Chapter Four
Chris Jericho was still muttering to himself, cursing under his breath, as he stepped out of the hotel elevator with the blonde brothers and their new valet. Trish looked up at him with raised brows when she heard a particular colorful combination of curses slip past his lips. "Chris, I think we get the idea. You hate her. But this isn't the time or the place for it," she added, before nodding her head towards the shorter of the two brothers. Chris winced when he saw just how tight Christian's shoulders were, and how he had kept his head bowed for the rest of the night so his long hair could hide his face.
The buxom blonde stopped suddenly, checking the keycard in her hand for a final time before gesturing to the door in front of her. "I guess this is mine. Shea told me that she had already taken her stuff out of here, so-"
A hand closed on her wrist before she could swipe the card, and she jumped a little, before looking up at Jericho's face. With his head turned away from the brothers, he winked at her, before shaking his head. "I don't think you should stay there, Trish. I mean, we don't know what's going through that woman's mind anymore."
She sighed and stepped away from the door. "Shea's my friend. She wouldn't do anything, and you know it."
"No, we don't," Edge said quietly, before shifting the strap of her bag on his shoulder. "She's working for Vince, and we all know what he's capable of. She could have just left us, but she purposely put you with us. I don't know what game she's playing, but I think Chris is right. You shouldn't stay there tonight. For all we know, she's got Lita waiting in there for you. And at this point, I wouldn't put anything past her."
Trish rolled her eyes, stepping away from the door as she folded her arms under her breasts, one hip cocked to the side as she looked between Edge and Chris. Christian remained with his back turned, waiting outside his own hotel room door, listening to the three of them bicker. The small blonde, who looked even smaller now that she was slouching, made a face at them. "Oh? And what am I supposed to do, sleep in the hallway? I don't think I could get a room here tonight if I tried. You saw the sign, there's some sort of conference going on tomorrow morning."
"You can stay with me," Chris offered. "They gave me a double room, by mistake. There are two beds. I'm a few floors up, so even if she had something planned for you, there's no way in hell that she would anticipate you staying with me. It's the safest solution," he added, when Edge looked over at him.
Finally, Edge nodded. "Thanks, Chris. I appreciate it. I'd feel better if Trish wasn't left alone tonight."
"Hello! Standing right here," she exclaimed. "I can hear you, you know." Taking in the stern look from both of the men, she finally relented with a sigh. "All right, fine. Thank you for your concern. I'll meet you guys down in the lobby around...nine thirty tomorrow morning? That should give us enough time to get to the airport." When Edge nodded, she smiled at him and straightened, putting her hand on his arm. "Call me if you need anything tonight, anything at all. You have my cell phone number; don't be afraid to use it." She patted him on the arm and then slipped past him, going over to Christian, where he was slumped against the wall. She placed her hand on his back, looking under the curtain of blond hair that hid him from everyone. "Get some sleep, okay? Don't think about it tonight. We've all had a long night. And you know that if you need to talk-"
"I'm fine, Trish," he said, cutting her off as he raised his head, staring forward.
She nodded slowly, biting her bottom lip before she stepped away from him. Chris took her bag from Edge and looped the handle over his shoulder, offering his hand to the small blonde. She placed her much smaller hand in his, almost smiling at the way it seemed to swallow hers, as he started to walk her down the hallway. Once she was at his side, he let go of her hand and placed his on her back, escorting her into the elevator. Once the doors shut, they both let out a sigh at the same time, looking over at each other and chuckling. Chris sobered almost instantly. "He's really taking this hard."
"Well, of course he is. They love each other, and then she just suddenly turns around and starts making out with Eric Bischoff in the middle of the ring."
"Thanks for the reminder," he told her, wrinkling his nose as the elevator stopped. He led her down the hallway to his room, opening the door and throwing their bags in the corner. "Did you want to change before we head up to Shea's room?"
She flicked a look at the clock and then nodded. "Yeah, I think so. By the time we get back here, I'm probably just going to crash on the nearest bed. Just give me a second," she told him, before going over to the suitcase she had left in his room earlier that day, digging through it before disappearing into the bathroom. He sat down on the edge of one of the beds, rolling his shoulders to try and release some of the tightness that he felt from his match earlier that night, before she emerged five minutes later, her clothes dangling from her hands. Chris laughed suddenly as he looked at the tiny blonde, now clad in a pair of flannel pajama pants with cartoon characters on them and the matching tank top. She had washed her face, her rosy cheeks evidence of that, and pulled her hair up into a sleek ponytail. She put her clothes back in her suitcase, pulling out a pair of small white socks, and sat down on the ground, pulling them on. "Are you laughing at my Eeyore pajamas?" she asked.
"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I am," he said between chuckles.
She stood up and put her hands on her hips, glaring at him. "I'll have you know that Shea gave me these. Remember when I sprained my wrist? Well, I emailed her a few times, and I guess I was sounding a little upset about it, so she gave me these the next time she saw me. I think they're cute."
"And I think you look like you're twelve years old in those," he told her, laughing even harder when she swatted his arm. He stood up and cocked his head to the door. "C'mon, little bit. Shea probably wants to crash sometime soon, so we should probably get this over with."
The two of them got back onto the elevator and stood in silence as it rose almost to the top of the building, Trish having to point out the proper direction of the man. She marched over to the door and knocked on it, watching as it opened a crack for someone to look out at her. "Hi," she said cheerfully, waiting until Eric Bischoff pulled the door open enough that the two of them could walk in. "How's she doing?" she asked him, her voice a bit lower, as she tried to peek into the sitting room, where she heard voices.
"Well, as long as Shane keeps her mind on work, she does all right. But she's a little upset." Trish nodded, her ponytail bouncing, as she took off in the direction that Eric motioned to. Chris stepped through the door next, and gave his former employer a stiff nod, walking quickly after the blonde woman.
"I guess I missed the memo that it's a pajama party," he said, surveying the people in the room. Shane McMahon looked up at him from where he was sitting on the floor, leaning against the chair that Shea was sitting in cross-legged, his sister massaging his neck and shoulders as her head was turned, chatting with Trish. The heir apparent was wearing the same comfortable jeans he had shown up at the arena in, switching out his turtleneck for a Boston University tee shirt. "How's the neck?"
Shane flicked his eyes towards his little sister and chuckled. "Well, she definitely knows how to wrestle, I'll say that. I wanted it to look good, so I told her to really let me have it. She did." He raised a hand and gestured to the table in front of him. "Help yourself to some pizza. We just got it about twenty minutes ago, so it should still be warm."
"Ooh, pizza!" Trish exclaimed, hopping over Shane's outstretched legs to pick up a paper plate and drop two slices of pizza on it, taking a napkin as well. "Thank God. With everything that happened tonight, we didn't have time to stop and get something to eat. Besides, the guys just wanted to go directly to their room, and then Chris and I came right up here. So, how'd the meeting with the bitch go?" she asked sunnily, plopping down on the floor as she took a bite.
Shea McMahon laughed from where she was sitting, stopping her massage for a moment to drink from a can of soda near her. "I did everything in my power not to scratch her eyes out. I was friendly, told her that I was giving up the title belt and that I'm going to have a lottery on the next RAW to choose the number-one contenders. Eric is going to be fixing it. It'll be you versus Lita, and you had better beat the crap out of her. God, if she's annoying when she hates you, it's even worse when she's working on the same side as you."
Trish's eyes lit up, as she swiped her napkin across her lips. "Really? You're...you're going to give me a title shot? I've never had one," she said softly.
"Well, you deserve one," Shane told her, as his sister's hands went back down to his shoulders. "Dad's really screwed things up around here. You should have gotten a shot at the title belt a long time ago. You've really improved since you first showed up," he told the small blonde, smiling a little when she flushed and dropped her eyes down to her plate. "Same as you, Chris. For some reason, he does not like you."
The blond man shrugged as he took a seat, looking around the room at everyone there. Shea had changed out of her constricting leather outfit, choosing a pair of pajama pants that looked like their may have once belonged to Edge or Christian, and judging from the length of the pants, he was going with the former, and a black sports bra. Eric Bischoff, on the other hand, sitting comfortably on a nearby couch and looking through a file, was still wearing his all-black outfit that he had worn on television that night. "Might have something to do with the fact that I keep insulting his darling little princess," he said, taking the pizza crust that Trish left on her plate, biting into it.
"True enough," Shea said quietly. "Stephanie couldn't be here tonight, but she did ask me to tell you again that she's very sorry for everything that she'd said to you and done to you the past little while. She really didn't mean it. Everything that Shane and Steph have done for the past three years...it's all been because of this. Everything was part of this plan. Even Eric. I told the truth...well, half a truth, tonight. He has been in on this for six months, just on our side. He dislikes Dad as much as we do."
The man finally spoke up from the couch. "That's an understatement and a half," he told her, his eyes staying on the papers in his lap. "Where is Steph, anyway?" he asked, finally raising his eyes to look at her.
Shane sighed, closing his eyes and tipping his head back as his sister continued to knead at his sore muscles. "She wants to stay in the office for a little while longer, in hopes that she can pick up some more information for us. I mean, if it wasn't for her, we never would have known that Dad was going to try and talk you into showing up here. Steph is a brat, always has been, but she's the queen of eavesdropping and spying," he murmured. "Okay, if you don't stop that, I'm gonna fall asleep right here, and just imagine Dad's reaction when he comes here for breakfast in the morning."
With a snicker, Shea lifted her hands and wiggled her fingers. "Good, 'cause my hands are starting to get sore." She nudged him with her foot until he scooted over to the side, leaning back again, while she changed position, curling up and tucking her feet under her. "Okay, so down to business. Trish, you already know that you're going to get your title shot. And I fully expect you to win. If only to piss off me and Eric, because we will be cheering for Lita, of course. Chris, we need you to thoroughly piss off Eric. And the best way to do that-"
"Is team up with me," Shane told him, opening his eyes finally as he shrugged. "I'm sorry; I know it's not the ideal situation for you. I mean, you should be a main-event guy, and I'm a sad excuse for a wrestler as it is, but I'm just going to be a mouthpiece in this. Hopefully. If I do have to step into the ring, it'll be against Eric. I can only imagine the match the two of us could put on." The two non-wrestlers in the room looked at each other, as Shane snorted with laughter. "God, that's going to be embarrassing."
Trish surprised everyone by reaching out and smacking Shane on the arm, giving him a stern look. "Don't talk like that. I've seen you in the ring. Like that street fight that you had with Kurt Angle at King of the Ring last year. You're lucky that you weren't seriously injured! But you definitely know how to fight, even if you aren't the most technical of wrestlers. Stop selling yourself short."
"I'd listen to her, Shane. She knows what she's talking about. Unfortunately, for Vince McMahon's children, selling ourselves short is something that we were trained to do at a very young age. 'You're stupid, you're worthless'. Ring any bells?"
With a groan, the heir apparent rolled his eyes. "You forgot a few. Stupid, worthless, waste of space, bastard, not worth his time...shit, I can't remember them all. And you got it the worst." He reached up blindly and patted his sister on the knee. "I think my personal favorite was when he told you that you'd do well on a street corner, with a mattress strapped to your back and a coin belt around your waist so you could make change for your customers."
"Vince said that to you?" Chris asked, his blue eyes narrowing as he finished eating the first pizza crust, plucking the second one out of Trish's fingers. "You have to be kidding me. He talked to his own daughter like that?"
Shea shrugged. "You should've heard some of the things he would say to Shane. He had to be a good example to me and Steph, of course. I can't even count how many times Dad would threaten to whip me with his belt. Funny enough, that's one thing he never did. Never once laid a finger on any of us, outside of spankings when we were really young. He just liked to yell and make us cry. Or, in my case, ship me off to England to 'school'."
The most silent of the five, Eric Bischoff, feeling like he almost didn't belong in the room with the staunch WWE supporters, closed the file he was holding and dropped it by his feet, where there was a messy stack of papers. He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair, leaning forward to grab his bottle of water from the table. "I take it that it wasn't much of a school."
The woman shook her head sadly. "No, it wasn't. It was more like a boot camp for troubled girls. Outside of classes, there were therapy sessions, rehab, church events...I think the headmistress almost had a heart attack when I told her that I wasn't Catholic, like the rest of my family. I told her that I was a Pagan, and she started spouting off about witches and the devil." She shook her head. "Actually, I don't believe in any religion, organized or otherwise, but I knew that it would piss her off. They also firmly believed in capital punishment and child labor. I think there are still a few scars on my knuckles that never completely disappeared." She held her hands up to her face and examined them. "I acted out a lot of a kid, and Dad never did anything to stop me. He just sent me away one day. Told me that I was going to be meeting Mom in France, to go on a shopping trip. Loaded me up in the jet, sent me on my way, and all of a sudden, we landed in London, my luggage was being searched for drugs, and I had to strip naked for them to make sure that I wasn't carrying any contraband. I got a few hits for that." She smiled at the questioning look on Eric's face. "I had a few joints hidden down my socks, because I figured that customs would be going through my bags. But my cigarettes and booze were taken away."
"How can people treat their children like that?" Trish asked softly, shaking her head. "I mean, I didn't have the best childhood growing up. I did some bad things, too, but my parents always loved me. They never did anything like that to me. How can someone hurt their children, tear them apart? That's sick," she whispered, blinking as she felt tears come to her eyes as she realized just what kind of life her new friend had growing up. Shane looked just as thoughtful, lost in his own memories for the moment, and she watched as his sister lowered her hand and ran her fingers through his short hair, scratching the top of his head lightly.
"Try being the oldest and having to be that good example for your two little sisters. Nothing you could do, no matter what it was, would be good enough for him. I remember Steph bringing home a test that she got ninety-eight percent on. I mean, that's an A plus, but because it wasn't one hundred percent, he didn't accept it. In fact, he punished her for it. Mom wasn't much help, much as I love her. He told her that he could discipline us better than she could, because she was too kind to us, and she went along with it. We never really told her how bad it was, and I don't think she really noticed until he shipped Shea off to England. She got a long hateful letter from Shea, who was telling her all about the conditions at the school, and she just never knew. Dad told her that he wanted to send her to a boarding school outside of the country, to see if she would shape up a bit."
"I did," Shea said with a bit of a frown. "I mean, there really wasn't much to fix. I acted out to get attention, and I saw what that attention got me. I wasn't really addicted to anything, and I never went further than smoking a little pot and having a drink on the weekend. Normal teenager stuff. Hell, Shane was stoned every day for almost a year, and he didn't get sent to boarding school." She shrugged and looked down at her hands, a bit of a smile creeping onto her face. "Of course, I was a bit of a slut back then. Slept with Steph's boyfriend and everything. But I was young, you know? I was just fooling around." Shaking her head, she laughed a bit, her eyes meeting those of her brother. He nodded, barely moving his head, agreeing with the silent message.
Before she could open her mouth to say anything else, Eric caught the look shared between the siblings and let one corner of his mouth twitch into a smile, before he hid it. "But that has absolutely nothing to do with what we were talking about," he said. Shane turned to look at him, giving him a grateful look. "Okay. Shane and Chris. We have to figure out how this'll work."
Chris swallowed the last bite of crust, rubbing his hands together to rid them of crumbs. "Well, really, it's simple. Shane and I become 'partners', I guess, out of default. There's no way that I would align myself with you, considering our past together in WCW." The two men shared a look, but the words were without the venom that Chris usually laced his voice with when speaking of his former boss. "And everyone knows that I'm friends with Edge and Christian. Have been since I made my first appearance. We knew each other back in Canada, so it wouldn't be that much of a stretch that I would be mad at Shea. I've tagged with her a few times."
"Tagging with me...I don't think it'll be quite enough. I mean, yeah, we fought side by side a few times, but we also didn't speak. And the only times that I tagged with you was when you were filling in for Christian or Edge a few times, when one of them was hurt. I'm sorry, but it seems like a bit of a stretch to me."
Everyone in the room fell silent for a moment, as Trish slid her paper plate back onto the table, before she practically bounced on the floor. "I've got it! That's perfect, because your dad thinks that you're a...well, you know, that you sleep around. You slept with Chris!"
Shea and Chris looked at each other, before they burst out laughing. "He's really not my type."
"And she's not mine," he said in return. "No offense."
"Oh, none taken, asswipe," she replied, just as cheerfully. "I don't know. The guys wouldn't fall for it. I was never around Chris, other than those few times. They hung out with him a lot, but I never joined. Couldn't be seen without the mask, you know? Thanks, Trish, but I don't think it's going to work."
Eric was the next to throw his two cents in. "Maybe just hating me will be enough. We don't necessarily have to have a reason for Chris to be against Shea. Hatred by proxy is good enough, isn't it? Otherwise, it may seem a little contrived."
"And of course, Shea can always get you back for trying to get at Eric, and that right there would be her motivation. It works," Shane added, nodding his head in the man's direction. "You're right; we don't want things to look too obvious. It's going to be hard enough to pull off the women's championship match." He shared a look with his sister. "On the next RAW, when Shea holds her lottery, you're having your match that night. Lita thinks that Shea is going to be interfering to give her the win. She already knows that it's rigged, so it'll be her versus you," he said, directing his eyes towards Trish. "What Lita doesn't know is that even though I'm not supposed to be there, Shea's going to get 'knocked out', so to speak, backstage. I'm going to be the one doing it. Eric is going to go to talk to Dad before the match takes place, and then I'm going to go in their room and hit Shea with a chair. Unfortunately, because we're arranging for the cameras to catch it, I really do have to hit her." Chris raised an eyebrow at the eldest McMahon child. "Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt her, but it has to look good."
"I already agreed to take the hit, Chris. Dad has to believe that Shane laid me out, if only to get an even bigger rivalry between the two of them, and a good reason for Eric to absolutely despise Shane. That's where you'll come in. Two weeks from now, the week before the pay per view, Eric is going to go after Shane, and you're going to stop him. You're going to be well-rewarded for this, Chris, so please don't think that we're just going to be using you. You're getting a shot at the title, and we'll find a way for you to win it."
He shook his head. "No. Just give me the shot, that's good enough. I'd rather win it because I earned it, not because someone interferes in my behalf." There were nods around the room as his words sunk in. "So, what's going to happen between Trish and Lita?"
"Well, what's going to happen is that my music is going to start, letting Lita know that I'm supposedly coming out. But instead, it's going to show what happened to me in the locker room. And then Shane's going to show up at the top of the ramp, with a dented chair. We're hoping that him showing up will catch her off-guard long enough for Trish to roll her up or beat the shit out of her. Either way. And it's not that we don't doubt that Trish can beat her, because I know that she can. I just want to screw that woman off as best as possible, so that when she does find out that I'm not just a double-crosser, but a double-double-crosser, it'll make it even worse."
"You really don't like her, do you?" Eric asked suddenly, grinning mischievously at the woman, who simply laughed and flipped him off.
Shea smiled across the table at her father, before picking up a glass of orange juice and taking a sip. "I have to admit, this is really nice. Getting to sit here and have breakfast with my two favorite guys in the entire world." She turned her head in the direction of Eric and gave him a warm smile, as he covered her hand with his. "So, Daddy, you said that you wanted to talk business, right? I don't imagine what we could have to talk about. As far as I know, everything's already set." She smiled again at Eric, and then took a bite of her scrambled eggs.
Vince sighed and shifted in his seat, giving her a sorrowful look. "What are you two planning to do about Shane showing up next week?" he asked, his eyes going between the two, almost as if he were watching a tennis match.
It was Eric that decided to answer him, after he put down his fork and reached for the linen napkin by his plate. "Well, as of now, Shane's banned from the arena next week. I don't doubt that he wants to come and cause trouble, and that's the last thing that Shea needs. This has been hard on her, a lot harder than most people think." The two 'lovers' shared a look, Shea pouting a bit. "I think she needs a break. But by then, I think we'll have talked to a few people and worked a few things out. I'm going to arrange for Shea to have a few guards while she's backstage. I wouldn't put it past Shane to convince someone to go after her. Your son is a conniving little brat."
She almost snorted into her orange juice when she heard him say that, wondering how it was going to feel when her father learned just how conniving all of his children could be. Taking a moment to compose herself, she put the glass down and sighed. "I really wish Shane hadn't of done this. I tried so hard, any time I got a chance, to convince him that this was wrong, that we shouldn't do it, but he just wouldn't listen. It's just not fair. You'd think that one day, we could be a family, like we used to, but he seems dead set against it." She shook her head, ponytail bouncing. "It's all right, Daddy. I can handle Shane if I have to. After all, I'm the one with the formal training. I'm surprised that he even knows that difference between a moonsault and a shooting star. If he tries anything, I'll take care of him. And then I'll let you know, so you can think of something really nasty to have happen to him."
"But I thought that you weren't going to wrestle anymore," Eric asked her, his voice firm, as if he were more telling her not to than anything.
She nodded slowly. "I am. I'm vacating my title on RAW next week and we're going to hold a lottery for two number one contenders. Poor Trish," she sighed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "She'll never see it coming. After all, for two and a half years now, I've been fighting tooth and nail with Lita almost every week. Who'd think that I'd actually be helping her. No, the women's title is going to someone who deserves it." And Shea knew exactly who that was going to be, the name 'Trish' going through her mind.
Vince raised his head from his plate. "That really doesn't cover Shane, though. That's what I'm worried about. I don't want him going after you, princess." The woman had to bite her tongue not to say something nasty as Vince cupped her cheek with his hand. "That's the last thing that I want, but unfortunately, I think we're going to have to give it to him."
Sitting back in her chair, the blonde woman eyed her father, wondering what the hell was going through his diabolical mind. "I don't get it. You...want Shane to come after me?"
"No, no," he cooed at her, before his face broke into that evil grin that so many people had seen and feared. "I want him crushed. And he's going to want to get you back for hurting him, deceiving him for three years. So, at the next pay per view, we're going to give him what he wants. One-on-one, with you. In a street fight."
Shea and Eric shared a look, neither of them looking too comfortable with how the conversation was going. "Well, Daddy...I just got back from an injury, you know. I mean, my ankle still isn't at a hundred percent. And I don't want to risk re-injuring myself, especially since Eric is going to need my help to keep control of everything backstage. I just don't-"
"Vince, I don't think that's the best idea. I mean, we don't want Shea getting hurt. And you know how Shane is. He's the type to go after what he wants, and right now, he wants to hurt Shea. Plus, he has a lot of friends backstage. I mean, with everything that's going to happen in the next few weeks, Shea's going to be making a few enemies. Edge and Christian probably already hate her for the fact that she-"
The chairman of the WWE raised his hands, cutting off both of them as they tried to speak over one another. "You completely misunderstand. A street fight essentially means no-holds-barred, right? The only rule is that the pin has to take place in the ring. There are a lot of people backstage who will do anything to hold onto their jobs. And those are the people that I'm counting on to protect Shea. Shane won't have a chance to so much as lay a finger on her, between her training and the help she'll be getting."
Even though she showed off her normal calm exterior, Shea could feel the panic starting to rise in her as she thought about what was going to happen to her older brother. She flicked her eyes towards Eric quickly and noted that under the table, where one of his hands was laying against his thigh, the fingers were crossed, as if he were already praying for luck for the heir apparent. This was definitely not going the way that they figured it out, she thought to herself, nodding slowly as if trying to take in and process all the information that her father had just dropped on her. They hadn't even anticipated anything like that, and she knew that in this case, either she was going to get the crap beaten out of her, or Shane would, and knowing her older brother the way that she did, she knew that there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that he was going to let it be her. "I like it," she finally told him, a smile starting to spread on her face. "No, I definitely like it. It's a great plan. Oh, to get my hands on Shane. I can't wait."
He shrugged. "I thought that you would like the match. Announce it on RAW next week, so that Eric can start work behind the scenes. I'll let you know who to talk to, who needs their jobs more than the others."
Eric nodded. "Sounds like RAW is going to be more fun that we originally thought."
