DISCLAIMER: I do not own Chris Jericho, Chris Benoit, 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: Events from 12-6 Raw. Some mention of the crapfest that was the11-29 Raw.
Flowers Can't Keep Secrets
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Don't you wish you were him, indeed.
Carrying a blue grocery bag, Chris Jericho held his head high as he walked through the halls of Raw. HIS halls. HIS Raw.
In the words of Christian, tonight was so going to rule.
The female on his arm gave him a smile before breaking away. "I'll come find ya later," she called out as she proceeded down an adjacent hallway.
"No problem, sweetcheeks," Chris replied. After taking a moment to remove all (see: nonexistent) wrinkles from his suit coat, he adjusted his sunglasses and continued on his way.
Four and a half steps later, hew as stopped by one of his fellow wres-, no, employees. "Yes? Did you want to speak to the boss?"
Chris Benoit stoically admired Jericho's suit before frowning. "Yes, I want to speak to you, Boss," he said sarcastically. "Have you made a decision?"
The TGM (or temporary general manager) grinned. "Why yes, I have made a number of decisions today. I decided to stay in bed this morning with my lovely girlfriend and skip breakfast. I decided to have juice and not coffee with breakfast. I decided not to wear underwear…" he trailed off at Benoit's growl. "What?"
"A decision about the title, you moron. And it better be the right one," Benoit threatened.
The new GM suddenly found his cocky attitude evaporating. "Chris, Chris, Chris," he cooed, attempting to diffuse the situation. "OF course I made a decision in your favor. What are friends for, right?"
"Really?" Benoit grinned, already feeling the gold around his waist. Maybe this guy wasn't a giant flake after all.
It is not often that one can call Chris Benoit silly; for having a thought like that, however, it became one of those times.
"Unfortunately," Chris continued, "My decision was vetoed by Vince. He's making the call on the Highlight Reel."
The smile disappeared from Benoit's face. He suddenly craved useful allies, justice, and a Molson Ice. Without another (stoic) word, he stormed down the hallway in search of the head honcho.
Not particularly bothered by Benoit's dismissal, Chris started whistling his theme song as he arrived at his luxurious locker room.
Well, formerly luxurious.
"What the hell is all this?" he exclaimed out loud, eyeing the scary graffiti a la the 'Fresh Prince of Bel-Air'. The posters of him were, of course, breathtaking.
"It's your present, Mr. Jericho sir," a voice spoke behind him.
Chris whirled around, his hands fisted, but merely saw Maven standing behind him. "Jeez, Melvin, when did you become a creepy sidler?"
Maven ignored him, choosing instead to walk across the room and stare into the mirror. IN his reflection, he fancied he could see the maniacal spark of his mentor. But golly gee, was it fun to be the bad guy! "I would like a match with Eugene tonight, Mr. Jericho sir," he said in a fake baritone.
Ooooooh, but even HE got chills down his spine at his evil-sounding voice!
"Uh, ok. Whatever." Pulling his sunglasses down his nose, Chris gave the narcissist a careful once-over. "Something wrong with your face?"
"Yes," Maven hissed, giving himself even more chills. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a black crayon and proceeded to try and write those famous initials on his forehead. "What would Al do," he mumbled.
Chris blinked, then called security. The last thing he needed was a crazy rookie to ruin his perfect night (or his perfect face, the psycho).
"So, will you help me get her number?" Randy asked, dreaming of future rendezvous with a certain D-cup Diva.
Stephanie rolled her eyes. "You hired her; why don't you just get her number yourself? After all, that's all you frickin' did last week," she added under her breath.
In fact, last week had become a sort of distant memory for the majority of the Raw personnel. Beyond the 'controversial' heavyweight title match that ended the show, one was hard-pressed to find anything of value from last week's show. In fact, it was rather like a Russ Meyers flick: full of overstated horror (Edge's possible victory, for example) and large-breasted women.
"I heard that," Randy scowled. Vince McMahon had promptly discarded his one of a kind match, insisting that all breakthrough ideas must originate in him. From there, he was only left with one option: women with the sole skill set of stripping off their clothes and dancing in their underwear. (Actually, he had also come up with the revolutionary Triple H versus Doink the Clown title match; however, that idea had fallen through when no wrestler (save Rob Conway) was willing to put on all that makeup).
Steph shrugged, not particularly caring that the rookie had heard her aside, and continued to peruse the buffet. Since her boyfriend was the TGM, she had given herself the night off from all strenuous activity. "Do you think this macaroni salad looks rancid?"
Randy leaned over and poked the salad in question with the serving spoon. "Looks fine to me." He then paused, and gave her a lengthy once-over. "Actually, you're lookin' pretty fine to me too," he leered.
He received a face-full of macaroni in response. "Save it for the chick, lover boy," Steph admonished with a laugh.
"What? Can't I tell my friend's girlfriend that she looks good?" Randy whined, flicking noodles left and right.
"Chris isn't your friend," she responded mildly. "Ooooh, fried chicken!"
Randy held back a chuckle as he watched the brunette excitedly load her plate with the fatty fried food. Being the ladies' man that he was, he knew better than to make smart-aleck comments to a hungry woman.
Of course, knowing better doesn't always translate into good behavior.
"Geez Steph, you're going to put the Colonel out of business!" Randy remarked, loudly enough that some nearby people snickered along with him.
If steam could have come out of her ears, it would have. Slamming her plate down on the table, she turned to the stupid young man with an angry glare. "Are you TRYING to say something Orton?"
Randy took a step back, a typical male reaction to a woman's rhetoric. "Uh, no?"
"For your sake, I hope not," she hissed. Snatching up a drumstick, she tore a bite out of it and gave him another glare. "Mm ma McMamm mammt!" she yelled over her shoulder as she stormed away.
The rookie quietly watched her go before perusing the catering area for less irate and less complicated women. His lips switched upwards as he spotted a certain blonde-brunette sitting alone at a table, and decided to work his magic.
After all, he never saw any significance in the phrase 'don't shit where you eat'.
Twenty minutes before the show began, and the TGM found himself with nothing to do. Always resourceful, he decided to go search out and talk to (see: cop a feel on) his girlfriend. Darting through the hallways, he eventually tracked her down and immediately pinned her up against the wall.
"Excuse me, Ms. Technician, but there is a rising matter that requires your hands on attention," he greeted cheekily. Ideally, he hoped to lure her into his office, where a bag of seedless red grapes awaited their arrival.
Normally Steph would reprimand him for his behavior, but the naughty voice in her mind reminded her that HE was her boss for the evening, and she would have to bend to his will. Good thing she had taken up Pilates. "Is that so? I'd love to get a better grasp on the situation, Mr. Jericho; would you mind?"
Chris cocked an eyebrow at her, but remained in character. "Not at all, miss. I suggest that you reach in with both hands and take full control of it."
Steph's smile stretched wider as she ran her hands up his chest. "With my firm hands on the situation, I'm sure it'll soon blow over."
"Ooo baby, I sure hope so!" her boyfriend exclaimed, immediately capturing her lips with his.
As their tongues reacquainted themselves, Chris was trying to remember where the nearest available closet was when, in a bit of déjà vu, a hand clapped on his shoulder. "Jericho," the voice growled.
"So not funny, Benji," Chris grumbled against Steph's lips. "And I still don't think we're speaking to you."
Steph, catching sight of the figure behind Chris, began shaking her head wildly. "Not HIM!" she whispered.
"Not Benji? Is it Randalf?" He frowned as she continued to shake her head. "Benoit? Edge?" Another shake. "Well, who the hell is it so I can tell them to get lost?"
"Try Vincent Kennedy McMahon," the voice behind him prompted.
The color drained from Chris's face as he scrambled to pull his hand out from under Steph's shirt. "Mr. McMahon! I wasn't expecting you!" he squeaked out, standing beside his girlfriend and shoving his hands in his pockets.
"You knew that I'd be here to announce the result of the title match last week," Vince boomed, the veins on his forehead pulsating under his skin.
Chris started. "Oh, of course! I mean, I wasn't expecting you so early, or else I would have met you at the garage!" he explained weakly.
"I called you and told you that I would be kicking off the show," the chairman of the WWE finished, careful to hide the amusement in his voice. Idly he wondered just how loud he'd have to shout to get this little prick to wet his pants.
"That's what I meant," Chris said, his cheeks reddening. Turning back to Steph (who still had her mouth open in shock) he winked. "And that's how you give CPR, Ms. Mahon."
Steph shook herself out of her stupor long enough to glare at her boyfriend. "Gee, thanks Mr. Jericho." Thinking quickly, she then gave him an evil smile. "I'll just go show the rest of the crew. Good luck with the show!" Ignoring her father completely, she gave Chris a little wave before fairly running down the hall.
Chris sent an evil eye after the retreating figure before turning back to his boss. "Technicians; what are you going to do with them?" he remarked glibly.
"They are trouble," Vince agreed. "That one in particular. Anyway, Chris, I thought of a segment for your show tonight, if you don't mind."
Chris didn't mind; anyone who minded what Vince McMahon said would findoneself at the soup kitchen in no time. "Hit me Vincent; I'm all ears."
Vince's eyebrows rose at his proper name, but he chose to ignore it (much in the same fashion that he had ignored what had gone on between this man and his estranged daughter). Grabbing Chris's shoulder firmly, he led him down towards the curtain. "Well, the working name for it is 'Limbo-A-Go-Go'…."
It was inconceivable.
It was an outrage.
It was…. hilarious.
Hanging his head (which helped him see the ground better; his peripheral vision in the mask was terrible), Christian muttered to himself as he walked through the hallways towards the curtain. The nerve of Chris Jericho, to make a fool out of Captain Charisma! He beat Chris Jericho numerous times! He beat his brother to a pulp! He even beat freakin' Shawn Michaels!
Every time Tomko snickered behind him, his confidence slipped.
Suddenly, a pair of green boots filled his vision. Gritting his teeth, he looked into the brown eyes of the resident superhero/psychopath.
"A hurri-welcome to you, Captain," the Hurricane greeted with an extended hand. "I am the Hurricane, the local evil-thwarter and villain vanquisher. Did you have a long flight here?"
"Am I am Rosey, the massive muscle head and gentle giant," the large man said beside him. "You wouldn't happen to have change for the candy machine, would you Captain?"
Christian cursed loudly in response. "I'm not a freak, you freaks!" he shouted as he stomped around the duo. His hatred for Chris Jericho pumped through his veins; he could only hope that his girlfriend and Triple H (who were currently scheming together) cooked up a plan that would cook Jericho's goose.
Tomko watched his boss storm off before fishing around in his pocket. "Here," he grunted, giving some change to Rosey before hurrying forward. It was the least he could do, after those two had gone and made his night.
Christian's frustration and poor vision would not serve him well in the ring.
Shelton Benjamin trudged backstage after his victory, nodding at those who congratulated him. Usually he'd be all smiles, shining up his belt and chatting with the crew, but he couldn't bring himself up out of his depression.
He never thought he'd admit this, but he missed being Chris and Stephanie's friend.
Since learning of his deception, he had talked to Chris twice. The first was to inform him that he was still uninvited to the Thanksgiving party. The second, occurring at last week's Raw, told him that while both he and Steph weren't all that mad at him anymore, they had decided to ignore him until Christmas as a proper punishment.
Weeks ago, that would have been a dream come true. But after being subjected to numerous late-night phone calls and scheming sessions, Shelton found himself missing the duo's crazy antics. He missed the gossip. He missed how they found someone new to berate and tease every week.
Basically, he missed being part of a group. The group. The cool lunch table.
"Pull yourself together, rookie," he sneered to himself as he pushed open his locker room door, only to be stopped in his tracks by a pair of familiar chocolate eyes.
"Hiya, Shel," Nidia greeted, standing up from the bench.
"Uh, hi," he responded, wiping the sweat from his brow. His mind spun with the possibilities of her presence. What was she doing here? Did he miss her birthday or something?
"I guess you won your match," she remarked as she caught sight of his belt. "You should really get a TV in here; I was getting bored waiting around to surprise ya."
"I'll keep that in mind." Hiding his curiosity with nonchalance, he retrieved a towel out of his gym bag. He then gestured towards the bathroom. "If you don't mind…" he said, secretly glad that he had an avenue of escape.
"Steph told me about what you did."
Again, Shelton stopped in his tracks. Even though he wasn't all that surprised, his heart still skipped a beat. "Did she?" he asked, turning to meet her eyes.
"Yeah." Nidia fidgeted under his gaze.
"Is that why you're here? Did you… did you come here to yell at me?" Shelton said wearily. He had already lost two of his friends; he really didn't need the woman of his dreams screaming at him either.
"Why would I yell at you?" she asked curiously. "I mean, I suppose I could be mad that ya never told me, but that doesn't really make sense anymore since I know now, right?"
"Uh, sure." He wiped at his face with the towel, his sweating starting anew with the promise that she wasn't here to cuss him out. "So, why are you here then?"
Nidia weighed the situation in her mind, but decided to go with her gut. Closing the distance between them, she threw her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly, not minding that he was a sweaty mess. "I came here to thank you, you big goof," she mumbled into his chest.
He could feel his ears grow hot at her touch, and was thoroughly embarrassed at his current state. "It was nothing…" he started, patting her shoulders lightly and trying to wiggle out of her grasp.
Nidia wouldn't let him budge. "It wasn't just nothing and you know it." Leaning back, she looked up into his conflicted eyes and smiled. "So?"
"So?" he repeated.
She sighed deeply. "Who'd thought Shelton Benjamin would be so wishy-washy?" she remarked out loud.
His brow furrowed at her words. "What?"
Placing her hands behind his neck, Nidia pulled him down for a brief kiss.
Shelton's eyes widened. "Why did you just do that?" he asked, a tremor running through his voice.
"Because you've always been there for me," Nidia responded. Her grin widened as she reached up to trace his face. "Plus, you're pretty cute, and I like to kiss cute boys."
Shelton blinked, processing her last remark. He then grabbed her around the waist and pulled her closer. "Girl, I hope you know what you're getting into," he warned, letting his left hand wander to the nape of her neck. "This could get messy."
""Promise?" she responded, her grin widening as he sealed their lips together. Life outside of the WWE, after all, was incredibly boring; kissing her best friend was anything but.
END CHAPTER NINETEEN
Author's notes: Well, that's all I can remember. I pieced this entire chapter together from memory; for those of you tuning in, I have recently become the unfortunate owner of a terrible computer virus. Damn thing wiped out this chapter, a partial Façade chapter, a Christmas one-shot I was working on… basically everything in My Documents folder. I now see the value in backing up your work; don't worry, I asked for a zip drive for Christmas :P
Depending on tomorrow's show, I might just go ahead and combine it with last week's show in chapter 20, just so I can try and catch up. Don't be surprised if I don't post again right away, though; my muses went into cardiac arrest when I got this bloody virus. Oh well, at least I finally hooked up Shelton and Nidia; I've been dying to do that for AGES!
And if I don't have the opportunity beforehand, I'd like to wish you all a great holiday season. Reading your reviews will be the best present I could ask for right now (after the zip drive, of course). Let me know what you thought of this mess of a chapter! Until next time guys, take care of yourselves and be on the lookout for suspicious e-mails.