DISCLAIMER: I do not own Chris Jericho, Shelton Benjamin, or other wrestlers that appear in the following story. They are the property of the actors and actresses that portray them, as well as the WWE.
SPOILERS: Discussion of matches from 6-7-04 Raw.
Flowers for Jericho
CHAPTER FIVE
It was time to call in the troops. He certainly couldn't handle this on his own anymore.
Pacing in front of the two seated individuals, Chris focused his gaze on his dressing room floor. Inwardly he cringed at the idea of asking for help, wondering if they would think him weak. Briefly he wondered if they would even agree to help him; they were the only two he was on decent terms with.
"Jericho, I have work to do. Could you get on with this?" Stephanie demanded, fiddling with the clipboard in her lap.
He sighed resolutely; he had no other choice. Stopping in his tracks, he raised his eyes to both parties. "You both probably know why you're here," he said. Both nodded, encouraging him to continue. "Dealing with Trish is one thing. Dealing with her, plus… the other problem… is too much."
"What do you want us to do?" Shelton interjected. He wasn't expecting Chris to mention Trish as his primary problem, and had no intentions of getting involved in that feud. Tyson Tomko was not somebody he'd like to add to his list of 'People I've Pissed Off.'
Chris shrugged, wincing as the movement pulled at the already aching muscles of his midsection. "I have no idea. I haven't made any progress in figuring out who she is."
Stephanie stood up abruptly. "I don't have time to figure out who your little stalker is. I'm outta here."
Her retreat was stopped by Shelton reaching up and grabbing the back of her shirt. He gave her the evil eye and tugged her back in her chair. "Sit down, woman. You have to help."
Stephanie huffed, glaring at the younger man. "I don't have to do anything I don't want to do."
Shelton bit back a laugh at her sulking. "Funny; I thought you'd like the opportunity to do something that didn't involve being Bischoff's bitch."
Her scowl deepened, making both men chuckle a bit. "If I were you rookie, I would watch who you call a bitch," she threatened quietly, unable to believe that even Shelton Benjamin could take pot shots at her now. Wondering when the bulls-eye was drawn on her chest, she turned back towards Chris. "So? How do I figure into this little plan of yours?"
Unable to stand any longer, Chris sank down onto the cot he was able to request for his locker room. Stretching out on his back carefully, he turned his head and sent a leer in her direction. "Well, I require your services…" he paused, allowing her face to distort into that of utter disgust before continuing, "As a technician."
"Backstage coordinator," she corrected with a growl. She hated being compared to those geeks.
"Whatever." Chris waved a dismissive hand. "I need you to use those 'under you', and I use that term figuratively, to keep an eye out for flower deliveries to my locker room."
Steph shook her head fervently. "No way. If I do that, then it looks like I want you for myself," she complained, spitting out the words. She could already hear all those big-mouthed technicians spreading rumors backstage about her "insane jealousy for Jericho's mystery Mama."
Chris rolled his eyes. "Allow me to let you in on a little secret, Princess. Your image is, and always will remain, trashy to everyone that works for the WWE. Showing your interest in the 'King of the World' won't send anyone into conniptions." Noting her fury, he gave her a large smile. "Basically, you're a scheming slut. But like the song goes, 'every rose has its thorn'."
That was about all Stephanie could take, and yet, she couldn't bring herself to throw her usual hissy and stomp out of the room. The taunting was better than hurrying back to a job that she despised. Rubbing at her temples with her index fingers, she locked an evil stare on the smirking rookie. "Sure, laugh it up kid. Hanging out with Jericho has definitely rubbed off on you in the worst way."
The younger man shrugged, unable to refute her statement. "I've always had an 'appetite for destruction'," he remarked, winking in the blond man's direction.
Startled by his words, Jericho leaned up on his elbows. "Have you now, 'sweet child o' mine'?" he asked carefully, ignoring Stephanie's confused eyes.
"Yeah, I discovered it 'without you'," Shelton responded, amused as hell when Jericho's eyes bugged out.
"What is going on?" Stephanie interjected, tired of the two men talking in secret code. Unfortunately, when one grows up in the snotty, upper-upper class of Connecticut, one has little to no reason to listen to heavy metal. The pretension in the Greenwich air was heavy enough. It was no big surprise, then, that she did not hold the Rosetta stone to this conversation.
"Benji!" Chris exclaimed, disregarding Stephanie's question (and thus causing her internal anger to reach a 5.6 on the Richter scale). "I knew with a little 'patience' that you'd come around."
"Benji?" Stephanie knew that no one was listening to her, but she couldn't help repeating the nickname. "What are you, his dog?"
Shelton snorted at this. "Yeah, I'm his dawg all right," he joked, clapping Steph on the shoulder with his hand. "'Live and let die', I always say."
Chris's brow furrowed. "They didn't write that song. It doesn't count."
"STOP!" Both men finally looked at Stephanie, who was more than happy to serve them up fresh looks of death. "I'm not going to sit here and be ignored while you two talk nonsense." With a curt nod, she gathered her clipboard to her chest and left the dressing room, desperate to find people that spoke understandable English.
"Don't forget about the plan!" Chris called after her, receiving a middle finger before she disappeared from view. Once she was gone, both men allowed themselves to laugh out loud at the little game they had played. "I didn't know you liked Guns 'n' Roses Benji."
"I grew up in the 80's. MTV was my life," was Shelton's response. "Does Axl Rose know that he's your fashion icon?"
With no direct retort, the other man decided to change the subject. "After my match tonight, we are going to initiate Operation: Break-in," Chris stated, saying the last few words in a deep announcer's voice.
Shelton blinked; so it was true, Jericho had gone off the deep end. Standing up, he put his hands up and shook his head repeatedly. "Hell no! Like I told you on the phone the other day, I don't want any part of breaking into the women's locker room."
The blond man sat up with a pout. "But you're my only…" he trailed off, not wanting to reveal that he considered Shelton to be his only friend. He reminded himself of the image he had to protect, and forged ahead. "Consider this your initiation to Raw. All of us who switched shows had to do something embarrassing; the guys probably hate you because you got off so easy."
"Oh yeah? What did you have to do?" Shelton demanded to know. This initiation business sounded like a load of crap, and yet he had seen what Tajiri was forced to do to the Coach.
Chris rubbed the back of his neck and laughed. "They made me sing the Canadian national anthem in front of everyone in the cafeteria."
The younger man rolled his eyes. "That's so embarrassing; however did you ever cope?"
"I wasn't done yet. I was only wearing a jock strap that had a maple leaf drawn on the crotch. And the UnAmericans just happened to be eating at the time. Needless to say, they weren't amused."
The mental image of Chris Jericho fleeing the cafeteria in nothing but a jock strap almost made Shelton break down and laugh. However, he kept his cool, the smirk on his face the only indicator of his inner amusement. "I thought you were friends with the UnAmericans."
Chris's eyes darkened, the humor disappearing into anger. "Just Christian," he muttered, disgusted with himself for starting up with that cad. Noting Shelton's discomfort, he returned to the issue at hand. "So you see, you are getting off easier than I did. I'll watch the door while you break in and look for clues. Flowers, little white cards, anything. It's full-proof."
Shelton groaned; he knew he wouldn't be able to talk himself out of this scheme. But this plan was less than full-proof. "What if she delivers the flowers between our matches, when neither of us is in your locker room?"
Chris grinned evilly, holding up a silver key. "Bribed the janitor. This door will be locked when we're not here."
The younger man's stomach started to hurt. "What… what if someone's in there before I break in?"
Chris chuckled. "You'd better go fast then. And enjoy the view."
The idea of Operation: Break-in weighed heavily in Shelton's mind, so much in fact that he unwittingly borrowed a page from Jericho's book and was completely distracted during his match with Batista. In fact, he almost rejoiced in the beat down that Evolution doled to him afterwards, viewing it as the perfect excuse to getting out of the crazy plot.
Even though Shelton had only been Y2J's friend for a short time, he should have known better.
After the referees scraped him up from the mat, Shelton stumbled backstage to find Chris holding a number of ice packs and an apologetic smile. "I should have gotten ready for my match sooner," he commented quietly, handing the ice to the younger man. Truth be told, Jericho felt sorry that he hadn't been able to save his friend; however, apologies from the 'King of the World' were far and few between.
Despite the fact that his entire body was screaming for medical attention, Shelton managed a smile. "You wouldn't have been much help, Gimpy," he remarked, pressing one of the ice packs to his forehead.
"I could beat those stooges any day, even with sore ribs," Chris boasted, completely aware of the fact that he was full of bullshit. "Speaking of stooges, I'd better go see who Bischoff set me up with. Feel free to use the cot in my locker room." With a wink and an encouraging pat on the back, Chris made his way to the curtain.
"Gee, thanks," Shelton said wryly, to no one in particular. Forcing his legs to function, he pushed himself off the wall he leaned on and stumbled down the hallway, not caring whom he ran into.
The fourth person he collided into gave him a bemused expression. "You owe me one, rookie," Stephanie commented lightly as she wrapped an arm around his midsection and led him towards Jericho's locker room.
Shelton groaned as her fingers pressed into a growing bruise on his side. "I could have made it back," he protested weakly, nearly falling into her.
Her laugh reverberated through him as she paused, allowing him to regain his balance. "Too much time with Jericho," she said, echoing her words from before.
Oblivious to his friends' excursion, Chris was busy trying to find a way to tame the gorilla that was attacking him. Unlike Shelton (and the Chris Jericho of the last few weeks), he was focused on his opponent and the match he participated in, and despite a number of crushing blows to his midsection, the focus paid off. Exhilarated by his victory, he almost skipped up the ramp and towards his locker room, excited by the prospect of Operation: Break-in.
What he stumbled into backstage could have been described as Operation: Clusterfuck. Referees were bounding around, trying to stop the two tussling men in the middle of the floor. To his surprise, he recognized Shelton as one of the participants, currently delivering a number of body shots to a furious Tyson Tomko.
A female shriek caught his attention, and he saw Trish and Stephanie struggling with a folding chair. Quickly piecing together the facts, he stepped around the referees and swiftly kicked Tomko in the side. The giant man grunted, releasing his choke hold on Shelton's neck, allowing Chris to yank the young man up by the back of his singlet. The referees immediately took action, jumping on Tomko to restrain him while Chris held back a panting Shelton. A loud slap was then heard, and Stephanie handed the chair to a nearby technician while she glared down at a floored Trish.
"You bitch!" Trish yelled above the crowd. "Just wait until I tell Eric…"
Stephanie leaned down, saying something that Chris couldn't hear. From the look on Trish's face, though, it wasn't pretty. The blonde woman's face screwed into an angry scowl, which only deepened at Stephanie's laugh. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, the brunette looked over at the two men briefly before retreating down the hallway, ignoring the threats that Trish called out after her.
A groan from Shelton reminded Chris of the dead weight he was currently holding. Realizing that Operation: Break-in was now a bust, he silently led the injured man around the crowd of referees and to his locker room. Despite the fact that Shelton had nobly prevented an ambush, Chris found himself rather pissed off at the younger man. He had been eager to follow through with his plan and try to gain some ground on his secret admirer. But, as usual, his plans were ruined by circumstance.
Despite his boasts of it being a full-proof plan, Operation: Break-in would have been a failure. Chris bitterly realized that he had forgotten to lock the door before his match when saw the flowers sitting in his locker room. Cursing, he dragged Shelton over to his cot and arranged the passed-out man onto it. Without a second look at the bouquet he dashed out of the room, hoping that at least Stephanie came through with her part of his plan.
He met her half-way to the trainer's area, juggling a few ice-packs on her clipboard. "Here, for the rookie," she stated, handing Chris the bundle. "Is he alright?"
Chris shook his head, not wanting to talk about the condition of the other man. "Passed out. Tell me that one of your techies saw someone go into my locker room with the flowers," he demanded.
Stephanie blanched, avoiding his hard blue gaze. He stiffened, her reaction telling him what he wanted to know. "They already came?" she asked softly.
Unable to stop himself, he dropped the ice and grabbed her shoulders, making her look into his eyes. She jumped at his touch, her clipboard falling to the floor. "Yes, they already came," he hissed out. "I asked for one favor, one little thing."
"And I was busy!" she argued back, her hands clenching Jericho's wrists. A scowl hid the growing fear inside of her. "You'll have your little spies by next week."
Chris trembled with anger. It was a large mistake on her part to treat the situation so lightly. "Next week!" he bellowed, shaking her a bit. "Next week is too goddamn late, Stephanie!"
Steph, for her part, remained stoic and calm on the outside. The crazed look in his eyes was what caused her heart to hammer in her chest. She sensed a breaking point rapidly approaching, and knew that she had to make herself scarce or face physical consequences much worse than a little shaking. "Let me go," she ground out, pleading with her eyes to release her. When he didn't react, she dug her nails into his wrists, causing him to gasp and her to wiggle away. Swooping down quickly, she grabbed her clipboard and ran away from the enraged man, thankful after a few seconds when she realized he was not chasing after her. Taking refuge in the women's bathroom, she locked herself in a stall and tried to catch her breath. She knew what had set him off, and she didn't blame him; what she didn't understand were the tears that were trickling down her cheeks.
A bit shell-shocked at what had happened, Chris ran a hand through his hair and forced himself to calm down. He knew he had nearly plunged into the deep end, and it scared the hell out him. Suddenly exhausted, he bent down to pick up the forgotten ice-packs and walked back to his locker room. He knew that despite his aggression Stephanie would fulfill her part of the bargain. This did little to quiet his growing agitation.
Shelton was still passed out on the cot when he returned, jumping only slightly when Chris placed the ice-packs on his head and swelling side. With no other reason to stall, he turned his attention to the bouquet.
Five white chrysanthemums (a staple in his mother's flower garden) proudly stood in a small vase. They were flanked by two bundles of unknown greenery. Chris leaned down to smell the mysterious flowers and immediately recognized their fragrance as rosemary. His eyebrow lifted as he appraised the odd bouquet; he couldn't quite classify it as cheap, but it was definitely inexpensive.
The simple white card beckoned at him from amidst the white buds. His fingers hesitated momentarily before he plucked it from the fork and opened it. 'Good luck on Sunday - I'll be cheering for you.' Again, it lacked a flowery doodle or poetic words that the first few cards possessed.
Tossing the card beside the vase, Chris rubbed at his eyes. He wasn't sure if he missed the sappy sentiments that her first cards held; these were much more… tolerable, to say the least. And yet, they caused the same sort of ache in his chest. The need to solve this mystery was ever present; he hoped to have a breakthrough next week.
Little did he know that he already possessed the key.
END CHAPTER FIVE
Author's notes: Did you figure out who it is? ::grins:: It's pretty obscure, but I trust that someone will figure it out. This chapter was a struggle, but I think my muse is slowly coming back to me. Of course, seeing Jericho live this coming Sunday at Bad Blood should hopefully kick me back into gear. Can't wait for your reviews!