Chapter 3: The Smack Heard 'Round the World

"Keep your pants on. And I mean that literally," Rey said when he reentered the men's locker room.

"Where were you? The rest of us are all showered and dressed and packed up already, what took you so long?" Shawn Michaels asked impatiently.

"I see that," Rey said, sighing. "God, I'll just shower at the hotel, later I guess…" he muttered as he packed up his duffel bag, tucking his mask into the bag atop everything else. He was always careful with his masks; treating them with respect almost as though they were alive somehow.

"Well, where were you?" Batista pressed, coming closer to Rey. The smaller wrestler shied out of the way.

"I went and had a talk with Michelle McCool, then I got debriefed by Mr. McMahon, and then Michelle and I went out to get some air," Rey summed up succinctly.

"Why did you do that?" Edge asked, frowning.

"Yeah, Rey, what the hell motivated you to do that?" Batista demanded.

"She looked upset to me," Rey explained.

"Rey, you would feel sorry for a lion with its paw in a trap even though it would still try to bite your face off," Shawn informed him.

Rey frowned at him. "Michelle's a good person. And that's a terrible metaphor. Lions are beautiful animals, why wouldn't I try to save one?"

Shawn shook his head. Rey had just accidentally proved his point.

"I like lions," Randy Orton put in and Jeff Hardy nodded, biting on his thumbnail.

"Me too."

"Don't go spilling your guts to her, Rey-Rey. She's a man-eater," Cena warned.

Rey rolled his eyes. "She needed a shoulder to lean on. She needed to talk to somebody. You guys make her out to be such a witch. She's not, I'm telling you. She's just not a people-person."

Shawn snorted. "That's the understatement of the year."

"Whatever. At the end of the day, my conscience is clear because I talked to her," Rey stated.

"Mine is too," Shawn said seriously.

Triple H snorted. "Then you need to have your conscience looked at. 'Cause it is definitely not working right."

"I felt better that she talked to me, she seemed like she needed to get what she told me off of her chest," Rey insisted.

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say."

Rey swore under his breath in Spanish.

Shawn was so hostile today. What the hell was going on with him?

"All right, do you want to hear what Michelle was upset about and what Mr. McMahon wanted to talk to me about? Because it's the same thing."

They all crowded around and listened in.

"Go on, Rey," Batista urged.

Rey held up the pamphlet he'd gotten from Michelle.

He explained about the haunted mansion of Sassafras, Massachusetts and how it really was haunted. He told them everything Mr. McMahon had told him, including that they could all opt out of doing the special. But if they participated they would have to stay out there in the middle of nowhere for a week no matter what.

Unfortunately, everyone had the opposite reaction from what Rey was expecting.

"I'm in," John Cena said.

Triple H wanted in and so did Shawn Michaels.

Rey frowned. "Look, I don't think you guys know how scary this place is. Michelle fucking McCool was scared by this place. She saw a ghost there. And she got creepy feelings, and she didn't like it at all. She wanted to leave, a lot of the girls did, but once they got there to film the special they weren't allowed to leave. It will be the same case with us. Once we get there, that's it."

"Have you decided whether or not to go yet?" Jeff asked Rey.

Rey shook his head. "No, I haven't decided yet."

"Come on, man, you should come. It'll be fun," Triple H badgered.

Rey didn't say anything.

"Come on, dawg, I want to hear you scream…" Cena teased.

Batista elbowed John away from Rey.

"Don't even joke about that, you pervert!" Dave warned.

Rey sighed. "It's all up to you whether or not you want to go. But it is haunted."

"Are you serious, Rey? You're actually taking her word for it? You actually believe that a building can be haunted?" Edge asked incredulously.

"I don't believe in ghosts personally, no, but yes, I do believe Michelle."

Batista exhaled. "Rey, man, you've gotta stop thinking that everybody is always telling you the truth. Not everyone's as honest as you."

Rey shook his head. "No, you're not listening to me. I've never seen her that upset before. She meant every word she said, there's no way she was lying. She had no reason to lie about how scared she was by that place."

"Fuck that shit, Rey-Rey. She just didn't want you in the special. She wanted you off the air," John Cena insisted.

It was no use, they wouldn't believe him.

"Was she really upset, Rey?" Jeff asked, biting on his fingernail, looking Rey right in the face with big, puppy dog eyes.

Rey thought maybe there was some hope of convincing Jeff not to go.

"Yes, she was very upset."

"Then I'm going," Jeff said, bouncing up and down. "I need adrenaline! Nothing fun has happened here in forever! I haven't had a ladder match in forever! I need adrenaline!"

Now people were literally dividing up onto sides of the room. They were by Rey and his locker if they weren't going or if they were undecided and they were by John Cena if they had decided to go.

Rey sighed hopelessly.

"What made you think she was serious, Rey?" Batista asked him. He was still undecided.

"Was she crying?"

Shit. It would totally convince a lot of the guys not to go if they knew that Michelle McCool had been brought to tears over that house. They'd seen the woman break bones and get up and walk away with not so much as a complaint.

But then again, that same reputation was what made Rey promise to Michelle that he wouldn't say he saw her crying.

Goddamn it, girl, putting me between a rock and a hard place. Rey thought, frustrated.

"No, she wasn't crying. She just got something in her contact," Rey lied reluctantly.

Batista narrowed his eyes at Rey. "Oh, really? What did she get in it?"

"Mascara," Rey said quickly. He was surprising himself today by getting progressively better at lying.

Batista shrugged. "Whatever."

"If you're a man, you'll go," John Cena insisted. "I mean, we've basically got all the dudes over here going. Y'all should all just go ahead and come."

"Hey, we're not getting into that high school bullshit! Nobody's playing chicken here!" Rey protested.

But it was too late, little Randy Orton ran over to the other side, not wanting to be made fun of.

In all, it was Triple H, Shawn Michaels, John Cena, Randy Orton, Jeff Hardy, Edge, Chris Jericho and C.M. Punk that had decided to attend the filming for the haunted house special.

Rey didn't like this one bit. A bunch of the younger guys would be over there without his supervision and at the mercy of Shawn "psychotic, scheming, old pervert" Michaels, Triple H, who lived for starting random fights at the worst possible time, and John Cena, who was fucking huge and normally calm but when left to his own devices in a large group of other men regressed into a sadistic frat boy.

No, Rey didn't like the look of this one bit.

Batista, seeing that no one else was siding with Rey, and not seeing why Rey hadn't made a decision yet, stepped over to the other side.

"All right, why not? I'm going."

That was the very last straw. Rey opened his mouth to speak, but didn't say anything.

The last thing he wanted was for Dave to put himself in a stressful situation right now. His anger management had calmed him somewhat but it was in its infancy, and there was no telling what he would do if the house was really haunted like Michelle said.

It would be a hostile environment. And everyone knows that hostile people with fragile psyches do not need to be exposed to a hostile environment.

Dave could very well freak out and kill everyone if he saw a ghost.

Rey thought about this while the other guys were all over on the other side of the room, talking and jeering.

"I'm coming."

"What?" Cena asked, pausing.

"What did you say, Rey-Rey?"

"I said I'm coming with you," Rey said half-heartedly and walked out with his things, shaking his head. "Goddamn it."

They all stopped talking and blinked at each other in confusion once they realized he'd left for the hotel.

"Man, he really did believe Michelle, didn't he?" Triple H asked no one in particular.

"Yeah, he did," Batista said, swallowing.

Something was wrong.

John Cena shrugged. "Aw, no biggie. Rey-Rey will know she lied when he sees the house."

He turned to Shawn. "Man, you said you had a conscience. There's no fuckin' way you have a damn conscience. If you do, it's probably the stolen extra conscience off of Rey-Rey."

Shawn sighed. "God knows he worries about enough things, he doesn't need to worry about that conniving blonde telling him ghost stories."

"Sounds a lot like someone I know," Triple H reminded Shawn, tossing his friend's blondish-brown hair. "Especially the conniving part."

Shawn glared at him.

"What does he see in her?" Batista asked quietly.

Shawn Michaels' eyes lit up. He saw another opportunity to mess with Dave Batista's head and damn it, he would never pass those chances up.

"He likes people that are taller than him," Shawn said, winking.

Batista blinked.

Triple H rolled his eyes. "No offense to Rey, but it's not hard to be taller than him. I really doubt that's his only criteria."

"You shut it or you're not going to get the nookie I promised you tonight," Shawn said to Triple H through clenched teeth and a tight Miss America grin.

"Yes, dear," Triple H said and shut it.

"How much taller than Rey-Rey is Michelle?" Cena asked thoughtfully.

"Michelle's 5'10''," someone recalled. "She's tall for a girl."

"Maybe she's not a girl," Triple H said suspiciously.

Cena elbowed him, hinting that he was about to make a perverted in-joke.

"I doubt Rey-Rey's complaining about the height difference, that puts his eye line right about here on Michelle," Cena said, gesturing to his chest and winking.

They all sniggered. "We should try Rey's point of view sometime."

"Man, you're lucky that you're not Rey's size, somebody would have totally killed you by now, Cena," Edge joked.

"Yeah, you're lucky that the rest of you is as big as your mouth, 'cause otherwise you'd never be able to back up some of the trash talk you say," Batista agreed, laughing.

Cena shrugged innocently. "Who, me?"

"Now Rey's height is…" Shawn said, changing the subject back to everyone's favorite piece of eye candy.

"Rey's 5'6''," they all said together.

"Five feet and six inches of caramel-skinned goodness," Batista reminded them.

"Travel-sized for your convenience," Shawn said, winking.

Batista shifted around uncomfortably. If he didn't want anyone else's input on Rey, he realized, he should just have held his tongue. But it was too late now.

"With sweet chocolate eyes," Randy said, sighing.

"And a sugary disposition," C.M. Punk added.

"Great tattoos, like icing on top of a cake," Triple H said dreamily.

"And beautiful arms," Randy put in.

"A toned body," Chris Jericho noted a little jealously.

"Soft, soft, lips," Edge said, sighing.

"A cute ass," Cena said, grinning.

They all sniggered and dwelled on that thought for a bit.

"A very hot chest," Jericho said.

"Muy caliente attitude," Jeff giggled.

"Calm and mature, like California wine," Punk said poetically.

"Did we mention his ass?" Cena said again.

They all burst into laughter.

Batista glared at everyone. "SHUT IT. Nobody talks about Rey like that but me, okay?"

"Man, what's wrong, we always talk about Rey-Rey 'like that'," Cena said defensively and squared his shoulders. "Why? You want to start a discussion with me about our free speech?"

Batista glared at him. "Oh, you don't want to start anything with me, you posing little white New England bitch."

Oh no.

"Ah, hell, no, you fuckin' steroid-abusin' broken marriaged, closet-case broken-down, dumbass motherfucker!"

Oh, it was so on now.

Everybody scrambled out of the way as Batista barreled straight into Cena's windpipe.

Rey started. He was just saying goodbye to Michelle as he heard crashing sounds from out in the hallway.

"So you said you decided to go?" Michelle asked, trying to gain Rey's attention back.

"I-yeah. Yeah. I'm sorry Michelle," Rey said, distractedly. "I had better- I…sorry," he said lamely, motioning towards the men's locker room and setting his bag down.

Michelle gave him a quick hug. He squeezed her.

"I'll be all right, Michelle. I promise."

She nodded. "Okay. Just let me know when you get back. You can tell me the whole thing. Maybe we could trade stories."

Rey smiled sadly. "I'll do that."

Another crash.

Rey whipped towards the sound.

"You had better get your women under control in there," Michelle said, laughing. "Its okay, Rey, go get 'em. I'll see you later," she assured him and walked out.

"Bye, Michelle."

Rey dashed back towards the locker room.

"Jesus Cristo, I leave for one tiny instant and-"

Rey slammed the door open.

Batista was on top of Cena, virtually choking the life out of him.

Luckily they made the benches out of metal now, (Mr. McMahon had learned his lesson after a few locker room brawls had broken out) and so those weren't broken.

"Hi, Rey!" Randy waved from up atop the lockers, squished in the little nook between the lockers and the ceiling. No one could quite figure out how Randy Orton, who was not a high flier, managed to climb up onto so many tall things to escape from people.

Jeff was crammed up in the same place but on the opposite side of the room. Punk had managed to stick to the wall and everybody else stayed in corners to avoid the carnage.

Rey watched the back-and-forth for a second, waiting for an opening to dive in.

"You don't have your name on him, yet, motherfucker!" Cena screamed and rammed Batista into the lockers.

"Who…has their fucking name… on who?!" Rey said icily through clenched teeth.

"They're talking about you…" Triple H admitted reluctantly.

One of them blinked and almost had to ask 'where's Rey?' but unfortunately they heard him when he got there.

THWACK.

CRUNCH.

"REY-REY! Get your fucking foot off my face, man, I'm on your side, motherfucker!" Cena yelped desperately, trying to shake Rey off, but the luchador was concentrating all of his one hundred and seventy-five pounds onto the side of John Cena's temple, pinning him.

"Neither of you are on my goddamn side! Now, get up!"

"Rey-Rey, I'd be glad to get up, just get the fuck up off my face, man, please…"

"Not YOU! You can stay down there all night until I decide to get off you!"

"DAVE! GET YOUR ASS UP!" Rey shouted.

Sheepishly, Batista picked himself up off the floor.

He was a little battered and bruised here and there, but he seemed fine.

He wouldn't meet Rey's eyes. This was like being caught fighting by his high school principal all over again, except he'd never wanted to win his high school principal's heart. (In all fairness, that lady had been much older than Rey at the time, so she was never even in the cuteness contest to begin with.)

"Get. Over. Here."

Batista opened his mouth to protest.

"I don't want to hear it, Dave."

Batista shut his trap. He shuffled closer towards Rey, who currently had one foot planted so firmly onto John Cena's cranium that he could do a Captain Morgan commercial or pose for an "adorable king of ass-kicking" statue.

"Closer to me."

Batista obeyed until he was within a foot of Rey.

Rey motioned for him to lean his head in and Batista complied.

Rey backhanded him so hard that everyone in the locker room winced.

"Oooh, Jesus, that's gonna leave one hell of a mark," Triple H muttered.

Batista stumbled backwards. He reached up to hold onto his sore jaw, assuming it was still there.

Everyone was surprised, but no one as much as Dave. Rey hardly ever hit Batista and when he did it was utterly undisputable that he deserved it.

"Congratulations, you lasted about two seconds without me in the room before getting in a fight," Rey said sarcastically.

Batista touched his cheek and pulled his hand away; it stung terribly. "I'm sorry, Rey."

And while he blinked, shocked by how strong the smaller man was because he hadn't been punished by Rey in so long, he thought to himself that he might actually have been kind of turned on by that slap.

"Now you can get up," Rey told Cena. He removed his foot and Cena stood.

Rey smacked him too and Cena nearly tripped over a bench and ended up back on the floor again, panting and holding his cheek just like Batista.

"OW! Fuck! Whatcha hittin me for?" he exclaimed.

"Because Dave only got a warning from some sweet little psychiatrist not to start fights. You got a warning directly from me!"

Cena swallowed. "I don't really remember that, Rey-Rey, I-"

"WHAT DID I SAY?!" Rey screamed, holding his hand up again threateningly.

Cena flinched. "Okay! Okay! I'm sorry! You told me not to fuck with Dave while he was going through anger management! Sorry!"

Rey put his hand down.

"You really told him that, Rey?" Batista asked, in awe.

"Yes, I did, but a lot of good that did. This pendejo can't get it through his thick skull that I mean what I say," Rey growled at Cena, who backed away.

"Now apologize, both of you."

"Sorry I said you were a poser and a bitch," Batista muttered to Cena, blushing that Rey was right there to hear the insults he'd flung.

Rey quirked an eyebrow at that.

"It's okay. Sorry I called you a steroid-abusin broken marriaged, closet-case broken-down, dumbass motherfucker," Cena said, wincing, because he knew Rey wouldn't like the sound of that at all.

"It's okay," Batista said.

Rey punched Cena in the stomach. Hard.

"I oughta kick you in the you know where for that," Rey said venomously. "Talking about people's private lives, Jesus, what's wrong with you?!"

Cena rubbed his stomach and coughed. "I know, I know. Sorry. My bad."

Rey shook his head disappointedly at the two of them.

"And don't you think I didn't hear you guys talking about who owns me, 'cause I heard it! If I catch any of you talking about me like I'm some sex object then God help me, I will murder you and make Jimmy Hoffa's story look like an after-school special! You got me?!"

Everyone nodded frantically.

"If anybody owns anybody here, you own us, Rey, don't worry," Triple H blurted, assuring him.

Rey smiled at that in spite of himself.

He huffed and rolled his shoulders.

"Now get your shit and get out of here," he ordered. "We're going to the hotel. And then we're going to godforsaken fucking Sassafras, Massachusetts tomorrow, so you had all better be ready for that in the morning."

They all gathered their things together and stood with their backs up against the lockers.

"Well, what are you waiting on me for? Get going!" Rey shouted.

They all poured out as fast as they could.

Batista stayed behind.

"Rey, they broke rules one and two," Batista said insistently.

"I can't talk about rules one and two…" Rey said, staring at Batista suspiciously.

"What do you mean? You made rules one and two!"

Rey frowned at him, confused. "Wait, don't you mean 'don't talk about fight club'?"

"NO!"

"Oh. What rules then, Dave?"

"Rule one was no looking at you funny and rule two was no talking about how you look!"

Rey sighed. "I didn't give out like any official list, Dave. God…I just meant that I have guidelines for what I feel is and is not okay for you guys to do in front of me."

"Well, they're breaking the 'no daydreaming' rule."

Rey sighed. "I just said 'in front of me'. They were doing that when I was out of the room? Why did you have to tell me that, Dave? I'd rather not know."

"But, Rey-"

"No."

"All right…"

"They're not trying to kidnap me are they?" Rey asked hesitantly when Batista seemed a little too let down by not being allowed to speak about the alleged daydreaming.

"Not yet they're not."

"Good. Then no. I don't want to know."

There was an awkward silence and Rey sighed and picked up his things again.

"I'm sorry, Rey."

Rey softened.

"I know, Dave, I know. It's all right. Well… it's not all right. You need to find a better outlet for your anger than hurting people. But I understand why you went off on Cena. I had to smack him myself, that was terrible some of that stuff he said."

Batista nodded. "Yeah."

"You're none of that stuff he called you, okay?" Rey told Dave, setting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Cena just has a smart mouth; I don't know where he learned how to insult people like that."

Dave nodded. "It's cool, Rey, I know. I know that it's not true."

Rey smiled. "Good."

"I am divorced as hell though," Batista reminded him, grinning, as they walked out the door together.

Rey laughed. "Don't look at me when you say that, I'm not marrying you!"