Kitten

Chapter One: She Came Back

Moxley was in the middle of a dream, something about a shit ton of whipped cream on tits, but was rudely shaken out of it far too early by Callihan.

"Your friend is back man." Sami grunted.

"Friend?" Mox thought hard, tongue flicking at a chunk of broken skin on his lip. He came up dry though, and resigned himself to probably having to fight this early in the morning. On an empty stomach to boot. "Alright, where is he?"

"She, man. It's that chick. From like a fuckin' month ago."

"Three weeks." Mox corrected him absently, getting to his feet and stretching with an indecently loud yawn. "Th' chin fork I took is all healed up. Musta' been three weeks."

Callihan shrugged, clearly unimpressed. "Whatever man. She's been here for a couple hours. Figured I deserved a raise, what with me acting as your fuckin' receptionist and secretary, so I told her to wait. She's a patient chick though."

"Wonderful." Moxley groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face and trying to shake off the last vestige of Sailor Jerry.

Sami shook his head. "This like an ex-girlfriend thing?"

"This is a 'stop being a nosy bitch' thing. Thanks for th' wakeup call. Remind me that I owe ya' next time Damage decides t' bring th' fork." Mox clapped a hand on Callihan's shoulder and shifted around him to the door.

She was indeed, sitting there. In...some kind of ridiculous workout garb. Long socks, spandex shorts and an oversized t-shirt which bore a picture of a ghost holding two pints of beer and the phrase 'I'm only here for the boos.' Moxley fought back a snort of laughter, leaning against the wall and giving her the once-over. She hadn't looked up from her phone yet, still scrolling away. "Th' fuck're you doin', comin' back here?"

She flinched at the sound of his voice, jumping to her feet. "I uh-I brought you breakfast. I have a favor to ask."

Breakfast? Moxley's stomach perked up. "Breakfast. Talk at me while I eat." He ordered, taking the small paper bag and cup of (now cold) overly-sugared coffee with an obscene amount of whipped cream (uh oh) on the top of it and then plopping on his ass on the ground beside the chair. He only had the one chair, after all.

"I need your help. Can you...teach me how to fight? Please?"

Mox swallowed, taken aback. "Why th' fuck-"

"Because I don't want to have to be dependent on strange cage fighters the next time I get into a situation like that?" She wiggled in her seat awkwardly as Jon fixed her with a long-suffering look.

"Oh, that's all I am? A 'strange cage fighter'? I seem to recall ya' singin' a diffr'nt tune when I was-"

"Okay, okay! I worded that poorly. You know what I mean though, right? I should be self-sufficient. I should be confident enough in my own skills that I don't need help." She snapped while Mox licked his fingers. "You've won almost every fight I've seen you in. I just...want to feel safe again."

"Fuck's sake kitten, I'm no expert. Lotta' this shit is luck and bein' angrier or hungrier than th' other bastard they put in w' me." Mox admitted, running his tongue around the inside of the cup lid to get the last bits of whipped cream out.

"Listen buddy-"

"Easy there kitten, I'm no one's buddy." He snarled, getting to his feet. "Ya' did buy me breakfast though. So, f' y' like, I'll give ya' the Mox version of whatever they show ya' in those fancy self-defense classes."

...

Teaching her to fight was...easier said than done. Regardless of what other guys had put her through, she was still reluctant to throw a real punch. "Kitten you're jus' gonna' get in over ya' head. This ain't a good idea." Mox finally said after the sixth time of showing her how to ball her fist right. "Ya' gonna' bust your fingers on some guys nose and while you're in pain he's gonna' fuck ya' up. I don't wan'-" Moxley paused, feeling like he had almost slipped the fuck up.