DISCLAIMER: I do not own Chris Jericho, Stacy Keibler, 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: Mention of events from 7-5-04 Raw.
Flowers for Jericho
CHAPTER NINE
He was the first ever undisputed champion. The headliner of the greatest metal band today (discounting Velvet Revolver, those has-beens). The ayatollah of rock-n-rolla. The King of the World. The Highlight of the Night. And now, he was forced to play musical chairs?
Dear God, who have I pissed off now to deserve this? Jericho wondered to himself idly as 'Pop Goes the Weasel' starting playing in the arena. Eugene did say that there would be a title shot for the winner, but Jericho seriously doubted that this included the Heavyweight prize. With no real motivation, he decided to stand still and not embarrass himself. He watched as Stacy Keibler eagerly began to round the chairs, pouting at the other participants and encouraging them to join in. Lawler was the only one to take pity on her.
When the music stopped, Jericho realized that losing this game would be a bigger embarrassment than refusing to play. He dashed to a chair, much to the excitement of his hometown crowd.
As the number of participants dwindled, he couldn't believe that Stacy was still in the game. Every time he glanced in her direction, she was attempting to flirt with Tomko. Her coy smile led him to believe that she was scheming to screw him over with the help of Trish's problem-solver. With that thought, he leaned back in his chair towards Ric Flair, once Lawler was eliminated. "Flair, are you really going to let a woman beat you in this game? Don't you call yourself the dirtiest player in the game?" he taunted, raising an eyebrow.
Flair looked back at him in surprise. "I'm the dirtiest there is, kid. Woo!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet as the music began once again. Seconds later, Jericho joyfully watched the old man push Keibler out of the way, effectively eliminating her. As the crowd booed, Jericho tsked at the old man (to save face with his fans) before winking and turning away. If only it was always that easy to get rid of her.
Two rounds later, Jericho emerged victorious, earning an Intercontinental title shot against Randy Orton that evening. He smirked to himself, realizing that if he stole the title away from the cocky kid tonight, Edge wouldn't have a chance of being the champ on Sunday at Vengeance. That was enough motivation for him to win; he was tired of hearing Edge gloat about all his title reigns.
As he returned backstage, he found Eugene pulling at his hair and frowning a bit at a furious Edge. "Eugene, I just want to know why I couldn't play!" the tall blond yelled.
Holding his hands to his ears briefly, Eugene shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Edge fights Randy Orton on Sunday for Intercontinental title," he stated slowly. "Edge won first Intercontinental title from Jeff Jarrett and lost it the next day."
Edge growled while Chris laughed, catching Eugene's attention. "Chris Jericho! You won my favorite game!" the GM stated excitedly, clapping his hands together.
Chris reached forward to ruffle Eugene's hair, causing the young man to giggle and swat the hand away. "I did. Thanks for the title shot, boss."
"Yeah… I'm the boss," Eugene repeated, straightening out his suit coat. "And bosses get to have special offices! Bye Chris Jericho, bye Edge," he called out as he tore down the hallway, most likely towards his office set-up.
Watching the general manager leave, Chris turned towards the other man. "Maybe if you're nice you can play with us next time," he teased.
Edge crossed his arms with a glare. "Laugh it up, Jerky. I may not be able to prove that you put Eugene up to all this, but I do know that there's no way you'll beat Orton tonight. Not without your little lackey to hold back Batista."
Chris, a bit taken aback by Edge's accusation, immediately didn't like the way the tall man referred to Shelton. Didn't we just tag together a few weeks ago? Chris thought to himself bemusedly. And yet, at the first sign of a personal threat, Edge started hating on his fellow Canadian. "It's amazing; I've never met a family that has a genetic predisposition to bitch and moan," Jericho commented, knowing that the comparison between Christian and himself would drive Edge up the wall. "There's no need for this, really. We're fighting for the same cause here: getting rid of Evolution."
Eyes narrowed to slits, Edge stepped into Jericho's space, causing the shorter man to tense instinctively. "There is no 'we', Jerky. When I was out with a broken neck," here Edge paused, clenching his fists as Chris rolled his eyes and yawned, "I watched them run all over you and the rest of the wrestlers on Raw. Since you guys couldn't take care of the problem, it's up to me to fix it."
Jericho began to clap sarcastically. "Oh Edge! You're so noble, doing this for all the little people on Raw! Surely you wouldn't use this great single achievement for personal advancement?" Idly, Chris wondered if Edge gained Benoit's support by using this same veiled premise; for the heavyweight champion to fall for such a sob story would be utterly disgusting.
The tall man snarled, and Chris could see his body shaking with adrenaline. Recognizing this behavior, Jericho tightened his jaw and readied himself for a fist to the face. Surprisingly, though, Edge held himself to words. "This isn't your fight, Jericho. Go back to Trish or whomever the diva is this week, and stay out of my business." Seemingly satisfied by his verbal warning, Edge visibly relaxed and stepped away, down towards the direction of Eugene's office.
But the verbal warning would do nothing to deter Chris Jericho. The blond knew that Edge would never win a solitary war against Evolution, and would most likely end up back on the shelf. And yet, previous tactics used against the foursome had been relatively unsuccessful. Although Benoit took Triple H's precious title, both he and Shawn couldn't destroy the leader. Shelton had knocked Triple H down a few pegs, but hadn't been able to take the wind out of Orton's sails. Ric Flair, the perceived weakest link in the chain, had a variety of cheap moves, not to mention Batista, up his sleeve. No, Edge was completely wrong in thinking he could take down this time unassisted, for taking down a single member had yet to be done. So Chris vowed to keep his nose firmly stuck in Evolution's business, in hopes that a joint effort would prove successful.
After all, Triple H's nose was stuck in three different states at a time.
With Shelton laid up at home for the week, Chris ambled aimlessly towards catering, hoping to run into Stephanie. Last week, while he flipped through the dictionary of flowers, he found a receipt stuck in the back pages belonging to a MasterCard holder S. McMahon. He nearly tore it up on the spot, wanting to deny its existence and keep pretending that Shelton had purchased the book for him, but it could not be forgotten. Stephanie had bought him a thoughtful and useful present, and now the least he could do was thank her. Even if she would give him the Evil Eye and sneer at him like she had been doing for the last two weeks. But, his gesture of good faith proved unsuccessful; she wasn't in catering, by the production truck, or by the gorilla area. Taking it as a sign that thanking her 'just wasn't in the stars', he turned his attention towards his dressing room and his upcoming match.
His attention was diverted from thoughts of destroying Orton by Stephanie leaning against the wall by his dressing room door, talking on her cell phone. Biting back a comment about phone sex operators, Chris waved and quickly retreated into his dressing room. If she had business with him, she'd barge in anyway.
He lost all train of thought when he saw the bouquet of pink roses sitting on a folding chair. They invoked quite a reaction: dry mouth, protruding eyes, an innate fear of romance that all men experienced upon sight.
Jericho didn't have the flower dictionary with him this week, but he didn't need it to realize that this was a serious choice. And since that thought scared him shitless, then he certainly had greater trepidation to read the white index card that sat before it.
Stephanie, with her amazing sense of timing, took that moment to stroll inside, still blabbing on her cell phone. "Yeah, I know, but I doubt this is going to help…" Trailing off, she took in the man before her and realized that perhaps she was a bit out of line with her current conversation. "Um, I gotta go," she quickly stated before closing the flap and placing the phone into her front pocket. Looking around nervously, her eyes landed on the bouquet and she took in a breath. "Oh, the roses…" she breathed, putting two and two together.
Chris glanced at her sideway, suddenly uncomfortable by her presence. His mind was split with excitement and dread at the gift; he didn't have time to hand out a paltry thanks for a stupid book. "Why are you in here?" he asked sullenly. "It's not good technique to follow around the person you've been giving the silent treatment to."
She sighed. "Can't you attempt to be cordial after what I got you last week?"
I'm not getting out of this thank-you, am I? "Thanks for the book. I'll pay you back," he offered automatically, with all intentions of never paying her back. It was only $25; backstage technician or no, she wasn't that hard up for cash.
"It was a peace offering. Shelton mentioned how you had to look up something online, and I thought it would be useful," she explained, hoping that he'd understand that she, too, could never sincerely apologize to him. His comments about her being unworthy of his attentions still stung.
"Oh." He let the conversation die, hoping that she would leave and he could read the card in privacy.
Stephanie, rather missing the conversations she had grown used to, opened her mouth to try and provoke him. However, the headset she wore suddenly buzzed into life, startling both members in the room. "Ms. McMahon, its Dwight. Eugene's moon bounce is starting to deflate and he's going into hysterics.
Taking another long look at Chris (who was ignoring her in favor of the bouquet) Steph grabbed at the box on her side and flipped a switch. "Alright, Dwight, I'm on my way," she stated, swiftly moving towards the door and feeling as if her peace offering was a lost cause. She would later save the moon bounce (and earn Eugene's eternal gratitude) thanks to a tire pump and her iron-fisted control on the backstage crew.
Once he heard the door slam behind her, Chris decided that this situation was best dealt with the Band-Aid technique. He brusquely walked to the bouquet and snatched the white card out of it without a second thought. And while no skin was scratched and cut from the thorns and the card, the words pricked his heart.
This secret cannot go on for much longer. Be ready.
Chris nearly swallowed his tongue as he read the words over and over again. It was coming to an end, this game of cat-and-mouse, and he already mourned the loss. He wasn't prepared to learn her true identity, to ask why and how long and all the lingering questions in the back of his mind.
Most of all, he was afraid that she'd want him to return her feelings. He had long abandoned his hopes of being able to brush off the woman with a passionate evening, knowing that an act like that would only cause trouble. She wanted his affection, possibly his love, and he felt only graciousness for the mystery person. Perhaps a teenager could fall in love with flowers and thoughtful words, but he could not.
It was quite the turn of events; in the beginning he hated his secret admirer, calling her a coward and with all intentions of ignoring the presence of the bouquets.
In the middle he fought his growing dependence by trying to capture her with elaborate, unsuccessful schemes.
And now, at the end, he already dreaded the confrontation that would end all contact between them.
END CHAPTER NINE
Author's notes: Two more chapters and the story will be finished. Re-reading earlier chapters, I realized how quickly this story lost its lighthearted touch, and I tried to recapture a bit of it. It's hard though, with all the serious CJ introspects. I also had to suppress the urge to write Dave Batista into this edition; his muse is currently running rampant in my imagination. And here I thought that I appeased him with his cameo in the one-shot I posted earlier this week :)
Well, anyway, I hope you guys liked it (I'm pretty satisfied, for once). Please review and let me know what you think (unless you are upset about the lack of the moon bounce; I tried like hell to write that in as well but I felt that my attempts were all rip-offs of Nina's excellent usage in HaK). Thanks for all of your support as usual, and take care!