The Forest for the Trees

A/N: Okay, first of all - what the hell happened to this site? I step away for a couple of months to catch my barings, and I come back to the most confusing upload ever! Well, not ever, but confusing when I was used to the other. I guess I should just post more often and not complain about it, huh?

Anyway, I feel like I should apologize. When I finished Man in the Making, I told you that the third in this Randy/Tatum/Jamie trilogy would be forthcoming. I didn't know that it would take me months to finally put pen to paper and hash out a story. But thanks for Shannon and Kim for helping me work through the issues that I was having with it. Now the story is complete, just needing to be posted, and so that part should go fairly quickly, I think. I hope. Of course, I've learned my lesson about making promises of quick postings, right?

As always, reviews are appreciated and I hope you enjoy! Oh, and I'm not going to specifically state who is narrating each chapter, but it should become fairly obvious within the first paragraph or so.

Hey, welcome back! Seems like it wasn't that long ago that y'all were checkin' in on me and James poolside, right? Yeah, well time flies and all. So I guess I should probably catch ya up on what's been goin' down in Randyland since last time. That was about a year ago now. Crazy.

So Jamie took a job with the PR team and spends most of her time tryin' to wrangle me and my teammates. Not an enviable job, if you ask me. Of course, I haven't really been so hard to nail down, seeing as I broke my fuckin' collarbone. I'm alright - no worries. I just got the belt back a few hours ago, so life is money right now. I got no complaints. Actually, to be honest with you, I can't remember the last time I felt this damn good. About everything. Life's just good, isn't it?

"How 'bout another round, kids?" Just as John raises his glass to catch the waitress's attention, Maria grabs his arm and pulls it back down toward the table.

Shaking my head, I hold up a finger. "This one's on me, man," I announce.

But Maria's not really worried about who's buyin'. She's more concerned with narrowing her eyes at her husband and asking, "Sweetie, are you sure you should?" in a severely sweet tone.

Alright, so almost everything is good. My life is good, anyway. John and Maria? Not so good. I guess that's the kind of thing that happens after a few years together? I don't know, seeing as I have no plans to take that plunge, but things between the Tweedle Dee and Dumb are not so peachy. It seems Maria is convinced that John is turning into some kind of bumbling alcoholic.

"Am I sure I should what?" he asks, pulling his arm away like she's holding a lighter under his bicep or something. "Hell yeah, I'm sure!" John lets out a boisterous laugh and tips his empty glass toward the blond at my side. "How 'bout you, James? You up for another round, baby doll?"

Surprised? I mean, I know I told you that Jamie's still with the company, but are you surprised to find us together? Probably not - nobody in my family was surprised. Hardly anybody we work with was surprised. Everybody likes to act like they saw it comin' from a mile away, but I don't know how. I sure as hell didn't. I mean, we've been dating for about three months now, and there's no big story to tell. We were friends, and then we were waking up naked together.

It's nothin' serious or anything as of yet, but Jamie's the coolest chick I know. She doesn't just tell me what to do, but she's not afraid to tell me what she thinks. And in moments like this, when John and Maria are on the edge of something ugly, Jamie gets this look that says she knows exactly what's going on, and she can handle it. "I'm good," she answers John softly.

I'll tell ya this: Jamie's come a long way in the last year. She's miles away from the battered woman I met eighteen months ago. She's more self-possessed and assured. She knows what she wants, and she just keep going after it, even when that scares her or freaks her out, for whatever reason. But when shit hits the fan, especially when John and Maria start arguing, she kind of retreats. Almost like a war vet havin' a flashback or something. And I hate that repressed look in her eyes more than anything. Makes me wanna take both of these two chuckleheads by the back of the neck and knock their heads together. Jamie shouldn't have to go back to that place in her mind. Ever.

Of course, John doesn't notice the irritation on my face, or the slight blush of embarrassment creeping up Jamie's neck. "Lightweights," he snicks under his breath, tipping his empty tumber to his lips. His tongue, visible through the clear glass, stretches to extract the last of the nectar from the very bottom of the tumbler.

"John." Maria has moved beyond amused, or affectionate. Her voice is firm and full of warning. And it doesn't take a genius to know that our night of celebrating my victorious ascent to the top of the pack once more is headed downhill. And fast.

"Maria," John mocks in a high-pitched voice that causes her to fix her lips in a tight line. If somebody doesn't intervene, things are going to get publicly ugly. There is one thing about John and Maria that not everybody knows how to handle. One thing that some of our friends don't really dig, or respect. But I, for one, appreciate the fact that they have no shame in expressing themselves, no matter who may be around. Whether jamming their tongues down one another's throats, or screaming until their faces turn the color of tomatoes, they just are who they are. All the time. Unapologetically.

Moving my arm from the back of Jamie's chair to her shoulder, I turn my face to my girlfriend. "Ya know what, James?" She looks at me with those pleading eyes, begging me to fix the situation. It doesn't happen often anymore, this rising need to save everyone I care about from everything dangerous in their paths. But once in awhile, occasionally, Jamie will turn those big, doe eyes on me and I feel my fists start to ball and my mind start to race for a solution. "Why don't you go show Maria that new dress you bought for the Hall of Fame ceremony?"

Without word or question, she nods and pushes away from the table, motioning for Maria to join her.

But Maria's not interested in Jamie's dress. Or anything, really, besides shifting the target of her eye-daggers from John to me. "Randy," she says my name in the same tone that she just used on her husband a minute ago.

Maybe she forgets that that we are not married, and she does not scare me. Rolling my shoulders, I smile easily. "Don't worry about it, Sweetheart. I got it covered." I nod my head toward the place where Jamie is standing behind my chair. She catches her bottom lip between her teeth, a glimmer of hope daring to glimmer just behind her wide eyes. Ya know, it's kinda nice to be the stable guy for once, right? The one the girls know they can count on to keep a level head, instead of knockin' somebody's ass out? I like that.

As the ladies head off, I hear Jamie filling Maria in on the fight (disagreement) we had over the appropriate cut and color of her dress at the store yesterday. Seriously, I don't know all the rules, but a red mini is not out of line for a formal ceremony, is it? I mean, you shoulda seen her legs in that dress . . . Mmm!

Anyway, the waitress places two more glasses before John and myself, and my best friend rolls his eyes and grunts with a heavy sigh. "That woman, I swear to God, Orton!" he exclaims.

"That woman loves you're stinkin' drunk ass, man," I point out, settling into the groove that is most comfortable for us as I lean back in my chair. John and I have been friends for year. I can say whatever the fuck I want to him. In his current condition, I'm pretty sure he won't remember to be angry with me in the morning anyway.

This time, though, he knows that I'm right. He knows that Maria loves him, and we both know he's still fuckin' crazy about her. He just get a little . . . loud . . . and obnoxious when he drinks too much. Oh, who am I kidding? Cena's loud and obnoxious all the time, but he gets a little more careless when he's drunk. "She don't have to be so fuckin' overbearing about it all the fucking time. That's all I'm sayin'."

He takes a drink and rolls his eyes, leaning against the table for support. If he didn't, I'm pretty sure he would fall over. "She's seen alcohol fuck people up, dude. People she cares about." I don't wanna preach, but I feel like I have to say something.

"Jesus Christ!" he explodes and I can't help cringing just a bit. "Is this gonna turn into another fucking Tatum retosp . . . respespec . . . fuck it. You know what I'm sayin', man."

I know which word he's trying to say, but that doesn't mean I like it. Look, here's the thing: I hate that Maria thinks John has a drinking problem. 1. Because I disagree, but I can't say that, because Maria says that I should know better because I watched it happen to Tatum. And 2. Because any time I try to be the nice guy for Maria and say something to John, he accuses me of turning the conversation into a walk down Tatum lane. I can't fucking win with these two.

"No, it's not another Tatum retrospective. But who knows you better than Maria, man?" She's his wife, after all. She knows things about him that I probably don't, and really don't want to.

So his answer surprises me. "You do."

But I can roll with the shocking responses from John. I've been doing it for well over ten years, after all. "Okay, then trust me when I say you better check yourself."

"Before I wreck myself?" he snickers and then smacks the table with his flat hand, as though it's the funniest thing he's ever said.

It's not. "No," I correct him, even as a chuckle attempts to bubble out of my chest. I mean, let's face it, it was kinda funny. The drunken kind of ridiculous idiot funny, anyway. "Before you get . . . "

"Served?" he interjects with another chortle, flopping back in the booth and momentarily losing control of his head.

When it rolls back in my general direction and his cloudy eyes meet my face, I snort. I can't help it. He's just a moron and sometimes it's funny, okay? "Yes," I nod. "Before you get served some divorce papers that cost your ass a hell of a lot of money."

But John rolls his eyes. Again. He does that a lot after a few drinks. "She's not gonna divorce me."

And we have officially reached the line. The boundary, if you will. It's pointless to argue with John from here. He's not even hearing me, let alone comprehending what I have to say. "After this," I nod to the half-empty glass in front of him, and then the one in my hand. "I'm goin' to bed. And if you can't walk your own ass to your room, I'm leavin' ya here." Maria can figure out what to do with his hungover self in the morning. I'm done.

"Dude," John squints his eyes toward me and then turns his head to cough - it's a delightful, phlegm-y sound that makes me wanna gag - before looking back in my direction. Well, he sort of looks in my direction. It's the kind wandering eye expression that says he's not really sure which of the three Randy's he sees are actually real. "Is it this annoying when I tell you what to do?"

Ha! Now even you can see that was funny! "Nah," I shake my head and then allow the smile to spread over my face. "It's so much fuckin' worse when you do it."

He raises his middle finger. "Fucker," he mumbles and I can tell that he's about finished.

Here's the thing that tells me John is not an alcoholic. He knows his limits. Maria may not realize it, but he has a process. When we first get to the bar, he pounds drinks back pretty quick, but then he slows himself down midway through the night. And by the time we're ready to pack it in, he's done. Give him a few minutes - he'll start to clear up again. John knows his boundaries. And that knowledge alone is enough to relax me in my seat.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his arm, John just watches me for a second and then shakes his head. "You're takin' Jamie to Hall of Fame?" he asks foggily, his eyebrow raised in confusion.

Why that part of the conversation chose now to jump into his brain, I don't know, but I guess I gotta roll with the punches. See, John likes to pretend that he knows what's best for me, that he knows exactly what I'm thinking and feeling at all times. Like I told you before - some things never change. His obsession at the moment, sober or not, is proving that Jamie and I are not really a couple, but just friends with benefits.

And like I told you before - he's an idiot.

"We've been together for three months, man," I remind him, rolling my empty glass along the Formica top of the table. "This thing with us," I stop because I don't really know how to explain this to a guy who can barely hold his own enormous head upright. "Forget it. You're not gonna get it," I give up with a sigh and pull a cigarette from the pack in my pocket. I've been workin' on givin' 'em up - really, I have - but it's not an easy addiction to fight, ya know? I guess, technically, no addiction is, but . . . That's really not the point right now.

He just grunts and looks at his watch, like he can actually tell time right now. "I know enough to know you ain't in love with her." So? I never claimed to be in love with her. Even Jamie will tell you that, sure, we love each other. But we're not, like, in love yet. "I don't know, man." John's face screws up and I'm not sure if his alcohol is coming back to him, or if he's thinking about me and Jamie. "It's weird."

I chuckle to myself. "That might mean somethin' if you weren't piss drunk, dude," I tell him.

But John just holds up a hand like I'm the one who doesn't know what I'm talking about. "I ain't drunk enough not to notice you and Jamie act like a brother and sister. You ain't in love." I wanna tell him to go to hell, but he believes he's on to something. I can tell because he leans forward in his seat and taps the table with his index finger. "Let me ask you a question, man. If Tatum wanted to get back together with you," he starts.

And I interrupt him before he can go on. "Tatum's not interested. She's got a boyfriend," I remind him of the latest information Maria reported on my illusive ex.

"A boyfriend who is married," John adds another piece of the story - the one I like to pretend doesn't exist. My Tatum wouldn't date a married man. It's not her thing. "You and I both know it's not her, like, perfect match."

Ya know what I wish? I wish that he would just get off it. And Maria, too. They're both so fucking convinced that saying her name every damn day will force me to fly across the country, take her in my arms, and profess my undying love. They seem to think that filling me in on every damn detail of her melodrama of a life is going to force our happily-ever-after. "Don't matter," I reiterate for what feels like the millionth time. "She made her choice. And I made mine. We have totally separate lives now, man."

He looks like he wants to say something else, but John just drains his glass and slams it onto the table. "Come on," he motions for me to stand. At this point, I'm pretty sure it's just so he can watch me and remember how standing is actually done. He follows and then hitches his shorts onto his hips while sniffling and blinking his eyes. After a slap to his own face, he stretches his mouth and clears his throat. Yeah, he's in great shape. "Gotta get upstairs and beg my woman for forgiveness."

We walk toward the elevator and he only sways once. "Dude, we both know you ain't gonna beg," I tell him.

He snickers as we step into the elevator, that signature grin of amusement on his lips. "Nah, prob'ly not. But I will get on my knees. And she will forget she's mad at me."

He might be drunk, but he's not an alcoholic. I would know it if he was. John's fine. We both are. Better than ever.