Aint Life A Bitch

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the wrestlers used in this story, 'cause if I did, I'd be busy with them right now *grin*. But I do own Elizabeth, for she is a creation from my mind. And the address to the stories is at the bottom of this email. And I use the wrestlers wrestling names in the story, JUST DEAL WIT IT! And don't bother suing me...all you'd get is a half eaten ham sandwich and a bag of chips from 2 years ago.

Elizabeth Logan walked calmly down the hallways backstage at the arena. She was a nurse practioner and her job was to stand by the curtain at World Wrestling Federation events and make sure the wrestlers were okay when they came backstage. If they weren't, she would take care of their problem if it was something she was trained to deal with, otherwise she would send them to the make-shift clinic.

Most of the WWF Superstars were pretty good about letting her look them over quickly, taking stock of their cuts and bruises. But there were a few spiteful ones in the bunch. Especially the one that went by the name of Undertaker. She had no idea what his real life name was, and he wasn't bothered enough to ever tell her.

Whenever he came backstage he would always brush past her like she wasn't even there. She would often call out after him to see if he was alright, and he would never look at her. He'd just keep walking. Drove her crazy. If she wasn't always so busy during that time she would go after him.

The only time he had even acknowledged her presence was when they were introduced face to face for the first time by Chris Irvine, who also went by the stage name Chris "Y2J" Jericho. All he had done was shake his head, letting his dark hair tumble around his shoulders. Then he had walked off.

Elizabeth was thinking about this as she walked down the oddly quiet hallway. That had been 2 years ago. Two years ago since he had made any movement to know she was alive. Since then he had cut his hair, but that was the only thing that she had seen change about him.

It didn't really bother her that he didn't acknowledge her. In fact, she didn't know why it had suddenly popped into her mind. He stayed out of her way and she stayed out of his. But, it just sometimes made her wonder if he ever even saw her. Everyone else in the WWF had said he was a nice guy. She couldn't even phantom a reason for his easy dismisal of her.

Elizabeth shrugged to herself as she continued down the hallway, looking for Amy Dumas' locker room. She had to take a look at her ankle to make sure it was okay for her to work on tonight.

Elizabeth was so deep into thought that she didn't even notice the 'deadman' approaching from the opposite direction. She was walking down the middle of the hallway, concentrating on her task ahead of her. But she immediently became aware of him when he gently shoved her out of his way.

Elizabeth watched him walk on for a few seconds before she realized he was going to turn into his locker room at any second. She ran off down the hall after him, seeing him open a door and begin to step into the room.

With one giant leap, Elizabeth jumped on the large man's back, immediently wondering what the hell she was doing. "Um, can I help you?" the Undertakers voice graveled out at her. 'Damn' she thought, 'I'm going to need to learn his name.'

"Um...well, I just wanted to see if you knew I was alive and not a figment of your imagination." Elizabeth stuttered out. "Well, I think we've determined that I do indeed know you are alive. Mind climbing off my back, or are you getting comfortable there." he asked her.

Elizabeth gently eased herself down to the floor and he turned to look at her. "Well?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at her. Elizabeth turned wide eyes up to look into his face, which was hovering pretty far above her's.

She gulped nervously before speaking, "Um...see, I was just thinking. I've been here for all of two years, and you don't even know my name, and I don't know yours...and I was just thinking that was rather odd. And then I was thinking how you never stop to let me look at your injuries when you get out of a match, and that's my job. And I've even called out after you a few times and you just keep walking. And then when Chris introduced us two years ago all you did was nod at me, so I just thought that maybe you didn't really see me and I'm pretty much rambling like an idiot 'cause I'm really embarassed 'cause I have no idea why the hell I jumped on your back." Elizabeth concluded, weakly smiling at him.

The Undertaker went and sat down in a metal folding chair he had in his locker room, letting his long legs sprawl out in front of him. "Elizabeth." was all he said. "What?" she asked in confusion. "You said you didn't think I knew what your name was. It's Elizabeth." He answered.

Elizabeth nodded slightly and smiled. "Why don't you ever talk to me?" she asked, still feeling uncomfortable after the monkey on the back thing she had just pulled.

The Undertaker gave a huge sigh, "Listen, I don't talk to you for a reason. And it's not becuase I don't like you. I don't know you enough to know if I like you or not. But...look at you." he told her.

Elizabeth looked down, unsure of herself. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a tank top. Her long blonde hair was pulled back in a clip to keep it off her face. Elizabeth knew she wasn't anything spectacular. She was 25 years old, and already looked older than her age.

"What about me?" she asked hesitantly. "That's right, you got here after the whole incident. Well, you see now. You look a lot like someone I use to know. In fact, someone I use to love. See this name?" he asked, pointing to his throat where the name Sara was tatoo'd,"That was my wife, my Sara. Until the day she decided that she didn't like being my Sara. She wanted to be some other bastard's Sara. So, I don't talk to you because you look like a replica of my ex-wife." he told her, his eyes holding a lot of unleashed pain.

"I see, I'm sorry that how I look hurts you. It's okay if you don't want to talk to me from now on. I do understand how much it hurts." Elizabeth said, turning to walk out of the room.