Take a Bow

A/N: So I totally forgot that I had even written this story until last night. When I ran across it again, I sent it off to a friend, who encouraged me to go ahead and post it. Hopefully, it's not completely outdated and irrelevant. For those of you who know Rhianna's 'Take a Bow' - this fic may seem familiar, since that was my inspiration, and it seemed perfect since I've been itching to write a story that reflects my current view of Batista. As always, Enjoy. Oh, and feedback is welcomed and appreciated!

"What are you doing?"

Glancing up from the task at hand, Megan paused and gathered her long, chocolate locks onto the top of her head before allowing them to fall over her bare shoulders in a long cascade. "Packing for you," she explained with a shrug, returning to her previous task.

Her boyfriend of the last eighteen months, Dave Batista, just scoffed and fell onto their huge mattress, his long legs stretching out before him as he watched her toss his belongings into a Louis Vitton suitcase. "Baby, I'm not leavin' for three more days," he reminded her, reaching for the remote on the bedside table.

"You're not going back to work for three days." Though she had every intention of confronting him reasonably, Megan couldn't stop the trembling in her thin fingers, couldn't stop the anger from building in her gut. By the time she heard his car in the driveway, by the time he stepped out of the shower after his latest trip to the gym, she couldn't stand the thought of him anymore. Couldn't stand the mere idea of seeing him on the bed they had shared just hours ago. "You're leaving this house tonight," she added through clenched teeth.

He huffed again and shook his head. "What are you talkin' about?" he asked, a smile of amusement on his lips as he rolled his head to the side. In the span of time it took him to realize she was emptying his drawers into more bags than he would ever need, even for a long road trip, Dave had reached over and gripped Megan's wrist. "Stop it for a minute," he insisted when she furiously threw a handful of socks into a black garbage bag.

Her icy blue eyes met his deep brown ones innocently. "You don't want me to pack for you?" she asked, her voice dripping with a saccharine sweetness that wouldn't be construed as sincere to anybody at all.

"Why would you," Dave started and then stopped, unable to wrap his head around this erratic behavior. This wasn't like his normally rational girlfriend. "What's wrong, baby?" She threw his underwear into the bag on top of his socks, her lip caught between her teeth as she tested the weight. "No more packing," he finally barked.

Megan stopped instantly, her eyes narrowed in his direction, as though she were trying to figure whether he meant that or not. When she had discerned that he did, indeed, want her to stop packing his belongings, she shrugged and carried the trash bag to the second-story bedroom window. Dumping it easily, she didn't even bother to watch as his unmentionable fluttered to the manicured lawn below.

After watching her make a few more trips to empty everything she'd already packed and the rest of his things from the drawers out the window, Dave shook his head, lept from the bed, and found his voice through the confusion. "Woman, what are you doing?" he demanded.

But Megan was not to be distracted. "What I should have done months ago," she answered simply as she threw the closet doors open and began hefting his jeans over her thin arms. "Just tell me this," she asked with a grunt as she pitched the heavy denim out into the yard. "Did you really think I wouldn't figure it out?" Shaking her head in disbelief, she didn't wait for his response as she headed back into the closet.

"Figure what out?" Dave asked, frantically moving around the foot of the bed to catch her before she could lob anything else out of the house. This was ridiculous. She was acting every bit of her twenty-four years now. "What is your problem?"

"Don't you fucking play with me, Dave," Megan's voice flitted from the closet before she did, a curtain of dark hair in her face as she struggled with the armloads of leather shoes in her arms. "Not now," she added as she tossed them out and turned back for more.

Before she could escape, though, he grabbed her arm and pulled until she faced him. "Stop throwing my shit out the window," he growled, as he would an opponent in the ring. When she grimaced against his strength, he released his hold and added a forced smile and a, "Please," for good measure.

It was Megan's turn to huff. 'Please' was gonna make it all better? Is that what he thought? A little smile and a 'please' was going to fix everything? "Ha," she laughed to herself as she retreated back to the closet, in search of anything that even remotely reminded her of him. "How about you please stop acting like you don't know what's going on," she called from the back of the closet.

"I'm not acting," Dave insisted as he sank against the window sill. It was going to take him forever to pick all that shit up. He'd had other time-consuming plans for the evening. None of his plans included clothing at all, actually. A headache began to form behind his eyes, dull thumping against his temple and he closed his eyes in an attempt to relieve the stress. When he opened them again, she was sending each of his neck ties to the earth beneath them. "Hey," he reached out and ripped one from her grasp. "That's Italian silk."

Megan's eyes grew wide and her full lips formed an 'O' in surprise. "Oh, I'm sorry," she spouted. Rolling her eyes, she went back to her task. "Wait, no I'm not." Did he have to be such a fucking style freak? This would have been a whole lot easier if he'd been like every other guy in the world: one pair of brown shoes, one pair of black, a couple of belts, three pairs of jeans, and some tee shirts. Why did he have to have so much stuff? She was starting to sweat. And it surely didn't help her mood that he kept trying to talk to her while she kicked his ass out.

Dave watched helplessly as she threw an arm load of his tailored suit jackets out of the room. He was sure he could convince her to calm down, if she would just stop moving for a second. He just needed to look in her eyes, mutter a few low, deliciously dirty words, and she would be putty. Hell, if he was really good, she might even apologize for her tantrum and volunteer to clean the yard herself. "Would you just stop for a second and tell me what the fuck is going on?"

In desperate need of a break from the running back and forth, Megan looked around the closet in satisfaction. There were a couple tee shirts left, but she could grab those in a minute. Entering the bedroom once more, she moved with determination toward her nightstand. "I'll do you one better, asshole," she hissed angrily, turning on her heels. "I'll show you," she added, meeting his eye with a death glare that caused him to look away.

Dread dropped like a ball of lead in his gut as Dave watched as Megan flipped several pictures onto the bed between them. Great. One after the other, she laid out a blanket of evidence, women wrapped in bed sheets or less, grinning like idiots for the camera. Of course, he couldn't tell her that those pictures weren't his. They were Cena's proof of his conquests. He couldn't tell her that, because then he would have to admit that the younger man had a stack twice as thick of Dave's proof in their little one-up game.

Megan watched as Dave's head bowed lower with each photograph, guilt bearing down on him. She had him. He couldn't lie his way out of it, and she knew it. "And let's throw this one in for good measure, shall we?" she asked defiantly as she slid his nightstand drawer open and tossed a framed picture of his ex-wife onto the pile.

And as quickly as he had felt remorse over the photographs, Dave felt his defenses rise. He didn't like the idea of hurting her, but he wasn't about to answer the same fucking questions for the ten thousandth time. "We're not goin' over this shit again," he mumbled, tossing the frame back into his drawer and collecting the photographs into a pile before dropping them onto the table top.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Megan apologized quickly. "Am I boring you?" She wasn't a normally angry woman, but he had pushed her way too far this time. And whether he liked it or not, he was going to face the music. She was sick and tired of looking the other way, refusing to see what was right in front of her face.

Rubbing his massive hand over his creased brow, Dave sighed in defeat. If she needed to yell about the same tired thing, have the same old argument, he could steel his shoulders and listen. Or pretend to listen. "Megan, we have been over this a thousand times," he began his exhausted defense, his broad shoulders slumping with his words. "Do I love my ex-wife? Yeah. Always will. But it's different," he promised, his brown eyes searching hers for some sign that she was believing him. "I mean, it's in this past." Nodding toward the photos at his side, he licked his lips. He didn't really have an answer for those. "This shit? Horrible mistakes. They don't mean anything. Baby, you're the only one," he began.

But Megan held up a hand and shook her head, her thick hair swishing around her shoulders as she held her position at the foot of the bed. "The only one you want," she finished for him, a heavy sigh of her own seeping out as she leaned her hip against the television stand and crossed her arms over her chest. "I've seen this episode already, Dave." Her tone was less than enthused. It was almost bored. "When's the new season start? The old one's starting to get boring."

Her mother had warned her not to fall in love with an actor when she moved to LA to pursue the career herself. Her father had told her not to trust anyone until she was absolutely sure they deserved it. Even her friends had cautioned her against getting involved with a professional wrestler, one who was never home, and who sold emotions in the ring for a living. Especially not one who was notorious for womanizing and being an all-around dick. But Megan hadn't listened.

Her agent had sent her to the Staples Center when WWE was in town, said that she wouldn't have any lines to worry about. All she had to do was show up in a tiny dress, take part in a party scene, and rub up on some half-naked, muscle-bound wrestler. It was a pay check and a way to get her face on television.

But from the minute her skin had touched the hard plain of Dave's chest, she had known that she was in trouble. In no time at all, she'd been swept up in this crazy, movie-like whirlwind with him. She hadn't even thought about looking to see that they'd only been saved from hurtling back to reality by his web of lies.

Watching the tears pool in her eyes as the anger ebbed into pain, Dave felt his own chest aching. She didn't deserve this. He actually thought he could spare her this side of him. He'd been so taken by her from that first meeting. He really thought that he wouldn't want to play the game anymore. That she would heal him. That he would miss her too much to be able to go through with it. "I give," he managed to whisper into the silence that had fallen between them.

Megan raised her ice-blue eyes from the floor to his face, her lips pouted as she thought. "What?" she asked, partially because she didn't know what he meant, and partially because she could barely hear him across the distance.

"I give," Dave spoke louder, his attention fully focused on the beautiful young woman standing before him. She was barely older than his oldest daughter, barely more more woman than teenager. Most of the time, he didn't notice. It was hard to when she was twisted in the positions she usually ended up in with him. It was hard to when her husky, sultry voice penetrated his phone line at night. It was hard to when she met him at the airport with a knowing smile and a look of longing in her eyes.

But as she stood, hugging herself at the foot of the bed, fighting tears and trembling to control herself, she looked small and vulnerable. She looked broken. And it turned his stomach inside out to know that he'd done that to her. That he had the ability to do that to any woman.

"Look," he started, scooting forward on the mattress. "I told you when we started this thing that I had a lot of baggage, right?" Megan nodded and Dave reached forward to take her shaking hand in his. "I told you that I was going to try to change. And I have. A lot," he added. To convince her, or himself, he wasn't sure. "But it's not as easy as I thought it was going to be."

Megan clenched her eyes tightly and felt a large tear roll effortlessly over her smooth cheek, stopping on the corner of her quivering lip. If Dave didn't stop talking, she was going to forget that she was angry. And she didn't want to forget. She didn't want him to stay. Because, more than anything, she didn't want to hurt like this anymore. She didn't want to pretend that she didn't know what he was doing, to turn her head the other way while he racked his total score up for the other guys. She didn't want to be fooled into thinking that he meant what he said.

Tightening his grip on her hand, Dave pulled Megan a slight bit closer, feeling the lump in his own throat. "I know I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, baby. And I know that you're not going to believe me when I promise it won't happen again. But I," he blinked his eyes as his voice cracked. "I don't wanna lose you."

Risking a glance into his deep eyes, Megan expected them to mirror her own. Glassy, filled with unshed tears. Wet cheeks that couldn't deny the emotion washing over them. "Oh my God," she groaned, ripping her hand away from him as she watched his brow furrow deeper, a sniffle sounding as he buried his face in his hand. "You're pretending to cry now?" Well, it wasn't like he'd been above lying to her for months now, was it? Why would he stop now?

"I'm not pretending," Dave pleaded with her to believe him. So he couldn't make the tears come. Didn't mean the emotion was any less real. That he didn't care about what he was doing to her. "Please, Megan. You gotta give me a shot. You're killing me here." Standing from the bed, he started to walk after her as she retreated back toward the closet.

"Killing you?" she scoffed. Him? He thought he knew pain? Like he had done nothing to deserve this? Like she had? "Dave, aside from the blinding rage, do you have any idea what seeing this shit does to me?" she asked, nodding toward the picture pile again. Swallowing back the nausea, she struggled to keep her most violent emotions at bay. "How many sleepless nights I have endured, wondering why you didn't call me back? How hard it is not to vomit when I think about you moving inside all of those other women, whispering the same things you whisper to me?"

"I don't," he tried to defend. He didn't. He never talked to them. It wasn't like that with them. They were just pawns in his game. On a rare occasion, they were the balm that made being on the road easier. But either way, they weren't Megan. He didn't see them like he saw her. He didn't even think about saying the same things to them, doing the same things.

But she only held up a finger to warn him not to interrupt her. She was in no mood to hear his excuses anymore, and that was obvious from the daggers building behind her red-rimmed eyes. "Do you have any idea how absolutely shattered my heart is right now? Do you even care?"

Did he care? Of course he cared. He wasn't a monster. He didn't want to hurt her. He fought for a living, and he didn't want to do it with her. "Megan, I know I fucked up," he started, accelerating the apology process as much as he could, while still sounding genuine. He didn't get much time to stop in, make love to the woman waiting at home for him, and then head out again. He hated that they were wasting so much time on such ridiculous bull shit. "But we can work on this, Baby," he smiled with a hint of a whine in his voice.

She watched as he moved toward her, stopping to rest his hands on her waist. God, his touch felt good. It was no wonder she'd been so blind for so long. It was hard to see anything around him when he was hovering over her. It was hard to think about anything when he smelled the way that he did. And it was hard to remember any suspicions or doubts when his lips met any part of her body. "Dave," she moaned as he dipped his face to that spot behind her ear that she loved so much.

"I'm so sorry, Megan," he whispered against her neck, his hands sliding around her waist. This was where he needed her. Where he could convince her that they were going to be okay. Where they could forget this little altercation had ever taken place. "So sorry," he added for good measure.

"I believe you," she whispered in response, her arms loosely around his neck as he continued to kiss her chin and her throat. "I believe that you're sorry," she added, stepping back from his embrace and shaking her head. "Sorry that you can't have your little woman at home and eat your ring rats, too," she rolled her eyes when the man before her deflated. Did he actually think that kissing shit was going to create a diversion now? After the images she had seen? After everything she'd been trying to tell him about how stupid she really wasn't?

Dave shook his head. It was over. There was no reasoning with her. But that didn't mean he was going to surrender his dignity. "That's not what this is," he defended weakly. "I really am . . ."

Spinning on her heel once again, she disappeared into the closet. "Don't tell me you're sorry that you're a cheating son of a bitch, Dave," she called as she gathered the rest of his things. "We both know you don't give a damn about anybody but yourself," she added in a huff as she dropped the last of his belongings out of their shared room and then smiled in spite of herself. "But Dave, if it matters, I'm sorry, too."

When she turned back to him, the perfectly sculpted nail of her index finger coyly clicking against her teeth, his stomach sank further than it had before. "Why?" he asked, his tone guarded as he thought about what else she could possibly have up her sleeve.

All of his clothes, his shoes, and his favorite accessories had already been tossed out. What could she possibly do that could hurt him as much as grass stains or dirt ruining his most prized possessions?

With a wink, she crossed her arms over her chest and crinkled her nose. "The sprinklers just came on."