Title: Golden
Author: Nakeno

Disclaimer: I do not claim to know the people who play these copyrighted characters or anything about their privates lives. So this is all bullshit. I don't own them. I don't own anything, actually. No, for real... I'm still making payments on this computer. So don't sue.

Rating: Uh... R. I guess. For... some disturbing images maybe? *shrug*

Characters: Christian, Jericho, mentions of Trish Stratus

Pairing: Christian/Jericho. Kinda.

Warnings: Implied slash, creepy obsessiveness, and no beta (yeah, I think that belongs in the warnings section.)

Summary: Someone has resolved to save someone whether he likes it or not. Or is he just trying to rationalize himself through some old fashion jealousy? So you can shine... divine.

Written to:
"Golden Boy" by Natalie Merchant
Top of the fold, toast of the town, everyone stops when you come around.
They hold their breath for you.
Heroes are born, idols are made.
We're all fools for this factory fame and you've got the brand new face.
You've got the brand new face, golden boy.

Beauty untamed, stupid and wild, poster boy, you're society's child.
Cut your teeth, cut your mouth, cut it out.
Meteor rise from obscurity.
All it took was a killing spree and the whole world was lying at your feet,
golden boy.

I know my place, stick to my lines, stay in your shadow, don't block your light.
So you can shine divine.
So you can shine... divine, golden boy.

-------------------------------------------------------

Golden. It's golden, the sun. It's like thick slabs of butter over the front seating. Golden and wide and skillet-warm too, making the upholstery comfortable, agreeable. I can feel it heating, tanning my arm that rests on the open window of my door.

It's sinking toward the horizon, but it won't be dark yet too soon. It's still balancing on the spires of the trees. I'm for some reason reminded of the blank yellow disk of a child's painted picture. What a pale facsimile they are...

The wind is teasing the pages of a book that's been jammed up between the windshield and the dashboard. It's worn around the edges but the spine is pristine. He wouldn't do that. It's sort of a "thing" of his. Book spines. He doesn't care at what inconvenient angle he's got to get at to read, that spine will be immaculate when he's done. I know him.

The car tires are whirring at an easy seventy-five over the smooth tarmac and the motion-created wind is bursting through his open window, dancing with his hair, drawing and whipping it about his sleeping face before rushing out my side, the driver's side.

His head is tilted back over the headrest, face tilted upward, wispy strands of hair caught in a corner of his slightly parted mouth. One of his hands is turned palm-up on the seating, fingers curled and lax in his sleep.

I wonder if he's dreaming. I wonder what he's dreaming. I wonder if he's dreaming of her.

That thought makes me adjust my grip on the steering wheel.

My eyes have been trained as well as a tennis devotee's, ping-ponging between road and passenger regularly. In this quiet, unguarded moment of solitude I observe him. Know him.

She'll take him, I know. Instead of stepping aside gracefully... I'll usher him away, fill his mind with doubt, with distractions. I'll rant, I'll confuse. I'll use whatever tricks I have and invent a few more to keep him here. Keep him clean. Through it all I wanna keep him clean even if I have to get dirty. He's so hung up on her... It'll be hard. He doesn't seem to see the danger she poses. What is she to him that I am not?

A friend? I am that. A partner? I am that. An adviser? I am that. A nice piece of ass? I can be that, man or not. All he has to do is ask.

Is it her lips? Her breasts? Her hair? ...Maybe I shouldn't have cut my own. Maybe he yearns to slide his fingers in thick tresses as he kisses... as he touches. I do-... I don't *know*! I wish I *knew*! I couldn't ask. I dare not.

But, still...

There's not a section of me I'm not willing to give. Not a piece I'm not willing to sacrifice. Doesn't he see? Doesn't he see that?

Everything I am. At a word. A *word*. I'd gladly core myself for him. And happily. Bloodily and happily. If that is what he wants.

He needs me. He does. Needs my support, my help. He needs me there to collapse against. Needs me to be there for him. Just like he was for me... I will hold him where she would surely crumble beneath the weight. Not that she'd ever put herself in that position. Who are we kidding here?

She'd let him fall, I know. Fall. A dead weight to the mucky ocean floor. ...He doesn't deserve that.

Don't you see, Chris? Don't you see how she absorbs? How she wants to take that light you give off? How she wants to take it into herself? Draw and draw upon it until she even swallows the source itself. Until she swallows you whole.

Swallows. You. Whole.

How can you shine within her?

You couldn't. You can't. And you deserve to shine. *Always.*

I'd never take that shine from you. Not ever.

I just want to hold you up as you are. So brilliant. So golden. For the world. My golden boy.

You showed me my inner light, how to shine, how to set it free. Now I'm gonna make sure you keep your own. M'gonna fight for it. Gonna fight for you. I'm bracing for the deluge. Holding my breath and waiting for the flood, waiting for you to *see*. God, I hope you do. And soon. Before it's too late, y'know. Gonna fight for you, Chris. I honestly believe it's the least I can do.

My eyes are on him when he begins to move, to shift. His brow crinkles almost irritably and he draws his head up groggily as if it must weigh a hundred pounds. I allow my eyes to go back to the stretches of asphalt, my fingers tapping soundlessly on the wheel.

"How long have I been out?" His voice is scratchy, sleep-rough. He's squinting in the sun and wind.

"About two hours."

"Oh." And he rubs the sleep from his eye with a curled finger, pulls at the hair that had slipped into his open mouth. "You okay over there?"

I have to smile a little before I respond, my eyes on the road. "...Golden."

-The End-