Chapter 6: Unexpected Hero (Randy's POV)

"Admit it, Benny-Ben-Ben...you like Lilian, don't ya?"

"No." Chris tried to look as unfazed as possible, but no matter what he did he wouldn't be able to hide the fact that his face was turning redder and redder by the second.

"Oh, yes you do-ooo..."

"No."

"Don't deny it, man, it's as clear as day---"

"I do not like Lilian Garcia."

And right when he said that, in walks Lilian herself. Hah, Benoit's red as a tomato now. What a total doob.

"Hi, Chris." She had that famous billion-watt smile on her face as she greeted him. "Good luck in your match tonight."

"Uh...thanks," Benoit replied, and watched her pass us by yet again. Man, I couldn't stand it.

"That's it? 'Uh, thanks,'" I imitated. "You looked like a damn gorilla."

Chris shrugged. "Whatever, man."

"You like her, don't you?"

"No."

I give up. "Never mind, Christopher. Never mind," I sighed, and started walking away.

"Uh, Randy?"

I turned around. "Yeah?"

"I like Lilian." Chris may know a lot about in-ring strategy and skills, but when it comes to women, the guy's got a lot to learn.

Now for the next topic of discussion: my least favorite people in the world (well, if you can consider them as people), Evolution. Those sons of bitches stabbed me in the back not long after I had finally achieved my lifelong dream of winning the World Heavyweight Championship. I should've seen it coming: that belt is the object of Triple H's affection. He may be known backstage as Mr. Paul Levesque-McMahon (he married the boss's daughter, that man-whore), but we all know that what he truly loves is the championship title. And once I had it around my waist, he and his cronies, instead of being supportive, turned on me and made sure Paul got the belt back by any means necessary. Oh, such wonderful friends they are.

Batista, in particular, became insanely jealous of me for achieving more than he has (and more than that talentless speck of turd ever will achieve in a lifetime), at the tender young age of 24. What the hell did he expect? That they would make him the champ? Oh, get real! I'm better looking, I got more charisma, I'm more talented, and I'm JUST PLAIN BETTER than he is. Poor ol' Dave is just too dumb to see the obvious.

And there he is now, standing in the hallway as I walk towards my dressing room (I know, I know, it's Stacy's too, but who the hell cares about her?). He's got that disgruntled look on his face again as he stares me down, but then again, Dave Batista always looks like he's constipated.

Oh, he's approaching me now. What in the blue hell does he want? "For the last time, Dave, I will NOT go on a date with you!"

"Very funny, Orton." Dave's as constipated-looking as ever. Maybe I should spike his Gatorade with a truckload of laxatives sometime. "You know, you've always been a real pain in the ass."

"Must suck for you, Batista, 'cause you're the biggest ass I know."

He can't think of a single retort at all, the doofus. So after an eternity of trying to rack his puny little brain for something witty to reply with, Dave finally gives up---and decides to sock me in the gut instead.

"Ugh...cheap shot," I reply before shoving him backwards. Dave retaliated by punching me right in the eye, sending me down to the floor where he started kicking my sides. To say that it hurt like hell would be a complete and utter understatement. I tried to get up, I tried to hit back, but there's only so much a guy can do when he's got a three-hundred-pound ogre beating the consciousness out of him. I curled up into a ball and just took the punishment, staring pleadingly at the open doorway for some kind of salvation. It's moments like these when I wish I had made more friends or allies instead of alienating everyone like I did when I was an elitist member of Evolution. Chris was in a match against Ric Flair at the moment, leaving no one available to help me since Chris Benoit was pretty much my only friend on the Raw roster.

Then I finally see something appear through the doorway. I thought that the person who showed up would come to my aid, but when I realize who it is, the fact that I'm royally screwed is further solidified.

Lying sideways on the hard concrete floor as Batista continued to kick me towards a painful death, the first thing I saw was a pair of feet wearing turquoise blue high-heeled stilettos, and there's only one woman I know on the whole Raw crew who wears stiletto shoes wherever she goes. My eyes travel upwards to recognize the familiar slender, 42-inch legs, and I start to think, "Oh, shit. I'm doomed." The feeling worsens as I see that the figure is wearing a little black miniskirt, and I look no further upward to avoid her (probably triumphant) glare at me.

Without even looking at her face, I can already tell that the person standing in the open doorway is---God forbid---Stacy Keibler. I'll bet she came to gloat and enjoy the sight of me getting beaten up.

But right when I expect my fate to worsen, Keibs throws me in for a loop and does the unexpected.

"Stop it, Dave!"

He paused for a moment to turn around and look at her as I achingly clutched my sides and winced. "Why should I?"

"You're hurting him!"

"I know," he laughed. Dave readied himself to give me another boot to the side, when Keibs stepped in between us.

"I said stop." She had this serious look in her eyes as she said this to him.

Dave was puzzled, and so was I. Since when did Stacy Keibler give a shit whether I was alive or dead? "Have it your way, then," he grunted and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Creep," she muttered before crouching down to check on me. "You alright, Randy?"

"Ah, it'll go away. Guess now I know what it really feels like to be an enemy of Evolution. But...why'd you save me, Keibs?"

She paused for a moment to ponder her answer. "I suppose nobody, not even a jerk like you, deserves that kind of treatment." Touché.

We stayed quiet for a while, me lying on the floor waiting for the pain to lessen while she sat beside me. "Thank you, Keib---I mean..."

"You can call me Stacy."

"Well...thanks for making the save, Stacy."

She smiled. "No problem. Come on, let's get you to a trainer to have your wounds checked."

Stacy helped me to the clinic by letting me one arm around her so that I could support myself while limping on one foot. And that moment, I knew that I had found myself a new friend I could count on. "Hey, Stacy?"

"Yeah?"

"I guess you're not so bad, after all."

Stacy was seated on a steel chair in our dressing room while I was lying down on the bench with my entire torso bandaged, waiting until I was feeling good enough to stand up again, when a good acquaintance of mine, Shelton Benjamin, barged in with an excited grin on his face.

"Guess what?"

I looked up to face him. "Yeah?"

"Next week, after the Raw show in Seattle, the entire crew's gonna party at The Harbor Club, which is one of Seattle's swankiest!" No wonder he was so excited: Shelton was pretty much the roster's biggest party animal.

"And your point is...?"

"Well, I said the entire Raw crew is coming...including you! I'll see ya there, man!" And with that, Shelton zoomed out of the dressing room, perhaps to tell the other guys. I swear, that guy could give the Energizer Bunny a run for his money.

Stacy was still quietly sitting there, staring at the open doorway which Shelton had exited through.

"Hey, Stacy?" I asked her.

"What is it?"

"Uh...you wanna go with me? To the party, I mean?"

Stacy looked puzzled. "Why me?"

"Oh, I dunno...with you saving me and all, I guess no good deed goes unpunished." I offered her a small smile, which she reciprocated.

"Well, okay then. Why not?"

A/N: Looky, they're getting along now. But don't worry, folks, it doesn't stop there. What could possibly happen at the party next chapter? Stay tuned to find out! And also, I have finally decided who Lita's secret admirer is...but I'm not tellin' ya who it is yet! You're gonna have to find that one out, too LOL!

Kisses,

Cold-Zephyr