Just Ducky
She awoke with a naked man on her stomach and a baby screaming next door.
Blinking, she tried to disentangle herself from her lover, only to become all the more hopelessly ensnared in his huge embrace. The weight of his arms made her panic and, with one mighty lunge, she disengaged herself from his embrace....forcing her to roll out of bed and onto the floor with a thud.
That, of all things, woke him; a second later, Brock Lesnar peered over the corner of the mattress and down at his wife, "Sorry," He mumbled, sounding half-asleep.
From the floor, Stephanie McMahon frowned up at him, "The baby's crying."
"No shit," Brock smirked. Then, as if the realization that they were both ignoring their own brethren seemed to click; in motion, they flew to the connecting door that separated the baby's nursery from the master suite.
Stephanie reached their son first and quickly scooped him from the crib, "Aww, I'm sorry, Paulie, I'm sorry..." She cooed to her son, and the tremendous guilt on her features made Brock's expression all the more hangdog. Little Paul Lesnar keep screaming in his mother's arms, however, and Stephanie quickly realized why.
"Ick; soiled didee duty," She said, carrying him to the changing table.
"Dya want me to.." He stated.
"No, honey, I can handle it," Steph smiled sweetly and, with a sense of efficiency she'd never been allowed to display elsewhere, cleaned her son up and dressed him in a new playsuit. Cooing happily, he played with her fingertips. "There! All better!" She smiled. When Stephanie turned around and carried Paul to the nursery's rocker, she noticed that her husband remained where he'd positioned himself moments before....and that he was still nude.
"Brock, honey, could you put on some coffee?" She asked. Suddenly mobilized, her husband brightened.
"Want some toast with that?"
"Sure. But honey?"
"Yeah?"
"Put some clothes on?"
She giggled to himself as he abashedly muttered, "Aww, fuck." And closed the door behind him.
For a good twenty minutes, things in the Lesnar household remained relatively peaceful. Stephanie wondered to herself how she'd gotten into this position: the McMahon Heiress, living out in the sticks with a muscular dude, no help, and only one-half of the major conveniences she'd grown up with. Stephanie had, in two years, learned how to use a gas stove, something she took pride in; she could also fish, manicure a lawn, and fish a pair of John Deere keys out of a fish tank.
She looked down at Paul Brandon Lesnar as he nursed contentedly from her being. Everyone had assumed that their son had been named for some sort of weird inclination on her part to remember Hunter, but in truth the child was named for one of his Godfathers, Paul Heyman, and, of course, his uncle Shane.
"Baby? You've got to come down here and see this."
Stephanie felt a bit of perplexity at the tone of her husband's voice; he sounded bemused. Thankfully, Paul's feeding was finished and, after she burped him, she padded downstairs to the kitchen area.
"Take a look," Brock said, around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. He stood at the kitchen's French doors, which opened onto a dais and swimming pool.
Stephanie was especially fond of that pool; it had cost her hundreds of thousands of dollars to put in.
And now it was covered in ducks.
She blinked, expressionless, at the sight before her, but the view didn't change; a carpet of mallard ducks, quacking away in the dawn light, paddling upon the surface of her pool.
***
"I'm not kidding you, Shane!" Stephanie cried into the phone, "It's like a plague of ducks!"
"Calm down, Steppher..."
"I am calm!" She shrieked into the phone; Brock, playing with their son on the den's floor, laughed out loud at the very suggestion. Stephanie pouted childishly, then sucked her lip back inward, "What did mommy and daddy do when things like this happened to them?"
"They told the servants." Shane said, very rationally.
"Shane, I don't have servants."
"That's your choice," Shane pointed out arrogantly, "Anyway, I don't know...animal control?"
"That's it!" She sighed, "Thank you, bro." After a brief exchange of further pleasantries, they ended the conversation. Stephanie quickly leafed through the town's white pages and found the proper number.
"Animal control...why didn't I think of that before?" Stephanie wondered, swiftly dialing the number.
"You could've asked me," Brock lazily said, tickling his laughing son, "I was going to call them before you grabbed the cell out of my hand and started to shriek that you needed your brother."
Stephanie sighed, "Yeah, great help he was," She listened as the phone burred. Finally, the connection picked up.
"Westchester Animal Control, who am I speaking to?"
"This is Stephanie McMahon-Lesnar of West Teaneck Road, and we have a situation here!" Stephanie proclaimed dramatically, drawing further snickers from Brock.
"What is your situation, Ma'am?"
"We have ducks!"
"Ducks?"
"A flock of ducks are floating around in my pool!"
"I see...are the ducks deceased?"
"No..."
"Are they endangering you or your family in any way?"
"They're swimming around in my pool. And they're quacking."
"I see...well, ma'am, the ducks are probably resting in your pool. This is migration season, and they're probably flying south for the winter.."
"Yes, well, they can't get to Mexico fast enough for me!"
"...they can't be removed from your pool. If they are removed, it will disturb their migration pattern and the entire flock could die."
"What?!"
"Ma'am, please don't shout."
"Why can't you remove them?!"
"It's against conservation regulations..."
"Screw regulations! I pay taxes! I'm paying for your sallery!"
"There's nothing we can do, ma'am."
Blood gleamed in Stephanie's eyes as she slammed the phone down, "We'll see about that."
Nonplused, Brock picked up Paulie and crossed the room, handing him to his mother. "Would you like me to call Paul E?"
The gleam brightened as Brock began dialing.
****
"I can get them out of here for free."
Stephanie, as always, distrusted the every word that Paul Heyman uttered; she instinctively shifted her son within her embrace and away from Paul, "What's the catch, Paul?"
The sly man's expression lightened as a duck waddled amiably over to him, "Nah, no catches."
Brock and Stephanie locked eyes, then warily watched Paul's face. They were both aware of Paul's unsavory connections. By now, almost everyone in their gated community was milling around on their dais, scarfing down burgers that Brock and Shane were making. It was turning into a pool party, but the festive atmosphere only strengthened Stephanie's resolve to be rid of the little creatures.
"What would you do with them, Paul?"
"Well," He started out tentatively, "There's this show in Tijhauana..."
"NO!" Stephanie and Brock cried out.
"But they'd get full medical coverage!"
"Sometimes you gross me out," Brock groaned.
"Is that any way for the Next Big Thing to talk to the man who made him what he is?!" Paul cried passionately.
"Yeah. Now shut up and eat your hot-dog."
Paul sniffed, pretending offense, "I'll say it again: is that any way to talk to your manager?"
Brock looked to his wife, who, with her free hand, scribbled something upon a piece of phone pad. She held it up to the light and the word 'NO' was written with full embellishment for Paul.
Brock stuffed a bite burger into his mouth, grinning impertinently as he said, "She's the head writer, Paul."
Paul E. grumbled and took a large bite of his hot-dog; after carefully chewing and swallowing, he continued, "Guys, it's either the Tijuana gig or we hire parties of hunters to come in here and shoot them for a fee. There's no other place for a wild duck to be taken."
"Why don't we call up a shelter or a rescue league?"
"That's no good, Brock; they're wild ducks, not hand-raised foundlings. Adding to that, there's nothing wrong with them," Paul glared at Stephanie, "Christ, Steph, you should just leave it alone. Let them sit there until they're ready."
Stephanie glared at Paul, "You don't know what it's like to have your private property invaded."
"Invaded?!" Brock shook his head, "Honey, you're being a bit harsh."
But Stephanie, in a full pique, was unstoppable, "I...Hate....ducks!" She snapped, handing him Paulie and retreating to the relative sanctity of the house.
****
An hour or so later, Brock found his wife in their bedroom. "Your dad's here."
Stephanie felt a bit of embarrassment at her childish behavior when her husband's eyes rested on her form. "Can you send him in?" She asked, as she settled into a sitting position.
Brock nodded sympathetically, and disappeared from the doorway. An instant later, Vince McMahon stood in the doorway to his daughter's bedroom.
"I heard about your duck problem." He said, authoritative but kind, entering the bedroom. "May I sit?" Stephanie nodded, and her father settled down on the bed.
"Really, Daddy?" She asked. "Do you know what we should do?"
Vince smiled, "Definitely."
"Tell me!" Stephanie's excitement glowed through.
Her father reached into his front pocket and produced a small plastic bag of crumbled-up doughnuts.
Stephanie stared at the bag, "Did you want me to make you a Blizzard, Daddy?"
Vince shook his head, "Honey, don't you remember this? Doughnuts? Ducks?" Stephanie's eyes were wide and puzzled. Vince frowned, "You were four years old. I took you to a duck pond one Sunday. You had so much fun, just feeding the ducks with me; we ended up doing it every day until you were about seven. When a duck bit you."
Stephanie blushed; "That's why I hate ducks." She admitted.
"Stephanie, you grabbed that duck by the tail."
"It was my fault?"
"In a way. But none of the other ducks were vicious with you, and I always made sure never to take you when they were in a nesting phase."
Stephanie felt a wave of sheepishness wash over her form, "I'd forgotten about the good times. I guess I'm kind of overreacting."
Vince squeezed his daughter's shoulder, "Just a little bit." With that, Stephanie embraced her father. A moment later, Stephanie broke the embrace and smiled, "Want to help me feed the ducks, Daddy?"
Vince smiled, "I'd be glad to."
***
An hour later, when the rest of the McMahons returned to their homes, only Brock, Stephanie, and a sleeping baby Paulie stood on the dais.
"They look nice in there, don't they?" Stephanie asked, watching the ducks as they settled down for the night.
"...Which is what I've been saying since six in the morning." Brock pointed out.
Stephanie nuzzled up to her husband, "I know. Sorry about that, and about freaking out on you; it's just taking me a awhile to adjust to everything."
"It's OK." Brock yawned, "I could use a good steak sandwich."
Stephanie blinked, "You just had three burgers."
"I worked up an appetite this morning!" He pointed out.
She grinned, "So you did," She stepped through the opened sliding doors and remarked, "Let's see if we can get Paulie to bed without waking him. I guarantee, you'll be starving."
Brock almost ran through the plate glass door.
***
Two days later, Stephanie peered out onto the dais, only to see an empty pool.
"The ducks are gone." She said quietly to the baby in her arms. Pouting, he looked out into the empty space, tears forming. "Shshh; I know you're sad, sweetie," Stephanie coaxed gently. The tears stopped, and he looked into her eyes. "I guess Mommy was overreacting about the ducks." The baby watched her, "And I need more practice at this Mommy thing, too." She cuddled her son closely, "But I promise, I'm not gonna give up on you ever."
And Paulie cooed contentedly, cuddling up to his mother and sealing that bond.