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 results from 6-21 Raw.

Flowers for Jericho

CHAPTER SEVEN

Smack.

The sound of skin against concrete filled the deserted hallway in five second intervals. It hurt like hell, but he didn't stop.

Smack.

He had been so close. His mouth was filled with sweet victory. He didn't understand what went wrong. He did everything perfectly.

Smack.

Blood was dripping from raw knuckles onto the white tile floor. It also painted the wall after each punch. But he couldn't get a grasp on the situation, and therefore he continued to punch. It was the only way he knew to deal.

Smack.

His worst fear had come to light: he was a failure. Two wins against Triple H didn't mean shit when he couldn't beat his lackey; it turned him into a fluke.

Smack.

This time, as he drew his hand back, someone grabbed his wrist. "Benji, you've got the expression all wrong. Its punch a PILLOW, not the wall," a snarky voice stated.

The intruder had successfully drawn him out of his thoughts. Unfortunately, excruciating pain was waiting for him at the door of reality. "Motherfucker," Shelton hissed as bolts of fire shot up and down his arm. His first instinct was to clutch the wounded appendage to himself; however, his companion's hand would not let him move an inch.

Meanwhile, Chris Jericho had busied himself with examining the bloodied hand. Tongue sticking out in concentration, he prodded the knuckles carefully, ignoring Shelton's yelps and curses. "Hmmmm…" he drawled out, wiping the blood from his finger on Shelton's t-shirt, "Looks pretty bad."

"No shit, Sherlock," Shelton grumbled, finally managing to yank his hand away, balling it into his t-shirt.

"Jericho," Chris corrected with a grin. "I never thought you'd be an S&M kind of guy. Then again, you were managed by Angle for an extended period of time." Mock-concern filled his face as the blond man placed a hand on Shelton's shoulder. "He didn't…. force himself on you, did he?" he gasped.

Shelton's scowl deepened at the mention of his former mentor. Kurt Angle was a perfectionist, and demanded such from those around him; if Shelton had still been under his wing it was safe to say that the Olympic Hero would have berated him for weeks for his loss at Bad Blood. "Go to hell, Jericho," he growled, shrugging off the hand on his shoulder and starting down the hallway.

Apparently, the young man had forgotten about Chris Jericho's complete inability to take a hint.

"I'll drop you off at the trainer," Chris said as he jogged up to Shelton's side. "Maybe I'll get a gold star for being a good boy scout."

His head was starting to throb as bad as his hand. Stopping abruptly, Shelton pinned Chris down with a deadly glare. "I don't need your attitude or your so-called help right now, Jericho. I suggest you get lost before I beat you with my good hand."

Jericho was less than intimidated. In fact, he snorted at Shelton's ill attempt of a threat. "Please, Benji, I'd sooner be afraid of Stephanie's bitch slap than a one-handed rookie," he commented dryly. "I think you've had one too many shots to the head by Evolution last week."

"Shut up Jericho." Shelton resumed walking.

"Make me," Chris dared, keeping pace beside him.

The young man bit his tongue to keep himself in check. He knew he didn't have a chance against the blond man in his current condition. With a sigh, he gave up trying to get rid of Jericho and summoned up the remainder of his patience to deal with the irritating man. Inwardly, Shelton wished that he had kicked the Canadian out of his locker room weeks ago, much less befriended him.

Shelton's patience would be tried immediately, for Jericho took the young man's silence as accepting defeat. "I knew you'd come to your senses sooner or later," Chris stated smugly. "If it had been sooner, perhaps that wall would have been spared."

"Drop it, Jericho." If there was anything that Shelton was unwilling to discuss, it was the scene that Chris had walked in on earlier.

"Hmmm… I don't think so. Otherwise I'll find you beating your head against the wall next week, and that's two weeks of bood clean-up for the janitors. They'll go on strike, Bischoff will force his staff to do the dirty work, and Stephanie will fall into depression from not making any money from being on her hands and knees all night."

In Jericho's defense, the blond was indeed concerned for his friend. He had never seen the young man act so irrationally, and it bothered him. But, his need to lighten the mood made his concern appear lukewarm.

Shelton glanced at his hand, and then shook his head at Chris. The last thing he needed, or anyone else for that matter, was to be psychoanalyzed by Jericho's barbed tongue. "You wouldn't understand."

Jericho chuckled. "Probably not; I would never intentionally destroy this exquisite physique. But if this is about Evolution, then…"

"Not every damn thing around here is about Evolution," Shelton sniped.

The blond raised an eyebrow at the other man's tone. "That's funny; the last few weeks the only think you've been about is Evolution."

Shelton's thin string of patience snapped, and he lashed out at Chris with his good arm. Barely dodging his fist, Jericho quickly reversed the move, using Shelton's momentum to pin the young man's arm behind his back. The young man's shoulders sagged, unable and unwilling to struggle.

Chris, surprised by Shelton's venomous move, decided that a bit of seriousness was a necessity here. "I'll drop this for now Benji, but you better be ready to talk after you've calmed the fuck down."

Shelton didn't want to talk. He didn't want to think about Evolution. He didn't want to see the trainer. But in his current position, he didn't have much of a choice. Gritting his teeth, he hung his head and allowed the blond to lead him down the hallway, good arm still pinned behind his back.

"A friend in need is a pest."

Chris echoed these immortal words of Bobby 'The Brain Heenan after he dropped off Shelton with the trainer. With Raw already a quarter of the way finished, he found that he had set an all time record for selfless thinking: thirty minutes.

Well, almost completely selfless thinking. It was only natural for Chris to resent Shelton's injury. He no longer had backup against any surprise attacks from Hunter or the rest of the Fab Four. Worse, he didn't have anyone to help him track down his admirer.

Hell, he didn't have anyone.

A few weeks ago, this would have been fine, welcome even. But after Shelton had forced his friendship upon Chris, he had warmed up to having someone to talk to.

But now, Shelton would be out for weeks on end. The only other person he cared to see (if only to tease the hell out of her) was Stephanie… and she had made herself scarce all night. It would have worried him (given that just last week, he had referred to her as the 'McMahon on his back'), had he ACTUALLY wanted to speak to her and he wasn't already busy worrying about Shelton.

It was in that moment that Chris decided he was tired of worrying about others. It was far past time that he worried about himself.

Chris had never managed to run across Stacy Keibler last week and grill her about the flowers; she had left the arena before he was eliminated from the six-man tag match. Now, he found himself eager to find the leggy blonde and follow up on his only solid lead. His heart was pounding with excitement; he had no doubt that:
1. She knew something, and
2. She would tell him what she knew.

While Stacy Keibler was somewhat surprised to see Chris Jericho stroll up to her, she was quickly prepared to make her move. Of course, he totally missed the meaning behind her coy smile and hair toss as he stopped a few feet away from her. "Stacy, Stacy, Stacy, what are you doing hiding back here?"

Disliking the distance between them, the blonde stepped closer to Chris, striking a rather unnatural pose that emphasized her small stomach and hips. "I'm sorry Chrissy, were you looking for me?" she asked, letting her hand fall onto his chest. Inwardly, she complemented herself on her subtle flirting.

Due to his one-track mind, Chris took no notice of her gestures; the nickname, however, grated on his nerves a bit. "Was I looking for you? Was I looking for you?" he repeated, feigning shock. "We had that lovely chat a few weeks ago, and I haven't been able to find you since. I thought we HAD something special!" Barely managing to suppress his laughter, he pressed a hand to his forehead and tried to walk away. "I can see that you want nothing to do with me."

She fell right into the trap, stumbling over her own feet as she scrambled to grab his arm. "Chris, no!" she nearly shouted, spinning him around and giving him her best puppy dog eyes. "I thought… no, it's silly," she said, looking away to hide her smirk.

Her cheap move worked. Chris's heart leapt forward; her actions convinced him that she was hiding her guilt over the flowers. Reaching up, he tilted her chin back towards him, looking into her brown eyes with the sexiest look he could muster. "Anything that comes from that brain of yours can't be called silly," he admonished.

Silly, no. Ridiculous, ludicrous, obtuse, mindless drivel, yes.

Although Stacy had begun the flirting session with all intentions of catching Jericho, it was she who was biting the hook and being reeled in. "Oh Chrissy-wissy, I thought you hated me!" she babbled, flinging herself into his arms. "And I couldn't understand why you'd ever hate widdle Stacy-wacy."

Chris could not suppress his shudder at her words. Baby talk had always been the bane of his existence. Her high-pitched voice, coupled with her lackluster ability to rhyme their names, was provoking his upchuck reflex in the most unsettling way. He decided that it was time to take action, and not the kind that would result in her shoes meeting his late lunch. "Stace, hon, I know you were in my dressing room last week, and I know what you did," he stated gently, pulling her back.

Her eyes grew impossibly wide, to the point where even Bambi would have retched in disgust. "You do?" At his nod, she nervously grabbed at her hair, twirling the ends. "I hope you're not mad at me."

Chris couldn't believe that she confessed to the crime so quickly. He could feel the blood pounding in his temples, and tried to reign in his excitement. After all, he didn't need a repeat of last week's disappointment. "Why did you do it?" he prodded, his gentle tone turning rather demanding.

Her eyebrows furrowed as she pondered his question. "I was hoping to wear it and catch your attention later on tonight," she admitted after a minute.

He blinked a few times, taking in her words. The fog of confusion cleared when he realized that she was referring to his stolen property, not the flowers. "So you weren't in there for any other reason?" he asked, already bemoaning her answer.

"Nuh-uh," she said, shaking her head from side to side. She didn't notice the pain that washed over his face as she cuddled against his chest. "Do you hate me?" she asked in her high-pitched baby voice, hoping that he'd deny her words and gather her up for a frenzied kiss.

As mentioned before, she didn't know that her baby talk invoked a different kind of frenzy within Chris Jericho. No longer excited about his now worthless lead, he desired to be rid of the annoying blonde that clung to him. "Of course not, Stace," he sighed, pushing her away. He caught her hurt look, and begrudgingly gave her a half-smile. "I should go find Edge and talk about our match with Evolution. See you later."

"Be careful!" Stacy said to his already retreating back. She knew that he'd be upset about losing his t-shirt; if only he knew what she was planning to do with her stolen goods. With a snicker, she decided to hold off for another week until she executed her plan ("to allow his desire to grow," she told herself), and turned her attention to the approaching Matt Hardy.

Feeling completely dispirited, Chris trudged towards his dressing room. Knowing my luck today, the flowers will already be there, he thought to himself. He hadn't set up any sort of plan to catch his admirer today; a folly due to his assumption that Stacy would be more helpful than any sort of scheme. He immediately blamed Stephanie for giving him this false lead last week. Ever since he and Shelton had conned her into helping them, she had been nothing but useless.

Jericho was a few feet from his dressing room when he spotted Edge and the youngest McMahon talking beside it. Chris frowned, not wanting to deal with Stephanie and the incident that occurred between them last week. But not because he had said or done anything wrong; she was the one that had flown off the handle. Therefore, she was the one that should grovel to him. Approaching the pair, he noted Edge's close proximity to Stephanie, provoking the baby talk-induced nausea to spike. "Edgeward, don't you know that it's never a good idea to ride the village bicycle?" he admonished.

Edge's eyes narrowed, while Stephanie scowled before returning her focus on the man beside her. "You must have Steph here confused with Trish, Jerky." To Chris's dismay, the taller man wrapped a supportive arm around Steph's midsection, giving her a grin before returning his attention to Jericho. "I do hope you wore a helmet."

Chris growled at his words and at Stephanie's laughter. He silently watched her place her hand on top of his, and turned towards his dressing room, unable to stomach the sickening display. The last thing he needed to see was the start of sad, pathetic puppy love. "If you want to talk strategy for tonight, I'll be in here. If you want to stay out here and catch whatever Stephanie's got, well, it was nice knowing ya." Grimacing at the mental image of Edge 'catching' anything, Chris opened his dressing room door, making sure the door slammed shut behind him.

"Somebody's jealous." Chris heard Edge's sing-song voice through the closed door.

Could he be any further from the truth? Chris thought as he allowed himself to laugh. Jealousy over the youngest McMahon was the least of his worries; rather, he felt sorry for his fellow Canadian. Edge had been jinxed lately with a series of injuries; a fling with Stephanie would only rustle up more trouble. Chris continued to laugh as he remembered a particular incident during their partnership involving lotion and Hunter's beloved dog Lucy…

His laughter died away as he looked towards his gym bag and spied a bouquet of flowers beside it, confirming his earlier suspicion. The usual feeling of weary did not surface; rather, he felt almost calmed by the presence of the weekly gift. They did not shock him, like Shelton's meltdown, or bother him, like the couple that stood just outside his door. The flowers were part of his routine now.

Walking towards his things, he settled into a nearby chair before stroking the mixed lilies; four orange, three white. The blooms were flawless, making Chris wonder if these had been separated from a much fancier bouquet. In fact, on retrospect, last week's bouquet of variegated tulips (a name he learned, thanks to the Internet) was equally exquisite. Unsure of what an increase in quality could indicate, he turned his attention to the card.

Possessing similar cursive, with no flower doodles, the card said: I dare you to be happy. Despite its rather cryptic message, Chris felt a smile tug at his lips. If anything, his admirer had a knack for occasionally lifting his spirits.

Chris jumped as Edge suddenly burst into the locker room. Quickly replacing the card back amidst the flowers, he watched the tall man try to shake the dreamy look from his eyes. "Where is a Haz-mat suit when I need one?" Jericho grumbled loudly.

Edge, possessing an intricate knowledge of Jericho's games, remained calm at the jab. He knew that his best defense was to use Jericho's best offense: attitude. Leaning against the closest wall, the tall blond gave Chris the toothiest smile in his repertoire. "Let me help you look, Jerky. I'm tired of looking at those abs of flab as it is."

Jericho licked his lips, suppressing his retort. For despite Edge's willingness to play, Chris knew that he only had to utter Stephanie's infamous nickname to piss off his companion, something he'd rather not do with their tag match coming up. And despite his boasts of easy victory against Evolution, Chris needed Edge's backup.

A friend in need, indeed.

END CHAPTER SEVEN

Author's notes: I've been working on this chapter all week, and I am unsure of how I feel about the outcome. I thought of, and then decided against, putting the Shelton section into a separate companion fic, since he is injured and won't be on TV for awhile (my poor Benji!). Oh well, I think it sets the mood nicely, and I had to appease my Shelton muse.

Due to a couple reviews, I'd like to take the opportunity to make one idea clear: Jericho's secret admirer is NOT a man! Not Rob Conway, not Shelton (hilarious; could you see Shelton Benjamin sneaking around with bouquets of flowers?), and certainly not Rico (if he were currently on Raw, I'd totally write it in, but alas, the Fates are against me). So I hope that helps out a bit.

Anyway, thanks for all of your reviews so far, I am truly touched and honored that this story is so well-received amongst you all :) Please review and let me know what you think (even if it's to yell at me for bashing Stacy - I had to do it! lol) Take care, and I'll try (keyword: TRY) to get the next chapter out by this Friday.

PS: To Oliver Clothesoff: Love the name. And I like the way you think! ;)