Uncommon Sense Chapter 2

By Batistafan

Rating - NC-17 for violence

Distribution: If you would like to add this story to your site that's fine, just let me know.

Main Characters include: Batista, Triple H, Chris Jericho, Christy Hemme, Nancy Adams (Original Character).

Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains violence, coarse language, as well as mature sexual situations (some may consider explicit), and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers.

I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.

I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing.

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"Competence, like truth, beauty and contact lenses, is in the eye of the beholder."

Laurence J. Peter, The Peter Principle (1969), chapter 1
US educator & writer (1919 - 1988)

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The door of the wardrobe room swung open and Max Hadaway's head snapped up in surprise to behold a very irritated, somewhat incensed Nancy Adams.

"I see you brought my coffee." He said pointing to the stain on her blouse, with a snicker.

Nancy shot him a dark look. "Very funny…take it off." She pointed to the shirt that Max was wearing and when he didn't appear to understand, she insisted. "Off, Off! Take off the shirt!" She ignored his cries of protest and began to undo the buttons on the front of his smoky grey dress shirt.

"What…wha.." Max frowned and pulled away clutching at the half buttoned shirt as if protecting his virtue. "Why do I have to give you my shirt?…It won't fit you!" He argued backing up as she advanced toward him.

"It's not for me, Max. It's for Bischoff!" Exasperated by his obvious attempt at humor, Nancy moved around to the other side of the table closer to Max who was trying to put distance between her and himself.

"It won't fit him either!" Max whined reasoning that he was far fatter than Eric Bischoff. He told of how embarrassed he would be to let the meaty rolls around his abdomen be seen. He began to dodge her and scooted quickly away, putting the table between the two of them.

Nancy clenched her jaw, and darted around the table. "Not my problem." She smirked, tilting her head and grabbing the front of his shirt. "You lost Bischoff's shirt…Bischoff needs a shirt." He continued to fight her, slapping at her hands. "Take off the shirt!" She yelled, fighting his waving arms.

Startled by her assertiveness and slightly turned on by her aggressive attitude, he allowed a smile to cross his face. "All you had to do was ask." He held his arms out to his sides in blissful acquiescence.

"Smart ass…" Nancy quipped, unfastening the last of the buttons and allowing Max to wriggle out of the shirt.

Max scowled at her from across the room as she flung the shirt across the ironing board to give it a quick press. "You're awfully forceful when you want something. But you know…you're kind of sexy when you're mad." He watched as she rolled her eyes in near exasperation. "You know the whole hooded eyes and tight lipped rage thing suits you." He motioned with his hands in mock claws up by his face.

She huffed a laugh. "I have three words for you…" She dragged the shirt off of the ironing board and slipped it onto a padded hanger "Martha Stewart Sweatshop." She buttoned the top three buttons and headed for the door. "Because, Max, if we blow this gig, then that's gonna be the only job we can get." She winked and plastered on her best pageant style smile.

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Racing down the hall, eyes up, making sure she didn't have another head-on collision Nancy scanned the temporary signs that marked the doors, until she found the one that read 'Eric Bischoff General Manager'. She stopped outside of the door and steadied her breathing, slightly miffed that she hadn't had the time to change her own shirt, but still relieved that she had a suitable shirt for Eric Bischoff.

Nancy lifted her hand up to knock, but the door flew open before her knuckles even made contact with it. Eric glowered as he snatched the shirt out of her hand.

"I know it's a little big." Nancy stammered, her heart beating wildly. "I'm sorry."

He looked the shirt over before making eye contact with her. "Well at least I have something." He stepped back into his office, without another word and slammed the door shut behind him. Nancy barely had enough time to hop backward across the threshold to keep the door from hitting her in the face.

She turned around to find herself under the condescending glare of Triple H. He smirked and chuckled lightly, walking past her into the office without knocking.

"Move Honey, make way for the champ." Ric Flair said emulating Hunter's demeanor as he followed him into the office, slamming the door a second time.

"Not the champ anymore..." Nancy chided under her breath and shot her middle finger up toward the closed door. She was just about to leave when she caught part of the angry chatter that was coming from the inside of the office. She knew she probably shouldn't be listening, but she had never been one to resist a tasty morsel of gossip.

"…People are gonna know, Eric!" She was able to make out Triple H's deep baritone. "Just do it! Or I swear everyone's gonna know…" His voice faded out, but she could hear Ric Flair's voice loud and clear along with Bischoff's pleading chatter.

"Trust me…You don't wanna mess with the champ! You hear me? He'll do what he's saying…you know it and I know it." Even though she was half tempted to think that the two of them were cutting a promo in front of some hidden camera, she could tell that they were both moving toward the door by the rise in the volume of Ric's voice.

She scampered backward and shuffled around the corner, knowing that she shouldn't have eavesdropped on the conversation, but even more than that, she was a little scared of what Triple H would do if he knew she had heard even part of what he had said, especially if it wasn't some sort of scripted conversation. Nonchalantly, Nancy made her way down the hall and slipped into the Diva's Locker room, closing the door quickly behind her, with just seconds to spare.

Nancy turned around searching for an excuse for being in the locker room instead of back in Wardrobe…just in case someone asked. It was Maria and her ever present problems with her bust-line not wanting to stay in her shirts that would prove to save the day. "Let me help you, Maria" Nancy laughed whipping out her 'Sewing Emergency Kit'

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The candles flickered, casting a golden glow that caused Christy's red tresses to shimmer like crimson glass.

"I'm glad we decided to come here for dinner." She formed her ever famous pout.

"You're not listening to me, Dave" Christy said softly, reaching across the table to grasp his strong hand.

He raised his head and forced a smile. "Hmmm?" he noted her pout. "Oh, sorry." Dave sighed and leaned forward to brush her stray hair back into place, doing it more because the out of place, freshly dyed hair annoyed him, than because he wanted to touch her.

"Even though we were late" Christy drew her hands back and clasped them together resting her chin on top of them. "No thanks to Miss Graceful back there." She shook her head and rolled her eyes as she made reference to the coffee incident for the hundredth time since leaving the arena. "I swear, I don't know how I'm ever gonna get that stain out." She screwed her pretty face up into a scowl and shook her head in obvious consternation.

"You won a quarter million dollars, buy a new shirt." He grumbled in irritation, perturbed that she couldn't just drop it. "It was an accident, accidents happen." He spoke calmly, as he leaned back in his chair. "Coulda been anybody…it just happened to be you…big deal."

Christy narrowed her eyes and tightened her lips. "It is a big deal, Dave." She leaned forward. "If that coffee had been any hotter, we'd be having this discussion in the burn unit…over stale turkey and hospital Jello!" She hissed.

Dave Batista smirked and let out a chuckle. "Now you're just being dramatic" He rolled his eyes again.

She pouted and bobbed her head slightly. "Well maybe I am, but it hurt…and it ruined my clothes" She said tapping her finger on the table. "And." She added for good measure. "She made us late."

He sighed as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip. "Could we just drop it?" He said in a low voice. "You're alive and kicking, you look great…" He pointed to her tightly fitting, low cut dress. "You don't seem to be any worse for the wear." He reasoned, trying to evade the continual drone of rehashing the incident.

"Okay…" She said lifting her eyebrows and smiling. "Besides I would much rather talk about where you're gonna check us in to stay tonight."

He didn't have the heart to say that he didn't feel like spending the night together. Hell, his change of heart confused even him. Earlier he had wanted what Christy had to offer. She was gorgeous and unabashedly attracted to him, why couldn't he concentrate on her, his time with her…why couldn't he get excited about what undoubtedly would be offered up to him, by her the minute they left the restaurant? He stared past Christy out of the window into the night…that was Las Vegas City life and all he wanted to do was pay the bill and run like hell.