Wrestling 1. The Book That Wants to Be Written

******Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Any and all original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

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Stephanie was a puppet-master, perpetually pulling strings as she saw fit.

She leaned back in her seat in catering, tapping her chin absently with the eraser-end of her pencil, as her eyes roamed the tables occupied by a familiar sea of faces she saw each week, sometimes even multiple times a day. The people never changed, but their actions and habits surely did, and just like a good little scribe, she was invariably present to record the details of events as they played out. Jotting down sets of keywords to describe what she observed was as familiar to her as breathing, but it wasn't the mundane happenings - - such as people peeling oranges and chugging down ice-cold bottles of water - - that she captured. She dug deeper and studied their every nuance, because knowing who they were for certain was the only way she could decide what should happen in the next chapter of their lives.

The superficial aspects of what the people said or did was hardly a concern of Stephanie's because, in running an entire world, there were more pressing worries than their casual conversations about the latest clothing or music to be released. She opted, instead, to turn her focus to the most compelling subject of all - - human relations. While an impossibly broad topic to focus on, she narrowed it down even further to the fundamentals of emotion and the interactions of people with others. It was a well-known finding that the bulk of everyday communication was nonverbal, so Stephanie sat around studying all the things people were too busy deciphering actual words to pay attention to.

The personal accounts they provided - - without so much as their knowledge or consent - - was a glimpse into people's perceptions of their life experiences, and it gave Stephanie a plentiful amount of raw material to work with. Not a single person in the room met her gaze without receiving a beaming smile in return, because it was paramount they understood how proud she was of them all. Oh, how she loved her precious creations dearly, and there wasn't a single one of them she would give up or allow to fade into the background like a hologram. Each person had been dreamed up from a place of absolute creativity, and Stephanie held not a single regret for making them who they had grown to be.

In essence, they were her babies, and the brainchildren of a woman on a mission to play to the originality of her talents. She scribbled the vivid sights laid out before her for a solid five minutes at least, writing until her hand cramped up badly enough to bring her frenzied activity to a slow. She glanced over the four pages chock-full of her messy handwriting and soaked in the elation of a job well done. While entertaining, observation was typically the most grueling aspect of her job, but once it was over, she could take a pause and have some fun.

After all, what had been the point of formulating her characters and plot if she couldn't occasionally bask in their magnificence?

Like just about any writer who put any significant amount of time or effort into developing their characters, she had her favorites - - oh boy, did she have her favorites. All were special, as they were created in her own unique mind's eye, but she couldn't deny some were made more lovable than others. That brought her to the man across the room, blond hair spiked and standing at attention as he enjoyed a bowl of cereal. Each time he raised his left hand when he spoke, she caught sight of his tattoo, an 'F' for his band Fozzy, and Stephanie pursed her lips, rethinking her choice in saddling him with multiple tattoos.

Chris was one of her more handsome characters, and she didn't want to risk ruining him by inking his entire body. Of course, she probably should have thought of that before making him into a raging rock star who toured, not only the country, but a good portion of the vast world. The tattoos furthered his persona and would supply her readers with a more in-depth glimpse of who he was, so she decided not to change anything. Chris Irvine didn't need any adjusting anyway, because he _was_ her favorite, after all.

Every aspect of who he was had come to fruition in her view of the proper foundation of a _real _man: that chiseled face, those piercing blue eyes, those kissable lips. Being the flirtatious female she was, Stephanie couldn't help but take special notice of his physical traits, but she was partial to him for his kind heart as well. Chris had a good head on his shoulders, and while his partying could occasionally spiral out of hand, he was a good person who wanted the best for those around him. Chris was also immeasurably intelligent, which would come in great handy for what she was planning on telling him.

Stephanie could only sit around watching for so long before she needed direct interaction with the people inside her special creation. She was itching with excitement to tell someone about the glorious universe she had been able to make unfold right before her very eyes, and she couldn't think of anyone better to lay it all down on than Chris. He was the most appropriate and reasonable choice out of anyone else, and he would make it a point to understand the concept without going off the deep-end. In a single swift motion, Stephanie rose from her seat and picked up her notebook as she swayed her hips and sauntered over to Chris's table.

When she arrived at his side, Chris had his bowl raised to his lips and was tipping it over as he drank the remainder of the milk he hadn't finished with his bites of cereal. Before he consumed his final gulp, Stephanie pulled out the chair across from him and took a seat, smiling so sweetly it was almost enough to give him a cavity on the spot. "Hi."

"Hi," Chris answered, but his face scrunched in confusion as he studied her. Stephanie had become a main fixture at the wrestling shows, but she hadn't ever ventured off to speak with anyone until now. Chris must have recognized her as a face in the crowd, but he probably thought it odd she would make the sudden effort to start up a conversation with him. Her first task was to put him at ease, which was a skill she knew all too well.

"Was the cereal good?" she smirked. Chris raked his tongue over his top row of teeth as he glanced down at the empty bowl, and his face flushed beet red when he realized she must have walked up in the middle of him slurping his milk like a pig.

"Yeah, it was fine, thanks," he spoke softly.

"I need to talk to you."

"Why do you always sit by yourself and write stuff but never talk to anyone?"

"Because I'm always here to do a job, so I don't have much time for socializing," Stephanie explained. "I pause and come up for air when I can, but it's not always possible. I'm a very busy woman."

"What do you do?"

"I'm a writer."

Chris smirked and shook his head playfully, "You are _not_. I know all of Vince's writers, and you're not one of them. I've seen quite a bit of you around here, but whenever I do, you're always by yourself and writing in that notebook of yours."

"Exactly, because that's what I do—I write."

"For who?"

"For whom."

"Huh?" Chris frowned, and she covered her mouth to suppress a giggle.

"I'm sorry, it's just the writer in me that wants to correct people. I'm a grammar nut, but don't mind me. According to you, I'm not even really a writer, right?" she joked, crossing her arms in front of her chest and sitting back in her seat. Chris, for the most part, was intrigued by the woman, and he felt the urge to find out who she was and where she had come from.

"So, what's your name then?"

"I'm Stephanie."

"How did you get in here without a backstage pass? Did you buy tickets to the show?"

"I let myself in. I belong here."

"I don't mean to be rude, but would you please explain to me who the hell you are? I really want to know," Chris laughed. It had become a game for him, and she was glad he was having fun with it. She chose to single him out for a reason and, just like she envisioned, he was the only one who would have taken to her so effortlessly. She caught Randy Orton's eye as he walked past with a water bottle in hand, and he nodded politely before continuing on his way.

Stephanie watched him go and turned back to find Chris smiling, "Do you like Orton, is that what this is? You snuck back here to get in his pants?"

"What? No," Stephanie shook her head vigorously. "Don't be gross."

"Me?" Chris pointed at himself. "You were the one just checking him out."

"I actually really wasn't. I was just admiring my creation."

"Oh, so that's what you do then? Are you the person who designs his shirts?" Chris inquired.

He had taken her comment about creation completely out of context, but she didn't have wild expectations of him being able to grasp everything she was throwing at him in a single night. It would take plenty of effort to tune him into the facade of a world he lived in, and the potential downfall in Chris having the knowledge she was capable of supplying him with was that it would award him a great deal of power. There was strength in power, but there could also be danger lurking if it so happened to be misused. Stephanie took a deep breath and gave herself a mental boost for what she was about to do before delving into the real subject matter.

"I'm here because I have something very important to tell you," she said. Chris nodded along with her words as she explained, "I could have chosen anyone in this entire building to share this information with, but I'm telling you because I know you'll understand. You're the most level-headed person I've got, Chris."

His eyes widened and he looked taken aback, "How do you know whether I'm like that or not? We're just meeting for the first time."

"Well, I suppose we are, technically speaking, of course. I've known you since the day of your creation, though, and there isn't a single thing I don't understand about you," Stephanie said. Chris was growing wary and she could almost see him physically pulling away from her, but she wouldn't let him go so easily. Reeling him back in would prove to be no easy feat, but if anyone was capable of completing the mission, it would be her.

"You're weirding me out just a little bit," Chris responded as his eyes darted anxiously around the room. "Did one of the guys put you up to this? They're playing a trick on me, aren't they?"

"Nope."

"Then what is this?"

"It's just me talking to you about something serious, because I know you can handle it," Stephanie said. "You've always been the strongest out of this group I assembled, and it's time you know the truth."

"Which is?" Chris asked, scratching his head.

"Which is that you're not a real person. This world you think you know is make-believe. I'm an author, and you are but a mere character I created in my spare time, not that it's a bad thing. I was always a fan of professional wrestling growing up, so I thought, 'how great would it be if I came up with my own little world, where I got to hang out with talented, intelligent, sexy wrestlers all the time?'. That's when you came to pass—you, Randy Orton, John Cena, Kane, The Undertaker, Triple H. You're all characters in my story who I made up to fit the mold of what I thought would be cool."

"This is ridiculous," Chris laughed as he continued looking around the room. "I'm just waiting for one of the guys to run in here and tell me they put you up to this. I can see that I'm actually _here_, obviously, so there's no way you could fool me," Chris noted, pausing to pinch his skin as proof. "See? I'm really here, and so are you, and this was a nice try at pranking me, but I'm too smart for this one. You go back and tell whichever guy put you up to this that they've failed."

"This is _not_ a prank, Chris."

"I'm sure it isn't," he laughed, nodding his head slowly, in a slightly mocking manner. "Listen, uh, Stephanie...that was your name, right?"

"Yes."

"Okay then, Stephanie, I'm sure whoever is behind this is paying you a lot of money to keep up with the charade, and you're fun to talk to and all, but it's no use. We both know what's going on here, so you can quit with the act and go back to the person who told you to do this. I wouldn't be surprised if it was Randy, actually," Chris admitted, a look of concentration befalling him. "That would explain why he was looking over here and you were staring at him."

"It wasn't Randy."

"Then who?"

"It was me. I am your creator, Chris. You're a main character in my novel."

"Oh yeah?" he rolled his eyes, still not buying the act.

"Yeah," she nodded.

"So, if you're my creator, that would make you, like, a god or something, yes?"

"I suppose you could think of it that way. I don't prefer to, but I'm a generally modest person," she countered, tapping her manicured nails against the tabletop.

"If that's the case, you should have an extreme amount of power. I'm not talking about psychic abilities or crap like that, but if you're truly my creator, you should be able to make anything happen in my life."

"I can. I control you and this entire universe you think you live in."

"You mean to tell me I worked my ass off to make it in this business, and all those years I spent in Mexico, Japan, and Germany were fake? I just dreamed all this shit up or something? I was only imagining waking up each morning and working matches, just to make it to the top and work for Vince McMahon someday?"

"I chose all those things for you. I wrote them," Stephanie replied. "I've been writing since I was a teenager, early teens. I was around 14 when I began this novel, and it was just an idea that came to me after watching wrestling one night with my family. I thought it would be cool to make up my own wrestlers and personalities and meld them all together in one solid story, so here you are."

"You're full of shit."

"Try me," she challenged.

"You really want to go there?"

"Sure, I have nothing to hide."

"If you're the creator of this entire world, why don't you make a cup of coffee magically appear in front of me. Better yet, why don't you get someone to do it? Have Brie Bella over there get up, grab a cup of hot coffee, and set it down in front of me so I can drink it."

"That's all you're wishing for?" Stephanie raised an eyebrow. "You can have anything in this world, it's all at your feet, and you only want me to have a cup of coffee brought to you? I'd be happy to do it if that's all you really need, but I'd say we can do a little better than that."

"No, I just want to ask for something small to prove my point, which is that none of what you're telling me is real," Chris shot back, and now it was his turn to fold his arms over his chest.

His attitude was a mixture of humor and indignation as he tried to piece together what he was being told. Stephanie was already hard at work on his request, knowing it was the only way she could convince him that every word she spoke was true. It wasn't in her nature to turn someone down, and if she had been in Chris's position, she would have requested proof as well, so she picked her pencil up and wrote out the scene as it was intended to happen for Chris. Several seconds passed, and she could already see the satisfied smirk forming on his face at the belief that she had failed what he asked of her.

Then, his mouth dropped open in shock.

There was no need to look over her shoulder, because Stephanie already knew exactly what he was seeing—she _had_ been the one to orchestrate it, after all. She closed her notebook and allowed the events to play out exactly as she had written them, at Chris's request. She felt it all as it was happening, and she closed her eyes as she visualized Brie Bella at the counter. She saw her picking up a cup, walking to the coffee pot, and filling the cup as high as she could without it being prone to spilling. She saw Brie pick up a few packets of sugar and some cream, and felt each step she took that brought her closer, until she was finally standing at their table.

She smiled politely at Chris and slid the cup in front of him, "Hey, I know this probably seems strange, but I just thought you might want this," she announced before strolling away and back to the seat she had been occupying next to her twin sister, Nikki. Chris remained a statue in his chair as he stole shared glances at the cup and Stephanie, repeating the same process over again, until she finally took pity on him and reached out to grab his hand.

"It's okay, there's nothing to fear. This is all just a story, that's all."

"All a story?" Chris repeated, quite obviously still stunned.

"Yes, so there's no reason to go getting upset."

"Why is this happening to me?"

"I'm not doing this _to_ you, I'm doing this _for_ you," Stephanie stated. "I want you to understand it's okay to have fun and be crazy, because, when it comes down to it, there aren't any real repercussions. It's all just a story in the end."

"Why are you telling me this?" Chris wondered. There was more than one way to truthfully answer his question, but Stephanie had already dumped enough unforeseen information on him in a single day and didn't want to go overboard. Instead, she left him with the most simplified answer she was able to produce.

"Because I like this world better than my real one, and I want you to be along for the ride."


	2. All Her Voice

It was shortly after her 16th birthday in 1992 when Stephanie first discovered she held the seamless ability to slip out of her real world, almost on command, and into the genius fantasy she dreamed up for herself. Time stood still in her official world for the duration of her absence, so she never stayed wrapped up in her self-made bubble for too long, as she didn't want to fall markedly behind in her actual reality. Living the life she had been born into was of the utmost importance, but so was engaging in regular communication with people her mind's eye deemed impeccable, and it was for that very reason she had continued to visit her fictitious friends for so long. The lengthy band of professional wrestlers she brought to life through her picturesque writing provided an escape when she needed one, which was precisely why she didn't anticipate ever fully letting go.

She fell into her alternate realm almost effortlessly, though it could be a trying endeavor if she was experiencing a particularly rough day or had a lot on her mind. With the practice she'd obtained over the passing years, entering her own story had become about as commonplace as brushing her teeth before bed or making dinner for herself each evening. Building a relationship with the characters she founded was her own special accomplishment she didn't have to share with anyone, and Stephanie found it rewarding on multiple levels. She could either waste her time talking to people in her real world, whom she had to constantly fight the urge not to roll her eyes at, or she could spend her free time with people she knew and loved, and that was where her need to continue what she was doing came into play.

A surprise aspect of structuring her characters, which she hadn't anticipated, was that - - because they evolved from the confines of what she proclaimed most ideal in her own mind - - she felt a deep connection with them that couldn't be erased. She expected to genuinely enjoy their company, but she hadn't foreseen any of the men catching her eye in a way that would make her consider wanting to be with them and, yet, there she sat, sneaking covert glances at Chris from the corner of her eye. Previously, her aim in visiting her novel world had been to enjoy herself and experience the sequence of events in her book from their points of view, but, lately, her intentions had been more invasive. She just plain wanted to see Chris, no matter how ridiculous it may have sounded for her to be craving involvement with someone who, when it came down to it, was only a figment of her wild imagination.

Was Stephanie crazy?

The doctors surely would have told her so, which was why she never discussed her compulsions with anyone. She couldn't imagine anyone in her world understanding where she was coming from, so she remained mum on all subjects regarding her virtual world and allowed herself to enjoy it for what it was. Occasionally, Stephanie worried her writing was too rushed, and oftentimes, it _was_ in certain parts of the story, but that was usually because she was trying to get the vivid descriptions and characterization out of the way so she could come back around to writing about the captivating man she had her eye on. Plowing through the necessary evils of constructing a novel was worth it for the moments when she came back around to writing about Chris.

The last scene she had written him into a couple chapters back was the taping for Raw, a weekly wrestling show that was her very own brainchild, but she wanted something more intimate. It wasn't enough to carry on a conversation with him at a rickety table in catering, so she created a scene in his very own home and made sure he invited her there. Stephanie didn't like taking rigid control of every feeling the characters in her stories experienced and wanted to offer them the chance to feel for themselves, but she did place herself in situations where she could be closer to the people of her choice, and Chris was a man she would have gladly injected herself into every single scene with if possible. He was still sorting through her confession to him about what his world actually was, so she wanted to be present to help him along, which was a wish made true by his offer for her to come over and have a cup of coffee with him - - exactly the way she had set it up.

Though she had constructed the actual 'date', if it could even be referred to as one, she was allowing Chris his own free will to conduct the conversation in the fashion he wished. The only times she assumed full control of a storyline and made adjustments to details was if a sequence of events grew completely out of hand, but, for the time being, everything was settling into place quite nicely. As she tipped her cup and took a sip of the rich, steaming brew, she peeked at Chris over the rim of the cup, and he managed a smile, albeit a hesitant one. Stephanie's work was going to be cut out for her, but she could handle whatever Chris decided to throw her way.

It _was _her novel, after all.

"I don't know what to think of what you've told me, but I feel like this is all some elaborate prank. If one of the guys put you up to this, you don't have to keep it going. Just tell me now, and I'll play along so they think they're still getting me, even if they're not," Chris said. His eyes were hopeful, as if he craved to hear straight from her mouth that she had only been toying with him. It wasn't often Stephanie felt guilty for being in control of the lives of characters who had always believed their world to be true, but seeing the hint of fear behind his eyes was almost too much to handle.

"Don't let this scare you. It isn't an entirely bad thing, like, if you think about it, you can live forever. Well, maybe not _forever_, since my life will eventually end, but you can live however long I do. It's not like I would ever ditch this story or stop writing it, so you're safe in my hands," Stephanie said. She reached a hand out for him, but Chris didn't respond to it. She wasn't sure he even noticed her gesture, because his head was probably too bogged down with concerns for his future, whatever it may turn out to be.

"This has to be a joke," he whispered, mostly to himself, but she felt the need to answer anyway, just in case he was hoping for reassurance.

"No, it's real. I had Brie Bella bring over the coffee you asked for, remember? How would that have happened if I wasn't truly controlling it?"

"Someone overheard you," Chris tossed out, and she had to say, it was a reasonable guess on his part. He was her most insightful creation to date, and that included the various other stories she was in the process of writing. "Whoever is playing this joke must have sat where they could hear us talking, and then they communicated with someone else on a walkie-talkie and told them what to do. They heard me tell you to have Brie bring me a cup of coffee, so they radioed in to someone else to direct Brie to do that. I'm not stupid, Stephanie."

"I know you're not," she chuckled, settling back into her seat and dropping her previously extended hand into her lap. "You're brilliant, just like I made you."

"Stop with this whole 'I made you' crap, all right?" he shot back. "It's not going to get you anywhere with this prank and is only going to irritate me, so find something else to do."

"What would you like to do, Chris? Today is your day, and I thought we could have some fun together, so I'm up for whatever you have planned."

He scowled, shaking his head as if she were crazy, and perhaps she was, but he didn't need to know that. "Are you kidding me? I don't even know you, so why the hell would we hang out? Inviting you over here for coffee was a major stretch to begin with, but I felt compelled to do it for some reason..." he trailed off, frowning in thought as he turned away from her.

Of course Stephanie knew precisely why he had done it, because she had written his invitation to her the night before, but Chris wasn't ready to hear those kinds of things yet. She had to display the truth for him in small doses, so as not to make him too fearful of her powers. He couldn't grow to adore her if he thought she was looney tunes, so she played the sane card for all it was worth, even if she wasn't completely certain she was. If Chris tugged away from her to the point that he requested she stay away altogether, she would have to tamper with his feelings and arrange scenes in which he would be more patient with her, which she preferred not to do.

That was an absolute last resort, and one Stephanie didn't want to fall back on too easily, because artificial feelings meant nothing. She couldn't revel in the satisfaction of getting Chris to feel for her if she had been the one to write it in, so she favored him falling for her in his own time, in his own unique way. That didn't mean she couldn't supply him with boosts of encouragement along the way, but, as difficult as it was, she had to take a step away from being an author and allow her characters to develop by their own free will. "I get that you don't know me, or don't think you do, but we have a lot in common, and that was why I accepted your offer to come over and have coffee. I thought we could get to know each other so it won't be so awkward when we come in contact in the future at shows."

"Nobody knows anything about you."

"What do you mean?" Stephanie inquired, picking her mug back up and enjoying another sip. After years of building on and surveying the various personas she had molded, making the leap into actually interacting with them was tiring, but it felt every bit as delightful as she imagined.

"When I ask about you at work, nobody knows a single thing about you. They all wonder who the hell you are and where you came from," Chris admitted, and that was fair enough.

Stephanie made it a point not to mingle with too many of them, as she didn't want to cause mass chaos by making them all aware of the masqueraded life they were living. Still, if Chris began asking around too much and realized nobody else was friends with her or knew anything of her past, Stephanie might have to backtrack and edit the previous chapters to inject some information about herself. She might even add conversations with the other guys and gals and build her own friendships with them. Whatever it took to get Chris to stop being suspicious of her was what she would resort to.

"I can't talk to everyone all the time, Chris. I'm a busy girl, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah, you say you're a writer, yet Vince has no clue who you are. You know what he told me at the last show after I spoke to him about you?"

"What?" she asked, curiosity getting the best of her.

"He told me he didn't have a single clue who you were, and that if I see you backstage at any more shows, I'm supposed to grab security so they can request your backstage pass. If you don't have one to show, they'll kick you out. Vince _himself_ said you're not one of his writers and he knows nothing about you. Don't you get it? The jig is up, so go back where you came from and stop carrying on a prank that's not even fooling anyone anymore."

"It's not a prank."

"Are you honestly this much of a dolt?" Chris scoffed, and Stephanie returned his look with an unraveling smirk.

"Such a firecracker, just like I made you," she laughed. "You're not afraid to say what's on your mind, and I can respect that in a person. Especially in you, because it makes you more attractive than you already are."

"You can get out of my house now," he rose from his seat abruptly, striding swiftly to his front door and holding it open. "Goodbye, whoever you are, because I doubt the name you gave me is even your real one. Don't hang around here, and leave me alone if you see me at the shows. I've told you a million times I don't buy anything you're saying, but you don't seem to know how to stop and, honestly, it's freaking me out."

"Are you sure you don't want to talk a little while longer? We can keep the conversation simple and not discuss all that other stuff," she offered. She didn't want to dig the massive hole surrounding her even deeper, but Stephanie was trying to convince Chris to keep her around so she wouldn't be required to step in and reconstruct their entire relationship. She strongly preferred him to take to her on his own, but she also wouldn't hesitate to write in his affections for her if the need arose. Chris could make his own choices, but she reserved the right to veto them in the end if it was for the best.

"Well, you're not my friend, so I don't see a reason to keep this going."

"We could be friends, if you would give me a chance."

"Please leave."

Stephanie put on her most charming smile, not bothering to rise from her seat, because she knew without a doubt she wasn't going anywhere. If he were to call the cops to have her removed, _then_ she would leave, but something told her he wouldn't take such drastic measures as long as she got through to him. There was no rule that claimed she had to obtain Chris's friendship through completely straightforward means, so she saw fit to cheat a bit. "Okay, listen, please just shut your door and come sit back down. This was all a joke, and I'm ready to be honest with you now."

"Right," he nodded, breathing a sigh of relief as he shut the door and went back to his seat. He smoothed his shirt down when he sat, trying to pretend as if he had known what she was saying to be true all along, but Stephanie could tell her behavior had rattled him. "I knew it had to be a joke, and I just wanted you to admit it. It was fun in the beginning, but then it started becoming kinda stupid."

"I know, and I'm sorry for keeping up the charade for so long."

"Who put you up to it?" Chris smiled, rubbing his hands together as an eager gleam formed in his eye. He was expecting her to supply a name so he could go back to work and punish whoever dared to play such an intricate prank on him, but announcing someone as the culprit would only pit her characters against one another, and conflict didn't make Stephanie happy. She racked her brain to come up with a reasonable explanation, and smiled at once when the light bulb lit up in her head.

"The truth is, nobody did. I put this together on my own and chose you at random."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I'm a method actress. I was trying to see what it might be like to stay in character for a really long time without breaking it, so when you invited me over for coffee today, I thought I'd keep it going. You have to admit, I made it pretty far."

"I guess you did, but that doesn't make sense to me," Chris frowned, scratching the top of his head. "You hang around backstage at the shows all the time, but nobody knows who you are. You actually favor the McMahons in your physical appearance, but you can't possibly be related to them, or else they would have known who you were when I mentioned you last week. Why do you show up backstage if nobody knows you or invites you back?"

Stephanie resisted the urge to be truthful, since she had dropped enough insane truths into his lap for one week. Instead, she replied, "I'm supposed to be there. I can't really explain it to you right now, but you'll see later on," she promised.

"Do you ever give a straight answer to anything?"

"I don't know, do I?" she quipped, winking at him and smiling. Through the maddening haze of her mystique, Chris found it in himself to laugh at her joke, rolling his eyes jovially and shaking his head.

"You're by far the most interesting woman I've ever met."

"Well, you're definitely the most interesting man I've ever met. That's probably what draws me to you."

"Uh-huh," Chris nodded, studying her intently before coming out with words she hadn't expected to hear from him so early on. "You know, you should really stay away from the shows. I'm not trying to be a hardass, but, like I said, I've already been told to report it if I see you backstage. After I told some of the guys what you said to me last week, people are starting to become wary of you. They don't know who you are or why you're around."

"You won't report me. There's no way you could do something like that," she smirked, loving the thrill that came along with toying with one of her main characters. She really should have done it more often, because the simple act of entering her story released a plethora of endorphins. "You'll be a good little boy and keep it a secret if you happen to see me at the show on Monday, which, not to give it away or anything, but..." she leaned in close and whispered, cupping her mouth with her right hand, "I'm going to be there."

"Suit yourself, but I'm under strict orders."

"I guess I'll have to find a way to make sure I bring my backstage pass then, won't I?" she shrugged. "Can't risk getting kicked out of the arena when there's still so much left for me to do. I've still got plenty of people to get to know—not just you."

"Whatever you say," Chris accepted her announcement and brought his legs up on the couch, propping his back against a mound of pillows as he turned his attention to the television set.

"So I don't have to leave?" she smiled when he glanced at her, and he shook his head.

"You don't have to leave," he responded. "For whatever reason, I felt like I had to invite you so we could talk, so I might as well let you stay, right?"

"I can't argue with that."

"With lots of luck, you can be at Raw on Monday without getting kicked out of the building, but I wouldn't bet on it."

His words were casual, but they held significant meaning to Stephanie, because it signified a major change would have to be made to her story to explain her presence. She couldn't continue writing herself into scenes and injecting herself in random situations without explaining who she was. Not only would the characters in her story find it bizarre, but when she released her story to be read by the masses, they would think she had thrown together a bundle of junk without putting any real thought into it. There had to be an explanation for her hanging around, and her character had to be built enough that people would identify with her as a person.

As she stole a peek at Chris, who was still focused on the movie playing across the television - - a screen adaption of a Stephen King novel - - she decided when she left him she would edit her story to add herself into the mix. It made sense to insert herself into the story, considering she spent such a significant amount of time in book world, and it was a creative decision that had been a long time coming. In times past, she came indubitably close to writing a character based off of herself, but this was going to be even better, because her character would be the exact opposite. In writing, Stephanie would embody all the qualities she wished she could obtain in life but could never seem to develop.

She would leave her true self behind in favor of transforming into the protagonist Stephanie McMahon - - daughter of supporting characters Vince and Linda McMahon.


	3. The End Pages

The feel of the laminated paper between her hands was exhilarating, and she was internally patting herself on the back for having the wherewithal to provide herself a backstage pass. She couldn't allow the festivities to go on around her without being able to join in on them, so, the night before, Stephanie wrote a new chapter of her story, which included obtaining the proper credentials to be allowed into the backstage area, and it had paid off in waves. She stood in wait near the arena door, not having seen Chris since their coffee break in the living room of his house the weekend before. He would be showing up anytime now, and she would be able to flaunt her pass and wave it in his face.

Nobody had a right to kick her out of the backstage area as long as it dangled around her neck, and she could hang out with Chris all she wanted. Though he seemed agitated with her presence on occasion, Chris was one of the most kindhearted characters she had created in the history of all her days spent as a writer, and he would eventually come around. He would realize she only wanted to be his friend, and the day he reached that conclusion, their relations would become easier from there on out. He had his guard up, no doubt about it, but some of the more cutthroat characters in the story had made him that way.

Chris was standoffish for a reason, but she hoped to crush the protective wall surrounding his heart. All it would take was one person he knew he could trust completely before he would relax and let her in. Stephanie pursed her lips and absently tossed the pass back and forth between each of her hands. The right opportunity hadn't arisen to ease herself into a supporting role as Vince and Linda's daughter in the story, but she would make the transition soon enough. There were still some loose ends that needed tying, and once that was taken care of, she could go after a more permanent role.

"What are you doing?" Chris's voice cut through her thoughts, and she glanced up to find him smirking as his eyes fell on her backstage pass. "Looks like somebody forged a document."

"I did not," she pouted huffily and crossed her arms. "I got my pass through totally straightforward means, so there," she finished, sticking her tongue out at him.

"Sure you did."

"I _did_."

"All right, fine," he relented, nodding his head towards the door. Stephanie fell into step beside him, and he held the door open, waving her in first.

"Such a gentleman. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Chris replied. They strolled down the hallway, Chris trying to sneak glances at her along the way, though she noticed every last one of them. He was thinking something about her, and knowing what she knew about him as a person, Stephanie inferred he had a lot of questions. If her instincts were correct, he was going to ask her to sit with him in catering so he could pick her brain. "So, I was planning on getting something to eat before the show. You want to sit with me?"

Stephanie smirked, having known all along he would ask. She knew Chris like the back of her hand. "I would love to. Just let me know if you need me to have one of the Bellas bring you another cup of coffee like last time," she said, his smile forcing itself downward as his brow morphed into a frown.

Chris came to an abrupt stop. "I thought we were done with the bullshit. Didn't we get past all that?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry."

"Look, if you're going to be saying that kind of thing, then I don't think we should eat together. I'm trying to work myself up into the frame of mind I need for my match tonight, and I can't do that if you're starting in on this whole controlling the world complex you have," Chris admitted. "Either you're a really good actress or you're a bit mental."

"I'm not mental."

"So you're an actress?"

"It was only supposed to be a joke, okay?" Stephanie covered, wishing she had never gone that route to begin with. She should have recognized the sensitivity in Chris and known that would set him off. She held her hand out to him, and he surprised her by taking it in his own. "I'm sorry. I would love to go eat with you, so let's just stick to that."

"Fine. I've got a million things to ask you about anyway."

Chris led Stephanie into catering, the slight buzz cutting to silence as almost every set of eyes in the place focused on them. Word had gotten around about what Stephanie had been saying to Chris, and everyone seemed to think she was nothing more than a sideshow freak, which made it all the more appalling to them that someone as widely respected as Chris was hanging out with her. The shock of the blow left her frozen to her spot just inside the door, and Chris placed his hand on the small of the back and led her the rest of the way into the room. They sidled up to the back of the food line, and he urged her in front, grabbing a paper plate and handing it over.

Never in her life had Stephanie loaded meat, rice, and vegetables onto a plate as hastily as she did that day. Chris followed behind her as she tapped her foot in wait and tried to distract herself from the tickling, gnawing sensation of being watched. Even with her back turned, she could feel everyone's beady eyes on her, judging who she was, despite the fact that they knew nothing about her as a person. She wanted a scapegoat, someone to blame for things going wrong in the story, but she was the maker of her own circumstances, so the only person to point a finger at was herself.

Stephanie was the one who created each and every one of the people in the room as they were and was finally feeling the downfall of making her characters so strong-willed and assertive. She could sense the assumptions forming in their minds, each of them probably trying to figure a way to get her away from Chris long enough that they could dig for information. They were undoubtedly gearing up to tell Chris all the reasons he needed to ditch her and find a way to ban her from the backstage area altogether. It was as if she could _feel_ their judgments, and it was both off-putting and infuriating.

She had more of a right than anyone to be there, considering she made the damn place. "I can't believe this," she muttered.

"Ignore them," Chris said, putting the finishing touches on his plate.

He must have felt the tension as well. It permeated every inch of the room until it became stifling enough that she couldn't take the pressure anymore. She couldn't handle her own characters. Before Chris had time to react, Stephanie dropped her plate to the floor with a thud and felt the blood rush to her cheeks as she bolted out of the room, actually running to the door and storming out. A buzz followed after her, and before the door clanked shut entirely, she thought she even made out some hushed laughter.

Chris was coming for her, though, and that much she knew, so she waited near the doors, pacing with her arms folded until he showed his face. She couldn't tell whether he had dropped his plate as well or sat it down somewhere, but the most important thing was that he was concerned enough to follow through with a gracious show of support. He brought a hand to her shoulder to stop her pacing. "It doesn't matter what people think of you."

"That's easy for _you_ to say," Stephanie jabbed, regret washing over her face as soon as the sentence was complete. "I'm sorry. I'm really not trying to be a bitch today, but, seriously, what's their problem? I've never done anything to those people."

"They just don't know what to make of you, that's all," Chris supplied, leaning back against the wall. "You've been hanging around here, and nobody knows you, so a lot of rumors have spread."

"Well, you should go eat. I'd come with you, but I can't go back in there. Everyone's staring at me like I'm some worthless idiot, and I don't want to deal with it."

"Hey," he stopped her, "you shouldn't talk like that. You're not worthless and definitely not an idiot. Who the hell cares what other people think anyway? Now that I'm thinking about it, I passed a nice restaurant on the way here. Let's just go eat there."

"Really?" Stephanie's eyes lit up.

"Sure, why not?"

"I don't know, I was just thinking you barely know me so you wouldn't want to take me out and waste your money or anything."

"It'll be anything _but_ a waste," Chris smiled, pushing off the wall and guiding her towards the arena's exit.

Chris couldn't place his finger on what exactly it was, but he felt attracted to Stephanie. There was something about her beyond the superficial that made him feel as if they were connected, and maybe that was why he was so quick to let her hop into his rental car. It wasn't in his nature to pick up a girl he had only known for a matter of days and dish out the money for her to have a nice meal, but with Stephanie, he didn't mind. Plus, he would get to find out who she was, where she came from, and what it was that merged their paths so suddenly to begin with.

The drive was little over 15 minutes, and when they were seated and perusing their menus, Chris started in on his questioning. "You're one of the most mysterious women I've ever met," he announced, peeking at her over his menu. "I feel drawn to you, and I don't know why. What is it about you?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, but her knowing smile suggested otherwise.

"Did we know each other before or something?" Chris asked. "Is this like your test to see if I can remember you?"

"Nope."

"Then who _are_ you?"

"The name's Stephanie," she replied.

"No, I already know that, but I mean in the greater sense. Where did you come from, why are you here, and why can't you ever answer a question straight?"

"I'd try, but you would probably never believe me," she said, picking her glass up and taking a sip of iced tea.

"Try me," Chris challenged.

Stephanie sized him up, watching him over the rim of her cup as she sipped through her straw. There was definitely a right and a wrong way to respond to his questions, but she wanted to try the truthful one. Her gut told her it wouldn't go over well, if his reaction earlier in the day was any indication, but she had to give it a shot. She couldn't continue looking herself in the mirror if she played with Chris's life without telling him what it was really about. He wouldn't want to believe her, but it was easier to relay the facts than to make up bits and pieces. Luckily, she knew a roundabout way to be up front with the reality of the situation.

"I'm a fan of yours," she said. "Huge fan."

A smile began spreading across Chris's face, and his eyes danced. "I should have guessed. So that's why you've been hanging out around the arenas. How'd you get your backstage pass?"

"We'll keep that our little secret, but I can tell you honestly that I didn't forge it. I went about getting it the right way."

"Oh, okay."

"I've seen what you do in the ring, and I like it, so I thought up a way to get backstage," she said, conveniently ignoring the part about being the person who single-handedly pieced his career together with the assistance of her own overactive imagination. "I'm not officially a part of the company, but I'm a writer, and I thought hanging around with you and the other guys might give me some inspiration. You can never have too little of that when you're a writer."

"I guess I can understand that," Chris said. Stephanie was pleased he seemed to be biting. "What about you, personally, though? Do you have a family of your own?"

"Nope, not yet. I've just got my parents, but I hope to get married and have kids at some point. You know, the whole shebang."

"I'm sure you will."

The waitress interrupted their talk to take their orders, and Stephanie was left with her swirling thoughts. She was doing Chris and everyone else an injustice by showing up without an explanation and expecting them to integrate her into their lives and accept her with open arms. She was an outsider coming into a world she wasn't entirely sure she understood herself, regardless of the fact that she was the creator of it. The people in their world were all circles, and she was the square, attempting to come in and fit where she didn't belong.

The difficulty was in the unknowns. The reason real life worked so well was because there was a solid plan in place and events played out just as they were meant to. The key to Stephanie's fantasy world playing out had everything to do with the completion of it, because once it was written in its entirety, not fate nor temptation would be able to change it. The events of the life she wanted with her characters and the friendships she hoped to build with them had to be set in stone before they could start to form. Her appearance in their world was premature.

In essence, she had to finish writing the story before she could enter their world and have everyone enjoy her presence all the way around.

The waitress scuttled away after taking their orders, and Stephanie caught Chris watching her, so she saw the perfect opportunity to see where his head was at, having made her final decision. "We might not see each other again for a long while."

"Why not?"

"I don't think I'm coming to any shows in the near future. Today will probably be my last for a while."

"Oh," he said. Stephanie thought she detected disappointment in his tone, but she couldn't decipher whether it was actually there or if she was only wishing it into existence. She liked to think Chris would at least miss her somewhat, even if they didn't know each other well at all. "Well, I wish you luck in whatever you decide to do in life. Maybe you can go get some wrestling training and be in the ring the next time I see you."

"Yeah, I'm sure that'll happen," she laughed.

Of course, the possibilities for her were endless, so it could come to fruition at some point in the future, but not before she finished the narrative in question. She was supposed to be someone important and close to Chris, and she would get there someday, but not without putting in the necessary effort to complete the plot of such a tale. She could be his friend, his girlfriend, his wife, anything she wanted, but it would require her absence in the fantasy world until she penned the full story in her real world. It was an easy trade-off to not see Chris for a long while when she reminded herself that she would have plenty of time to spend with him once her thrilling novel was concluded.

All that was required was some more work and effort on her part, and she was willing to put it in if it meant the happy ending she had been hoping for since as early as she could remember. She'd always been a hopeless romantic, and no man she would meet in her real world would ever compare to her handiwork in crafting Chris. For months on end, she would put pen to paper, and her happily ever after would come when it was meant to. She had also discovered the need to make the supporting characters a little softer so that the next time she ended up backstage, no matter how far into the future it was, the other wrestlers and divas would go a little easier on her. No more spilling plates and running away.

"Maybe we can exchange numbers," Chris's voice interrupted her musings.

"I'm sorry, what?" Stephanie asked, shaking free of her thoughts.

"I was just saying maybe I could call you sometime, just to keep in touch," he repeated, and she thought she detected the faintest of blushes coursing through his cheeks. "We don't have to, but it might be nice. That way, I can keep up with what's going on with you until you eventually come to a show in the future, if that's what you even end up deciding to do."

"Please don't take this the wrong way, but I'm going to have to pass on that offer," Stephanie said. It was hard to do, but it would all be for the best in the end. "It's not you, though."

"Oh, now I'm going to get the famous 'it's not you, it's me' line?" he smiled.

"No...well, yeah, sort of, but I actually really mean it when I say it's me. I've gotta focus on my writing, and when I finish the story I'm working on, I'll come back to hang out."

"Is that a promise?" Chris asked, a hopeful hitch in his voice. Yes, she was going to have him wrapped around her finger when the time came.

"Absolutely," Stephanie responded. "We'll definitely meet again someday."


End file.
