He stared out the window with wide eyes, squealing as they glided through yet another cloud. On their long taxi drive to the airport she'd decided that she would attempt to get some sleep before the wheels of the plane touched the tarmac of the LA runway, but his constant slapping on her knee as soon as she was on the brink of dozing off had kept her awake. He wanted his Mother to share his new found excitement of the world, and all she could do was plaster a fond smile on her exhausted face to assure him she shared his enthusiasm.
She'd travelled on far too many aircrafts for her liking. The angle it abruptly slipped to on take-off, the houses that passed underneath them as they travelled further and further into the sky, the wings she was so sure were going to break off. It was all too real and nauseating for her that she wished she could pop a sleeping pill and wake when it was all over.
At least someone's enjoying it, she thought with a bit of humour to her forced grin. It gave her great joy to see her son so hyped up about the small things in life, and absentmindedly dread when he reached his teen years and the only thing that fascinated him was sagging pants and scantily clad girls. Oh well, her mind added, better enjoy it while it lasts.
Her little boy had only spent three years walking the earth, but somehow, in that short space of time, he'd managed to light up her world with the tired smile that crossed his face every morning when he woke up. He had so much influence on his Mother's ability to cope with day to day life, aiding the pain of not seeing the rest of her family, to her dreams she had thought so recently were forever crushed. But she had to be strong. She had to be strong for Mason because, after all, he was her family. And no judgemental, middle-aged housewife's disgusted looks and snooty remarks could ever take that away from her.
So what? She was twenty two years old, with a three year old son, and a non-present Father to that son. Sure, she was a teen Mother, but her age held no uncertainty in her parenting skills. And considering the fact that she was flying across the country to take on a brand new career, who could say that she didn't have Mason's best interests at heart? Granted, it was the career she'd dreamed of since childhood, but that didn't mean she wasn't doing this for her little boy. Every night she prayed she would find stability for him. And she had.
Maia Batista lived for her son. He was the reason she got up in the morning. He was the reason she brushed her long, brunette curls up into a hair tie to go to work. He was the steady hold that kept her from going insane. She'd gone through so much in her life. Death, loss, confusion. She didn't know what she'd been doing in life before he'd graved hers with his presence. In fact, she couldn't remember who she was before he was born.
"Would you mind keeping your son quiet? Some of us don't like to hear children shrieking every five minutes. My God, those rotten MTV shows have really influenced you kids in the wrong way. All I see is your generation popping out children this way and that," the man sitting next to her fumed, resting his gardening magazine in his lap as he attempted to insult her. But Maia was used to it. The snide comments no longer made her angry, it simply brought out her sarcastic side.
"Oh my apologies, I didn't know you had such a problem with my child making noise. I mean, it's not like children do it on a daily basis or anything. I must have missed the times you've expressed your annoyance in the past five and a half hours you've been sitting next to us," Maia retorted in an innocent tone.
Usually she was very polite to her elders, but that had kind of been drilled into her after the many years she'd lived with both of her Grandparents and Mother in England for the better part of her twenty two years. And after the… accident, she'd travelled with her Grandfather to Hawaii when she was fifteen. She'd seen first-hand what old age did. The forgetfulness, the poor motor skills. Even through all the sickness she'd respected them, and her Pop would be slapping her on the wrists if he knew of the way she was speaking to the elderly man beside her.
But he was an inconsiderate douche-bag. Her Pop would understand.
The man's spectacle-shielded eyes narrowed at her, but after a moment he huffed a sigh and continued reading. Something in Maia's face must have intimidated him. Good, she thought, might help him learn to stay out of other people's business.
Mason practically leapt out of his seat in surprise as the overhead microphone crackled with the pilot's voice, and Maia – well versed with the lights and the noises the aircraft made when about to land – buckled his seatbelt with a fond smile on her face.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, we would like to thank you for flying with us today. As the light above you suggests, we would like to please ask you to put your seatbelt on, stow away your tray table, and open your window shades. We will be reaching our destination in five minutes. Again, thank you for flying with Hawaii Airlines today."
This voice was almost comical. Sometimes making a sentence sound like a question, tone dipping or raising on certain words. And the thanking of the passengers. How many times do you need to thank the people aboard your aircraft? It's not like your begging them to stay on the plane. Not like they'll go, 'I don't like this aircraft' and then jump out the window, now is it?
"Mummy, why is the plane making those noises?" Mason asked nervously, having picked up on her British accent even when he'd been growing up on the Oahu Island. There was a mix of excitement and fear filling his light blue eye that were practically identical to hers. She ruffled his dark brown hair soothingly, selfishly pleased that his Father held no resemblance in his features. No one could look at him and say that he wasn't Maia's son. No one.
"That's just the landing gear, baby. But you wanna know something? It's okay to be a little scared, and you can hold Mummy's hand if you want. Spiderman holds his Mummy's hand when he's a little scared," Maia told him, extending her palm to her slightly shaking son. The Spiderman part was the sentence that convinced him, and he grasped his Mother's hand with a sigh of relief.
It was hard to gain a grip on reality for a moment. Occasionally, she wished she could grab her Mother's hand. To soothe the screaming inside her brain. To soothe the aching in her heart. But the hand was never presented by her Mother. Nor was it presented by her Father. Her Father.
The man that shredded her broken heart into a million pieces with every broken promise. The man who was never there. He wasn't even man enough to call her and ask her if she needed anything after the accident. No moral support, no offer of sanctuary at his Beverly Hills Mansion. She would have stayed in a shack if that meant she could be close to him.
And at this new job she'd be forced to speak to him on a daily basis – maybe even stand in his corner from time to time to provide more intensity to a feud. She would be expected to vouch for him and support him in front of the camera's when he'd never done it for her in real life.
It was a hard life she lived. The past seven years being the hardest. She needed a Mother to guide her, or at least a Father to protect her. But she had nothing. No relatives left but David. She felt an emptiness brew in the pit of her stomach. An emptiness she hoped would be filled when the wheel's hit the ground. Though she knew it wouldn't. It never would be. No matter how hard she tried.
She'd carried him into the building, his forehead resting on her collar bone as he slept. Conversations were hushed when they walked by in a bid not to wake him, and Maia smiled at each of them gratefully. This was not what she pictured WWE Headquarters to look like. She'd expected mimicked championship belts to sit in glass cases, history defining moments captured in photographs to line the walls, maybe at least referee's jersey's to be pinned up somewhere.
But no. Water coolers and interns.
Doors were labelled with stainless steel engraved plaques reading names like, 'The Creative Team.' and 'Editing Studio.' Not that the creative team really deserved an office to themselves. They'd performed so poorly Superstars and Divas were coming up with their own storylines, and wrestling had once again turned into a very real sport. It was like the idolized Attitude Era, but more pain was inflicted. People had to get by with their talent nowadays, which is where Maia stepped in.
Finding the right door after asking some coffee drinking moron, she knocked on it lightly. Her palms were sweating with anticipation. It wasn't like this was some 'big interview' or anything. She'd secured the job and was even staying in the same hotel as some of the other wrestlers. It was just a debriefing. With Stephanie McMahon. The most intimidating woman alive.
"Who could that be? Oh my God, it must be Maria. Come in Maria! Hunter, tuck your shirt in," she heard Stephanie whisper, and she was instantly afraid of what she was about to walk in to. She didn't want Mason's eyes to be scarred with her bosses putting their clothes on after sex on a desk. Hell, she didn't want her own eyes scarred with that image.
"Am I interrupting something?" she asked as she opened the door, breathing a sigh of relief to see Hunter Helmsley sitting on a couch in the corner far away from his wife, discarding a different shirt into the corner stained with jelly. Good. No heated rendezvous on a table. Just a man's mess. She could deal with that.
"You're British? Steph, I thought you said this was Dave's kid?" he asked, fastening up the buttons on his shirt while looking Maia up and down, confused. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she put Mason on the ground as he began to wake. "Oh please don't take that the wrong way. It's not that this isn't marketable, it is. Combine your accent with your body, it really does work. In fact, it kind of increases your hotness. Actually, it-"
"Hunter, I think she gets it," his wife interrupted his complimenting, which Maia hadn't really taken notice of as Mason clung onto her hand for support. The woman glared at her husband, and he crippled under the stare. "So Maria, we've brought you here to-"
"I'm sorry to interrupt Stephanie, but my name's actually Maia," Maia said with a guilt stricken smile. There was already a Maria in the WWE, or at least there used to be. She was portrayed as a naïve dumbass. Something Maia certainly didn't want people drawing her up to comparison with. Seeing the confusion on their faces, she continued. "Maria's my birth name, but my Mum got it legally changed when I was ten. Maia Batista, that's the new one."
"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware. So Maia, we've brought you here today to discuss some of your booking in the near future and your ring attire. We've chosen to go with the colour palate of gold's, blacks and blues, from your choosing. We also understand that you don't want to be sold simply on sex appeal, and you want to wear a bit more reserved clothing than the other Divas. That won't be a problem for us, as we understand that you are quite skilled in the ring," Stephanie smiled, and Maia couldn't help but blush. Compliments didn't sit well with her. She either ignored them or tried to brush them off as casually as possible.
"Thank you, Stephanie. So do you have me booked against anyone in particular? Couple matches with a heel to win me over with the crowd? A really good feud that I can sink my teeth into?" Maia asked, sitting in the chair in front of her desk with a grin of her own. Good debuts were practically guaranteed for second generation wrestlers. Sure, the actual winning of the match was all up to the wrestler themselves, – but they were booked against someone that could get them places. If she could beat a Bella, Alicia Fox, Natalya maybe, then she could prove herself. A legit Diva who was there to stay. Not be brushed aside like the rest of them.
"Well we're going to start you off with something nice and easy. No matches yet, just backstage segments and getting yourself well known as a Batista," Stephanie said enthusiastically. Maia's heart sank. "You're going to be in a feud with your Dad. Batista versus Dean Ambrose for the United States Championship. Figure out who you dislike more, Roman Reigns or Seth Rollins. We're going to create some kayfabe information on your history of one of The Shield members, whichever one you pick."
"Excuse me, what's 'The Shield'?" Maia asked, confused. She couldn't bring herself to watch WWE programming for a while since something called the Authority was brought to life. The only reason she'd accepted the job was because apparently the violence had gone down a significant amount. How could a brand new group of wrestlers become worthy of fighting against her Dad, who was admittedly a great wrestler?
"You'll find out soon enough, but for now I suggest you get your little boy back to the hotel and get some rest. We've got a show later on tonight, and you can't miss it. You can't miss it for the world," Stephanie said mysteriously, and Maia continued to look baffled. My God, she thought, just how much has the WWE changed? How much am I not caught up on?