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halogensleep · 6 years

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the weary road (that leads me back to you)

On the long and weary road towards glory and all the obstacles that get in the way, Becky finally realises that maybe the traveller she walked with along the path was the real victory all along. (fifteen-thousand words, give or take)

The news came in the early hours of morning, or at least it tried.

The phone rang and Becky ignored it on the first occasion, instead she tossed her hip over and snuggled a pile of blankets where a long, lithe body once used to lay beside her. The second time it rang, she rubbed her bleary eyes in exasperation and peered at the bright screen, just about registering the ungodly time and who exactly was calling. She clicked the phone to silent and placed it back down, partly because she was tired, and partly because there was never any good news to be discovered from work phone calls that came in the wee hours of morning.

Despite her best efforts to fall back asleep, the worry began to eat at her. She rolled on her back and gave in to the universe, snatching the phone off the nightstand with one hand while she pushed herself upright with the other. She clicked Shane’s name in her contacts and counted the rings as the phone tried to connect.

It only took one and a bit before her boss was on the phone.

“Your match tomorrow with Charlotte for the championship is off,” Shane cleared his throat as if he had been crying, or maybe just trying his hardest not to. “You’re going to be facing Carmella instead.”

“Care to fill in the blanks?” Becky grumbled with sleep lingering in her voice.

“No,” Shane said, aloof. “I think that’s for Charlotte to explain.”

“Is everything alright?” Becky mumbled in confusion.

“You should call her in the morning.” Shane left it at that.

***

Orlando, Florida. It was a place filled with two types of people, the young and the old, exclusively. People at the beginning of their lives, and people at the end. That was the natural order of things. That was how the beaches were filled, the coffee shops, the shopping malls, even down to the elevators whizzing up and down the endless condominium buildings that hugged the city.

It made no sense in her mind how one moment Charlotte could be part of the latter, and now, gut wrenchingly, in the blink of an eye, the former. That was what the doctors had to say about it, or so Becky had heard through the grapevine. It had been two weeks and still, she did not know how to pick up the phone first.

She had finished the house show in Atlanta and headed straight for the airport with the intention of flying back to Los Angeles, somewhat determined to make the most of her three days off before she headed to television on Tuesday. The belt had been dropped to Carmella at the pay-per-view two weeks previously, and despite her best efforts, in the deepest part of her stomach where the muscles wrapped around secrets like spiderwebs, Becky was grateful regardless of the circumstances that she didn’t have to drop the title to Charlotte as originally planned.

She didn’t know how to make sense of that realisation, it was one that shocked and horrified her in equal measure, had her chewing the inside of her mouth in confusion and repulsion whenever she thought about it too hard. That wasn’t how good people felt or thought, and she didn’t want to contemplate what the alternative meant.

She finally came to the conclusion, sat in an empty airport lounge of all places, that it was simply because her body just refused the idea of putting Charlotte over anymore than she had already done. It was an automatic response. An instinctive defense. The early days of her career was spent putting the Nature Girl over and the thought of dropping the belt so Charlotte could become the most decorated female Superstar of all time? It didn’t sit well with her.

The small fact of their on-again-off-again relationship and all the unresolved feelings that went hand in hand might have had something to do with it too, maybe.

Becky tried not to think too hard about the contradiction that was her feelings, or that with each passing day it became increasingly unlikely she would ever get to step in a ring again with the big blonde nuclear bomb, or that the one person she desperately wanted to talk to about how devastating and confusing it all felt was the only person she couldn’t pick up the phone to.

Becky just sighed and gave in to the universe once more. The Delta counter was trod back to, the customer care lady was argued with for a bit, and after a little back and forth, the flight was changed. The next thing Becky knew, it was two in the morning and the wheels were touching down at Orlando International Airport.

Even as she stood around while the taxi driver fought with his trunk to fit all of her bags in, Becky still didn’t know how to pick up the phone, how to process that this was all happening.

It was the thought of Charlotte looking sick that did it, the thought of those big, powerful shoulders that could launch women twice her size up in the air now withered and frail. Her cornflower blue eyes becoming permanently bloodshot and slightly grey. Then there was her spine, undoubtedly her best work, the muscles either side thick and perfect for drawing fingers along in the early hours of morning when the world was quiet and everything was alright. Becky didn’t want to imagine her stooped over with all of the dips of her vertebrae on show, but that was exactly how she pictured her. And it terrified the parts of herself that she had thought were ironclad and impenetrable.

The more she dwelled, the more horrifying it all became. And that was how she passed the time as the car pulled through the city towards Charlotte’s place. One moment picturing her dying, the next, infuriated that she was forced to suffer it.

When the taxi driver finally found the apartment building that contained the best and worst memories of Becky’s life, she had him drive around the block at least four times just so she could straighten out in her head the things she would say. It dawned on her that considering it was three-thirty in the morning she should probably have the decency to start with, ‘Sorry for waking you up.’ The thought made her crack a smirk, which in turn only made her more guilty.

“Are you ready?” The taxi-driver pulled in beside the building. “It’s very late, I would like to soon go home.” His English was slightly broken.

“I’m thinking the same thing, Mohamed.”

“Well, where is home for you?” He looked at his watch and pushed out a sigh, slightly frustrated with the woman in his back seat.

“Dublin, Ireland?”

“I can’t drive you there. Too much water.”

“Fair point,” Becky agreed with a slight nod. “Los Angeles?” She half-joked.

“I have a cousin in Los Angeles. Very nice weather.”

“Mhm,” Becky nodded.

“Too far to travel though, nice weather here too when there is no hurricanes. Maybe you should take chance?” He glanced at the apartment building. “Hurricane season not for another two months?”

Becky offered a rueful smile. It was always hurricane season when her and Charlotte were in the same room. That was the way they operated, violent and cataclysmic like a storm that stamped out anything in their paths, each other too - most of the time.

She relented with a sigh and grabbed her purse, resolute and ready to get this all over with.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said, pushing a generous tip in his hand.

“I’ll keep the car running for a few minutes,” Mohamed nodded to himself and pocketed the tip. “Just in case you change mind. I take you back to airport.”

“Thanks,” Becky sighed with relief and got out of the car.

At least she had a getaway plan if the hurricane currently asleep upstairs did blow her way. Or, worst case scenario—depending on how angry Charlotte felt about being woken up—a tag-team partner if Mohamed knew what was good for him.

Becky wrestled her bags into the foyer, then the elevator. She hit the floor and the car moved too slowly for her liking, the incessant buzz of the fluorescent light in the ceiling did nothing to soothe her last frayed nerve. Ten months and maintenance still hadn’t fixed it. She would write a strongly worded letter in the morning, or at least she thought to herself before remembering she was no longer on the bills. Strange how easy it was too forget but not entirely unanticipated, she knew she hadn’t quite unlearned how to be Charlotte’s partner just yet. Even with months of silence between them, it was still so easy to care beneath her supposed hatred.

When the elevator finally came to a rest and the metal doors opened, Becky blinked and seriously thought about checking to see if Mohamed was still out front. Her feelings were becoming less complicated by the second, the urge to be Charlotte’s worried girlfriend all the more palpable. She didn’t know how to manage any of it. Of course she knew it would happen, that she would cave, that she would feel too much and want to be all the things she couldn’t, but it didn’t make the realisation any easier to swallow.

She walked the cream painted hallway towards the door at the end of the corridor, and if she had anticipated having a moment to collect herself before she rang the bell, she was mistaken. She had barely set her bags down on the floor before the front door swung open with gust.

“Oh,” Charlotte stalled and pulled her headphones down, her expression becoming confused. “What are you doing here?”

Becky blinked and didn’t know how to process what was in front of her. Charlotte was stood in workout gear, a pair of yoga pants and a zip up Nike jacket that was still in the process of being pulled on. The thick muscles in her shoulders were safe and intact, as was everything else by the quick once over of Becky’s eyes. She breathed a sigh of relief and didn’t know what to say.

“Becks,” Charlotte leaned forward with a small smile and lowered her voice. “My apartment. You’re here. What’s going on?”

“You’re dying,” Becky blinked a few times and her expression became sharper the more she thought about the audacity of it. “You’re supposed to be dying and you’re going for a light jog at three-thirty in the morning!” She snapped.

“Well thank you for reminding me, I almost forgot.” Charlotte gave a slight sarcastic nod. “Sorry to spoil your big ‘The Fault In Our Stars’ moment but I couldn’t sleep and I felt like doing circuits.” She shrugged.

“Circuits?!” Becky balked and ushered her in. “You’re ridiculous, you’re so ridiculous it is beyond belief!” She dragged her bags inside and glared at her ex-girlfriend. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” She shook her head and closed the front door.

“That is rich coming from the woman who hasn’t picked up the phone in two weeks!” Her stare became intense.

“Oh don’t you dare,” Becky wanted to shove her. “I had to find out from the company that you’re sick, can you even begin to imagine—”

“Did you seriously fly across the country to chew me out over this?” Charlotte raised an impressed brow, her lips forming into a tight smirk.

Less than a minute together and they were already back in the swing of things. It irritated the part of Becky’s brain that wanted an adjustment period, craved for it even. But, apparently, in the most abstract sense of the word, there was still an affinity between them. Go figure, she chewed on it bitterly.

“I…” Becky became stuck and slightly guilty. “I’m not sure. I haven’t figured it out yet.” She hung her leather jacket on the peg and strolled into the kitchen.

“Hey, no-no-no!” Charlotte huffed and was quick on her tail through the hallway. “You’re not staying, no way!”

“Oh be consistent!” Becky bristled and grabbed a mug out of the cupboard. “Is it my ‘The Fault In Our Stars’ fantasy or yours? Can’t even make myself a cup of tea without you assuming I’m moving in to nurse you off the end of the mortal coil. You do realise I’ve been travelling through the night? My mouth is drier than a sandpaper arsehole.”

Charlotte laughed, which was an unexpectedly bold move. Becky lowered her chin and shook her head slightly as she stuck the kettle on, aware that none of this was going to plan.

“I guess it’s good to see you,” Charlotte ruefully smiled. “Outside of a professional capacity, I mean.”

“You too.”

Charlotte tilted her head. “If that’s your way of saying you missed me…”

“It’s my way of saying it’s good to see you too,” The Man said a little more sternly on the matter, not ready to admit such bold things.

“Well alright,” Charlotte said quietly, her smile barely dampening. “You must have been pretty worried to fly out here on your weekend off?”

“Not really,” Becky lied and grabbed the kettle as it began to steam. “You having one?” She nodded to the box of tea bags on the counter.

“Four sugars, milky.”

“You’ll get two sugars and a dash of milk, and you’ll be grateful for it.” Becky shot her a disbelieving look, suddenly more irritated by her determination to ruin the classic cup of tea than her impending mortality. “Four sugars.” She complained with a shocked shake of the head. “Absolute shame of my life.”

“I see you’re still just as dramatic.” Charlotte rolled her eyes and sat at the breakfast bar.

“Rich, coming from you.” Becky eyed her and quietly dumped three sugars in the drink as a compromise. “So when are you getting a second opinion? Have you talked to specialists?” She pushed a mug of tea that was far too milky for her own sensibility across the breakfast bar.

Charlotte blew it and then slurped too loudly. “Been there, done that.” She offered a half-smile. “This train only has one stop left, kid.”

“Fine, a third opinion?” Becky tried again.

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

“That’s not cute.”

“I didn’t mean it like—” Becky stopped and grinded her jaw. “Please, just go and get a third opinion? If it’s a money thing—” She already knew it wasn’t. “I’ll pay.”

“Let me think about it,” Charlotte softly lied, and Becky knew as much too from the telltale wrinkle of her nose. “I watched your match with Carmella the other weekend by the way, it wasn’t half bad.” The subject was promptly changed.

“Would have been a better match with you. The girl doesn’t have a moonsault in her even if I flipped her off the top turnbuckle myself,” Becky managed a compliment, her heart strings pulling a bit.

“If I could have lied for a few more days and made the match I would have.” Charlotte nodded regretfully. “The company paid for the second opinion. When the bad news came back they vetoed the whole match, but you already know that part.” She pushed a slow, small smile.

“Bastards, the lot of them.” Becky shook her head. “God forbid you take a hit to the head and then what? You die a little bit faster? You’re a big girl, you should get to make your own decisions.” She stood straighter.

“Thank you, I think?” Charlotte raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry if that was a little too pointed.”

“Well for what it’s worth, I’m sorry this thing is going to kill me long before you do. I know it’s been a goal of yours for quite some time.”

“Shut up.”

“Touched a nerve?” Charlotte smirked.

“A year ago we were backflipping through tables from the top of a cage and I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alive, just the two of us.” Becky huffed in exasperation, eyes stinging and voice beginning to wobble. “For a hot minute I was glad I didn’t have to drop my title to you, and, well, now?” The words wouldn’t come. She looked at the cupboards, then looked at the ceiling, drumming her fingers across her lips. “Sorry,” she whispered.

There it was, Becky realised as the horrible, aching sting in her throat had to be pushed down and ignored. The truth. The premeditated grief. The realisation that all of those times they fought, argued, hated each other, and earned bruises the hard way around, those were the best days of their lives.

And even though they pretended like they knew it at the time - they never did. It was all pretense and posture, for Becky, at least.

Instead it took a cross-country pilgrimage at three-thirty in the morning to see a woman she swore she’d never love again for as long as she lived to realise just how lovely and wonderful it all was, that maybe, perhaps, those days were the real victory all along.

“Hey you,” Charlotte hushed and waved her hand slightly. “It’s all good, if we’re being completely honest with each other, well, I’m pretty screwed up about the whole thing too.” Her expression became heavy, that permanent, slight smile petering into a downcast look. “But, we’ll always have Evolution, and that should count for something, right?” She tried to seem upbeat.

“I really don’t want you to die,” Becky blurted dumbly with a devastated look. “Out of the top five rudest things you’ve ever done, that would take up at least three spaces on the list.”

“I always was the first to leave a party, babe.” She tempered into a sigh. “No point in crying about it now.”

Becky struggled to think of something equally profound to say in turn. “I don’t know what parties you’ve been going to without me then but it usually takes four of us to drag you away from a cheese fondue pot to go home. Try to make sense with your analogies, please.” She bristled.

“You’re so stupid,” Charlotte said quietly with the most heart-eyed, loving expression.

“Mhm.” Becky nodded and ignored the urge to fall into the same old trap. “So, how long?” She didn’t want to know but felt as though she should ask.

“A man usually has to buy me dinner first before I start answering questions like that…” Charlotte peered at her mug and swirled the drink slightly.

“So it’s worse than I think it is?”

“Well, define how bad you think it is?”

“Three years?” Becky became bird-mouthed.

Charlotte didn’t reply.

“Two years, then?” It earned no response. “How long are we talking?” Becky’s voice became quiet and furious.

It felt as though all of it were Charlotte’s fault, as if she was decidedly doing this to her. The selfishness of her feelings didn’t go amiss but Becky was stuck and drowning in them regardless. She was so close to escaping Charlotte, so close to being free of loving her, or so she thought. Then the big blonde idiot had to go and do this.

Becky just hung her head and felt her chest shudder.

“That doesn’t matter,” Charlotte whispered and set down her drink with a quirk of her lips. “Go and put your sweatpants on, we’re going downstairs to the gym.” She sighed, resolute.

“No, we’re not. It’s nearly four in the morning and I only slept an hour on the plane.” Becky grimaced.

“Worried the dying lady will still kick your ass?”

“Well what’s the point in worrying over the truth?” Becky managed a compliment.

“Well shucks,” Charlotte gently shoved her shoulder. “I didn’t know you remembered how to be nice, it’s very attractive on you.”

Becky just smirked and shook her head in disbelief.

“Hurry up, sweatpants on and sneakers too. I want at least two dozen burpees before I go back to bed.” Charlotte stretched out her arms.

“God I hate you,” Becky murmured.

She got up and strolled back towards her bags in the hallway where her sweats were no doubt balled up in the last case she would think to look in.

“Hate you too.” She heard Charlotte softly mutter.

Again, it earned a small smirk and a shake of the head.

…

The plan, if ever there was one, was to stay for maybe a day and no longer. Becky only realised how badly she screwed the whole thing up once Monday morning rolled around and it was time to fly back home ready for television.

The weekend had been filled with a few work out sessions, a couple of arguments, one or two honest declarations of their feelings, and a dash of relief that Charlotte’s health wasn’t failing just yet, or at least on the surface of things.

There were approximately three kisses over the weekend, two of which followed quickly after one another during a late-night argument that came to blows. The other one was softer and more embarrassing, needy even. It came after two glasses of wine the night before last, which was apparently all it took to make Becky forget how to maintain her steely composure.

Charlotte had kissed her back gently, warm hands either side of her face and those long eyelashes fluttering incessantly as if she had never laid eyes on another woman before. Despite how much she wanted to keep going, Becky drew a line. She knew it was a bad idea. Charlotte graciously let sleeping dogs lie and didn’t push the matter in the slightest.

In hindsight, Becky realised she should have perhaps thought a bit less hard about it all. The fact she managed to not fall back into bed with her ex was becoming all the less victorious by the passing minute now she was packing up the leave.

Charlotte popped her head around the guest bedroom door and distracted Becky from her thoughts.

“Hurry up. I’ll give you a ride to the airport,” she offered.

“Nah,” Becky replied and zipped up the case. “I don’t need you to do that, it’s alright.” She huffed and hauled the luggage off the bed onto its squeaky wheels.

“I know but I want to,” Charlotte simpered into a warm smile, her fingers drumming the door frame. “We can get coffee on the way? I’ll even let you get a triple shot and I won’t give you a hard time about it. Scouts honour,” she raised three fingers in the air.

“That does sound lovely, actually.” Becky smiled and blew a strand of ginger hair out of her eyes. “Kombucha for you if memory still serves correct?”

“Mmm, double-chocolate frapp with whipped cream and extra drizzle.” A hungry, anticipatory smirk formed at the corner of her lips. “Maybe even a donut. We’ll see what the morning brings.”

“It’s certainly an interesting way to spend a day’s worth of calories, I’ll give you that.” Becky became slightly impressed.

“Gotta enjoy that stuff while I still can.” Charlotte grinned and turned on her feet. “I’ll start taking your bags to the car, don’t be long please…”

“Sure,” Becky muttered and scratched her head, her heart hurting with the reminder that she wouldn’t be around forever.

…

Becky had been drip fed the truth over the course of the day.

Charlotte had been called on six separate occasions over the last month to arrange her retirement announcement and the calls had gone unresponded, which in fairness to her, might have just about been the most utilitarian response possible under the circumstances. Charlotte wasn’t going willingly, not without a damn good fight. Becky expected about as much.

‘They want me to do the honours and give you the chop.’ Becky rewrote the text message at least half-a-dozen times over lunch after she had received the news. ‘Any particular thoughts or feelings?’ She thumbed afterwards.

‘Don’t cross them, do what you have to do.’ Charlotte replied tersely, and that was that.

News had broke about her health on blogging platforms the night before, or at least a version of it that was mostly speculation and rumour. Either way, the world had became aware something was wrong and it made them realise almost overnight just how much they missed and wanted their Queen.

For the first time in longer than Becky could remember, the crowd chanted for Charlotte and they did not stop. She just stood there with the microphone hanging in her hand, blinking and taking it all in. Cheers and woos swarmed together like a cacophony that grew so loud it could be heard for miles. There was no end it sight. The crowd were unrelenting. Each time Becky thought the noise might die down, another chant rippled and swept through the audience.

Becky inhaled a deep breath and lifted the microphone to her lips. It earned brief, interested pull of silence from the crowd.

“As most of you know Charlotte Flair has been absent from Smackdown since she was pulled from Elimination Chamber due to health reasons.” Becky began, her voice echoing around the arena.

She looked at the camera man with his lens peeking through the ropes, well aware that Charlotte was out there, somewhere, watching all of this go down. The thought didn’t sit well with her, there was something too cowardly about retiring her like this.

“I once told you all that there is nothing in this world that I love more than slapping the head off Charlotte Flair—” She realised too late that she just couldn’t do it. Becky hesitated and ruefully smiled, deciding to change tact. “I have no doubt in my mind that The Queen will be back soon enough, and if you’re out there watching, Charlotte Flair, you better believe that I’ll be right here waiting to slap the head off you! Because our story?” Becky nodded sternly and leaned forward to the camera while the crowd went up with excitement. “It isn’t finished yet.”

The telling off once she got backstage would be unreal, The Man already knew it. The shadow rules of this business were simple ones: do your job well, let others do theirs, and never break face in front of the audience. It dawned on Becky that she was failing at all three, simultaneously.

“Until you and I get the chance to dance in this ring again, Charlotte Flair, I need someone to occupy myself with in the meantime...” Becky stared menacingly into the camera, determined to make this look as close to a planned promo as possible. “And who better than the woman who stole my title at Elimination Chamber!” Becky gave her best work, her shoulders and chest puffed out with hubris as she turned to the titantron. “Carmella, you better sleep with one eye open because you’re about to learn the hard way that The Man always comes around, and this time, Carmella, I am coming for you!” Becky scowled and dropped the microphone, clambering out of the ropes to walk the ramp.

By her own estimations, she could have thought of a neater way to end the segment. The confused, sporadic cheers of the audience seemed to agree with the initial self-assessment too.

It dawned on Becky as she made it halfway up the ramp that if she had just stayed in the ring, stoic, pensive, allowing an air of anticipatory silence to fall over the arena, the creative team might have been forced to send Carmella out to answer the threat. It might have even been a way to expedite the process of getting her title back. There was no such thing as true altruism in this world, Nietzsche once said that. Becky thought there might be some truth to it, because even now, sticking her neck on the line, trying to do the decent thing, her own self-interests still brewed beneath her other more noble reasons.

All things considered it was probably for the best she didn’t rock the boat more than she already had done, the thought dawned on her as displeased men in suits murmured their frustrations and watched the replay backstage.

“Big trouble!” Shane McMahon caught her out the corner of his eye and pointed his finger at the little monitor. “You have no idea how much hot water you’re in!”

“You should have asked Ric to do it,” Becky shrugged and didn’t know what else to say.

“I think that might just be about the most selfish thing I have ever heard in my entire life. Shame on you.”

“Fair point,” Becky agreed quietly. “I’m sorry, I wish I had an explanation but I just couldn’t do it to her.” She was at a loss for words.

“The whole picture will leak soon and it won’t be pretty.” Shane chewed and shook his head. “We were trying to get ahead of this whole thing for her. We wanted to contain it. You might walk out of here tonight in her good favors for not ripping the bandaid off but let me tell you something…” He lightly prodded her shoulder. “Loving someone—and I mean really loving someone—is about doing what is best for them no matter how much it might sting.”

Becky inhaled and felt herself swell with emotions too big for her body. “If I had gone out there and told the world she won’t fight again? Well.” She nibbled the inside of her cheek, exasperated and unsure of how to explain those delicate feelings. “I might have had to start believing it myself, Shane. And I’m not ready to do that, not even a little bit.” Becky managed.

Apparently, her self-interests and desire to be noble weren’t the only driving factors. It was fear too, overwhelming fear, terrifying fear, unfair fear, utterly desiccating fear that she would never wrangle for glory with the big blonde idiot again. They were too young to bear the troubles of old women.

“The doctors will never clear her to compete again,” Shane softened a bit into something that resembled sympathy.

“Doesn’t matter, it’s still wrong what you’re all doing to her. That girl has some fight left in her yet, I’m sorry but that’s just my take on it.” Becky shrugged defensively. “If she wants to go out in a blaze of glory then we should give her that much.”

“Maybe asking you to do it wasn’t the brightest idea...” Shane relented. “If you need some time off to deal with all of this…”

“That is the last thing I need.”

“Then tell me what you do need?”

“A title match.”

“You just went rogue on national television and you think I’m in the mood to hand you a title match?” Shane lowered his brow. “Two weeks, you’re taking some time off.”

“You’re sidelining me?”

“I’m telling you to let this die down because the suits upstairs are not going to be happy,” Shane warned. “Call it whatever you like, I don’t give a shit. What I care about is you coming back to work ready to do your job.”

“Can’t you at least put me on the tour?” Becky pouted. “You said the other day that the company needed a bigger pull to fill the house shows, right? I could do that. It would be like a paid vacation.”

Shane sighed, his eyebrows doing the thing. “Let me think about it!” He became exasperated, scratching his head and already aware it wasn’t a good idea.

It wasn’t a good idea, Becky already knew that too. There were few things in this world that seemed less appealing than being sandwiched on an overnight coach across Europe next to Samoa Joe and Rusev, but it was better than the thought of staying at home and letting the small matter of Charlotte Flair devour her alive.

The Smackdown tour would be good for her in that regard, give her some time to escape her problems and focus on more productive things. Hopefully, Shane would come to the same conclusion too.

…

If she had anticipated that the Atlantic Ocean would be big enough to put some space between herself and Charlotte Flair, then she was well and truly mistaken.

“So where exactly are you, again?” Charlotte hummed on the other end of the phone.

Becky rubbed her eyes and thought about it for longer than a second. “Hamburg,” she replied with a sigh and peered out the window of the hotel to the greyish, choppy river that seemed to cradle the entire city. “Where are you tonight?” Becky asked and flopped down on the springy bed.

There was a moment of hesitation.

“The gym,” Charlotte casually lied, her voice straining a bit.

“The one at the hospital or the morgue?” Becky asked quite seriously.

“Hilarious, but yes I’m at the hospital.”

“I can come?” Becky offered instantly and sat up.

“And ruin my street cred? No thank you.”

It wasn’t an easy realisation to swallow but the thought of seeing Charlotte in a hospital bed was unfathomable, and the fact the offer was declined relieved Becky to no end. She sighed and leaned back against the headboard, trying to put it out of her mind.

“Playing tough with the nurses are you?” Becky mused.

“Something like that, sure.”

“You doing okay though?”

“Oh, other than being stuck on a drip? Grand.”

Becky rolled her eyes. “You don’t get to use that word. It’s cultural appropriation,” she smirked into the receiver.

“Well alright,” Charlotte’s voice went quiet, and Becky could tell she was smiling. “Who are you fighting tonight?” She spoke again.

“Asuka, the same answer I’ve given you every night this week.”

“You should use the moonsault.” There were beepy, clinical, hospital sounding noises in the background. “I’m still working on the company for a final farewell match. It would cheer me up in the meantime.”

“I have my own moves,” Becky insisted, a little irritated by the suggestion of putting the Queen over anymore than she already had done. “Why don’t you just focus on not ending up in a chiller before I make it back home?” Charlotte chuckled at that.

“Do what you think is best and I’ll keep an eye on Twitter in case you change your mind. I need to go anyway, call you later?”

“Mhm, sure,” Becky agreed and tried not to be annoyed. “I’ll come and see you when I’m home.”

“I’m already in the hospital, do you have to make me feel worse?” Becky smirked at the cheekiness of it. “I’ll call you later, go be a Superstar.”

“See you,” Becky smiled and hung up.

…

“So, where are you tonight?”

Becky flopped down on the edge of the bath and thought about it, the thin hotel towel wrapped around her steaming, damp skin.

The phone had rang while she was still in the shower. The water was cut off, the hand jammed around the curtain, the counter slapped in search of her cellphone, and instead of letting it go to voicemail like a reasonable person, Becky clambered out with soap still in her eyes and took the phone call.

“Prague,” Becky remembered with a smile. “You would like it here.”

“Eh, I’ve been before. It was too cold.”

“I don’t remember us coming here before?” Becky furrowed her brow.

“You know I have a life beyond you, right?”

“Mhm, whatever you say.”

“Did I catch you in the middle of something by the way?” Charlotte was polite about it.

The water dripped off the end of Becky’s nose, off her shoulders, ran in cool dribbles along her spine that made her shiver. “No,” she lied and wiped her forehead. “I was about to call you too.”

“Missed me then?”

“Something like that.”

“Is this us officially on warm terms?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“How far would you go?” Becky could almost hear the furrow of Charlotte’s brow.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind beating you up in a ring one last time.” Becky grinned at the thought. “Could possibly entertain the idea of going for dinner afterwards if you’re getting your wallet out.”

“Hey, Becky?” It was nervous, remorseful, a confession of her guilt that Charlotte needed removed but didn’t know how to ask. “Thank you, by the way. You know, for not retiring me on Smackdown.”

“If they ask me to do it again I won’t say no,” Becky became slightly stern.

“I know.”

“Good. You heard anything from them?”

“I’m working Shane for one last title match. Either he’s entertaining the idea or just pretending to so that I stop calling his secretary.”

“Now that would be one hell of way to go.” Becky mused with a smile. “Plus, if you get your eighth title then that means, what? I only have to earn another three to knock you off the top spot?” She counted her current six titles on her fingers. “It’s doable. I could be a nine-time world champion.”

“Yeah, yeah. When are you coming home anyway? Feels like you’ve been on the road forever.” It had only been two weeks, but Becky was inclined to agree.

“Thursday. What about you?” Becky leaned forward.

“Got out of hospital last night. I’m currently on my sofa eating leftovers, there’s also a huge cat on my balcony and I don’t know if it’s just the pain medication but I’m inclined to let him in so we can share.”

“Well, I best be going. I wouldn’t want to spoil your jam-packed evening.” Becky chuckled.

“So you’re not going to mention that you used the moonsault in Hamburg?” Charlotte pointed out expectantly. “The GIFs were all over Twitter. I thought we were building up to that?” She chewed a mouthful of food.

Becky closed her eyes in frustration. She wished, just for once, that Charlotte could let her do something nice without it being some grand gesture. It wasn’t a tribute. It wasn’t anything particularly meaningful. Charlotte had asked her to do it, and so she did. It was as simple as that.

“I did the moonsault in Hamburg. There, are you happy now?” Becky nibbled.

“It’s not much but I’ll try to lock the Dis-arm-her in next time I see the outpatient nurse. I can’t promise a GIF will end up on Twitter, though.” Charlotte joked.

“You’re an idiot,” Becky whispered, her voice tender and filled with fondness. “See you around.”

…

“I thought you were flying straight into LAX?” Charlotte answered the phone in surprise. “You should be in the air for what? At least another four hours?”

“Yeah, I know.” Becky sighed. “I had to take a connecting flight, and, well, long story short my connection got cancelled. I thought I’d give you a call while I’m in the cab.”

“Stuck anywhere nice?” Charlotte tried to cheer her up.

Becky looked out of the taxi window, a small smirk forming into her cheeks.

“Not really, no.” The city rose up quickly, the tall highrises hanging over like giants with their heads in the evening clouds. “I had a look on the Marriott app and they’re booked up for the night, I’m heading to a right dive instead.” The exhaustion from travelling made her accent a bit thicker than normal.

“Well.” Charlotte gave a long, thoughtful pause. “You’ve been on the road for two weeks, right? One more night isn’t so bad. You’ll be in Los Angeles by tomorrow afternoon, tops,” she reminded.

“Any news from Shane?” Becky enquired. It had been a week since their last conversation on the matter without any update since.

“Not much. I’ll tell you when I see you,” Charlotte said, aloof. “God knows when that will be, though.”

“Why? You busy?”

“Oh between stealing the neighbour’s cat and working on my lats? Rushed off my feet.” Charlotte joked. “You on the other hand? Television has sucked without you. They’ll need you on the live show to pick things up.”

“You’re probably not wrong there,” Becky mused as her cab pulled slowly along the street and came to a stop. “I’ve just got to the place, wanna stay on the phone?” She balanced it between her ear and her shoulder as she got out of the car.

“Sure, why not.”

The sound of metal things being rifled with in the kitchen stung the static. Becky instinctively pulled her ear away from the sharpness of the noise.

“What are you doing?” She furrowed her brow.

“Getting ready for dinner,” Charlotte replied, absent-minded.

“Oh, well if you’re expecting company…”

“I’m not, I’m just getting ready for dinner. Well, if I can find something to cook that is.”

“Order something on Postmates?” Becky suggested, wrestling her bag out of the boot and on to the pavement. “You like Pad Thai, get that.” She wheeled the luggage into the building.

“Yeah but I’m not sure Mister Bojangles would like Pad Thai.”

“Tell me you didn’t name the cat?” Becky became exasperated, if not slightly amused.

“It suits him, though.”

“Mister Bojangles??” Becky couldn’t quite believe it.

“Listen, I’ve had a lot of time on my hands.”

“Oh I can see that, Cat-nabber!”

“You would like him, he’s mean just like you.”

“Ah,” Becky smiled as the elevator doors dinged open. “So that’s what this is all about.” She dragged her bags inside.

“What?” She almost heard Charlotte wiggle her brows.

“You. You missing me so much you stole and anthropomorphised a cat.” Becky insisted and tucked the phone between her chin and shoulder, slightly unsure if she had pronounced the word correctly. “Listen, whatever helps you sleep at night but I’m fairly certain the HOA is going to have some strong words when they find out about this.”

“I’ve only borrowed him,” Charlotte emphasised with a severe tone. “He goes home every night. You only have to see how much weight he’s gained to figure that out.”

“Great, so now you’re giving the cat diabetes too?”

“Can you not?” Charlotte whined, seeing the funny side a little bit. “You have to be nice to me, I’m sick.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Well, alright.” Charlotte backed away from the point. “He’s on the counter being cute, do you want to see a picture?”

“I would rather stick my head in an oven.” Becky didn’t skip a beat as the elevator doors opened again.

“But his little paws are so tiny and warm,” Charlotte cooed over her stolen cat. “And his little swishy tail—” She couldn’t even form an end to the statement, her voice trailing into a long, crooning noise.

“The neighbour probably knows where he ventures off too.” Becky comforted herself aloud, wandering down the hallway past different doors with her cases in tow.

“If she does then she hasn’t came by. Probably too scared of me.”

“Who isn’t?” Becky grinned and stopped in front of the right door. “You hit like a truck, anyone with basic cable knows that.” She gave three concise knocks against the wood.

“Becky, can you hold on? I think someone is as at my door.”

“Probably Postmates,” Becky whispered.

When the door opened, Charlotte was not shocked in the slightest. She stood there with a wry, pleased smile worked into her cheeks and a freshly-mashed cup of tea in her other hand. She exhaled and continued to hold the phone to her ear.

“The Postmates lady looks a lot like you,” she whispered, a tiny grin forming.

Becky smiled and nodded a bit, chewing her lip for a moment. “I picked up extra hours,” she reasoned with a shrug and lifted the brown takeout bag that needed warming.

“Hi,” Charlotte blinked and didn’t know what to do with her arms.

“Hey love,” Becky put her phone away. “Room for a little one?” She looked herself up and down.

“Good job I was prepared,” Charlotte lifted the perfectly made mug of tea. “One sugar, a dash of milk, and I put the sheets you like on the spare bed.”

“Wait,” Becky became irritated. “You knew I was coming?”

“Wait.” Charlotte furrowed her brow in confusion and handed her the cup of tea. “You didn’t know I knew you were coming? I thought that was the joke. Like, we were pretending that you were in a different city but we both knew you were on your way here?”

“Oh for fucksake,” Becky bristled under her breath.

“Did I ruin your surprise?” Charlotte became sympathetic, or at least tried to be in between spells of laughter. She followed inside as Becky bustled past her. “It’s alright, we can fix it!” Becky ignored her all the way into the living room. “You go back outside. Here! Take Mister Bojangles with you!” Charlotte grabbed the fat, hulking, disinterested cat from the counter and offered him forward.

“What the fuck is that thing!” Becky span around and couldn’t believe her eyes.

“Mister Bojangles!” Charlotte became offended on the cat’s behalf.

Charlotte nuzzled him close, her lips pecking his soft little head—which was the only part of his body that could be considered relatively small, at all. She bounced him slightly and the cat was totally disinterested, his eyes blinking slowly and not moving from the Irish woman in front of him.

“That cat looks like it ate all of the other cats in order to assert dominance.” Becky blinked and couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing, still. “What an absolute unit.”

“I know,” Charlotte grinned, absolutely in love with the newest ginger acquisition to her life.

The cat was so big that it spilled over her arms, his tail swishing and thudding her shoulder, his chest rumbling with a deep purr. Of course, Charlotte had to fall in love with this one. He was by far the fattest cat that Becky had ever seen in her life, most probably the grumpiest too.

“I don’t think I’ve ever loved anything as much as I love this cat.” Charlotte bounced him carefully, her voice tight and filled with seriousness.

“Well considering we were together for three years I won’t pretend that doesn’t slightly hurt,” Becky said as she removed her jacket.

“You wanna hold him?”

“I came to see you, not—” She refused to entertain the idea of calling him that name. “Can you send him home? Just, for a little bit? It’s been over a month and I missed you.” Becky whined.

“Holy shit.” Charlotte stepped backwards slightly. “You actually said it.”

“Said what?”

“That you missed me.”

“Did not!” Becky glared, embarrassed.

“Yes you did!” Charlotte marched to her balcony doors and set the chubby ball of grumpiness down. “I’ll see you later,” she kissed her fingers and pressed them to the top of his ginger head. “And as for you—” She turned around and pointed at Becky. “You missed me.” She smirked.

“Did you ever actually doubt it?” Becky scoffed.

“Well, you seemed pretty determined during the break up.”

“That was ages ago.”

“You said you never wanted to speak to me again.”

“Who doesn’t say that during a break up—”

“And that if I were on fire you wouldn’t piss on me to put it out, you tweeted that less than three months ago.” Charlotte reminded.

“Well of course I would never piss on you.” Becky folded her arms, prepared to die on that hill. “Well, maybe if it was a sex-related thing, but I’d have to really think on it.”

“God that’s disgusting.” Charlotte shrivelled.

“I know,” Becky sighed. “But you’re dying and if it was on your bucket list I would take one for the team.”

“Stop talking.”

“Alright.” Becky blinked. “Too far?”

“So far that the line may as well be back in Prague, Becky.” Charlotte glared.

“Right, understood.” The Man nodded. “Well, I have to be in Los Angeles by tomorrow night and I know I’m making a meal out of this, but, I missed you. I wanted to see you. So, if there’s enough room in this apartment for the three of us.” She glanced at the monstrous hulk of a cat that refused to go home. “Then I want to be here and, well, not miss you anymore—”

Charlotte kissed her, her hands finding either side of Becky’s face. It knocked The Man off balance. The blush in her cheeks was barely pink with it’s newness, but Charlotte kissed it anyway. Becky nearly spoke, nearly halted it, but then her lips were taken up with decided interest again. Charlotte kissed her again. Then kissed her some more.

Becky just stood there, lips barely parted, not sure whether she wanted to continue or stop. It was a bad, terrible, horrific idea. She knew that. But then her body took over, and apparently her mouth and hands didn’t care for bad ideas or premeditated grief because before she knew it her fingers were in Charlotte’s hair, her teeth were nibbling that plump bottom lip, her forearms were stretching and wrapping around the back of her shoulders, weighing them up, feeling them out, making them her own again.

“Sorry,” Charlotte whispered and rested against Becky’s nose. “It’s just, you’re going tomorrow and I needed to get that out of the way.” She patted her cheek.

“We’re not getting back together,” Becky swallowed hard, completely determined about it.

“I know that,” Charlotte ruefully smiled. “And it doesn’t have to be that.”

“Well, alright.” Becky nodded, her breath stilting. “Again then?” Her eyes tinged with a little desperation.

…

In true them-fashion, there was a quietness that existed for the three weeks since the last visit with the exception of the occasional, sporadic phone call.

The last one, a week ago approximately, was upbeat and congratulatory.

Charlotte had called to congratulate her on the Money In The Bank win, they had talked a little bit, and Becky couldn’t help but gloat that once she beat Carmella she would be tied with Charlotte and Trish Stratus as the most decorated female Superstar of all time. The three of them, up there together. Charlotte seemed pleased by the thought too. That was the state of things the last time they spoke, warm and decent.

If anything, the sporadicness of the contact between them was comforting. It was a way of proving to herself that she had resolved her issues of codependency, that she didn’t need Charlotte, and, that, ultimately, she would be just fine when she was gone for good. She never felt as certain about the last part as she would like to be, but she always forgave herself when the thought occurred.

Though, out of all of her thoughts concerning Charlotte Flair it was overnight visit that was perhaps thought about a bit too frequently. The easiness of the kiss. The comfort of touching her shoulders, of resting her arms against the sturdiness of them. The familiar, homely feeling of curling up on the sofa with Charlotte tucked around her while they talked about nothing important. Becky filled the blank moments of her day with the memory of all of it.

It was the thing she found herself stuck in thought about as the door to the changing room was abruptly knocked.

“Becks?” Shane’s voice called between the cracked door of the locker room. “Can you come out here?”

“Be there in a sec,” Becky finished lacing her boots.

“It’s urgent.” Shane hurried her.

Becky walked out and found her boss stood in the empty hallway, his expression heavy and filled with bad news. He dug his hands in his pockets and nodded his head, answering a question that hadn’t even formed on Becky’s lips yet.

“The news has leaked then?” She felt her stomach become pitless. “How much has gotten out?”

“All of it,” Shane said with a troubled, heavy sigh. “She took a bad turn last night and went to the hospital, it’s all over the internet. She was released this morning. She’s already on her way here to make an announcement tonight but…” His voice tapered, unsure of what to say and what not to say. “She was given some rough news, Becks.”

“Hospital?” Becky backtracked and shook her head in surprise. “She didn’t say anything to me about that. She would have at least texted?” It didn’t make sense.

“I got off the phone with Ric just now, a year is now looking more like six months. The tumour is pressing against—”

“Stop,” Becky felt the vomit start to slosh at the thought of clinical words and timelines. “I don’t need to know any of that stuff. I don’t want to know any of that stuff. Just, don’t.” She nibbled her lips.

“Well, we’re putting together a plan for tonight. After she’s made her announcement, you’re going to walk out to the ring and have your moment with her. Carmella will come out as champion to shake Charlotte’s hand, and together you’re going to knock her down and cash the Money In The Bank contract.” Shane reeled it all off too fast. “We’re going to try and give her one last big moment, if she’s up to it.”

Becky perked up slightly, a small smile forming in her cheeks. “You know, I don’t think I’ll ever do anything quite as grand in my life as winning a seventh championship with Charlotte Flair there to be a part of it.” Becky nodded, absolutely in love with the idea. “That will definitely be a special way to end our story together…”

Shane seemed pensive for a moment, his expression tightening sympathetically.

“Well.” He started and stopped. “We want you to cash your contract and give the pinfall to Charlotte and let her walk out of here tonight the most decorated Women’s champion of all time. She’ll vacate the title immediately, of course...” Becky felt her expression become ashen. “And you, well, you’ll pick the title up next month when you and Carmella duke it out for the vacant title! Happy ending for everyone!”

“You want to give her my Money In The Bank contract?” Becky blinked and chewed her cheek, suddenly furious and too proud to admit it. “How are you going to possibly make that work? It’s my contract, it’s non-transferable. It makes no sense in kayfabe.” Becky grew flustered.

“It doesn’t have to make sense in kayfabe, Becky. Your stories are so intrinsically tied together. This is you, The Man, honouring The Woman—”

“You don’t have to explain.” Becky raised her hand with a short nod. “I get it, it’s fine, and of course I want to do this for her.” It wasn’t the truth at all, and that fact made her feel guiltier than she knew she could be.

“Well, it’s settled then.” Shane quirked a small, apologetic smile and set his hand on her shoulder. “Try not to be down about this. One day, you’re going to look back on this moment and I promise it will be greatest thing you ever did.”

“Mhm,” Becky mumbled and nodded.

It wouldn’t be. She knew it, and she hated herself for it. This was not how good people felt. This was not the emotional inner-workings of decent, kind, honourable people. She loved Charlotte, loved her even when she was hating her, loved her even when it wasn’t convenient, loved her even when she was stabbing her in the back, loved her even when she was being stabbed in turn.

But she loved this life, this job, this glory, so much more.

…

Just like that, she became sick.

It didn’t make sense in Becky’s mind, because three weeks ago there was a cat the size of a small vehicle being hoisted and cradled in her arms, and her shoulders were thick and fit for purpose, and everything was alright, at least on the surface of things.

Becky watched her through a crack in the stage curtains with almost a childlike sense of fear. Charlotte was stood there waiting for them to call her on stage, or rather, she was leaning against a strategically placed object that was keeping her tired body propped up. She was laughing and talking to people, shaking hands, maintaining appearances so that no one had to feel uncomfortable by her failing health, even though they didn’t deserve that sort of priority. Becky could tell she was tired, more tired than she had ever seen her before.

She had been warned by Google that this would happen, that the turn would be sudden and abrupt.

“Well hello to you too,” Charlotte noticed her looking.

Becky swallowed and emerged from behind the curtain. She straightened herself and stuck her hands in her pockets, unable to hide the look of concern from her face. The people in the hallway seemed to disappear with immediacy, clearing like a dwindling smog so the two could speak with a certain level of privacy.

“Hey love,” Becky forced a small smile.

“You’re going to have to come here.” Charlotte made it clear she wasn’t moving, that she wasn’t going to entertain anyone’s pity by demonstrating her failing balance. “I’m saving myself for the ring,” she joked.

“That bad?” Becky wandered over to her.

“It will get better, just a little numbness,” Charlotte lied with a small, reassuring smile. “You look pretty.” She smoothed a weft of gingery hair. “The black jacket suits you.”

“What are you going to say out there?” Becky let her fiddle with the leather lapels of her jacket. “Or are you just going to wing it?”

“Ask me what I’m going to do when Carmella comes out to the ring, that’s a way better question.” Charlotte lightly scolded.

“Alright,” Becky rolled her eyes and entertained it. “Let me guess? Are we setting up for double chops?”

“Of course!” Charlotte beamed excitedly, and like a switch had been clicked inside of her she was no longer sick. “Can you set me up for a moonsault?”

“Shane will shit a brick, do not do that.” Becky glared and folded her arms. “A few chops, let me do the heavy work, and then you take the pinfall. That’s what we all agreed…”

“One last moonsault.” Charlotte smiled and leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Give me one for the road?”

“Fine.” Becky closed her eyes and gave in.

“I’m sorry they’re giving me your Money In The Bank—”

“Shut up,” Becky raised her hand and forced a smile, opening her eyes again. “It was my idea.” She didn’t want there to be any guilt about it.

“No it wasn’t.”

“Alright, it wasn’t. But I want you to have it.”

“No you don’t.”

“Alright, I don’t.” Becky smiled slightly and found a nugget of truth within herself. “But I am warming up to the idea,” she said sincerely. “You’re going out in a blaze of glory and that’s it’s all any of us can ever hope for. I’m happy for you.”

“Wow, this is really it?” Charlotte swallowed hard and looked around. “This is how it ends?”

“Not by a long shot.” Becky didn’t skip a beat. “This is how it all starts, Charlotte. This is how it starts for a little girl who is sat at home somewhere watching this tonight, and she’ll watch you take that belt and sling it up above your head and she’ll believe, just for a second, that superheroes exist.” She prodded Charlotte’s shoulder lightly. “This is how it begins for the next era that we’re going to hand the torch too, and you? By god, you’re about to go and light the fuse.”

The house lights dimmed and the crowd started to chant so loud that it beat the walls like a wardrum. They stood there, completely silent with one another and yet saying everything that needed to be said. Charlotte nodded and wiped a single tear that hadn’t yet formed. Becky swallowed the ache in her throat.

“Go be a Superstar,” Becky smiled ruefully and nodded to ringside.

…

The celtic music hit, and the roof of the arena blew damn-near clean off. The crowds were out of their seats, yes chants going up like a battle cry. Becky postured dourly at the titantron and willed herself not to get emotional as she began the slow, solemn walk towards the ring with the briefcase in hand.

She savoured the moment as she clambered through the middle rope on to the canvas, aware that this was it, the very last time she would stand toe-to-toe with The Queen. Charlotte nodded, her eyes pearling slightly, her lips tight and twitching with emotion.

“Charlotte Flair,” The Man’s voice was loud and stern into her microphone. “I have one thing to say to you…”

There was a long pause, the two of them staring at one another for what felt like an eternity. On a good night, the crowd chanted. On a great night, there were moments of apprehensive silence that were so quiet a pin drop could be heard in the arena. Tonight was setting up to be great, they stood eye-to-eye in the ring, and the audience barely breathed in anticipation of what would happen next.

Becky leaned forward into the mic, her throat throttled and her voice cracking. “Thank you, Charlotte!” She burst.

The hug was so hard that it had them both wobbling against one another, and it took everything Becky had not to shatter and sob. This ring, this sacred, holy place where the best years of their lives been entwined for the history books, was now the last sentinel to which they said their goodbyes to another in this form. The audience, they were there too, crying with them, but for all intents and purposes it was just the pair of them and this ring that had cradled them from infancy to stardom.

Carmella’s music hit.

“You ready for this, Champ?” Becky whispered.

Charlotte sighed quietly and gave a small nod. “Let’s do this.”

Becky stepped aside to let Carmella speak, though she didn’t and couldn’t listen to a word that was being said. All she could hear was the blood pumping around her ears. She closed her eyes and opened them again, and when she looked back to Charlotte, she etched the sight into her memory, determined to remember her like this, always.

Becky hit Carmella from behind with the microphone, and to her credit, Carmella sold it brilliantly. The Staten Island Princess crashed to the canvas in a daze, lying there with a small, invisible smile on her face that they were able to do this for Charlotte.

“Charlotte,” Becky spoke into the microphone and turned to face her. “The Man and The Woman, one last dance for old time’s sake. What do you say?” She nodded down to Carmella.

Charlotte just grinned and got to work.

They hauled Carmella up, chopped her a bit, slung her into the ropes, and unbelievably, Charlotte slung her up on her shoulders and crashed her on to the canvas. Becky couldn’t believe what she was seeing, her eyes refused it. Half an hour ago she was backstage fashioning leaning posts out of unassuming objects and now she was alive, more alive than she had been in months.

“Get me on the top rope,” Charlotte grunted quietly.

In her mind’s eye, Becky could already see Shane backstage fuming out of his ears as she helped Charlotte set up the moonsault. She held out her hand for Charlotte to use as leverage, her legs wobbling a bit as she stood on the top turnbuckle.

There was a long pause that left everyone breathless.

And then, she leaped.

Becky watched her somersault in the air and land belly to belly with Carmella. She pushed her briefcase into the referee’s hands and cashed in the contract, not a bone of indignation left within her. She pointed to Charlotte, then back at the suitcase, gesturing between the two wildly so the audience understood what was about to happen. The contract was being cashed in so that Charlotte could have a final title reign.

“Thank you, Becky! Thank you, Charlotte!” The crowd roared and alternated between the two as the referee signalled for a title match to be called.

Then, the plan went awry.

Becky watched Charlotte get up from the canvas, heaving and nodding at the audience. Her finger pointing to a prone Carmella that she could easily pin if she wanted to. That was the statement, Becky realised. Charlotte was telling the world that she was capable of doing it, still, and that if she wanted to pin the champion and take the belt she could do it in a heartbeat.

“Hurry up,” Carmella muttered tight-lipped, pretending to be hurt and dazed. She cracked open an eyelid and stared at Becky. “Someone needs to pin me, this is taking too long.” She bristled.

Charlotte suddenly turned and found The Man, her eyes filled with resolution and clarity.

“Pin her,” Charlotte nodded down at Carmella.

“Charlotte—”

“Just shut up and pin her,” Charlotte demanded with a severe nod and the crowd grew fervent and excited, unsure which one would do the deed. “Let’s walk this one out together, seven-time champions.” She nodded again.

There would be meetings over this, the closed door kind that usually ended with someone being fired. Becky knew it, and still, she dove and raised Carmella’s knee.

“I am not taking the fall for this with you two,” Carmella warned quietly as the referee began the count.

“Here is your winner! And the new Smackdown Women’s Champion, Becky Lynch!” The announcer called.

Becky stumbled to her feet and slung the belt over her head, tears and sweat rolling down her cheeks, heaving and shocked. A hand firmly grabbed her wrist, she looked to her side and watched Charlotte, with the most heart-eyed and proud expression on her face, raise her arm in the air.

“Thank you, Charlotte!” The crowd bellowed.

Becky felt her heart hum with the same sentiment too.

They walked it out together, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, seven digits raised up into the air for the joint seven-time world champions.

“I love you,” Becky whispered and chewed her lip.

“I know,” Charlotte smiled.

…

“So, where are you tonight?” Charlotte answered the call.

“Dallas,” Becky replied, her eyes fixed on the white and blue belt at the side of her that had been won a month ago. “Asuka is challenging for the belt. Creative still aren’t happy but I’ve heard through the grapevine I’m going to retain.”

“You better,” Charlotte warned and slurred slightly. “No point on winning the thing if you can’t hold on to it.”

“Shane still mad with you over everything?” Becky winced.

“Furious. My dad is too, still. I think I’m now two pallbearers short.” Her voice tapered into a cough.

“If it comes down to it I will drag you down that aisle all by myself.”

“Well if you wanted to marry me you only had to ask.”

“Mhm.” She couldn’t even imagine what their marital life would look like. “Third time's the charm, they say that right?”

“About weddings? Not in Texas they don’t.”

“Where are you tonight?” Becky had detected the exhaustion in her voice and knew the answer already.

“The gym,” Charlotte lied.

“You’ve been going to the gym a lot lately.” Becky thought about the four hospital visits in the last month, and those were just the ones she knew about. “Should I be worried?”

“No,” Charlotte said decidedly. “I’ll be out tomorrow morning, I’m just here for the free jello. I might not have time to get the quinoa you like so you’ll have to suffer through without—”

“We can cancel, it’s not a problem,” Becky interrupted.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Well, alright.”

“I have to go but I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“That you will.” Becky smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

…

The door opened with less gust this time, and for a moment she didn’t recognise the woman on the other side.

Charlotte lifted an amused brow. “Whatever it is you’re selling, I’m not interested—”

“Double-chocolate frapp with whipped cream and extra drizzle?” Becky lifted the drink and shook it slightly. “Yeah, thought you might be. Go put a cup of tea on before I turn to dust.” She dragged her suitcase inside with a smirk.

Charlotte did her best not to limp or hunch forward as she walked, and that was by far the worst, most terrible, most awful thing. Becky stood there and knew that the charade was for her benefit so that she didn’t feel uncomfortable. She kicked off her shoes and swallowed it like a rock in her throat.

“See you’ve still got company,” Becky mentioned as she caught sight of the big ginger ball of misery on the counter. “Looks like he’s lost weight,” she lied and scratched his ear.

Charlotte chuckled slightly and propped herself against the counter.

“He slept here nearly every night last week. I didn’t think anything of it, but then I saw the lost cat poster in the foyer and had to send him home.” She pouted.

“It’s not too late you know. You, Mister Bojangles, and I? Well. We could just pack our things and runoff into the sunset.” Becky joked and sat at the breakfast bar.

“Has Shane spoke to you?” Charlotte promptly asked.

Becky watched her turn around and mash the tea, she slumped on the stool and tried to recall her last encounter with the boss.

“Last Wednesday. It was brief, he’s still angry about everything.” The Man sighed and rubbed her head.

“Well for what it’s worth I’m really grateful you didn’t go through with it,” Charlotte chirped and poured the milk.

“Go through with what?”

“Retiring me on television.” Charlotte nodded and set the mugs on the breakfast bar, forgetting herself for a moment.

Becky felt the colour drain from her face. She swallowed hard and chewed the inside of her cheek, unsure and conflicted on whether to mention the memory lapse. Charlotte just stood there and smiled strangely, nodding down expectantly at the mug of tea that Becky was ignoring.

“Oh,” Charlotte’s eyes widened with realisation as it dawned on her. “Sorry—” There was an immediate, painful look of embarrassment.

“Please don’t be,” Becky shot forward and grabbed her hand. “Honestly, it’s alright. It’s not your fault, please don’t be sorry.”

Charlotte chewed her lips in humiliation, still. “You know the worst thing about this isn’t forgetting things.” She lowered her chin. “It’s remembering stuff you didn’t know you could remember, that you don’t want to remember.” She managed a tight, uncomfortable laugh.

“Well if you feel inclined as to share with the group I would love to know what it is that keeps Charlotte Flair awake at night,” Becky prodded with a small, reassuring smile.

“I don’t, if that’s okay?” Charlotte seemed pensive.

“So it’s us related then?”

“Something like that.”

“It was never a forever break up, just a see you later.”

“I know,” Charlotte smiled. “At least we got around to hello again, didn’t we?”

“We did,” Becky agreed, determined to cheer her up. “I brought my work out gear. Wanna go and beat me on the treadmill?” Becky offered with a wry smirk. “I’ll even let you piss about with my incline button.”

Charlotte’s smile dampened.

“I’m pretty tired.” She tried not to seem too torn up about it. “Maybe tomorrow?”

“Oh… sure, no problem. C’mere,” Becky leaned forward and gave her a chaste kiss, her heart hurting a bit. “Want to curl up on the sofa and make out instead?”

“Mhm,” Charlotte pushed forward, smiling into another kiss with a decisive nod. “This I can do.”

…

“Why hello there! This is seven-time world champion, Becky Lynch, calling to speak to seven-time world champion, Charlotte Flair! Is she there?” The Man sing-songed down the phone.

“Oh! You’re calling for seven-time world champion, Charlotte Flair? This is she!” The chirpiness was met with abundant chirpiness. “How are you? Where are you today?” Charlotte giggled.

“Stood outside your front door if you feel so inclined as to let me in.” Becky scratched her head and looked around the hallway. “Did a show in Fort Lauderdale last night, thought I’d come see you for a day or two. I missed my girl.”

“Oh,” Charlotte’s voice tapered into an awkward, heavy pause. “I’m, er, I’m not at home. I’m, somewhere else—” It was implied, but not directly said.

“Where are you?” The chipper, happy tone was dropped with immediacy.

“I’m at the gym.”

Becky blinked and stuck her hand out to lean against the wall.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It was just a little fall, no big deal.”

“You fell?” Becky grew nervous. “What happened? I’m on my way now. What’s the room number at the hospital? Wait.” She became flustered. “Do you want anything bringing? Toiletries? A knife?”

“Why would I need a knife?”

“Better to have one and not need it than need one and not have it.”

“If this is you trying to make this conversation less awkward… it’s working.”

“Thanks, what a relief.” Becky sighed. “I’ll get my things together, text me your room number—”

“Becks, er, I’m sorry.” Charlotte paused guiltily. “Would you mind not coming?”

“What?” Becky halted in her footsteps.

“Remember when you said you wouldn’t nurse me off the end of the mortal coil?”

“Charlotte…” Pain tinged Becky’s voice.

“Please, don’t come.” The matter was settled with an air of certainty. “Go be a Superstar, Becks. I didn’t give you that title just to bring it around here for show and tell hour,” she whispered with fondness and love in her voice. “Go. And don’t feel guilty about it.”

“I’ll come see you when you get out, okay?”

“Alright,” Charlotte sighed. “I love you.”

“You too.” Becky hung up and immediately regretted not saying it properly.

…

Through sporadic phone calls, there was a pretense that was able to be kept between them. It was a kayfabe of sorts. Becky decided it was the primary reason why she wasn’t allowed to visit, and truth be told, in the most aching parts of herself, she was somewhat grateful. When the phone rang, despite the occasional slur of her words, or misfire of her memory, they were able to pretend just for a little while that everything was alright and would continue to be alright.

Tonight, the phone rang and startled her out of bed.

It was that awkward hour that was simultaneously too late and too early for there to be any good news on the end of the line. Becky looked at the clock and then looked at her buzzing phone, working up the courage to pick up the call.

“Hello?” Becky croaked with sleep still in her voice, pulling the blankets up her chest. “Is Charlotte okay? What happened?”

“Oh, did I wake you?” Charlotte was polite about it.

“Oh for fucksake!” Becky sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, relieved and simultaneously infuriated. “I thought—” She didn’t want to admit exactly what it was that had occurred to her.

“Nope, still alive and kicking.” The Queen stumbled over her words. “Do you know what I just remembered?”

“I don’t. It better be good,” Becky grumbled and nuzzled back into the warmth of her pillow, the blankets fought with a little bit out of frustration.

“When I was six years old, a mall Santa Claus asked me what I wanted for Christmas...” Charlotte started, mumbling a bit beneath her breath as she also dug out a comfortable position.

There was a deep sigh, and then nothing.

“Go on,” Becky urged. “You were saying?”

“What?” Charlotte forgot her point.

“You were six years old and there was a shopping mall Santa?” Becky reminded. “He asked you what you wanted for Christmas?”

“Oh, yes! I told him I wanted lovely things and a new pair of rollerskates.” Charlotte perked up and yawned. “What did you want for Christmas when you were a little girl?”

Becky thought about it for a moment, aware she had to be up for work in less than two hours. She rolled on her spine and closed her eyes, letting the frustration of it all slide.

“I wanted an Action Man—” Specifically, the one with the orange jumpsuit and special edition accessories, the memory made her smile but she didn’t get that deep into it. “Mum said that was a toy for boys and so I got a Baby Anabelle instead.” She remembered the faint feeling of disappointment.

“What else did you get that year?” Charlotte interrogated.

“I don’t remember, why are you asking me this?”

“Not enough time,” Charlotte mumbled.

“You’re not making sense, love, you should get some rest.” Becky’s voice fractured with tiredness. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“No! There’s—” It was halted with irritation, with anger, with utter frustration as if she couldn’t explain what she meant. Charlotte sighed and softened her tone. “There isn’t much time. If we can’t talk at four in the morning about what we got for Christmas in 1993, then when can we?”

“That might be the most poetic thing you’ve ever said.”

“Thanks,” Charlotte yawned again.

“Let me think about it and come back to you with a decisive list. I can make some phone calls when I’m a bit more alert. Sound reasonable to you?”

Charlotte would forget about it all in a matter of hours, if not minutes. Becky had become an expert at waiting it out and placating her sometimes-girlfriend in the meantime.

“I miss Mister Bojangles,” Charlotte mumbled and began to drift asleep. “You think he’s okay?”

“He’s alright, love, don’t you worry about that.”

“Okay,” Charlotte hummed tiredly. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

…

There eventually came a point where, sometimes, on the days that she was brave enough to resist, the phone calls went unanswered.

The phone would ring, and she would see Charlotte’s name flash on the screen, and her heart stung with the knowledge that the woman on the end of the call wasn’t really Charlotte in any sort of objective capacity at all anymore. Rather, it was a collection of her memories. It was sometimes an unintelligible train of her deepest thoughts. It was becoming less and less lucid and coherent by the day. It was, for all intents and purposes, her mind beginning to circle and fold in on itself.

There was something violently voyeuristic about bearing witness to it.

Today, Becky missed her more than she had missed her in a long time. When the phone call came, she wasn’t brave enough to let it ring out.

“Hello?” Becky answered and darted inside the living room, her voice tight with hope. “Charlotte?”

“Beautiful girl,” Charlotte mumbled. “Do you know what I can taste in the back of my mouth right now?”

“Go on, tell me,” Becky grinned and wiped a tear off her cheek as she sat on the sofa, relieved and heartbroken by the sound of her voice.

“Confit duck, burned and charred.”

“Our second anniversary, I remember that.” Becky smiled. “I accidentally left the oven on while we were doing other things…”

“I remember the other things we did that night.” Becky imagined the weak grin.

“I’m sure you do.” It made her laugh fondly, remembering it too. “It was black by the time I got it out. I was heartbroken but you ate three servings to cheer me up. Said it was delicious, best meal of your life.”

“I lied.”

“I know, sorry you’re still tasting it now.”

“Becky?” Charlotte’s voice tinged with a sudden sort of guilt. “Do you forgive me?”

“For what?”

There was a pregnant pause.

“For taking your dream.” It was said with such profound sadness.

There it was. Becky was hit with the memories of all the times she had to make herself tiny so Charlotte could be big.

She clenched her eyes and breathed sharply through her nose, stuck in the regret of it all, stuck in her hubris, stuck in all the reasons why the relationship ended that all seemed so silly now in hindsight.

“There is nothing to forgive, love, it was just the way things had to go.” Becky absolved the guilty conscience. “Look at me now. I got it all in the end, didn’t I?”

“Mmhm,” Charlotte murmured. “Well I forgive you too.”

“What do you forgive me for?” Becky became a little uncertain.

“Whatever it is you need to be forgiven for. One day, when you think of something… if you worry that you didn’t get to ask.”

“Thanks, I’ll remember that.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” Becky didn’t even hesitate.

…

“Sugar!” Becky answered the phone chirpier than usual. “Oh, honey-honey!”

There was no response, just a silent heavy pause on the other end of the line. Then, she heard the distinct, troubled sigh of a man’s voice.

Becky dropped the dishes and clutched the edge of the sink, steadying her breaths and closing her eyes, trying to gather herself together. She prayed to whatever god that might be up there that this was the pre-phone call, the warning, the heads up to get on a plane and figure the rest out later.

“Is there time?” Becky managed.

“Don’t pack, don’t mess around, just grab your coat and get on the next flight,” Ric urged. “She told me not to call you when the time came but… just come, please.”

…

“You brought a fucking cat??” Ric glared at the end of the hall.

“Blame your daughter,” Becky mumbled and carried the fat, displeased ginger cat under her arm along the hallway.

Despite his advice, she took her chances and made one quick detour on the way to the hospital. The cat was spotted on the pavement outside the building and promptly chased through the shrubs, and eventually, a few claw marks later, he was caught and crammed into the back of the waiting taxi.

“Is she awake?” Becky nodded to the closed room, the jostled between her arms a bit. “Does she know what’s going on?”

“She’s in and out,” Ric replied and rubbed his chin. “They don’t know how long. They keep saying it will happen soon.”

“You should get something to drink. I’ll be here, I’ll get you if anything changes.”

“She is not going to be happy when she sees you.” He shook his head, doubting whether this was the right decision. “She made me promise—” He drummed his fingers across his lips, shaking his head.

“It was for my sake.” Becky sighed and had known it for quite some time. “So that I wouldn’t feel guilty for not wanting to see her like this. She did it for me.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Ric tried not to bristle too hard.

Becky sighed and didn’t know how to absolve her guilt.

“It was all for me.” Her brow furrowed hard with the realisation. “I know that now, but I guess it’s a little too late.”

“There’s no such things as too late, not if you really mean it.” Ric looked at the ceiling, then looked at the floor, trying his hardest not to be mad.

“I don’t know how to ask for her forgive me.”

“You were always going to love the job more.” Ric sighed. “She knew it and she chose to love you anyway, regardless. It’s all water under the bridge now, Rebecca.”

“If I could go back and do it all again differently…”

“Well you can’t.”

“I’m still sorry, though.”

“Stop wasting time and go be with her.” Ric nodded, his hands finding either side of her shoulders. “Please, even if you don’t mean it, can you just tell her…” He shook his head and couldn’t quite finish the sentence, his lips wobbling a bit. “Just tell her whatever it is she would want to hear from you.”

“She’s heard it all already,” Becky patted his hand. “But I’ll tell her again, just to be sure.”

…

Becky curled up in one armpit. Mister Bojangles took residency in the other. It was cool, the air conditioner a little too over eager in its efforts. Becky cuddled a little bit closer to the human radiator, quiet and unmoving in the center of the bed.

Charlotte stirred slightly.

“Tell me how it ended?” She mumbled with closed eyes.

“How what ended, love?”

“The story,” Charlotte murmured. “Our story. The one we used to tell each other. I don’t remember it.”

Becky propped herself up and kissed the side of her temple, then the bridge of her nose. Charlotte managed a small, barely-there smile.

“Seven-time champions.” Becky started and stopped, her voice wavering a bit as she recalled a fairytale they once made up together as rookies during a long drive to Memphis. “We would have had our last match together for an eighth championship, a tie-breaker. We always said I would win but that doesn’t matter now because we would have gone home together. That was the most important part of the story.”

“Becks,” Charlotte drifted, her brow furrowing slightly. “I loved you the best.”

“You did,” Becky reassured with a deep, troubled sigh. “You won at loving me.”

“It wasn’t easy.”

“We got there the hard way around.”

“You loved me back a bit, sometimes.”

“I’ll love you better the next time around, when we’re both ladybugs,” Becky promised with a kiss to her knuckles.

“Becks—” There was a deep, laboured breath. “Always double bow your shoelaces.”

“That better not be your last words to me,” Becky said a little too sternly.

“Double bow them.” She made less and less sense. “Water the tulips, but not too much.”

Becky flopped back down and nuzzled her close. “Fine, but I want you to know that I’m skipping over this part in the memoir.” The silliness made her smile. “Would you mind not going just yet?”

“Okay.”

“Good girl,” Becky tucked herself in the space between her jaw and throat, cheek pressing against the warmth of her collarbone. “I love you, thank you for sticking around.”

“The tulips, water them.”

“I will,” Becky promised.

...

Two weeks passed, or so the calendar assured her.

There was no sleep to be found. There was no desire to eat. All that existed in her tiny world was the warmth found beneath the pile of blankets, all while the world carried on outside, mocking her grief, almost.

Once in a while, she made it downstairs to the kitchen for a cup of tea and a stretch of the spine. Then, the stairs were clambered and the sheets dove between for a few more hours of disassociation. It wasn’t productive. Becky didn’t need it to be. Charlotte was gone, and that was that.

The doorbell rang and disturbed her depression.

Becky slung herself out of bed and marched downstairs. To compound the misery, she noticed her smeared mascara as she passed the mirror in the hall. There was something violently intimate about the thought of another person aware she had been crying, or at least trying her hardest not to.

When she opened the door, a delivery man was there to greet her.

“Becky Lynch?” He glanced up from his little tablet. “Can you sign here?”

“I didn’t order anything.”

“Nobody is saying you did. I just have a parcel for you?” He quirked a confused expression, lifting the brown package in his hand. “I can take it back if you don’t want to accept it?”

“Well, I didn’t say that.” She snatched the little pen out of his hand and scrawled on the tablet screen. “Thanks, you can go now.” She snatched the parcel and slammed the door.

Becky breathed a deep sigh of relief once the world was shut out once again. In the corner of her eye, Mister Bojangles sat on the staircase, his eyes filled with a faint sort of disapproval.

“What?” She balked at the slow-blinking animal. “I don’t know if stealing and transporting a cat over state lines is a felony and I don’t feel like losing my residency status. Can’t be having people knowing I’m harbering you!” She rolled her eyes and trod into the living room.

She caught sight of the handwriting on the parcel halfway to the kitchen.

Her entire body stopped.

She would recognise that long, cursive scrawl anywhere.

“Of course you’re sending me presents from the grave,” she mumbled to herself and tore open the brown parcel paper.

A 1993 mint-condition Action Man. Not just any Action Man, but the electronic version that came with two fully-functional walkie-talkies and a special edition ray-gun.

Becky chewed teeth marks into her bottom lip, carefully turning the boxed toy over in her hands. She noticed the small note that had fluttered on to the floor and picked it up from between her feet.

“You deserve everything you’ve ever wanted.” The note simply read.

…

She didn’t attend the ten-bell salute.

It was noticed, talked about sympathetically, her reasons speculated on.

…

She didn’t attend the Hall of Fame induction.

It was noticed, angered over, raged about by people who had never met either of them.

…

She didn’t attend the first inaugural competition that was setup in her name.

It was expected, predicted even, there were quiet ripples of disapproval everywhere.

…

The afternoon of her retirement match, a final title challenge, one of the younger journalists brought it all up regardless of Charlotte Flair being on the permanent list of things The Man would never talk about.

It was bolshy.

Becky respected a little bolshiness.

“My grief is mine,” Becky commented thoughtfully. “It’s mine, and it’s messy, and it’s my real life. It’s not something that I wanted to become a part of kayfabe or used as a storyline tactic, or something that I wanted dissecting on the internet by strangers. One day, sure, maybe it will end up in the book, but it will be my story to tell and nobody else’s.”

“What was one of the last things she said to you?” The journalist grew a bit too nosey.

“To always double bow my shoelaces.” Becky nodded down to her double bowed boots dutifully. “She felt quite strongly on the matter.” It amused him.

The note, the real last words, they would never be shared with anyone.

Not for all the glory in the world.

…

If the world needed a symptom that she cared then she didn’t let them down in the end.

Her retirement match drew to its final moments.

Becky clambered to the top of the ropes.

The moonsault was magnificent.

And in that regard, in some small way that would be long forgotten by the history books, they rose from the canvas as eight-time world champions...

Together.

#charlynch #charlynch fanfiction #charlotte x becky #becky x charlotte #charlynch story #charlynch love #charlynch gay feelings #tw death #tw hurt/comfort #lesbian love story #lesbian story #lesbian love #wlw story #wlw fanfiction #lesbian fanfiction #wlw love story #sorry im burying your gays but i really wanted to write the saddest story in the fandom

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