// - indicates thought

*****************

I was cleaning out closets when I found the box. It was tucked in the
back corner, taped up with no label and I had no idea how it got
there.  I certainly didn't put it there.  At least...I was pretty
sure I hadn't.

Frowning, I pulled it out.  It was fairly new; there wasn't any dust
on it, so it couldn't have been from when I moved in.  Something of
my ex-wife's maybe?  Although I had thought I had gotten rid of
everything that had been hers.

/If it's Janet's, I swear I'm going to toss it in the nearest trash
bin,/ I thought, a flash of anger running through me. /No matter what
it is./ Our divorce had been bitter, to say the least.

I tore off the packing tape and opened it.  What was in there stopped
me cold.

It was Peter's ring gear.

Everything - boots, sweats, t-shirts, the sleeveless Red Hook 13
shirt. Even the black towel he wears on his head. And it was all
stuff he was still using - his older gear from his ECW days had gone
to a charity auction more than a year ago.

I unfolded the black shirt I've seen him wear so many times before in
the ring.  Everything in the box was neatly folded, newly washed and
carefully packed.  Almost as if he didn't intend to use it again.

Which only meant one thing, and it was the one thing I didn't want to
think about.  I can't imagine Peter not wrestling; he loves being in
the ring.  Nothing makes him happier than doing suplexes and locking
in a Tazzmission on another victim.

But...if he hadn't decided to retire from the ring, then why was all
his gear so neatly packed away?

And if he had...why hadn't he told me?

***********

I was waiting for him when he got home from the gym.  Ambush, I know,
and I felt guilty about it, but this couldn't wait.

"Hey, babe."  He leaned over to kiss me and noticed the look on my
face. "What's wrong?"

"We need to talk," I said quietly, looking him over for any signs of
trouble or illness.  At first glance, he seemed okay, but sometimes
things aren't so obvious.

He frowned.  "Can it wait? Don't we have that thing with Coach and
D'Lo tonight?"

"That's tomorrow."  Taking Peter's hand, I led him into the living
room. "And no, it can't wait."

He stopped when he saw the box on the coffee table.  "I found it when
I was cleaning out the bedroom closet," I explained.  "Peter, what's
going on?"

After a moment, he let out a heavy sigh.  "You'd better sit down,
babe," he said.  "You're right.  We gotta talk."

Fear shot through me and I turned him around, forcing him to meet my
eyes. "Are you all right?  Did you hear from your doctor?"  Ever
since his surgery to remove a lump he had found I've been beside
myself with worry.  The doctor had asssurred us that it wasn't
cancer, but what if a mistake had been made?

"No, it's nothing like that." Peter said hastily.  "I'm fine, babe.
I swear."

"Then why is your ring gear all packed away like you're retiring?" I
asked as I sat down on the sofa.

"Peter sat down next to me.  "Beacuse I am," he answered, not looking
at me. "I talked to Vince. I'm going to stick to commentating and
writing for the magazine and everything, but I'm not getting into the
ring anymore."

I stared at him; I couldn't believe what I was hearing.  "Why?" I
couldn't help asking.  "Why are you quitting?"

"It's time, don't you think?" His voice was soft, resigned. "Besides,
it's not like I've been doing a lot of it since the split. No ring
time on TV and house shows once in a blue moon."

"That can change," I said in an effort to convince. "All contracts
are open now.  You could sign to Raw if you wanted to."  Even as I
was suggesting it, I hated it. Raw and Smackdown are on two
completely different tour schedules; we'd never see eachother.  But
if he really wanted to wrestle, the last thing I would do was stand
in his way.

He grimaced. "I wouldn't work for Bischoff for any amount of money.
I've heard all the crap he's pulled and I'm not getting mixed up in
any of it."  He paused, finally turning to look at me.  "Besides...if
I went to Raw, we wouldn't be together."

I immediately shook my head.  "No.  Peter, no.  Don't make a decision
like this because of me." I wouldn't be able to stand it if I was the
reason he quit.  The guilt alone would kill me.

"Babe...it's not because of you," he said quietly.  "I mean...you're
a big reason.  I'm not gonna lie about that.  But you're not the only
one."  He paused.  "Look...Vince said it himself.  With all the new
guys they're bringing in, there's really no room for me on the roster
anymore. At least, not in the ring.  Not against guys who are ten
years younger than me and a hell of a lot better than I ever was."

"Don't say that," I admonished.  I hated it when he put himself down
like that. I think he's incredibly talented, but Peter would say I'm
a little biased.

"Why not?  It's true."  He shrugged.  "And these kids are just
starting, just getting their foot in the door.  I remember when I was
that hungry." A far away look appeared in his dark eyes and I knew he
was remembering starting out with ECW and Paul Heyman. "Let them have
their shot.  I had mine.  Almost fifteen years...it was a good run."

"But...what about the Undisputed?" I asked softly.  To win the WWE
Championship belt - that was a long cherished dream.  I couldn't
believe he was going to let that go.

He snorted in disgust.  "Mikey, you and I both know that I haven't
got a snowball's chance in hell of even getting a shot, much less
winning the damn thing.  Hell, Spike and I were lucky we were tag
champs for as long as we were, especially since neither of us fit
MCMahon's idea of what a wrestler should be."  Peter shook his head
formly.  "I've gone as far as I can go.  It's time."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this," I said, shaking my head. "This is
your dream.  Your whole life.  You love to wrestle! I can't believe
you're just going to give it all up like that."  I snapped my fingers.

Peter suddenly scowled.  "Not just like that," he replied
testily.  "I've been thinking about it for awhile."  At my suprised
look he continued.  "Mikey, I'm not twenty anymore."

It was my turn to frown.  "What's that supposed to mean?" I shot
back. "You've got more experience, more talent, than any of those
rookies coming in could ever hope to have."

"And what good is that gonna do me if I can't enjoy it?" he
countered, his anger rising.  "If I end up in a wheelchair like Droz?"

That stopped me cold.  Dead cold.  I had been there the night Droz
had fallen.  I don't remember much of it still, but I do remember
seeing him walk into the arena...and I remember him being wheeled out
on a stretcher.

We actually saw Droz just recently backstage at Smackdown - he comes
to the local shows if he can. He had been cheerful, upbeat, wearing
that ridiculous hat of his that he used to wear in the ring.  He was
in the center of a group of wrestlers regaling them about something
that had happened during the UK No Mercy show back in 1999.  He had
brushed off questions about his health quickly; it simply wasn't
important to him.

I remember Peter being in that circle, not saying anything, just
listening with a haunted look on his face.  And I knew that when he
could, he was helping Rhyno with his rehab. And we both had visited
Scotty 2 Hotty in the hospital after his neck surgery.  And I know he
had chipped in very generously for Lita's flowers after hers.

It was an old fear of his, one he's had for years.  Ever since he
injured his own neck back in ECW. He still has nightmares about that
night, about what could have happened.  I know; I've held him after
them.  Held him, and done my best to make him forget his fears with
whispered words and the touch of my body.  It works for awhile.
Until he sees Droz again.  Or until he comes home from another
workout with Rhyno. Or until another one of our co-workers, our
friends, gets hurt.

Getting up, I straddled his knees and sat down on his lap.  He didn't
say anything; all he did was wrap his arms around my waist and lay
his head on my shoulder.  An ache filled my heart; usually I'm the
one running to him for comfort, not the other way around.

"That's the real reason, isn't it?" I whispered, kissing the top of
his head.  "You're afraid of getting hurt again."

"Fuck, Mikey, wouldn't you be?" Peter exclaimed.  "You've seen some
of thsoe kids, the size of them.  And a lot of them...they don't know
how to be careful.  One wrong hit and I'm done.  Toast." A shudder
ran through him and he tightened his hold on me.  "I'm not taking
that chance.  Not anymore.  I've got too much to lose."

"You could see Dr. Youngblood," I suggested, running a hand over his
head. "He might be able to help stabilize your neck, fix what's
wrong."

"And I'd be in a collar, with rehab and everything, like Rhyno and
Lita are now, and it still might not help."  He answered. "Or
something could happen, an accident on the table, and I'd be in a
wheelchair. No."  He shook his head. "No way. Not unless I absolutely
positively have to."

"But if he could help..." I persisted; I know how much his neck hurts
him some days. It's a wonder he's not addicted to painkillers like
some of the wrestlers are.

"No, Mikey."  His voice was firm.  "I can deal with how it is now,
but if something happened?  If I couldn't...couldn't walk..."  He
swallowed hard. "That wouldn't be living.  Not to me."

There was a long silence as I simply held him, trying to soothe away
his fears by silence and touch alone.  Finally I said, "Peter...love
are you sure?  I mean...once you decide to leave the ring...you
probably won't be able to go back."

"I know." He said softly.  "And honestly, babe? That's okay."  At my
disbelieving look, he continued. "Really, it is.  Things have changed
since I came on board.  I thought I could fit in with the
changes...but I can't.  Not and keep true to me, who I am, where I
came from. And that's okay, too."  he drew away whough to look up at
me. "I'll still be at ringside, where the action is. I like doing
color, us working together. Being a professional smartass is fun.
And McMahon offered me a permanent trainer's position with
Tough Enough if I wanted it."  He suddenly smiled, his first one
since coming home. "And I still have you."

I couldn't help smiling as well. "Always."

"See? Everything's gonna be okay."  He paused.  "You're okay with it,
aren't you, Mikey?  I know I should've said something before I
decided...but I had to on my own. You know?"

"I know." His career, his decision.  I couldn't blame him from
keeping it from me. "And I'm okay with it if you are.  I just want
you to be happy, that's all."

"I am, babe." He reached up and brushed a lock of hair out of my
eyes. "I'm not saying I won't miss it, 'cause I will. It'll take some
getting used to.  But it'll be better this way.  You'll see."  His
smile became wider.  "Look at it this way.  We'll be able to spend
more time together.  You know, do stuff."

"Well, that's one good thing, at least." I said, trying to be
cheerful for his sake.  I glanced over at the box and I couldn't help
letting out a little sigh. "I'm going to miss watching you in the
ring, though."

"Yeah, well, I'm not gonna miss getting pounded into the mat, that's
for sure."  He countered with a grimace.  Coaxing me off his lap, he
closed the box and picked it up. "I'll put this back.
Unless...there's another auction coming up. For "Make A Wish", I
think. I could just give it all to them."

"No...don't."  I said hastily. At Peter's puzzled frown I suddenly
blushed. "I like seeing you in it."

The puzzled look was replaced with a knowing little smile.  "It gets
you all hot and bothered, babe?" When I nodded, he chuckled.  "Well,
that explains why you jump me every time I have it on."  He brushed
his finger along my jawline.  "Okay, I'll hang onto it."  He
leaned down to kiss me.  "Love you."

I couldn't help smiling at that. "Love you, too."  I watched as he
went upstairs.

When he was out of sight I swiped at my stinging eyes.  Oh, God, it
hurt seeing him like that, watching him give up something he loved
and knowing there wasn't anything I could do to help him.

But maybe I could help him forget about it for a little while.  I've
gotten good at that in our time together.  It wouldn't solve any
problems, but it might help take his worry - and mine - away for a
time.

I followed Peter upstairs, wondering if I could persuede him to put
on his ring gear for a personal wrestling match of our own.