A/N: I got the idea for this few-shot after what happened at the end of this past Monday Night Raw. I'm sorry, I love Jericho, I was a Jericholic LONG before I was anything else--but what happened on Monday was absolutely RETARDED. Anyway, what better way to take out my frustrations than through the written word? Hopefully, you'll enjoy it. Peace!

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing and no one in this story


So Unfair

Chapter 1: The Proposal

Dave Batista ran a hand over his shaved head, growling under his breath. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this angry. Okay, maybe that was a lie. He could remember plenty of times when he'd been this angry, and most of them had involved losing the World Heavyweight Championship. Barely two weeks after winning the title for the fourth time, the Animal had become a former World Champion, thanks to a goddamn technicality.

"He fell off the fuckin' cage," Batista muttered to himself. "Fucker hit me in the head and then fell off the fuckin' cage." His fingers grazed the bandage covering his forehead. This particular wound had come courtesy of Chris Jericho and a steel ring. It was nowhere near the worst injury he had ever received (the torn tricep topped that list) but its very presence infuriated him, reminding him how his championship reign had slipped through his fingers with the evanescent quality of smoke. And all because some asshole had dictated long ago that you could win a title by falling off a cage.

The Animal gritted his teeth. He had put up with this shit on SmackDown for the better part of a year thanks to Edge, Vickie Guerrero and the rest of La Familia. When he had been drafted to Raw at the end of June, he had thought his days of pointlessly chasing the title had ended. But then Jericho had stepped in and become Champion through unbelievable luck and coincidence, and had used said luck and coincidence to hold onto the title.

Just as he had tonight.

Batista made a fist with his free hand, clenching it so hard that it almost hurt. "Fucker fell off the fuckin' cage," he reiterated for good measure. He heard a noise behind him, the soft sound of someone clearing their throat, and whirled around, taking a step forward.

Mickie James practically leapt back, a small shriek of surprise escaping her mouth. "Jesus Christ, you scared me!" she exclaimed.

The Animal glared at her for a second. "Didn't anyone ever teach you not to sneak up on people?" he demanded.

Mickie tilted her head to the side, raising one eyebrow. "Riiight," she drawled, her tone sarcastic. "Like anyone would be crazy enough to sneak up on you."

Batista didn't have an answer for that, so instead, he just snapped his mouth shut. The two of them stood there in silence for several long moments before the former Women's Champion spoke again. "Listen, um…" The Raw Diva ran one hand through her long brown hair, her eyes drifting off to the side. "A bunch of us are heading out to the bar…I was wondering if you'd like to join us."

The Animal stared at her for a heartbeat or two, his mouth curling up in a bitter half-smile. "Thanks, but I'm not really in the mood for socializing right now."

"Well, then, how about just joining me?" Mickie's boldness was enough to shock Batista into silence, and the former Women's Champion rushed on. "It's not like I'm asking you out or anything—it's just…I saw your match…and I figured you wanted someone to talk to." She started to say something else, then stopped.

"And?" Batista prompted, his voice less harsh than it had been earlier.

Mickie looked toward him, meeting his eyes once again. "And…I know a little something about getting screwed out of a title."

She had him there. Now the Animal was the one to look off to the side, his expression transforming from guarded to almost thoughtful. After a long pause, he glanced back at the Raw Diva and nodded. "All right…you got yourself a date."

To Be Continued…