Ok, this is just a quick one shot written in about an hour. It was born of my overwhelming rage and frustration that the whole damn WWF turns face, yet Xpac still gets taunted.
Beware spoilers - Invasion 7/22/2001
What did I do?
Takers POV
I watch the monitor in disbelief as my lover makes his way to the ring. The whole fucking company turns face but still they boo him. I try to remain optimistic hoping they’ll get behind him once the match gets underway, but it is not to be. The arena rings with ‘Xpac sucks’ chants and I know, even though he’s never admitted it, it hurts him. I know it must cut deeper this time. It’s one thing for the crowd to hate you when you’re the bad guy, it’s another thing entirely when they hate you when you’re supposed to be one of the good guys.
If it wasn’t clear before, this hammers home, more than anything else, the fact that they don’t just hate the character, they hate the man. I wish I could tell them all to go fuck themselves. They don’t even know him, but somehow, for some reason, the hatred has become personal in a way that I’ve never seen before, in all my years in the business. I watch him grow frustrated with the crowd, and I watch him do high-risk moves, that he shouldn’t be doing with his vulnerable neck. Does the crowd appreciate it? No. Still they boo. To top it all off he has to job to Kidman and be the first WWF guy to lose.
After the match he makes his way to the back and I go to him. My first concern is for his physical well being. "Baby, are you ok? You didn’t hurt your neck, did you?" I ask him.
He grins up at me and shakes his head, "nah the necks fine. I think my ego may be a little bruised though." He says it lightly but his eyes tell me much more than his words. I see the hurt and frustration in them that he’s trying so hard to keep hidden.
I pull him into my arms and kiss him gently. "It was a good match Babe," I tell him.
He stiffens slightly in my arms but says only, "thanks. I’m gonna go shower. I’ll see you after your match." He gives me a quick kiss and then he slips away.
I watch him go, trying to control my own anger and frustration. I want to protect him from this, but I can’t. Fuck.
Xpac’s POV
I stand in the shower willing the warm water to soothe not only my aching muscles, but to wash away the frustration I feel.
It’s not that I mind playing the bad guy, I like it even, but this is just becoming a little beyond belief. This is personal. For reasons beyond my understanding tens of thousands of people who don’t even know me, hate me. Not Xpac, they hate ME. I don’t get it. What have I done that is so much worse than anything any of the other heels have done?
Take Austin, he beats up the Hardys, Lita, and the announcers, aligns with Vince, but still they cheer him. Hell, I bet even with the swerve tonight he won’t get a fraction of the heat that a heel should get.
Angle. He insults the fans in every city we go to and has his head so far up Vince’s ass it will have to be surgically removed, and still they cheer him.
And Hunter, hell, what’s the point, the fans who don’t cheer him already want to so badly that his face turn is inevitable. The fans are gonna make it happen whether the writers deem it so or not.
So I ask again, what did I do that was so bad? Betray Kane and steal his girlfriend? That was almost two years ago. The worst thing I’ve done in the last eight months is cheating a little to win. Even the Babyfaces do that now and again.
I shake my head as I rinse the shampoo from my hair trying to rid myself of this self pity and refusing to give in to the tears that threaten to escape my control.
I finish my shower and dress slowly before going to join the rest of the guys to watch the main event, all the while pretending that I’m unaffected by the hatred.
Takers POV
As soon as Page and I make our way to the back and the camera stops I go to look for Sean. I find him with the rest of the boys in back watching the match and his relief when he sees me makes my heart break for him. He may have everyone else fooled into thinking he’s fine but one look at him tells me he’s ready to crack. I take his hand and pull him toward the locker room, "come on Babe. Let’s get our stuff and get out of here, I’ll shower when we get back to the hotel."
He tries to protest, "Mark, we should probably stay for the post show meeting."
I don’t know who he’s trying to convince, himself or me but I’m not falling for it. "The hell with that, I’m tired, you’re tired, it’s been a hell of a day and if we don’t get out of here soon I’m liable to hurt somebody."
He doesn’t say anything, just nods his head in agreement but I see the relief in his eyes again. All I want is to get him out of here, and away from this, we grab our things and head to the car silently.
As we drive to the hotel he makes small talk, commenting on the matches of the night and I answer automatically. I’m not really listening, I’m too busy trying to figure out what’s going on in his head. I can see the tension written all over his face, a tension I was hoping to ease by getting him out of the arena. He’s a strong man, stronger than most people realize, but this is affecting him much more than he’s willing to admit.
When we get back to our hotel room I take a quick shower and when I emerge Sean’s lying on the bed clad only in his boxers staring blankly at the ceiling. I climb into bed next to him and turn his head to mine and plant a gentle kiss on his lips. "Wanna talk about it?" I ask.
He starts to say there’s nothing to talk about, but the look on my face must have stopped him because he sits up slightly before looking at me with pleading wide brown eyes and quietly asking me, "tell me the truth Mark, do I wrestle that bad?"
Shit, I’ve never known him to doubt his abilities before and I won’t have it now. I take his face between my hands and look at him intently, "now you listen to me Sean don’t you start doubting yourself. Your one of the best in the business, if you weren’t you wouldn’t be part of the company. Those fans that jeer you are nothing more than fucking idiots who, if cornered and asked, probably couldn’t even give a reasonable explanation as to why they don’t like you."
He smiles sadly at me, "you know those fans are the same ‘fucking idiots’ that take the roofs off the arenas cheering you."
"God damn Pavlov dogs," I answer, "they cheer me because they’ve been trained to and when the writers decide to truly turn you face again, they’ll be trained to cheer you again too."
He shakes his head at me, "you hear them Mark, it’s not just about the character, they hate ME."
I don’t know how to answer him because I know he’s right. So I do the only thing I can think of. I turn off the light, lay down and pull him close to me. "It’s a pity they don’t know you like I do," I tell him, "because if they did they’d have every reason to love you."
He snuggles into my embrace and curls his body around mine resting his head on my shoulder, "I love you Mark."
"I love you too Sean," I answer, "more than you could ever know."
A few minutes later I realize he’s doing something that in all the years I’ve known him, I’ve never known him to do.
He’s crying.
Not body racking sobs, just silent tears that I wouldn’t know were falling were it not for the wet evidence on my chest and the occasional barely audible sniffle. I hold him tightly wishing I could take his pain away, and struggle to control the tears that cloud my own eyes when I hear him whisper, "what did I do to make them hate me so?"
I have no answer for him.
"I don’t know Baby. I just don’t know."
End