Uncommon Sense Chapter 7
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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"A discovery is said to be an accident meeting a prepared mind."

Albert Szent-Gyorgyi
US (Hungarian-born) biochemist (1893 - 1986)

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"Okay, so maybe you wanna share with me…a little bit about what's going on between you and Mr. Heavyweight Champ?' Max said tearing off a massive bite from his fully-loaded hamburger.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Nancy mumbled between bites. She was more than eager to keep the volume of their conversation at a minimum. The all-night diner was nearly vacant except for the remainder of the make-up team who sat only two booths away and the last thing she could handle right now was a churning rumor mill.

Max chuckled and took a loud sip of his soda, leaving Nancy to wonder how any human being could possibly make so much noise simply with a straw. "Oh, and could somebody please tell me what that whole wink and salute thing means?" He commented a bit louder than necessary. "I mean, come on…He's not a soldier, and God knows you're not a soldier…but ya know if you two get together, you could always play that dress-up soldier-boy game, where you could be the drill sergeant…"

"Shut up, Max!" She whispered loudly. "I think you're losing your mind, you know it!" She ducked her head down and took a small bite of her chicken sandwich when she noticed that several people had raised their heads to look at the two of them.

"Do you like him?" Max asked, chewing rapidly. "I could always put a good word in for you."

Nancy slapped her sandwich down onto the plate and snatched up a french-fry. "This is not grade school, Max! What are you trying to do?"

"I am pushing you out of your comfort zone." He said after another loud slurp.

"You are pushing me into an early grave!" Nancy whispered fiercely.

Max, leaned in toward Nancy, snatched the French-fry from her hand and then using the fry to point at her he spoke. "You would be a lot less grumpy if you'd get laid more than once a century!" He then punctuated his statement with a sharp chomp of the fry.

"You know what?" She said crossly. "You may be right…but it's my sex-life, and I can get laid – or not laid, once a century if I want!" The waitress had apparently heard only the last bit of her comment but Nancy was no less mortified as she declined a refill from the stunned woman.

Max shoveled a handful of chip crumbs into his mouth, not caring that thousands of tiny scraps littered the front of his black t-shirt. "That's fine…I just think that you forget how well I know you and I know that there is something going on there…could turn into a worthwhile relationship, ya never know."

Nancy turned the plastic ketchup bottle upside down and gave it a hard squeeze pooling it onto her plate, inadvertently splattering small red drops of paste on the front of her blouse. Her eyes never left Max's face as she spoke. "I'll tell you what it's gonna turn into, Max…it's gonna turn into nothing, because he has Christy, and in case you've forgotten she has me squarely at the top of her shit list."

"Never say never." Max told her. "Besides, you like him and there's no reason…"

"I don't like him!"

"Then why in the hell do you keep throwing your shit at him if you don't want him to notice you." He was baiting her and he knew it. She was a kettle about to blow, but Max knew that pushing her near the edge was the only way that he could get her to admit her attraction and thereby see the very thing she was always shoving away.

"What do you mean, I'm throwing my shit at him?" Nancy was just south of livid.

"Well for starters, last week it was your walkie-talkie and then tonight, your phone."

Nancy simmered down and blew out a sigh, shaking her head. "The only reason he had the damned walkie is because I dropped it when I ran into Christy, which, by the way is the only reason he knows who the hell I am in the first place." She bit into a pickle slice. "And as for the phone…I would never have dropped it if I hadn't had to pick up your slack and help you move the trunk."

"Whatever…" Max grinned, enjoying her denial. "I just think that if he was really so into Christy, he wouldn't have even spoken to you, he would have stepped over your phone and kept on going."

"He was just being a gentleman." She bit into her sandwich again, trying to sound noncommittal.

"Sure, whatever…" Max huffed. "Christy doesn't date gentlemen, she dates money."

"Well, then there you go." Nancy inserted. "He was only talking to me to be nice."

"Oh well, that must be it…we guys always talk to other chicks when we're dating a playboy bunny…give me a break!"

Nancy leaned back and chewed thoughtfully, contemplating what Max was saying. "Besides…even if I did like him, not that I do like him, he's with someone else, I don't even know him, really…I'm just saying."

Max nodded and then began to laugh. "I like the fact that he almost walked off with your phone. And by the way…how in the world did you manage to trip and kick your own damned phone halfway down the hall? I thought I was accident prone! I swear, I think it was fate."

Nancy tossed her french-fry at Max and it hung on the lip of his t-shirt pocket. "I think you're full of it!" She said just above a whisper.

Max winked and gave the same salute he'd seen Dave Batista reward her earlier. "You know it baby!" He ignored her eye rolling and snatched the fry off of his shirt popping it into his mouth.

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Dave Batista opened his PDA and checked his messages, finding a reason to smile when he saw that he had one message from his youngest daughter Audrey. She was the five year old, spitting image of her mother. A veritable princess who had stolen his heart the moment she had come into the world. And boy, did she ever know it too. A second message from his oldest daughter, fourteen year old Vanessa downloaded and he leaned his back against the headboard and touched the stylus to the screen, opening the first of his messages.

"Daddy,

I packed everything today after I got home from school and I am ready to go. I had a field trip today at the big aquarium, I don't remember the name, only I am in real big trouble because I put pencil shavings in the tank of the puffer fishes. My teacher made me stand by her the whole rest of the time and Mom said that I am in so much trouble I'll never get out. Does this mean that I am going to be grounded when I come to stay with you?

Love Audrey."

Dave rolled his tired eyes and laughed softly, thinking how much alike he and his youngest daughter were at that age. She was a bit of a mischief maker as he had been. He opened the message from Vanessa.

Daddy,

Audrey packed everything in her room practically and it is all just sitting by the front door. Mom said she has to wait until Audrey goes to sleep and then we can re-pack her stuff for her even though we aren't even leaving for a week. Mom doesn't want to hurt her feelings by telling her she didn't pack right. I told Mom that you said we can go shopping and she thought you might be able to find new swimsuits for us because we left ours at Grandma Leticia's house last month. Love you!

Vanessa

Dave wrote quick responses to each of his daughters, as had become the nightly custom since his divorce, and then a short note to his ex-wife confirming that he would happily get his girls new swimsuits and inquiring about the pencil shaving-puffer fish incident.

His split and subsequent divorce from his wife, though distressing, had been amicable and it was some consolation that he still felt comfortable speaking with Angie about the things that a married couple would talk about. There had been no anger and no yelled insults when she had announced that she was ready for the divorce and oddly, Dave had just somehow known that it was time.

He knew that his countless months on the road had been partly to blame, not completely but still they had been a factor. The biggest assassin of their relationship, however, had been Dave's indifference to the whole situation. He had always entertained the belief that as long as he was 'bringing home the bacon', then anything else that transpired on the home front had to be Angie's fault or Angie's responsibility to deal with.

He had never fully inserted himself into the role of spouse, but rather he had become the 'Daddy Warbucks', sweeping in and spoiling his girls and then leaving them in Angie's lap when it was time for another trip out of town. By the time he had realized the damage he was doing, it was too late. Angie was ready to move on and she wasn't changing her mind. The last he'd heard she was dating a teacher from Audrey's private school.

He tapped the stylus against the 'send' icon and shut his PDA laying it atop the nightstand. Picking up the telephone he requested a wake-up call from the night clerk who was all too happy to oblige, and then snapped the lamp off, tugging the covers over his head.

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Max whistled to himself as he pinned the seam of a blue silk skirt. He knew in less than an hour, Christy Hemme would be having a bra and panties match against Stacy Keibler. No doubt she would be wearing the red shirt that just, minutes ago, she had stormed in and demanded without so much as a 'thank you'. Max had been more than happy to lead her to the rack where the shirt hung, politely sheathed in clear plastic and labeled with her name. He stood watching with his heart scarcely beating, as she eyeballed the shirt skeptically and then turned on her heel and stomped out.

Max laid the blue silk skirt over the back of a chair close by and pulled a bolt of grey fabric from the stack, preparing for his next project. He watched in silence as Nancy ran a length of fabric through the serger, a look of intense concentration on her face. The fabric began to pool into a pile on the floor as she sent it through the machine being careful to keep her line straight. Her silence made him wonder what she might be thinking about or if she was merely immersed in her sewing.

"You mind if I go take a break for awhile?" Max asked casually as he glanced at the clock. He was sure that he could find a monitor on which to watch Christy's match, somewhere in the building. Hiding his anticipation, he stood and pretended to stretch, when what he really felt like doing was dashing out and planting his outsized ass in a seat at ringside as fast as he could possibly manage.

"Sure, go ahead…I've got a few projects left to keep me occupied." Nancy continued with her task amidst the hum of the machine, raising her head for a mere second, before dipping her neck again to focus on the yardage.

"You want me to bring you back a cup of coffee? I'm sure I can get it here… intact." He teased, speaking up to be heard over the loud purr of the serger.

"Hardy Harr…and yes, please, bring me coffee." Nancy grinned as she shouted above the noise, never looking up from her work.

Max slipped out of the Wardrobe and sauntered down the hallway amidst a bustle of activity, intent on finding a monitor. He had ventured no more than twenty feet away from the wardrobe door when he was approached by the World's Heavy Weight Champion, clad in an Armani suit with his Championship belt draped casually over his shoulder.

"I'm looking for your friend, the girl that you work with?" Dave Batista began gesturing with his hand in a rolling motion.

"You mean…um, Nancy Adams?" Max asked, suddenly wary.

"That's right…Is she…?" he pointed toward the other end of the hall.

"Back there?" Max finished his question for him. "Yep, she's in Wardrobe, you need me to take her a message or something?" The thought occurred to Max that Christy might have donned the rigged shirt and already had her 'little explosion' and was just sending Batista to have a word with Nancy. An image of the huge Champion pummeling poor Nancy with his belt caused Max to snap back to reality.

"No, I'll just take care of this on my own." Dave said calmly and switched his belt from one shoulder to the other.

"Are you sure there's nothing I can help you with?" Max stammered a little too quickly, imagining a livid Christy spinning her tales of woe to Dave just moments ago. His fears were allayed the moment he spotted the object of his dread, weaving through the hallway toward the make-up area, wearing the red shirt, which seemed to be holding its own across the expanse of her 'new' breasts.

"Something bothering you?" Dave asked, furrowing one brow and looking down at Max's hand which was at present latched tightly to his forearm.

"No, I just thought since she's pretty busy I would offer to help." Max removed the hand from the Champion's arm and sighed with new found relief when he discovered that whatever the Champ wanted, it probably had nothing to do with Christy's shirt.

"I promise I won't take up very much of her time." He turned without waiting for Max's response and continued toward the Wardrobe.

"Whew…" Max blew out a breath as he marched further down the hall, and had a near miss with the thin frame of Vicki, the make-up artist.

The petite woman was so lean that she bordered on anorexic. Though not gaunt, her face was harsh and her jaw-line was pronounced, giving her countenance a measure of stiffness. Vicki smirked as she appraised Max's slapdash way of dressing, her eyes sweeping downward and taking in the half tucked rumpled blue shirt. A tiny laugh fluttered over her full, glossy pink lips as they formed an irresistible pout. And then in true hateful fashion she remarked. "Wow, you look like you've lost weight…did you switch from eating two large pizzas at lunch to eating just one?"

"Thanks for noticing." Max hissed, his heart pounding with the paroxysm of being encountered by a woman he deemed untouchable. "And I must say you look especially pretty this evening…your haircut looks a little less 'butch' than it usually does."

"Why don't you come by my make-up stand later and I'll give you a little something to cover up that crater in your forehead." Vicki ground out between clenched teeth squaring her shoulders for the battle.

"How very nice of you…and then I'll return the favor by whipping up a custom made muzzle in a nice Italian leather for you, I hear you're into that whole bondage thing." He was on the verge of growling, when he noticed her harsh gaze turn soft as she narrowed her deep-set sapphire eyes. The azure glitter set his blood to racing and it annoyed him that his frustration with her could be so easily overshadowed by her unconventional beauty.

"Touché, shithead." She commended softly, smiling with slight admiration as she lifted her narrow chin. "You're cute when you're being sarcastic."

Max grunted and then he flexed one flabby bicep and watched Vicki walk away, hips swinging with the smile still on her face.

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Dave Batista raised two knuckles up to the door of the Wardrobe area and tapped softly, but after several seconds of waiting with no answer, he decided to open the door and go inside. He spotted Nancy with her back to the door, feeding the last few feet of a soft black fabric through a machine. She wasn't hunched over the task as he might have expected, but instead, she perched on the chair with a distinct regality, indicating to him that she had a certain pride in her work.

The machine ceased its drone and she stood up fluidly , pulling some of the fabric with her, folding it little by little, with her back still to the door. She wore a soft, black, tapered asymmetrical shirt with thin straps, he assumed it was vintage and a pair of soft grey slacks. As he took note of the aristocratic uniformity of her posture, he couldn't help but let his eyes drop to the tender curve of her backside. He guessed that she was about a size 4…6 at most and unquestionably easy on the eyes. Dave smiled when he saw that she had shucked her shoes in lieu of bare feet. She was singing something, almost inaudible, and he couldn't recognize it but he liked it anyway.

He could have watched her indefinitely he realized, and so he cleared his throat to announce his presence, laughing slightly when he saw her jump and turn to face him, her pale green eyes widening with surprise. He detected a slight flash of annoyance when she recognized him.

"You scared me." She announced, secretly embarrassed that he might have heard her singing.

"Sorry." He apologized laying his belt gently on the table. "I need your help."

Still perturbed by his having caught her perusal from the balcony several nights prior, she quipped.

"What's the matter? Did you pop a button flexing?"

"You mean just now, or ever?" He asked, with an arch of his brow and a boyish grin plastered to his chiseled features.

Nancy rolled her eyes, her tongue lodging in her cheek as she placed the folded fabric on the table pinning a paper reminder to the top of it. He noticed how she seemed so graceful and controlled in her own 'arena'…it was diametrically opposite of how she appeared the moment she walked out into his.

"I just needed to talk to you about something and I thought we could carry on the conversation while you fix my shirt." He wouldn't deny that he was a bit nervous thinking about the self inflicted rip, on his sleeve…but he wouldn't admit it either. That rip was to be his poor excuse for coming in to speak with her, just in the event that he lost his nerve.

Nancy watched as he pulled his sunglasses off of the top of his head and slid them into his inner jacket pocket, and then he shrugged out of the massive jacket. His soft blue shirt seemed at first glance to be undamaged but when he raised his right arm, she could clearly see a four inch rip near the seam where the cuff and arm met. She approached him as a doctor might a patient, with no hesitation and began to examine the split in the fabric. Nancy noted how straight and clean the tear appeared to be and she suspected that it might have been intentional. It appeared to have been cut with small scissors.

"How did this happen?" She asked holding his arm in her hands as she ran her finger over the gash.

"It must have happened at the cleaners." He lied, rapidly changing the subject.

"So, I really feel like I owe you an apology."

"An apology?" She asked in surprise, somewhat suspicious of his motives. "Why? Did you do something horrific that I don't know about?"

"Not yet." He winked and noticed how she looked away for a split second. "I actually wanted to apologize for Christy's behavior."

Nancy's gaze snapped upward, the meteoric glimmer of confusion in her eyes. "Why would you apologize for her?" It was nigh on impossible to disguise the astonishment in her voice.

The question hit Dave squarely where it counted and he couldn't really understand why he would apologize for Christy. He knew he felt sorry for Nancy because she had been the unwitting target of a few of Christy's tongue lashings, but as for why he felt like he owed her the apology by proxy…he wasn't even sure. Maybe a part of him felt like doing it would make him feel better, or maybe he just didn't want her to judge him based on his association with Christy.

Nancy pulled her sewing needle from within a small leather pouch as she spoke. "Don't get me wrong…"

She began threading the needle swiftly, as he pulled his gold cuff links off, and slid them into the pocket of his slacks. His fingers were deft, and Nancy swallowed noticing how large his hands were and how gently they handled the small gold links.

"I appreciate the apology and I think it's really big of you…"

She examined the rip once more as he leaned against the table and held his arm with the loose sleeve forward.

Dave observed her as she slid her finger into the tear inspecting it. He swallowed when her narrow, shiny nail grazed the tender skin of his wrist. There was no denying the graceful curve of her neck and the way it tapered down into the soft angle of her collarbone. He gulped again as a glimmer in the hollow of her throat caught his eye. It was the tiniest diamond he'd seen as of late, on a slender platinum chain. A miniscule adornment made all the more interesting because of where it lay, nestled in that tender hollow. He was entranced as the diamond moved whenever she breathed, sending millions of brilliant points of light glittering outward from its center.

"…Especially since she would probably never apologize in a billion years…you're gonna have to take this off."

Nancy motioned to his shirt and then turned away to heat up the iron so she could give his shirt a quick press after she mended it.

"You know this will only be temporary fix?"

She added a small amount of water to the iron.

"After tonight, you should probably buy a new…"

Her breath lodged painfully in her throat when she turned around, coming face to face with the massive muscular planes of Dave Batista's chest.

"…shirt."

The last word came out as a bit of a squawk, and she willed her lungs to drag in the much needed air. It was one thing to be looking at a superior physical specimen from afar as she had been when she had watched his match from the balcony. But it sure as hell was quite another to be less than a foot away from the magnificent, living, breathing version of it.

The tattoos that marked his shoulders and upper arms only enhanced the striations in his muscles and the road map of his veins, cascading down the breadth of his chest across the rigid plane of his rock hard abdomen and down to where the waist band of his slacks barely concealed what lay beneath, all came together to tell a story of hard work and endurance.

Nancy swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat deforming her words, and Dave watched the diamond sparkle again, bringing his attention to the modest neckline and the tempting swell of the breasts that he could not see, but knew were there. He admired the red flush of awkwardness that rose from her hidden décolletage, under the delicate straps of the thin blouse and then upward to the gentle curve of her face. It made her more appealing…and the animal inside him growled feverishly.

'She wants you.' His inner animal informed him.

'She's not for me.' He silently replied.

'Take her anyway!' The Animal argued, but Dave regained his composure and silencing his beast, he handed Nancy the shirt and rounded the table, putting it between her and himself, despite the temptation to use the table for a whole other purpose.

Nancy took the shirt in hand and sitting down in the nearest chair, she drew her legs up Indian style and began to stitch the slit, with the speed and accuracy of the well versed seamstress she was. "Like I said…" She cleared her throat continuing,

"I appreciate you apologizing, but since you didn't do anything wrong…"

The voice inside of him wanted to shout that he'd been doing plenty wrong in the last few seconds, but he remained quiet.

"…you really don't have to apologize for anything."

She looked up and he responded.

"I just don't want people thinking that I condone the way she behaves…or that I make a practice of dating women who behave that way." He shook his head, and her eyes darted back to the stitching, as she tried to take her mind off of his mountainous deltoids and the thickness of his neck, the proud angle of his face.

"You didn't deserve to be spoken to that way." He stated softly.

She was confused at her own surprise that he was so well spoken. By the look of him one might think that he had more muscles than brains, but that seemed to be the reverse in his case.

"Well…thank you." She faltered, pulling the thread up as she stitched. Strangely, he liked the way she said the few simple words…the slight southern lilt in her voice that might have been missed if he hadn't been paying attention. The way she sat, bare-foot, cross-legged, was almost domestic, innocent…he felt the familiar jerk in his loins and the almost explosive desire to snap the table in half just to get to her.

'What the fuck!' he said in silent exasperation, his mind and body on opposite ends of the spectrum. He turned away and ran his hand through his hair, forcing himself to face the wall, partially so she wouldn't see his hard-on, but mostly so he could control the animal inside of him that was refusing to take 'No' for an answer.

"All done." Nancy uncrossed her legs and rose, sweeping the shirt over the ironing board to press the wrinkles out of it, unknowingly, giving Dave precious time to win the war with his traitorous body.

He accepted the shirt from her and slid it over his colossal shoulders buttoning it with ease, if a little too eagerly. "Thank you." He said, fighting with his cuff links, when just moments earlier he'd had no problem with them at all.

"You're welcome…and thanks again for the apology." She wet her lips, which she had been chewing on nervously, for the past couple of minutes.

He slid his jacket over the shirt and pulled his belt over his shoulder, rebuilding the façade that had almost crumbled, precious few seconds ago.

"Anytime." He said, his voice deep and liquid, as he slipped his glasses back onto his head.

Nancy was absolutely rattled by his presence, his voice, his nonchalance, "You could make a rip appear more genuine if you'd just use your hands next time instead of scissors…you do know that, don't you?" She mimicked his teasing from their last encounter.

Dave enjoyed her solemn mockery as he nodded his head, never denying that he had made the slice in his own shirt. "You'd be surprised what I know."

He pulled his glasses down far enough for her to see him wink. And then, still the reigning King of Grand Exits, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving her somewhat relieved, slightly lonely and partially tempted to find a place to hide.