things just got worse from there.

The match with Angle the other night had been an exercise
in pure wrestling. This one was more of a street fight.
Sure, Jericho had some talent -- he wouldn't be working for
the WWF without it, no matter how pretty he was -- but he
tended to be a little wild in the ring. Normally, that let
him overpower his opponent, but Booker wasn't having
anything to do with it.

Instead, Booker was staying out of reach, dancing all over
the ring, ducking every move Jericho made. The longer this
went on, the more foolish Jericho looked. The crowd was
openly snickering now, which just enraged the man.
Unfortunately, that just made him more careless, which led
to him making even more foolish mistakes.

Shawn was having trouble keeping from snickering himself.
He found Jericho an arrogant twit, so seeing the young man
get his ass kicked was a treat. The only problem was, he
was supposed to make sure that Jericho won the match. Even
worse, the blond was doing his best to lose it.

He had to drag out a couple of the counts long enough for
Jericho to kick out, even though it got him glares from
Booker and sarcastic comments from Tazz at the announcer's
table. He was getting pretty damned pissed off himself,
too.

Then he made the mistake of glancing towards the top of the
ramp.

Kevin was standing there. He wasn't doing anything, just
staring at the ring with that steady gaze that seemed to
look straight through a man to his soul. Shawn cursed him
silently. He did not need this.

Aw, fuck. Who was he kidding. He missed everything about
Kevin, including his 'I am your conscience' stare.

A roar drew his attention back to the match, though.
Jericho had made his last mistake, it seemed, and was
locked by Booker into his own 'Walls of Jericho' submission
hold. He moved around so that he could see whatever Jericho
did.

The man was straining, trying to get to the ropes, but
Booker wasn't letting him shift an inch. He just jacked up
the pressure a little more, until Jericho's back looked
like it was going to snap. Finally the blond reached out
and slapped the mat, nodding his submission.

Shit.

Shawn waved for the bell and the announcer.

"The winner and still WCW champion, Booker T!" Lillian
announced to the cheering crowd.

Booker let go of Jericho's legs and stood up. Shawn lifted
his hand, then handed him the belt. Jericho just rolled
under the ropes and dropped to the floor on unsteady legs.
The glare he shot back over his shoulder as he carefully
walked back up the ramp didn't inspire a lot of confidence
in Shawn. Of course, Jericho was probably going to have to
get in line behind Vince. He prayed that Kevin was right
about only having to hang on until Sunday.

And as for Kevin, he had vanished.

>>>~~~<<<

Shawn was doing his best to sneak out the backdoor. There'd
been no fallout yet over Jericho's loss, but he knew it was
coming. Bad would be Vince knocking on his door. Worse
would be the APA.

So he'd grabbed his bag, tossed on his jacket, and
skedaddled. He didn't even take time to change. First stop
would be the hotel to grab his other wallet -- he wasn't
stupid enough to leave his credit cards lying around the
arena -- then find another hotel. He was going to hold
Kevin to his word that Shawn would only have to wait a few
more days for all of this mess to be over.

"Going someplace, Michaels?"

Shawn winced. He had almost made it to his rental car.
Unfortunately, Jericho had beat him to it, and the man
didn't look happy.

"Yeah. Home," Shawn said. Let the boy-toy tell Vince that.

"Vince isn't happy with you, you know," Jericho said with a
sneer. "You blew it tonight, big time."

Suddenly, Shawn was angry. No, he was furious. "What the
fuck do you mean, I blew it?" he said, advancing on the
younger man. Showing his true colors, Jericho immediately
started to back up until his back hit a wall and he
couldn't go any further. "Or are you forgetting the fact
that you tapped out? I did everything I could, but you blew
it." Shawn laughed harshly. "Hell, Booker didn't just beat
you, he used your own fucking move on you. The only person
who screwed up was you, little boy."

Shawn watched in amusement as Jericho spluttered and turned
an impressive range of colors. Then Jericho's jaw clenched
and he shoved Shawn back, hard. "Doesn't matter what
excuses you come up with, Vince told you to fix the match
and you didn't. Vince doesn't like excuses."

"Vince can blow me."

Jericho sneered, although he didn't look inclined to take
Shawn on. "Way I hear it, that's more your thing. Not that
Vince is going to look twice at a used-up has-been like
you."

"Just the way I like it," Shawn said bitterly.

"Smart," a new voice said from behind Shawn. "Pity you
couldn't avoid his attention altogether."

Shawn looked over his shoulder to where Bradshaw stood,
cracking his knuckles. Jericho was now sporting a confident
expression. Shawn didn't see him, but he knew that Faarooq
had to be around someplace. The APA always hunted as a
pair.

Shawn glanced around, looking for a handy exit. There was
only one in easy reach, which meant that Farouq was
probably lying in wait there. So instead, Shawn spun and
ran for the ramp at the other end of the parking garage.

Echoing footsteps told him that he was being pursued, and
he picked up the speed, even though his bad leg was already
screaming. If they caught him, his knee wouldn't be the
*only* thing screaming.

He could practically feel them breathing down his neck when
a new sound broke in, overpowering the sounds of heavy
breathing, feet slapping against concrete, and Jericho
shouting in the background, obviously not willing to join
in the hunt, the coward. The new sound was an engine, deep
and growling, somewhere up ahead. Then a single headlight
appeared at the top of the exit ramp, coming fast.

Shawn skidded to a halt, even though both Bradshaw and
Farouq were right behind him. In his mind he was going over
the list of possibilities, and they weren't promising. It
could just be a member of the public, ignoring the signs
that labeled this particular parking garage as being off-
limits for the night, but he doubted it. Instead, he would
bet that the APA decided to add some extra backup, even
though that wasn't their usual MO. Maybe the 'Taker. He
rode a motorcycle. As well, he had a long-standing grudge
against Shawn and a willingness to get into a fight, any
fight.

The motorcycle came into view, and the shadowy figure on it
was certainly big enough to be the 'Taker, but behind him,
Bradshaw and Farouq had also come to a cautious stop. Maybe
this wasn't backup for them, Shawn realized, although it
didn't make him relax any. Just because the newcomer wasn't
working with the other two men, that didn't mean that it
was good news for him.

"Shawn!"

Shawn nearly stumbled in relief at the familiar voice.
Bradshaw and Farouq were moving again, but they weren't
going to reach him first. The motorcycle skidded sideways,
coming briefly to a stop between them and Shawn. Reacting
to the wave, Shawn hopped onto the back of the bike and
grabbed on tight as it immediately accelerated up the ramp,
leaving the APA eating fumes.

Outside, the city lights were bright and the air was damp
from a recent rain. The streets were half-empty, most of
the sports fans having already headed home for the night.
The bike took a series of turns at speed, until even Shawn
didn't have a clue where they were. Then it slowed down and
came to a stop at the side of the road, and the man he'd
been clinging to pulled off his helmet.

"You okay?" Kevin asked, looking over his shoulder with a
worried expression.

"Oh, yeah," Shawn said, leaning forward and resting his
forehead against the man's leather covered back. "Just
peachy. Other than the fact that I was nearly pounded into
the pavement by two men who are bigger and younger than me.
And when they were done, Jericho the jerk would have done a
tap-dance on the remains, which is about as close to a
fight with me as he wants to get. How could I be anything
but okay?" The last was drawled with all the sarcasm that
he could fit into the words, and he did a pretty damned
good job of it, if he said so himself. Thankfully, he was
also doing a good job of controlling the shakes.

He took a deep breath and sat up straight again. "So now
what?" he asked calmly. "All my stuff is at the hotel,
including credit cards, and I don't dare go back for them.
Hell, I probably wouldn't use the cards if I had them,
since I wouldn't put it past Vince to track them."

"I already grabbed your stuff earlier," Kevin said. "And I
got you a room at a motel, using cash. And first thing in
the morning, you're flying to San Jose."

"And when did you decide all this?" Shawn said quietly.

"When you gave Booker the win," Kevin told him. "I headed
back to the hotel, met someone who moved your things to the
motel. He'll arrange the plane tickets, and they'll be
delivered before morning. That's why I was late getting
back to pick you up."

Slightly mollified by the fact that fact that it was his
own decisions that had started the ball rolling, Shawn
decided not to argue. Besides, it wasn't as if he had many
options at that point. But still... "Why am I going to
California? No way I'm getting into the arena now. The
moment Vince finds out that I'm there, I'm dead."

The grin on Kevin's face was almost scary. "Trust me," he
said.

Shawn stared up at him for a moment, then sighed. "Fine.
But who's this friend of yours?"

"You'll see," Kevin said enigmatically, putting his helmet
back on. Before Shawn could say anything, he kicked the
motorcycle back into gear, and all Shawn could do was hang
on for dear life as Kevin headed off at speeds that would
have landed them both in a jail cell if any cops had been
around to see them.

>>>~~~<<<

Twenty minutes later, Kevin pulled into the parking lot of
a small motel on the edge of town. The neon vacancy sign
sparked and sizzled in the otherwise silent night. He
didn't bother to stop at the front office, maneuvering the
bike, instead, around to the back of the building.

The motel was the same sort of facility you found all over
the country. It was two stories, with all the rooms opening
either onto a balcony that overlooked the parking lot, with
stairs down to the ground level at either end, or onto the
walkway that stretched the length of the building
underneath the balcony. There was a scattering of cars in
the parking lot, and lights on behind a few curtains, but
only one door, on the ground floor, was open.

Kevin climbed off his bike and headed for that one open
door. Behind him, he heard Shawn following, if a little
reluctantly. He was going to be more than just a little
reluctant when he saw who was waiting for them, though, so
Kevin stopped and the doorway and gestured for Shawn to go
first. That way he could block the smaller man's escape
when he saw who was waiting for them.

"Shit!"

>>>~~~<<<

"Michaels."

Damnit, he should have known. Past problems popping up all
over the place. First Vince, now this.

He should have been suspicious when Kevin wanted him to go
first. But damn it, what the hell was Brett Hart doing here
and how was he going to get out of there without getting
the crap beaten out of him? Hell, he probably would have
been better off with the APA.

Brett stood up from the chair he'd been sitting in opposite
the doorway and walked over to stand right in front of him.
With Kevin, the bastard, right behind him, Shawn didn't
have anywhere to go. All he could do was meet the man's
eyes and refuse to back down.

Brett's eyes were as cold as his voice. Shawn hadn't seen
the man since the fiasco in Montreal when Vince had screwed
them both over. In fact, the last thing Shawn remembered of
the man, other than both Brett and his wife shouting at
him, was Brett's fist. By the time he'd come to, Brett had
done the same to Vince -- he wished he'd been there to see
it -- and had left. Strangely, though, he didn't see the
old hatred there.

"Brett, I told you..."

Brett waved whatever Kevin was about to say, his eyes never
leaving Shawn's. "I've got one question, Michaels. Did you
know what Vince planned?" He didn't say which plan: They
both knew.

"No," Shawn said firmly. "The first I knew of it was when
you kicked out on the two count, but Vince was calling for
the bell. I agreed to a draw. I keep my word."

Brett continued to stare him down, then nodded and stepped
back, turning around. Shawn breathed a silent sigh of
relief. "I finally watched the tape last year, after seeing
the biography that channel did of me. I finally saw your
reaction, and no one is that good an actor. You didn't
know."

That surprised Shawn. "All these years and you never
watched it?" he asked in disbelief.

The other man laughed, low and bitter. "Would you have
watched it?"

Shawn thought about it, then winced. "No, I supposed not,"
he admitted. In fact, he *hadn't* watched it since then.

"Fine. Your stuff is over there," Brett said, waving
towards the luggage rack holding his suitcase. His wallet
sat on top of it. "I'm next door. Our flight is at ten, so
we'll be checking out at eight. Set your alarm."

With that, he disappeared through a door that linked the
two rooms, and it closed with a click that said it had been
locked. Shawn spun around. "Are you nuts?" he demanded.
"You want the two of us to fly across the country together?
We'll kill each other!" The animosity between him and Brett
went back further than just that one match. It went back to
when they were both newcomers to pro wrestling, members of
rival tag teams.

Kevin, damn him, was grinning. He wrapped his arms around
Shawn, gently rocking from side to side in a motion that
couldn't help but to calm him down. "Trust me," he said.

Shawn immediately deflated. "Shit. You keep saying that."

Kevin let go of Shawn, then cupped his hands around the
smaller man's face, forcing him to look up. "And I'll keep
saying it," he said, then quickly kissed Shawn. "Only a few
more days until SummerSlam. After that, you'll be free.
Free of Vince. Even free of me, if that's what you want.
But I hope you don't want that, at least."

The second kiss last longer, and Shawn melted into it. So
many nights spent dreaming of just this. Hell, no, he
didn't want to be free of Kevin. It didn't matter how many
years they were are apart, he'd never be free of the man.

And damnit, he was going to seize this moment. He started
to return the kiss more aggressively, wrapping his arms
around the other man and backing up towards the bed. Kevin
resisted, making unhappy noises, and finally pulled away.
"I can't. They'll notice if I'm away from the hotel too
long."

Shawn growled. "What the hell is this, torture Shawn night?
I never took you for a fucking cock-tease." Suddenly, every
doubt he had was making a comeback. Front and center was
the fear that he was being used. Used by Kevin the same way
that he'd been used by Vince. Or maybe Kevin just didn't
want anything to do with McMahon's leavings.

Screw California. He just wanted to go home. He let go of
Kevin and turned away.

Before he could get far, Kevin grabbed his wrist and pulled
him back. "I swear, I am not teasing you. But Shane is
still a little suspicious, and Stephanie... well, we won't
go there. If either of them goes looking for me and I'm not
there, it could screw our plans up."

"Whatever those are," Shawn muttered on his breath, soft
enough to keep Kevin from hearing. He knew he was being
sulky -- not attractive in a grown man -- but he couldn't
help it. He might have promised to trust Kevin in this, but
that didn't mean it was easy.

At least Kevin didn't seem put off by his behavior.
Instead, he kissed Shawn again, although with less heat
this time. "Sunday," he said, pulling back. "Sunday, this
will all be over. Monday, we can do whatever we want. I
promise, we'll go someplace far from anything to do with
wrestling, where no one will recognize us, and we won't
leave our room for a week." He pulled Shawn a little
tighter, and the Texan groaned as a hard cock rubbed
against his hip, proving that the big man *did* want him,
even if he did keep running off before anything happened.

Then the room spun, and he found himself pressed up against
the motel room door, Kevin on his knees in front of him.
Working fast, Kevin had his pants down and his cock halfway
down his throat before Shawn could respond.

Shawn cried out, and let his head fall back against the
door. He hadn't had anyone in his bed since Vince had
finally let him leave, and Vince sure as hell wasn't one to
give head. He expected it from his toys, but the only thing
Vince was going to give was a hand around -- if you were
lucky -- while he fucked you. Maybe he could have found
someone since then, but Shawn hadn't been willing to give
the man any more hostages. Besides, the used feeling Vince
had left him with hadn't exactly encouraged going out and
risking being used again.

But all those thoughts were driven out of his head as the
universe shrank down to just his cock and the mouth wrapped
around it. Damn, Kevin was good at that, even better than
he remembered. The man's tongue seemed to be everywhere,
and clever fingers were putting just the right amount of
pressure on his balls. Then Kevin groaned, sending
vibrations along the length of Shawn's cock, and with a
quiet sound that was almost a whimper, Shawn came hard
enough for his vision to go black.

When his sight cleared, Kevin was standing again, and Shawn
had been tucked back into his pants. Before Shawn could
catch his breath again, Kevin kissed him, and this time he
could taste himself in the larger man's mouth. Shawn sighed
and closed his eyes so that he could just enjoy the feeling
of being close to someone. Again, Vince didn't kiss, at
least not unless it was a display of dominance. Nothing
like this gentle touch of lips and tongue.

Finally the kiss ended, and they stood there in silence,
foreheads pressed together. Then Kevin pulled away again.
"I really have to go," he said softly, and this time Shawn
could hear the honest regret in the man's voice, so he
reluctantly let go. It was harder than he expected.

"All right," he said. He wanted to ask whether he'd see the
man again before the big night, but didn't. It would sound
too damned insecure, like some teenaged girl with her first
crush. Besides, he'd been on his own, except for Jose, his
mentor and partner at the gym, for more years than he cared
to remember. He could do this on his own.

Kevin rubbed his cheek briefly, then kissed it. "Watch your
back," he said roughly. "I'll see you in San Jose. And I
promise, after Sunday, you won't have to worry about Vince
ever again."

Shawn just nodded, then stepped away from the door. Kevin
left, after one last look back. The door shut, and a moment
later, Shawn could hear the motorcycle roar to life again,
then fade as Kevin drove away. Then he shook off his
melancholy, locked the door, and went to bed.

It was a long night in a cold bed.

>>>~~~<<<

"What the hell do you mean you can't find him? Don't give
me excuses. Find Michaels and find him now!"

Vince slammed down the phone so hard he almost broke the
receiver. He didn't notice. He was too busy glaring at the
APA. "Screwups," he muttered under his breath, ignoring the
way the two men bristled. At least they didn't try to
excuse their mess-up. They'd simply told him what had
happened, and that was it. Jericho, on the other hand, had
been full of groveling apologies and promises to make good.
Bitch couldn't even win a fixed match against Booker, and
now he expected Vince to believe that he could find
Michaels and bring him in? Not likely.

"Get out of here," Vince finally growled, waving towards
the door. "And I hope you don't expect me to pay you for
this." The two men turned and walked away without a word.

Vince stared at the closed door, his teeth clenching. How
dare Michaels turn on him this way? Somehow, the man was
going to pay. See how he liked losing that training gym of
his. See what he did without even that. He was almost
tempted to send someone to break Jose's legs as well, just
to show Shawn that running wasn't going to save him, but he
reluctantly decided against it: The old man had a lot of
friends in the industry besides Michaels, friends who might
take exception.

But Michaels was going to pay. He'd taken the pretty boy
and made him a star, once he'd separated him from that
incompetent, Marty Jennety. He'd made him, and damnit, he
was going to break him. And if that failed, he was going to
*destroy* him. Him, and Nash. He picked up his scotch glass
and took a deep swallow.

Yeah, Michaels and Nash. His ungrateful brats, his bitch
wife, that bastard, the Rock, for blowing him off, his son-
in-law. The list went on. Oh yes, they were all going to
pay.

The glass shattered in a satisfying way against the door,
the scotch staining the white paint as it dripped down the
surface.

Oh yeah, they would pay.

>>>~~~<<<

The alarm went off at seven, and Shawn dragged himself out
of bed after a restless night. A quick shower woke him up,
and he dressed in clean clothes from the bags Kevin had
arranged to get from the WWF hotel. He wondered just how
they'd managed it, but wasn't going to ask.

He packed everything up and slipped his wallet in his back
pocket just in time for the knock on his door. On the other
side, Brett looked obscenely well-rested. "Let's go," was
all he said.

They checked out and climbed into a rental car, Brett
behind the wheel. Finding the silence unnerving, Shawn
turned on the radio and found a news station to listen to.
The droning voice of the announcer actually managed to lull
him into a light doze.

At the airport, they turned the car in at the rental
counter, then went through check-in, collected their
boarding passes, and headed for their gate. As they walked,
a small store caught his eye. "I'll catch up with you," he
told Brett.

"You better," Brett said darkly. Obviously, while he might
believe that Shawn wasn't in on his humiliation, that
didn't mean that he trusted Shawn yet.

Shawn scanned the shelves quickly, looking for something to
read during the long flight. He found a new Cussler
paperback and a couple more books, then moved to the
magazine shelves, ignoring some of the curious glances he
was getting. The last thing he wanted was the inevitable
'where have I seen you?' questions.

Almost immediately, Vince's face jumped out at him, and he
bit the inside of his mouth to keep from growling. The
magazine in question wasn't the official WWF magazine, but
a weekly wrestling magazine he hadn't read in years. He
grabbed it, along with a couple news magazines and sports
illustrated, then headed for the check-out. Thankfully the
young woman didn't look up. She just rang up his purchases
and took his money.

Brett had grabbed a seat facing the windows, where no one
walking down the concourse would see his face and perhaps
recognize him, and was reading a book he'd obviously
brought with him. Shawn dropped into the seat next to him,
then pulled the wrestling magazine from his backpack.

"Keeping up to date?" Brett said, sounding not completely
hostile.

"Catching up is more like it," Shawn replied, flipping
through the pages. The speculation on what was going to
happen at SummerSlam was interesting. Guesses about what
the matches were going to be -- some of them were even
right -- and predictions of what their outcomes would be.
Brett glanced over at the page and snorted, but ignored the
look Shawn sent his way.

The cover article that had made him see red was on the
whole WWF versus the WCW and ECW thing going on, and Shawn
was a little perturbed to see his own picture there, with
Kevin right above him. The sidebar was obviously a last-
minute addition as the magazine went to press, speculating
on the sudden return of Nash to pro-wrestling and the
Alliance. Along with it was a list of the highlights of the
man's career, including a dry recital of Shawn's
relationship with the man -- work, not personal -- and the
feud that had built over the years, ending with the
prediction that if Nash was back, Michaels was probably not
far behind.

Each item made his jaw clench a little tighter, remembering
the threats and promises from Vince that had lead to them.

Taking a deep breath to get himself back under control,
Shawn carefully flipped to the next article. It was on the
Japanese wrestling tour, and he smiled faintly at the
picture of Scott Hall in his full Razor Ramone regalia,
toothpick, greasy hair, sneer, and all. He looked damned
good, and the article mentioned that he'd finally managed
to kick the alcohol thing. Just like Kevin, he looked
better than he had in years. Certainly better than Shawn.

Feeling every one of his years and more, Shawn closed the
magazine and stuffed it back into his bag. He let his head
fall back and closed his eyes.

"You okay?" Brett asked, out of the blue.

Shawn snorted. "What do you think? Thank to Vince, every
friendship I've had in the last ten years was destroyed,
other than Jose, and sometimes I wonder why the hell he
stuck with me. And then, when I think it's over, I'm out
from under his thumb, he shows up to screw me around again.
And now I'm practically on the run from him, traveling with
someone who used to be my worst enemy, heading for the last
place I should go because the man I... care a lot for
promised that something big was going to happen, but he
won't tell me what. So tell me, how would you be doing in
my shoes?"

Brett laughed, an honest, open laugh. It was even a little
sympathetic. "Point taken," he said. "But don't worry.
After Sunday, Vince isn't going to be bothering anyone ever
again."

Shawn wanted a brick wall to smash his forehead against.
"That's what Kevin said. The only thing is, no one is
telling me *why*. Hell, for all I know, you guys have hired
an assassin."

For a moment, Brett's expression turned feral, and Shawn
was reminded just how much Brett hated Vince; not just for
Montreal, but also for the death a few years later of his
brother. Owen's death in a pay-per-view stunt was another
crime to lay at Vince's door. "Trust me, death would be too
easy. We're going to destroy him," he said, then turned
back to his book.

Shawn wanted to try to get something more out of the man,
but a moment later, they called for first boarding, and
they were actually able to get on the plane without being
recognized.

>>>~~~<<<

The night of SummerSlam, San Jose was buzzing with
excitement. The local radio and TV stations had been hyping
it for weeks, and it had been sold out since barely a week
after the tickets had gone on sale. The fans had started
arriving at the arena early in the morning, lured by the
opportunity to meet the wrestlers, get autographs and
photos, as well as buy the merchandise.

Also arriving early was the arena staff and WWF roadies,
making sure that everything was ready. The ring was set up
at the center of the arena, the center of attention.
Temporary seats were set up, bringing the spectators right
down to the action. The announcers' table was set up, along
with the sound equipment so that everyone would hear the
two men, as were the areas for the journalists who would
cover the event. The stationary cameras were tested.
Everything was ready.

Shawn and Brett watched the men working below from one of
the arena's private boxes. They were high up enough that
the workers didn't notice them.

"So what happens next?" Shawn asked, turning away from the
preparations as Brett closed the curtains over the sliding
glass doors separating the inside of the box from the seats
in front of it. They'd checked into a local hotel on the
outskirts of town after arriving, then Brett had vanished.
Shawn still didn't know any more than he had when they'd
arrived. By Sunday morning, he was slept out, and he'd read
everything he had, along with a book he found in a drawer
where a previous tenant had left it, and watched enough
television to melt his brain.

"Now we lay low. Stay inside the private area. We've got
food stocked it, and there's a private bathroom. If you
want to take a nap, the sofa will fold out. But above all,
we want to avoid being noticed. Got it?"

"Yeah," Shawn sighed, flopping down on the aforementioned
sofa. He'd been laying low and waiting for days, what
difference did a few more hours make?

>>>~~~<<<

The box had close-captioned television so that the VIPs
didn't have to strain their eyes watching the game or other
event, so even when the opening matches started, they kept
the curtains drawn. Instead, they watched on the set as the
lower-ranked wrestlers gave it their all to get the growing
crowd revved up. There were a couple that showed the
potential for greater things, but Shawn would have told the
others to go home. They were going to ruin their health for
nothing, if they thought they were going to be the next
Hulk Hogan.

Then the main events started, complete with annoying
commentary. The announcers kept talking like control of the
company could be at stake, but Shawn knew that wasn't about
to happen. Vince would kill before he gave up control. If
you had to sum up the man in one phrase, control-freak was
definitely it. Shawn was pleased to see X-Pac win his
match, though, even though the audience didn't seem as
happy.

But he was getting a little antsy waiting for whatever
Kevin was planning. It wasn't until the final match between
Austin and Angle -- and things weren't going great for
Vince's new bootlicker, the Olympic champion -- that there
was a knock at the door. Brett waved for him to stay where
he was while he answered. He only opened the door a crack
and held a whispered conversation with whoever was on the
other side.

Brett turned back to him with a fierce smile that made
Shawn shiver. "It's time. Stay here and enjoy the show."

Before Shawn could protest, Brett was gone.

"Great, just great," he said to the air in general. "Why is
it that I feel like a sitting duck?" The air didn't answer
him, which wasn't surprising. He rubbed his hands against
his jeans, his palms getting very sweaty. It was time,
Brett had said, but time for what?

He turned his attention back to the big screen TV, since he
had nothing better to do while he waited. He watched as
Austin bashed a referee -- not the first, he realized,
seeing another still figure wearing stripes -- and
apparently knocked the man unconscious. But Angle took
advantage of it, and managed to get Austin into a leg lock.
Unfortunately, with two referees unconscious, there was no
one there to rule on the match.

Then a figure appeared at the top of the ramp, and the
crowd went as silent as it was capable of. Instead of
another referee, as might have been expected, it was Kevin.

Someone was on the ball with the sound system, since
Kevin's music started up on cue. Every face turned towards
the ramp, even Angle and Austin, as Kevin headed for the
ring.

"Vince's boy versus his kids' boy," Kevin said, lifting the
microphone he was carrying. "WWF versus the Alliance. Two
camps vying for control of the biggest, the greatest,
sports entertainment company in history. By the way, Kurt,
you might as well let him go. It isn't going to make much
difference now. You see, neither side is going to win,
because neither side had a chance."

Shawn was a little surprised when Angle actually stood up
and let go of Austin's foot. He headed for the edge of the
ring and leaned over the top rope, yelling something.
Unfortunately, none of the cameras were close enough to
pick up what he was saying, but Shawn could guess. He was
asking the same question himself.

"What the hell do I mean?" Kevin said, responding to them
both. "Quite simple, there's been a coup. Neither camp
controls jack shit."

At that point Vince finally put in an appearance, and man,
did he looked pissed. "What the fuck do you think you're
playing at?" he yelled as he got close to Kevin. He was so
loud that Kevin's microphone was picking him up.

Kevin's grin looked like it was going to split his face in
two. "Playing? Me? No, Vince, I'm not playing at anything.
I'm talking facts."

He hopped up on the edge of the ring, then stepped over the
top rope, ignoring the two men there. "You know, Vince,
you're a real piece of work. You took your father's
company, a piddling little entertainment firm, and built it
up into a powerhouse. The WWF is now a multi-billion dollar
company. The names of its stars are known far and wide.
Hogan. Andre. The Rock. The Game. The list goes on. I think
the fans will agree that without you, this organization
would have fallen apart years ago." The fans cheered their
assent.

"But!" Kevin paused and waited for the crowd to quiet down.
"But, you changed Vince. You became a tyrant. The WWF
became your personal kingdom. If people didn't do what you
wanted, you didn't just fire them, you destroyed them. You
used threats and intimidation to force them."

"I don't know what Michaels has told you," Vince started to
bluster, having reached the ring and grabbed a handy
microphone, before Kevin cut him off.

"This isn't just about Shawn, although he's definitely on
the list of people you've tried to destroy. So are your own
kids, which is why they've been doing this. They're
retaliating for all the things you've done to them. In
fact, why don't we get them out here for this. Shane,
Stephanie. Come join us."

For a moment, Shawn wondered if this was some bizarre angle
the staff writers had come up with. This whole
confrontation had an unreal feel to it. Then, after a brief
wait until the two McMahon kids arrived, both of them
looking suspicious, Kevin continued.

"Years ago, you went from businessman and father to despot.
Tyrant. Abuser. You drove your wife away, but refused to
allow her a divorce. You said you would see to it that she
ended up penniless on the streets if she defied you." Shawn
blinked in surprise, and Vince actually went white. "And
your children. Smacking your son around, trying to turn him
into what you wanted him to be. Turning your back on your
daughter and calling her a slut when she refused to dump
her husband. Is it any wonder that they hate you? Is it any
wonder that they want to destroy you?" Both Shane and
Stephanie looked equal parts shocked, embarrassed, and
vindicated.

"Of course, in the process, they've done exactly what you
wanted. They've become just like you. Cruel, petty, and
vindictive. If they take over, things won't get any better.
In fact, they might even get worse. And that's where *we*
come in." Kevin grinned again, taking in the expressions of
the three people in front of him. As for Austin and Angle,
they hovered at the edge of the ring, looking just as
enthralled, just as confused as everyone else. Even Shawn
was sitting on the edge of his seat, waiting to see what
would happen.

"Who are we? Well, let's put that aside for the moment.
Let's just say that the organization I represent.... Well,
we now control the WWF, the WCW, *and* the ECW." A rumble
of shock ran through the crowd, almost overpowering Vince
and Shane's shouts, Stephanie's shriek.

"You heard me right. Let me explain. When I was forced out
of the WWF -- and I now know why, Vince. We will deal with
that -- I signed with the WCW. It was obvious almost
immediately that they were in trouble. Sure, at that time
they were getting better ratings, but the people in charge
had no idea what they were doing. The collapse was
inevitable. And if they collapsed, you were sure to be
there, Vince, ready to snap them up. Needless to say, I
didn't much like that idea. And there were others who felt
the same way. That was when the plan started.

"When Shane and Stephanie decided to do an end-run around
you, they needed money to do it. They started by selling
off their shares in the WWF. Unfortunately, they still
didn't have enough money to outbid you for the WCW *and*
the ECW. Just one wouldn't have done them any good. You
would have bought the other, then squeezed them out of
business. So they found some backers, ready to supply them
with the money they needed. Unfortunately, that money came
with strings. Share control, in fact. But that was okay,
since no one backer would have majority control, and they
would have the largest number of shares, although not
fifty-one percent." The grin was back.

"The only thing is, those backers were all fronts. Fronts
for a single organization. An organization that now has
majority control of both the WCW and the ECW. Sorry kids,
you lose. Oh, you still have your shares. You just don't
have any say." Stephanie burst into tears, while Shane
looked like he'd been punched in the gut. Shawn almost
expected him to start crying, and he almost felt sorry for
the kid. He still remembered the skinny little kid who'd
followed the wrestlers around like a puppy, fetching and
carrying just for the chance to spend time with them. He
should have realized that Vince was the reason that Shane
had turned hard and shrill, but he'd been too caught up in
his own pain to notice.

Vince started laughing. "I knew they were stupid, but I
hadn't realized that they were *that* stupid."

"I wouldn't be so quick to laugh, Vince. Think about it.
Who do you think they sold their shares in *your*
organization to?"

Vince sobered up quickly. "They didn't have enough shares
to worry about."

"True. But lets do a little exercise in math here. I'm sure
you can add it up. Between their shares and the open market
shares we've bought, we only have thirty-three percent
control. You have forty percent. But that still leaves
twenty-seven percent of the shares out there."

"Right. And most of those, you'll never get your hands on,"
Vince snarled back at him. "You've lost, Nash. You and your
secret pals can have the WCW and ECW. I'll stomp you out of
business, soon enough. But you'll never take the WWF from
me. *Never*."

"Really. Is that so? Why don't we get a second opinion?"
Kevin turned and went to the edge of the ring. "Is he
right, Mrs. McMahon?"

The camera swung wildling for a moment before settling on a
middle-aged woman sitting in the stands with three large,
muscular men, and Shawn's eyes went wide. Had Kevin really
done it? The woman stood, and the men cleared a path for
her down to the ring. Kevin held the ropes open for her as
she stepped through, a leather portfolio in her hands.

"Hello, Vince," she said in a soft voice that cut like a
razor blade.

"What are you doing here?" Vince snapped, stepping forward
with one hand raised. Immediately, Kevin was in front of
him, shielding Linda McMahon from her husband.
Surprisingly, Shane was only a half-step behind him.

"Seeing to it that you get what you deserve. Years ago, you
signed over twenty percent of the shares in this company to
me."

"And you can't sell those shares without my permission,"
Vince sneered. "And I get first shot at them, so there's
nothing you can do."

"Really? Well, I don't plan to sell my shares. However..."
She unzipped the portfolio and pulled out several sheets of
paper. The smile on her face was pure ice as she handed
them to Kevin. "These sheets hand over proxy control of my
shares to the organization that Mr. Nash represents."

"Which gives us fifty-three percent control of the WWF. Or
in other words..." Kevin stepped closer until he was toe to
toe with Vince, staring down into the man's face. "You're
fired."

With that, the crowd went wild and Shawn started laughing.
It started as chuckles, then graduated to full out belly
laughs. Brett was right. This was so much better than any
other revenge than just killing the man. He was just
shocked that they -- whoever they were -- had managed to
pull this off. A back-rooms takeover of pro wrestling,
almost in its entirety.

"There's just one thing left, I would say," Kevin said,
drawing his attention back to the television set, wiping
the tears from his eyes. "Would you like to know just who
it was that outwitted the great Vince McMahon. Do you want
to know who is now in control of the greatest sports
entertainment company in the *world*?" The response from
the crowd was deafening. "Then look."

He turned to face the ramp as a stream of people emerged,
heading down to the ring, accompanied by music that sounded
like a military march. Shawn's eyes went wide, and he
rushed to the box's sliding doors and pulled back the
curtains to see for himself. Even so, he had trouble
believing his eyes.

Wrestlers. Most of the men and women now surrounding the
ring had been a wrestler, past or present.

Hogan. Scott Hall, with his arm around Sean's shoulders.
The Rock, which explained just why Dwayne had been blowing
Vince off. Hunter, showing no sign of the injury that had
supposedly kept him out of the ring for more than half of
the year. Mick Foley, whose feud with Vince was already
legendary. Chyna, or Joanie, since Vince had refused to
allow her to use the ring name she'd made famous after she
had left the WWF. Brett Hart, of course. When the camera
panned past him, Shawn could see him mouth 'This is for
Owen,' to Vince.

There were current wrestlers, in addition to Sean. Trish
Stratus and Booker T, shocking Shawn and more a few others
from the look of it. Angle in particular, needed to help to
shut his mouth from the way his jaw was hanging loose. The
APA, leaving Shawn wondering just how Kevin *really* had
been there to save him.

And there were more. Ted DiBiassi, who was almost as rich
as his old wrestling moniker, The Billion Dollar Man,
implied. Dusty Rhodes. The Honky Tonk Man. Ric Flair and
Arn Anderson. Even Lillian, the Fabulous Moolah, one of the
first great female wrestlers.

Not just wrestlers, either. Shawn recognized a few back-
stage faces too. People who had been working in the
industry for years. People he never would have expected to
see involved in a coup of this magnitude.

"For years, you have had near absolute control of the pro-
wrestling industry in North America," Kevin said
triumphantly. "But that era is over. Finally, the future is
where it belongs, in the hands of the people who make it.
The wrestlers!" He threw out his arms and spun in a slow
circle. Pyrotechnics went off and triumphant music started,
telling Shawn that there were even more people backstage
that were in on this. How else could so many people appear
on cue? How else could this display have been ready? The
crowd probably didn't even realize yet that this wasn't an
act: It was serious. Deadly serious.

Behind him, on the television, he could hear the JR and
Heyman trying to cover up their confusion as they wrapped
things up for the pay-per-view audience, but Shawn ignored
them. His eyes were still fixed on the floor below, and the
figures starting to file out again. And the tears on his
cheeks couldn't be entirely blamed on the laughter that had
started again.

Damn, Kevin. He was right. Vince was finished, and he was
damned glad he was here to see it.

>>>~~~<<<

The fans were streaming out of the stadium when there was a
knock at the door. Shawn hesitated, then went over and
opened it. The man there was a stranger, but he was wearing
an arena staff t-shirt. "Mr. Michaels, you're wanted
downstairs. Mr. Nash sent me." The kid looked awe-struck.

For one brief, paranoid moment, Shawn wondered if that was
true, or whether it was a trap set by Vince. Then he
chuckled, and said, "Lead the way."

He was recognized by the fans milling around the concourse,
and he was glad he'd taken the time after the event to wash
his face in the private bathroom. He smiled and waved, and
even signed a few autographs before his escort hustled him
through a door marked 'Staff Only' and down the stairs.
Shawn followed the man through the bowels of the arena,
heading for who knew what.

They emerged into the backstage area. It was filled with
almost manic energy as people tried to pack things up while
speculating at the same time. Wrestlers from both sides
were wandering around looking shell-shocked. They were
probably wondering what was going to happen to them and
their contracts with the change. Shawn didn't blame them.
He was feeling a bit of that too.

Of course, the expression on Jericho's face, the brief
glimpse Shawn got of him as the man snuck out the back, was
pure gravy. Couldn't happen to a nicer guy as far as Shawn
was concerned. As for Austin, there was no sign of his
fellow Texan, and he wondered what had happened to the man.

But the loudest noises were coming from the large break
room. Going through the door, Shawn found that it had been
commandeered for a victory celebration.

"Shawn!"

The one shout was all the warning he had before he was hit
by six feet, four inches of blond wrestler. Hunter's hug
lifted him off the ground and threatened to crack his ribs.
Shawn just hung there in surprise. The last time he'd
spoken to Helmsley, it hadn't been pleasant. Hunter set him
and kissed him noisily. "Damnit, Kid, you should have
talked to us."

"Yeah, Michaels," Scott said from beside him, tossing away
one of his trademark toothpicks. He'd once confessed that
they were a substitute for the cigarettes he'd stopped
smoking when he became a wrestler. Sean was right behind
him, obviously not willing to let his lover out of arm's
reach now that he had him back. "Didn't you trust us to
help you?"

"I..." Shawn considered all the excuses he'd made for
himself over the years, then sighed. "Fuck it. I screwed
up. I let Vince fuck with my mind until I didn't know which
way was up. And when I got part way loose, I was too
chickenshit to call any of you. Forgive me."

The three men exchanged glances. Then, without warning,
Shawn found him squished in a group hug, and he yelped when
a stray hand pinched his butt.

"We'll forgive you. This time," Sean said sternly. "But if
you *ever* pull this shit on us again, we'll hunt you down,
tie you up, and tickle the truth out of you. Hell, we were
just as much to blame. We shouldn't have just given up on
you. We won't make that mistake again."

Shawn closed his eyes and sagged in the arms supporting
him. "Thanks, guys," he mumbled against a chest, he wasn't
sure whose.

Suddenly, he was released, and his three rediscovered
friends stepped back quickly. Before he could ask what was
going on, he was pinned against a handy wall by seven feet
of amorous lover, being kissed within an inch of his life.
He gave back as good as he was getting, and in the
background he could hear whistles, catcalls, and cheers. He
ignored them all. Hell, he was tempted to try to get
Kevin's pants down and take care of the sizeable erection
digging into his hip, and who cared what anyone thought.

Finally Kevin broke the kiss, although he didn't release
him yet. "So. Enjoy the show?" he asked, grinning at Shawn.

"Enjoy it?" Shawn asked in disbelief. He grabbed Kevin's
hair and used it to pull the man down for another kiss.
"You." Kiss. "Are freaking." Another kiss. "Brilliant."
This time there was a lot of tongue involved. "So what are
you going to do with Vince?"

Kevin shrugged. "He still has forty percent of the company.
He can sell those stocks -- and he'll find we're the only
ones who will buy it -- or he can hang onto it. But either
way, the company is out of his hands forever."

"He's going to try to get it back. You know that," Shawn
said seriously.

"Let him. We're spoiling for a fight, aren't we?" A fierce
shout rose from the crowd around them.

"Christ," Shawn sighed, leaning against Kevin. "I still
can't believe you fucking did it."

"I told you he wouldn't be able to hurt you again."

"Hunt?"

The unexpected voice broke in, female and trembling.
Turning around, they found Stephanie and Shane standing in
the doorway. Stephanie's eyes were red, and her mascara was
running.

Hunter smiled. "Hey, Steph. You okay?"

She was trembling, while Shane looked like he was shutting
down, his face was so blank. "So... what happens now? To...
to us?"

Hunter looked confused. Shawn, on the other hand, knew
exactly what she was talking about. "Well," Hunter said.
"The two of you are still part owners here. You aren't in
charge anymore, but there's still a place for both of you."

Her eyes slid to the side. "And this... Is this why you
married me? It was just part of this plan of yours?"

Shawn could see the lights come on as Hunter finally got
the point. "Aw, Steph." Hunter wrapped his arms around her,
and her shoulders started shaking. "Don't cry. No, I didn't
marry you just as part of a grand plan. I married you
because I saw a pretty girl being tormented by her father
and her boyfriend. I married you because I fell for you
hard. You were so strong, so defiant, no matter what your
father did to you." He looked up in time to see Shane
backing away. Hunter reached out and grabbed him before he
could get far and pulled him into the hug too. "I'm not
leaving you. Either of you. Unless you want me to."

Both the McMahon children were crying now, despite the
large and very interested audience. Hunter glanced over at
Kevin. "I'm going to have to go," he said, softly.

Kevin nodded. "Call me tomorrow. The committee needs to
start making plans."

Hunter nodded, then left the room, towing both the McMahon
kids. Neither of them were objecting. In fact, it looked to
Shawn like you'd need a crowbar to get them away from
Hunter. "That is one fucked up relationship," he said
softly.

"Yeah, but I think it'll work, now that everything is done.
Maybe Hunter can help them put their lives back together.
They've been victims of Vince more than anyone, except
maybe Linda." The older woman was holding court at the
other end of the room, looking younger and happier than
Shawn could ever remember seeing her.

"Yeah, but both of them? That's practically incest."

Kevin shrugged. "Maybe. But if it works, who gives a shit.
So, you going to join the party?"

Shawn was tempted. He was really tempted. But after
everything that had happened over the last week and more,
he felt drained. "I don't think so. I just..." He shook his
head. "I'm about ready to crash and burn, so I'll going to
head back to the hotel. Get some of the sleep I haven't had
recently."

"Okay. Just hang on a second."

Before Shawn could respond, Kevin moved through the crowd,
tapping on shoulders and whispering in a few ears. Shawn
wrapped his arms around himself and leaned against the
wall, trying to ignore the looks he was getting. Some of
them were hostile, despite the presence of Scott and Sean
next to him and the explanations that had probably gone
around. Worst, though, were the pitying ones. Here stands
Shawn Michaels, who let himself be blackmailed into being
Vince's personal whipping boy and whore. Shit. Shawn
Michaels had never run from a fight, but he wanted to run
far away from those looks.

"Let's go," Kevin said, reappearing.

"You don't have to leave yet," Shawn protested, although
only half-heartedly. "This is your victory party."

"Yep, and I know just how I want to celebrate," Kevin
replied with a heated look that had Shawn wondering if
maybe he wasn't as tired as he thought. "In fact..." The
calculating look in the man's eyes made him think that he
might want to make a run for it.

Before he could though, Kevin hand was wrapped around his
wrist like a handcuff, and he was being gently but firmly
towed through the hallways.

The concourse was clear, other than the cleaning staff, so
nothing delayed Kevin in his path. Before he knew it, Shawn
found himself right back in the deluxe box where he'd
watched the show. Kevin pushed him into the room, then very
deliberately locked the door behind them.

"You can't be serious," Shawn said, backing up. Kevin had a
grin on his face and a bulge in his leather pants that said
yes, he was *very* serious. "We can't..."

"We can."

"We don't..."

"We do," Kevin countered, pulling a tube and a foil-wrapped
packet out of his pocket. Shawn was almost outraged that
the man had been walking around with lube and condoms in
his pocket, like he *knew* he was going to get lucky. Of
course, he did know, but still, he could look a little less
smug about it.

But even so, Shawn didn't protest too much when Kevin
tossed the sofa cushions aside and pulled out the sleeper
sofa. He still wasn't sure why a private box at an arena
*needed* a fold-out sofa, unless it was for just these
sorts of cases.

"Kevin, shit." Shawn closed his eyes for a moment, blocking
the site of his ex -- and now future -- lover stripping.
"We'll get arrested."

"No, we won't."

"Can't it wait until we get to the hotel?" Ignoring the
fact that he *had* expected to go back to the hotel alone.

"No, it can't."

"Kevin..."

"Shawn," the man said softly, then kissed him.

In spite of the situation, Shawn melted into it. He didn't
even protest as he was stripped, ever so efficiently, and
pushed onto the too-small bed. In fact, he probably would
have protested at this point if Kevin *had* backed off.

The kiss stopped, and he opened his eyes to find Kevin
propped up on one elbow, staring down at him with a strange
expression. "What is it?" Shawn asked.

"I missed you," the big man said simply.

Shawn reached up and stroked the side of Kevin's face,
enjoying the feel of the man's whiskers rasping against his
palm. "I'm sorry. You guys are right. I should have..." The
rest of the apology was kissed away.

Where the previous kisses had been hungry, this one just
was, and Shawn finally started to relax. He tugged gently,
and finally got Kevin lying on top of him, pinning him
down. It was a little hard to breath under all that weight,
but he didn't care. This was what he needed, this
undeniable contact.

Gradually, the kiss intensified as Kevin stroked his sides,
then buried his hands in Shawn's hair. His own hands were
equally busy, running up and down the man's back, then
coming to rest on Kevin's ass, pulling their groins even
tighter together. He was only half hard, but the feeling of
Kevin's erection against him was quickly waking him up.

Then Kevin, the bastard, pulled away. Shawn growled a
protest, and reached for the man, but was fended off.
"Relax, Shawn," Kevin said with a grin, reaching for
something on the side table. It was the tube he'd pulled
out of his pocket earlier. "I want you."

Shawn chuckled, and if there was a slight tinge of hysteria
to the sound, neither of them mentioned it. "I'm all
yours," he said, opening his arms to the side and spreading
his legs. "I've always been all yours." Except for when
he'd been Vince's, but neither of them was going to mention
that either. And even then, he'd been Kevin's, even if the
other man hadn't been talking to him.

He was rolled on his side and a large, slick finger was
pressed into his ass. He found himself tensing, even if he
did want this. It had been several years since anyone had
done that, and he found himself absurdly nervous. But Kevin
was nibbling on his ear, and he quickly relaxed enough for
the other man to continue stretching him. If anything, he
found the preparation even more erotic than the act to
come. Vince had never bothered with these sorts of
preliminaries, so when he'd been ordered to show up, he'd
had to do his own preparations or risk getting torn up by
the man. Luckily, Vince didn't usually go for fucking
anyway. Drop and blow him was more the man's style.

By the time Kevin rolled him onto his back, he was purring
under the attention. Another difference between the two men
was obvious here. Vince just bent him over a handy piece of
furniture, or lay down and had Shawn sit on him, facing
away. Face to face was not what the man was looking for,
since the people he fucked were just objects to him. Kevin,
on the other hand *wanted* to see who he was fucking.

The feel of Kevin slowly sliding into him felt like an
empty place in his heart being filled again. Shawn wrapped
his legs around the man's waist and pulled his face down so
that they could kiss. His own erection, getting harder by
the moment, was trapped between them, rubbing against
Kevin's stomach with every thrust. Then he felt a hand wrap
around it, and he groaned into the man's mouth. God, how
he'd missed this.

He could feel the pressure building. Every thrust was
pushing him higher, until he could barely remember his own
name. Everything he was was centered around a mouth, a
cock, and a hand. The world could be blowing up around
them, he wouldn't have noticed.

It went on forever. It was over far too quickly. Shawn
twisted his head and bit into Kevin's shoulder as he
spurted all over the man's hand. Kevin bellowed an
obscenity, then started pounding into Shawn harder, until
he also came, collapsing on top of the smaller man. Shawn
moaned a small protest as Kevin's cock slipped out of him,
but his lover just took the opportunity to roll to the
side, pulling Shawn with him.

They were in a public arena, locked door or no locked door,
and they hadn't bothered to close the curtains before
falling into the bed, but Shawn didn't care. For the first
time in too long, he was wrapped in Kevin's arm, a
wonderful ache in his ass, and he fell asleep happily.

>>>~~~<<<

Kevin watched Shawn sleep, grinning to himself. It was
sappy, but he was enjoying himself. The room stank of sweat
and sex, but as far as he was concerned, it was the finest
perfume. He glanced at the clock and regretfully decided
that they'd been there long enough. Shawn had slept for an
hour, and the lines on his face said that he needed a lot
more sleep, but they really did have to leave before they
got into trouble. He promised himself that when they got
back to the hotel, he'd make sure that Shawn got all the
sleep and food he so obviously needed.

And all the sex, too.

"Shawn," he said softly, stroking the man's arm. Shawn just
sighed and tried to roll a little closer, rubbing his face
against Kevin's chest. "Shawn, we need to get moving," he
said, a little louder this time.

"Wha...?" Shawn was finally stirring. He opened one eye and
looked up with an expression of sleepy contentment that had
Kevin wanting to pin him to the mattress all over again.
Unfortunately...

"It's nearly midnight. If we don't move fast, they're going
to lock us in."

"And that would be bad because?" Shawn asked with the
impish grin Kevin remembered so well.

"Well, for one thing this bed is too small. My feet are
hanging off the end," Kevin pointed out. "And the mattress
is lumpy enough to mess up both our backs if we spend the
night on it. I want to go someplace where we can order room
service, stretch out and enjoy ourselves."

Shawn was already moving, grabbing his pants after a short
search. "Well then, what are we waiting for?"

Kevin chuckled as he pulled his own clothes out of strange
corners and dressed. He briefly considered trying to clean
up, but decided that the smell would be obvious enough,
there wasn't much point in trying to hide what they'd been
doing. Besides, that's what the cleaning staff was paid
for. He did pull a couple of twenties out of his wallet and
leave it on the bed, though. A little extra for the extra
work.

He couldn't help noticing that Shawn was walking strange,
and not in a well-fucked way. His hand was pressed against
his lower back, and the lines on his forehead were a little
deeper than before. "Are you okay?" he asked, worried.

"Yeah, just the back giving me grief. It does that from
time to time."

Kevin cursed softly, calling himself every kind of fool.
"And I didn't help much. I should have been more gentle.
Spoons, or something."

Shawn laughed, and the lines eased a bit. "Did I complain?
Besides." He stopped, and brushed his hand against Kevin's
cheek. "I needed to see you. So, what happens now?"

Kevin grinned and licked his lips suggestively, trying to
lighten the mood again. "If I need to tell you that, then
you really are out of practice."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Besides that."

"Seriously, though, now we start repairing some of the
damage Vince did to the organization in the years since he
went power hungry." Kevin unlocked the door and waved his
lover through. "What about you? What do you plan on doing
now that you know he's not going to be around?"

Shawn hesitated, and his expression darkened a little. "I
guess I head home," he said reluctantly. "Back to the gym."

Kevin didn't much like that idea, since it would mean being
separated from Shawn for long periods of time, but it was
the answer he'd expected. "What if I offered you a job?" he
asked. It was an idea he'd discussed with the others over
the last few days, and the committee had agreed, although a
few of them had been a little reluctant. That was okay.
With a little time, they would learn that Shawn really had
been a victim in all of this.

"What sort of job?" Shawn asked. "And it better not be in
the ring. The back isn't up to *that*, I can tell you."

"Well, actually, it is in the ring in a manner of speaking,
but not as a wrestler. As a trainer."

At least the other man looked intrigued. "What do you
mean?"

"Have you been following the WWF lately?"

"Not if I could help it," Shawn replied with a bitter twist
to his mouth, and Kevin winced. Considering the bad
memories Shawn had, it wasn't surprising.

"Well, lately, the quality of the wrestling has been going
downhill. There's some very popular wrestlers that
desperately need a bit more discipline. For example,
there's RVD. He's become very popular with the fans during
this whole Invasion thing, and I will admit, he has a lot
of charisma, but he's so careless in the ring that he's
injured several other wrestlers in accidents that should
never have happened. And he's not the only one. And then
there's the women's wrestling." Kevin grimaced. "T&A might
bring in the boys, but I'd like to seem them actually
wrestle. And enough of the wet t-shirt contests and
spanking matches. Let's have *some* class. Let's get back
to some of what made the WWF great."

"You mean midget wrestlers?"

Kevin mimed a blow to the back of Shawn's head. "Be
serious. We need someone to whip them into shape, make them
work for it."

"And if they don't?" Shawn was completely serious now.

"Then they go. Everyone will have to sign new contracts
that include performance clauses. They don't have to win
all their matches, but they do have to perform to a certain
level." He waved to passing maintenance worker as they
emerged from the stairwell into the parking garage where
his rental was parked. "If they don't want to sign, then
they will be released, no penalties."

"Sounds reasonable," Shawn said. "And sounds interesting.
Do I have to sign up immediately?"

Kevin grinned. He knew Shawn was hooked. "Not immediately.
After all, I promised you a week in bed, far away from
anyone who might recognize you. I plan on keeping that
promise."

Shawn's breath hissed as he came to a stop in the middle of
the parking garage. "Damn right, you're keeping that
promise," he said hoarsely. A moment later, Kevin was being
kissed hard, and he responded happily. They needed that
week. It was going to take that long to burn off the need
that had built up in the years since he and Shawn had
broken. The occasional one-night stand hadn't been enough.
Even when he'd hated Shawn, he'd needed him.

The sound of screeching tires broke through their haze of
arousal. Kevin turned just in time to see a car barreling
towards them. Kevin grabbed Shawn a little tighter and
dived out of the way. The car narrowly missed them, then
kept on going.

"What the hell was that?"

"Someone who doesn't like us, it seems," Kevin said, rising
to his knees. And while he might not put money on it, he
had a feeling that this was a sign that they hadn't seen
the last of Vince McMahon.

THE END