Uncommon Sense Chapter 6

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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"The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed."

Carl Jung
Swiss psychologist (1875 - 1961)

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The Animal's entrance music was cued, and the adrenaline rush coursing through Dave Batista's veins as he stepped out into the small arena was no less exhilarating than if he'd been in Madison Square Garden in front of fifty-thousand people, instead of two-thousand as he was tonight. That's how it always happened…that tremble that thrummed through his body, the increase in his heart beat, the primal growl that rose from somewhere deep in his conflicted soul. The knowledge that he could destroy anything in his path if that was what he wanted. It never failed him. It gave him strength, in fact…something about the whole dynamic of what he chosen to do…given up a normal life for.

For him it wasn't just the violence, never just the violence…it was the thought of giving some part of himself to the ones who pleaded for it, paid for it…hitchhiked halfway across the country after selling their cars for tickets, just to have it. Somehow the way the fans felt defined him, for who he was and yet drove him to what he had not thought he could become. Their roars and chants stayed in his ears for sometimes hours after he had left the venue…until he could silence the animal inside…the beast that thrashed at his soul.

Their praise was acceptance in its highest form and even when they were against him…they were in essence, for him…it was odd how that particular puzzle played out…they could love him or they could hate him, but he still managed to effect a reaction from them. And so as the pyros began to discharge in succession and he began his ceremonious entry, he realized, that without him, the fans would surely find another villain to curse, another hero to rally behind, but without them, he was just Dave Bautista, father of two...single again…looking for a life.

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Nancy tossed the empty paper cup in the trash and bade John Cena farewell, shaking his hand and giving a tentative date for the completion of his project. She felt a considerable sadness for John, as she remembered her own sordid childhood and the friends that she had left behind after a myriad of moves and innumerable treks across the country. Almost like a well worn piece of luggage, Nancy had borne the scrapes and rips of her mother's drunken spontaneity. There had been few true friends and even fewer that had cared to try to track her forwarding addresses down. The one untainted friendship Nancy had was the one she shared with Max. It was a relatively new friendship, purely platonic and utterly faultless. It was almost too good to be true and a source of constant fret for Nancy, filling her mind with images of the proverbial 'Other Shoe' dropping.

On her way back to wardrobe, Nancy passed the ramp, leading out to the ring, and in so doing, she caught a glimpse of the very well-developed back half of Dave Batista. There was something about the way he rolled his massive shoulders and stretched his broad neck from side to side that held her attention. Was he really that big? The last time she had seen him was when he'd given back her walkie-talkie and even then he had been huge, draped in an expensive suit.

Nancy watched as he jumped up and down in anticipation and she couldn't help but notice that his body was very literally, a finely tuned machine. In his late thirties, he was in better shape than most men in their twenties. She surmised that if there was any fat on his lean, powerful frame it was probably less than 2 percent. Dave Batista reeked of nimble prowess and the sight of his vascularity, coupled with his sheer size and apparent strength made her feel very small indeed.

Yes, he really was that big, and what she was doing…watching him without his knowing…was a little like being a 'Peeping Tom'.

Nancy saw him disappear through the curtain just past the 'Gorilla Position' into the arena as his music began, and her trenchant curiosity compelled her to follow. She had not gone exactly the same way he had, but through a different door, where she could see what it was that engrossed her.

By the time Nancy had found her way through the dark labyrinth of halls and out into the upper tier of the arena where she could view the match, the two men were entangled in a dangerous embrace. Nancy had really never seen a full match before, barely even part of one on a monitor back stage. Mostly she was just inundated with wardrobe malfunctions and design requests that conspired to keep her holed up in her dungeon, and so observing the real thing from her vantage point was supremely fascinating.

Nancy had come through a door on the top tier and was now leaning against the rail, casually watching as Dave Batista sent Shelton Benjamin flying into the ropes. Benjamin came boomeranging back from the rope in time for Batista to raise his arm and plant it with earth shattering force into the upper portion of his chest. The impact of the clothesline sent Shelton Benjamin straight to the mat. Nancy grimaced with pity for the imminent soreness. No doubt Shelton Benjamin would be in need of a hot tub after tonight.

The match proceeded and even though she knew next to nothing about how the whole thing worked, she couldn't deny that it was enthralling. It was a veritable orchestra of athleticism, conducted by the obvious ringmaster, Batista who apparently was making it his objective to detach Shelton Benjamin's head from his body. Several more clotheslines and back-body drops later and Batista's body was glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. Nancy couldn't take her eyes off of the action….she couldn't take her eyes off of the man. The final blow was dealt in the form of the iniquitous 'Batista Bomb' and Nancy stared slack-jawed as Dave Batista, a look of primal rage engraved into the features of his face, slammed Shelton Benjamin's head between his legs.

Dave smiled as if possessed and then spinning Shelton upward in a sick display of vertigo, hoisted him over his head, allowing him a brief reprieve from the terror, before slamming him into the mat on his back. It all happened in slow motion for her, watching as Shelton impacted with bone jarring intensity. The likes of which may has well have been a high-speed train wreck. Try as she might, Nancy couldn't move, couldn't look away, as a small orb of heat began to knot in the pit of her stomach…the absolute riveting, primeval display of power stole her breath away in excitement and sheer awe. And yet it terrified her at the same time…the sight of his animalistic, feral fury, forcibly thrust onto his opponent.

The sound of his music filled her ears and still she was hammered to the spot, hands gripping the rail of the upper tier, knuckles turning white. She stared at him as he stood in victory over top of Shelton Benjamin, holding his belt and making some caustic insult meant to enforce the present rivalry between the two men. He was statuesque, no doubt, but something else about him drew her in, she couldn't put her finger on it. Nancy saw him scan the crowd as he finally sauntered with his belt toward the edge of the ring, and as if he'd known all along that he was being watched from the rafters, he lifted his gaze, and it lodged directly on Nancy. A glimmer of recognition…a crooked smile and then he tipped a small salute, almost the same as she had given Christy earlier, and then after seeing her look of horror, he grinned roguishly and ducked under the ropes.

"Shit!" She hissed and turned away from the railing, seeking shadows to hide herself. It was going to prove even more difficult for her to mend fences with Christy Hemme when the Diva discovered that Nancy had been taking a break in the balcony, watching her boyfriend annihilate his opponent. "Shit, Shit, Shit!" she whispered furiously, clenching her hands in nervousness. Scuttling down the stairwell and pausing behind the door in the darkness, Nancy steadied her breathing and prayed that she didn't bump into 'him' in the hallway. Could she possibly always be in the wrong place at the wrong time? It never failed, if there was a way to get caught doing something, no matter what that 'something' was, Nancy would find the way.

She was just about to open the thick metal door, when a deep, angry voice and heavy footsteps began to approach. Nancy tiptoed down the stairs to the landing just beneath the one on which she had been perched, and she did so just in time…as the door swung open and the rolling resonant brogue of Triple H alerted her to his presence. Even in the dark she was able to tell it was him…she peeked timidly through the space in the risers and saw him pacing furiously, huge and intimidating, trying to keep his voice down as he barked out orders into the thin cellular phone.

"I made the mistake of thinking he was a barrel-chested idiot once before, remember!" He ground out between clenched teeth. "I don't intend to do it again!"

Nancy turned her head from side to side to see if there might be another way out, but this stairwell was obviously the one that led to the basement and there was nothing she could do but wait. There were no doors leading out save for the one blocked by the former Champion and nowhere else but here in the shadows for her to hide. Coming out now would be obvious and he might even surmise that she had been waiting here in order to spy on him. She stood with her back against the cold brick wall and plugged her ears with her fingers, thinking that if in his pacing he decided to walk a few stairs, that he might find her with her fingers in her ears and appreciate her resolve not to pry. But, alas, the temptation to eavesdrop was too strong and she unplugged her ears, and biting her lip, leaned forward.

"I told you what you have to do…and you already agreed to put that stipulation into his contract. Now as far as his future here…I can handle that…I put more than a couple of heads on the chopping block this month."

Nancy wondered who he might be talking about, but before she could ponder further, his verbal admission made it all ring crystal clear.

"If I can't get Batista fired, then I will damn sure make it miserable enough for him to want to leave! Now remember what I told you…or else I'm gonna remember a little something you asked me to forget."

Nancy heard him snap the cell phone shut, and then she peeked between the risers again, but through the darkness she couldn't make out an expression. The door opened showering the stairs and the stairwell in cursed blinding light, but Nancy slid quickly back against the wall to avoid being seen in the event he turned around to check if anyone were behind him.

Now she had no choice but to get out of the stairwell and back to Max. What if Triple H decided he wanted to have another plotting party on the phone and chose the shadowy stairwell as his phone booth again? Nancy could very well be stuck here for the rest of the night if she didn't act now. Bounding up the stairs two at a time, she reached the landing and tugged on the door until she was again momentarily blinded by the fluorescent glare. Nancy didn't stop to take in her surroundings instead she scurried down the hall and around the corner into the safe haven of the curtained Wardrobe Area.

"What took you so long?" Max said as he lifted his head up from the sewing machine, which however temperamental for Nancy always seemed to work for him.

"Uh, I…uh…" Nancy began gesturing nervously with her hands. "I lost track of time…a-and I was talking with John Cena and I guess we just weren't looking at the clock." She said nodding, satisfied that it was a credible lie. "Um, uh…did you get the shirt done?"

"Mmm, hmmm." Max nodded. He had known she was lying because John Cena had poked his head through the curtains about a half hour ago on his way back from the meeting with Nancy to tell Max a second time that he had loved the impression of Christy and to thank him for making his day. But Max said nothing of it to Nancy. The truth was, she appeared to be terrified and he was more interested in seeing her calm down than in getting the truth out of her. "You okay?"

"Of course, I'm fine…why wouldn't I be fine…I'm great." She fidgeted with her hands and began to glance around absentmindedly, trying to find something to do.

"Well, you just look like you saw a ghost." Max informed her, slightly hurt that she wasn't sharing whatever it was she was hiding.

"Oh, gosh…I'm totally cool, just have a hard time with my watch." She sighed heavily and turned away from Max, to keep him from seeing her obvious unease.

Max pressed his lips together in disappointment and rubbed his thick hand through his dirty blonde hair. "Nancy, um…if, uh…if it's something like last time, you know…like with your mom or whatever…" He stammered, having almost as much trouble taking as she was. "You know, like the dreams, I mean. You can talk to me about it…I would never…you know…make you feel bad about it."

Nancy felt a spasm of guilt. Max was after all, her best friend. She should be able to tell him about the snip-it of gossip she had heard, but a deeper sense told her that she was headed for a disaster of her own making, and besides, she didn't relish the thought of being berated by Max for eavesdropping.

"I'm fine…" She said taking Max's hands in her own, and forcing a smile. "Really, really, really." She enunciated each word and then leaned forward and hugged Max, hard. "I promise."

Max still didn't believe her, but considering all he suspected she'd been through as a kid, she was, in his estimation, entitled to some nervous spells…if that was what you could even call this. His gut feeling told him that it was something more than just her past…something very real, very near to the present and very red-headed was scheming to ruin her life and her career. Max would be damned if he'd ever let that happen.

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She'd barely seen it out of the corner of her eye and so Christy Hemme had turned fully to confirm what or whom it had been, skulking out of the stairwell directly after Triple H. It was the plum colored gossamer silk shirt and grey slacks of the Wardrobe Witch that caught her eye. So…now 'little miss klutz' had taken to meeting with Triple H in secret.

This could be 'very' interesting, considering that Triple H, better known as Paul Levesque was currently in matrimonial status with the infamous Stephanie McMahon. Christy knew that a tidbit of information like this could prove useful, and perhaps letting Triple H know that she knew what was going on, might even help her career. Christy could, of course, keep her mouth shut if need be…for a price.

She approached Triple H as he whipped the plastic top off of a bottle of water and took a hasty swig. "Interesting gal, isn't she?"

"Who?" Triple H held his arms out in question as he queried acerbically.

Christy smiled and cocked one eyebrow, a tiny laugh under her breath. "Miss. Stitch."

Triple H huffed. "It might help if you could be a little less vague." He swigged his water again, half tempted to spew it on her, the same way he spewed it in the air at the beginning of his matches.

"The fine lady from the Wardrobe Department?….You were with her just now in the stairwell." Christy said matter-of-factly as she tipped one finger in the direction.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Triple H narrowed his eyes until they were little more than slits. "I was by myself in the stairwell!" He announced tersely, his voice ominously low.

Suddenly, Christy wasn't so sure that what she thought she had been witness to was in fact, actually what she had seen. There was no doubt, that she had observed Triple H saunter confidently out of the stairwell just moments ago, but there was also no denying that she had seen Nancy creeping out of the same stairwell right after him. It didn't make sense, unless… "I did see her come out right after you…so if you weren't in there carrying on a conversation with her, then what were the two of you doing?"

Triple H was through being aggravated and he turned without responding, to stride down the hallway.

"Wait a minute!" Christy reached out and seized his arm, her face quickly contorting into a malicious glare. "I was talking to you!"

"Are you really that stupid?" Triple H smiled. "Or did you take a class from Stacy Keibler? I was in that stairwell alone as far as I knew, so if she was in there also, then she came down after I did, which meant that she was probably up stairs somewhere doing God knows what…and why would I give a shit about her anyhow?" Just then the layout of the darkened stairwell came to mind and he remembered in his labored pacing that there had been one flight of stairs leading down below where he had been, and he realized that it was very likely that the woman could have been eavesdropping on him. He turned and shrugged Christy's arm off. "Maybe you and I should talk." The sudden comprehension that Christy could prove useful caused Triple H to reconsider his approach, and he pulled Christy aside and began to conceive a plan.

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"Well, if you wouldn't pack the trunks so full, then we wouldn't need a crane to load 'em on the bus!" A very red-faced Max Hadaway strained as he again found himself hunched over the damnable trunk, tugging for all he was worth.

"Quit complaining and pull!" Nancy snapped and shoved her small leather day-planner between her teeth, bending over and pushing on the opposite end. The heavy trunk slid mere inches.

Dave Batista slung his bag over his shoulder and ran a hand through his wet hair as he stepped out of the men's locker room. He was definitely ready for the comfort of a hotel bed and a few hours sleep. He lifted his eyes and facing him was the very ample backside of Max Hadaway, no more than ten feet away he was bent over and struggling with the trunk, as if his life depended on it. Dave watched as Max motioned to someone on the other end of the trunk to switch places with him.

It was the wardrobe girl, though he couldn't remember her name…holding a small, leather bound book between her teeth, while laughing and motioning animatedly with her hands. She switched places with Max and leaned down over the trunk and Dave was rewarded with a nice glimpse of her much smaller backside. He found he liked this view better than the former. The two fought with the heavy trunk for a few more minutes and then apparently they decided that it might be better if they both pushed from the same end until they got it to the door.

He couldn't help but think that if they would stop laughing and bickering, mocking and teasing one another, that they might actually have the energy to get the bulky piece of luggage up off the ground. The girl came around the side of the trunk, preparing to put down her day-planner, but losing her balance, she tripped. She managed to recover enough to keep from falling flat on her face, but the cell phone that she had stashed in her front shirt pocket, came flying out and clattered to the floor.

Dave watched as she burst out laughing after Max hooted loudly and then she chortled, letting out a very delicate, lady-like snort. He saw her eyes as they widened at her calamity and then laying down her day-planner on top of the trunk, she stepped past Max evidently intent on picking up her phone, but yet not fully balanced she accidentally kicked the phone with the tip of her high heeled boot. The phone went spinning out of control across the highly polished floor and came to rest against the grey, low-top sneaker of Dave himself.

Dave leaned over and picked the phone up, turning it over in his hand. Something about watching the playful banter that went on between the two of them made Dave feel a bit left out. Left out of what, he didn't know. He just knew that he wanted to be a part of something like that. To be one-half of a friendship without barriers. A way to be himself. He wanted what they had…their own little world inside of RAW. He walked slowly but determinately toward the two of them, stopping several feet short of where she and her partner stood in expectant silence, forcing Nancy to take the last few steps needed to reacquire her phone. Dave waited until she was within a foot of him before he spoke.

"Did you enjoy the match?"

She could only have prayed that he hadn't actually seen her up in the balcony after his victory. Likely he thought she was a stalker. And now that she knew for sure he had seen her, she could feel the hot flush of embarrassment creep up her neck, coming to rest in her cheeks.

"I was, I uh…got lost and I…" Nancy gave up trying to explain why she had been up there. It was a free country. She could be in the balcony if she wanted…she didn't have to explain anything to him.

"Mmm, hmm." He nodded, a twinkle of joviality glimmering in his deep brown eyes, he licked his lower lip before speaking. "You qualify for ringside seats, since you're staff…you do know that, don't you?"

"I wasn't watching your match!" She said in a tight, clipped voice. "I told you I got lost, when I…" She was cut off in mid excuse by his soft, deep laughter. The sound of it was something like the vocal equivalent of warm brandy. It was soothing and appealing. She could feel her face growing hotter by the minute.

"Well, I'm glad you found your way back." His lips quivered with hidden merriment. "I'll see you around." He tipped his head and gave another salute and a sharp wink and turned to walk away.

Nancy could barely find her tongue but she managed to call out to him. "Oh, my phone!" She quickly strode the distance that his large steps had put between them.

"Ah, that's right." He handed the phone to her, and held onto it a second longer than necessary. He didn't know why, maybe it was an excuse to touch her hand or to smell her perfume again. What in the hell was he thinking?

Nancy said nothing in return, she simply watched him go.