Tsumi – Amethyst: Hey guys! Thank you so much for your lovely reviews! You're so encouraging and kind… You've motivated me to write this pretty quickly. My new year's resolution is that if I go a month without writing anything, then I suck. :P Anyway, here's the new chapter!!
"It's all right, just get it all out," Edge reassured the trembling man beneath him, tying back his golden hair. "You'll feel much better in the morning."
Randy winced. Just how Edge could stand beside a retching man and not do so himself was beyond his understanding. Then again, Randy would rather go through another feud with the Undertaker than be sick himself. He sighed, and set about making Triple H's bed for him again.
The tag team of Rated RKO had wrestled with DX earlier that evening in the main event, and had been forced to do so again but an hour ago, for less enjoyable reasons. Remembering something, Randy checked his right arm again for any signs of bruising, but found none. It would do him no good to have his looks ruined by a purple, sensitive mass on his arm, or a cut beneath his left eye… Speaking of which… Randy checked the mirror on the opposite wall. There was a slight scratch; it would be gone long before he would next have to perform.
"Here, drink some water, you need to replace your fluids…" Edge said from the bathroom, and Randy heard the sound of water being ran.
"I don't care about no fuckin' fluids!!" Came the sharp retort, and the sound of somebody spitting. "Don't care… No more…"
Edge sighed. "I'm just trying to help."
"Don't!!"
The bathroom door burst open, and in staggered a fatigued Triple H. He blinked rapidly and didn't seem to recognise his surroundings. His dark eyes stared in wonderment at the Hotel room for a moment, until they landed on the nearby bed, where Randy was standing, warily.
"Bed… Fuckin'… Tired…" Triple H started to walk, but instead lunged forwards, tripping over a stray shoe, and before Randy could move, his head had struck the side of the wooden bed frame.
"Fuckin'… fuck…"
Randy groaned and rushed to the man's side, wrinkling his nose. The man smelled strongly of whiskey and vomit. He turned the Game over and examined his forehead. There were no visible cuts, but there would be one hell of a lump and bruise in the morning. With a bit of luck, it would have gone before the next edition of Raw. Nevertheless, Vince would be furious when he found out about this incident, and Randy knew from past experiences. He touched the injured area gingerly with his fingers, and Triple H groaned beneath him.
"He's knocked out," Randy announced, drawing back from the man so that he could breathe. "So I guess you'll have to get him into bed." He stressed especially the word 'you'll.'
At this, Edge started, the role of being a concerned friend slipping back into the usual impatient, argumentative one that most people never saw past. And as much of a shame that that was, it made Randy feel somewhat privileged to know that he, amongst a select group of others, had seen past Edge's character. He knew Edge as a character, and Edge as Adam Copeland, when he was a regular guy, who had, contrary to popular belief, real feelings.
"Me? Why the hell should I do it, I just stayed with him whilst he was throwing up, for Christ's sake."
"Don't let Shawn hear you say that," Randy muttered under his breath, before summoning his remaining strength to argue with his tag team partner.
"But the smell of sick is starting to make me ill," He whined, "And you don't want me to be ill now, right?"
"At this precise moment, yes, I do," Edge said listlessly, forcing his arms beneath Triple H's limp form. "But fine, go back to Cena already, I'll stay with the big guy 'til morning." The man grunted as he wrenched Triple H's body off the floor, dropping him onto the bed as he heard a bone in his back crack.
Randy blushed at Edge's bluntness, but scurried out of the room anyway. The stench of vomit had burned into his skin, and he felt dirty. He left the hotel room and walked along the corridor, past the room he was supposed to be staying in, and pressed the button on the elevator. Within a few minutes, he was three floors up from where he had just been, and had just swiped his card key for room 619 into the slot. Randy stepped inside.
For a moment, there was no sound to be heard. Then, the bathroom door creaked and out stepped John.
Randy said nothing, but rushed over into John's arms all the same, fatigued. The warmth and security that he felt in John's arms were just what he needed after being involved in such a brutal evening.
"How is he, baby?" John whispered, breaking the silence. His hands rubbed Randy's back soothingly, his lips brushing his lover's ear.
Randy nuzzled the side of John's neck - A gesture to show he appreciated the attention. "Not good," He answered truthfully, sighing, "He was sick from the time he got back in the room 'til the time he banged his head on the bed. It was horrible."
"Is he hurt?"
"He'll get a few bruises and a lump, but in the morning he'll have taken too many painkillers to notice."
John smiled and pulled back a bit, holding his boyfriend at arm's length. He checked for any signs of bruising, and felt a slight ripple of anger at the sight of the one, but banished the feelings immediately. It had been Randy's decision to intervene, and he had paid the price. Nevertheless, John hated seeing Randy being hurt. It was only natural, after all, for a man to be protective of his partner.
Especially when the after effects could have been avoided.
Randy glanced to the side of John uneasily. He knew what John was doing and had seen a flash of resentment in his eyes when he saw the scratch and bruises. If Randy had been in his character mode, he would have sarcastically congratulated John on his achievement. He was now more self-conscious than ever.
John curled his fingers beneath Randy's chin and nudged his face up so their eyes would meet.
"You're beautiful," John whispered, pulling him closer and pressing his lips against Randy's before he could be reprimanded. He pulled Randy flush against him, feeling him go limp in his arms. Randy whimpered as John's tongue plundered his mouth over and over, a hand sliding down his back to squeeze his ass tightly, the other holding him close. He felt the press of John's erection against his thigh, the hardness of his chest against his splayed fingers…
"How about I take your mind off Paul for a bit?" John murmured, nibbling on Randy's lower lip, his eyes half-lidded.
The younger man moaned in reply.
(Meanwhile…)
Vince gaped at Shawn, his face locked in bewilderment as the Heartbreak Kid's eyes gazed sombrely into his own.
"I know that we had big plans for DX in the upcoming months, but I just don't feel happy doing this anymore. The travelling, the people… It's become too much for me." Shawn continued, remorsefully, "I don't think that the fans will miss me."
Vince closed his eyes rapidly. He could not be hearing this. Him and Shawn had always been close, and could confide in each other for just about everything, from future angles, to other people's tantrums. Over the years, Vince had even gone out of his way – Something that other Chairman's would never do - to arrange frequent meetings with Shawn, to go over upcoming events; to discuss the creative side of things. He trusted Shawn completely, and had hoped that he returned the faith, and this was why he was so shaken.
"But Shawn," Vince started, his mind focusing once more, "Your motto ten years ago is the same as it is now: To make the fans scream the loudest for the longest. You have done that since your very early years in this business, and on the occasions where you were forced to retire, never to wrestle again, you broke down in front of me and cried." His voice had risen to a somewhat frustrated crescendo.
"What has gone on?" His voice was husky, as if his throat had tightened.
Shawn flashed his boss another magnificent smile. He had been expecting his boss to counter with that argument, and was well prepared for it.
"My light has gone. That little spark that kept me passionate about wrestling. And now my reason for living has deserted me… Even caused this to happen." Shawn gestured to his bruised cheek, torn between admiring his friend's strength and hating him for what he had caused.
Vince frowned, misinterpreting what his friend meant. But of course, Shawn did not intend upon being clear about anything.
"When you came into this business, you knew that you would get a few knocks. But Shawn, wrestling is not a living thing, and although you love it like you would a woman-" Shawn flinched, "-It can never compare to how a real person can hurt you."
Shawn shook his head sadly. "You don't understand," His eyes fell to the floor, like a child being screamed at. The look of acknowledgement, shame, and reluctance to bear the consequences of his actions. "But there's nothing you can do. I am leaving this company. I can't carry on being who I am… and hurting the way I am."
Vince tried to think of a response for that, but his overworked mind felt like a hollow space, with nothing but panic filling it up. His businessman-like reflexes were, for once, unable to help him.
But for once, the reasons were at least understandable.
"Well, look," Vince managed, at a loss for what to say, "Come back tomorrow and we'll talk this through. And then if we can't sort something out, we'll begin negotiations concerning your contract."
Shawn shook his head. "I can't wait that long. Please, just give me this month's pay and I will be fine. There really is no need to draw this out. The fans will probably not even notice that I've gone. Tell them I've died. Do whatever it takes to make them forget about me."
Vince said nothing. He could not force Shawn to make something big of his sudden urge to leave; no matter how much he wanted, needed to. He eyed the bruise marring the wrestler's features for one moment more, before sighing heavily. With the release of air, he gave away his strength to argue; his ability to present his friend with solid evidence as to why he should not quit the business that he held so truly dear.
"All right, Shawn." Vince said quietly, resignedly.
Shawn took that as his cue to leave. The look of tiredness and sorrow in his boss' eyes meant that he needed to be alone. He rose from his seat, and waited for Vince to do the same. When he did not, he extended his hand anyway.
"Thank you for your time, Mr McMahon."
Vince rose slowly, holding onto his desk for support. His eyes met with Shawn, and for one moment, he almost looked apologetic. It was clear that whilst Shawn still loved wrestling very much, something had stemmed his creative flow. And the Heartbreak Kid would not have reached the point where he was without his imaginative way with moves, finishers, weapons… And ways to bend the rules in his favour.
Vince's hand brushed Shawn's, and they clasped together tightly, in the firm handshake that the latter had made into a sign of being a true man. With a brief nod at Vince, Shawn turned and left the room, a single tear gliding down his cheek as he left the building, unaware of the objects and people that surrounded him, staring at him with accusing eyes, regarding his bruises with amusement.
At last, he would finally be away from the dirt sheets, the lies, and the hatred of those who didn't even know him; the hurtful glares they shot at him.
If only the reason why he could face those things was with him. If only he would apologise, or maybe even act as if he was sorry, but Shawn knew better.
But if for just once, if he could not be stubborn, if he could swallow his pride and admit he was wrong, if only he could cast aside the traits he thought were masculine… If only.
Tsumi – Amethyst: Well. Not much happened in this chapter. I promise, a lot more will happen next time, but this was necessary. It had to happen so that I could be set up perfectly for the next instalment, so that's my excuse, and haven't you heard it all before? D Thank you all so much for reviewing me, I never expected this to get much publicity but now that it has, I solemnly swear to try and make this my best piece of writing yet.