Adoration?

The locker room was quiet and all was still, except for the persistent ticking of a nearby clock. Blue eyes were staring at the clock, following the movement of the hand as it passed various numbers. He'd been trying to calm himself down for a while now, hoping to ignore the pain in his legs, but even the dull movement of the clock made his head spin. His legs were sore, his back was killing him, and images of his best friend crumpling to the floor kept reappearing in his head. If only he could forget about it altogether.

He groaned and stared at the floor, one hand rubbing circles on his lower back. That last spot had been too much, but he knew that to distract people long enough for them to forget that Hunter's table didn't break – no, something else did – he would have to put on a good show. So, some posing and measuring later he found himself sprawled across Randy's chest uncomfortably, the boy asking by mere body-posture – like the hand lightly touching his - if he was alright. Shawn remembered the vivid red of blood, then the soft murmur that he was fine, before he got back to his feet again.

Even now it made him shudder: the thought of his friend going for a pedigree on an announcers table while his leg was a mess. He held his head in his hands, feeling a lurking headache touch ground. No, this was not a good day at all.

The door opened and Shawn nearly cried out in pain as his head snapped up. It was surreal to see who was standing there, though somewhere it fit. Chris Jericho, dressed much more low-key now that he'd left wrestling behind. The expression on his face was solemn; enough to tell Shawn that he'd seen the match.

"I figured I'd find you in here, seeing as all the other wrestlers are hovering outside wondering whether to enter or not."

He would have shrugged, if he hadn't been in pain. He'd realized he might be keeping people out, but he wasn't actively doing so, and it was honestly their choice. His presence shouldn't keep them from using the locker room. He was quite willing to share.

"Hmm," was his reply as he put his hands on his knees, staring at his DX ring gear, "Figures you're here. I guess you jinxed him again."

"Guess so. Pay-back for the dog storyline, perhaps."

"Perhaps," Shawn said, smiling at the memory of witnessing that.

"Shawn, are you okay? That was some match."

The concern in the man's voice was obvious, and for a moment it startled him. He looked up to see concern in the man's blue eyes, laced by something that could be seen as many things by the untrained eye Shawn had seen it many times before, though. Adoration, utter adoration, mixed with worry. He suddenly felt frustrated, annoyed, a slight whine to his voice as he spoke.

"Chris, please don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't look at me like that."

The confusion was clear on the Canadian's face, his startling eyes filling with unanswered questions. Probably something along the lines of 'what the fuck' or other things he would have shouted had it been anyone else. Hunter would have been snapped at by now, or at least asked what he was on about, but not with him. With the Heartbreak Kid he just seemed to wait, knowing he'd either be told what had been meant or asked to leave. They hardly knew each other, but Chris knew that . Perhaps fate had been trying to tell Shawn something.

"Don't look at me like I'm some sort of hero. Hunter's the hero; he's the one that just finished a match with a ruined leg. I deserve no one's admiration.

His headache had increased. The pounding served an annoying soundtrack to the mess that were his thoughts. If only he could turn it off or at least pick out something less devastating to his ability to think. His eyes burned, his muscles twitched painfully with every move, and not for the first time he wished he could take a painkiller for his aching back. He was emotionally and physically drained. Then he felt tugging at his boots and he opened his eyes to see Chris kneeling in front of him, fingers carefully pushing his pants up a bit and untying boots. Shawn watched, simply watched, as the younger man deftly removed his footwear. A dramatic sniff, a face of distaste that made Shawn smile, then boots were thrown across the room. He could hear them land with a thud, but he was too tired to even look to see where. For all he knew they were now stinking up someone else's spot.

"Don't worry," Chris murmured, his voice soft. "I don't do obsessive hero-worship. Not with fellow wrestlers, anyway. That's what storylines are for."

He looked up, and Shawn could still see the adoration in his eyes. It confused him, yet also worried him. He could handle admiration, had gotten used to it during his last years here. It was definitely ego-stroking to hear about other wrestlers respecting him, seeing him as a role-model, having grown up idolizing him. Yet at the same time it made him feel old. He saw men wrestle with him that had grown up watching him, wanting to be him, and had made it all the way. They weren't all young anymore, either. Most had grown, learned, and were now starting to become big names in their own right. But still, he could definitely handle admiration, if it were that.

It was quite clear that it wasn't that, though. Besides Chris' rather frank words, it had also been clear by the way he treated him. Rarely had Shawn been approached with the casualness Chris had shown during their angle. He would smile, greet Shawn, and then continue on his way. No awestruck glances, no bumbling words. No, behind the scenes Chris seemed fairly confident about himself.

Had he and Chris been closer friends, and had Chris been bigger and older, then he might have contributed it to the 'big brother' syndrome, much like the one Hunter suffered. He knew his best friend had a protective streak to him, and Shawn was often the recipient of said streak. That couldn't be the case, though, since Chris was not a close friend of his, or almost 7 foot in height.

That left one option. A crush. An adoration that was about him, not his status, and that had evolved. Crushing on the Showstopper wasn't an unheard-of phenomenon. Shawn wouldn't openly brag about it, but he had his fair share of admirers, both in the present and in the past. Some were a bit more forward about it than most, but he'd never even considered Chris to be one. He'd always seemed different, reluctant. It had been exactly that stance that had interested Shawn so.

"You should take a shower, Shawn, if you're hell-bent on not going to the medics. It'll help."

Concern. Worry. It was rather refreshing. Especially after spending so much time with a frantic Stephanie and the entire medical crew running around trying to make The Game as comfortable as possible. A pang of guilt made its way through him at that, leaving him to wonder how he could be so self-centered. He hadn't been the one injured; all he suffered were the usual aches and pains. Okay, so they were worse than most people's, and he couldn't use medication to take the pain away, but it was nothing compared to his friend's situation. Months in rehab; he knew how tough that was. How could he have even whined about it?

"If you wanted to get me naked then you could have outright asked," he muttered, wondering immediately afterwards when he had become so jaded and cruel.

Chris didn't sound upset. But who was he to judge?

"That's not what I'm after."

An arm wrapped around his waist, causing Shawn to clench his teeth in discomfort. He leant into the other man's body as he was pulled to his feet, firm hands holding onto his hips in an attempt to relieve his back. He was close to Chris now, the clean smell of him intoxicating. Perhaps it was because he himself was so sweaty and gross, or because his senses had been on an overload for a while now, but he didn't really question it. He just let his head rest on Chris' shoulder, the symbolic meaning of that not lost on him, and relished in the comfort it brought him.

He was almost carried to the shower, his dignity long left behind. It didn't really matter though, because this was Chris. He adored him, didn't he? Surely he would never tell. Besides, who would he tell it to? His fellow Canadians? A lovely bunch, but why should they care? It wasn't like he was backstage much either, so it was very hard to gossip. That and he didn't want to be strong right now, not for Chris, not for Hunter, not for himself.

Soon he found himself naked and immersed in warm water pounding down on him. He was leaning heavily against the slippery tiles of the wall, his head down as he felt the soothing waves wash over his body. A sigh escaped his lips, thoughts running through his head at a frantic pace. Hunter, Vince, the WWE. With Hunter out, who knew what they wanted to throw at him. He suddenly felt like Atlas, but one with an already broken back.

Another sigh, and he looked up somewhat, catching a glimpse of Chris still standing next to him. He had a towel in his hands now, using it to shield himself. For the most part it worked, but Shawn could see small signs of water on his shirt, the moisture on his face. He knew that if he looked down he would see the man's pants and shoes thoroughly soaked. He didn't though, because that would mean he had to acknowledge something else as well. That he was naked in front of Chris. Still, it could have been worse, it could have been Viscera.

The moment Shawn stepped away from under the showerhead he felt the large fluffy towel wrap around his waist. Muttering thanks, he tucked it in, watching as Chris followed him out. There was still concern on his face, but less than he'd seen earlier. A good sign, probably.

"You know, usually you're a really chatty person. What happened?" Shawn asked, grabbing clean clothes from his bag as Chris sat down on a nearby bench. Blue eyes regarded him, in one way thoughtful and sad in the other.

"Tonight happened."

"Yeah." Shawn sighed. "There's that." A pause in conversation, and Shawn stared at his bag.

"He'll be fine, you know," Chris whispered, his tone reassuring.

"I know."

He heard Chris get up, could imagine the wry grin on the man's face as he stared at himself in the mirror. His pants were ruined, and his shoes probably as well, he had to look slightly strange. Shawn didn't look, though, not at that. He looked back to stare at the adoration in the man's eyes, still there. Had it always been there? In the ring he'd assumed it was simply excellent acting, knowing where the Jericho/Michaels angle came from. That adoration turned so easily into hate, though he'd always been able to see the amusement behind that. Yes, perhaps it had always been there.

Chris had moved to the door by the time Shawn had finished his long-winded thought process. Shawn gingerly threw a shirt over his head as Chris opened the door. It was clear that he was leaving.

"Chris…?"

Blue eyes met each other. One pair seemed worn with age, the other branded by concern and underlying sadness.

"Yeah?"

"Next time you visit, remind me of this."

A small smile and a nod, then the door closed and Shawn was left to stare at it for a few seconds. He shook his head, and then continued getting ready. After a while he heard the sound of nervous voices from behind the closed door, and he righted himself. Time to go back to work.