Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.

Chapter Twenty-Six

January 20th, 2014

Nutter Center, Dayton, Ohio

I did it.

218 days as Divas Champion.

I had broken the record. I was the longest-reigning Divas Champion of all time.

I wanted to scream it down the halls. I wanted to go up to every single Superstar's face and show them the belt, show them how much I fought to get here. I'd done it. I'd done exactly what I said I'd do all those months ago.

I settled for telling the Divas locker room where the party would be if they wanted to congratulate me and celebrate my achievement. Surprisingly, no one seemed interested.

Instead, everyone was focused on the newest return: Batista.

Maybe I should have been more excited about his sudden arrival. I really wanted to be – the guy just played a superhero in a comic book movie. But…

It seemed like this was just one more distraction for the Authority. Maybe Triple H would have done something about a Divas match at the Royal Rumble before, but now he was consumed with keeping the peace between Orton and Batista. With six days to go until the event, I was starting to lose hope of hearing any plans for a Divas match.

That was the one – the one – tiny drawback to breaking the record. Now, I didn't have that fear of losing the title before I could break it. Now, there were no upsides to not defending the Divas title at a pay-per-view, no thought of at least getting a few more days unchallenged.

I wanted more competition. I wanted more chances to prove myself. I wanted more respect.

I wanted to get out of this meeting room and go enjoy my party.

Unfortunately, Stephanie seemed to have other plans in mind. At the start of the show, she announced a quick Authority meeting over Batista's return. And then she wouldn't let most of us leave.

So, instead of celebrating my triumph with my friends, I was stuck in a board room with Stephanie, Vickie and Brad, watching the show on a monitor and occasionally listening to Stephanie arbitrarily berate us for whatever came into her mind. Usually it was the disorganisation of the show, or the discontent in the locker rooms, or the lack of interesting match-ups.

Kane was lucky enough to escape this, but only because he's been forced to go out into the ring and apologise for putting his hands on an employee. Even if that employee was CM Punk. As Stephanie raged on, my eyes wandered to the screen to see Kane uncomfortably glower in the middle of the ring.

"AJ?"

I tried to hide my wince, as Stephanie realised I hadn't been paying attention.

"Yes?" I replied, trying to be civil.

"I don't know if you're aware," Stephanie said, her eyes narrowing, "but this is a meeting. In meetings, members listen. They offer their input. They participate."

I bristled at her tone, but tried to paste on a smile. "Thank you for the advice, Stephanie."

Her lips pursed at the sarcasm in my voice, but didn't comment further. As she turned to continue her scathing criticisms, I spoke up again. "I guess I was just a little too distracted trying to come up with plans for this Sunday."

She turned back to face me, which meant I got to look her in the eye as I finished. "You know, since you haven't managed to put together a Divas match this Sunday."

Stephanie's gaze turned icy. In the past, I would have backed down from her glare. Now? I was just spoiling for a fight.

"Maybe you should work something out with Dean," Stephanie said, her voice smooth and reaching sub-zero temperatures. "You two seem to be getting close. Maybe he'll suddenly find himself with plenty of free time on Sunday."

My vision started to turn red. If Stephanie kicked Dean out of the Royal Rumble and blamed it on me…

Dean would be crushed. And furious. And I wasn't sure who he'd blame for it.

It would be Dolph all over again with his World Championship match with Del Rio.

Then, CM Punk's music hit.

Stephanie tore her gaze from me, and watched the monitor with unnerving scrutiny as Punk strolled down to the ring. The sheer vitriol in her eyes was unsettling, even for me – and I wasn't exactly Punk's biggest fan either.

Punk grabbed a microphone, and Stephanie looked back to the three of us. "Here's a chance to prove yourselves. Go make sure this doesn't get out of hand."

"Is there a plan?" Brad asked as we hurried down the arena hallways.

"This is Raw, you're the General Manager," Vickie said. "You should be the one with a plan."

Brad made a face but thought it over. "Get near the ramp. Watch the monitor. And…improvise?"

Behold, our Raw GM.

We managed to make it to the usual backstage area where wrestlers would wait to make their entrances. If anything happened, we'd be mere seconds away from getting out there and breaking it up.

Just in time to see Punk hit Kane over the head with his microphone.

I barely had time to catch my breath, as Kane and CM Punk started pummelling each other in the ring, before Brad turned to me. "AJ, get out there."

I blinked, staring at him. "Me? That's how you're improvising?"

"You can distract them, they both…" Brad trailed off, unsure how to phrase his next words. "Had a whole…something…with you a few years ago, didn't they?"

Oh, great. Thanks for reminding me.

"Please," Brad said, getting desperate.

I clenched my jaw, but reluctantly grabbed a microphone from the nearby sound technician. "You owe me, Brad."

Looking to the technician, I muttered with some reluctance. "Play my music."

Sure enough, both men in the ring paused when my entrance theme began to play. I hurried out before they got back to punching each other, and tried hard not to throw up and run away.

The first time I'd talked to Punk in over a year, and it had to be in front of 10,000 people.

"Stop!"

I held up one hand, the other clutching the microphone so hard that my knuckles were turning white.

Both men were staring at me as I made my way down towards the ring.

Kane was closer, jacket half-off in preparation for a fight. He'd be the easier one to calm down.

"I got this. No need to trouble yourself any further." I said. He glared at Punk, still not convinced. I placed my hand on his arm, trying to get his attention again – and he tensed at the contact, his head turning to look at me.

After a few moments, he nodded tersely and headed back up the ramp. Leaving me with Punk.

He was stood in the centre of the ring, microphone in hand and a smirk on his face. I swallowed, approaching the steps and ducking under the ropes.

Here we were. Sharing the ring. Punk's smirk didn't budge as he raised the microphone up to his mouth.

This was going to suck.

"AJ. Can't say I expected to see you come out here," Punk said. "This doesn't concern you, so just turn around and skip right back to the Authority and tell them that I'm not playing this little game."

"The Authority aren't playing any games, Punk," I argued. I really didn't appreciate how condescending he sounded. "They recognise that Kane attacking you last week was a mistake, and they made him apologise. It's that simple."

"Then why, exactly, are you out here?" Punk asked, raising an eyebrow. "I have a problem with Kane. I have a problem with the Shield. I don't have a problem with you. You don't need to be out here."

"And neither do you, Punk," I pointed out. All I needed to do was get him backstage, away from the cameras. That was my job. "I'm just doing my job. You're the one acting like a brat."

"A brat?" Punk repeated. I suppressed the urge to step back from his growing anger. "You want to talk about being a brat? Because I still haven't forgotten you following me around for six months, begging me for attention. You really want to talk about being a brat? How about we talk about the tantrum you threw when I didn't watch your match, huh? Or the time you tried to throw yourself through a table because I didn't pay attention to you skipping around during my match? Why don't we talk about that?"

A sense of dread started to sink in. It was like I'd just been doused in ice-cold water. "That…that was years ago, I don't see how that's relevant to you now acting like–"

"No, the only thing not relevant here is you," Punk snapped. "Because you're right, that was years ago. And yet you're still here, still bugging me. And I'm baffled by it, AJ, I really am. After all this time, you're still obsessed with me."

A lump formed in my throat. That was not true. I wasn't that girl anymore, I was just trying to do my job, I didn't care anymore–

"And it seems like no matter who you're chasing after, or what kind of schemes you pull, you still wind up back to me. You can try to hide it with your little pantsuits and your speeches about saving the Divas division, but you're still that clingy little girl who pranced around wearing my t-shirts," Punk spat, moving in for the kill.

I felt tears begin to prick the back of my eyes, and wanted to scream because that would only prove Punk's point.

"So, I'm going to repeat the same advice I gave that little girl, AJ," Punk told me, drawing out his words. "Get some help."

I froze. Every single muscle in my body stiffened at his words. My brain shorted out for a second, and all I felt was a brief moment of numbness. All I could do was stare at Punk, shaking as he watched me with a guarded expression.

And just when I thought I was going to explode in his face…

"Sierra. Hotel. India. Echo. Lima. Delta."

Punk's eyes widened at the sound of the Shield's entrance music, giving me the satisfaction of watching his face drop.

We both looked over to the Shield making their way through the crowd. I blinked in surprise at how fast they were going – they were already half-way to the ring. My gaze naturally found Dean, and my surprise only grew at how furious he looked.

I furrowed my brow, briefly confused on why the Shield had suddenly turned up, and why they seemed to be on the warpath. It was rare that something got them so riled up, and I didn't see how this could affect them so much.

That is, until I realised I'd started to cry.

My hand reached up on impulse, as if to check I really had been crying. Sure enough, my fingers came away damp. I glanced over at Punk, then at Dean. He had murder in his eyes.

Oh.

Well, shit. Punk was dead.

For a brief second, I was filled with a grim satisfaction at the idea. Then, I remembered why I was out here in the first place – to stop this situation spiralling out of control.

Making one last effort to avoid total anarchy, I grabbed Punk's arm.

"Punk…" I pleaded. "This doesn't have to happen."

Punk stared down at me, jaw tightening. I looked into his eyes, tried to read his thoughts. There was a time when I thought I knew him, better than I knew myself.

Then, his gaze shifted to the three men circling the ring.

"What a surprise," Punk stated, almost sounding bored. "AJ has managed to convince three guys to do her dirty work for her. I guess we know now the Shield really do like to share everything."

I barely had time to register his words, before Dean launched himself at Punk.

The two crashed to the mat, trading punches as they fell. I backed away, admitting defeat. There was no reaching Punk now, It and honestly, I wanted to see him bleed.

As I backed out of the ring, I bumped into Seth. He gave me a fleeting look – probably one of sympathy, he was smart enough to figure out the trouble waiting for me backstage – before joining the fray.

Casting one last look back at the carnage, I headed up the ramp and towards the inevitable tongue-lashing from Stephanie McMahon.

I studied the decorations, reaching out to tweak the banner into just the right place.

AJ Lee – Longest Reigning Divas Champion.

It still didn't quite feel real. I was officially in the history books. I had done what I promised, what I hoped.

My hand travelled down to the belt around my waist, stroking the edge of the butterfly lightly.

Now, all I had to do was wait for everyone to show up, so we can all have cake and celebrate.

I sat down on one of the chairs, facing the door. I told everyone to meet here at around this time, so they should be coming soon.

Two minutes went by.

Those two soon turned into five minutes.

And those slowly started to tick up to ten minutes.

No one was here yet.

My heart began to sink. What if no one turned up?

That was stupid, right? Of course they will. Just half an hour ago, Dean and the rest of the Shield rushed out to help me with Punk. They wouldn't decide to miss something that meant so much to me.

Tamina had been a stoic, silent fixture of the group for months now. Layla was…Layla was probably my closest female friend. And Big E…

Big E had been by my side for over a year.

Yeah, they had to make it here.

I started drumming my fingers against my title belt, trying to calm my breathing. I was starting to get flashbacks to my childhood birthday parties, waiting by the door in the hopes that maybe just one of my classmates would turn up. Having to lie to my parents and say I had forgotten to send out invitations, or everyone was sick, just to save some pride.

Oh, God. No one was coming.

Tears were just starting to prick the back of my eyes, when the door swung open.

"AJ!" Layla greeted, smiling. She was wearing a blue, pointed party hat and held up a bunch of balloons. I could have wept at the sight, especially as she was followed in by Tamina and Big E – both wearing party hats. Big E was carrying what looked to be a big chocolate cake.

"Sorry, we're a little late. Turns out those chocolate cake things with the gooey centres were way harder to find than we thought they'd be," Layla explained.

There was no stopping the tears welling up in my eyes. "You remembered I like the gooey chocolate cake?"

"Of course," Big E shrugged, carefully setting the cake down onto the table.

I couldn't help it. I launched myself at them, wrapping them all into one big group hug. "You guys are the best."

Despite the awkward attempts at reciprocating the hug – probably the main reason we didn't usually group-hug in the first place – the three of them definitely seemed touched at my sudden outburst of emotion.

It didn't last long.

"Do you guys want to get into that cake now?" I asked, edging towards the cake on the table.

Before the rest of them could reply, Layla tilted her head at me. "Don't you want to wait for Ambrose and the rest?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but my words died in my throat when I caught Big E's expression.

He stared at me. "Ambrose? Why are we waiting for Ambrose?"

There was a pause.

Layla stared at me, incredulous. Even Tamina raised an eyebrow.

"You didn't tell him?" Layla asked, shocked.

"I…I was really busy!" I tried to defend myself. "You know, with the Rumble coming up and Stephanie on my back all the time…"

"Tell me what, AJ?" Big E asked. He didn't look particularly curious, or surprised. In fact, it seemed like he knew exactly what I'd neglected to tell him.

I mumbled out a reply. "Me and Ambrose…Dean…are kind of…a thing."

Big E continued to stare at me, a completely neutral expression on his face. I shifted my weight to my other foot, feeling as if I was under interrogation from my mother about a new boyfriend.

Not that that ever happened to me, really. My teenage years were not a particularly great time for my love life. Or my early twenties.

Big E let out a deep sigh, and crossed his arms. "You know I'll have to give him the Talk, right?"

"The Talk?" I repeated. Somehow, I gathered that this probably wasn't the same 'Talk' I was given by my parents at thirteen – the one that then went unused for over a decade afterwards.

"You know, the Talk. The whole 'break her heart and I break your face' talk," Big E elaborated.

I tried to fight a smile. "Aw, E. You're adorable when you threaten severe bodily harm."

"I thought that was your thing," Big E noted, cracking a smile.

Before I could reply, the door opened up again to reveal Dean, flanked by his two Shield brothers. He caught my eye, and smiled in relief. The last time he'd seen me, I remembered with a jolt, Punk had made me cry.

I tried to smile even wider, just to reassure him I was fine.

Glancing over at Big E, my smile waivered.

"Please be nice?" I asked, quietly. "He…he really means a lot to me."

Big E stared at me for a second, before nodding.

Well, it was finally time for some of that cake.