DISCLAIMER: I do not own Shelton Benjamin, Chris Jericho, 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 11-09-04 Raw.
DEDICATION: To Jodi and Kay, whose e-mails ended my self-pity and gave me the kick in the pants I needed. Thanks guys :)
Flowers Can't Keep Secrets
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A famous songwriter once lamented that one is the loneliest number.
Usually Shelton didn't go for that honky crap, but right about now he was ready to belt out the lyrics in his empty locker room. He hadn't talked to anyone since last week, and that was a brief conversation with Lilian about Nidia….
She was gone, and her departure only made his betrayal that much more painful.
Didn't she understand that he didn't have a choice; that by hurting her, he was protecting her from further physical harm? Didn't she ever wonder why her beatings from Trish and Tomko had suddenly vanished?
Didn't she realize that he had sold his soul to the one man who would never return it whole?
Rumors (especially those that mar the image) have a certain way of lighting a fire under Canadians.
As soon as the show began, Chris Jericho sought out Chris Benoit, angry as all hell. Spotting the toothless man by the curtain, he stomped over and scowled.
Benoit glanced at the other man and sighed internally, wondering why he was forced to be cordial to such a shallow person. "Something wrong?" he asked gruffly, returning his attention to the television screen.
Chris huffed. "You bet your ass something's wrong! Why the hell is everyone calling us Team Orton?"
"Sounds better than Team Maven, I suppose," Benoit deadpanned (which, actually, was his normal speaking tone. More often than not people mistook his words as sarcasm, leading to misunderstandings and feuds galore).
"Team Maven!" Jericho spat out in disgust. "I cannot believe this… how did I, the first Undisputed Champion, the King of the World, and the Sexiest Beast of a man end up on this terrible team of rookies?"
Benoit growled, causing the egotistical man to jump. "I'm no rookie."
Chris backtracked at the sight of an angry Benoit; after all, no need for his teammate to slap him in a cross face before Survivor Series. "Heh heh… I meant 'we'. How did 'we' end up on this terrible team of rookies?"
"Technically, Jericho, I'm not a rookie," Maven interjected as he walked towards his teammates.
"That's Mr. Jericho to you," Chris corrected with an eye roll. "And until you prove yourself backstage, you'll always be a rookie, Rookie."
The well-manicured young man nodded slowly. "I see… Al didn't mention that, but I'll take your word for it, Mr. Jericho."
"Mr. Jericho, sir."
"Right; Mr. Jericho, sir," Maven quickly amended with a smile. Gosh, but he was surely happy about his friendship with Chr-er, Mr. Jericho!
The group fell silent as they watched the duration of the match (aka the Randy Orton pummel-a-thon), only to be shocked into speaking when their teammate pulled out a victory over the giant Batista. They gave their congratulations to Randy once he joined them backstage, but were rudely interrupted by a violent Batista.
While Randy and both Chrises were not surprised by the attack, and therefore were able to throw in some offense, Maven's inexperience came back to haunt him as Batista's elbow smashed him in the nose.
Stephanie was enjoying a quiet moment in her janitor's closet/office when her headset buzzed to life on the desk. Groaning, she held to her face and hit a switch on the battery pack. "Yes?"
"Ms. McMahon, we've had a fight down by curtain and Mr. Bischoff has requested that you take care of it."
"Fine," she snipped into the microphone, angry that her night was probably going to suck because of some stupid overbearing wrestlers.
Of course, she didn't expect to run into the stupidest, most overbearing of them all as she flew out of her office.
"Excuse me," she said as she pushed herself off of her ex-husband and tried to continue on her way.
Hunter, being the asshole that she knew he was, couldn't resist the opportunity to badger his ex-wife. "Nice office, Steph. Maybe you can mop up Evolution's locker room after the show," he snickered.
Feeling the ol' fire down her spine at Hunter's voice caused her to freeze in her tracks. If he wanted to bring out the bitch in her, well, it was on like Donkey Kong. "That's odd; I thought it was Flair that was pissing all over your locker room floors." Pasting on a fake sympathetic look, she patted him on the shoulder. "And all those years we spent together you were calling them wet dreams…"
When his face turned purple, she knew she had hit the jackpot, and that she had little time before he would try and wring her neck. So with a smirk and another pat, she danced away from his groping hands and scurried down the hallway, leaving Hunter to his fuming.
Her lifted spirits quickly melted away as she finally reached the curtain and spotted her boyfriend amongst those restrained. Guessing that Batista had started the uproar (since he was flinging referees left and right and screaming nonsense), she used her headset to call for backup security and walked over to the men that were holding Chris down. "Let him go, guys," she ordered.
"But Ms. McMahon, he'll go after…"
"Not while I'm here," she interrupted. Begrudgingly, the two men released their hold on Chris and went to go help with Batista.
"It's about time, baby. Those penguins were creasing my shirt," Chris joked. His smile faded as he caught sight of the annoyed look on her face. "What?"
"What have I told you about starting trouble with Batista?"
"C'mon babe, I am fighting him on Sunday! I HAVE to start trouble!" Chris rolled his eyes, annoyed at his overprotective girlfriend.
"Fine, start trouble. Get another concussion and see if I feel sorry for you!" Lifting her chin in the air, she walked away from him and towards another huddle of referees who were exclaiming about blood. "What's the problem here?"
"This one's bleeding," was her answer. With mild concern that one of her boyfriend's teammates was seriously hurt (and thus, put Chris at a greater risk of concussion), she pushed her way through the crowd and stopped in front of the injured man.
What she found was Maven, sitting on the ground with blood dripping from his nose. The young man looked up at her with glassy eyes and showed him his red-stained fingers. "I dink iz bwoken."
Meet the average man: a creature who puts himself at risk for injury time and again, but in reality is a closet hypochondriac who will call the common cold pneumonia. Or in this case, a simple bloody nose a broken one.
Clicking her tongue like a mother hen, Steph crouched down in front of him and poked the bleeding appendage carefully. "Does that hurt?" she asked.
"Ewewyting huwts!" he responded.
"Well, it doesn't look broken, kid," she responded after another poke. Pinching his nostrils together, she used her other hand to tip his head back. "Lean back so we can stop the bleeding, and then you can see the trainer."
Maven looked at her pitifully, but kept any further whining to himself. Deep down, he was enjoying the motherly attention (just like any average man would). "Tank woo."
"What the hell is this?" Chris exclaimed as he, Benoit, and Randy pushed themselves through the crowd. "Don't tell me that you got hurt, kid."
"Sowwy Mwister Jehwico."
"This is just great," Randy spat out. "How are we supposed to win on Sunday if you get hurt by a single elbow to the face?"
"Oh, I'm sure you'll mess it up anyway, just like you did with Nidia," Stephanie retorted. She still hadn't forgiven Randy for his rendezvous with Gail Kim, and marked it off to his former mentor's influence.
All four men looked at her quizzically, confused by her sudden catty behavior. "Did I miss something?" Chris asked as Steph's eyes shot daggers at Randy.
"Forget it."
And they did, since none of them really could confess to understanding women all that well.
To say he was distracted was an understatement.
Shelton wasn't sure how he won his match against Tomko, considering that he was thinking about his situation the entire time. And when your head wasn't in the game, you were more likely to make a stupid mistake and get seriously hurt (read: Edge's entire career). So while he cleaned up, he made the snap decision to involve a third party on his problem and get some advice.
The problem was that the backstage was slim pickings for good advice. Jericho and Stephanie were automatically out. Benoit wasn't much of a talker. The Hurricane and Rosey were delusional. Tajiri didn't speak English, and Rhyno was… well, scary. Lilian would have worked, except that she was ringside at the current moment.
That left him with only one option, and he hated to use it.
"Hey man," Randy greeted. Opening his door wider, he allowed Shelton to walk into his locker room. "Good job against Tomko."
Shelton waved off the praise. "He might be big, but he's still pretty green." Taking a seat on a bench, he motioned for Randy to sit down. "I think we're long overdue for a talk, Orton."
Catching the other man's serious vibe, Randy nodded and sat as well. "Is this about Hunter?"
"It's about everything."
Chris Jericho's locker room had never been so devoid of rookies.
"Now this is what I'm talking about," he said to no one in particular as he kicked up his feet on a table. His interview with Lita and Trish was only minutes away, but he had no plans on moving until then.
Leave it to a McMahon to ruin it all.
"Chrissykins, what are you doing?" Stephanie shrieked as she burst into his room. "The video packages are almost over, and the Highlight Reel is next!"
He cracked open an eye at her. "I've still got five minutes, babe. And maybe I'm enjoying the peace and quiet in here for once."
Steph shook her head. "God, you already sound like an old man."
Chris stuck out his lower lip and pouted. "Sure, make fun of me because I'm turning 34 tomorrow. I'm not exactly robbing the cradle either."
Earlier, it was mentioned that he didn't understand women; his comment was a demonstration of his naivety.
"Are you calling me old, Jericho?" Stephanie asked, her lovely face crumpled up in anger. "Because I doubt you have any place to talk!"
"Please, Steph, I'm only six years older than you! You have no right to point the finger at me when the big 3-0 is creeping up on you."
Stephanie (like most women) shuddered at the mere thought of turning thirty. With the wind knocked out of her sails, she gave him a pitiful look. "Do I look that old?"
"Nah, I'd say you're more Moolah than Mae Young," Chris jabbed gleefully, not realizing that the time for banter was over.
"You… you… asshole!" Stephanie fumed before running into the bathroom and locking the door.
Chris's victory smile slipped off his face as he gazed at the bathroom. "Aw, babe, don't be pissy! I was just teasing!" he called from his seat.
There was no response from her.
Pushing himself out of his chair, he walked to the door and knocked. "Did you hear me? I said I was just kidding!"
Stephanie (who was busy inspecting for crow's feet in the mirror) sneered at the door's reflection. "Oh yeah, really funny to compare me to those two old bats. What's next, the Cryptkeeper?"
"Nah, that title's reserved for Sable." He heard her snicker and breathed a sigh of relief. "Now will you come out of there and walk me to the curtain? I'd like to show off my beautiful, young girlfriend to the backstage monkeys."
"You forgot intelligent," Stephanie replied as she opened the door with a small smile. He always knew how to sweet-talk her, even after pressing her buttons."
"Of course, how utterly stupid of me," he said as he took her hand and led her out of his locker room. "How did I ever end up with such a beautiful, young, intelligent girl on my arm?"
"You're just lucky, I guess." Her smile grew as she tugged on his hand.
He looked down and became a bit nervous at her large grin. "What?"
"Speaking of getting lucky…" she trailed off, waggling her eyebrows.
He gave her a confused look before making the connection. "Are you serious?" he squeaked as his jaw dropped open.
"Happy Birthday."
Chris Jericho may have been turning 34 the next day, but he suddenly felt like a giddy teenager. Grabbing her hand tighter, he began running down the hallway with her in tow.
"Hey! Why are we running?" she shouted as she tried to keep up.
He smiled back at her. "Because it's midnight on the East Coast baby, and I can't wait to open my present!"
"That is sick," Randy said as he rubbed his temples.
"I know."
"I didn't know it was this bad. Hunter made us think we were targeting you because you beat him."
Shelton laughed, but it was lifeless and hollow. "Funny, I'm not all that surprised."
"You have to tell her, you know."
Shelton's brow furrowed. "Why? Nidia's out of danger now."
Randy gave him a stern look. "You know who I'm talking about, Shelton." He ran a hand across his scalp, trying to calm his own nerves and rid himself of the images that Shelton's words had provoked. "God, she's going to kill you."
"I know." And I deserve it, he thought to himself.
He may have successfully protected Nidia, but in the process, he had fed Stephanie to the wolves.
END CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Author's notes: Well, if you haven't guessed already, I've decided to continue the story. I want to thank everyone for their supportive reviews and e-mails that swung me in the right direction. Seriously, you're all awesome, and I can only hope that I don't fail y'all :)
Next question: why did I wait until Monday to post? Simple: I went to Survivor Series and was basically distracted all week by the thought of going. It was awesome, minus the fact that my sign was confiscated at the door… bastards. It was two poster boards big, and it said "Edge: 2001 King of the Ring; 2004 King of Greasy Hair." They said it was too big; I just think they took it because of what happened at the bookstore…
What happened at the bookstore, you ask? Well, last Friday, Edge was signing copies of his book there, and I decide to be a smartass and go. I get in line (which was huge, by the way; stupid redneck Edge fans) and wait for awhile until this security guard comes up to me and asks where my book is. Apparently, Edge only wanted to sign his book (although I heard he was signing other things later on). So I show the guard what I brought: a can of Crisco. Needless to say, I got into some heated words with said guard, and was escorted out of the store lol. I did, however, give him the can and asked him to give it to Edge 'for Sunday'. I like to think that he got it, and made that stupid confused monkey face before tossing it in the trash. One can dream, right?
I've babbled long enough, I think. I could go on and on about Survivor Series, and how I SWEAR Chris Jericho looked at me (I was sitting in the second row of the lower level, and screaming Y2J during the majority of his match), but I'll save it. I hope this Nidia-free chapter was OK, and I look forward to the reviews. Until later days, people, take care :)