Actually, since sometimes it does seem that some rampant insanity is at work in the WWE, it's probably best to consider most of my work as alternative universe fic! Keeping the good stuff and chucking away the crap, making the wrestling fan fic world a nicer place to be!

This follows on directly from Part the first - Pros?

Usual disclaimer - own nothing but my original characters, all the other people own themselves, WWE owns the trademark names, I'm doing this to exercise my creativity and for the sheer pleasure of writing. Ask my therapist!

####

Part the second - Cons

Rosie stirred on the bed and rolled over, coming instantly awake as two things registered on her slightly fogged brain. The first was the pain she felt in her face where it touched the pillow, and the second was that she wasn't alone. Those two things triggered two more things - first, she caught her lip in her teeth as she tried to stifle a moan at the pain, and then, as she scooted away from that other body on the bed, she tumbled off the bed and onto the floor.

Which made her bite down hard enough on her lip to draw blood. Fortunately, the floor was carpeted, and she hadn't fallen far enough to hurt herself any more than that. It also woke her up properly. She froze, listening for sounds of movement on the bed. There were none, so she apparently hadn't thumped loud enough to wake him.

Holy fuck, what had she been thinking? Except she knew full well she hadn't been thinking at all. She'd been drinking - fuck, what a mess. She had to get out of here, fast - where the hell were her clothes?

She crawled slowly around the bed, exploring with her hands out, feeling for her discarded apparel. First one high heeled pump, and then the corset. Her stockings were still on, sort of - she paused for a moment to strip them off. At the foot of the bed, ah yes, here was her dress - she vaguely remembered taking it off for him. His shoes . . . had she really been kneeling at his feet? Fuck.

She paused a moment. She was still missing, let's see, her purse, one shoe . . . and her panties. Fuck only knows where they'd ended up. She crawled around to the other side of the bed, moving even more slowly, her hands stretched out in front of her, patting the carpet gently as she searched. At last, one hand came to rest on her shoe, while the other had found something else. She drew it towards her and bit her wounded lip again as she fought not to moan, doubly so. His shirt - and she could still smell him on it.

The shoe dropped to the floor and she was about to climb back onto the bed before she realised what she was doing. She tossed the shirt away from her, shaking her head, lecturing herself sternly.

"Fuck no! You are not getting back on that bed, no matter how good he smells. You're going to get the fuck out of here before he wakes up. Now, Rosie!"

She grabbed for her shoe again, and crawled down towards the doorway, spotting her purse in the faint light coming in under the door. Right, she had everything but her panties - and she could live without them. As quietly as she could, she pulled her dress on over her head, kneeling up to do the zipper up slowly. She wrapped her stockings inside the corset and picked up her shoes and her purse, and then very carefully opened the door just enough to slip out, closing it as quietly as possible.

Blowing out a breath, she stood for a moment looking at the closed door, then gave herself a mental shake and bent, carefully, given her lack of underwear, to put her shoes on. She had no idea what floor of the hotel she was even on, so she walked down the hallway to the elevators. To her surprise, this was her floor too, and she retraced her steps down the hall, past Glenn's door and down to her own, opening it with her keycard and going inside. She leaned against the closed door, her eyes closed.

So much for not fucking up in Vegas.

After a moment, she headed for the bed, looking at her open bag. Stripping out of her dress, and refusing to think about the first time she had done that this evening, she hauled out a fresh pair of jeans, a shirt and underwear, before stuffing the rest of her clothing into the bag. She went into the bathroom and snapped on the light, blinking at the harsh fluorescent glare.

She observed her reflection without expression. Her hair was a mess, and the bruise on her cheek was a deep red, the scratch looking livid at its center. She ran some water into the sink and used the corner of a towel to wash away the dried blood there, wincing at the pain. She did the same to her lip, which was sore and swollen from where she'd bitten it. Then she closed her eyes again. She still felt drunk - she had no idea how long she'd spent in his room, or even how long she'd been in the bar before that.

She would not think about him. Abso-fucking-lutely she would not. Even if she thought she could still smell his scent on her skin. Her hand shot out and turned the shower on - she could fix that, right now.

Stepping into the shower, she reached for the hotel soap. She needed a plan - she had to salvage something from this disaster.

###

Once she had showered and dressed, she was thinking more clearly. She took out her laptop and booted it up, connecting to the hotel's wireless network. She checked the airline - there was an early flight, which she could make if she left the hotel in the next half hour. That sounded like a plan - get the hell out of here before anybody, not mentioning any names, woke up, and get home all the sooner.

Then she could help out with the code check, or something. Be useful at something she was good at, instead of trying to be something or someone she wasn't.

She shut the laptop down and stuffed it and the convention folder into her bag, closing it up. A quick check to make sure she wasn't leaving anything behind, and she was out the door, heading for the elevators. So what if she held her breath a bit until it arrived - although she wasn't sure if she was dreading that Glenn would open his door and come out looking for her, or hoping that he might.

The lobby was actually quite busy, to her surprise. She glanced up at the clock behind the desk, which confirmed the time as just after 4.00am. Well, if the airport operated all night, she guessed everything else here did too. Checking out took only a few minutes, and she was heading for the door the moment she was done. The doorman hailed a cab for her, and she handed over her bag to the driver as the doorman opened the cab door for her.

Sinking back into the seat, she told the cab driver to take her to the airport, and she fought to keep her eyes open during the drive. Funny, Vegas at night was less tacky, in some places anywhere. The lights were entrancing, and the beam of light from the top of the Luxor pyramid seemed other-worldly, transforming what seemed a squat and ugly building by day to something quite spectacular at night.

Before she checked in at the airport, she thought to check her phone, and had to dig through her bag to find the purse she'd thrown in there earlier. Retrieving the phone, she shook her head a little - from the voicemails stacked up, she could just bet James had been calling every hour to find out how things had gone. She vaguely remembered that she was going to call him last night after that asshole Simon had been arrested. What she had done instead was go and have a few drinks, and then a few more, and then . . . fuck no, she was so not going to think about that.

But she hadn't called James. And it was too early to call him now, she'd just wait til she got home. She kept her eyes open long enough to board the plane, and then crashed, asleep almost before the plane left the ground. She came awake with a start an hour later, sitting bolt upright in the nearly empty plane.

"Oh fuck!"

The flight attendant who was nearby came over to her. "Is there a problem?"

Rosie looked up at her, not really having expected anyone to respond to her outburst. Problem? Why no, not at all. Unless you could count the pain in her face, and the dull throb in the back of her head that told her the tequila was wearing off and a doozy of a hangover was priming itself to kick the living snot out of her. Oh yeah, and the sudden awful realisation that she'd had unprotected sex with a complete fucking stranger.

She tried a smile. "Realised I left something behind in Vegas." My dignity. My self-respect. My unblemished reputation? Oh yeah, and just possibly my negative HIV status.

The flight attendant, who looked impossibly perky and bright-eyed for this early in the morning, offered to call her hotel and retrieve this lost item. Rosie wanted to strangle her, but settled for saying that she'd deal with it later. Then she asked for some aspirin.

By the time the plane had landed, the hangover had too, in full force, laughing at the aspirin. At least her face didn't hurt quite so much, but she had an idea that was only because her headache was using all the pain receptors right now. She did, however, have an amended plan.

###

Collecting her bag, she headed for the parking garage. Her baby was there waiting - a 1961 Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz convertible, in beautiful Hampton green. She patted the soft top as she unlocked it, hefting her bag into the passenger seat, and then sank into the driver's seat. Leaving the parking garage, she made her way to the 24 hour medical clinic that wasn't far from home, parking the Caddy out front.

She took a deep breath before getting out of the car - this was necessary, she reminded herself, so she should just swallow her pride and get it over with. Twenty minutes later, she was sitting in an exam room in a paper gown, her hands twisting nervously in her lap as she waited for the doctor.

When the door opened, she looked up, and the doctor's eyebrows raised in surprise as he glanced back down at the chart in his hand. "Miss Templeton?"

Rosie nodded, and the doctor came in, closing the door behind him. She had looked a little like a child for a moment, her small frame lost in the oversized gown, leading to his confusion. But when he saw her face, and the nasty bruise spreading over her cheekbone, he suppressed a sigh. He hated domestic violence cases.

"What can I help you with, Miss Templeton?" As if it wasn't staring him right in the face.

Knitting her fingers together, Rosie took a deep breath. This was the price she had to pay for her woeful behaviour. "I did something stupid last night."

The doctor was about to shake his head - damn it, he had known it was domestic violence! She was going to say she was late getting dinner on the table, or she'd been too slow to get her partner a beer, as if that justified being hit.

Rosie continued, not noticing the doctor's expression. "I . . . um . . . well, I had unprotected sex with a stranger."

His eyes widened - that was not what he was expecting to hear, but it did explain things. He needed to get a nurse in here now. "Hold it right there, Ms Templeton. In cases of rape, I need a witness to the examination."

It was her turn to widen her eyes, and she shook her head quickly, immediately wincing at the throb of pain that caused. Fucking hangover. "Wait! Who said anything about rape?" Jesus, if anyone was gonna cry rape over last night, it was probably Glenn. Fuck it, she wasn't supposed to be thinking about him!

"I'm sorry, I assumed from that," the doctor gestured to her face, "that it was non-consensual sex. Rape, in other words."

"No, that was . . . let me start again. Last night, yes, I was assaulted - the guy who did that was arrested. But, well, later . . . " Fuck, now she was really going to sound like a complete slut. "Later the same evening, I had unprotected sex with a man I had only met that day." That sounded marginally better. Marginally. Cigarette paper thickness marginally. Fuck.

The doctor surprised her by smiling. "I think I understand. And I'm betting you have a hangover for your pains as well."

Thank fuck - the man understood! "Yes, but that's the least of my worries right now." Part of the price, you might say.

"Alright. Well, I'd like to take a look at your face, just to make sure nothing is broken, and then I'll call a nurse in so I can do a pelvic exam. And then we'll take it from there."

She nodded a little - she liked him for being so matter of fact. He put on a pair of gloves and, as gently as he could, examined her face, pressing along her cheek bone, which made her hiss in pain, and then looked at her swollen lip.

"Nothing is broken, but the bruise is still coming in - he must have hit you quite hard."

Rosie remembered how the blow had rocked her head back and nodded again.

"The scratch is pretty deep - from a ring, I'm guessing. Did you put anything on it?"

"Nothing but water, and that was well after it happened."

The doctor stripped off his gloves. "Then I think we'll clean it up before we send you on your way. It'll hurt, but better to be safe than sorry, I think. The lip will be fine without me doing anything to it." He stepped over to the door and pressed the call button for the nurse.

Rosie swallowed hard. Part of the price, she reminded herself, as the nurse helped her to lie down on the table, and covered her with a paper sheet before extending the stirrups on the table and gently lifting her feet into them. She lay there, looking up at the ceiling, her fingers laced together tightly on her midsection while the doctor examined her, her cheeks colouring with a deep flush at the shocking psuedo-intimacy of it.

Finally, it was over, and the doctor left the room as the nurse helped her to sit up again. She had a few minutes to gather her composure again before the doctor returned, but she found it hard to meet his eyes as he spoke.

"Okay, well, your pelvic exam was normal. You have some minor swelling - I'm guessing your stranger was well-endowed."

Fuck! Did he expect her to confirm that? She shifted a little uncomfortably on the exam table - he was right though, and then some. Fortunately, the doctor continued on without waiting for a response.

"There are three risks we need to deal with - sexually transmitted disease, HIV and pregnancy."

"Pregnancy?" Rosie was horrified. "But I'm on the pill!"

The doctor chuckled. "The only birth control method that is one hundred percent effective is abstinence. And since you weren't practicing that, I would recommend that we deal with the risk of pregnancy. I can prescribe you the morning after pill - it may make you nauseous, but it's also almost completely effective."

She didn't like the sound of that "almost".

"That leaves the STDs and HIV. We'll do a blood test today, and then repeat it in two weeks. Now, in two weeks, if you have picked up an STD, or if the morning after pill hasn't worked, we'll know from the repeat blood test. And we'll deal with the results then."

That sounded reasonable. Nothing like ideal - which would be knowing if anything was wrong now, and fucking dealing with it straight away. More of that price, fuck it.

"As for the HIV, well, there's what they call a 'window period' of three months. It can take that long for HIV antibodies and antigens to be produced in the body. So, while we can test you today, and again in two weeks, there's no guarantee that you aren't infected until you pass out of that 'window period'." Seeing the stricken look on her face, he patted her shoulder gently. "I know, it sucks. But honestly, if your antibody and antigen test after two weeks is clear, you're probably okay. This was a once off event, I'm assuming?"

Rosie nodded.

"Then let's not get worried right away. We'll draw some blood, and I'll get the nurse to clean that scratch for you." He smiled kindly at her. "And by the way, thank you for doing the smart thing and coming in straight away. You showed excellent judgment - which probably offsets any errors in judgment you might have made last night." He gave her a wink and left the room.

She couldn't help it then, giving a little sniffle. Fuck, what a mess.

###

The doctor came back with the nurse, and a small cup containing two pills. He handed them to Rosie, and got her a cup of water.

"They're 95% effective in the first twenty four hours."

She didn't hesitate, popping the pills into her mouth and washing them down with a swallow of water. The nurse cleaned the scratch on her cheek, which was definitely painful. And then she sat while the nurse drew blood for her tests. There was a small packet with two more pills that she had to take in twelve hours, and the nurse promised to call her to remind her to take them.

Once it was all done, she paid for the clinic visit, and went out to her Caddy. She sat behind the wheel for a few minutes, thinking. Her cheek smarted from the antiseptic cream the nurse had put on the scratch. That wasn't part of the price, that was the worst of it.

That fucker Simon - if she could, she'd lay this whole mess at his feet, but that was a lie. Sure, if he hadn't hit her, she might not have been in the bar when Glenn arrived. And she might not have had too much to drink. And she might not have thrown herself at him . . . and if 'mights' were fucking horses, everyone would be riding the damn things.

Nope, she'd gotten herself into this mess all on her own. But the small mercy was that it had all happened after the convention, after the cocktail party, and in relative privacy. Now, she needed to get herself home and talk to James. There were probably a few dozen more voicemails from him already.

It was a drive of only a few minutes to the warehouse that housed Jagged Fang, and Rosie. When they'd started out, they'd all lived there, in the big loft space above where they'd set up the offices. Everyone else had moved out, into houses or apartments. Not Rosie, though. She liked the loft. It reminded her of living in the dorms in college - she felt a part of everything there.

She pulled the Caddy into her car space in the parking area on the ground floor, and let herself into the foyer. There were no other cars, so it looked like she was alone for the moment. The first floor was silent, apart from the ever-present hum of the servers. Jagged Fang's working environment consisted of a three small offices and a large open area crammed with desks and computers, where the new programming team worked. There was a long conference table in the centre of the floor, and off to one side, a kitchen area bounded by large sofas.

From the clutter on the conference table, Rosie figured the code check was still going on. Shane had probably sent everyone home for some sleep - programmers could and would work all night if they had to, but code checks needed clear heads. She should take her bag upstairs and get a jump on helping out. Maybe she'd just put a pot of coffee on, so it would be ready when everyone arrived later.

Dropping her bag by the end of one of the sofas, she moved into the kitchen, collecting mugs as she went and loading them into the dishwasher. She emptied the tar in the bottom of the coffee pot into the sink, and refilled the machine, turning it on. A cup of coffee was sounding pretty good about now, she thought, sitting down on the edge of the sofa. She'd just wait a few minutes and take the first cup upstairs with her. She leaned back against the sofa, her hand over her eyes.

###

James pulled into the car park a few hours later, his eyebrows raising when he saw Rosie's Cadillac in her usual spot. What the hell? She wasn't due back from Vegas for an hour or more, he thought, as he headed upstairs. He wanted to tell her about the calls he'd gotten last night from the investors - by God, she really had pulled it off! They were full of praise for her, and delighted by the number of people they'd seen carrying 'Last Man Standing' demo disks around the convention. He was going to have to apologise to her for the doubts he'd had about how well she'd handle things.

The smell of coffee from the kitchen hit him as he dropped his leather satchel on the chair just inside his office, and he headed that way to grab a cup. He saw Rosie's bag on the floor near one of the sofas, and peered over the back of the sofa with a smile, knowing what he'd see there. Sure enough, there she was - fast asleep, her head pillowed on her arms. He skirted around the sofa and went over to the coffee maker, pouring two cups - he didn't even have to think about it, adding cream and sugar to her cup automatically. He'd been making coffee for Rosie for as long as he'd known her.

And waking her up almost as long - better he did it now than she get woken by the noisy arrival of the programming team. He sat on the sofa by her head, setting both cups down on the low table in front of him, and gently shook her shoulder.

"Rosie? Come on, hon, time to wake up."

There was a sleepy sound, and slowly, Rosie pushed herself upright on the sofa. James was sitting to her left, resisting the urge to laugh. She looked about five years old when she woke up - her hair mussed untidily, her expression soft until she woke all the way up.

"Ow."

He chuckled. "That's what you get for falling asleep on the sofa, Rosie."

She turned to him, blinking sleepily, and his eyes widened as he saw the bruise on her face and the swollen lip. "What the hell?"

"Hey, James."

" 'Hey James'? Rosie, what the hell happened to you?"

He put out a hand to take her chin and turn her face more to his, and she closed her eyes - no, she would not think about last night, about how Glenn had done exactly the same thing. She gently, but firmly, pushed his hand away. She did not need that reminder.

"Give me a minute to wake up, James, before you start the fucking third degree, okay?"

She reached for the coffee on the table, and he shook his head, picking up his own cup. She was prickly, even more than usual. What the hell had happened in Vegas last night?

Hissing at the heat of the coffee on her swollen lip, she set the cup down again, her hand going to her forehead. Her hangover had reached a 5 on the Enhanced Fujita Scale, officially incredible, and it was acting in concert with the bruise on her face now. The price she had to pay. Fuck.

James waited - there was no point in pushing Rosie when she was like this. She'd tell him in her own good time, or not at all.

Finally, she turned to him, her hands in her lap. "You were right about Simon."

He saw red. "That prick did this to you? I'll fucking kill him!"

Rosie chuckled wryly. "You're gonna have to get in line, James. And wait til he gets out of jail."

"You got him arrested?"

"No, he got himself arrested, for being stupid enough to hit me in a public place with an impartial witness. I did, however, exercise my right to press charges."

"Son of a bitch!"

"Yeah, I called him that too."

"Is that why he hit you?"

Colour rose in her cheeks. "No."

He frowned, looking at her. Then he noticed the bandaid in the crook of her arm. Blood tests? What else was there that Simon had done to her? "Rosie, tell me what happened, please."

She looked at him, and her bravado began to crumble. Tears welled in her eyes. James didn't even have to think, he pulled her into his arms, hugging her close. Infuriating as she was, she was also his best friend, and he loved her. And if she was going to have a meltdown, he needed to get her upstairs - no sense letting anyone else see her like that.

"The programming team will be here in a few minutes - why don't we go up to the loft and talk?"

Rosie pulled back from him and nodded. She rose to her feet and picked up her coffee cup, and bent over to get her bag. Without waiting for him, she headed for the stairs in the corner that led up to the living area on the second floor.

Leaving her bag outside her bedroom door, she headed for the table that sat outside the kitchen, sinking into one of the chairs, her hands around her coffee cup, turning it around slowly. James took the chair opposite her. She didn't look up as she began to talk.

"The cocktail party went pretty well. I talked to the investors, told them all the things you told me. They seemed pretty happy."

"They were - I got calls from a couple of them afterwards. You did a great job, Rosie. I was so proud of you."

She looked up briefly, giving him a smile. "Thanks James." Her head dropped again, and she sighed. "But that's about when the evening started to go sour, I think."

James sipped his coffee, waiting.

"You remember that wrestler guy, the one on the panel I told you about?"

"Yeah, the one who'd played the demo, who said good things about it?"

She nodded, still staring at her hands. "That's him. Well, he was at the cocktail party too. Turns out he was also the guy who'd stepped in with Simon - I didn't realise it was the same guy, you know, because he was wearing that mask."

"Okay."

"And I got the chance to thank him for stepping in with Simon, and for what he said about the demo. Even offered him that pre-release copy, like you suggested."

"Well, that's good."

"Yeah - felt kind of weird, but he liked the idea. Said he would normally say no, but he loved the demo so much, he couldn't wait to get his hands on the full version."

"That's great, Rosie!"

She made a non-commital noise. "Anyway, I gave him my card, so he could send me his address - you know, to ship the game." Which he'll probably never now send me, because I was such a fucking idiot last night. She blew out a sigh. "He wanted to buy me a drink, but I booked - told him I was going out to dinner. I didn't want to risk saying the wrong thing to him, not after he'd been so nice."

His heart ached for her - she always saw herself as such a screw-up. She wasn't always so good with people, it was true, but she'd gotten in the habit of pushing them all away just in case, so she never had the chance to get any better at dealing with them, or to realise that she could sometimes deal with them just fine.

"Anyway, I decided to have a drink in one of the bars before I called it a night. That's where Simon found me."

"How the hell did he find you? I mean, there's gotta be a dozen bars in that place."

She sighed again. "He followed me from the cocktail party."

James frowned. "For god's sake, why?"

Her hands tightened around the coffee cup. "He'd seen me talking to the wrestler, apparently."

"And?" James wasn't getting it.

Her voice was very low. "Simon accused me of doing a deal with the wrestler to get a plug for the demo at the panel discussion."

"What? What kind of deal?"

"He figured I was going to sleep with him as payment."

He was speechless.

Rosie's hands trembled minutely. "He wondered if you knew that I was banging strangers to get the game promoted. I fucking snapped - I told him that he was pathetic, and that he disgusted me. That's when he hit me."

"Jesus, Rosie!"

"The bartender called Security on his ass, and they took care of me - gave me an icepack, and called the cops for me. When I left their office, I saw him being put in a police car in handcuffs."

"Why didn't you call me, Rosie?"

She looked up at him briefly, her cheeks colouring. "I was going to, James, honestly. I figured I'd find a quiet bar and just have a drink first, then call and tell you about it." She dropped her head again.

He got the feeling the story didn't end there.

"So I had a drink. And then I had another one. And all the time I was getting steadily more pissed off - I mean, fucking Simon, how dare he say those things to me? I can kind of understand the thing he's had since college about you and I, but to suggest that I'd whore myself out to a stranger? And for what? A throwaway line in a fucking panel discussion at some pissant convention?"

He shook his head. That would absolutely drive her wild, for sure. And if he knew her, she'd have fed that fury with tequila. Lots of it. How could he blame her? His own response was far more primal - he wanted to beat Simon to a bloody pulp with his bare hands. And better, to slap him with a civil suit for the harrassment.

"And then I . . . " She needed to tell him, so why wouldn't the words come?

His voice was kind, and he reached out to touch her hands. "Yes, Rosie?"

She took a deep breath. "The wrestler guy came into the bar."

"Oh?"

"I tried to warn him to stay away, I wasn't on my best behaviour, but he stayed. And he saw my face - and he wanted to hit Simon too." The words were tumbling out now, and she couldn't stop them. "And he wanted to know why, and I told him what Simon said. And he bought me a drink, and then I bought him one, and then I started flirting with him."

He wouldn't make her say any more, getting up and moving to sit on the chair next to her, his arms going around her. She clung to him, sobbing now. He could feel the tears and the heat of her face through his shirt. He let her cry it out, rubbing her back gently.

Eventually, she pulled away from him, digging a tissue out of her pocket, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose. He couldn't help his chuckle - no ladylike tears for her, she looked like a fright when she'd been crying. He ran a hand over her hair, smiling at her gently.

"So, the morning after was a bit of a bad scene, huh?"

Rosie shrugged. "Fucked if I know. I woke up while it was still dark, realised what a fool I'd made of myself, and snuck out before he woke up."

"Rosie!"

"What? Thanks all the same, James, but I'd rather not stick around and see the look on the poor guy's face when he realises who he's waking up beside."

He stared at her. How in hell did she end up with such a fucked-up opinion of herself? Looking at her as a man, not just as a friend, he couldn't figure it out - she was short, sure, but she had a sweet figure. Stacked, but not too much, and the cutest ass he'd probably ever see. And between the two, a waist that made a man think he could probably span it with two hands, and want very much to find out if he was right. Her face - well, she wasn't beautiful, or even pretty, exactly, but she had a face that was alive with character, from the hazel green eyes that always seemed to be laughing, to the funny little nose and the mouth that never stopped. Even that rumpled red hair was sexy - most of the time, she looked liked she'd just got out of bed, and was just as ready to tumble back into it.

"Rosie, I think you might be selling both him and you short."

She flushed, looking away from him with a sigh. "Maybe selling Glenn short, but trust me, it was the smart thing to do."

The set of her shoulders said this was no longer up for discussion. He nodded, then reached out to touch the bandaid on her arm.

"And this?"

She looked down to where his fingers touched her. "Well, I plumbed new depths with my stupidity last night. Because not only did I throw myself at a complete stranger, I didn't even think about . . . um, protection."

Oh shit. "Rosie, you don't think . . . "

She shrugged. "Fucked if I know, James. It's not like I'm about to call him up and ask him, for fuck's sake! I stopped by the clinic on the way home, and had myself checked out."

"And?"

She shrugged again. "Won't know for sure for three months, about HIV anyway. Other STDs and being knocked up, that only takes two weeks, apparently." Her tone was flat.

"Oh, Rosie."

He pulled her into a hug again, and her arms went around him, hugging back.

"Guess I blew it in Vegas, huh?"

He chuckled, sitting back in his chair. "On a professional level, I think you did a great job. The other stuff, well, probably not your finest hours, no."

"James, you've got a real fucking talent for understatement, you know that?"

He had to laugh. "Thank you, Rosie."

She sniffed, and brushed her hand over her eyes. "Anyway, I took an earlier flight - figured I should come home and maybe do something I was halfway decent at, for a change of pace. Maybe help out with the code check?"

James shook his head. "We've got the code check under control. And frankly, you look like you haven't slept in a week, so even if we hadn't, I wouldn't let you near it. Why don't you take a few hours and get some sleep? You can pitch in with whatever's going this afternoon."

She just looked at him, her eyes serious for once, and slowly nodded. "Okay." She rose from the table, then looked back at him. "James?"

"Yes, Rosie?"

"Thanks."

"Any time, Rosie, you know that."

"Yeah, I do. What would I do without you?"

"Thought we'd agreed you'd never have to find out?"

She chuckled tiredly. "Yeah, we did. Okay, I'll see you in a few hours."

He watched her walk to her bedroom, picking up her bag and carrying it inside, the door closing behind her. The hell of it was, she really had done a great job in Vegas - he'd been getting emails and calls from all over. Everyone was talking about the booth, and the panel, and their investors were over the moon. He doubted that Marty could have done better.

Sure, she'd probably made a bad call last night, with the wrestler. But then again, maybe not. She said he'd wanted to hit Simon when he'd seen her face - any man who immediately wanted to beat the crap out of Simon was okay in his book. He collected the coffee cups and headed downstairs. The next time he heard word one from Simon Brown, the gloves were off.

###

The ringing phone woke Glenn, and he fumbled for it, finally snatching it up and bringing it to his ear. He kept his voice low as he answered it.

"Hello?"

A deep chuckle sounded in his ear. "Got someone there with you, buddy?"

Glenn's hand had been reaching out at his side, and he was bit puzzled to feel only the cool bedspread. He sat up a little on the bed, looking around the room. His voice remained low. "None of your goddamned business."

Mark chuckled again. "Just giving you her email address, right. Ah, did you forget we're supposed to be flying out this morning?"

Glenn's eyes went to the bedside clock. "Aw crap!"

"When you didn't surface for breakfast, I figured you might need a wake-up call. So kiss her goodbye and get your big ass moving."

Glenn was way ahead of him, swinging his legs off the bed, and rubbing a hand over his face. "Shut up, Mark. I've never missed a flight yet."

"There's a first time for everything, buddy. And she's worth missing a flight for. See you when I see you."

The phone clicked in Glenn's ear, and he hung it up with a muttered curse. He rose to his feet, heading for the bathroom, tapping lightly on the closed door. She must be in there. "Rosie?"

There was no answer, and he pushed at the door with his fingertips, a little surprised when it swung open to reveal an empty room. Looking around the hotel room, he realised her clothes were gone, and he sighed. Damn it, and he had no time to try calling her through the hotel switchboard either. However, he did have her business card, and there were phones on the plane. With a grin, he stepped into the bathroom to shower.

As he was packing, there was a knock at the door, and he hurried to open it, disappointed to find Mark standing on the other side of it.

Mark laughed at the look on his face. "Not the redhead you were expecting, buddy?"

Glenn just turned his back, heading back into the room. He bent to pick up the shoes he'd been wearing the night before, stowing them in his bag, and then noticed something black peeking out from under the edge of the bed. He bent to pick it up, his eyes widening when he realised what it was, and hurriedly put it into the bag, feeling his cheeks burn. It felt kind of sleazy, stuffing Rosie's underwear into his bag like that, but he certainly didn't want Mark seeing them. He figured he was going to get more than enough flack about Rosie as it was.

And he wasn't wrong - as they headed for the airport, there was a fair bit of good natured banter about why he hadn't come to breakfast with everyone else, and he let it roll off him. It was true, he normally wasn't the kind of guy to pick up women, but he also wasn't about to tell any of them a thing. They could speculate all they wanted - he would neither confirm or deny any of it. Let them think what they wanted - he knew that Rosie was . . . well, special. His lips quirked into a smile, thinking about her.

At the airport, he headed away from the departure lounge, pulling out his cellphone and Rosie's card. He had a few minutes before they boarded their flight. Dialling the cellphone number on the card, he waited for her to answer it, and was disappointed when it diverted him straight to her voicemail. But he couldn't help but chuckle at the greeting - one word. "Speak."

He laughed as the tone sounded, and then spoke. "Why do I feel like I should bark now? Hi Rosie, this is Glenn Jacobs, in case you haven't worked that out. I missed you this morning. I wanted to talk to you before I left, which I'm about to do." He could hear them calling his flight. "So, now you have my number, and I really hope you'll call me." He thought a moment, and then smiled. "I really enjoyed meeting you, Rosie - hope to talk to you again soon."

He hung up, and turned his phone off as he headed back to the gate, smiling.

###

Rosie dumped her bag on the floor of her bedroom with a sigh. She was bone tired, her head was still pounding from the fucking hangover from hell, and her face ached. She skirted around her bed, going over to adjust the blinds over the windows, making the room darker. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she tugged off her boots and dropped them on the floor. Her hands went to the waistband of her jeans, and brushed against something in her pocket - her cellphone.

She looked at it and flipped it open, scrolling through the missed calls and voicemail messages, deleting the ones from James without listening to them. Anything he had to say to her, he'd probably already said this morning. That left only one message, from a number she didn't know. Curious in spite of herself, she punched in the number to listen to it.

And wished that she hadn't, as she heard Glenn's voice - fuck, she could hear the smile in his voice even. She sat there, one hand over her eyes, listening to it again. And then she told herself that she should just delete it and save them both the heartache. Only she couldn't do it. Finally, she just snapped the phone shut. She undressed and pulled on an old t-shirt before crawling up onto the bed and laying down on it, trying to find a comfortable position that didn't make her head or her face hurt.

Faintly, she could hear voices from the first floor - the programming team had arrived, it seemed. She lay quietly, looking up at the ceiling, resigned to being wakeful. Fucking hangover. Fucking Simon. Just . . . fucking everything. But the hum of conversation from the first floor was like white noise, lulling her into sleep.

###

By the time the roster had arrived at their hotel in Albuquerque, Glenn had called Rosie's cellphone twice more, and twice he'd been shunted immediately to her voicemail. Once he was in his room, he called the hotel in Las Vegas, to be told that she'd checked out early that morning. The area code of the Jagged Fang office number was for Washington State, and she'd had plenty of time to get home, he figured.

And then there was the asshole that had hit her - who knew when he might have made bail? Maybe she was ducking his calls, but he needed to know that she'd made it home alright, even so. He dialled the number for the Jagged Fang office, hoping there was someone working on a Sunday.

James had retreated to his office once the programming team started to arrive. He had the proofs of the cover art to look over, and he was still working on the edits for the manual. He was deep in thought when the phone at his elbow rang. He picked it up on the second ring.

Before he could speak, Kelly, one of the programming team, spoke. "James, it's me. I picked this call up from Rosie's office - a guy called Glenn Jacobs who says he met her at the convention? I'm not sure where she is - can you talk to him?"

Glenn Jacobs? James didn't recognise the name, but the 'Glenn' part . . . he had an idea who this might be. "Put the call through to me, Kelly."

There was a click on the line as the call was transferred, and James spoke. "This is James Waltham, Mr Jacobs. I'm sorry, Rosie's not here at the moment - can I help you with something?"

Glenn's eyebrows raised. This must be Rosie's James, the best friend and business partner. And that 'Mr Jacobs' sounded a bit frosty. Maybe she really didn't want to take his calls? "Well, I hope so. I've been trying to get in touch with her since this morning, and I keep getting her voicemail. I'm just concerned to make sure she made it home okay."

"I see."

"Look, I saw what that asshole did to her face last night, okay? And while I know he was arrested last night, I don't know if he's still in custody. So yeah, I'd like to be reassured that she's home safe. If that's okay with you, of course." Glenn was a little pissed.

James couldn't help the chuckle. "Rosie said that I'd have to get in line to beat Simon to a bloody pulp. Guess she was right."

"So she's there?"

"Not here, at the moment. But yes, she made it back to Seattle this morning."

Glenn gave a sigh of relief. "Man, that's a weight off my mind! Thank you."

Okay, that sounded like real concern, James thought. Certainly not the kind of guy who would have given Rosie any kind of hard time this morning. "Mr Jacobs . . . "

"Please, it's Glenn. You say 'Mr Jacobs' and I think you're talking to my father."

Chuckling, James nodded. "Glenn, then. Rosie told me about you, and I'd like to add my thanks to hers. Both for stepping in the first time with Simon, and for what you said about the demo for 'Last Man Standing'."

Glenn wondered what else Rosie had told James about him. "You're welcome, both of you. I just wish I'd been there the second time she ran into that asshole. I've got no time for a man who would hit a woman."

"I've never had any time for Simon Brown, and I've got considerably less today, after what he's done." James hesitated a moment, then continued. "Look, Glenn, if you want to catch Rosie, your best bet will be calling this number tomorrow."

Was James trying to tell him something? "Oh?"

He didn't want to have to spell it out, but he thought that any guy who'd call to make sure his one night stand got home okay afterwards was probably not such a bad guy after all. Maybe Rosie needed to hear from him. "She's exhausted today, and I'm hoping she's taking my advice and getting some sleep right now. By tomorrow, she'll be feeling better and she'll be in her office."

"Thanks. I'll do that. Ah, perhaps you might not mention that I called? I'd hate her to think I was stalking her or checking up on her - I get the feeling that might just make her mad. And trust me, I've seen her mad, briefly - it's not exactly something I'd be hoping to provoke."

Oh god, he'd seen her mad and he was still concerned enough to check up on her? This guy was either a saint or a masochist! "Good call. And I've forgotten your name already."

Glenn responded with a laugh. "You know, that happens to me a lot. I owe you one, thanks!"

James' tone was serious. "No, Glenn, I owe you one. You took care of Rosie last night - this is the least I can do to repay you for that."

There was no mistaking how James felt about Rosie, and Glenn had to respect him for that. "Any time, James. Rosie is special."

Shit, had Rosie sold this guy short or what? "I know. Listen, I've got to get back to work here. Thanks again, Glenn."

"My pleasure, James. And thanks."

James hung up the phone, his expression thoughtful as he turned to the manual again.

###

Rosie woke slowly from a deep sleep, curled around one of the pillows on her bed, blinking a little at the level of light in the room until she remembered where she was. Her loft in Seattle, in the afternoon - which was why it seemed brighter than it should. She sat up, scratching her head, wincing a little at the pain in her face as she yawned. Right, afternoon. She felt a little better than she had this morning. The hangover was no longer a Category 5, it was maybe a Category 3 now, severe damage, as opposed to incredible, but that was likely because she was parched.

She climbed off the bed and stretched, and then went out to the loft kitchen, filling a glass from the water cooler and drinking it. Too quickly, as she felt the spike of a brain freeze. Fuck, like she needed that! The next glass she sipped more slowly as she went back to her bedroom to dress. She hadn't forgotten her offer to help out today, even if she did still feel like five different kinds of hell. Which was an improvement over the fifteen different kinds she'd felt before she'd gotten some sleep.

Looking in the mirror, she sighed a little at the ugly red bruise on her cheek and then dismissed it, running her hands through her hair impatiently. Okay, work. She headed down the stairs to the first floor.

###

Shane Thomas leaned back in his chair at the conference table, stretching. The code check was coming along - his team was getting through the moduless pretty quickly, considering. It was a source of pride to he and Rosie that Jagged Fang had never had to patch a game for a coding error or a bug in the first six months after release, and he didn't intend that to change with 'Last Man Standing'. Of course, this was a more complex game than anything else they'd ever developed, so the code check was pretty intensive. Still, so far, they'd actually found and fixed quite a few minor errors, which told him that they were on the right track. If they weren't finding anything, he'd be worried they weren't being thorough enough.

Of course, he had another reason now to want to make sure the game was perfect when it was released. James had pulled him aside when he arrived, and let him know what had happened to Rosie. Like James, his immediate response was near-homicidal rage at the thought of Simon laying a hand on her. He adored Rosie - she'd been part of one of his senior classes in college when she was just a sophomore, and he'd been blown away by her brilliance. Some people just had a mind for programming, and she was one of them. And then he'd discovered that quirky, funny personality and he was hooked. Not like that idiot, Simon, who'd mooned around her long after it got embarrassing for everyone. No, he just loved her for who she was. And he'd been thrilled when she and James invited him to go into business with them a few years after college.

They'd been such babes in the woods then - they'd all gotten some experience workinng for gaming studios, but they had wanted to go it alone, make their own games. They'd scraped together all the capital they could and developed a business plan - Rosie's way with numbers had helped with that - and they'd bought this warehouse. God, those first couple of years had been hard work - they'd been living upstairs and working day and night here on the first floor, developing two games to start with. Rosie's 'Evil Overlords Inc.' and their flagship multi-player game, 'Tooth and Claw'.

And then Simon had launched Imperial, and his 'Evil Overlord' - he could remember the day they had heard about it, all three of them piling into Rosie's Cadillac to go and buy a copy. Bringing it back and loading it on one of the computers, telling themselves that it was just coincidence, a similar name, that was all. Only it wasn't - he'd taken Rosie's idea and copied it, changing it just enough to keep them from being able to claim breach of copyright. He could remember the stunned look on Rosie's face as they watched his game overview. Hell, he'd sat up half the night with her, holding her while she cried.

They'd paid money that they could ill afford to a lawyer, who told them they might have a case, but that fighting it could take years. That was something they definitely couldn't afford, and so they'd shelved 'Evil Overlords Inc.' and put their efforts into 'Tooth and Claw'. Which ended up making it a better game, ironically. And they'd gone on to make games that continued to improve on 'Tooth and Claw', but none of them could forgive Simon for his theft of Rosie's idea.

Now, it looked like they might be in a position to bring it back to life, and do it in way that they'd never dreamed possible - with a crack team of programmers, with Marty and his genius for marketing and product design. And of course with Rosie's brilliance and her concept. He wanted to see Simon's face when they did that - now, more than ever.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement on the stairs, and he was up out of his chair in an instant, hurrying over.

Rosie couldn't help but smile, seeing Shane at the foot of the stairs. He didn't wait for her, coming up to meet her halfway, wrapping her into a bear hug. She permitted herself a little sigh of contentment and she hugged him back.

"Babe, you know that if you give the word, I'll be on the next plane to Portland to kick Simon black and blue, right?"

Rosie chuckled. "I thought you were a lover, not a fighter?"

Shane grinned at her. "For you, I'd make an exception!"

That made her laugh, and she ruffled her hands through his hair with a grin as he stood two steps below her. If you saw him in a bar, you'd never pick him for a computer geek like her, she thought - he was almost six feet tall, with dark blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. Half the programming team was in love with him, and not just the female half either. If James was her best friend, Shane was her favourite partner in crime. She felt better already, being back here with both of them.

"Simon's not worth the price of a plane ticket, babe. However, if he sets foot in Seattle and we get wind of it . . . fucking word, I swear!"

"Baby girl, you got a fuckin' deal!"

Shane was the only person who could get away with calling her 'baby girl', and it always made her laugh. She hugged him again, and they walked down the stairs together, Shane looping his arm around her shoulders.

James came out of his office when he heard Rosie's voice, and he smiled, seeing her with Shane. She certainly looked more like herself, even given the awful bruise on her face. Glenn Jacobs was right - she was special, and both he and Shane knew it. He had to hope that maybe Glenn could convince her of it too.

Rosie looked at the conference table, and shook her head, immediately wincing as the movement reinvigorated her hangover. She needed coffee, pronto. Shane let her go, chuckling, and sat back down at the conference table. He called after her.

"Category 4, Rosie?" He was the one who'd taught her to use the Enhanced Fujita Scale to describe hangovers.

She turned to give him the finger. "Category 3, Shane - and fuck you." But she was laughing when she said it.

"Call me when you're sober, baby girl, and we'll talk," he retorted, chuckling.

That was another facet of their relationship that was open to misinterpretation - which was of course why they did it, James thought. They flirted with one another constantly. He had his own theories about why - for Shane, it was a way to advertise his own open sexuality. For Rosie, he thought it was more of a safety net - insofar as it was 'safe' to flirt with Shane. Catching the looks of a couple of the girls on the programming team, he was very glad that Shane had declared anyone who worked for them off-limits.

Rosie brought her coffee back to the conference table, sipping it cautiously as she sank into a chair, pulling the code check master sheet towards her. Shane leaned over and took it from her.

"No."

"Shane, don't be an asshole - let me see it!"

"No. In fact - hell, no. The code check is my baby. You agreed."

"I just want to know how it's going, damn it!"

"It's going fine."

"That doesn't tell me anything!"

"Get used to it."

"You are such a prick, Shane."

"Baby girl, you don't know the half of it. Wanna come upstairs and find out more?" Shane grinned.

Oh fuck. She wished he hadn't said that - she did not need the reminder, she thought, as she shifted a bit in her chair. "Sure, when I'm sober. It'll be fucking fantastic."

James shook his head. "Okay, you two, knock it off. Nobody's going upstairs to do anything - not until this game is in production. So, you," he pointed at Shane, "get back to the code check."

Rosie snorted laughter.

"And you," James pointed at her, "come with me. I need your help editing the manual."

Shane grinned. "Have fun, Rosie."

She laughed, popping her index finger up and kissing it at him before following James into his office. This stuff, she mused - this stuff she was good at. She should just stay here forever and get on with it, and leave the conventions to those much better suited to them.

###

The programming team had been sent home, leaving James, Shane and Rosie alone. They had retreated to the loft after ordering in pizzas, and were sitting on the sofas with the television on in the background.

Rosie was beginning to feel human again - her hangover was fading to a Category 1, even if her face still hurt. The food helped, but mostly what helped was being in familar surroundings with people she knew. She was reaching for another slice of pizza when Shane turned his head towards her bedroom.

"Babe? I think that's your cellphone."

She froze for a moment, and then got up, heading for her room. He'd called once before. Maybe . . . she shook her head. That was just fucking pathetic. She picked up the cellphone and snapped it open. And was simultaneously relieved and disappointed to hear the voice of the nurse from the clinic, reminding her to take her second dose of pills. She thanked the woman, and closed the phone, then dug into her bag for the packet of pills.

She didn't even think about it, carrying them out to the sofa with her. As she sat down, she opened the packet and popped the pills out of their blister pack, tossing them into her mouth and chasing them down with a mouthful of water. Shane had offered her a beer earlier, and she'd shuddered, holding two fingers up in the shape of a cross, warding him off with a groan. She really didn't think she was up to alcohol just yet. Dropping the empty packet on the table, she reached again for the pizza.

Shane's eyebrows raised when he saw the packet. He'd had an occasion when the morning after pills were needed - well, his girlfriend at the time had. And his familiarity with the packet was mostly because she'd hurled it at his chest after taking the second dose, calling him every name under the book before declaring herself his ex-girlfriend. James hadn't mentioned anything about this - he found his hands clenching. If that son of a bitch Simon had laid more than his hands on Rosie, there wasn't a rock in the country he could hide under.

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Rosie's hair.

"Wanna talk about it, babe?"

Rosie looked at him, puzzled. He pointed to the pill packet. Oh. Fuck. Trust Shane to know what they were for. She sighed, resting her head against his shoulder.

"Not really. Let's just say I did something stupid and leave it at that, okay?"

Okay. If it had been Simon, she would have told him, that much he knew. So it had been someone else. And if she had a Category 3 this afternoon, then it probably meant she'd been a more than a bit loaded at the time. Understandable, after what Simon did. He could live with that.

"Sure thing, Rosie. But the offer's open if you change your mind."

She nodded. And the subject was dropped, thankfully. An hour later, reassuring them both that she was perfectly fine and could manage to get through the night without them, James and Simon had hugged her and left. She cleared up the pizza boxes, and checked the security system to reassure herself that they'd locked everything up as they left.

She wasn't really sleepy, not after crashing for most of the day. But tomorrow was going to be a long day - perhaps a bath might relax her enough to go to bed. She went into the bathroom, leaning over the big clawfoot tub to turn on the water. While the tub filled, she went to her bedroom, undressing and grabbing her bathrobe, wrapping it around her before going back to the bathroom, pausing only long enough to turn on the stereo for the background sound.

Adding a few drops of lavender oil to the water, she took off her robe and sank down into it, resting her head back against a towel and closing her eyes. The music was a mistake. Every single song seemed to be a love song . . . fuck. She'd get up and turn it off, but the water felt too good. Maybe she just needed to get all of those useless, pointless fucking feelings out of her system.

So what if Glenn had made her feel quivery inside when he looked at her? Especially when he'd kind of stroked her hand with his thumb as he'd said goodnight at the cocktail party. His eyes had been smiling at her then. Like they had been later in the bar - a different kind of smile then, though. And his hand on her chin, when he looked at her face - how gentle he was for such a big man.

She closed her eyes, and a tear tricked down her cheek, making the scratch on her face sting. Fuck it. So what if he'd left that message on her voicemail? Didn't mean he'd ever call again , now, did it? Big good-looking guy like him, he probably had his pick of women everywhere he went. Hell, he might even be married - he wasn't wearing a ring, but since when did that mean anything?

She almost wished she had stayed in his room - almost. It was better this way, surely. Even if that voicemail sounded like he really did want to talk to her again. Probably just making sure he'd get a copy of the game, like she promised him. Why the hell else would he want to talk to her? It wasn't like he was going to get any more sex out of it.

Soaking a washcloth in the water, she wrung it out and placed it over her eyes with a sigh, trying to ignore the lyrics of the songs. What a fucking weekend.

Continue to Part the Third - Business as Usual?

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