Author's Note: I know this was published as a one-shot but I've been haunted about Maura's decision and how Triple H responded in the aftermath. This chapter is indeed the last installment of "Exchanging Glances." Because this chapter is about the aftermath, there is much less focus on, um, the Fifty Shades side.

Chapter Two: What Could I Offer You

In a month's time, RAW would take place in Chicago, ten months since his one night stand with Clare. Hunter had had no business to bring him back to Chicago since that night but he had thought about her more and more as the RAW date loomed closer.

In the first several weeks after leaving Chicago, the wrestler had felt energized and was enjoying work again. His closest friends had noticed and casually commented. He would simply smile and shrug his shoulders. Whatever it was, whatever Clare had done, he was more willing to join the rest of the world again. He thought of her nearly every day in those first weeks. He occasionally accompanied his friends out and was less irritated and abrasive with anyone he encountered on those nights out. He didn't bring a woman back to his room again, not for their lack of trying, but mostly because their interaction felt so shallow compared to his night with Clare.

As the weeks wore on, Hunter thought a little less of her, like in the aftermath of a break-up. A comment here and there would bring Clare to his mind. Any time there was a Bears or White Sox game being shown nationally or when he would see the score flash across the bottom of ESPN, he would think of her and chuckle to himself. Cheesecake and turtle caramel pie would quickly bring her visage to his mind.

Even though Hunter had to endure Stephanie and Batista, he was less angry at them. The less he resisted whatever Creative dreamed up for them (i.e., what Stephanie wanted), the less the two seemed to flaunt their relationship in front of him. If she was happy, he didn't care. Technically, if she wasn't happy, he didn't care either. The point was that if she could find happiness, then it was only right that he could too and she could leave him alone to do so.

The months stretched out with the occasional thought of Clare but within the past few weeks, he had started thinking about her more and more. He chalked it up to the impending visit to Chicago. With a month left, he had thought about her as much as in the first couple days after leaving her. Daily he regretted not asking about her corps assignment or for her cell number. For all he knew, she was right under his nose—that thought irritated him the most. He had decided to find her if possible; he just wasn't sure how to yet. If he was going to, he had to start in Chicago.

The epiphany hit Triple H the day after Orton had mentioned that he and Deja had met in Chicago and she was pushing him to change his schedule and fly in early so that they could celebrate their anniversary in the city, even though it was actually two months later. Deja knew Clare! He remembered her pushing him to buy Clare a drink and talk to her and he had asked if Deja knew her. She had said 'yes' but he had cut her off before she had said another word.

Hunter immediately called Randy. "I need a favor. Ask Deja if she would get Clare's number for me."

"Who's Clare?"

"A friend of Deja's. Met her when we were last in Chicago."

Randy began laughing. "Booty call!"

"Just ask her," he retorted and ended the call.

When Orton had not called him back by the next day, he called him again. "Did you ask Deja?"

"About what?" Randy asked, puzzled.

"Clare," Hunter answered through his teeth.

"Oh, yeah," he replied absently, "but she said she doesn't know anybody by the name of Clare."

"I know for a fact she does," Hunter asserted, clinching his fist.

"Then ask her yourself this weekend; she's coming out to St. Louis for the pay-per-view show. Why—"

"Never mind," Hunter cut him off.

By Saturday, he was antsy, frustrated with waiting to arrive in Missouri. That evening, he had dinner with several other wrestlers and divas at Orton's house. As soon as he could get Deja alone, he started grilling her. "Are you not friends with Clare anymore or something?"

"Clare who? I don't know a Clare."

"The brunette at the club the night you and Orton met. You said you knew her," the wrestler insisted, trying not to sound desperate.

Deja could only shake her head. "I'm being honest. I don't know who you're talking about."

Hunter couldn't believe this was happening. Deja was his only connection to finding Clare and she was not acknowledging her existence. For a moment, the fear struck him that maybe Deja didn't know her. He ran a hand over his face. "The girl that tripped into me, wore white, brunette, braid, you said twice that I should buy her a drink."

"Wait, wait, wait," she responded, holding her hands up. Randy had noticed his girlfriend's agitation with Hunter and he came over to put an arm around her shoulders and ask what was going on. Before he could ask, she shrugged him off and pulled her phone out of her back pocket. "Just a minute," she said, flicking through screen after screen. "Are you asking about her?"

Deja held up the phone and Hunter's insides began turning to mush. It was a group picture of Deja, Clare, and three other girls. Hunter plucked the phone from her and began scrolling through pictures. There were several more in which Clare appeared, clearly taken before they had arrived at the nightclub. She apparently had not cared about being out with them then either. "Yes," he breathed out, "her."

The blonde began laughing, side-splitting guffaws, as she took her phone back from Hunter, who had not been able to take his eyes off of the pictures. "The two of you—you had—oh, my god, you got the nun—in bed," she managed to get out between the laughs, bending over double and holding her sides.

Now both Orton and Triple H were staring at her like she had grown horns. She wiped away the tears of laughter and composed herself. "First, her name is not Clare; it's Maura. Second, she became a nun."

"When?" Hunter asked, his stomach bottoming out.

"Um, that week, I think."

"Are you sure her name is Maura?" he asked, just to be sure they were talking about the same person.

"I work with her sister, so yeah."

"I gotta go," Helmsley muttered, not even looking up at the couple.

"We've not even eaten," Randy protested.

"I'm not hungry, sorry." He turned and walked out the door, leaving Randy and Deja stunned.

That night, Hunter sat in the hotel's sofa chair, no lights on but what came in through the window. He drank his way through much of the mini-bar. Clare—no, Maura—was lost to him. In a way, Clare was forever lost because she ceased to exist the moment he put her in the cab. Why did she give him a fake name? She said she was going on a Peace Corps assignment. Did she not want him to find her? And she became a nun?! Did he drive her to that? Because he didn't ask her to see her again? What if she already had plans? Why in the hell would a devout Catholic do something like that? Wait…he was her last fling! Did she target him and clumsily seduce him? He certainly fell for her shtick if so.

Hunter woke the next morning to the sound of a text message notice on his phone. He tried to shake the cobwebs from his head as he reached for the phone. The text was from Deja: "Maura's sis is Martine Spencer-Kelley, editor 4 Chicago Style. Martine's # …" What the hell was he supposed to do with her sister's name and number? It didn't change that she was a nun. He managed to ignore the text for a few days but he eventually gave in and googled Martine.

Maura and Martine were clearly related but, at the same time, they were very different. Their eyes were identical though. He found himself reading Martine's article on the magazine's website but quickly clicked away as she droned on about a wedding dress expo. Taking a deep breath, he googled "Maura Spencer-Kelley," but the search engine returned nothing relevant. He sighed in disappointment. Just for the hell of it, he googled Maura's name with just one of the last names and then he hit paydirt.

She was named as the new director of the family abuse center for which St. Clare's Monastery was in the midst of the capital building campaign. St. Clare's was in Chicago. She had given him the saint's name… He clicked through the website, trawling the pages for another hint of her. After several pages, he found himself staring at a picture of her surrounded by a group of kids, all laughing with huge smiles. He knew that smile, the way her eyes crinkled when she grinned in joy. But then his eyes focused on the whole picture again and he shook his head at the habit she wore, hiding her long, thick curls.

He had to see her. He didn't know why and he didn't know what he would say but he had to see her again. He didn't expect her to renounce her vows but he had to talk to her. The announcement about the center was less than a month old and stated that she would remain as one of the assistant directors of the monastery's soup kitchen and men's homeless shelter until the completion of the new center.

Hunter had managed to finagle himself out of Sunday's houseshow, the day before RAW in Chicago. After a stop at his hotel, he drove to the soup kitchen in the late afternoon on that Sunday, the earliest he could arrive. He sat in the rental car for a few minutes, pulling himself back together before entering the establishment. Just inside the door, he paused and scanned the room, his eyes moving over the tables and the small groups of the homeless clustered together. He was looking for an administrative office or someone who looked like they were in charge.

Sister Thecla, one of the older nuns on duty that afternoon, spotted him before he saw her. She was a large, round woman that even priests obeyed when she made orders. She didn't trust this massive, well-dressed man who had just come in her door. "Can I help you?" she asked and he jerked his gaze towards the woman dressed in a dark brown habit and white wimple.

"I'm looking for Maura Kelley."

"She's busy. Maybe I can help you?" she warily asked.

"A mutual friend said I should talk to her about seeing the place. I have a donation I would like to pass on to her for the abuse center," he carefully explained, holding out the folded check.

Sister Thecla took it and glanced at the written figures. It was just enough to complete their capital campaign. "I'm Sister Thecla," she said with a pat on his arm. "Let me see if I can find Maura for you."

Both of them turned quickly as they heard a clatter. A soup ladle bounced across the floor. Hunter immediately saw who had dropped it—it was Maura. Dressed in pair of loose jeans and a t-shirt with the center's logo, she stared at him, mouth agape. Standing beside her was a Boy Scout with a similar look of shock on his face.

Maura was amiably chatting with Jahari, an eleven-year-old Boy Scout who was volunteering to earn a badge. His troop met in one of the classrooms at the monastery. The two were preparing the beef and vegetable soup for that night's supper. Maura mentally waved off whoever had entered the shelter as Sister Thecla was manning the door for the afternoon. Her head snapped up when she heard the deep voice. Like a zombie, she shuffled out of the kitchen.

"Maura? Sister Maura?" Jahari called as she walked away from him and then hurried after her. The brunette didn't bother to correct him. As she shuffled around the corner, Hunter Hearst Helmsley came into view. "Oh… my… God," the Scout whispered. Maura mentally seconded him.

"Maura," Sister Thecla addressed her, picking up the soup ladle and handing it to Jahari. He didn't take the hint and simply stood there staring. The nun pressed the check into the stunned woman's hand, not sure what to make of her confused face. "This gentleman is interested in the family abuse center and has brought a donation. Why don't you show him the center?" The sister was not above catering within reason to high-end donors.

"Hunter Hearst Helmsley," the wrestler said, extending his hand to Maura. Chills shot throughout her body as she grasped his hand.

Maura hurriedly pulled the apron over her head and then remembered Jahari. She introduced the two and all the boy could say was, "Cool."

"You a fan?" Hunter asked him. The boy nodded vigorously and the wrestler laughed.

The brunette used the moment to try to still her mind. He had found her! Holy shit, he had found her! Why? Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, why?

"Mr. Helmsley, right this way," she rebounded. "We'll have to go through the kitchen and into the offices as there is work being done on the corridor to the center."

He followed Maura into the kitchen and listened as she narrated how many people they fed daily, what kinds of people come in for food, dispelling myth and asserting fact. She was spilling out her memorized tour speech that she always gave to volunteers or interested groups. Jahari was right on their heels. Because of the boy, Hunter didn't interrupt her and let the charade continue. She pointed out the community food pantry and wound her way through the offices. Eventually, they entered the unfinished center where only the studs of the walls were erected.

"It doesn't look like much right now," she said, gesturing around the raw room. "Only our offices and supplies will be kept here. With your donation, we can complete a planned off-site, undisclosed location where the women and their children stay at first until we can place them in a safer home of their own. Right now, they are housed with individual families who have an extra room or floor."

Maura paused in the middle of the first room where a large plywood board lay atop two sawhorses. She put the table between them and placed her hands on it to steady herself. Hunter acted as if he was greatly interested as he studied the room. The silence gave her time to realize that she would have to talk to him alone to ask why he was there. "Jahari, someone needs to stir the soup."

"Okay," the boy replied, slowly nodding, his eyes still on the wrestler and the soup ladle in his hand.

"Don't forget to add the green beans," she added, encouraging him to leave. He glanced back and forth at Hunter and Maura.

"I'll stop back by and autograph something for you before I leave," Hunter offered. The boy then nodded more certainly and trotted off.

"Be sure to wash the ladle," Maura called after him.

They were now alone and she could only stare at the plywood board, her grip on it keeping her upright.

Hunter broke the silence. "Clare, huh?"

"You weren't supposed to come looking for me," she replied, her gaze still boring into the plywood.

"Peace Corps, too?"

She slowly shook her head, her eyes still down. "Would you have walked out that door with me if I said I was planning to become a nun?"

"Maura," he firmly stated her name. "Maura, look at me."

She drew in a deep, jagged breath and steeled herself; finally, she lifted her eyes to him. Everything they had done that night came pouring back and her knees grew weak. His eyes pinned her in place; those eyes that she had stared into so intently when they had made love. "Why are you here?"

"Answers to some questions."

"Answers? Answers to what?" she replied, agitated at the question.

"Am I the reason you're here?" he gestured around them. "The reason you've locked yourself away for life?"

One look, one word from him could bring her to her knees but she also had some pride. "You arrogant prick!"

"You—"

"You want answers?" Maura angrily interrupted. No one had known that the shy church mouse was a shape-shifter and her transformation had been sparked by Hunter Hearst Helmsley. In the past ten months, she had broken up multiple fights at the shelter, stared down two abusive husbands demanding the location of their fleeing wives and children, stopped a burglary with a tire iron and mace, argued against an unjust law against the homeless before the city council, and testified before the state senate on domestic abuse and needed resources. He didn't stand a chance against her.

"I didn't tell you my name because you didn't need to know it, especially if you were just going to throw it around like last night's conquest. Yeah, I lied about the Peace Corps but I wasn't about to be made fun of for my faith. My mind was made up long before you walked into my life that night. I left that hotel room and took the cab straight to the church and, if that makes me a disgusting person, then so be it."

Hunter had had enough of her patronizing tone. "So, Sister Maura—"

"Hell, no," she cut him off, the look of shock on his face. "First, I wasn't done. Second, it's not 'sister.' I didn't 'lock' myself away. I didn't complete the novitiate—I didn't join the sisterhood."

The wrestler had been staring off to the side, angry and frustrated with her, when she cut him off. With her last revelation, his head snapped up.

The decision had been incredibly hard but Maura had decided to become a Poor Clare despite the crisis that Triple H had incited. The Abbess said nothing of her appearance, the make-up, tight jeans, and high heeled boots, when Maura requested a moment to quickly say 'goodbye' to her sister. Martine's head snapped up when she heard her sister's heels clicking on the marble floor. "You're not coming with me," she sighed.

Maura shook her head. "It's not as if they're locking me away and I'll never see you again."

"I know," she replied, standing and holding out her arms to the younger woman. "I just think that there's more life out there for you than this."

Pulling away from the hug, Maura looked down at her outfit. "Everything I have on is yours but the shirt. I promise to get it all back to you."

"One question before you go," Martine asked, holding her sister's hand, and then dropped her voice. "Did you really have sex with Triple H?" Maura's mouth dropped open and then snapped shut. Her face flamed bright red. Her sister chuckled. "Good enough."

Martine saw right through her but if the Abbess or the sisters did, no one said a word. For the first few days, she thought of Hunter and their night too often. At the thought of confession, her stomach drew up in tight knots. Administrative concerns and settling in for those few days kept her busy and off the priest's radar but she could no longer avoid confession by the end of the week.

At first, she stared at the skirts of the novitiate habit, embarrassed to be in this situation. She had trouble breathing, admitting what had transpired. Her hands trembled just in memory of the night. Finally, like ripping off a band-aid, she blurted out the barest of essentials. There was silence for a few moments from the priest and Maura wanted to curl in on herself. Clearly, a reprimand was not necessary but the penance was not light. What made the penance so hard was the reflection on the sin. She was supposed to reflect on repentance and redemption but the sin itself was so difficult to not relive the pleasure.

It didn't help when her sister came to visit for the first time and rushed through the formalities of how she was doing and did she like it so far before asking in a conspiratorial whisper, "Details. Spill'em."

"I don't know what you mean," Maura replied, smoothing out her skirt.

"Yes, you do. How in the world did you get Triple H back to his hotel room?"

It wouldn't hurt to simply recount the events of the night from when he showed up at her table until they arrived at the hotel—she hadn't forgotten a single detail.

"And?" Martine giggled.

"Look, I'm paying a heavy penance for that night. Could you just leave it at that, please?" Maura begged, taking her sister's hands.

"Alright, Sissy. But one more thing. Was it worth it?"

Her eyes fluttered closed and she sighed, not a sigh of frustration but one of remembrance. "Yes," she breathed.

"I'll get the details one day," Martine said with a shit-eating grin. And she was right. But it wasn't until after Maura had left the monastery and temporarily stopped in with her sister.

At first, the Poor Clare candidate was restless at the monastery. She expected peace and satisfaction but it didn't come. It wasn't just the thought of Triple H intruding. She couldn't name it and didn't speak about it with her mentor or the Abbess, with whom she met regularly. She didn't dare mention to them how boring she found the read of saints' lives for the sake of choosing her new name upon entry into the sisterhood. It was the same thing over and over again—women martyred before they would give up their chastity, body parts cut off or ripped out, family disowning them…

But both her mentor and the Abbess sensed her restlessness and giving her work of a particular nature was their answer. The monastery had resources for social work through the Catholic Church but none of the women had any specialization in it like Maura. They employed two people outside of the monastery for the homeless shelter and staffed the rest of the positions with nuns and volunteers. The hoped-for family abuse center would also be headed by someone outside of the monastery. Yet, there was much to be done and Maura was the perfect one from among the Poor Clares when the opportunity arose for the monastery to weigh in on the city's laws against the homeless. She was once again the face when the monastery, with their small ministry against domestic violence, was asked to be involved in the state senate's budget consideration for such centers, as well as domestic violence legislation.

Something had changed within Maura and she threw herself into the Abbess' requests. She had the education and training and one step after another brought less fear in her work. That's not to say she wasn't terrified in speaking before the city council and state senate but the woman she was six months ago couldn't have been there at all.

Maura desperately needed the distraction, especially when her sister would stop in on Saturdays and give her the run-down of what happened in wrestling that week. It was like waving a line of cocaine beneath an addict's nose and then flushing it down the toilet. It wasn't that she was so hung up on Triple H but it was like getting over a break-up with a nosy friend feeding all the information of what your ex-boyfriend was doing.

It was customary to meet with the Abbess six months into the one year novitiate and discuss suitability of the candidate. The Abbess hardly minced words. She praised Maura for her work with the shelter and coming center and then bluntly stated, "You're not made to be a nun." Maura couldn't respond and the Abbess continued. "You've confused your vocation. God has not called you to the sisterhood. God has called you to social work."

"But I am doing social work," she forcefully protested and then remembered her manners, dropping her eyes to clasped hands.

"Maura, I've done this a long time. You came here because you didn't know your vocation. You had terrible seminary teachers—don't tell them I said that. You were a caterpillar and your cocoon has been here. You are an advocate for the voiceless. You are an advocate for those people pushed aside, that no one notices." Those words caused her breath to catch. The older nun steepled her fingers and, with a sigh, plainly stated, "If you persist in the novitiate, I will not recommend your candidacy to the Church. So, this is what I suggest."

The Abbess detailed a plan for her to leave the monastery in the coming days. Martine had already been consulted—the Judas, thought Maura, at first—and would take her back in. The paid assistant director positions of the homeless shelter was coming available. While it was little pay, it would be something for the interim until the family abuse center opened. At which time, the Abbess wanted her to take the head director position.

"Go to your room, go to the garden, the chapel, somewhere and pray about this," the nun encouraged, waving her away. Maura nodded numbly and rose to blindly wander until she wound up in the garden.

It wasn't long before Maura was back at her sister's townhouse. She stayed a couple of months to save a little money before finding her own place and, within another two months, Triple H had waltzed back into her life.

She knew he would be in town on Monday but had not ever expected to run across him. She would be watching RAW on her refurbished laptop. She had been thinking about him more and more, knowing WWE was coming back in town. It would ache a little that he was just across town but that was life and she was moving on.

"Does that make you feel better? Lighten the guilt a little?" She didn't wait for him to answer, dropping her hands to hips. "How did you find me?"

"Deja Thornton," he answered, still trying to make sense of this different woman who now stood before him.

Maura blinked several times trying to process his answer. She and her sister hadn't spoken about Dejah for months. "She's still with Orton, then?"

"Yeah, everybody's surprised," he replied with a shrug.

"I'll be damned," she muttered to herself and then snapped, "You know why I lied and you're off the hook for guilt. Why are you here?"

"This isn't how I expected things to go," he said, apologetically, shaking his head, but she misheard his tone.

"What did you expect me to do? Renounce my vows and come running from the nunnery into your arms? Rescue me from this awful place?"

"I wouldn't have complained," he replied, before he realized what he had said.

"I'm sorry. Say that again," she asked, her arms dropping to her side and her head cocked.

"I want to see you again and again and again," he responded, running a frustrated hand through his hair and then gesturing at her. "Hell, if I could, I would throw you down right here, rip your clothes off, and—"

"Shhh!" she interrupted, heat creeping up her neck and cheeks. "I want to keep my job."

"Will you at least talk to me, about what made you change your mind, about…us?"

She glanced down at her watch. "I'm supposed to be here for a few more hours but I think I can get out of here. I can't leave with you. I'm not even supposed to know you."

"I'm not asking for a lot right now. Just meet me for coffee. I've got a rental car outside. I'll take you anywhere you want."

"I'm disgusting from lunch. I desperately need a shower and a change of clothes," she said, picking at spaghetti sauce stains at the knees of her pants. "Give me fifteen minutes. I'll meet you a block down and we can head back to my apartment…if you're comfortable with that."

"I said 'anywhere.'"

The plywood table was still between them and they both stared at each other for a moment, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Finally, with a deep breath, she led the way back through the maze to the kitchen, neither of them speaking.

Once in the presence of others, Maura put on a big smile and held out her hand towards Hunter. "Thank you, again, sir." She almost faltered when he took her hand and her blood pounded in her ears. "We've completed our goal and I hope you'll think of us again."

The wrestler had barely turned towards the door before he nearly ran over Jahari. The kid held a printed page of the wrestler sporting the Heavyweight belt, seemingly still wet from the printer, and a white undershirt, probably the one he had had on under his uniform. He couldn't help but chuckle as he waved the kid over to a table to sign the items. "Got a camera?" The boy shook his head. "A phone?"

"Mom won't let me have one have until I'm thirteen."

"Go borrow Maura's." The kid ran faster than Hunter thought imaginable.

Maura, having heard everything, held out her phone wordlessly where she sat in the in the office she shared with the other assistant manager of the shelter. She quickly filled in the paperwork from the lunch shift and packed her satchel. A quick pass in the kitchen and a few words with the volunteers who had recently arrived secured the evening for the next manager. She found Sister Thecla and begged off, saying she wasn't feeling well, which was technically true. Racing pulse, flushed skin, dizziness—it wasn't a lie.

On the sidewalk, she stood for a few moments, trying to still her rapid heartbeat. She thought about bolting and leaving Hunter waiting—the fear of the unknown and the inability to control herself around him terrified her. Yet, she couldn't walk away from him.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him leaning up against the silver sportscar. She preferred the tight jeans and black leather jacket but the gray suit still made her mouth water. He held the door open for her and then slid in the other side. The only words that passed between them were her directions to the apartment.

The neighborhood and apartment building didn't look to be the best of neighborhoods, so Hunter wasn't expecting much of her place. It was a studio apartment, the size of which he didn't fondly recall from his first days in the business. Yet, the décor was the quality of an interior designer and brightened the little place. She noticed him appraising her home as she dropped her satchel on the dinette table. "It's all my sister's doing. I gave her an extra key for emergencies and came home to this one day," she said with a shrug. "Sisters—God bless them."

"No kidding. Mine has kept me sane over the years," he honestly replied.

"I'll be a few minutes. Make yourself at home if you can," she offered apologetically, gesturing towards the loveseat and sofa chair. She shut the bedroom door behind her but started to reach back to lock it. She pulled her hands back, pondered what message it would send if he could hear the lock click in place, and then proceeded to strip and shower as fast as she could. She was surprised to find her body responding as if she was anticipating his touch. She wasn't a booty call; they had to talk before anything could happen. Yet, that didn't stop her from spritzing on some body spray that had "miraculously" shown up one day with a host of other items.

Maura and Martine had argued vehemently the day she had come home to find her sparse apartment looking like a magazine spread and her closet full of clothing that cost more than most annual salaries of Maura's clients. Martine made it clear that her income allowed such an indulgence and she received most of her own clothing gratis from the designers anyway. After the two had fought, Maura could give it all away and severely hurt her relationship with her sister or accept the gift that didn't really dent Martine's bank account all that much.

She resisted throwing on jeans and a t-shirt but chose trim black dress pants and white off-the-shoulder sweater, something that she thought wouldn't stand out if they went out for dinner. A small touch of make-up and earrings—who was she?—and she stepped out to find him perusing resale CDs she found at second-hand stores. "No Motorhead, sorry," she said, easing out of the door.

He turned to her, holding several CDs of classical music. He found her outfit sexier than if she was wearing a mini-skirt and mid-rift top. "I don't know anybody who still has actual CDs." She shrugged and came to take them from his hands and pop them in the small CD player. She smelled intoxicating and he had to resist pulling her to him. "No Dobie Gray. Didn't you say he was your favorite?"

"I've only been 'back on the outside' for four months and I guess I haven't found any of his CDs in the resale shops," she explained and settled on the loveseat, tucking her bare feet under her. He took her cue and settled in the sofa chair, moving his suit coat from the chair to the sofa arm.

They were quiet for a moment and then he broke the silence. "I don't know where to start. If you'll give me the chance, there'll be plenty of time to talk about everything but we have to start somewhere."

"I… I don't know…" she responded, drawing in her bottom lip. He wished she wouldn't do that as his insides tightened. She looked up, with a blank expression, and asked, "Are you hungry? It's a little early but I'll cook something." She hoped to stall and the way to man's heart was through his stomach.

"Yeah, sure," Hunter answered and she shot up off the loveseat. With a deep breath, he rose and followed her into the kitchenette. "I'll help."

She started to protest but gave in as she realized she was holding a chopping knife upright. Quickly setting it aside, she said, "I don't have much but this is my favorite." She had him start the risotto as she set ingredients on the small counterspace. There was little room to work and they bumped elbows occasionally and once she backed into him. Neither moved for a brief moment and then she murmured apologies and returned to preparing a salad. Tingles soared through their bodies with each of the little touches. As she dropped pancetta and chopped rosemary into a pan, he ran a hand up under her hair and placed a hand on her back. She jumped but he didn't move and she relaxed against him. "Smells good."

"A friend in Italy cooked this for me once."

"Favorite country to visit?" he asked, his handprint burning into her back.

"Easy. Italy for many reasons," she shrugged, continuing to stir the pancetta and rosemary, "the food, the history, the beauty of the land, the heart of Catholicism.

"UK. Mostly for the people."

"You're a 'people person,' aren't you?" she asked, turning around and leaning on the counter.

"What makes you say that?" he asked, assuming a similar posture.

"It's the way you have with people. It's not manipulation but…" Her words faltered and she held out her hand. "For lack of a better word, influence. You spend so much time on the road with people. I couldn't do it."

"But aren't you a 'people person' too? Isn't that what you do with the homeless shelter and abuse center?"

She nodded. "In a way, yeah. I just don't deal with as many people as you do, with fans, people watching your every move. I tried to hide away from people by going into a monastery." She chuckled. "I was actually kicked out." When his mouth fell open in shock, she couldn't resist a smirk. "Finish putting this together and I'll tell you."

Once seated at the table, she talked around forkfuls, explaining her retreat into failed monasticism. "So, in all reality, I didn't know I could do what I do and would enjoy it. To be honest, that much prayer and meditation was starting to bore me."

"Is it wrong that I find you sexy for getting kicked out of a monastery?" he asked with a wink and a lop-sided grin.

She laughed, a genuine sound that he wasn't sure he would hear from her again. "Why is it you do what you do?"

"You've not watched the DVDs?" he asked facetiously.

"I may be a wrestling addict but I stick within the show," she responded with a snobbish air, titling her nose up. "The behind-the-scenes stuff makes it lose some of its mystery, awe, and wonder."

"Do you really believe that bullshit that just came out of your mouth?"

"No," she laughed again. "I've been rather too self-absorbed to watch DVDs for a while. I've seen the best of your matches but, forgive me for missing out on your life story."

Hunter already knew she was a good listener from their first night. She made it all too easy to talk away when her eyes never strayed from him and she asked questions as he went.

Maura prodded him to continue, asking for more details as he talked. First, she could listen to him talk forever, which she actually found funny because she had often tuned him out in the ring for being boring before this past year. Second, she was procrastinating. She had a great fear that he had an ulterior motive for finding her. They had fallen into an easy companionship again, much like they had at the Irish pub. It could all come crashing down at any moment. The sexual tension had died down after they had settled at the table to eat but it had returned as they carefully danced around each other, touching here and there, most not accidental, as they washed and put up the dishes. For that one moment, she was glad to not have an automatic dishwasher.

There was no sense putting it off any longer and she gestured towards the living area. Again, he took the sofa chair and she settled on the loveseat, tucking her feet up under her. "I still don't know where to start off," she admitted and then apologized, "I'm sorry for bitching at you at the shelter."

"I went about things the wrong way," he replied and then, as an afterthought, added, "Aren't you not allowed to cuss like that?"

She blushed again. "First, I'm not a nun. Second, there's a lot of things Catholics aren't supposed to do and we do them anyhow."

He shifted in the seat and then asked, "What did you mean back at the shelter that I wasn't supposed to come looking for you?"

"I didn't expect that someone like you would care to see someone like me again. I'm a nobody and you're, well, you're Triple H," she gestured broadly at him and then tucked her hands against her body."What could I offer you that you can't find somewhere else? I was just a distraction, a warm body, sex for the night."

"First, I'm a person too. I'm someone who needs a listening ear and someone who cares. Second, you offered me something that I hadn't had in so long that I could hardly remember. I don't know how to describe it. You took me away from that world that was sucking away my soul, my ability to feel." He tried to explain what had led him out that night but it now sounded shallow. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "You started out as a distraction and I regretted not asking if I could see you again before I put you in that cab. You stopped being a nobody long before we went up to my room."

Maura put a hand to her head to try to physically pull all her thoughts together. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. It was all beyond her wildest dreams and she had had quite a few in the dark, lonely nights in the past few months. Over dinner, she had let the thought that maybe he truly wanted to be with her to creep in. He sensed that she was having trouble with what he was saying and stopped speaking, waiting on her to respond.

"I didn't leave that club with you with the hopes of—of—you know. I didn't want to be there—I don't know how you knew that."

"Kindred spirits," he easily replied, leaning back into the seat.

"I wanted to leave and I won't lie and say I wasn't enamored by the fact that you had noticed me. Somewhere in there, you stopped being a wrestler and was someone who gave me one last night of being normal."

"You'll see me again?"

"We are so different. I already knew that but everything we've talked about so far reiterates that. We come from two different worlds," she explained. Part of her wanted to fling herself at him and trust his every word but she also didn't want to be hurt when the relationship couldn't work. It hurt bad enough trying to put aside their one night stand. "You make your living by being on TV. I don't even own a TV—I illegally stream wrestling online. Don't get me started on our disparate salaries. I'm rooted here—I have a commitment to St. Clare's. More than that, I want to keep the commitment now that I know what I'm supposed to do with my life. You live on the coast, constantly travel. I don't know how we make it work."

"We just do. For all that we're different, we're both old souls that made a connection too good to just pass up on because of these circumstances." She was waffling, unsure of his proposal. "Maura," he said, sending shivers down her spine with the way he said her name, and rose to settle beside her as best as possible in the small space. He raised her chin to look at him and took her hands, kissing them both. She was visibly affected. "I can give you everything."

"I don't want everything," she barely replied.

"What do you want?"

"I don't know. I'm content with what I have"

"Content with letting the possibility of us go?" he asked, leaning down to look into her downcast eyes.

"Everything was so simple this morning and now it's so ridiculously complex," she replied, frustrated, and pulled her hands away from his.

"Is this complex?" Hunter asked and leaned in to kiss her. It was just a brush of the lips but desire stirred within each other's core. Maura leaned in to him and the kiss deepened, his hands burrowing deep into her hair. Her self-control disappeared. Her arms circled his neck and she straddled him. He shifted to make room for her, his hands dropping down to her ass to shift her squarely in his lap. While their tongues entwined, his hot fingertips slipped under the edge of her sweater to touch burning flesh. She jerked in his arms and he immediately drew back and apologized, "I'm sorry."

The moment gave Maura a chance to pull herself back together. If they wanted to give any consideration to a relationship, one based on the Irish pub or tonight's dinner rather than a hotel room, they couldn't move this quickly. But, for both of them, it wasn't the scintillating conversation that continued to haunt their dreams over the months but each other's touch. She hadn't flinched when he touched her but her body involuntarily convulsed in shock at those hands for which she had yearned.

"Don't think that," she whispered, pulled the sweater over her head, and tossed it aside. Hunter paused for a moment to take her in and she was afraid she had made the wrong move. She reached for the sweater but he shook his head and ran his hands up her back and over her shoulders, her smooth skin breaking out in goose bumps.

The things they had done to each other's bodies that first night didn't stop the blush from creeping into her cheeks. To hide the blush, she unbuttoned the top buttons on his dress shirt and ran a hand inside, the taut flesh contracting against her fingertips. With a slight tremble, he gathered her hair to the side and unclasped her bra. She threw her head back and moaned as he took one breast in his mouth and his hand massaged the other. Her breasts had ached for his touch in those days after and she quivered beneath his ministrations. She involuntarily arched her back, pressing against him and rocking in his lap. She could feel his hard need beneath her.

Without question or doubt, Maura slipped from his lap when he paused and held her hands out to him. He rose and followed her into the bedroom. "Don't assume anything when," she explained, opening the drawer of the nightstand and removing a pack of condoms, "I pull these out. My sister thought it was funny to leave them there."

"Thank God for sisters," Hunter replied, hooking a finger in the waistband of her pants and pulling her to him. He kissed her again, long and slow, before leaving a hot trail of kisses down her neck and pausing at the juncture of her shoulder. "The things I've thought about doing to you," he said against her skin, eliciting a deep moan from the back of her throat.

"I'll take that as a promise," she replied, pulling him back to look into her clouded eyes. "But I want to feel you in me now…please."

Hunter grinned a devious smile, edging her down to the bed. The two of them quickly helped divest each other of their clothes. He covered her body with his, savoring the feel of their flesh pressed together from head to toe. He ran the back of his hand down her cheek and trailed his calloused fingertips down her neck, through the valley of her breasts, and to the apex of her thighs, leaving her breathless and the blood pounding in her ears. He slipped a finger inside her to find her more than ready and she pushed her hips against his hand. He nudged her thighs apart and slowly slid inside her.

Maura gasped, the memory hardly holding up to the actual moment. He buried himself as deep as possible inside her and she wrapped her legs around him. He wanted to disappear in the pleasure, the rest of the world melting away. They set a slow rhythm at first, reveling in the feel of how they fit together, her curves fitting into the grooves of his muscled body. Despite the desire to remain one, their urges pushed them faster and faster, reaching the heights of passion, melding them together, body and soul. Several hard thrusts later and they cried out each other's name before he collapsed beside her. She rolled over, her stomach against his side and one leg thrown over his.

They lay together panting, waiting for their heartbeats to still. When she could think again, Maura smiled against his chest and traced his jaw with her fingers.

"Favorite finisher?" Hunter asked, one hand lightly brushing the back of her neck.

"Branded or generic?" God, he could fall in love with this girl.

"Both."

"Generic—sit down powerbomb," she answered too quickly, running a finger down the middle of his chest. "Branded—Five Star Frog Splash."

"Favorite submission hold?"

"Branded—Walls of Jericho. Generic… hmmm….surfboard, maybe?"

"Damn, I can't get a break."

"You're asking the wrong questions." She rose up on her elbow to look him in the eyes. "Favorite wrestler to meet in a nightclub? Favorite wrestler to lie to? Favorite wrestler to scare the bejeebus out of you by showing up after ten months? Favorite wrestler to sleep with? Although…." She trailed off and looked away. "I bet Shawn Michaels is really, really great in bed."

"I take it all back. Everything I've said today," he chuckled, rolling over to pin her beneath him.

"I tap out!"

"That was quick and no fun," he pouted and carefully maneuvered himself to keep her beneath him but not crush her.

"I can think of better ways to have fun," she said with a devious smile and pulled him down to kiss him.

"We'll make it work, you know," he said, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself more than her.

"I know," she responded, her tone echoing his.

Three Years Later

They had indeed managed to make it work. The long absences made their time together sweeter. Every other week, sometimes more, they traded off with him visiting Chicago or her visiting Connecticut. They spoke every day, even if only for a few minutes. They fought little. Usually, they were too busy simply being together, relishing the little time they were given. It still took them a long time to say 'I love you' even though they probably fell in love that night in the Irish pub.

When they did argue, it was generally over his inability to hang up wet towels or her reluctance to attend shows with him. She went but with some persuading. She hated the attention and he loved to show her off. Their first major fight came when, without consulting her, he had a California king-sized bed delivered to her apartment. His rationale was that if he stayed with her, he needed to have something he could fit on. She felt as if he had to give her items she couldn't afford or wouldn't buy for herself. It would have gone easier if he hadn't brought up her moving to Connecticut in the same week. She was committed to her job, just like him, but she wasn't about to ask him to give up the WWE for her. It didn't take much to smooth over the argument.

Now, nearly three years later, Maura stood surveying her little, empty apartment. She was moving to New York City to join the Congress' Commission on Domestic Violence. Hunter's network had opened other networks to her and she learned of an opening for junior staffer on the Commission. The headquarters were in New York due to the Congresswoman heading up the Commission being from the city. It was easier and wiser for her to run its work from her hometown. Surprisingly, the Abbess of St. Clare's encouraged her to apply for the position, seeing the honor as one of influencing national policy on a serious issue. The icing on the cake was being within less than two hours' drive from Hunter. They had talked again about moving in together but the conversation was tabled until after she settled in at her new job.

The little Chicago apartment held quite a few memories. It was the place of her independence, where she finally came into her own. She broke her first bone there…while tripping on her first pet she owned as an adult. Her adopted black-and-white kitten Perpetua, named after the saint, and nicknamed Pet, ran under her feet in an attempt to attack the older cat that she just couldn't leave behind at the pet shelter, a charcoal male missing an eye and an ear. She was learning just what a sucker she was. Old Tom acted like her only baby and Pet attached herself to Hunter like he was the savior of the world. He became a cat person far faster than he would have liked, especially since Pet slept on top of him when they were together.

Of course, the apartment was the place where Maura and Hunter found each other again. Her fear that they wouldn't last didn't dissipate quickly, so much so that she didn't even tell her sister about them. She chuckled to herself at just how Martine found out about them. It had been over two weeks since Hunter had left Chicago after hunting her down and he was back in town. Despite it been sixteen days—she had counted—Maura inwardly promised she would keep her hands to herself. She closed the door behind him at the apartment and it was like magnets. They were instantly in each other's arms, pulling off clothes as they tried to make their way to the bedroom. They made it as far as the couch before they were naked and she pushed him down on the couch. With no argument, he reached for her and she settled in his lap and around him. They paused, both sighing heavily. She slowly moved against as he took one breast in his mouth and rubbed his thumb over the other.

In the throes of ecstasy, neither heard the lock turn and the door open before the screeching exclamation, " .God!" Maura whipped her head around to see her sister, staring with her mouth agape, her shopping bag hitting the floor, but thankfully she held on to the plant in her other arm.

In utter shame and panic, Maura slid from Hunter's lap, pulling the blanket on the back of the couch over them. "Holy fucking hell," Martine exclaimed when she realized who her sister was screwing, "You were supposed to be at work." She pointed at both of them. "You two have two minutes to get your shit together," she waved her hand around, "and then I'm coming back in and I want to hear an explanation." It didn't matter who was dating her little sister, even it was Triple H himself; this was her little sister—plus, Maura had kept a secret this awesome from her and that wasn't about to go away lightly. Martine's excitement gave way quickly after bitching out the couple.

Maura's eyes swept across the apartment one more time, engrossed in her reminiscing. She didn't hear Hunter come up behind. "You okay?" he asked, running a hand up under her heavy hair. "I thought you were behind me."

"I'm good. I'm just thinking about what I'm leaving behind," she replied, turning around to face him.

He kissed the tip of her nose. "But think of what you're doing next. New York City….me…" He grinned and she pulled him down for a long kiss.

"I know," she replied, smiling against him, and then turned to shut the door behind her for the final time.

FINI! (Really this time!)

*Title taken from Frank Sinatra's "Strangers in the Night."