Uncommon Sense Chapter 8
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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"Chance is always powerful. Let your hook be always cast; in the pool where you least expect it, there will be a fish."

Ovid
Roman poet (43 BC - 17 AD)

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Nail biting had never been one of Max Hadaway's intrinsic habits, but in these last few moments he'd taken up the nasty inclination like a seasoned professional. He faced the small monitor that had been set up near the beverage stand and the catered food table and sitting on the edge of an empty table, he watched it with sinister curiosity. Any moment now, the cleverly rigged shirt would burst open and give Nancy the vindication that she knew nothing about, but rightfully deserved. The quandary was; that even when Christy had made her bubble-headed, bouncing like a brainless model entrance, the shirt had still managed to hold fast! Perhaps there would still be hope, maybe the shirt would make a break for it in the middle of the 'Bra and Panties' match and give Stacy Keibler a decidedly unforeseen advantage.

Max watched as Stacy flung Christy by her hair through the air to land gracelessly on her stomach in the center of the ring.

Still the shirt remained intact.

"Sonuva bitch…" Max muttered chewing nervously at a hangnail, concerned that the shirt might hold despite his best efforts to sabotage it.

Christy held tightly to Stacy's hands as she was hauled by her crimson tresses back to her feet and slammed backward into the turnbuckle. The recipient of one of Stacy's famous feet to the throat, Christy seemed to be in enough trouble without any unwanted help from Max.

Again, the shirt remained in one piece.

"Hello." Max nearly jumped out of his skin when Nancy stood on tiptoe to softly bark the greeting in his ear. A short laugh erupted from her throat when he jumped and turned to face her with a slight scowl. It reminded her of the scare Batista had given her only a few minutes ago, and she felt a slight flush.

"Stop doing that, or I'll have you implanted with GPS." Max elbowed her and turned back to the monitor resuming his nail biting.

"What are we watching?" Nancy glanced at the monitor and after realizing that he was engrossed in Christy's match, she asked with confusion. "Why are you watching Christy's match? I thought you couldn't stand her." She made an evil face and put mock claws out beside her cheeks as she'd often witnessed Max do.

Max shook his head never pulling his fingers from his mouth. "I'm not watching Christy, I'm watching Stacy."

"Aah, I get it…" Nancy acknowledged and then made a disgusted face when she saw the ravage he was creating by chewing his nails. "Why are you chewing your nails all the way into the quick? Max, stop that." She pulled his hand out of his mouth, despite his look of irritation.

"You're not my mother…" Max said sticking his tongue out at her and snatching his hand away, placing his fingers back in his mouth.

"Do you know how many diseases you can get from that, cut it out." She tugged at his hand once more.

Max ignored her, rapt with the action of the match. He suddenly jumped up and roared his excitement the very moment Stacy kicked Christy in the stomach sending her backward through the ropes and out of the ring. Nancy couldn't help but notice that he was a bit more interested in women's wrestling than he had ever been before and she was justly perplexed by his fresh interest.

The two women grappled on the floor outside of the ring for a moment and then Christy managed to get the upper hand. She slammed Stacy's face into the corner post, and then took advantage of her backward fall by grasping the front of the Diva's shirt, ripping it from her body. Stacy fell clumsily to floor, barely able to give any resistance as Christy snatched at her skirt, pulling it down over her knee-high boots and then holding both pieces of clothing victoriously in the air. Unbeknownst to Max, the match had been slated for Stacy to go over…Christy had not been scheduled to win.

"Dammit." Max curled his lips in anger and then gave the monitor the finger.

Nancy was more curious then amused. "Had a big bet on that one, did ya?"

"No, I didn't." Max's voice resounded frustration. "I just wanted to see that bitch lose." He stood up from the table he'd been sitting on and shoved his hands into his pockets.

Nancy smiled reassuringly to him. "You don't have to hate her just because she hates me, okay? But it's a nice way to show me that you care." She hugged Max and then linked her arm through his preparing to walk back to the wardrobe area, when Max spied Christy fairly skipping down the cat walk, a smile of triumph plastered to her beautiful face.

He paused with Nancy on his arm and watched as Christy was approached by Stephanie McMahon-Levesque.

"You really have made an impression lately. Your wrestling skills look a lot less telegraphed." Stephanie extended her hand. "I'm very impressed, even though you weren't supposed to be 'over' tonight."

Instead of taking her hand, Christy gave a childlike hop and swept in on Stephanie for a girlish hug. "Thank you! I was hoping someone would notice! And sorry about that, the ref was just rushing me."

Stephanie smiled in surprise and returned the hug. "Well you are definitely being noticed, that's for sure," Stephanie released Christy and stepped back…and that's when it happened.

Like a replay of Mt. Saint Helens, the beautiful, fire-engine red shirt erupted open with the force of a volcano. The fusible webbing finally gave way and the buttons that had been held in place by a bare minimum of thread snapped off in succession like tiny missiles. Christy's eyes widened, bugging nearly out of her head as she grasped the lapels, her own confusion engraved upon her face. Taking a closer look at the sad looking lapels, she noticed something amiss…and so did Stephanie.

She stepped closer to Christy and seized one of the lapels. She inspected it closely taking note of the white fusible tape that she only recognized as a way to reinforce something that clearly might not hold on its own. It was one of Stephanie's old tricks…a page from her very own playbook, reinforcing a shirt before a bra and panties match…now she knew why Stacy hadn't won, as had been planned.

"I know what this is." Stephanie said pursing her lips angrily. "Maybe you might wanna explain it for yourself?"

"I have no idea what this is, I-I took this to have it fixed by…" Christy began, but stopped short as Stephanie released the lapel with a disgusted snort.

"You had this shirt reinforced so it would be harder to rip off in the match!" Stephanie accused jabbing her forefinger toward Christy's face.

"No! I-…"

"You sure as hell did! And I'd say that gave you a bit of an unfair advantage, don't you think?"

"Stephanie, I swear I didn't know anything about this!" Christy was on the verge of tears. Her gaze darted from left to right as people milled around to hear what was being said.

"Shut up!" Stephanie bit out fiercely, "Since you like to stack the odds in your favor, maybe we need to up the stakes a little!" She glowered at Christy who stood, shoulders slumped in defeat with tears of shame streaming down her face.

Nancy stood beside Max and watched from a distance, but despite the fact that Christy had been hateful to her Nancy still felt pity for the Diva, having known what it felt like to be accused of something that you hadn't actually done. Sure Christy had asked for the shirt to be sewn up, but Nancy was sure she hadn't banked on it being rigged and certainly not on getting caught. Max had done it, she knew, but the fault lay with her for not checking the work better.

She turned and glanced disappointedly at Max, who couldn't even look her in the eye. With a sigh, Nancy pulled her arm from his. "I'll be right back." She began to take a step toward the spectacle in front of her, with the intention of taking responsibility for the truth that she'd only just that moment found out, but Max grasped her arm and held tight.

"Don't do it…I did it, and I'll tell Stephanie, but not in front of all these people. It'll just make it worse." Max stood his ground with a tight grip on her arm and Nancy reluctantly submitted. Though h couldn't tell Nancy, he didn't feel the slightest bit sorry for Christy and he was absolutely ecstatic about the timing with which the entire incident transpired. He couldn't have scripted it better if he had written it into a play.

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"Please Stephanie, I swear! It was that bitch from the wardrobe department!" Christy sobbed, clutching at the front of her shirt, desperately trying to hide her near nakedness.

"I hope you're ready for next week at the pay-per-view…and without pathetic excuses!" Stephanie squared her shoulders dangerously as she closed in, nose to nose with the Diva. "You just earned yourself a handicap, Bra and Panties Match with Stacy Keibler and Victoria!" Stephanie reveled in the look of horror that crossed the Diva's face. She knew that Christy was not well liked around the ladies locker room and she was also aware that Victoria held a particular aversion for the red-head and would therefore not 'pull her punches' in the match. Satisfied with the decision she had made, Stephanie turned around and stalked off into the office of Eric Bischoff the General Manager.

"Holy Shit…" Max said laughing, devoid of his earlier contrition and then he gave a boisterous hoot.

This elicited a murderous glare from Christy, who had turned to see where the noise came from. She gritted her teeth when she noticed Nancy, and turned to face the duo, obviously prepared for a confrontation.

"If you'll just excuse me…I'm gonna go strangle myself with a sewing machine cord." Nancy whispered heatedly. She was eager to get back to the Wardrobe area where she could at least have privacy if she was confronted by someone from the upper echelon of management. Some privacy if she were to be fired.

Max followed, still cackling and finding it difficult to keep up with the furious pace Nancy was setting. "Nancy, I can explain." He began shuffling to try to catch up. "Look there's no need to 'haul the mill', hell! Give a fat boy a chance! Slow down!"

Nancy was stalking around the corner and just as she turned to make a snide remark to Max, she ran smack into Chris Jericho/Irvine, knocking his armload of shirts, keys and Fozzy promo cd's out of his hands and onto the floor.

"Jesus!" Chris hollered, and reached down to pick up some of the fallen loot. "Why the hell don't you watch where you're going?" He shoved her hands out of the way as she reached for a cd to hand to him. "Don't touch my shit!"

"Sorry..here are your…" She meant to hand him back his keys, but was cut off in mid-sentence when he raised his head skewering her with a dagger-like glare.

"Christy warned some of us about you! Dumb clumsy ass." He muttered angrily in his jerky attempts to recoup his scattered merchandise.

Max reached the scene seconds later and without hesitation he placed himself between Nancy and Chris. "Ease up buddy, it was just an accident." Max explained on her behalf.

"She seems to have a whole lot of accidents lately…and who are you anyway? Her body guard?"

"Maybe." Max replied straightening his posture in an attempt to appear more formidable.

"Why don't you just go about your business before you get your ass kicked, Fat boy!"

"I've taken my share of ass whoopins', I think I'm immune." Max wasn't scared, and he definitely wasn't moving.

"Get out of my way." Chris scoffed, nostrils flared and brushed past Max and Nancy, stomping down the hall with everything in hand…except…for his shiny ring of car keys.

Nancy groaned with embarrassment, "How can a person be so accident prone?" She then held up the keys, his keys…suspended on her forefinger and bit her lip. "Oh Great…he left his keys."

"Uh, uh…Gimme those…I'll go give them to one of the guys in the locker room and they can give 'em back to Chris." Max announced taking the keys gently from Nancy's hand. "If I go track him down now, he's so mad he's liable to take me up on that offer to kick my ass…you go ahead and go back to Wardrobe, I'll be there in a minute."

Nancy was tempted to tell him she was prepared to go write up her resignation on a paper-towel in the ladies locker room, but she simply nodded and trudged toward Wardrobe.

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Triple H stood back watching the whole incident with sadistic amusement. He couldn't believe his luck. The girl was absolutely a disaster waiting to happen! Having someone like that under his thumb could prove more useful than he ever imagined. Seeing her ability to repay Christy by rigging her clothing was a delight, and now, as he watched her fat assistant toss Chris Jericho's keys into the trash-can after a few words with her gave him a whole new respect for the woman who had spied on him in the stairwell. She had one hell of an agenda up her sleeve.

He chuckled as he pretended to talk on his cell phone and then spun around in time to see an enraged Christy Hemme, homing in on the Wardrobe area. He sprang into action, snapping his cell phone shut, and reaching out, snatching her by the arm and hauling her into the shadows.

"Let go of me!" Christy seethed, trying to wriggle out of the powerful clutches of Triple H.

"Simmer down!" He whispered firmly and gave her a hard shake for good measure. "I know you're planning on going in there and beating the hell out of 'Miss Stitch', but that's not going to change anything that just happened and it's liable to get you into more trouble than you're already in!"

She knew he was right but her anger still tugged at her heart, and her hurt pride was goading her on. "I'm gonna kill her!"

"No you're not." Triple H demanded. "You're gonna let it go…" He watched her shake her head adamantly. "Yes, you are…you're gonna let it go, because I have a better plan." Despite her heavy, angry breathing, he sensed her beginning to relax. "My wife is headed back to the hotel in a few minutes." He spoke in a hushed voice. "Be somewhere near a phone at midnight and call me at this number." He slipped a small piece of paper with his cell number on it into her hand. "I'll tell you what I have planned."

Christy stood in the shadowy corridor until long after Triple H had gone, drying her tears and cursing her misfortune. No one had ever gotten the better of her when it came to revenge. Maybe Triple H was right…maybe he did have a better strategy. She would have to get a ride from someone other than Dave tonight or else she wouldn't be able to sneak off to use the phone. Dave had proven to be a light sleeper, and the last thing she wanted was for him to know that she had been in cahoots with his arch enemy…it would destroy any chance she might have of a life with him.

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Relief washed over an exhausted Dave Batista as he read the short note from Christy Hemme that had been delivered to the locker-room by Maria after his match.

Dave,

I'm riding with Maria tonight, hope you don't mind. Some of the gals decided that we should go out and see some of Dallas before we drive to San Antonio for Tuesday night's house show. I'll call you in the morning. I missed you last night, darling!

Kisses,

Chris

He had the slightest inclination to vomit when he read the note. Christy the vixen, trying to play the part of a sweet, little lady was about the same thing as biting into a chocolate covered razor-blade. Her true self becoming clearer and clearer by the day, Dave was finding it easier to dislike her. He strengthened his resolve to cut the ties between them, not ties of his own making mind you…Christy had fabricated a full fledged relationship out of simple sex.

What had been a few nights of wild, experimental gratification had obviously been misconstrued. Last night when he had decided to seclude himself in an unknown hotel for the sake of sanity and to catch up on lost sleep, he had never counted on waking up to five voicemails, all from Christy and all coated in sugary, sweet references to the fact that couples shouldn't spend too much time away from one another. She'd even thrown in some cliché about not letting the sun go down on your anger. Nothing about Christy was sincere or true. She was a person of many layers, and when one layer was peeled back, it revealed an even uglier layer underneath. He seriously doubted that she would be the least bit interested in him if he wasn't toting the Gold.

He wadded the note up and shot it straight for the wire trash-can that rested against a solemn row of lockers. The paper went in without so much as grazing the sides. "Hallelujah…" He muttered relieved by the prospect of another night without her company and searched around the locker room for the fifth time in an attempt to find his missing duffel bag. One of the guys must have been playing a prank on him. The bag, complete with his car keys, PDA and other incidentals had been sitting on the bench when he'd entered the shower. But when he had come out, everything but his clothes and shoes were missing. He knew they'd turn up, because this sort of thing happened more often than not. He would just have to finish getting dressed so he could venture out and scour some of the more creative hiding places.

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"It was wrong, no matter why you did it." Nancy admonished Max lightly about the incident with Christy's shirt, as she helped him pack away the last of the trunks in the luggage compartment. "By the way, did you give Chris Jericho his keys back?"

Max nodded. "The keys are exactly where they belong." The tiny white lie rolled easily over his lip.

"Okay good…where's my purse?" Nancy turned from side to side scanning the ground.

"You know what?" Max said widening his eyes. "I'll bet its back in that room we used, on one of the tables…I'll wait while you go get it."

"Oh wonderful…" Nancy said dryly, hesitant being as the arena was darkening steadily, its caretakers turning of light after light. The bus was running and everything and everyone except she and Max were loaded. "Hold the bus I'll be right back."

"No prob." Max said, grinning inwardly, his plan taking shape better than he'd hoped. He watched as Nancy tugged off her black, strappy heels and ran barefoot back into the arena.

Nancy jogged into the dimly lit arena and made her way back to the corridor leading to the room that had been used as her Wardrobe area. She passed one of the arena attendants who gladly let her in the room to find her handbag. Laying hands on it she breathed a sigh of relief and tucked it under her arm so she could carry her high-heels in her hands. "Thank you." She said to the attendant who nodded and smiled. And then she made her way back out into the darkened hallway toward the loading ramp from where she had just come.

Nancy stepped out just in time to see the enormous bus pulling away from the ramp…without her.

"Wait!" Nancy shouted breaking into a run behind the exhaust blowing machine. "Stop!"

The bus didn't appear to be slowing and in panic Nancy took one of her high-heels in hand and hurled it with all of her might. It bounced unheeded off of the back of the bus and Nancy had no choice but to chase the bus down or watch its tail lights fade into the night. She ran only a few more strides before pitching the other shoe at the back end of the bus, to no avail. She groaned in aggravation and then, shoulders slumping, she began to dig through her bag for her cell phone, which mysteriously was nowhere to be found. "As if this night could get any worse." Nancy muttered as she rounded up her shoes and then turned to walk back through the parking garage into the arena in search of a payphone.

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Dave had tossed his duffel bag into the back of his Ferrari 575 F Maranello, when a distinctly familiar, female voice caught his attention. He glanced up to see none other than Nancy Adams lobbing a black shoe at the back of the WWE's Bus and shouting for it to stop. It must have been the second shoe she had thrown and when she bent over to pick both of them up, he chanced to look at the back end of the bus and noticed that for a split second the brake lights came on, and then went off. It seemed strange that her assistant wouldn't have held the bus for her. Had she forgotten something? He watched the bus as it rounded out of the parking garage and saw that the interior light had come on and her assistant was clearly standing, face peering out of the window and then motioning for something. The interior lights went off and the bus went on its way. Nancy had seen none of this, as her back had been turned in the search for her shoes.

He shut the door of his car taking a step toward the front of it and the echo drew her eye to the source of the noise.

"Oh God, could I be any more humiliated tonight?" Nancy whined under her breath, as she plodded toward the back door of the arena, intent on finding a phone. Of all the people that could have possibly been late to leave the venue, it had to be the one man that unsettled her the most. "Why are you here so late?" She asked nervously, wondering if he'd seen her throwing high-heels at the bus.

"I'm running behind." He answered smoothly and then smiling, he teased. "Looks like you're just running."

"You shouldn't tease." She grinned in spite of her embarrassment. "Maybe they'll come back." She said hopefully, tossing a glance toward the ramp.

The innocent implication of what she'd said rocked him to the core and he had to control his impulse to show her what teasing was all about. "Not likely." He pointed to the tail-lights of the bus as they rounded up to the turnpike past the American Airlines Arena. "Maybe you can call your partner."

"My phone's missing." She held open her tiny beaded handbag revealing a wallet and a half empty pack of gum.

"Use mine." He palmed Nancy the sleek phone and watched as she dialed the number. Her disappointment was apparent as she snapped the phone shut gently and handed it back to him.

"It just goes straight to his voice mail." She announced, biting her lip.

He turned and pointed to his car. "Can I give you a ride?"

"I don't wanna put you out. Maybe I can just call a cab." She lowered her eyes so he wouldn't see how helpless she felt right now.

Dave laughed softly…a laugh that tickled her insides and made her feel like she should run and hide. "Yeah and what if they decide to head straight out of Dallas? Do you know how much cab fare is from here to San Antonio?" He smiled and put his phone back into his pocket. "You'd have to borrow from your IRA to pay the tab."

Nancy nodded in agreement. "Are you sure it's not a problem?" Hesitant about accepting the ride, she began to slip the high-heels on her feet.

"If it were a problem, I wouldn't have extended the offer." He said coolly. "Come on." Dave turned and walked with the nobility of a King toward the Ferrari parked a short distance away.

Nancy followed behind him and as she passed the front end of the magnificent car, she couldn't stifle the impulse to glide her fingertip across the ultra-smooth metallic silver finish. "It's beautiful…" She whispered mesmerized by the monstrous machine which could only have been a mechanical metaphor for the man himself.

"Beautiful?" Dave repeated scoffing. "A car like this is not 'beautiful'…This, my friend, is one of the sleekest, most impressive, most powerful driving machines ever made. Bar none. I can guarantee you that you've never, ever been in anything that goes this fast, except, maybe a plane."

Nancy smiled a look of amusement on her face as she regarded him. "You've rehearsed that speech before haven't you?"

"Twice." Dave admitted grinning boyishly, opening the passenger door and motioning for her to get in. He waited until she pulled her legs inside and then shut the door soundly behind her.

Rounding the car, thinking he was in control, the temptation hit him again. The way those black heels had looked on her feet as she had tucked them inside the car, the remembered sight of her chucking her shoes like a professional pitcher, the way that delicate finger had grazed the hood of his car, the same way it had touched his wrist earlier in the evening...Maybe giving her a ride was a mistake. Maybe he knew it full well and just didn't give a damn. Tonight would be the ultimate test of gentlemanly restraint. He slid easily into the driver's seat and without warning, could smell her perfume, the musky spice of patchouli and something else he couldn't quite describe. He inhaled deeply, yet subtly as turned the key, and the car roared to life. He liked the look of surprise that played across her delicate features when she felt the muscle of the engine rumbling around her. He faced her and she faced him, a look of fearful anticipation erupted on her face. Dave Batista slammed the car into gear and squealed out of the parking garage at breakneck speed.

By the time they hit the stop light at the end of the road that led out to the turnpike, Nancy was laughing out loud, delighted and terrified at the same time.

"I bet we could catch the bus in this thing." She laughed breathlessly engaging her seatbelt.

"I'm not chasing down a bus, on the highway at night." Dave announced, waiting impatiently for the light to turn green. "But, yes we could catch 'em if we wanted to."

The light finally turned green and he peeled the car out onto the turnpike and then opened up onto the highway. The Maranello hugged the road tightly, riding so smoothly despite the high rate of speed that Nancy couldn't even gauge how fast they were actually moving. They had ridden along in silence for several minutes before Nancy leaned gingerly over and glanced at the tachometer. The reading was over 120 miles per hour. She let out a little cry of surprise.

"Are you afraid?" Dave asked breathing in her perfume.

"You could get a ticket." Nancy told him, and yes, she was afraid, but she'd never let him know that.

"I'll slow down…I just wanted to pass the bus first." He chuckled as the rear end of the bus covered with WWE logos drifted into view. "Here's your chance to change your mind…I can stop them if you say so…or I can pass 'em if you want."

By damned he had caught the bus! Nancy contemplated his idea for a second or two and then she tilted her head and said. "Just pass 'em."

Dave couldn't understand why he was glad she chose to continue riding with him, but he didn't second guess it, he pressed his foot down on the accelerator and roared past the bus, with his middle finger hanging out the driver window in the event that Max was watching.

Nancy wondered why he had done that, but she didn't ask. "So are you sure you're okay with driving all night through to San Antonio?"

"Well I'm not exactly going straight there. "He announced, staring at the road.

Nancy felt a bit of apprehension. "Why not?"

"Well, because I'm hungry…and there's an all night diner just outside of Dallas and they serve the biggest, greasiest, most fattening burgers in all of the US…and believe me I've been around."

Nancy couldn't help wonder how much truth there was to the last part of his statement. She nodded, feeling her own stomach rumble loudly.

"Of course there are salads and other things…less fattening." He glanced over to her.

"What? I can't have a burger?" Nancy knitted her brow together.

"Well, sure you can…you just don't look like you…eat…much." He said gesturing with his free hand.

"I'll take that as a compliment." Nancy announced, secretly looking forward to a juicy, calorie-laden burger. This was definitely going to be one of the longest nights of her life. Putting her handbag down in the floor board and sliding off her shoes, she made a mental note to break her foot off in Max's backside the very next time she laid eyes on him.