February 2006…

"I can't."

Dave groaned and in his next breath, he was tumbling to the floor. She was being difficult. There was absolutely no reason for her to deny the attraction between them. He and Trish had spent the last two and a half months fighting off everyone who came their way. They fought off Flair, Triple H, Orton, Keibler, McMahons and everyone else who thought they could make a name by destroying The Animal. They'd spent the last two weeks trying to win Trish's title back from Molly Holly.

Except when they parted for appearances and to touch base on the homefront, they spent every possible moment together. They still shared a room. They shared a ride. They booked their flights together. They weren't going to leave the other for too long in case the enemy decided to play a game of divide and conquer. Of course, Dave was getting to the point where he wasn't too sure just who counted as the enemy.

As time passed, things got strange. Stephanie and Trish were having far too many altercations that didn't end with one slapping the other. The attacks outside of the ring got less and less frequent. Stacy Keibler's interference that cost Trish her title on Raw seemed a little too choreographed. It was as though Trish knew exactly when Stacy was coming to the ring and was waiting for it. As though she were sacrificing her title for something… greater, maybe?

All in all, things didn't add up. They were supposed to be going head to head with McMahons and more trouble arose from Triple H than the children of the most powerful man in sports entertainment. Stephanie and Shane had gotten in the middle of too many Batista/Hunter confrontations, landing against Hunter but not necessarily with Dave. There was a plot brewing, and Dave was almost certain that he knew what it was. Only problem was… Trish's actions didn't hold with the theory he'd come up with.

Groaning, Dave got to the floor and looked down at her. She was too fucking gorgeous as she laid there, her hair and make-up smeared. Trish jerked the covers up to her neck and leaned forward. The straps of her bra strained against her back. Dave groaned. "I'm taking a shower," he muttered.

She didn't say anything, and all he could do was walk away. Otherwise, he'd find himself screaming with frustration. He couldn't look at the obvious heat in her eyes and listen to her still say no. He couldn't lay there in the other bed, staring at her, knowing that she wanted him as much as he wanted to climb in her bed and kiss every part of her body.

The bathroom door slammed hard. Dave turned the shower on and peeled off his clothes. He shivered as he stepped in, used to warmer showers. He couldn't stand beneath a cold spray, but he needed the water to be little bit under tepid. He needed it to be cold enough to cool his raising erection and still warm enough for his mind to clear. There was more to this situation than just a woman denying her passion, and if he were ever going to get her to move past her denial, he had to figure out how.

Dave was pretty sure they were more than just comrades. They spent enough time together that they had become friends as well as allies. Trish had to know that whatever happened with them would be more than just random sex. She had to know that he didn't help her just to work his way into her pants. He helped her in the first place because it felt like the right thing to do. He continued to help her because she gave back just as much as she got. They watched each other's backs, and both of them knew that they couldn't prevail on their own.

The water poured over Dave's head and he tried to rationalize it all out. Going by everything else he'd observed, he would have assumed that this was some master ploy. When suspicious activity was added to what he'd learned about the McMahon family during his time in WWE, he could see where this would be their plot. Send in the sexy blonde to cajole him to their side. Use her feminine wiles to make him believe that it was better to be with the McMahons than against them.

As it were, Dave could see where that would make sense… and where it would work. He was already getting used to the idea of having someone on his side again. Since leaving Evolution, he'd been alone. Sure, the other babyfaces of the locker room would come and back him up, but it wasn't because they were on his side. It was more a case of "the enemy of my enemy is my friend." They all had a common goal: Topple Triple H so someone else could rise to the top. They could work together when it was convenient for them, but when it wasn't, they would turn their backs just as easily as they'd given a helping hand.

But with the McMahons… Yes, they were deceitful as hell, and number one came first, but Dave had seen the way it worked when Trish was in with them. They were firmly on Trish's side. Their goal was to push her to the top, and they had done that. There was no complaint about titles because Shane and Stephanie weren't in it to personally hold gold. They were in it to say that they backed a winner, to prove that they could make anyone just like their father had made Triple H. For Dave, they would have done the same. They would have pushed him just to spit in their father's face. It had nothing to do with enemies and everything to do with simply being on top. It all made perfect sense.

Well, it would have made sense if there weren't two gaping holes.

For one, they already had someone to push, and it had been a lot easier to get him. Granted, Randy Orton wasn't the number one contender, but at the time that Trish came into his life, neither had Dave been the one set to main event WrestleMania 22. No subterfuge was needed where Orton was concerned. He was eager to grab the reigns and he would run with them just as easily as Dave would have. What was the point in continuing a search for a champion when they possibly had one already?

More than that, though, was Trish. If she were there to seduce him to the dark side, then why was she stopping? She wouldn't have bothered to spend so much time getting to know him if she were merely there as a lure. She would have used every silky inch of her body. If that had been the plan, Dave would have been coveting her body instead of standing in the shower, watching his erection slowly fade while the water pounded on his back.

And yet, it still seemed like something was wrong in all of this. If he thought of the McMahons in a sense of business, Shane and Stephanie would be following in their father's footsteps. They would be doing what they learned from him, which was how to take power out of someone's hands. They would be searching for a replacement for Bischoff, which would explain the confrontations Dave had seen between Shane and Ric. They would be building an empire, which would give a reason as to why they still wanted him when they already had Orton. They were building a stable, a powerbase, and they were hedging their bets. The more people one picked up, the less it would hurt the cause if one of them defected. But, he still couldn't find an answer for Trish.

Was she sent in to get him? If so, maybe she was going about it a different way than he would have expected. With that being the case, Dave would be extremely disappointed in himself. For all he knew, he could have been proving that she had more to her than just sex, and all he'd done was prove that no one had faith in her to get anything any other way. Maybe she was trying another tactic, and if that were the case, he'd have to say that she was successful.

The more he thought about his theory, the more he realized that it was plausible. Bischoff had done nothing to help him along the way. Once it was clear a year ago that he wasn't going to go to Smackdown, Dave had been stuck in the pile of those who lost to Triple H. Until Randy Orton delivered the blow that accidentally won him the Royal Rumble. Until Trish Stratus showed up and started explaining her theories on how to get ahead. Aligning himself with the McMahons would definitely not ingratiate himself to those in the locker room, but it would get gold around his waist. And no matter how much he tried to deny it to himself, he would do damn near anything to be the World Heavyweight Champion.

"Dammit!" Dave struck out at the wall, his palm slamming hard against the tile. It was frustrating as hell to be so unsure. He would have rather known one way or another than to be caught in the middle, wondering what scam was working around him. He'd have rather been in the other room, kissing Trish Stratus, than standing in the shower as the water went from tepid to cold.

Growling, Dave turned the water off and got out of the shower. He dried off quickly, then wrapped a towel around his waist and went back into the room. Trish was still awake, but she was dressed to sleep in boxers and a tank top. Her hair had been combed and pulled back in a ponytail. She looked at him and he sighed. She was even more beautiful with her face fresh than when she was made up for television.

Groaning, Dave went to his bag and pulled out a pair of track pants. He thought about going back into the bathroom but said the hell with it. He slid the pants on under his towel, then threw the towel onto a chair. He looked at Trish again and she was watching him. He wondered if she'd gotten a glimpse of something she liked, or at least of something that would make her spill so they could both see something they liked even more. She didn't say anything, so he sighed and went to the bed.

"Ya know, Trish, I'm not stupid," he said, sliding beneath the covers. "I know something's going on, and we'd both be better off if you just told me."

"There's nothing going on, Dave. I just… I thought I was ready for something and I'm not."

"Yeah, well, when you're ready let me know." He reached over and turned off the lamp, then settled back against his pillow. "Because whatever you've been working your way up to, I'm ready for it. The whole kit and fucking kaboodle." He closed his eyes and hoped that, if he were right, his admission was enough to make her spill. Then they could both move on from this stagnant pool of suspicion and unquenched desire.