DISCLAIMER: I do not own Chris Jericho, Edge, 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 08-23-04 Raw.
Flowers Can't Keep Secrets
CHAPTER FIVE
As most girls know, a kick to the groin is quite an effective takedown, if not a little diabolical in nature for its simplicity.
Therefore, by using this logic, Chris Jericho proved that Edge was a weasely girl. And he didn't even factor in his hair, a feat within itself.
Chris had worn a jock strap (the Canadian maple leaf one, in fact), as was customary of all professional wrestlers, but the device does not deter the jarring of a ring rope up the ass. So with minor swelling, he reclined on a bench in his locker room and did what was necessary: got drunk.
After all, anyone who wrestled Triple H often knew to carry some sort of booze in their gym bags. The man was obsessed with crotch shots.
Taking another swig of whiskey, the blond kept his eyes trained on his door. It was only a matter of time until someone checked up on him. Both Shelton and Nidia had kept their distance for an entire week after finding him by the dark blue Neon; Chris suspected that they had heard about his rejection from Stephanie, although why Stephanie would bother to tell them anything was beyond him.
Actually, a lot of things were beyond him at this moment, and that was thanks to his new best friend, Jack Daniels.
Unfortunately, being alone and tipsy long enough forces you to think, no matter how much one's groin hurts. And all Chris could think about was Steph. He hadn't talked to her in days, but not from her lack of trying; she had called him numerous times on Tuesday and Wednesday. She left messages that Chris didn't bother to listen to, just deleted as soon as her voice filled the speaker. He didn't want to hear her excuses or her apologies, now that he knew where her true feelings lay.
Something, however, was changing his mind.
The match tonight had actually been Edge's idea. Chris suspected it had something to do with the incident two weeks ago. What surprised him more was what Edge kept growling during the match.
Now, while a wrestler's vocabulary is usually restricted to expletives and brutal threats, Edge was constantly mumbling to Jericho about Stephanie. That 'she was his', or 'stay away from her', or 'where's my damn retainer'.
Right before Edge introduced Chris's balls to the top rope, he said something strikingly different: "I want her back!"
Being the master of assumptions, Chris took his statement to mean that Steph had finally broken it off with the King of Crisco. But he didn't want to put it past Edge to think of his retainer as female, giving it some sort of silly name (perhaps Myrtle or Sue).
Myrtle or Sue still sat in his gym bag, next to the two bottles of Listerine.
Stephanie's dismissal last week, however, still weighted heavily on his mind. So even if his assumption about her was correct, he didn't allow himself to get excited over it. The whiskey helped with that; kept him from losing his mind in the realm of possibilities.
Of course, Shelton DID say something about Chris misinterpreting Steph's words by the blue Neon. But the Canadian refused to buy into it; chalking it up to Benji's infernal optimism.
Ugh, rookies.
Chris Jericho knew a dis. One didn't become a ladies' man until after years of being a ladies' fool.
Shaking his head from side to side, Chris tried to physically jar the memories of Steph's rejection from mind. Thankfully, his solitude was interrupted by a cautious knock. "Chris?" Nidia called cautiously through the door.
He sighed. The only time she knocks, and I sound like Peter Brady. "Yeah what," he grumbled, dragging his voice deep from his belly.
She took that as permission to enter, coming to stand before him in a gray velour sweatsuit. Sticking her nose in the air, she sniffed experimentally once, twice. "Booze? Whiskey?"
Chris nodded, slightly impressed. "Nidia, meet Jack. Jack, Nidia." He tilted the half-guzzled container of Listerine (for easy smuggling through airports) at the brunette before him. "Join me?"
"Don't mind if I do," she responded, getting rid of her gum. Lowering herself to sit Indian-style on the floor, Nidia gave him a curious look. "No ice?"
"Hard up, baby." Chris took another swig, then handed off the bottle. "Just how I like my women."
She flushed a bit, her left hand gripping the proffered booze. "No, for your…" she trailed off, waving a hand towards his nether regions.
Chris winced at the thought. "Guys are too sensitive. Too much ice can cause permanent damage, ya know," he explained, sounding just like the six grade classmate who told him that valuable information.
She winced. "Wouldn't want that," she affirmed before throwing her head back and taking a large swig of the whiskey all those years ago.
Jericho chuckled as she coughed violently, the alcohol burning a path to her stomach. "So why are you drinking?"
Another large sip passed her lips; this time, she managed to hold her expression to a painful grimace. "You drink by yourself, you're an alcoholic. I'm just saving you the embarrassment."
He liked that answer, taking the bottle back for a sip. The room was just starting to fuzz around the edges; and upon further examination, Nidia was becoming more and more attractive. Was her skin always that radiant? Did her smile always make him feel warm inside? He couldn't remember; a sure sign of the whiskey's potency. "You aren't gonna try an' jump me when you're all wasted, are you?" Chris half-joked, half-worried out loud. After all, she DID send him all of those sappy notes…
Her cheeks pinked as she looked away, blindly grabbing for the whiskey. "We're just friends now."
Chris arched an eyebrow. "That so? You sounded pretty hung up on me back in the day."
Nidia didn't respond, currently preoccupied with draining the last quarter of whiskey from the bottle. Once her feat was accomplished, she wiped a stray drop from her chin and giggled at her open-mouthed friend. "Well, now what?" she asked, tossing the bottle aside.
Chris had never seen a girl drink hard liquor like that before. He didn't know whether to tease her or fear her incredible guzzling skills; instead, he reached into his nearby gym bag and pulled out another full bottle of Listerine. "Good thing I packed for lushes like you."
Twenty minutes later, it was safe to say that both parties were sloshed (despite her guzzling feat earlier, Nidia was far from being a professional drinker). So it was no surprise that their loud talking and laughter attracted the attention of someone outside.
The surprise was in who.
Panting and laughing to himself simultaneously, Randy Orton ducked into the first noisy locker room he found, knowing that Evolution wouldn't dare take on a crowd of wrestlers.
He wasn't banking on all that noise coming from the two drunken people who were sprawled on the benches.
Squinting at the intruder, Chris handed the bottle of Listerine to Nidia before standing up. "You lookin' for a fight, Randall?" he stuttered, wobbling heavily on one foot (for he had forgotten that he had two).
Cursing his luck, and unable to dart back out in the hallway, the heavyweight champ smirked at the smashed Canadian. "And people actually admire you for being the first Undisputed Champion?"
Chris crossed his arms, attempting his best glare. "Least I didn't give back my title to my 'leader' like some little bitch."
With a sigh, Randy held the belt closer to Chris's face, waiting to speak until the blond man's eyes could focus on the gold. "Maybe if you weren't drinking yourself silly, you would have seen me spit in Hunter's face."
While the blond Canadian gave him a confused look, Nidia used her friend as a crutch, pulling herself to her feet. Holding up the bottle of Listerine, she offered Randy a huge grin. "Now that deserves a drink, Champ," she slurred.
Forty-five minutes after that, Stephanie McMahon was leaving the arena when she heard loud singing coming from an adjacent hallway. Surprised, she went to investigate, and soon found herself outside of Chris Jericho's locker room door. Deciding to forgo her usual entrance, she carefully cracked open the door and poked her head inside.
For years to come, Steph would be happy she investigated the noise that night, for she would be the sole witness to quite a debacle.
Standing on a bench, with one of his sparkly shirts tied around his head, Chris was singing 'Shot to the Heart' at the top of his lungs. On the floor before him lay Nidia, who was waving around a bottle of Listerine and chiming in when she could. And next to Nidia, with his head tilted back on the bench, was a passed-out Randy Orton.
"Shot through the heart, and you're to blame," Chris bellowed loudly. Stephanie could smell the hiskey on his breath, and realized what was in those Listerine bottles.
"You give looooooove a bad name," he and Nidia finished together. Then, Chris went into some vicious air guitar, while the brunette on the floor bobbed her head along in time.
Steph would have watched it all night, but she saw her opportunity to make peace with Chris, hoping that in his current state he would at least listen to her. So she cleared her throat loudly, rapped at the open door a few times, and officially entered the room. "You know, the WWE is a dry organization," she deadpanned.
Chris froze in mid-strum, staring at the intruder. This loss of momentum would lead to him falling off the bench and jarring his sore groin. "Son of a bitch," he hissed. "My balls are never going to recover."
Without a word, Nidia capped the bottle and slid it over to him. She then turned her attention back to Steph. "What up chica?" she greeted. And before Steph could reply, she had already passed out.
"Well, that's two people I'm gonna have to drag out of here," the backstage coordinator grumbled to herself. Walking around the bench, she looked down at Chris (who was still lying on his back, moaning in pain). "What's Orton doing in here anyway?"
Jericho's brow scrunched up as the neurons in his brain misfired; he knew the answer to this, it was on the tip of his tongue. Or at least, he did know a half-hour ago. His tongue was currently coated in whiskey, and really of no help. "What are you doing in here anyway?" he retorted weakly.
She squatted down beside him, then pinched her nose at the cloud of whiskey that she had unknowingly entered. "God, you stink. How long have you been drinking?"
"Like you care." Part of his brain was starting to panic, for he didn't want to be this drunk and have her around. He already made a fool of himself last week in front of her, the last thing he desired was a repeat performance. He wasn't even sure she was real right now; cracking open that third bottle of whiskey wasn't the best of ideas.
Steph delivered the third surprise of his night when she bent over and placed a kiss on his forehead, despite the stench and his inebriated state. She laughed at his shocked look when she pulled back. "I do care, you idiot. I've been trying to tell you that all week."
Chris blinked a few times. "You kissed me," he whispered. Still wondering if she was real or not, he closed his eyes and passed out.
Unfortunately for Stephanie, the three passed-out wrestlers in the room were far from a hallucination.
END CHAPTER FIVE
Author's Notes: Well, that's a strange chapter, if I do say so myself. Oh well, if it made you chuckle, then I succeeded. The addition of Randy Orton was just to irritate my brother, who said I would probably include him in the story now that he was a face. So there Charlie... I guess you know me too well :P As for Orton's permanence… we'll see. He takes away from my Edge-bashing time :D
Many thanks to all of my reviewers for the last chapter. I'd detail out my love to each and every one of you, but I'm exhausted and need to hit the hay. I hope you'll excuse the lateness (and rather eccentric) of this chapter. Please review and tell me what you think! Thanks guys, take care and I'll see ya next week :)