Chapter XVII: Going Home
Dave felt like a lost puppy dog without Orianne at home. He couldn't imagine being the spouse of a wrestler who stayed home. He was beyond lucky that he and Orianne were traveling together and hoped that he had a long tenure on RAW. Because she was in Stamford during his off days for the photoshoot, he had wanted to come stay with her but his position as entrepreneur was required at the gym. Until this week, he hadn't stepped foot in the place since the news of Sloan's death was delivered. He couldn't ignore his own gym any longer. There was nothing he could do about their flights missing each other last Friday but he was almost positive he was going to do something about her not being on the road this weekend either.
Orianne had been granted two weekends off for bereavement but she also had a weekend coming to her for doing the diva photoshoot and opted to take it after the shoot. Right after the funeral, she had left for Alabama. He was ready for her to come home. They hadn't made love in almost three weeks. For some, that's not all that bad but, for the two of them, five days without was tough. It wasn't about satisfying sexual needs but loving each other. He hadn't been able to show her that he loved her in three weeks. Two of those weeks, they had barely spoken on the phone but she kept promising to be back soon. It could be another week if he didn't see her again until she came back to work on the fourth weekend.
"Where's Ori today?" Carlito asked in his thick accent.
"She gets this weekend off for the photoshoot."
"The photoshoot," the frizzy wrestler mused, thinking of his partner, Torrie Wilson, in the calendar and the video. They weren't dating and probably would never but he could admire where admiration was due. "Torrie mentioned that last weekend. Said she had fun. Why can't Ori do our photoshoots? She's much better looking than Boswick."
Dave chuckled in response, wondering how one of those would exactly go between him and Ori; his thoughts were entirely lurid. "If it wasn't a full time job in and of itself, I'm sure we could pull a few strings, stage a coup, sign a petition." He was afraid he was going to have to do all that to get her back home.
He was so tired of Sloan overshadowing their relationship. Obviously, it was an issue during the affair. She had left him to go back to her husband even though they loved each other. Since they split up, it seemed he was always lurking in regards to the divorce. They were this close to getting the papers signed and, now, in death, Sloan was consuming their relationship. If only she could finish what was necessary to be done in Alabama and get home, they could move on. But she was still being ambiguous about when she was returning.
This Sunday was an important date for them, whether or not she realized it. She wanted an anniversary date and he had every intention of giving her one. But she wasn't here for him to do that and he had resigned himself to not being with her to make a big deal about it.
Thinking about his plans gone awry, he realized that RAW would be in Chattanooga this Monday. That was only about two hours away from Prescott. If he didn't get suspended for being caught lying, then he could make it back in time for the show. He was definitely about to make Sunday an important date for her.
"I gotta go see Vince," he suddenly said and Carlito watched him stride out of the lockerroom, a look of bafflement on the younger man's face.
Athena freely grazed nearby; she didn't need to be tethered since she had a tendency not to wonder. Orianne raised her eyes from where she lay propped up on the saddle to glance over at the horse. It was a ridiculously lazy fall Sunday but, while Athena had no cares in the world and the leaves were turning colors as demanded by the seasons, Orianne couldn't relax, couldn't find that ease with which summer moved into autumn.
Every morning she had been in Prescott, she ate breakfast with her family, packed a lunch, and rode Athena out to the creek with all the cards and letters that had come in and began catching up on the correspondence. It was so frustrating reading all the condolences when she didn't deserve them. For god's sake, she had had an affair on the man and then kicked him out to take up residence with another man while waiting for the divorce papers to be signed. She almost wished for that instead of the label of Sloan's widow. Technically, she now legally went by her maiden name but she was still Mrs. Thomas-Anderson while she waded through settling the estate, the medal ceremonies, and donating the life insurance to UAB. She was just another warm body and name to those calling to support their cause. She had actually received calls from both the pro-war and anti-war camps, asking for her to join them or use Sloan's story to twist as part of their rationale.
The labels were inescapable and Orianne had been wondering for two weeks who exactly she was. She had always been Sloan's wife; everywhere they lived, it was for him. She was always introduced and identified as Captain Anderson's wife. In her heart and mind, she hadn't been his wife for a year. She had every intention of not being his wife but he had been dragging his feet and he died with her as his wife. It was if he couldn't give her the one thing she wanted most—freedom.
Kind souls, thinking they were doing her a favor, had already been sending newspaper clippings of articles that ran about Sloan. She didn't need the ones with her face plastered on them as his widow or the benefactor of the scholarship. There were two in particular that she was reading now. Birmingham's newspaper made a big deal about the endowed scholarship for computer programming majors. They didn't know it but she had met with her financial advisor and discussed how much of their savings she could take out and still retire comfortably. She then added that money to the life insurance pay-out and handed it over to the University of Alabama. It was on the damn front page with a picture of her signing the papers that made the scholarship official. It was a posed photograph and she made sure her left hand was under the table so that her missing wedding rings wouldn't be immortalized forever in the archives.
The same picture appeared in UAB's student newspaper and someone had managed to procure a photo of her and Sloan from the charity ball two and a half years ago for which she had bought the infamous red dress. The picture wasn't in color but she remembered everything vividly. She and Sloan were standing together in front of a gray, bland backdrop, his arm around her waist and her hand resting on his chest. Her fingers barely grazed the insignia on his uniform. Even without the navy blue highlighting his crystal blue eyes in the black and white photo, she knew how good the color complemented them. Her crimson gown was a perfect foil to the dress uniform. Would Dave had been as attracted to her that night of the fundraiser if he had known that she had worn the dress for her husband?
Orianne put a hand to her head. She had to stop with the guilt issues. She had to remember what Dana said. She could grieve for him because she did remember him from times like this. The charity ball was probably the second fondest memory she had of their marriage, the first being their wedding.
But how could he go and get himself killed like this? She read over the article again and noticed the paragraph about his selfless sacrifice and how many people he may have saved that day. The images of the thousands of white tombstones at Arlington Cemetery flashed through her mind again and it dawned on her like a lightning flash. She was being so selfish. They were all but divorced and she was acting like the selfish widow. She was wallowing in her bitterness and grief when there so many in that small village in Iraq who were celebrating being alive after a selfish attack upon them. She was fighting with the existential questions of who she was and her identification as Sloan's wife, a military widow, when those people were just happy to be alive.
Orianne reached for the plastic shoebox she had brought that held all the letters and cards addressed to her regarding Sloan's passing. It was truly overwhelming. Many of them came from overseas. These weren't about her but about him. All of them had something to say about the kind of person he was. He had changed and touched so many lives. One of the newspaper articles listed all of his medals and commendations. Had she truly known he had that many? How could she have been his wife and not realized that? She was mourning her life with him, mourning being his wife when this should have been a celebration of his life. How could she have been so selfish?
All of the correspondence that came in the mail yesterday had been replied to and she tucked them into the shoebox and set her responses aside to be mailed tomorrow. She placed the Birmingham article into the shoebox and began to fold the UAB piece up as well when she stopped to look over the picture of the two of them again. Her red dress, although dark gray in the picture, was staring back at her. That dress no longer reminded her of her husband and the charity ball but of the first time that she and Dave made love. She was going to have to stop hiding from him. In trying to deal with her selfishness, guilt, and anger, she had run away to Prescott for almost two weeks not only to settle Sloan's estate but to keep from facing Dave. She couldn't be with him while she was having to play the part of Sloan's wife.
She was finally done with all the immediate formalities and there were no more excuses to stay, although she had every intention. With her informal suspension in March, she really couldn't take any more time off but she had still been considering it until she could come to terms with the anger and guilt and feeling two-faced about being committed to Dave and acting as Sloan's wife. Dave gave her the impression that he wanted to keep her and Sloan's name as clean as possible through this ordeal but she felt he had to be annoyed that, once again, he was second in her life. They were lying again, or really she was. Yet, despite the fact that she did indeed have an affair and they were in the middle of a divorce, Orianne would always be Sloan's wife and widow. Could Dave handle that? She didn't want to know but she had to bring it up—it was something that they had to deal with. He was so possessive of her and she couldn't help but relish in it. But with Dave, she was finally who she was meant to be. She could be who she was and do what she enjoyed—tattoos and all—and not be looking over her shoulder. Dave had awakened something within her that unleashed who she really was. She didn't want to lose that and the longer she stayed in Prescott and hid from him and her fears the more she endangered their relationship.
Orianne wasn't going to solve it all in those few moments and tucked the article in the shoebox. A dark shadow passed over her and she glanced up to see the beginning clouds of a thunderstorm. She was going to have to pack up early but didn't want to leave. She promised herself a few more minutes and leaned back on the saddle, deeply inhaling the scent of the ozone change. She loved the smell and feel of thunderstorms. Her brother had teased her as a kid that she was a natural lightning rod with all the metal screws, plates, and joints in her leg. Despite knowing better, she had never stayed out in a thunderstorm to enjoy it because of that childish, unfounded fear.
She raised her head when she heard the hum of a car engine. Before it crested the hill, she knew it was the Range Rover from the rumble. Quickly checking her phone for any missed calls, her stomach dropped over why Orrin or her father would be coming out here to find her. If they personally had to come, that meant something bad had happened. Because of the nature of their ranch, anyone could easily get hurt if they didn't take caution and suddenly she was scared that Olivia had been hurt. Maybe something had happened to Dave and they were coming to get her. A wave of nausea rolled her stomach and she quickly stood at the approach of the gray vehicle…but it was Dave in the driver's seat and he was alone.
Orianne was at the door the second the Range Rover stopped. "Is everything okay?" she breathlessly asked.
"Not really," he replied through the open window as he slipped out of the car. "You're not home. So, no, everything is not okay."
"Dave Batista, you scared the hell out of me," she replied, holding a hand to her heart. "I thought something was wrong with Olivia or Dad and you come out here joking—wait, what are you doing out here?"
"I've come to talk you into coming back home."
"I'm coming back."
"When?" he asked, fixing her with a look that demanded an answer.
"Next weekend, maybe, or the one after that. I don't know," she replied, ignoring the low rumble of thunder in the distance.
"And that's why I'm here. What's going on, Ori?" With an exhausted sigh, she leaned up against the passenger door of the vehicle. He turned to face her and placed his palms against the windows at one either side of her shoulders. "Tell me what it is. We promised to trust each other and you're not trusting me with whatever is going on."
Those words stung and everything she had been thinking tumbled out. She finished with a shrug of her shoulders. "It'll all come together eventually."
"It'll all come together now," he replied, pulling her back against his chest and twining his fingers in hers. They both saw the lightning over the ridge but Dave wasn't going to lose this moment and continued, "I'll be honest with you. I hated having to step back so you could do what you had to do over the past three weeks. It was hard not bodyslamming anybody that believed you were still happily married." He could feel her back vibrate against his chest with her laugh. "But it doesn't change anything. So what that you got stuck legally as his wife? You're not now. It's unfortunate it ended that way but it did and we've got to move on. You know why I'm so possessive of you?"
"I hope it has something to do with loving me and not afraid I'll cheat on you."
Dave chuckled and then responded, "It's because I love you so much. I'm making up for all that lost time when I couldn't tell everybody that you were my girl and I'm so proud to be with you."
"Don't think for once that I don't feel the same way," she replied, bringing his hand up to kiss his knuckles. "I didn't stop everyone from calling me Sloan's widow not because I wasn't proud of you or because I didn't love you."
"I know that and I don't want to ever use that—'Sloan's widow'—between us again." He carefully turned her around towards the sideview mirror and pushed it out so that they could see themselves, the lightning still off in the distance. "You are more than that. That's a past life now. The woman that makes up Orianne Thomas is so much more. She's a rebel, a photographer, secretly loves music that would make her mother blush, doesn't care that she can't dance worth crap but does it anyhow." She couldn't help but giggle and raised a hand to stroke the dark stubble on his cheek. His voice then grew serious. "She's strong, independent, but craves intimacy. She's beautiful, smart, fiercely loyal. She's my lover and maybe one day my wife when she heals because she loves so hard that she's easily hurt. She loves the little things, like wanting to celebrate anniversaries with her boyfriend. Is that who you see?"
A smile spread out across her face. "With your help, I can," she replied and twisted in his embrace to face him, her arms around his neck. "God, I love you."
"I love you because you are who you are," he replied, brushing her lips with his. "Do you know what today is?"
"Uh-uh," she answered, shaking her head.
"It's our anniversary." She furrowed her brow in response and he continued. "A year ago today, we made love for the first time."
Her mind processed the statement and then she grinned. "That's true. We have to commemorate—" She suddenly stopped as fat raindrops began pelting them. "Help me get the saddle in the Rover," she asked, extracting herself from his arms and jogging to where the tack, a blanket, and saddle bags where spread across the ground. They darted back and forth between the car and the gear until it was all inside, barely damp.
"What about your horse?" he asked, the two of them standing under the open hatchback to stay dry.
"Athena couldn't care less," she replied as a thunderclap sounded and the horse only looked up as if she was annoyed.
"How do we get her back? Tie her to the car?"
Orianne couldn't help but laugh. "Sorry, you can't do that. We can wait out the rain or I can ride her back now and get wet. Wouldn't be the first time."
"You were talking about commemorating the occasion," Dave mused. "You know how we have a thing about the rain."
"You're not suggesting…" she began as he pulled the blanket out of the vehicle. "You are so horny in public."
"We're not in public, baby," he replied with a suggestive grin and tugged her out into the downpour. The blanket was almost impossible to spread but he managed to get it down.
As he tugged at her wet t-shirt, she asked, "Do you want to know what I see?"
"I'm listening," he replied, his face nuzzled in between her breasts.
"I see a guy who wants people to think he's a rebel but is really a homebody…" she explained as she unbuttoned his shirt and punctuated each phrase with a kiss. "…he's a committed wrestler because he loves his job and his fans, he makes no bones about liking music with cusswords, he dances even though the only rhythm he has in the bedroom." Her words faltered for a moment as Dave undid her bra and palmed her now free breasts, his intense eyes never leaving her face. "He's devastatingly handsome with a grin that makes any woman throw her panties at him." He chuckled and she undid his belt buckle to slide it out of its loops. "He has so much passion it often gets him in trouble, he wants people to think he's independent and doesn't need intimacy, but inside he longs for it. He's my lover and because he is absolutely perfect, right down to remembering anniversaries…" She paused as he unzipped her jeans and began tugging the difficult, wet fabric down her legs. "…I think I wouldn't have a problem with him being my husband some time in the future when he too has healed and believes in himself." She was already pulling at his black dress pants as she stepped out of her jeans.
While Dave was intent on proving to her how much every word he said was true, she was doing the same. They submitted one to another; the foreplay almost as gratifying as their finally coming together. The electricity of the storm swirled around them, fueling their desire. He brought her to the brink over and over, only to pull back to draw out the pleasure as long as possible. She tried to take matters into her own hands but he would make her beg for him to fill her completely. With the thunder rumbling away in the distance, leaving a cleansed world in its wake, they found that intense physical completion of a spiritual yearning.
Satiated, the couple lay on the soaking wet blanket, the rain sliding off their hot bodies. They watched the lightning streak across the sky and let the mysterious wonder of thunderstorms pass over them while they talked about her coming back home.
"I know what I want to put in the frame," she announced, wiping a puddle of rain from his taut stomach from the light droplets that were falling from the clouds breaking up. "I think a mirror would be perfect."
"Why is that?" he asked as she propped herself up to look at him.
"So we can remind ourselves of who we are." She leaned down to kiss him and then straightened up, looking at the rays of sunlight starting to filter through. "The storm's over. Wanna go home?"
FINI!
Author's Notes: Well, it's over. I hope you enjoyed. This is one of my least reviewed fics so I don't exactly know how well it went.
Thank you to everyone who read and especially who reviewed: WandaXmaximoff, shannygoat, our-goodbye, Randylover12, tanya2byour21, TheRealKellyAnne, New York Chica, dcstar408, IMissPadfoot, nic-002001, and X.x.XJodsterX.x.X. (If I left anyone out, my apologies--just let me know.)
A special thanks to Clare (WandaXmaximoff, ID: 747588). Clare read both this fic and Stillshot before I posted them, giving me invaluable advice and much encouragement.
Speaking of WandaXmaximoff, she and I are in the process of a co-written fic that is almost complete. Look for it under her account or mine in the near future. It will feature both Cena and Batista.
Also, if you enjoyed Batista and Ori, you might like my Blessed, Not Unlucky, which features Dave as well. I am in the process of writing a sequel for it but I don't know how long it'll be before I post it. Clare wrote a fic that borrowed my OFC Cheryl from Blessed and it spurred me to write more of Dave and Cheryl. Btw, Clare's fic is The Fine Line Between Love and Hate (ID: 3099527). And she is also in the process of writing a sequel (When Love and Hate Collide) that my Blessed sequel will spin off from.
Anyhow, the co-written fic and the sequel to Blessed may be the last you see of me for a while. I'm too close to starting to study for my preliminary exams to become a Ph.D. candidate and there's not enough reviewer response to spend study time on writing more wrestling fics beyond these two. I know that sounds very negative and bitter but I promise it's not. I'm just not in a good place in life to have time to write much.
Thanks to everybody for getting this far! Love and kisses! (Bonus points for knowing where that came from.)