"525,600 Minutes"
By Melissa
Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one - though if either of the main characters were for sale, I'd happily sell everything I own for exclusive rights to them. Also, I am well aware that both characters are happily married IRL, but darnit, this is fiction, so I have artistic license!
Distribution: ask first
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Shawn Michaels, Chris Benoit
Content: swearing, mentions of m/m relationships
Author's Notes: Just a little thing that nagged at me all day Monday. It's probably not any good, but I just had to post it.
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It had only been a year. Four seasons. Twelve months. Fifty-two weeks. Three hundred and sixty-five days - or was it sixty-six? He supposed it didn't really matter in the scheme of things. Eight thousand, seven hundred and sixty hours. Five hundred twenty five thousand, six hundred minutes since that precious moment. He could still cue up the memory like a reel of film in his mind.
First, the sounds. The pounding of his own heartbeat, throbbing in his ears, drowning out every other sound. The dull roar of twenty thousand cheers. Hunter's voice, just before he'd pounded his hand on the mat. "This is your moment. Make the most of it." The tastes. Blood, sweat, and even tears on his lips. The champagne-flavored kisses he and his lover had shared backstage, and later on in their room. The touches. The referee's hand on his shoulder, then around his wrist, raising his arm. Eddy's arms around him. The heat of the lights. The cool metal of the belt against his skin, the weight of it in his hands. And then there were the sights. The lights, winking off the gold. The multi-colored confetti, falling from the ceiling to stick to his shoulders, his arms, his back. Hunter's surreptitious thumbs-up as he'd been helped out of the ring. And over it all, the sweet euphoria of a dream come true. The hands on his shoulders didn't startle him. He'd been expecting them all day, all night. This was the first chance they'd had to be alone. Now, in the quiet darkness of their bedroom, with his lover's hands firm on his shoulders, he could think about the rest. But he made an effort to push it from his mind, leaned back into the other man's arms with an easy familiarity that still surprised him sometimes. Then came his lover's voice, quiet, comforting. "I was so proud of you that night. I still am." "I know." "I know that you know, deep down. But I thought you might need to be reminded." "Why?" "I know you didn't like the way things ended." "That's an understatement." "Hush. You did what you had to do, what you were asked to do. You didn't whine, you didn't complain - as a matter of fact, you never have." "I didn't - don't - see the point in complaining. It is what it is. I suited their purposes for a while. As long as I did, they were willing to play up the illusion. Then, when they decided I wasn't what they wanted anymore, they dropped all pretense. I know the way they work." He snapped as all the bitterness he'd held in for so long rushed out. "What illusion are you talking about?" His lover queried, honestly baffled. "The one that they respected me, that they respected my work and my accomplishments. I can't say I hold it against them. The spotlight was nice while it lasted. Now it's someone else's turn." "You don't really believe that, do you?" "What?" He asked, wearily massaging the pounding at his temples. "That they don't respect you? That they aren't impressed by what you've done?" "Of course I believe that. You know it as well as I do. There's only two things that impress them - ratings and money. I didn't pull in enough of either, so they shifted their focus to someone who could." "That's bull-" "No." The single harsh word cut off the tirade he knew was imminent. "It's true. I know it. You know it. Everybody in this damned business knows it. I'm not a marketable commodity for them. I never will be. I'm not like Hunter, who slicks up for the corporate crowd and makes the fans hate his guts. I'm not like Randy, who has every female between ten and one hundred and ten sighing over that pretty boy smile. I'm not like Dave, who intimidates the hell out of people, but they end up liking him anyway. And I'm not like you, with charisma and charm and personality coming out my ears." "You're being ridiculous, Christopher." The tone was weary, but his lover's touch was gentle as he brushed his hands away from his face and began rubbing at his aching temples. Chris couldn't contain the sigh of relief that slipped between his lips, and he let his eyes close as the ache slowly subsided. "I know I am. I guess today just got to me." "You feel like you've gone nowhere since August. I understand." "How can you?" "Maybe I've never experienced it, but don't you think that by now I know what you feel, I know what you think? Do you think I can't tell how unhappy you've been?" "I hope you don't think that I'm unhappy because of you." "Of course not, you jackass. I know better than that. It's the business that's got you down, because you feel like you're sliding down the back side of that mountain, and that it's a steep fall with nothing to cushion the impact at the bottom." "I hate it when you start using metaphors on me." His lover let out a long-suffering sigh. "You winning the title was like reaching the peak of a mountain after a long, arduous climb, right?" "Yeah, and?" "After you lost it, didn't you feel like you were sliding backward, like you'd have to go all the way down to get back up again, and that hitting bottom would be the most painful thing you've ever experienced?" "In a way, I guess." "See, that wasn't so hard. No, Chris you're not Hunter, you're not Randy, you're not Dave, and you're not me, either. You're you, and that's what people love about you. You're real. Everything you have, you've worked for, you've sweated for. When someone looks at you, what they see is what they get. And people respect that about you." "Do you really think so?" "I know I do. I respect you for going out there and busting your ass, night after night. I respect you for having the passion for this business that makes you want to give every fan their money's worth. I respect you for putting every ounce of effort and more into every match. Your match tonight was one of the best I've seen in a while. Even though I knew what was going to happen, you still had me on the edge of my seat. That's the highest compliment I can give, Chris." "I know." "I can't wait to see the match you and Dave are going to put on at Summerslam." "Yeah, working with Dave is gr...wait a second. What do you mean, the match we're going to put on at Summerslam?" "Oh, I forgot to tell you, didn't I? Damn, Chris, I'm sorry. We discussed it during the creative team meeting earlier today. Dave will most likely be dropping the title to you at Summerslam." "Are you serious?" "Would I lie to you?" Chris turned, kissing the other man thoroughly. When their lips parted, he smiled brilliantly. "You always know just how to brighten my mood." "That's because I love you, Chris." "I love you too, Shawn." ~ finis ~ |