Undeserving
A Trish Stratus/Dave Batista One Shot
A/N: Suddenly, I'm all about the One Shot, I guess. You can thank YouThinkYouNoeMe for that- I do. If you haven't checked out her stories, go do it. Anyway, for those of you who write your own stories, I'm sure you know that inspiration can hit you at the strangest times andcarry you in a completely unexpected direction. This one popped into my head while I was sorting laundry, when I found my Animal Lover tee shirt. Can't explain it beyond that - this is just what came out when I started to explore the concept. I have to say it, even though I hate it: You've obviously been through your own Hell in a Cell if you think I own any of the characters or trademarked names that I use here. Enjoy, Kids.
World Heavyweight Championship. Triple H. Vengeance. The Animal. Hell in a Cell. Ric Flair. No Disqualifications. Evolution. World Heavyweight Championship.
Words floating around. Disconnected. Can't focus. Can't form thoughts. Can't sit still. Three more hours. Still Heavyweight Champion. Still carrying the company. Still shouldering the burdens. Can't stop moving.
Dammit. I already know how the match ends, and I still can't get my thoughts to stop swarming around my head. I already know that I'm leaving Vegas with the title, and I still can't get myself to stop worrying about Triple H and that damned cage. This is what I wanted – what I worked for. This is who I wanted to be when I started in this business. And yet, all I can do is worry that something is going to go wrong. Someone is going to get seriously hurt. I'm going to forget something that we talked about. It's going to be my fault.
I'm pacing the locker room, brow furrowed with anxiety, when the door opens. Even though my back is turned, I know it's her. I can smell her perfume, like flowers, drifting through the air. Trish is like no one else – sexy, beautiful, talented, and independent. She doesn't need me, but she seems to like being with me. She says she loves me. Some days, that's all that keeps me from jumping off a bridge, or out of a moving vehicle.
"Hey, Champ!" She giggles and I smile, despite all my fear and uncertainty.
"Hi." I turn to face her, and she moves toward me. Her recent surgery has slowed her down, but her back and neck are healing well. At least that's what she tells me that the doctors say. She doesn't know when she'll be back on the road, or in the ring, but it won't be long. I think she just tells me that so I won't worry about her, too. She knows I have enough on my plate.
Her angelic face twists with concern, since I can't even sustain a grin for the woman I love. But she knows me, so she doesn't say anything. Just wraps her arms around my bare waist and rests her tiny hands on my ass. If I wasn't a bundle of jitters and nerves before, I certainly am now. Beautiful women have touched me before, but none like she does. When her fingernails start a trail up my spine, every nerve-ending in my body catches fire. I groan from my gut, and the sound seems to come from somewhere else.
It's not her fault that she turns my head around. It's not her fault that I can't focus on anything but her when she's close to me. It's not her fault that I push her away when she gets inside my emotions. It's not her fault that I spend more time on my career, now that I'm the champion, than I do on her. It's not her fault, but she doesn't complain.
Tonight, after my match, I will thank her. Even if I'm broken in half and bleeding internally, I will thank her for spending the last week in Victoria's room so that I can retain my focus on the upcoming match. I will thank her for understanding that this gold means so much to me. Tonight, I will let Trish Stratus fill my mind, body, and soul.
"You're gonna be so great," she whispers and I feel my knees start to buckle. She's a third my size, but her words bring me to my knees quicker than a low blow from Ric Flair ever could.
"I'm gonna fuck it up," I predict, releasing myself from her embrace and sinking to the couch in the center of the room. "Some days I don't even know why they trust me with this thing." I tap the belt and then throw it to the floor. It's a good thing it's made of sturdy metal, because it has seen its fair share of flights across the room and trips to the cement floor since landing in possession.
With a simple roll of her dark eyes, she sits beside me and throws her legs over my lap. She holds my left bicep in both of her hands, though they don't come close to wrapping all the way around the muscle. "Because you're the best in the business," she reminds me.
But even I know that's not true. It's because the fans like me, and because little girls make signs about marrying me. It's because people buy my tee shirts, and they love it when someone turns on Hunter. It worked for Orton, too. For about six months. It's not enough – my talent isn't enough, and I know it. It's only a matter of time before the fans latch on to someone else, and I'm headlining Heat tapings and dark matches.
"And," Trish smiled again, pressing her lips to my shoulder before continuing her thought. "Because you deserve it."
"I can't," I tell her, turning my gaze to her. I'm used to my ex-wife telling me that I should just sit back and enjoy the ride for as long as it lasts. I'm used to hearing that it could all end in a heartbeat, so I should just stop whining and start living like a champ. I'm used to being told that I should stop worrying so much, since I already know I'm going to win. I'm used to hearing that it's all fake, and there's no reason to be nervous.
Trish doesn't tell me that shit, though. She tells me that I've earned the right to be where I am. She reminds me that WWE fans aren't stupid, that they know who has what it takes to be a champion. She is quick to point out that it's my personality and my style that they love, not just my ability to make it look like I've shoved a pole up someone's ass.
She nods her head, even as I shake mine, and wraps an arm around my shoulder. Well, she tries, but settles for scratching her nails down my neck, since that's about as far as her short, little arms will reach. "You can," she whispered, pushing the back of my head until our foreheads meet. "I believe in you."
It's such a cheesy line. I believe in you. What does it even mean? Ya know what? I don't even care what it means, because coming from her? It's the sweetest phrase I've ever heard. Coming from her, you're a spineless coward, would sound like a seductive compliment.
She kisses me and a knock sounds at the door. "Dave, you got a minute?" Hunter pokes his head in the door to go over last minute details. If I have to go out there and get pounded with a barbed-wire wrapped steel chair, I'm glad it's going to be by the master. If I have to get inside that cell, I'm glad it's with the closest thing I have to a best friend in this business.
Trish stands and I nod. As she leaves, I realize that my heart has calmed down and my thoughts are flowing normally again. I don't know how she does it, but she has the ability bring me back to Earth and plant my feet firmly at the exact moments that I need her the most. Triple H will strut before the crowd and take credit for hand-picking me for greatness. The fans can say that they put me over, that they're the ones who put me on top in the first place. WWE Creative can say that they made me the World Heavyweight Champion. Marketing and Sales can claim "The Animal" was their doing.
I know don't deserve what any of them have given me, but only Trish can take the credit for making me believe that I do. Tonight, I will prove that I am worthy of her trust in me. And then I will thank her for being the greatest of the Animal Lovers.
A/N: I don't know what the next story is going to be, but I'm playing with an idea that is OrtonOC. Let me know if you guys wanna see something starring someone other than Trish. You know I can't go for too many days without posting something, so I'll be anxiously awaiting your input.