The show went as well as expected that night; as it turned out, Triple H didn't need Batista and Randy to help him out after all, so the two of them enjoyed a relaxed evening watching the various matches on a large television backstage. After a brief meeting afterwards, during which Ric Flair had given Evolution an enthusiastic talk about tactics, the team members said their farewells for the night and headed off for the comfort of their hotel rooms.
"Hungry?"Randy turned to his partner and smiled as they stepped into their limo. "I don't know about you, but I could really grab a bite to eat right now."
"You're still hungry?" Batista grinned. "Randy, we must have polished off four whole trays of nachos and half a hot dog stand in there. You want to eat again?"
"I'm a growing man!" the younger wrestler pouted, patting his firm chest.
"Yeah, and you'll be growing outwards if you're not careful," the big man smirked, but he slid an arm about his partner's shoulders anyway. "Tell you what, how about I go to the store and get us some food before we go to bed? I need to pick some things up for breakfast, anyway."
"Sounds good to me." Randy approved of that idea, so he went up alone to the hotel room as Batista went off to find snacks.
It was late by the time Batista arrived back. He placed the bag of groceries down beside him, slipped the key card into the slot beside the door and stepped inside, grateful for the soothing coolness of the air conditioner. Their room was dark, the television being the only source of light, showing some late-night shopping drivel. Randy must have gone to sleep already. A quick glance over at one of the beds confirmed this, Randy's presence visible from the man-shaped lump curled up under the covers.
Two beds. Batista had to laugh at that. Even though his affection for Randy was no longer a secret – even though he and Randyhad their own hotel room – they'd still been given separate beds. It was as if everyone else was in denial. Still, they were sharing a room, that was what counted; and they could do what they wanted in there. Grinning contentedly, Batista opened the small fridge and stocked it with the milk and fruit he'd bought for breakfast.
That's when he heard the sound of sobbing.
"Randy?" he called softly, closing the fridge door, stepping closer to Randy's bed. "Randy… what's wrong, rookie? Are you crying?"
No reply. Just another series of sobs. Jesus! Whatever he was cut up about, it must be pretty damn bad. Batista sighed and sat down on the edge of his partner's bed, placing a hand on the huddled shape beneath the covers. "It's okay, Randy. I'm here now. I'll look after you. Whatever's wrong, I'll make it better."
"You can't help!" Randy gave a strangled cry from beneath the sheets, grabbing at his pillow, burying his face in its comforting softness. "It's… it… it doesn't matter! Leave me alone!"
"It does matter. If it's upsetting you, it matters to me." Batista laid his head down against Randy's side, still touching him with his hands, comforting him. "Tell me, Randy. Tell me what's wrong."
"He called me a faggot!" Randy tore his face away from the pillow and thrust his head from beneath the covers, practically screaming the words. "He called me a faggot, Dave! I'm not a faggot, am I? Tell me I'm not!"
"Fucking hell." Batista swore under his breath, and his grip on the bedsheets tightened. Fuckers! Who'd dare to call him that? Who would dare to insult his partner? It had been one thing for Edge todecide he disliked them, but for someone to start being homophobic and aggressive like that was another matter entirely. "Of course you're not, squirt. Don't let them say that. Who told you that, huh? Who said it?"
"M-Maven," Randy choked, gaining enough confidence under Batista's touch to emerge properly from his cocoon of sheets. "It was Maven, in the lobby downstairs. I just went down for some candy, and he came over, and sneered at me, and… and said that…"
"Ssh, it's okay, Randy." Batista kicked off his shoes and clambered up onto the bed beside his partner, heaving a weary sigh. He should have expected this. He should have expected some opposition to their unconventional relationship. Triple H and Ric Flair had been good with them so far, even if Hunter did stamp around and act like a sulky teenager sometimes. Sure, Flair had expressed concerns about Evolution's dynamics once he'd discovered the pairing, but as yet, his fears had proved unfounded. Usually, though, if anyone noticed the closeness between Batista and Orton, they were quiet about it. Maven, upsetting Randy like that? There was no call for it. No call at all.
"It's not true though, is it?" Randy continued to whimper, nuzzling Batista and wrapping an arm about the man's broad shoulders. Now that he was up close, Batista could see that Randy had been crying for some time; his eyes were red and his cheeks were stained with half-dried tears. "I mean, I like you, but I've never liked a man before the way I think about you… and I still think Stacy's pretty damn hot… and I like other women too…"
"Don't listen to him." Batista planted a soft kiss on the top of Randy's head. "He's just scared of what he doesn't understand. He's a bitter little shit for talking to you like that. Come on, Randy, he knows that together, we're unstoppable!"
"You bet we are!" Randy managed a slight smile at that, prompting another tight hug from Batista. "You and me, Dave… we'll show him, right?"
"Of course we will, runt." The older man nodded and ran his fingers tenderly through his partner's short hair. "You get some rest now, okay? I'll make sure Maven never treats you like that again. Hell, I'll make sure nobody ever treats you like that again, Randy. Never, ever again."
"I know you're in there Maven. Let me in. I need to have a word with you." Batista was clad in his usual black T-shirt and jeans, his muscular arms left bare, displaying his tattoos and an expanse of tanned forearm. He'd barely slept last night, he'd been so angry that anyone could be senseless enough to upset Randy like that.
"Batista? Is that you?"
"Damn straight it's me." Satisfied that Maven was in his changing room, Batista wasted no time in charging right in, shoving the door open with a determined push. Maven was dressing for his next match, one leg planted up on a side bench as he laced up his boots. He glanced up as the big man entered, his eyes widening in surprise and fear; he hadn't expected Batista to barge in like that, and the fierce look on the leviathan's face left Maven in no doubt as to his mood. Still, the bald wrestler chose to be defiant, and set his jaw as he stood up to his full height.
"Shit, Batista. You look really pissed." Maven put on a brave face as Batista approached him, but inside, he was petrified. There was no way he'd ever be able to muster enough strength to fight back against the huge man.
"What do you think is up?" Batista growled, making no attempt to hide his huge arms, the broad rippling chest beneath his tight shirt. "I'm not going to piss you around, Maven. Randy told me what you said. And I don't like it."
"You don't like it, huh? Then maybe you shouldn't make your little pretty boy eat so much dick."
"You want to repeat that?" Batista's size betrayed his impressive speed; despite his bulk, he could react quickly when he wanted, and it took barely a moment for him to close his meaty fingers about Maven's neck. "Because if you do, I suggest you hire someone to start watching your back. No-one calls Randy a faggot. No-one. Do you understand?"
Maven gurgled a little and nodded emphatically, eager to regain control of his own windpipe. Batista complied, his hand falling away from the smaller man's body, allowing him to rub at his neck and give a few gasping breaths.
"I understand," Maven spluttered, risking a glance up at the big man and starting to edge towards the door. "Of course I understand, Batista. I mean, you can't help it that you and him are a pair of ass-obsessed Nancy freak-boys, right?"
Batista lunged at Maven again, incensed by the younger man's childish insults, but this time the bald wrestler proved too fast and managed to dart out of the door and down the corridor before he could be stopped. Growling, Batista sprinted to the doorway and glanced left and right, but of Maven, there was no sign. Damn it! The little brat was probably already hiding somewhere, giggling his stupid smug face right off.
This wasn't over; far from it. Batista wouldn't tolerate that kind of bullshit from anyone, least of all when it was directed towards Randy. One way or another, Maven was going to have to pay. As he considered how to get hold of the cocky young man, though, another thought came to mind; thus far, only Ric Flair and Triple H knew about his rlationship with Randy Orton. At least, that's what he'd thought. So how had Maven jumped to such an apt conclusion?
There could only be one answer. Edge.