This whole mess started because of the WWF stuff I watched concerning Goldust and Undertaker's feud back in 1996, because I clearly have nothing better to do. But seriously, Goldust's thirst was too real and I couldn't help myself but ship these two. And since I have more thoughts about this ship than one-shots I can write, I figured WHY NOT MASH UP EVERY THOUGHT IN A SINGLE FIC? Also the rating on this fic is for later chapters. Also, there's a truckload of fluff in this so beware XD

The beginning of this fic picks things up right after their first confrontation before Beware of Dog, and Undertaker is already suffering with weird thoughts and feelings he most definitely doesn't want.

Fingers snapped in front of the Undertaker's face and he jolted on his seat, head tilting up and his gaze falling on Paul Bearer's ghastly face.

"Were you listening to anything I was saying?" He asked in his usual high-pitched voice, visibly annoyed by being flat out ignored.

Listening? Undertaker couldn't say he was. But for the sake of his poor ears - because he wouldn't hear the end of it if he admitted he wasn't paying attention - he simply nodded at the other man.

Bearer didn't quite believe that nod, but decided to let that go. Still, there seemed to be something terribly wrong going on with Undertaker the past couple days. He was far more distant than normal, to the point he didn't even seem to be able to focus on his regular job of building coffins and putting together flower arrangements. His fighting skills weren't affected though, as far as he was concerned, but he surely wasn't acting normal.

"Did that... degenerate got to your head?" Paul's tone shifted from annoyance to pure disgust.

Undertaker firmly shook his head. It was another straight up lie though. He would never admit it, not even to Bearer, that yes, Goldust had gotten to his head since they last met face to face. He didn't know if he should commend or destroy Goldust for being able to do such a thing. No one ever affected him so strongly, and it was uncomfortable, unnatural and he wanted that feeling gone.

Usually he never thought much about whoever he was going up against in his upcoming matches, aside from the usual need to smash their heads by piledriving them against the mat. But with Goldust it was being a little different. Undertaker was still thinking about Goldust's words and actions more than a week later after they happened, which were things he would usually not give much attention to. Nothing ever really stuck with him when confronting his rivals, except stuff he could use to fuel his resentment towards them. But not this time.

Thankfully, their match was going to take place in just three days, so he could just throw Goldust inside that golden casket where he belonged and be done with it. And most likely move on to setting down Mankind in a resting place of his own.

At least that's what he hoped for.

Only his match on Sunday could really tell.

When the night of that fated event rolled in, there was a lot of agitation in the back, in between and during matches. Among all the people running up and down corridors and closing and opening doors, Marlena casually paced around, cigar in hand and the sound of her heels clicking softly on the floor being drowned by the noise coming from the crowd outside and people having loud conversations with each other. She looked as cold and distant as ever, just darting glances to a few people here and there that looked her way.

What a sad bunch of bores... She thought to herself before knocking on the door to Goldust's locker room and entering without really waiting for an answer. She knew she didn't need one.

As soon as the door closed behind her, she opened a smile, before taking a drag from her cigar.

"You still applying your make up, dear?" She asked, smoke leaving her lips as she talked. She walked up to her director's chair, which was placed next to where Goldust was sitting.

"Marlena, darling, you know you cannot rush perfection." He replied, smiling back, a brush on his hand he was using to cover his face and neck in gold.

"I am aware." Marlena watched Goldust for a while then spoke up again. "You seem unusually upbeat about this whole thing."

"Hm?" Goldust shifted his gaze from the mirror to Marlena, the tip of his brush still near his face as he gave her a mildly confused look.

"What's with you and graveyard boy anyway?" She straight up asked, leaning back on her chair and taking a long drag from her cigar.

"Ah, Undertaker. The Phenom." Goldust's smile was back on his lips within seconds, and he resumed his work with the make up. "I'm just... interested."

"You are not just interested. I know you well. I know when you are 'interested'. This is not it." Marlena casually reached for the champagne bottle resting on the nearby table. Was Goldust really so sure he would win he went ahead and bought that to celebrate later on?

"Alright, you got me." Goldust put his brush down and raised his hands in a sign of defeat. "There's a lot more to this. It's just..." He sighed, throwing his head back and leaning on his seat. "He just looks so genuine, so real. He's unlike anyone I've ever met. Everything he does is black and white. His intentions are always clear. That fascinates me."

Marlena nodded, visibly amused by Goldust's words and his mildly enthralled tone.

"You know how back in Hollywood almost everyone tries too hard? How everyone is just so fake and plastic you might as well call them Ken and Barbie?" Goldust looked at Marlena, his facial expression very serious. "I'm tired of it. I'm tired of fake. I need something real, someone who just is who they are." And he couldn't help but wonder how ironic it was that someone like him, who made a point of covering himself in make up, was far more authentic than most people he knew.

There was a soft laugh from Marlena, and she leaned closer to Goldust.

"Everyone from Hollywood is fake? Even me?" She teased.

"Oh, dear Marlena..." Goldust shook his head, cupping her face with his hands. "You are a gift. You always stay by my side when no one else does and you were one of the most important things to ever happen to me." He softly kissed her lips, smiling right after. "I don't want you to ever forget that."

"Don't worry, I'm not." Marlena leaned back again, running her fingers through her hair. "Still, don't let your little crush get in the way of your performance tonight."

"Oh, please, it's not a crush." Goldust rolled his eyes, resuming his make-up work. "Crushes are for high school teenagers. I'm a full grown man." He sounded almost insulted. "And I'm not going to get all smitten about him and not deliver a stunning match. It's almost like you don't know me!"

"Alright, alright…" Marlena nodded, smiling softly, deciding they had talked enough and leaving Goldust be to finish his make-up.

When the match finally took place, it was a disaster, at least from Undertaker's point of view. He almost got the lid of the casket closed on him twice, which was already embarrassing enough, considering who he was up against. But to be ambushed yet again by Mankind when he was just so close to victory was just rubbing salt in the wound. In the end, when Mankind closed the coffin on him, he couldn't think of anything else but escape. Escape from the building, Paul Bearer's inevitable scolding, the noisy crowd… Everything. Fortunately, one of the perks of being undead was the ability to simply vanish out of sight when needed.

He could only imagine Paul's reaction when the casket was opened and he wasn't there anymore.

Undertaker was now far, far away from that ring, at the edge of town, hiding in the darkness of some nearby woods. He was sitting on a large rock, hands on his head and elbows resting on his thighs. He felt so strangely powerless and pathetic, his blood boiling.

Who that guy thought he was to make a mockery out of his moves like that?

And why was he letting those things get to his head so much? Why was he allowing himself to get so easily affected? It wasn't common, or normal. He wasn't even considering Mankind as a factor right now, as his mind seemed to be solely focused on that golden-faced egomaniac and how he just… how he made him look like a fool.

And what made him angrier, not at Goldust, but at himself, were the small, passing thoughts on the back of his mind that insisted on popping up. Thoughts on how the other actually put up a decent fight. How he actually showed a lot of strength. How actually impressive it was he was able to almost eliminate him twice on his own.

Why was he even considering commending Goldust's skills at any level? Why the idea of complimenting Goldust crossed his mind twice already in the space of two weeks?

Undertaker clenched one of his fists in sheer frustration and punched the rock he was sitting on, letting out a huff of air. He just wanted those thoughts out of his mind already, in every way, shape or form.

The literal worst part of all that was the fact Bearer would just know Goldust had affected him, despite Undertaker telling him otherwise. And, dear Lord, he was not ready to hear the entire discourse that would originate from it.

He simply decided it was for the best to just stay on those woods for the night. He knew Bearer was most likely having a heart attack back in the building still, trying to figure out where he went to, but he figured his manager would survive.

In the meantime, Goldust was popping his bottle of champagne open to celebrate his victory, making a point to invite Mankind over for a glass, which he surprisingly accepted. Goldust didn't really mind the other's mental instability and bizarreness. Actually, since he was strongly benefiting from the bone Mankind had to pick with Undertaker, it was only polite to thank the other man for his help. It was a little jarring to see the deadman being so roughly overpowered, but he did his best to disregard that.

After all, matches were strictly business. And Goldust never mixed business with pleasure. That was just extremely unprofessional.

The next day, Undertaker's frustration had simmered down considerably. Spending the night in those silent woods helped a great deal. And so did punching tree trunks until his knuckles were sore. Still, there was the unavoidable meeting with Paul that day, which he certainly wasn't looking forward to. But in the end he found himself standing in front of the door to Bearer's room at the hotel they were staying, bits of leaves and sticks stuck to his clothes and hair.

It was still early, but he figured Bearer was already awake, so he knocked on the door, and it opened way faster than he expected, as if Paul was just behind it, waiting for someone to knock.

As soon as the door was opened, Undertaker's eyes focused on Paul's less than satisfied expression, eyes seemingly darker than usual. The shorter man just stepped away from the door and Undertaker entered. He didn't need Bearer to tell him to do so.

He walked up to a chair in the room, almost flopping down on it. He was a little exhausted, but knew he wouldn't be able to rest. At least not for a while, considering Paul looked even more displeased than he thought he would be.

"Would you care to explain what happened yesterday?" Bearer said between his teeth, not really wanting to be mad at Undertaker, but his irritation was getting the best of him.

Undertaker didn't even know where to begin explaining what was going on, and it was also hard to apologize for not performing adequately the previous night, because it was just hard for him to apologize in general. It was like those types of words always got stuck in his throat whenever he tried to say them out loud. Even to someone he considered family like Bearer.

"I do not have an explanation, aside from not feeling quite as myself lately." That was as close as he could get from being "open" to Paul.

There was a groan from the other man, and he began pacing around the room in short, nervous steps.

"I knew it! Oh, I knew that scum had messed with your head!" Bearer gesticulated with his hands wildly as he spoke. "That… that… Oh, why did I let things get like this?"

"It is not your fault." Undertaker said, which was true. It wasn't like Paul did things to enable whatever was going on inside his head.

"How could you let that… vile low life get the best of you like that?" Bearer still had his teeth quite clenched, eyes narrow as he looked straight at Undertaker. "How could you let him poison you with his words?"

Undertaker had no explanation for that, so he decided to remain silent.

"This is a disgrace! I'm not letting him get away scot free from doing this to you though, mark my words!" Paul's voice got more and more high-pitched with every word, as if that was even possible. "I will talk to that manager of his and I will demand you two have a rematch. I will not stand for his insolence, neither will I simply accept him getting help from that… disgusting guard dog he got on his side."

In all honesty, Undertaker didn't want a rematch. In fact he didn't want to be anywhere around Goldust in the near future. He figured if he stayed away from the other that would finally put his conflicting thoughts to rest and he could finally let the issue die out like it should. Because, frankly, being in such close proximity to Goldust the previous night didn't exactly help, as he found himself constantly being reminded of their other encounter just two weeks before their match, which was the complete opposite of what he thought would happen once he finally got to throw a few punches at Goldust.

He said nothing to Paul though. He knew trying to change his mind once he decided on something was a lost battle. So Undertaker kept on listening to Bearer ramble on and on about how depraved Goldust was, and occasionally get scolded for his performance and how lackluster it was. A few times it occurred to him to simply chockeslam Paul so he would stop talking, because his head was thumping from last night still, but decided against it. After all, he wouldn't be able to do such a thing to the only family he had.

But… oh, how he wanted to just lay down and rest for a few hours instead of sitting there and pretend he was paying close attention to everything Bearer was saying.

At one point, Undertaker zoned out, and for a brief, peaceful moment, his head was finally empty. No Goldust, no Paul's voice, no "surprises" from Mankind, nothing.

Fingers soon snapped in front of his face.

"Are you listening to me?"

Then all his thoughts came back in one go, like a tidal wave.

Still, he just nodded at Bearer.

That was going to be a long, long month.