Hi, this is Futo-chan. I love it when people review my fanfics!!! If you're reading this then review!!!! Pleeeeeaaase!!! And those comments about "please add the next chapter" don't count unless you critique the plot, too!!!
By the way, the Rey Mysterio & Trish Stratus Vs Chris Jericho & Victoria match I mention was a real match that you can view on YouTube. It's one of my favorites. Look it up if you're into that! ;)
Once they got back to the hotel parking lot, HBK went separate ways with Rey and Randy. Orton tagged along after Rey, still surprised after all these years of working with him at how fast the luchador could walk.
"Rey…" Randy began, a worried tone coming into his voice.
"Can I stay with you and Batista tonight?"
"Why?"
"I was rooming with Triple H…"
"Oh. Yeah. Sure. It's not a big deal. Do you need your stuff from his room?"
"Is he gonna do anything to it if I leave it there?"
"He might, uh…let's see, what's he done to people's stuff?" Rey thought for a second before he began listing HHH's past offenses off on his fingers. "Ah. Yeah. He could either hide it in one of the girl's bathrooms or a janitor's closet in the hotel, chuck it in the pool, fling it up onto the roof, light it on fire, dye all your clothes pink, plant an ink bomb…"
"Okay! Okay! I hear you! But how am I supposed to go into my room and get my stuff back and still come out alive?"
Rey scanned the parking lot. "Triple H isn't back yet. Here's my room key. Could you take my bag up to the room? Please and thank you."
Randy nodded and took Rey's bag and his room key.
"Kay. Now, Dave might give you some shit and stand in the doorway or something because he probably won't like having an extra roommate."
Randy gulped.
"All you have to do, though, is tell him 'Rey doesn't want to have to show Mr. McMahon the Vegas photos' and he'll lay off."
"What are on the Las Vegas photos?"
"None of your business," Rey answered calmly.
"The Incident"
When Rey and Trish Stratus had a match against Chris Jericho and Victoria a couple of years back, the whole roster had come along for the ride. Rey hadn't done anything too off the wall because he didn't like to be messed up before or after his wrestling shows and he didn't want to give his wife Angie any more reasons to worry about him when he was on the road.
But the incident he was referring to was the night before they all had to leave Vegas and everybody had a night off. Rey had exhausted himself doing G-rated things all day long and went to bed before anybody else did, evidently.
At two in the morning he was woken up by raucous –and drunken– male laughter in the parking lot and knew immediately who it was. He sighed, put on shoes and went out with his digital camera to take advantage of the opportunity to gain hilarious evidence of all the guys' behavior. Some of them were doing things too weird to be described, most of them managed to make it back inside their hotel rooms to pass out, but the long and the short of it was that Batista and Triple H woke up the next morning on the ground of the parking lot, Triple H as badly sunburned as a cooked lobster, and wearing a white tutu and ballerina leotard and Batista not as badly burned thanks to his darker skin, but wearing a pink Glinda the Good Witch getup that had to be seen to be believed. Nobody remembered how the hell getting those outfits had transpired, but apparently they'd been paid for. It was possibly the scariest event to ever occur in modern day wrestling, and nobody but the wrestlers knew about it.
Rey had gone out and woken them both up in the morning, (the rest of the WWE roster trailing him, much to the embarrassment of HHH and Batista) by pouring cold water on them. Jeff Hardy, who had experience with Rey Mysterio saving everybody's asses and cleaning up the aftermath of crazy nights on the road, was with the whole roster at breakfast and saw Rey borrow a pitcher of ice water. With an ice pack pressing up against his head, Jeff pointed at the luchador and said "Follow Rey, guys! That's where the fun's at!"
Rey had just rolled his eyes and let everybody stalk him as he padded out onto the parking lot and splashed water on Triple H first, who sat bolt upright and said, "Rey?"
"Yeah?" he'd answered.
"Where am I?"
"The hotel. You're in the parking lot."
"Oh. That's not so bad."
"Your sunburn is definitely bad. Can you stand up by yourself?"
"Yeah. I think so."
"All right. You need to find yourself a mirror when you get inside. And you know the drill; stay away from Mr. McMahon. I'll send a big bottle of Aloe Vera to your room for your skin."
"Thanks for always being the lookout, Rey," HHH said.
Randy had escorted him back to his hotel room and reported back that when HHH looked in the mirror and saw his outfit that he nearly killed Orton and demanded to know if anybody had evidence of this atrocity. Randy admitted that Rey had pictures.
HHH had never messed with Rey ever since then.
Rey splashed the remainder of the ice water on Batista.
"Wha? Who? Rey, is that you?" Batista asked, squinting at Rey through the bright morning sunlight.
"Buenos dias," Rey said flatly. Everybody sniggered.
"Can you get up on your own?"
"Of course I can, what's wrong with you? Why are you asking that?"
"Because you were smashed and because I don't want you to, uh…trip over your skirts," Rey grinned, exploding into laughter.
Batista looked down at himself scrambled up, and realized he was clutching a wand to complete his horrific ensemble just in time to hear the click of Rey's camera. Needless to say, Batista chased Rey back into the hotel, but Rey ran up the stairs before the heavier wrestler could reach him. And so Mysterio kept the photo evidence which had now become a legendary feat of blackmail amongst everyone in WWE. They would all whisper about "the incident" and whenever younger guys asked how Rey dealt with the aftermath of parties or other occasions that induced poor judgment, the older guys would say Rey would take care of you and clean up your mess and sober you up and help you get on the road…but that didn't mean he wouldn't take pictures.
"Do you have the room key to Triple H's room?" Mysterio asked.
"Yeah, here it is." Randy fished it out of his pocket and gave it to Rey.
The luchador sighed. "What I do for you guys, honestly…" He shook his head.
"Text my cell when you make it into my room so that I know nobody jumped you or something."
Randy nodded.
They met up with Batista on the way into the hotel and all boarded an elevator together, just the three of them. In a tight space. Alone together.
"Hey, Randy. Why're you carrying Rey's bag? Lose a bet?" Batista asked, smirking.
"He's carrying my bag because he's taking it to our room while I go get his stuff a safe distance away from Triple H."
"Why can't you just drop your stuff off in the room and then go get Randy's things? You have arms, don't you?"
"Yes, I do, Dave," Rey answered, raising both of his arms out in front of him and flexing his gloved fingers and then putting his hands on his hips, annoyed.
"Then why does Randy have to carry your stuff to our room? He doesn't need to go in there," Batista pressed.
"Because Randy can't stay in Triple H's room tonight, so he's staying with us."
Tense silence as the smirk slipped off The Animal's face.
"Rey, I don't think it's a good idea. You can't just start adopting the younger guys just because they pull stupid shit like fucking around with Triple H's stuff!"
"You see any papers in my hands?"
"Rey, you're not getting it."
"DO YOU SEE ANY FUCKING PAPERS IN MY HANDS?!" Rey shouted.
"No."
"There you go. There is no adopting going on here."
"Why do you always have to be such a bleeding heart about everything?"
"I don't know. Why do you always have to be such a pendejo?"
"Why do you always hafta swear at me in Spanish?"
"I don't. I said 'fucking' in English like two seconds ago. Pay attention."
Batista sighed. "Jesus Christ, man, can we please just not have this fucking kid in our room?"
"Look, the only reason why I'm letting him crash in our room is because I do not want to have to be woken up at 3 AM by the sounds of Triple H throwing him through a window. That's it."
"Fine. I see your point."
Rey liked a good night's sleep as much as the next guy but Batista valued it the way that most people value solid gold. He would kill for it. In fact, if anyone tried to keep him from getting it, that person was in serious danger of being dismembered.
The door *dinged* open and neither of the wrestlers had ever seen Randy Orton scurry anywhere faster than he scurried to their door.
"I'm going to go get Randy's stuff. His room was on another floor."
"You're such a mother hen," Batista teased.
Rey took a deep breath.
"Pendejo, pendejo, pendejo, pendejo, pendejo, pende-" he said as the elevator doors closed. "-jo." Rey finished when they shut completely.
Batista stomped over to Randy Orton, who was standing in front of the hotel room door he'd just opened. Rey's key was in his hand.
Orton was about to open his mouth to invoke his get-out-of-being-killed-free-card but Batista beat him to it.
"I know, I know. The Vegas photos. Get in the damn room, princess," Batista grumbled.
Randy got in the damn room and Batista slammed the door behind them.
By the time the elevator reached the correct floor Rey was having second thoughts about going into Triple H's room alone. He had no way of telling if the wrestler had made it in there before he was going to barge in.
"Should have brought back-up…" Rey muttered and slid the key card into the door, pulling it out and yanking the door open quickly, they way cops do on TV. It was empty. He exhaled.
Luckily, since it was their last day there, Randy had packed up all of his things that morning. And all the guys carted around their razors and other toiletries in their duffle bags, so Rey didn't have to comb through someone else's bathroom for random objects.
He found Randy's two suitcases and zipped them both up, set them upwards onto their wheels and was on the verge of starting to pull them out by the handle when he heard the *ding* of the elevator doors opening and heavy footsteps. Heavy like a heavyweight.
"Shit." Rey froze and his heart started beating rapidly. He'd left the door wide open, so he might as well go for it. Well…maybe not run, but…
Rey wheeled out the suitcases as calmly as possible and met Triple H in the doorway.
"Rey?"
"Yeah?" he replied simply.
"Are those Randy's things?"
What the hell. There was no way to lie about that, anyway.
"Yes."
"Where are you going with Randy's things, Rey? Are you taking them to Randy?" Triple H leaned in close to Rey so that the luchador could feel hot breath around his eyes and wherever else his mask wasn't shielding him.
"Because you know I'll just follow you to him," Triple H said his voice low and hazardous.
Rey started at the sound of his cell phone alerting him of a text message.
It was tucked in between his waist and the waistline of his pants. Figures that Randy picked now to text him.
"Is that him?"
"No, Angie-"
"Your wife is texting you? And saying what? 'LOL, look this stuff on UTube'? You need to learn how to lie better, Rey."
That was certainly true.
Rey sighed. "Look, Triple H, I'm not gonna tell or show you where Randy is. Plain and simple. Follow me all you want. I'm just taking the suitcases to my car."
"Why do you always do this, Rey?"
Rey rolled his eyes. What was with people today? Who decided to declare today the day to do an intervention on random acts of kindness?
"I have kids, it's a compulsion, I guess, to shelter little itty bitty Randy Orton because in some bizarre way he must remind me of them," Rey said sarcastically. "Now can I please leave now?"
Triple H stepped out of the way and shut the door, following Rey into the elevator and down to the ground floor.
As the elevator clicked onwards, Rey sighed and crossed his arms. "Look, Triple H, I'm not picking sides. I'm sorry if it seems that way, but I'm not. Randy just needs to get away from you tonight for your sake as much as his."
The larger wrestler didn't respond.
Rey sighed again. "If it's any consolation to you, I apologize on behalf of Randy that he was a dumbass and sprayed whip cream or whatever the hell it was in your pants."
There was an awkward pause and Triple H blinked at Rey, his expression shifting so that all the anger vanished into the lines of his face. He never ceased to be surprised that Rey could care-and worry- about so many people at the same time.
"Thanks, Rey."
Rey relaxed a little.
Triple H snorted all of a sudden.
"What?" Rey asked, confused.
Triple H started laughing. "It was shaving cream. Who the fuck carries around whip cream in the locker room?"
Rey sputtered and joined in laughing at his mistake.
"Oh, God…" he said after they both felt like their sides were splitting. "Oh, man, I must be so tired right now. I can't believe I said 'whip cream'."
They both managed to compose themselves by the time the elevator opened onto the ground floor.
"I'm just gonna go back to the room, Rey. I trust you enough that you'll take the suitcases where you said they were gonna go."
"Thanks, man," Rey said gratefully, wheeling said suitcases towards the door.
"And thanks for getting Orton out of my hair, for tonight, wherever you put him!" Triple H called.
"You're welcome!" Rey shouted back and did, in fact, take the suitcases out to his car.
Rey had never gotten around to showering at the arena. Once he knew he'd have to be loading boatloads of packages into his rental car, he decided not to bother with one until he got back to the hotel.
So he showered and meanwhile, Randy sat at the edge of Batista's bed. Batista sat at the end of Rey's bed as though he were guarding it from Orton's touch. You could tell it was Rey's bed because when he came in he'd draped his mask over the post.
There was an awkward sort of silence between Orton and Batista despite the fact that the TV was on. (It was on TNT, Batista had the remote, and they were watching The Closer.)
"Huh. Rey's pretty quiet in there. He's not drowning, is he?" Randy asked.
"Naw. Rey doesn't sing in the shower."
Batista sang in the shower. Ironically. Because he had the worst singing voice ever. John Cena told him so one day because being John Cena, he was the bluntest man alive.
"Man, you suck. Stop singing and shit in the showers, man, cause all our damn ears are bleeding."
Batista asked everybody if they thought so and they all nodded. Batista asked Mysterio and Rey looked at him for a second and then chuckled.
"Hey, don't sweat it. Most people who are really good at something aren't as good at doing other things. You're a better wrestler than you are a singer. So am I."
"Except Ashlee Simpson couldn't out-sing you, Rey," Cena had said.
And they'd all laughed because it was true.
"Why? Does he have a bad singing voice?"
"No, actually. I've heard him sing to his kids, and he's pretty good."
"Then why do you think…?" Orton said, scrunching up his eyebrows.
"I don't know," Batista shrugged.
Rey came out of the bathroom ready for bed. He saw the show on TV and remarked, "Ah, The Closer! Cool."
Batista chuckled. "I love me some Kyra Sedgwick."
"Yeah, she seems like a nice person," Randy said.
Rey patted his head. "Oh, so innocent."
"Who am I uh…bunking with?" Randy asked after the show was over and they turned off the TV.
Batista narrowed his eyes at Orton in a way that definitely indicated that he was not going to cooperate with such foolishness.
Randy flushed, swallowed his tongue, and turned to Rey hopefully. Rey was actually considering it because there were two double beds in the room and he wasn't nearly as space-consuming as Batista would be.
"Man, you can't possibly let a guy sleep where Angie would sleep if she were here," Batista said suddenly.
"Floor," Rey said immediately, gesticulating towards -you guessed it- the floor.
"You're sleeping on the floor, Randy. Sorry."
"You don't have to
apologize to him! Rey, why're you getting sore at me? Come on,
man!"
"Do I have to say it?"
Randy put some sheets on the floor that Rey tossed at him and climbed in like he was a kid in a house where two parents were fighting.
"Nobody's stopping you from saying what's on your mind."
"You're getting like, homophobic, you know?" Rey said, frustrated.
"Me?! Homophobic?"
"Yes, you!"
"You know I'm not a bigot, Rey! How could you say that?"
"Well, what do you call this right here? 'Oh, no, your bed is the size of a small country, but he can't sleep way on the other end of it because I'm a HOMOPHOBE?!'"
"Well, why the hell is he in here, anyway?"
"What was I supposed to do?"
"Just let HHH beat his dumb ass, that's what you're supposed to do in this fucking situation, Rey!'
"Aw, come on! Be serious!"
"I mean it! You need to stop getting involved in other people's conflicts!"
"And you need to stop making conflict between you and me, but I don't see either of those things happening!"
Batista huffed and Rey glared at him, fists clenched.
"Whatever. Fuck all of you. I'm going to sleep," Rey declared, fed up with the whole situation. It had been such a weird day.
Batista sat up in his Planet of the Apes pajamas that were flannel and long-sleeved like the ones little boys wear except infinitely larger than that to contain his crazy-huge muscles.
Randy had already fallen asleep in spite of the war going on around him.
Rey turned off the lamp beside his bed and punched his pillows a couple of times-something he normally didn't do- and loudly plopped himself down, his back to Batista as a last "Fuck you".
Randy turned over in his sleep and mumbled unintelligibly.
"Fine. Whatever. He's staying, I got it. But he's weird, man. Apparently all he dreams about is food."
Rey didn't want to stop the silent treatment just because of some stupid comment. He didn't respond at first. But Batista didn't move and didn't say anything. Rey's curiosity got the best of him.
"He talks in his sleep?" he asked skeptically, shifting slightly, not wanting to give away how interested he was.
"Yeah. I had a girlfriend that did that, once. She could even respond when you talk to her."
"While she was still asleep?" Rey asked.
"Hell yeah. It was pretty bizarre."
"Then ask him something."
"Randy! You all right?" Batista asked the sleeping Orton, enunciating his words.
"Mmm…cheeseburgers…" Randy yawned.
"The hell!" Rey blurted and sat up, scooting to the edge of the bed, pressing himself down onto it, and peering down at Randy. "Do it again."
Batista grinned, taking the time to relish that he had Rey virtually eating out of the palm of his hand. That and the fact that Rey looked absolutely adorable in that position.
"Randy, what are you thinking about right now?" Batista asked.
"Unh…apple pie…" Randy answered.
"Maria, madre de Dios..." Rey murmured in awe.
"Told you he was weird."
Rey nodded. Then he came back to himself and remembered that he was still incredibly irked at Batista. He put his game face back on and very pointedly ignored the opportunity to look at Dave and turned around again, planting himself firmly onto his pillow.
"Buenos noches," Rey said flatly and pulled the covers up around himself.
"Night, Rey," Batista mumbled, but Rey heard it.
"Ham sandwiches…"
Unfortunately, Rey heard that, too.
