Chapter Text
There had always been whispers of a comeback. After all, she wasn't just any wrestler; she was the AJ Lee. The trailblazer. The spark that many argued ignited the Women's Evolution. Every time a glass ceiling shattered for the women's division, her name echoed in the arenas and across the internet. The first Royal Rumble? The fans chanted for AJ. The first Money in the Bank? Twitter trended with her name. The historic Evolution pay-per-view? The anticipation was palpable. Every time WWE even slightly hinted at a colossal return, the collective mind of the wrestling universe snapped to one person: April Mendez.
Years turned into a decade, and countless monumental moments passed. The fans remained relentless. Another Evolution event came and went, and while her name dominated social media discourse, the iconic static of her entrance theme remained dormant. It had been over ten years, and despite April herself repeatedly telling the world "don't hold your breath," nobody was ready to exhale.
And then, came the chaotic rumor mill surrounding Clash in Paris.
CM Punk was set for a highly anticipated World Heavyweight Championship match against his bitter rival, the reigning champion, Seth Rollins. The match was an absolute war of attrition. They traded brutal blows, near falls, and psychological taunts, keeping the Parisian crowd on their feet, trying to see if the title will finally change hands. Finally, Punk found his opening. He hoisted an exhausted Seth onto his shoulders, a wicked, triumphant smile spreading across his face as he taunted the crowd, signaling for his finishing move, the Go To Sleep.
But out of nowhere, a masked figure slid into the ring behind him. Before Punk could execute the move, the figure delivered a vicious low blow, sending a shockwave of pain through him. Punk dropped Seth, collapsing to his knees. Seth, ever the opportunist, recovered just enough to deliver a devastating Stomp, securing the pinfall and retaining his title.
The arena erupted, but the real shock came moments later. The masked figure stood over a fallen Punk and slowly pulled off the disguise, revealing the fiery red hair and smug grin of Becky Lynch, The Man. Despite his faction being banned from ringside, Seth Rollins, ever The Visionary, had found a loophole in his wife. Becky Lynch had orchestrated the save. The crowd went completely unhinged, and as the premium live event went off the air, a familiar, thunderous chant began to echo through the stadium.
"A-J LEE! A-J LEE! A-J LEE!"
Social media caught fire instantly. The narrative wrote itself: Seth and Becky versus Punk and AJ? The comeback rumors roared back to life louder than ever before.
Backstage, however, the reality was much less dramatic. When creative pitched the interference to Becky and Seth, it was purely a storyline loophole. Seth’s faction, The Vision, had been banned from ringside. And Seth had simply found a loophole by enlisting his wife. It made perfect sense, and creative loved the dynamic of the power couple standing united against Punk. But hearing the deafening chants, both Seth and Becky were discreetly curious. Was there something more brewing? Becky certainly wasn't going to march up and ask Punk, and Seth would rather eat glass than strike up a casual conversation with him about his wife of all things.
Seth Rollins was not fond of CM Punk. The way Punk had unceremoniously walked out years ago never sat well with Seth, who had looked up to him as a young up-and-comer. Punk’s subsequent behavior and public comments had tarnished that respect. So, when a rivalry with Punk was pitched, Seth embraced it. It was the perfect avenue to vent real frustrations, lay in his strikes a little heavier, and perhaps mend some broken bridges through the sheer crucible of a shared match.
And it worked. They weren't friends, but Punk was a consummate professional in the ring. Seth trusted him blindly between the ropes, and together, they created magic. They rarely spoke outside of planning their matches, but Seth had noticed a peculiar quirk. Whenever they did talk, no matter the topic, Punk inevitably brought up AJ. He’d be lacing his boots, discussing a sequence, and suddenly drop, "Yeah, you know, April was saying something similar the other day while we were training..." or "Reminds me of a spot my wife used to do." It was relentless, and Seth never missed rolling his eyes at the old man’s antics. But as something of a wife guy himself, Seth kind of understood that kind of devotion.
Back in their private locker room after the Clash in Paris chaos, Becky Lynch was scrolling through her social media, looking at all of the excited reactions and speculations the fans kept posting, then looked over at her husband. "Do you think AJ Lee is actually coming back?" she asked, unable to contain her curiosity.
Seth shook his head, pulling off his wrist tape. "Nah. From what they said, they’re planning to loop Rhea into this. She doesn't have a major program right now, so it makes sense to use her to counter you."
Becky leaned back, looking thoughtful. She had debuted on the main roster right after AJ had left. "You and the guys debuted when she was around, right? What was she actually like?"
Seth paused, a towel draped over his neck, thinking back to a completely different era of his career. "Honestly? She seemed like the exact opposite of him. Quiet. Kept to herself, mostly just kept her head down. She wasn't the arrogant type at all. She was the Divas Champion back then, at the top of her division, but she always treated everyone with respect from what I saw."
Seth’s mind drifted back to a bustling gorilla position. The Shield had just finished tearing through the roster in a six-man tag. They walked back through the curtain, hyped up, and there was AJ, tiny compared to the giants around her, watching the monitor. Roman, feeling cocky, had nodded at her. "You a fangirl or something?" Roman teased, smirking down at the champion. AJ hadn't missed a beat. She didn't pull rank or get offended. Instead, she offered a bright, genuine smile and shot back, "Big fan, guys! Huge fan!", as they walked by her. Later that night, Seth had scrolled through Twitter and laughed seeing she had actually tweeted about being a Shield fangirl. "She was okay," Seth concluded, snapping back to the present. But his guarded nature took over. "But I mean... she married Punk.” Seth grimaced a little thinking about it, poor girl, “How different could they really be?"
Becky pondered that. She had her own fleeting memory of AJ Lee.
It was down in NXT. Becky was still trying to find her footing, figuring out her character. AJ, the reigning Divas Champion on the main roster, had been sent down for a special appearance and a match against Bayley. Becky remembered standing near the entranceway, instantly starstruck by the diminutive champion. From a distance, AJ didn't exude the typical main-roster arrogance. As soon as she walked back through the curtain, she was swamped by NXT rookies, men and women alike, who were eager for advice or just to say hello. AJ had looked visibly nervous, overwhelmed by the sudden wall of attention, but she was painstakingly polite and friendly to every single person who spoke to her. Becky had hovered on the periphery, too intimidated to approach a major superstar who already looked swamped. Thinking back now, Becky wished she had pushed through her nerves and introduced herself. Bayley had told her that the match they had that day sparked a genuine, lasting friendship between the two.
"It's a shame," Becky sighed. "I would have loved to work this story with her."
Seth shrugged, wrapping an arm around his wife casually. "Maybe she will come back one day. You never know in this business."
The following Monday on Raw, the storyline escalated. Punk stood in the center of the ring, venom in his voice as he called out Seth for being a coward and hiding behind his wife. Seth’s music hit, but instead of the Visionary, Becky Lynch strutted out to the top of the ramp. She mocked Punk mercilessly, picking apart his ego and his failure in Paris.
Throughout her entire promo, the arena vibrated with a deafening chant.
"A-J LEE! A-J LEE!"
As a seasoned professional, Becky didn't flinch. She ignored the chants, projecting her voice to cut through the noise, hoping the broadcast microphones could pick up her dialogue. Inside, though? She thought it was incredibly badass. AJ had been gone for over a decade, hadn't made a single cameo, yet she had this crowd entirely in the palm of her hand.
The segment wrapped up smoothly. Becky headed back through the curtain first, grabbing a water bottle. A moment later, Punk stormed through. On television, he looked murderous. But the second he cleared the gorilla position, his demeanor shifted entirely. A nervous, almost giddy smile broke across his face. He caught Becky’s eye and gave her a friendly, appreciative nod. Becky offered a tiny polite smile in return.
Punk immediately turned to Triple H, practically vibrating with an uncharacteristic, antsy energy. "Was that good? Did that play well?" he asked nervously.
Hunter gave a firm thumbs-up. "It was perfect, Phil. Good shit," he replied before turning back to the monitors, barking a production cue into his headset.
Punk tried to slip away toward his locker room, but Becky watched as an overly excited Bayley practically ambushed him in the hallway.
"Punk! Punk, tell me!" Bayley demanded, cornering him. "Is it true? Is she coming back? Is April finally coming back? Is she even okay to wrestle? Are you guys messing with us?" She fired off questions like a machine gun, not letting him get a single word in.
Punk just threw his head back and laughed, a warm, genuine sound. He reached out and patted Bayley affectionately on the shoulder. "Don't get your hopes up, kid," he said gently, slipping past her and heading down the hall.
Listening from her corner, Becky let out a quiet sigh. Damn. It really seemed to be just a rumor.
It seemed like the chaos of the rumor mill wasn’t just affecting people like Bayley who had shared a locker room with AJ. It was bleeding into the new generation, too. And Rhea Ripley had been more curious than ever.
As the Eradicator, Rhea was arguably the most popular wrestler in the entire company, male or female. She hadn't known Punk at all before his earth-shattering return. Her very first interaction with him had been at Survivor Series. When he came back, Rhea had been standing right there at ringside. And later that night the two had shared a hug, as Rhea welcomed him back.
She had known of his legacy, obviously. CM Punk was a household name. But initially, she had been cautious, wondering if all the rumors about him from his last run with the company were true. She was incredibly, pleasantly surprised to find out they were not. He was warm, eager to offer advice, and completely supportive of her work. They became fast friends while they were touring the globe as two of the company’s biggest stars.
Because they were on the road so much, Rhea got to see a side of Phil Brooks that the cameras never captured. Most days, he was incredibly chipper, a veteran who genuinely seemed happy to be getting a second chance at his career. But more than anything, Rhea quickly learned that the man was an absolute, unapologetic simp for his wife.
He was fiercely, hopelessly devoted to April. He literally could not go a single hour without mentioning her. Rhea would catch him constantly wandering the halls of arenas, his phone held up at eye level as he FaceTimed her. He’d be excitedly giving AJ virtual tours of catering, or pointing the camera at a weird piece of backstage equipment just to make her laugh.
During their international tours, it was even worse, but in the cutest way possible. Rhea remembered a specific afternoon in Berlin. A group of them were walking through a historic plaza, and Punk had suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, holding up the entire group just to take five different angles of a stray dog laying on the pavement, relaxing and not paying any mind to the crowded streets of the city. "Hold on, guys, April is gonna lose her mind over this little guy," he had muttered, rapidly texting the photos with a dopey, lovesick grin plastered across his face.
Another time, at a tiny café in Paris, Rhea watched him buy two different, incredibly expensive pastries. He took a picture of them, texted it to his wife, ate his, and then handed the other one to whoever in their friend group wanted it, saying he didn’t plan on eating it anyway, just wanted to show it to April.
He bragged about her constantly, too. If someone mentioned movies, Punk would pivot to talking about the screenplay AJ was writing. If someone mentioned working out, he'd brag about how she was still faster than half the current roster.
But there was a flip side to his devotion. Sometimes, when they were out exploring those beautiful foreign cities, Rhea would catch a sudden shift in him. He’d put his phone back in his pocket, his broad shoulders would drop just a fraction, and a melancholic look would wash over his features. His smile would soften into something distinctly sad. He would look around at a beautiful piece of architecture, sigh quietly, and murmur, "April would love this place. It sucks being here without her."
Recently, Rhea had noticed Punk seemed intensely distracted. He was fidgety, constantly tapping his fingers against his coffee cups, his eyes glued to his phone screen more than usual. When the Clash in Paris segment aired and the AJ chants took over the broadcast, Rhea put two and two together, and truthfully? She was incredibly hopeful.
Long before she donned the black leather, spiked her hair, and became the Eradicator, Rhea had been a fan of AJ Lee. Rhea firmly believed women like AJ had done absolute wonders for the women in the industry. AJ had been the alternative girl, the geeky girl who wore Chuck Taylors and skipped around the ring, violently chipping away at the rigid mold of what a "Diva" was supposed to be. Rhea knew in her heart she wouldn't be sitting at the top of the mountain as this unapologetic, goth powerhouse if women like AJ hadn't kicked down the glass ceiling first. Rhea felt she owed AJ a debt of gratitude. The prospect of finally seeing her in action, maybe even getting to share a ring with her, was exhilarating.
So, when the creative team pulled Rhea into an office on a Tuesday afternoon and laid out the upcoming television plans, Rhea felt a crushing wave of disappointment. AJ was not returning. Instead, Rhea herself was being slotted into the storyline. They needed a massive star to neutralize Becky Lynch's interference, and Rhea was the perfect, logical choice.
Later that day, she found Punk sitting on a travel case near the loading dock, aggressively typing out a text message with that familiar, soft smile on his face. Rhea walked over, leaning against the concrete wall next to him. She needed to hear it from him.
"Hey," Rhea started, crossing her arms. "So creative just talked to me. Is this like a super elaborative angle? Is AJ really not coming back?"
Punk paused, his thumbs hovering over his phone screen. He looked up at Rhea,his expression much more guarded than it was a moment ago. He nodded slowly, slipping his phone into his pocket. "Yeah. Hunter wants us to shoot a backstage segment on Monday to start teasing your involvement. You, me, Seth, and Becky. Should be a fun program."
Rhea frowned, kicking at a loose piece of gravel on the floor. She didn't want to sound ungrateful for a top-tier storyline, but she couldn't hide her feelings. "Honestly? I was really, really hoping AJ was actually coming this time."
Punk looked at her for a long moment. His eyes softened, shining with that same wistful, melancholic look he got whenever they were in a city his wife wasn't there to see.
He gave Rhea a small, tight smile and offered a helpless shrug. "Yeah," he said softly, his smile growing. "Me too, kid."
A week later, they ran it back. Punk cut another blistering promo, and this time, Becky marched all the way down to the ring to confront him face-to-face. The moment she grabbed a microphone, the "A-J LEE" chants started up again, even louder than the week before.
This time, Paul Levesque had given her different instructions backstage: “If they chant for her, acknowledge it. Lean into the heel heat”. Becky soaked in the noise, a sneer forming on her face. "Classic," she barked into the mic, glaring at the crowd. "Always chanting for a dope that doesn’t work here!" The crowd rained boos down on her.
She turned her attention back to Punk, and they went back and forth. Punk, playing the frustrated veteran, repeatedly told her to step aside. Telling Becky that this was not her business, and that Seth should stop hiding behind his was and face him.
Seth came out, taunting Punk, telling him that if he had something to say, he can come and say it to his face before disappearing backstage again. As Punk tried to get out of the ring and approach Seth, Becky stepped up, blocking his way as Punk tried leaving, but Becky kept getting right in his face, taunting him to do something about it. She slapped him hard across the cheek. The crowd gasped. Punk’s jaw clenched, his eyes burning with fury, but his character strictly adhered to a code, he would not strike a woman. Realizing she had absolute immunity, Becky Lynch reveled in it. She slapped him again, shoved him, mocked his restraint, and told him with a big smile how pathetic he was. Finally, before leaving the ring, Punk brought the mic back up to his mouth to say his last piece, “I’m gonna make Seth Rollins regret ever cashing in on me.” and then he pointed a finger at Becky and promised her, “And you’re gonna regret you put your hands on me.” before leaving the ring and walking backstage on search of Seth Rollins, as Becky kept mocking Punk in the ring.
Watching on a monitor backstage, Jimmy and Jey Uso nodded in appreciation. "That's good TV right there." Jimmy muttered.
"Shame AJ ain't actually coming back, though," Jey replied, munching on a protein bar as he watched the monitor. "Place would've come unglued if her music hit right then."
The Usos knew Punk as a co-worker before he left the WWE. They weren’t friends or anything back then, but never had a personal issue with him, though they were well aware of his infamous reputation. The rumors of him being difficult, abrasive, and constantly at war with management were. But Jimmy and Jey weren't ones to pay mind to gossip and preferred to judge from their own experiences, and they never had a problem. They knew he had problems with the heads of the company back then, and of course heard all the talk when he left. They never reached out or anything, they didn't have that type of relationship.
Jimmy, however, had a slight secondary connection. His wife, Trinity (Naomi), had debuted down in NXT right alongside AJ, and the two women had always been on incredibly warm terms. Because of that, Punk had only ever come up in the Fatu household twice. Once was when Trinity excitedly called AJ to congratulate her on her wedding to Punk. The second was when AJ quietly retired a year after Punk’s explosive exit.
Trinity had been incredibly bummed out. She had said she was happy for AJ, but she was sad they wouldn't be working together anymore.
"Did she leave 'cause of him?" Jimmy had asked his wife back then.
"Maybe that's a factor,” Trinity had sighed, looking conflicted. “But AJ... she's going through a tough time. I'm pretty sure she's making this call for herself."
When Punk made his shocking return to the company, Jey had been standing in the ring at Survivor Series. Backstage after his comeback, both twins had been among the first to welcome him back to the fold. As the months passed, they started working the same loops, crossing paths in storylines, and occasionally grabbing food after shows. Both brothers were genuinely surprised to find that Punk was absolutely nothing like the bitter, miserable guy the rumors had painted him as. They quickly grew to consider him a friend.
Because of Trinity's lingering hope, Jimmy always made it a point to fish for information. Over the years, whenever a rumor sprouted up online, Trinity and Jimmy would both ask Punk about it.
Punk would always laugh it off and give a vague non-answer, but without fail, he’d always take the opportunity to talk about his wife. The moment AJ’s name was dropped, the cynical, hardened veteran would melt. A goofy, almost lovestruck grin would take over his face, and he'd pivot into a ten-minute monologue about how amazing his wife was.
"It would be like she never retired, I’m telling you" Punk had bragged to Jimmy just a few months prior, leaning against a travel case with a starry-eyed look. "She was running drills with me last week and she hadn’t missed a single beat."
Jimmy loved it. It gave him the perfect excuse to counter with his own stories about how incredibly Trinity was doing, and the two men would sit there trading praises about their wives. Meanwhile, Jey would sit across from them, aggressively chewing his gum, rolling his eyes, and calling them both whipped.
But recently, the twins had noticed a distinct shift. The goofy, relaxed Punk had been replaced by a jittery, distracted version of himself. He was constantly checking his phone, pacing the halls, and bouncing his leg nervously in catering. And Jimmy had gently prodded about the latest rumours going around. Usually, Punk was smooth with his deflections. This time, however, Punk’s eyes darted away nervously, a massive, poorly-hidden smirk fighting its way onto his lips as he rubbed the back of his neck, "Nah. You know how it is. Just the internet being the internet."
It was the least convincing lie Jimmy had ever heard. Something was definitely brewing. But Jimmy wasn't the prying type, so he brushed it off and got back to work.
After that segment on Raw, Jimmy’s phone vibrated in his pocket. The caller ID flashed his wife’s name. Trinity was currently off television, having vacated the Women’s Championship a few weeks prior due to being pregnant and she was resting at home.
Jimmy smiled broadly and swiped to answer. "Hey, baby, what's up-"
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" Trinity’s shrill, excited voice blasted through the phone speaker so loudly that Jimmy physically recoiled, yanking the device away from his ear. Across the room, Jey paused mid-bite, his head snapping up as a wide, mischievous grin spread across his face.
"Whoa, what? Trin, what's wrong?" Jimmy stammered, entirely lost.
"You tell me, Jon!!" Trinity yelled, her voice vibrating with a mix of genuine fury and intense, fangirl excitement. She sounded like she was literally bouncing up and down on their living room sofa. "Have you SEEN social media?! Is AJ coming back?!"
Jimmy couldn't help but smirk at his wife's sheer enthusiasm. "Oh, is she?" he replied, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm.
"Don't play with me, boy!" Trinity snapped, launching into a full-blown, breathless rant. "I can't believe this! Now?! Of all times for her to finally come back, I had to be out pregnant?! Jon, I swear to God, if she steps foot in that ring while I’m out, I am going to kill you!"
Jey, overhearing the entire unhinged monologue, slumped against the lockers. "Tell him, sister Trin!" Jey hollered from the background, burying his face in his hands as he absolutely died laughing.
Jimmy, looking completely incredulous, threw his free hand up in the air. "What?! What did I do?!"
"You know what you did!" Trinity hollered back without missing a beat. "If she makes a comeback and I'm stuck at home, you are sleeping with the dogs!"
"Babe, wait, hold on, listen to me," Jimmy tried to salvage the situation, scrambling to calm her down with the insider info. "They- they said Rhea is gonna be-"
Click.
Jimmy lowered the phone, staring at the darkened screen. He looked over at his brother with a deadpan expression. "She hung up on me."
Jey finally lost the battle. He slid all the way down the wall, howling with laughter and clutching his stomach as his brother stared blankly at him.
Back at gorilla, after the segment, the organized chaos of Monday Night Raw was in full swing. Paul Heyman, walking with his signature hurried waddle toward the CCO, paused when he caught sight of a conversation happening near the curtains.
It was Paul Levesque, a.k.a Triple H, and CM Punk. Punk looked uncharacteristically nervous, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Hunter was nodding, a serious look on his face, before he reached out and gave Punk a reassuring, firm pat on the shoulder. Punk nodded tightly in return, practically bolted down the hallway, and disappeared down the hallway.
Heyman approached the Chief Content Officer, a single eyebrow raised.
Hunter sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. He leaned in close to Heyman and muttered, "God, he's been absolutely insufferable lately. He's honestly making me kinda nervous."
Heyman couldn't help it. A wide, knowing grin spread across his face, and he let out a sharp, breathless chuckle. He couldn't entirely blame Hunter for his apprehension. Phil Brooks and April Mendez were fiercely private people; very few in this building truly understood the actual mechanics of their dynamic. But Heyman did.
Heyman’s mind drifted back, traveling down a very long, winding road of history.
He remembered the early days of ECW, and later, the early days of Punk's WWE run. He remembered the kid who walked into every locker room with a massive, heavy chip on his shoulder. Punk was a man constantly in defense mode, he was prickly, sarcastic, and ready to bite the head off anyone who looked at him sideways. It gave people the entirely wrong impression of him, but Heyman knew Punk was just fighting a war against the business, trying to prove that he belonged.
But Heyman also remembered the exact era when the tectonic plates of Punk’s personality began to shift. It was when he met April.
Heyman had had a front-row seat to the evolution of their relationship. They had been platonic, nerdy friends for years before any romantic lines were crossed, but even back then, the signs were glowing in neon. The man literally could not shut up about her.
Heyman recalled sitting at a monitor with Lita during a Raw taping. Punk had wandered over, ignoring them both, his eyes instantly glued to the screen as a tiny, energetic girl in Chuck Taylors skipped to the ring.
"Look at her footwork," Punk had muttered, practically to himself. He turned to Lita, his eyes wide with uncontainable enthusiasm. "Do you see how she sells? It looks so brutal. And she's hilarious, too. We were talking this morning about that new comic I loaned her, and-"
Heyman had watched Lita slowly roll her eyes, letting out a heavy sigh as she shot Heyman a look that clearly said, ‘Here he goes again with his weird obsession with the rookie.’ Punk was a man completely infatuated, and he was the only one in the room who didn't realize it yet.
Suddenly, punk nudged Paul in the ribs, completely oblivious to his girlfriend Lita's annoyance, Punk scolded Paul to focus on the match, "You should pay attention," Punk pointed at the monitor and then smirked, "She might be your first 'Paul Heyman Girl', you know?"
Heyman had rolled his eyes, but turned to the monitor and had watched the match closely, stroking his chin. He knew Phill was joking but watching the girl wrestle, he hadn't hated the idea.
A few months later, the company finally paired them together on-screen for the legendary storyline involving Daniel Bryan and Kane. And Heyman witnessed a miracle. That summer, the ever-scowling CM Punk actually looked genuinely happy to walk into the arena.
Heyman remembered the night of their first scripted, on-screen kiss. It had ended with April shoving Punk backward through a wooden table. When Punk finally limped back through the curtain into the gorilla position, he wasn't complaining about his back. Instead, he made a beeline for where April was standing.
"You almost chipped my tooth," Punk teased, a giddy, ridiculous grin on his face. He leaned down to her eye level, pointing to his mouth. "Actually, I think you gave me a split lip."
"Oh my god, shut up, Punk! You're fine!" April had stammered, her face flushed bright red as she swatted playfully at his chest, clearly flustered by his antics. She hurried off toward the women's locker room, and Heyman watched as Punk just stood there, staring after her, looking completely and utterly enchanted by her annoyance.
But if that night was innocent, a few weeks later was a completely different story.
They were booked for another on-screen kiss. The script called for a quick, shocking peck where Punk was supposed to flail his arms, caught completely off guard. Heyman had been standing in gorilla, watching the broadcast monitor. When AJ leaned in, Punk didn't flail. He went completely off-script. Instead of freezing, Punk leaned into it. He wrapped his tattooed arm tightly around her waist, pulling her flush against him, and kissed her back with a sudden, undeniable passion. Heyman's eyebrows had shot up to his hairline as he realized the bastard had slipped his tongue into the girl's mouth on live television.
The production team had lost its collective mind. Heyman could hear the producers screaming through the headsets, "Cut away! Cut away! Get a shot of Bryan!" as they scrambled to keep the broadcast PG.
A few minutes later, AJ practically sprinted back through the curtain. She didn't look at anyone, her face burning a deep crimson as she power-walked straight to the locker room, her hands covering her cheeks. Thirty seconds later, Punk strolled into gorilla. He wasn't slick. He wasn't even trying to be. He walked in with a slow swagger, a massive, unrepentant, shit-eating grin plastered across his face. He looked like the cat that had caught the canary, eaten it, and asked for seconds.
Of course, the flip side of that intense devotion was equally dramatic. Heyman winced at the memory of how pathetically hopeless his idiot of a friend could be. God forbid the girl didn’t give him attention.
Heyman vividly recalled finding the reigning WWE Champion sitting alone at a cafeteria table one afternoon, slouching over a plate of untouched food, looking exactly like a pathetic, abandoned puppy.
"Phil, about the promo tonight," Heyman had started, sitting across from him. "You should probably emphasize the-"
"Three seconds, Paul," Punk had interrupted grumpily, aggressively stabbing a piece of lettuce with his fork. He wasn't even looking at Heyman, apparently not even listening, lost in his own sad little world. "That's all it takes. Just poke your head in the door and say, 'Hey Punk, I'm heading out to catch my flight, bye!' How hard is that?"
Heyman had let out a long sigh, realizing promo practice was entirely off the table. "I'm sure she was just in a rush, big guy."
"It's the principle of it, Paul!" Punk had sulked, ranting for the next hour about how she had probably done it deliberately, he completely inconsolable, and had gone out of his way to avoid the poor girl for days, and been an absolute little shit to everyone backstage, until she had somehow gotten through to his thick head, and cured his foul mood.
When they finally made it official and started dating, Punk was a changed man. It was like he was walking on air. The perpetual scowl faded. For a brief, shining moment, Heyman genuinely thought AJ’s presence alone would be enough to keep Punk from walking out on the WWE entirely. But the physical and mental toll of the company's demands had simply been too much.
Heyman's mind flashed to a bittersweet memory: Punk’s wedding day. Heyman had been in attendance. He remembered the dark cloud that threatened the day when Punk received his official termination papers in the mail just hours before the ceremony. Punk had been devastated, his pride deeply wounded.
But later that night, during the reception, Heyman had stepped out for some air and spotted the newlyweds on a secluded, dimly lit balcony. Punk had his arms wrapped tightly around his wife from behind, resting his chin softly on the top of her head. They were swaying gently to music only they could hear, whispering to each other in the cool night air. Heyman had smiled to himself and quietly walked back inside. The WWE run was dead, but looking at them, Heyman knew Phil Brooks was finally, truly safe. His friend was in good hands.
Pulling himself back to the present, Heyman adjusted his suit jacket and looked at Triple H.
Paul Levesque had arguably dealt with Punk longer, and more contentiously, than anyone else in management. They had despised each other before Punk left, never been able to see eye to eye. When the idea of bringing Punk back was pitched, Hunter had severe, undeniable hesitations. It had taken Heyman hours of closed-door conversations to assure Hunter that the CM Punk of today was a vastly different creature than the CM Punk of 2014.
Hunter had been pleasantly surprised to find out Heyman was right. The new Punk was calmer, focused, and deeply at peace. Bringing him back had been a massive creative success, incredibly good for business. On a human level, Hunter was genuinely happy to see the guy in a good place mentally.
But Hunter couldn't help but notice the one glaring quirk: the man literally never shut up about his wife.
"He’s so distracted! Every time we have a production meeting, he finds a way to bring her up," Hunter vented, crossing his arms and watching the spot down the hall where Punk had vanished. "We're talking about merchandise numbers, and suddenly he's telling me about AJ's new comic book. We're discussing match times, and he's bringing her up. And now, with all the heat that was built up, he's a mess."
Hunter rubbed his jaw, his tone shifting into genuine concern. "Paul, I'm just saying... if he's stressing out about her, wondering if she can still go, or worrying about how returning to the road is gonna impact their home life... it's going to bleed into his performance. If his head isn't in the game, it affects the whole angle."
Heyman listened to the concerns of the Chief Content Officer. He let out a slow, dramatic breath. He looked at Hunter, his eyes gleaming with absolute, unwavering confidence, and let out another booming laugh.
"Hunter, my friend," Heyman purred, patting the executive firmly on the arm. "You are misreading the room entirely."
Hunter furrowed his brow, looking skeptical. "How so?"
"Phil isn't anxious about her returning. He isn't worried about her performance, or the road, or the pressure," Heyman smirked, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. "He's nervous like a kid waiting for Christmas morning. He's practically bursting at the seams because he can't wait to show her off."
Heyman turned to walk away, pausing to look over his shoulder with a sly, knowing grin. "I promised you that working with Phil this time around would be a great experience, and it has been. But trust me on this, Hunter... if you think he's easy to work with now? Just wait until his wife gets here."