Two Steps Removed
Story: As one of the newest additions to Friday Night Smackdown, Triple H thinks back on what made being a member of Monday Night Raw so special.
Time Period: Post-WWE Draft
Type: This was really intended to be a one-shot, but I'm thinking of making this a chapter fic and adding more parts to it in the process.
Note: Song excerpt and story title is from David Cook's "The Truth". I've been obsessed with that song for a while (I'm a HUGE David Cook fan) and as I was thinking of the perfect song to capture Hunter's feelings in this fic, the lyrics here just seemed perfect.
"Two steps removed from everything I thought I knew
There's no remedy.
I see your face in every single thing I do
You change me."
-- David Cook "The Truth"
It just isn't the same, he thought. It just isn't the same.
Hunter Hearst Helmsley sighed. It wasn't a sigh of satisfaction nor was it a sigh of peace. He wasn't content with his current situation by any means and that particular situation left a lot to be desired. Judging by the angered look on his face, it was apparent that Hunter's reason for sighing would not merit scenes of walking barefoot on the beach. Images of light hearted, casual conversation over hot cups of coffee would appear to be incongruous as well. No, Hunter's sigh wasn't a sigh of good cheer at all. Instead, his sigh was one of frustration and irritation.
Hunter turned on his blinker and prepared to make a turn. He made the turn with his right hand, his left arm casually slung out of the window. He sat in the driver's seat lazily, obviously a bit tense around the shoulders. His hair was loose, no ponytail or baseball cap was there to tame his golden mane, but to its credit, the wind was gentle and soothing, probably the only thing surrounding him at the moment that kept him sane. He breathed in the night air, allowing the coolness of the evening to briefly fill his lungs before once again taking flight around him. He looked over to the seat next to him and frowned. He looked up and gazed at his rearview mirror to look at the seats behind him. Prior to looking, he had already known his answer: he was alone. And it sucked.
The entire time, he took to the road in silence, with the exception of the wind which at times seemed to whisper sweet nothings to him, caressing his features as if it were some kind of lover just waiting to be caressed back. And when it became known that Hunter's mind was elsewhere and oblivious to its intimate kisses, the wind seemingly backed off, just as a lover would, and appeared to keep its distance, yet still lingering around just in case.
Anyone that knew Hunter would find it odd to see him cruising down the road without the sounds of the latest Motorhead CD or a classic Van Halen album blasting from his stereo. After all, he had with him his bulky CD case filled with CDs that he bought or one of his co-workers (most likely Edge or Chris Jericho) would either let him borrow or keep altogether. But on nights like this where no song, not even Motorhead, could calm his nerves, it was best to save those songs for another time when he could better appreciate them. Of course, he lived by the adage that music was a great healer, but what that great man that made that statement (whoever he was) failed to realize was that the same could be said for silence, which was just as therapeutic as anything affiliated with an electric guitar and a set of drums.
Once at a red light, Hunter glanced at his black case in the passenger seat filled with CDs and in a rush tugged at the zipper, revealing his growing
collection of rock music. With haste, he looked at each CD in search of one he had long forgotten until this point. It wasn't until he neared the end of his collection that he finally found what he was looking for. He popped the CD into the player and pressed on the gas just as the light above him switched from red to green.
The virgin air was broken by the sound of Garth Brooks. Sure, it wasn't Hunter's cup of tea by any stretch of the imagination, but he wasn't listening to Garth specifically for him, per se. He was listening to Garth because it reminded him of a dear old friend he recently – and reluctantly – left behind. As the well-known country crooner sung of unanswered prayers, Hunter's mind wandered to a moment in time where he wasn't so alone on the road.
- Flashback Sequence -
"How come we always have to listen to what you want to listen to?"
"Because I'm the one in the driver's seat. I'm the one that taking us where we need to be so I get to decide."
"I never get to listen to my CD in the car. It's not fair."
"Yeah, it is, especially since there's a law in this state that says it's illegal for a passenger to pick out the music he and the driver should listen to.
"Yeah, right. There's a lot of crazy laws out there, but I'm not believin' that one, Hunter."
"Hey, you never know. If there's a law that saysit's illegal to lie down and fall asleep with your shoes on in North Dakota, than anything's possible!"
Shawn Michaels wasn't having any of it. Each and every time, he was subjected to the kind of music Hunter liked and just as he had told his friend, it just wasn't fair. Shawn had nothing against rock music, but would it hurt to listen to some country every once in a while? You know, shake things up, as their boss, Vince McMahon would say?
"Besides Shawn, I barely say anything when you blast your music in the locker room. I recognize that every time you do that, I end up losing matches."
"Hmm, I'll have to remember to blast my music the next time you're the WWE Champion. It'd be a shock to see you lose the Heavyweight title to, oh, I don't know, Colin Delaney…...or Cherry."
"A-ha. Very funny, Shawn. Nice to see you bringing the ha-ha, as MVP would say. And Cherry? Of all people?"
"Hey, remember when Chyna won the IC title from Chris Jericho? It could happen."
"Yeah, well, to this day Chris claims Chyna is a man so in his eyes, that doesn't count."
"Yeah, but you know Chris. He'll claim anything before admitting defeat. Like that one time when he said he lost to John Cena in that You're Fired match because he combed his hair 41 times before that match instead of the usual 42."
"Why 42?"
"I don't know Hunt. Something about 42 being the answer to everything."
"Oh yeah. That's Chris alright. Hey, remember that time when he said he was going to sue CBS for airing a series called 'Jericho'? He claimed they were using his last name to get ratings."
"Yeah or that one time when he said that he was the first one eliminated on Celebrity Duets because there was a conspiracy to take him off the show? He said his talent and good looks were too much for the other contestants to handle."
"I heard he actually protested the show and carried a sign over his head that said 'Conspiracy Victim' with an arrow pointing to himself."
"Yeah, well, that's Chris for ya."
"Sure is….sure is."
There was silence between the two of them for a while until Shawn's voice filled the air.
"You know, Hunt, I want you to have this."
Hunter looked down to see a familiar CD in Shawn's hand.
"Shawn, I can't take that. It's your favorite CD."
"All the more reason why you should have it. I can always get another one, but even if you never listen to it, you can at least look at it as a symbol of our friendship. We always have the silliest conversations because of it so I want you to have it so when you reach tough times, you can see this and look back on days like this."
- End of Flashback Sequence –
Yeah, he gave away his Garth CD for days like this. Hunter didn't think much of it then, but it all became clear at this moment.
A lot of their humorous conversations were because of that CD. That particular night it went from that CD to Chris Jericho's arrogant, and often absurd, excuses. Other nights, that CD would somehow bring them to the heated debate of why oranges and greens were the only foods whose name reflected their color, or why Simon Cowell always wore black or white shirts ("Maybe he's colorblind", Shawn guessed), or why everything tastes like chicken. One time, they segued into a heated debate on what kind of food popcorn would be classified as. ("Well," Hunter said, "it's pretty obvious it isn't a fruit. Maybe it's a vegetable.") Regardless of, he was starting to miss those days.
All because of the WWE Draft.
Once again, Hunter Hearst Helmsley looked at the seat next to him……and sighed.
So what do you think of the story so far? Let me know so I can see what's on your minds! Take Care and God Bless.