*Jericho's POV*

I could probably write my own book if I wanted to. Because nobody on this planet has read more, tried more remedies and failed more miserably at combating insomnia than me.

Take a hot bath. Well at least I was clean.

Drink warm milk. I now have the strongest bones on the planet.

Avoid caffeine. Coffee became my enemy.

And what did it get me? Night after sleepless night. That's what.

So I went back to taking showers, chilling my milk and drinking Folgers by the gallon.

After all not one of those things was going to cure the real problem anyway. It seems that none of those learned authors have ever heard of the HHH syndrome. A mean, insistent condition that robs you of sleep, leaves your spirit broken and makes your heart ache pretty much non-stop.

Now I've never been known to be a sound sleeper. Even as a kid I tossed and turned a lot. But it's only for the past couple of years that I've developed the annoying habit of staying awake for days at a time. Not exactly a good thing when you do what we do for a living. Being constantly on the verge of exhaustion leaves you open to missed flights, injury...and maybe more importantly, missing clues that a blind detective could find.

You see, it's happening again. The same way it did two years ago. Only this time I'm not so sure I want to care.

Back then we had to be apart because of an injury. The now infamous quad tear. Everyone's heart broke for Hunter. The poor guy had to be out of action for over a year. Stuck down south trying desperately to re-hab his way back onto the roster.

And believe it or not, I was one of those sappy idiots who felt so badly for him. That was until I found out what he was doing to pass the time...or rather who he was doing.

I guess they don't call Shane O'Mac the boy wonder for nothing. Cause he sure did wonders for Hunter. More weekends than not I'd get a call telling me that it wasn't necessary for me to fly down there. Shane would be keeping him company.

So that's what they call it these days.

I should have listened to my friends....and to my heart....back then, and ended it. But I'm one of those people who avoids confrontation. So I sulked and looked sad, figuring that he'd get the hint and stop screwing around on me.

And it worked. For a while anyway.

He came back ready to resume his career and resume whatever it was we had together. And I'll only assume it was lack of sleep that made me go along with it.

But now? Now I'm not too inclined to be so agreeable.

We're apart again.

I'm doing what I always do...wrestling and not sleeping. And he's off making a movie. The only difference is the identity of his latest diversion. It isn't Shane. He's home right now with the Mrs. awaiting the birth of his child.

And believe me, we're all wondering how the hell that happened. There must have been a lot of liquor and role play involved in that miraculous conception.

No...his newest companion is currently running around backstage, grabbing a quick shower, throwing his stuff in a bag and doing his best to catch the last flight out of here. He thinks no one is the wiser. But you don't walk around with your eyes wide open day after day without noticing a few things.

And I know I should be hurt...or angered. Yet oddly enough...I'm neither. It's a sad thing to say, but being a veteran does have more advantages than just getting better matches. You learn a lot as you make your way through federation after federation. And one thing you learn is that everything is exactly the way it looks. And there's no such thing as coincidence.

So it's with something close to amusement that I watch Dave scamper around furiously, determined to be at Hunter's side by morning.

It's Randy I feel sorry for.

He's just a kid and he really cares about Dave. He thinks the reason he's losing him to Hunter is all his fault. He has no idea how clever The Game can be when he desires something.

Ah...but I do.

And maybe Randy needs a shoulder to cry on tonight.

What the hell.

It's not like I'll be sleeping.