Author's Note: Just so I don't start getting any impatient emails, I will be explaining what happened to Elektra in Reading in the near future. However, there's a few things I need to tell before I get to that part. Just bear with me and be patient: your questions will be answered. Thanks for reading!
Chapter 9: Drawing the Line
They wheeled the stretcher bearing Triple H back to the trainer's room, Elektra and Flair on one side, Batista and the EMT on the other. Flair was barking out instructions angrily: "Careful! Watch his head, dammit!" Batista stole glances at Elektra, but her attention was still fixed solely on the Game. She held one of his hands, and Triple H had regained enough consciousness to be able to grasp it. Ironically, because he was out of it, it was probably the most tender action he had ever shown her. She stepped back, allowing the stretcher to be wheeled into the room, then followed it in.
The trainer took one look at Elektra and turned to Flair. "Get her out of here."
"No..." Elektra protested, though in a much weaker voice than normal. "I have to be here. He needs me–"
The trainer continued talking to Flair as though she wasn't even there. "There's too many people in here already; plus, she doesn't need to watch him being stitched up. Get her out of here."
Flair turned back to Elektra. "He's right, honey. Go on back to the locker room; Dave or I will come get you when he's cleaned up."
Elektra shook her head, but it was more of an attempt to clear the dizziness from her head than a response to the negative. "I think I need to sit down..." she murmured. Flair didn't notice; he had already walked across the room to check on Triple H. Only Batista saw her stumble and lurch against the door frame as she walked out. It was several seconds before she pushed herself back upright. Her feet were barely lifting off the ground; she was practically dragging them across the floor.
Batista looked back toward the Game. Flair was busy haranguing the trainers about the way they were moving Triple H from the stretcher to the bed. The World Heavyweight Champion was muttering something about the headrest being elevated. No one noticed Batista slipping out the door after Elektra.
Everything suddenly seemed too bright, too loud, too violent. The tiniest sounds were being magnified a hundred times and echoing in her ears. The entire universe seemed to be pressing down on her. Elektra was at once caught between the sensations of the present and the memories of the past, memories that Stephanie McMahon had unwittingly dragged up out of her subconscious. Elektra wasn't sure where she was. Was it now or was it then? Was this a spacious hallway in Phillie, or a grimy little high school locker room in Reading that may or may not even exist anymore? More importantly, who was she? Was she the confident WWE Diva on the arm of the World Heavyweight Champion, or was she a scared and confused teenager all over again?
Elektra felt the peculiar sensation of being drunk; that strange state of swimming through consciousness. It seemed like hard work just putting one foot in front of the other. Elektra turned a corner, staggered a few more paces, and slumped against the wall. The cool concrete on her cheek seemed to be the only thing that was real.
"I can't do this anymore," she heard a voice say. It took her a few moments to realize that the voice was her own. "I don't want it. It's too big."
"What is?" That voice was definitely not hers. Elektra rolled rather than turned, using the wall as a support. Batista was staring at her with concern in his eyes.
Before Elektra could stop herself, the words were pouring out of her mouth like verbal diarrhea. "I always planned on being with Triple H. You...you were just a mistake. A stupid mistake." She shook her head again, like she was arguing with herself. "But if that's true, then why can't I stop thinking about you? I haven't feel anything even remotely like this for six years; but something about you makes my heart ache. What makes you so goddamn special?"
Batista didn't say anything. His expression hadn't changed, even though he must be hurting from the comments being hurled at him like crudely constructed missiles. Finally, he took a few careful steps toward her. "I think that you need to sit down. Give me your hand, I'll take you back–"
"No, I will not sit down." Elektra interrupted, spitting out her statement with a slurred preciseness. "No, what I'm going to do is take a deep breath, and walk back in that room and hold Triple H's hand while I tell him how wonderful he is. And eventually, he'll wake up, and he'll kiss me and touch me–" This time, Batista did flinch, but Elektra didn't seem to notice "–and the whole time, I might as well be doing laundry because nothing happens inside when he puts his hands on me. It doesn't matter that he's the Game; I've been dead inside for the last six years." She finally took a step, and it felt like hell. She was definitely staggering now; trying to reclaim some semblance of balance on a pair of three-inch heels. "So answer this for me, Batista, because I still can't." She forced herself upright and looked him directly in the eye. "Why does being around you make me want to feel again?"
That was the last thing she remembered before blacking out.
Batista quickly stepped forward and caught her against his chest with one arm. Bending down, he put the other behind her knees and scooped her up effortlessly. Cradling her unconscious body in his arms, he carried her back to the trainer's room. Flair was still fussing over Triple H, who was now being stitched back up.
"Hey, Ric," When Ric looked up, Batista motioned his head down at the limp figure in his arms.
Flair rolled his eyes and sighed impatiently. "Jesus Christ, not her, too! It's the last thing we need right now...All right, just take her back to the locker room and put her on the couch or something." He turned back to Triple H. "Jesus, Hunter, did you have to pick one who faints at the sight of blood?"
Luckily, by then, Batista was already gone.
The other Superstars didn't say anything, but gave him funny looks as he passed by. Batista ignored all of them. He really didn't care what any of them thought in the first place. The only thing he cared about right now was the precious bundle cradled in his arms. She seemed to weigh next to nothing.
He carefully pushed open the locker room door with his shoulder before stepping inside and kicking it shut behind him. He walked over to the long black leather couch against one wall and laid her down gently, taking care to prop her head up on the armrest. Tenderly, he brushed back a few strands of hair that had caught on her mouth. Batista reached out to touch her again, but stopped himself. He just couldn't, not when she was out of it. He would have given anything to hold her in his arms again, to hear that soft moan in her throat and know that she was his. But he wasn't about to take liberties just because he had the opportunity.
Batista pulled up a chair and sat down, waiting for her to regain consciousness. He rested his chin on his knuckles, mulling over what Elektra had said back in the hall. The things she had told him...yes, they hurt, but what struck him more than her words was the rasp of raw pain in her voice. It was as if a deeply buried emotional scar had suddenly been ripped open and left to bleed out into her mind.
I've been dead inside for the past six years...He realized suddenly that he knew next to nothing about her. It had never occurred to him that she too had had a life before the WWE, that she too gone through different struggles to get to where she was today. And in her case...that she had suffered, and that her suffering still resonated in her life years later.
He didn't doubt that part of her misery was due to the indifference of Triple H. She claimed that she didn't care about Triple H, but regardless, the way he treated her must still eat away at her. Batista knew that it irked him, watching the Game treat the woman in his life with such disrespect. Triple H had done nothing to deserve her, ignored her half the time, and yet she stuck by his side. Batista didn't know whether it was because she had to or she wanted to, but he suspected that the two reasons were synonymous in Elektra's mind. And all he could do was stand by helplessly and watch the unhappiness in her eyes grow from day to day. Batista wanted desperately to stave off that unhappiness, but what could he do for her? How could you save a person who didn't want to be saved?
Elektra's quiet voice interrupted his thoughts. "That symbol...on your arm...what does it mean?"
Batista looked up, startled. Elektra had opened her eyes and was staring directly at him. Her eyes were like two twin beams of silver, but they were calm, not the burning sparks of light he had seen out in the hall. He quickly realized that she was referred to the tattoo on his right bicep. Batista passed his hand over the skin of his arm, as though discovering its presence for the first time. "Oh...it's, uh, it's a Kanji character. It means "soldier"."
Elektra smiled, a small thin version of the real thing. "Ahhh...how very apt, for you." She closed her eyes, as if that tiny effort had tired her, then opened them again. "Batista...the things I said out there...I'm sorry."
"It's fine," Batista's calm response surprised even himself. "I know...I know you didn't mean them."
Elektra shook her head slowly. "That's the problem: I think I kinda did." She pushed her body up into a sitting position. "But I didn't mean them to sound the way they did. I didn't mean to sound so mean." She looked away, off into the distance. "You know that I can't leave Hunter."
Batista looked down at his hands, feeling an icy sensation in the pit of his stomach. "I had a feeling you'd say that." He looked back up. "You know that he doesn't love you."
Elektra smiled wryly. "I've known that from the very first day." She pulled her knees under her. "Listen, if I leave him now, everything that he's worked for: Evolution, his title, his power...everything will disintegrate."
Batista made a small noise of disbelief. "No offense, but aren't you giving yourself a lot of credit? You really think that the future of Evolution hinges on your loyalty?"
Elektra stared at him again. There was something piercing about her gaze. "Yes...if I leave him for you." This statement hung in the air between them for a few seconds. "He's jealous of you." As this, Batista's mouth fell open in disbelief. Elektra continued. "He never says it outright...but I know that he thinks it...and if I go with you, it'll be the realization of all his fears."
"What if I told you that I didn't care about that?" Batista asked. "What if I told you that I could give it all up?"
"You can't," Elektra answered simply. "You believe in Evolution too much, just like me. You have too much invested in it. You need it as much as I do. No matter how we feel about each other, we aren't brave enough to give up that ideal."
"And you?" Batista replied pointedly. "I know my reasons for staying with Evolution, but what about yours? What could possibly be worth putting up with the way that Hunter treats you?"
Elektra looked off into the distance again, at some memory that he couldn't see, maybe would never know. A small tear trickled down her cheek and she brushed it away absently. "Because here I'm safe." she finally said. "Here, no one..." She faltered, but recovered herself. "No one can hurt me."
Batista looked at her closely, marveling at how she at once let out her emotions and yet kept them close to her chest. "What happened six years ago?" he asked point-blank. "What happened to make you dead inside?"
Elektra looked at him, more tears starting to gather in her eyes, making them even more silver. "Batista...there are things in my life that I would rather forget...black spots that I'd like to excise from my mind. All I can promise you now is that I'll tell you someday, but not today." She stretched her legs out again. "I don't think I have the strength to relive that again."
Batista leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "So here's the million dollar question..." He paused. "Where do we go from here?"
This was followed by a long minute of silence. Finally, Elektra seemed to collect herself and spoke: "I know that we can't be together, but I don't want to go back to being your enemy. Is there some way that we can find a middle ground?" She looked at him, and her expression was almost pleading. "I want you in my life, even if it's only as a friend. I want to get to know you." She looked at him expectantly.
All of Batista's instincts were telling him to say no. Being friends...it was a compromise, and a poor one at that. The temptation would always be there, and now that they knew how they felt about one another, being friendly would make that temptation harder and harder to resist. Friends...it was just a form of mental masturbation. But it was better than the alternative.
"I'd like that, too," he answered. They stared at each other for a long moment, then Batista spoke again. "Can you ask you something?"
Elektra smiled, and this time, it was the real thing. "Of course."
Batista looked over at the closed door, then back at her. "What we talk about in here...it doesn't leave this room, correct?" Elektra nodded. "Good." He stood up, flexing the muscles in his biceps. "Because I have a few things to discuss about being friends."
"Shoot." Was Elektra's voice just a little huskier than usual or was that his imagination?
Batista looked down at her, his face still serious. "So, I'm guessing that, as friends, there are certain lines between us."
"Naturally." Elektra answered. She blushed as Batista stared at her with that piercing, clothing-stripping gaze. His eyes drifted downward, focusing on the single black strap on the front of her top, and just beneath it, the exposed curves of her breasts. A wave of heat swept through her body.
"And, as friends," Batista continued, his eyes flicking back up to her face. "those lines shouldn't be crossed."
"Go on," Elektra replied, her voice thick. She felt wetness between her legs and blushed even harder.
"So, I guess that, what I'm asking is–" Batista broke off his sentence abruptly and walked the two feet to the couch. He knelt on the sofa, putting his right knee between her legs. He reached down, put his hands on her waist, and without any effort, pulled her up to her knees, molding her body against his. Elektra didn't resist; didn't even try. He was hard; she could feel him pressing against her thigh. His hands were on her waist, his mouth was against her ear. Just the feeling of his breath of her skin was intoxicating. Then he spoke, and it drove everything else from her mind. "Where do we draw the line?"
He pulled back just enough to look at her. His movements were slow, deliberate. He was holding himself back this time. But Elektra wasn't. Now she was the one to close the space between them, pressing her mouth ferociously against his. She wrapped her arms around his neck, moaning deep in her throat. His tongue invaded her mouth, and this time, she met it with her own. Batista's hands traveled down her body, caressing her thighs and sliding up under her skirt to grip her ass. He pulled her even closer into the curve of his body, growling softly.
Elektra finally forgot about the Rumble, forgot about Triple H, forgot about the promises they had just made, and let herself go, giving in to the sheer pleasure of kissing Dave Batista.
So it was no surprise that her heart skipped a beat and her blood turned to icy when she heard a voice say, "Well, isn't this cozy?"
For a moment, Elektra actually thought that she was going to drop dead from the inevitable heart attack. But when the moment passed and her heart resumed its rhythmic beating, she realized that she was still living, still a part of this reality. Her mental processes kicked in enough to inform her that the owner of the voice was female, not male, and very familiar. Almost afraid to look, she turned her head (the only part of her body still able to move) toward the door.
Both Lita and Trish were frozen in place, with nearly identical expressions of incredulous disbelief on their faces, complete with open mouths. One could hardly blame them; they had probably not anticipated walking in on a near-pornographic tableau. Trish was blinking very hard, as though by doing so, she could erase what she was seeing. Lita, however, was bringing her eyebrows together in a little frown.
Slowly, acting as though this happened every day, Batista and Elektra disentangled themselves; Batista returning to his chair; Elektra standing up and smoothing down the edges of her skirt.
"We, ah..." Trish tried desperately to sound casual. "We heard you keeled ov–"
"Elektra, a word, outside, now." Lita was brief and to the point.
Elektra nodded wordlessly. As she walked toward the door, Batista started to rise. Without looking at him directly, she motioned for him to stay seated. "It's okay, Dave. I'll be back in a second."
As soon as she was out the door, Lita grabbed her by the shoulder and shook her, actually shook her. "Are you fucking nuts?" she whispered loudly. "You're already with Triple H, arguably the most evil bastard in this business, and you're messing around with Dave Batista?"
"It's not what you think–" Elektra protested.
"Oh, so that wasn't the Animal we saw shoving his tongue down your throat?" Trish interjected. "You know, at first, I thought you were stupid, then I thought you were crazy. Now, I think you must have some kind of death wish."
"If Triple H had walked in, you would have been fucking dead." Lita added. "Not just in trouble, but dead."
"Listen to me!" Elektra entreated. For once, the other two Diva took her advice and shut their mouths. "What you saw in there...that was the end of it. All we're going to be from now on is friends. This won't be a problem, I promise."
"Looked like the beginning of something, if you ask me." Trish muttered to no one in particular. Lita, on the other hand, focused her gaze on the dark-haired Diva.
"This is all going to blow up in your face one day." she stated flatly. For once, Elektra couldn't think of a good enough reason to disagree with her.
They never spoke about that particular incident again, but looking back in retrospect, Elektra often wondered if it in fact marked the moment when their friendship began to deteriorate.
