Title: Finding Your Feet
Spoilers: Slight for WM17 and the aftermath.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, I respect that they're both married, they're just so darn cute :)
 

Now I remember why they tell you not to fall in love with wrestlers.  Because it is the hardest thing in the world to watch them after a hard match, to watch them stumble up the ramp, looking half-dead, and resist the urge to run to them.  I catch Debra pacing nervously out of the corner of my eye.  I'm not even dating Tazz and I'm this worried, I can't imagine how difficult it would be to have your husband out there.

And now Tazz is coming backstage, dazed, almost leaning against the wall for support.  On instinct, I got up from my seat and start to walk towards him.  "I'm fine."  Tazz's voice is firm, cutting me off before I have the chance to speak.

"That's the biggest load of crap I ever heard."  I'm challenging him anyways, running, trying to catch up to him as he stumbles down the hallway.   He hits a wall and falls, allowing me to rush to get to his side.  "You're fine, huh?"

He glared as me, and I can see the almost glazed look in his eyes.  "Go away and do your damn interviews, Cole.  I can take care of myself."  I watch for a moment as he tries to stand on his own, watch him get dizzy and fall again.  "What's so funny?"  he growls, noticing my gaze.

I just shake my head.  "You look like one of those kids toys that wobble back and forth.  You aren't gonna be able to get yourself up."

He props himself up against the wall.  "Fine, I'll stay down here then.  Just buzz off, ok?"
He's sick.  I can see it, I can feel it, I know he's hurt somehow from the match.  My fears are confirmed as he turns a slight shade of green.  "Damn stomach..." I hear him mutter.

I sit next to him.  "I think you have a concussion."

He scowls.  "And how do you know, Dr. Cole?"

I sneer back.  "I've been working backstage for over three years now.  I know what concussions look like."

"Three years?"  He snorts.  "Do you know how long I've been wrestling, kid?"
I ignore the fact that we're actually around the same age.  "No, I don't, and I bet you you don't know either right now."

His face turns to confusion for a moment.  I knew the concussion would make him forget...  "Well, it's been a long time, ok?"

I take advantage of his weakened state and pat his hand.  "You just keep telling yourself that."

He closes his eyes, his head leaning harder against the wall.  Moments like these don't come often, moments when he doesn't have the upper hand, when he isn't mocking me and I'm not looking like an idiot.  And then the green tinge comes back to his face and he starts breathing harder, the oh-God-I-don't-want-to-lose-my-lunch kind of breathing.  His eyes open a little and he struggles to stand.  He still can't, and with a sigh of defeat, he glances at me.  "Cole?"

I don't make him humble himself further by asking.  I rise to my feet and offer my hand, helping him to finally stand.  When he's up, I force him to lean on me so we can shuffle to the bathroom a little faster.

Once we're in, he collapses in front of the toilet, vomiting in choking gasps.  Again, I refuse to embarrass him more.  I calmly wet paper towels, waiting for the retching behind me to stop.  When it does, I quietly hand Tazz the towels and wait.

When he finally pushes up to his face, I can see that he's sweating and I pain.  "You need to go the hospital."  I keep my voice low, but I'm trying to tell him that this time, it's me that he's not gonna argue with.

He blinks a few times, then sighs.  "Where's your damn car?"

We get into my "damn car" and manage to get to the "fucking hospital", as Tazz so nicely puts it, in a fairly good amount of time.  They put him in a little room, shine lights in his eyes, ask him questions, most of which I doubt he knows under normal circumstances, and basically annoy him until they tell me that I can take him home if I keep an eye on him.  How wonderful.

And so here we are in my car again, Tazz slumped in the passenger seat, staring out the window, I'm trying to keep my eyes on the road.  It's started to rain now, rain hard, and it sounds funny from inside my small car.  And then, his voice.  "You didn't have to do this, you know."

I keep my eyes looking straight ahead.  "I wasn't just gonna leave you crumpled on the floor."

He laughs bitterly.  "Why not?  It's not like I'm done anything to make you like me."

Somehow, I manage not to say something terribly sappy.  Somehow.  "Yeah, well I figured I couldn't pass up a golden opportunity for you to make fun of me again."

This time, his laugh was a little more sincere.  "You're weird, you know that, Cole?"

I smile.  "Yeah, I know, Tazz."

I hear a shaky breath.  "Call me Peter."

I blink.  Ooooo-kay.  "Mind if I ask why?"

He lets out an exasperated huff of air.  "Because I told you to, ok?"

I hold up one hand in defeat.  "Fine, fine."

The rest of the drive is made in silence, except for the pounding of the thoughts in my head.  He asked me to call him by his real name.  Barely anyone calls him by his real name backstage.  I know it doesn't mean much, it can't, he couldn't care for me, but still..

I drag him up to his hotel room when we get back and as he sits down on the bed, he smiles at me, a smile that doesn't fit him.  It's sad in a way, full of resignation.  "Guess there's no hoping you might forget about those damn doctors and leave me alone, huh?"

I settle onto the other bed and laugh.  "No chance in hell."

He grumbles as he strips to his boxers and climbs under the covers.  I manage to pick up on a few key phrases, like "damn kid..." and "no privacy around here...", enough to make me chuckle as I turn off the light in the room.

And now it's dark, and we don't have to see each other.  I work up my courage and get out, with much stuttering involved, "Why do you want me to call you Peter?"

There's a pause, then his voice.  "I don't want to be Tazz outside the arena.  Too much work to hate that many people."  I nod, even though he can't see me.  He surprises me by continuing.  "Besides...Tazz has an obligation to pick on you, while Peter doesn't think you're all that bad."

I can't help but grin.  "Uhm..thank you.  I think."

And then silence.  Silence until Tazz...Peter's voice cuts through the room again, this time drowsy and only half-coherant.  "Mikey?"

Mikey.  I could grow to like that name.  "Yeah, Peter?"

"Thank you for tonight."  The words are punctuated with a yawn and I know he will be asleep before I can answer him.

I flop backwards on the bed.  He thanked me.  It was the silliest thing on earth, but he thanked me and I'm ecstatic about it.  "You're welcome," I whisper.

Thank you is a start.  Maybe someday we can move past that, move on to things like I love you.  Maybe not.  Maybe I'm imagining that he doesn't hate me like he pretends, maybe I'm not.

One thing I know for sure.  I was going to make sure he didn't forget tonight for a very long time.