(This chapter is a SLASH STORY. If you do not like M/M please DO NOT READ IT. You have been appropriately warned.)

Fic title: Sympathique
Song: Sympathique (je ne veux pas travailler) by pink martini
Characters: John Cena, Bret Hart
Mentions of: N/A
Rated: T for language and brief m/m
Disc: Not my men or song, I don't make any claims on anyone's sexuality. It's all for fun
Summary: Have you ever noticed how rare it is to find a picture of the hitman really smiling?
Genre: General
Notes: PLEASE LISTEN TO THE SONG FIRST FOR THIS STORY: .com/watch?v=FeVJbhXuRek

SPECIAL DEDICATION: This is for XxShawnsGuardianAngelxX for her very entertaining Cena muse and her fantastic friendship. I hope you enjoy this one!

-

John sat on the bench of his locker room, holding one of the discontinued figures from the Jakks Pacific line. He looked down at the plastic replica of Bret Hart, with his painted on pink tights and tiny imitation leather jacket. "I'm nothing like you." He sighed playing with the toy's arms. "Everyone back here hates me. Sure doesn't help that I let that happen. I thought it'd be great to be the guy on top- the creative team loves me. The kids love me. But that doesn't mean anything when you've got no friends. Now look at me, I'm all alone talking to a damn toy like some kind of lunatic. It's pretty damn sad when not even Orton wants to hang around ya."

He tossed the figure down on the top of his bag. The angle with Bret gave him a chance to meet his childhood idol, and even though it was only for storyline's sake, getting to be buddies with the legend himself was worth more than any title run. For the sake of not wanting to turn his own hero against him, Cena took to avoiding him too. He glanced at the toy one more time before tucking it safe inside his bag, and after not bothering to zip it shut swung the strap over his shoulder to leave the room. He kept his head down, wanting to avoid every glare he could. Unfortunately that meant not paying attention to where he was going.

"Ofh! Hey!" Bret stumbled forward on his weakened left leg, making him fall to the ground. His coffee cup spilled out everywhere- making a huge puddle of light colored liquid.

John's jaw fell open at what happened. The color drained right out of his face as he quickly went to Bret's side. "Oh god, I'm so sorry! Here, let me help." He said grabbing up Bret's arm and hauled the other man up to his feet. "Jesus, I can't believe I did that. I'm so sorry. I was lost in my own thoughts and-"

"John, hey- relax. I'm not mad. It was an accident." Bret pulled out some napkins that he had the foresight to buy when he got his doomed cup of coffee. He cleaned off the coffee dripping off his sleeve. "You must have had something important on your mind."

Despite Bret's insistence, Cena wasn't hearing it. "I can't believe I knocked you over, let me help." He stammered and began took some napkins from Bret to help him clean up. His sneaker slid on the coffee puddle as he tried to get closer to help. He tried to steady himself but he lost control and had to grab onto Bret. He brought the man down again to the ground, the both of them landing splayed out on the floor as the napkins rained down. They soaked up the coffee; turning from white to light brown. The shock at what he had done, again, was etched all over John's face. "Oh shit, oh fuck- oh man! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" He exclaimed and got up to his feet. He staggered back up and tried to do the same for Bret.

"No no, I'm fine. I can get up myself." Bret swatted away Cena's hands and stood up. His long hair had coffee soaking through the strands. He made a face; there were few things that were worse than the smell of old coffee in one's hair. He glanced around briefly to see what happened to his napkins. All of which were now soaked in coffee, making them useless. He sighed. "I'm all out of napkins."

"You're all out of napkins?" John's face paled, as if that thought alone was the worst news he ever received. "And you're completely covered in coffee. It's even in your hair."

"I know." He said sharply, examining his hair to see just how much coffee was now in it.

Bret's curt reply stung him. He grabbed at the front of his orange tee shirt, and gulped. "H-Here, let me get that." He unzipped his bag frantically and tore through it, grabbing a clean towel for Bret. He reached out, dabbing awkwardly at Bret's hair.

"John…" He snatched the towel out of his hands. "I can do this myself." He grumbled and tossed the towel over his head, shaking it over his hair in a last ditch attempt to dry it off. While he had his vision cast down ward, he caught a glimpse of Cena's Bret Hart toy in his bag. He looked at the younger man through the strands of his dark hair. Cena looked utterly humiliated. He was babbling on apologies as if it were going out of style. Bret sighed; the great untouchable one- or so he was told- was nothing more than a scolded little boy. "It's alright, John." He said pulling off the towel to look at him. "It was an accident. I'm really not mad. You can relax. Hell, I shouldn't have bought the big size anyway. I'd have been up for hours had I finished it!" He chuckled.

Bret's laugh made him relax. "You mean it? You're really not mad?" John smiled slowly. "…Come on, let me buy you coffee or something. You got that from Starbucks, so it must have had to mortgage your house to buy that size. It's the least I can do for knocking you down. Twice. Spilling your coffee…"

"Awkwardly rubbing my hair?" He teased.

"Awkwardly-" John gulped. "I-I was just trying to help."

"Relax, John! You sure do know how to make an impression. And I think I will take that cup of coffee. There's a café right next to the hotel, we can have a cup there. Just give me some time to shower up. Somehow, I seemed to have gotten all this coffee in my hair." Bret winked at him, and patted his shoulder. "I'll meet you there in an hour."

Cena turned around to watch the older man go. He gulped and then fell against the wall, running his palm over his face. "Man… you are an artist at making an ass out of yourself."

-

Bret looked up at the man who pulled out the chair in front of him, sitting down with a huff. "…Was an hour not enough time to get here? You could have gone and changed- or at least dropped your bag off, I wouldn't have minded waiting an extra couple of minutes."

"No no, I didn't want to keep you waiting. I was pretty positive I was going to miss you. I got declined for a rental car and had to take a taxi here. I don't know if you've tried recently. But man! It's hard to get one of those! And then the guy didn't want to go the quickest way to the hotel, he wanted to take the long way. He said that there was too much traffic and-"

"John- relax. It's fine. You didn't keep me waiting long." He grabbed up the white ceramic cup, taking a sip from his coffee. "I've been relaxing."

Cena looked at the table in front of them. Sure enough, there was a magazine with the pages folded back, and a newspaper opened to the games section. Judging by his quick glance, Bret finished the word search and was well on his way to finishing the jumble. "Oh, well I… I'm glad you weren't bored or anything. …Are you sure it's okay to be here? It's late, don't they want to close or somethin'?"

"It's open past two in the morning. Due to the influx of unhip crowds of soccer moms and business men in the morning, some of the more trendy cafes started catering to the later crowds in hopes of gaining back the hipster influence." Bret smirked a little at the now confused look on John's face. "I spent a lot of time in coffee shops when I wrote for the Calgary Sun and when I was writing my book."

"Oh." John rubbed the back of his neck slightly. "I never thought the hitman would become a trendy hipster-I-drink-expensive-coffee-while-I-write type of guy."

Bret paused for a moment. "That guy was always there. He was just buried under the surface."

"What do you mean?"

"It's nothing." Bret waved his hand dismissively. "Aren't you going to get anything?"

"Um, I don't know. Do they have energy drinks here?"

"Yes, it's called coffee." Bret gave him an amused look. "I'm sorry, I couldn't resist. John, if you weren't comfortable coming to a place like this, why did you offer to get coffee with me? You haven't stopped fidgeting since we got here."

"Well I ruined your coffee." Cena said looking a bit sheepish. "I thought I should replace it. …You really like this kind of thing? The whole arty café with the snooty music playing? Come on. I'm not diggin' this, Bret and I can't believe you are."

Bret sighed and rolled his eyes. "Give it a try, John. So it's a little different than what you're used to; give it a try. And just because the music isn't rap, doesn't mean it's not good. Just listen."

Cena wiggled around in the rod iron chair in an attempt to get comfortable enough to listen. The cheerful song drifted into his ears, it's beat was lively and catchy. He tilted his head to the side, and shrugged a shoulder. "Well, I guess it's not bad. But hell… I don't know what she's saying. I bet it's something about being French, and doing whatever the French do. I'm sure it would mean more if I knew what it meant."

"Mm, I'm sure that would help." Bret stirred a spoon through his coffee idly as he added in a packet of sugar. "It does sound happy doesn't it? But that's what's so deceiving about it; just because it sounds happy, doesn't mean it is. In actuality, John, the song's quite sad. It's about a woman who has a broken heart; she doesn't want to do the things she once loved because she's upset. Je ne veux pas travailler, je ne veux pas dejeuner, je veux seulement l'oublier et puis je fume... I don't want to work, I don't want to lunch, I only want to forget so I smoke. I can relate…" He ran his finger over the rim of his coffee cup.

"You speak French?" Was all John was capable of babbling out. Even though the words were sad, the way Bret said them in his husky timbre of a voice made him blush slightly pink.

"Well yeah, it's my country's second language. Everything has French on it, including soda cans."

"Oh." Cena rubbed at the back of his neck again and gave him a sheepish look. "I know barely anything when it comes to French. It sounds great when you say it though, even though the words are sad! I mean, you have that sexy voice. …I well… I…. I'm just going to stop talking."

Bret gave him an amused look. "It's alright, John. I think it's flattering."

John squirmed slightly in his seat. Why was this so hard? He was having lunch with one of his childhood heroes, this should be a great time. He ran a hand over the back of his neck and tired to think of something impressive to say. Bret seemed so smart, so worldly. His mind went into overdrive as he attempted to think of something, anything to say that sounded good. "I… wait. Wait a second. What did you mean when you said you could relate to the song? Aren't you happy..?"

"Well, I'm happy now. But when I was your age I wasn't. I was disappointed with being a wrestler. Pirouette?" Bret offered him one of the long wafer cookies he was munching on occasionally.

"Uh sure." He grabbed one and took a bite. Impressed with the taste, he continued to eat. "But you're changing the subject. Why were you disappointed? I don't get it- you're Bret Hart. You were born to wrestle in a ring, man!"

Bret picked up his coffee once more, and took a sip. He looked over the rim at John with his soulful brown eyes, slowly putting the cup down. "Exactly. Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, I didn't want to wrestle? That I wanted to do something different with my life? But, like you said, I was born to wrestle in a ring. I didn't have a choice."

John looked at him owlishly. He took another cookie, and reached out to take Bret's coffee away. In one quick motion, he finished off the drink. "Oh, that is gross! How could you drink that crap?! Ugh!" He smacked his tongue and lips, trying to get the taste off.

Bret blinked. "Why did you steal my coffee- especially if you don't like it?"

"Because it's going to your head, man! The coffee, the weird cookies- the French music I don't understand! You're Bret Hart; the greatest wrestler to ever live! Don't even try to tell me you didn't love it."

"Well… I did love it. But I didn't get the chance to try and be something different. I could have made it on my own as a writer, or an actor." He grumbled. "I didn't get the chance to be something different is what I'm trying to tell you. Ma chambre a la forme d'une cage."

"…Alright, now that's not cool. Don't use words I don't understand. I just… I'm sorry. I don't understand. You always seemed to be happy." He frowned a little. Bret Hart didn't want to be a wrestler? It just didn't compute in his mind.

"I know, John. Let me try and explain it a little better. Everyone in my family was connected to the wrestling business. Aside from that, I was born into a huge family. All I wanted was for my dad to pay some attention to me. The only way to really do that was be a part of the business. Every time I drew something, or wrote something, my dad didn't have the time to look. But if I did something in the ring, he always had time. So… I learned early on that if I wanted to do anything, it would have to be in a ring. Everything else would always come second. The ring was my cage. Even though I loved it, it always felt… like it was holding me back."

John sighed softly. "I'm sorry, Bret. I didn't know you had such a… desire to do different things."

"Really?" Bret raised an eyebrow. "I left to go act for awhile. I drew stuff for the WWF magazine. I did voice acting. I cut a really awful track for a WWF CD. I had a role in a TV show. I wrote for the Calgary Sun. I was in a musical twice."

"Well yeah, there's all that. But you still came back." He grinned slowly. "So it must be a pretty nice cage. Does it get HD tv or something?"

Bret burst out laughing, and John's grin grew larger. "It does now. My cage is like a four star hotel room. Jacuzzi tub included."

"You got room for me in that cage?" John leaned in a bit closer, putting his elbows up on the table.

"Maybe." Bret moved in a bit more. "…You owe me another cup of coffee you know. Technically two, because I bought the one you stole."

"How about I buy you a red bull instead? It tastes better."

"You mean you'd rather not meet again like this?"

John suddenly flushed, painfully aware of how close Bret was to him. He could really see those incredible brown eyes up close and personal. How anyone could possibly wrestle with Bret looking at them like that suddenly became a huge mystery for him. "I uh… you want to see me again?"

Bret smiled. John gulped. Come to think of it, John rarely remembered Bret ever smiling. Why he didn't was yet another mystery. It was a nice smile. Warm hands on his face snapped him out of it. He didn't have time to react as he felt Bret's lips crashing against his. Shocked, he didn't move. It wasn't registering. Finally as he got the nerve to even think about kissing Bret back, the soft lips were gone.

"What do you think, John?" Bret's question was soft; he nearly missed it.

"I…" He sputtered out. "I…. I need to use the bathroom!" He got up quickly from the chair and stumbled over to the bathroom door. "Fuck!" He exclaimed loudly as the word echoed against the ceramic tile of the bathroom walls. He went over to the paper towel dispenser and grabbed a wad of them, soaking them in the sink. He pressed the wet towels against the back of his neck in an attempt to cool down. He glanced up in the mirror taking notice of how bright red his face was. "Why is it so easy to make an ass out of yourself but so hard to make yourself look good?"John groaned.

One of his childhood heroes was interested in him, yet somehow he couldn't find the strength to get back out there. "He probably thinks I'm the most immature idiot- ugh. I pick on the café, I pick on the music, I stole his coffee! Why is he still interested in me? Why did he let me of all people know those deeply personal things?" He asked as his expression stared back at him with the same confusion. "Why the hell am I asking you anyway, this is your fault. I don't know what Bret sees in us." He said and then chuckled. "Oh Cena, now you're talkin' to yourself. Doesn't that just beat all?"

John threw the paper towels out in the garbage with a sigh. Out there was Bret Hart; the man, the myth, the legend, and the guy with the really soft lips. That kiss was something special, and all he could do was sit there rigid like a block of wood. He kicked at the ground, muttering soft expletives at his behavior. Hopefully he still had a shot. Hopefully Bret didn't change his mind. He pressed his fingers to his lips as if to savor the feel of Bret before it was gone forever. "I gotta get back out there." He mumbled, pushing open the door.

But when he looked around the room, Bret was gone. Cena sucked his teeth. "Man…" He grumbled going over to the table to collect his stuff. On the top of the table was his Bret Hart figure of all things. "What the hell…?" He murmured. He reached down and grabbed it, turning it over in his hand. On the back written on the toy's legs was a phone number and the words 'call me' written on the other leg.

John stared at the number and the neat printing on the toy, a slow smile spreading across his face. He carefully packed the toy back into his bag, zipping it up and slinging it over his shoulder. He glanced over to the bored barista behind the counter. With an unshakable grin, in butchered French he uttered "Au revoir!" and walked out of the café with his head held high for the first time in a long time.

FIN

Closing notes: I know not many of you are Cena fans, but I couldn't get this one out of my head. I'm trying to write pairings and people I don't normally do. Hopefully you found this one as enjoyable as I did to write it.

***I make no claim to whether or not Bret felt like the ring was a cage or not. It was just a device used in the story to fit the song***

If you were interested in this pairing, Redsandman99 has an excellent story .net/s/5770803/1/Crush that features Cena/Bret.

I am not sure what the next story will be, whether it bet het, slash, or just general. I have some ideas kicking around. Anyway, thank you for your time!