The first of those 'challenge me' fics
Jan. 25th, 2004 01:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
redfiona99The challenge from Merc was - 'Wrestling fandom: any ficlet with any two same-sex characters where the primary emotion is either fear or anger that is NOT connected to a sexual or romantic issue.'<<
Genre: Gen
Characters: Chris Benoit, Eddie Guerrero
Rating: 15
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, WWE, Smackdown brand, does. No money being made. Nothing to do with real life. This is not real. It is fiction.
Possibly offensive content: One racial slur used. No offense intended.
Notes: This is a made up situation where although the storylines are made up, the actual fights are legit.
~~~~
The rage had been building inside him ever since he'd been let out of hospital, or rather discharged himself claiming he was less likely to damage himself in a hotel room than in a hospital one. The doctor, taking one look at his face, let him go.
Even so it was already Wednesday afternoon, and they were supposed to be at the house show venue by seven that night. And he couldn't drive. Apparently they thought he might pass out so they had given his car keys to Eddie. Who was not here. So they would be late. And he wouldn't be able to get back into the swing of things immediately. Not be able to climb back on and make the long and difficult trek back to the summit. Back to the championship. Back to the only thing that mattered.
Of course now there was a good chance he would never reach it. He was thirty-eight and it was starting to tell. He'd lost a year to his neck and didn't have any more time to waste because of some whim of Heyman's.
He'd known his shot against Lesnar would be a one-off. So he'd done his best. Yes, he'd had a match against Cena as well but excuses wouldn't do. Excuses were for losers.
But he'd done his best and then Brock got him in that hold. And he knew there was no way out. But he wasn't going to give Lesnar the satisfaction of tapping out to him.
The next thing he knew he was waking up in hospital, without the belt. His best hadn't been good enough.
And there it was again, that hollow feeling just behind his floating ribs. A feeling that threatened to overcome him at times; that no matter what he did, it would never be good enough.
If only he could make a better impression when talking. If only he had taken his chances, if only his neck hadn't given up on him.
If only, if only, if only.
"Hey ese, what's with all the noise?" It was Eddie, come through from the next room.
The table had smashed from the force Chris had thrown it with.
"Where are the car keys?"
"They're in my coat pocket, and that's where they're staying. We've both been given the night off, because you aren't in a fit state to compete tonight, and someone has to stop you trying to get there anyway."
"There'll be no problem, just give me the keys. They always need a spare person at house show, just in case someone gets stuck in traffic."
"No Chris, you know the rules, for forty-eight hours after a head injury you can't wrestle." Now was probably not the time to go chapter and verse on Chris but if Eddie didn't Chris would got to the house show and he'd end up in all kinds of trouble. It was for his own good.
Chris slumped down onto the bed. He seemed so utterly defeated. "Chris, what's the matter?"
"Oh you wouldn't understand." Chris started muttering, talking to himself more than Eddie. "Too small, he says, even though five foot ten is plenty big enough in the real world; you don't wrestle in the right style, people aren't interested in your way, he should tell that to the thousands of people I've wrestled in front of, up and down and to the back of beyond. All those years of work and pain and suffering, and I'm never going to get the one thing I want. Not because I'm not good enough, but because they won't give me a chance. Oh they used to say that they'd give me lots of shots, but that never happened. They've never come through on a single one of their promises. And now I'll never have it." The gold around his waist, to achieve the only goal left for him.
"Hey Chris, before you go too far down pity avenue, mind telling me exactly what part of that wouldn't I understand? What part of aching and the agony? I've been there with you for all of it, every single step of the way, and don't think I don't want the title just as much as you do. You think I don't know how it feels to know you're better than most of the rest and yet you don't get half the chances they do. Hey, esa, try having all your problems and being Latino on top of it. So they don't want to put you in a series of fights against Brock right now, at least they're thinking of you, most of the time they don't even think of me because, really, what sort of ratings are they going to get putting a little 'spic like me against big, scary, all-American Brock. Being five ten is no problem, look at Michaels, look at Chris and you can change your style but I'm never going to be able to look differently. I deal with that, you can deal with Heyman. You had a chance, it didn't work, take the break while you can, you'll try again like we all always do. Just give the pity party a fucking rest."
If anyone else had said it, Chris would have hit the roof. But not at Eddie, because what he said was true. Eddie had been through it all with him. The indys, Japan, WCW and WWE, and then they'd hit the glass ceiling together.
And Eddie did know, he knew that wrenching feeling of come so close to what you wanted and then it being snatched away. Then came the misery of having to do it all over again.
Some days though, he didn't have the energy to carry on any more. But he had to, the thought of the title kept him awake at nights. He shouldn't take that out on Eddie though, he probably had exactly the same nightmares.
So what now? They weren't going to the house show, and the same rules that stopped him going there stopped him from going to the gym too.
He had to pay for the smashed table. Plus he probably should apologise to Eddie too. "Looks like we're staying here tonight. Want a drink of juice?" Okay, that wasn't much of an apology. But Eddie nodded, and Eddie would understand what the offer meant. Tonight would never be mentioned again. That was the way of things.
Tonight he would relax, and tomorrow he'd get back on the treadmill.
Hope you like.
Genre: Gen
Characters: Chris Benoit, Eddie Guerrero
Rating: 15
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, WWE, Smackdown brand, does. No money being made. Nothing to do with real life. This is not real. It is fiction.
Possibly offensive content: One racial slur used. No offense intended.
Notes: This is a made up situation where although the storylines are made up, the actual fights are legit.
~~~~
The rage had been building inside him ever since he'd been let out of hospital, or rather discharged himself claiming he was less likely to damage himself in a hotel room than in a hospital one. The doctor, taking one look at his face, let him go.
Even so it was already Wednesday afternoon, and they were supposed to be at the house show venue by seven that night. And he couldn't drive. Apparently they thought he might pass out so they had given his car keys to Eddie. Who was not here. So they would be late. And he wouldn't be able to get back into the swing of things immediately. Not be able to climb back on and make the long and difficult trek back to the summit. Back to the championship. Back to the only thing that mattered.
Of course now there was a good chance he would never reach it. He was thirty-eight and it was starting to tell. He'd lost a year to his neck and didn't have any more time to waste because of some whim of Heyman's.
He'd known his shot against Lesnar would be a one-off. So he'd done his best. Yes, he'd had a match against Cena as well but excuses wouldn't do. Excuses were for losers.
But he'd done his best and then Brock got him in that hold. And he knew there was no way out. But he wasn't going to give Lesnar the satisfaction of tapping out to him.
The next thing he knew he was waking up in hospital, without the belt. His best hadn't been good enough.
And there it was again, that hollow feeling just behind his floating ribs. A feeling that threatened to overcome him at times; that no matter what he did, it would never be good enough.
If only he could make a better impression when talking. If only he had taken his chances, if only his neck hadn't given up on him.
If only, if only, if only.
"Hey ese, what's with all the noise?" It was Eddie, come through from the next room.
The table had smashed from the force Chris had thrown it with.
"Where are the car keys?"
"They're in my coat pocket, and that's where they're staying. We've both been given the night off, because you aren't in a fit state to compete tonight, and someone has to stop you trying to get there anyway."
"There'll be no problem, just give me the keys. They always need a spare person at house show, just in case someone gets stuck in traffic."
"No Chris, you know the rules, for forty-eight hours after a head injury you can't wrestle." Now was probably not the time to go chapter and verse on Chris but if Eddie didn't Chris would got to the house show and he'd end up in all kinds of trouble. It was for his own good.
Chris slumped down onto the bed. He seemed so utterly defeated. "Chris, what's the matter?"
"Oh you wouldn't understand." Chris started muttering, talking to himself more than Eddie. "Too small, he says, even though five foot ten is plenty big enough in the real world; you don't wrestle in the right style, people aren't interested in your way, he should tell that to the thousands of people I've wrestled in front of, up and down and to the back of beyond. All those years of work and pain and suffering, and I'm never going to get the one thing I want. Not because I'm not good enough, but because they won't give me a chance. Oh they used to say that they'd give me lots of shots, but that never happened. They've never come through on a single one of their promises. And now I'll never have it." The gold around his waist, to achieve the only goal left for him.
"Hey Chris, before you go too far down pity avenue, mind telling me exactly what part of that wouldn't I understand? What part of aching and the agony? I've been there with you for all of it, every single step of the way, and don't think I don't want the title just as much as you do. You think I don't know how it feels to know you're better than most of the rest and yet you don't get half the chances they do. Hey, esa, try having all your problems and being Latino on top of it. So they don't want to put you in a series of fights against Brock right now, at least they're thinking of you, most of the time they don't even think of me because, really, what sort of ratings are they going to get putting a little 'spic like me against big, scary, all-American Brock. Being five ten is no problem, look at Michaels, look at Chris and you can change your style but I'm never going to be able to look differently. I deal with that, you can deal with Heyman. You had a chance, it didn't work, take the break while you can, you'll try again like we all always do. Just give the pity party a fucking rest."
If anyone else had said it, Chris would have hit the roof. But not at Eddie, because what he said was true. Eddie had been through it all with him. The indys, Japan, WCW and WWE, and then they'd hit the glass ceiling together.
And Eddie did know, he knew that wrenching feeling of come so close to what you wanted and then it being snatched away. Then came the misery of having to do it all over again.
Some days though, he didn't have the energy to carry on any more. But he had to, the thought of the title kept him awake at nights. He shouldn't take that out on Eddie though, he probably had exactly the same nightmares.
So what now? They weren't going to the house show, and the same rules that stopped him going there stopped him from going to the gym too.
He had to pay for the smashed table. Plus he probably should apologise to Eddie too. "Looks like we're staying here tonight. Want a drink of juice?" Okay, that wasn't much of an apology. But Eddie nodded, and Eddie would understand what the offer meant. Tonight would never be mentioned again. That was the way of things.
Tonight he would relax, and tomorrow he'd get back on the treadmill.
Hope you like.
