Veiled

Patterns always seemed to form when no one was paying attention. Eventually they evolve into habits that codes themselves into your very framework.

He'd barely picked up on their new habit, and wasn't quite sure he was ready to accept it as such.

There were old wives tales about the veil between this world and the next thinning during certain days of the year. It would seem, from what he saw, thar the veil between him and Amber seemed to thin every time they found one another after combat..

A theory he found himself nervous to test, even now as he stood outside her dressing room. His gaze went to his hands, remembering how her blood stained them after their encounter in the fall out of her war with SEB.

The night was a haze, a nuisance to his psyche. So much said, a moment or two shared…and nothing from it stopped that veil from going back up.

Always the thorn…never the petal.

A quiet sigh and he raised his hand to knock three times, pause, then a fourth.



Breathe.

It was supposed to be easy. Natural even, automatic to the point that thinking about it somehow felt as though it were wrong. Only it wasn’t, except for the faint rattles that seemed to echo in the absence between her ribs when she thought about it for too long.

She’d heard the knocking the first time and she’d continue to let. Would have been easy to simply tell him to Fudge off- as though that had ever done anything but provoke, encouraging untoward behavior by trying to discourage- it was no wonder that nothing ever seemed to work really.

Roughly and through thinly veiled irritation, Amber tore away the tape from her left wrist with a faint grimace, the jolt through her right shoulder was a sudden yet consistent reminder that each match felt as though she were skipping through a field of career landmines in zero gravity- there was a certain level of inevitability that lingered as her life moved in slow motion, and despite her best (or perhaps worst efforts) there really wasn’t much left to control.

Balling up the tape shard between her fingers, she allowed the exasperated sigh to pass her lips as another sideways glance landed somewhere towards the door.

He’d stay there until she said something. Of that, she wasn’t doubtful.

Inevitability though, there it was again. Like a Fuding anvil swinging on a thread.

“I know you’re still there.” The pause left beyond the last knock seemed to ease as she murmured the thought out loud, not really a response but an acknowledgement of persistence without the mistake of invitation attached.

“Honestly.” She continued musing, the ball of tape stubbornly catching as she rolled it idly between distracted fingers. “I don’t know why you continue to pretend like you aren’t just gonna end up waltzing straight on in anyway…”

“I like to act like I've got manners sometimes…” came the muffled reply before he did just as she predicted and waltzed on in, closing the door behind him. He regards her for a moment of silence that would no doubt be the last bit of serenity the room would know that night.

“Kid's tough, ain't he?” Small talk. A good neutral avenue. Nothing to offend her or set her off, Nothing provocative and certainly nothing about how she glowed after a fight.

He cleared his throat, extinguishing the intrusive thought and averting his gaze to the golden shackle that bound them.

“Has to be.” A subtle glance towards Matt, away from the tape ball that she’d been using as a reason not to. “One of yours, after all…”

Her gaze followed his to where their ‘shared’ world title lay draped across the bench nearby- distanced enough that she might not grow so attached as to call it hers. Distanced enough that she might not begin to become possessive… obsessive…

Cause it wasn’t. It wasn’t hers and she had to remind herself of that- betrayed by the familiar weight it carried, betrayed by the promise that she’d rightfully earned it. Betrayed by the overwhelming need to try and fill that peculiarly golden void she’d promised herself she didn’t need to satiate anymore.

It wasn’t hers.

Tearing herself away from it, she gingerly leaned into and against the metal lockers at her back as she cocked her head inquiringly.

“However, it's not nearly the reason you’re here. Can’t imagine I’ve wounded his pride nearly enough for you to stroll in as avenging daddy, after all.”

“You kidding? Last time I tried defending that little punk he ended up trying to hurt me worse than the son of a bitch I was trying to protect him from…” He tore his own gaze from the title then, and the nameplate where it lingered.

Might be the closest he'd ever get.

“But as usual, you're right. I have ulterior motives tonight. “ He leaned back against the door as he spoke, sliding down until he sat with his legs lazily outstretched. He watched her for a beat, perhaps trying to predict her reaction to prepare countermeasures.

Surely they'd work this time.

“We're going to be seeing a lot of each other here soon. As allies and adversaries…the first of which being the concern. After all..” He cautioned a smile “Can't rely on our distaste of Joe Montuori to carry us through.”

“Seems to be working well enough so far.” Came the reply, short and mildly reviled. Well might have been a slight overstatement- their chemistry as a team had primarily been based around mutual disgust and vigilantism, unable to rely upon company management across their careers to do more than protect a bottom line and too impatient to trust that karma might see fit to be deliverance.

It wasn’t justice seeking, at least on her part. She wasn’t willing to speak for Matt, if only cause his justifications were as continually fickle as the ill-wind he blew in on.

Universal balance perhaps, that seemed more like Amber’s speed, if only cause she’d been the one to create much of her own imbalances to begin with.

“Besides, I see way too much of you as it is… To which you are solely responsible for, I might add.” A brief attempt at levity landed somewhere in the space between them, a half-smile following as though it did anything to further the idea that she was only partially serious.

“Not sure why you’re even worried… Even if we manage to get anywhere in the SEX cup, you’ll probably just throw me into another industrial fan for the hell of it.”

Amber wasn’t at all bitter. Nor would she ever hold a grudge…

“I'm starting to think you're still angry over that..” He let it seep out like airy, ignorant honey while paying her a deliberate roll of his eyes. For a moment, he wondered how she'd react to the truth of his latest inadvertent deliberate overstep.

He wondered too for a moment how she hid being such an Everlast fan so well?

“And besides, whoever is putting us in a position to spend all this time together? Not like you've done much to evade it…” a pause, a deliberation and once more he gave in to that voice that begged him to needle at her.

Poke the bear. Boil her blood. Make the lightning flash in that storm in her eyes. It'd kill him someday maybe, but not tonight.

“Good as “Original Sin” has looked the past couple matches, you never were good at hiding from me.”

“Keep going and you'll very quickly find out how effective it still is too…” Whether she chose to admit it or not, the threat itself was empty. If only for the fact she’d already managed two finishers and felt every part of both through her left arm and shoulder, pains that intermittently fluctuated between tingling numbness and shooting pains that seemed to radiate audibly out of her fingertips.

He wanted the reaction- the stupid smug Fuding smile he wore just beneath the janky facade of gentlemanly caring about his tag team partner flickering through far more than he knew, and that she’d tell him. No, he wanted her to bite… but she didn’t have the ‘spark’ left spare to give more than a cursory warning snarl.

Save your breath.

There was never any telling how many more she had left, and be damned if she’d waste an unnecessary second of it on Matt.

“... and it's you by the way.” Matter of factly, as if he weren’t already aware, she straightened up slightly, swallowing the next jolt that seemed to pulse from where her shoulder met her collar bone. “You’re the one who keeps putting us in these positions to spend time together.”

Cocking an eyebrow while expectantly waiting on a smarmy reply, she gently returned to rolling the tape between her fingers. If nothing else, it seemed like a far more productive use of her time.

“And again, you keep showing up….” He gave the expected smarm, deliberately omitting the part where he was in fact the one who showed up to her locker room.

His eyes betrayed his indifferent theatrics, locked on the way her shoulder moved. Half rolls, rolls she tried to hide as shifts. A hand wandering up to tend to tenderness. Well hidden to those who swam in ignorance..

He stood deftly, and without a word of caution crosses to her. “You need to listen to the trainers once in awhile, Red…” He mumbled as one pale hand came up to rest on her shoulder, it's thumb seeking out one of many patches of bunched up muscle before setting to unwind them.

“Especially if you plan on staying…”

“... And if you intend to keep your hand, I would suggest removing it.” Curt. Abrupt. Amber less than subtly leaned away from Matt's grasp, the intrusion on her space only amplified by the sickening attempt at advice giving.

As if she didn't hear it from them already. As if her own doctor had chosen to no longer mince words. As though, she herself was already aware of the fact her career should have been over… that there was only so long one could continue to brute force, grit teeth and show up.

“I don't need a lecture and I certainly don't need to be touched.” If the early snarl was a warning, this was a blatant threat.

A cornered animal, whether pushed back by friend or foe remained a cornered animal. No amount of insincere sincerity or false bravado would change that.

Instinctively, she slipped away beneath his arm and to her feet, crossing half way across the room before turning back to face him, that faintly animalistic instinct to make one's self look bigger and more assertive manifesting in an imaginary length of rebar in her spine and the loose curl of her fists.

“It ain't like there's much option. Show up or don’t… and you have this real pain in the Fuding ass habit of narrowing down that choice for me, Matt.”

She didn't intend it to come off as blame, the virulence radiating as though it seeped from every pore. Defensiveness evolved from knowing, from being a little too self aware and she’d never admit the way that it might have been eating her alive.

“Hey, easy….” He managed against the sudden outburst and barrage, surprised the landmine went off from the application of pressure “I just figured you've stitched my face together, so maybe I help your shoulder feel less dead without the droning lecture..”

He dared a step around her seat, and a half step toward her “Far as this all being my fault? I think that's on you here, Red. I get being mad at being dragged out of a grave but…”

He paused, considering his words carefully if only for a moment “There's no way you're fighting this hard to keep showing up when I supposedly dictate you should.”

A small chuckle “The way you talk to these doctors…” He huffed at it, bemused.

“Your fault.” Like molasses, the syllables trickled across her tongue, methodically each one emphasis in it's own right as she shook her head with an incredulous smile. “You believe that's what I think… that I’m so Fuding one-note that it comes down to a Gosh Dang ‘blame game’?”

Taking a half step back, she gauged his body language for a second, her forced smile curling into a pained snarl.

“As if this didn’t start with you… and like the selfish Fuding asshole you always are, it’ll end with you too. Cause you’ll make sure of it, right?” Amber curled the fingers of her right hand into a fist while her left, her favored, remained fixed at her side. Thick tendrils of crimson fell around her face, incandescently framing the sheer indignance she couldn’t stand to withhold any longer in the face of ignorance and false sincerity.

“Let’s be real here Matt, I don’t exactly have many punches left on my proverbial dance card these days, but be Fuding damned if you don’t just go and Fuding take them anyways to serve your own righteous sense of justice and retribution.

You’re right about one thing though…” A pause, one that noted the way her voice had started to crack and the veneer of indifference she’d worked so hard to carefully maintain seemed to be crumbling away into a pile of good intentions at her feet.

“I don’t have to show up- but this may come as a real shock to you… I’m a Gosh Dang Fuding professional Matt, perhaps unlike you I actually take alot of pride in what I do- and more importantly, who I am… for what little it seems to matter.

I will always show up, and you know that, and you keep using that… abusing it… like I;m some wretched little sidekick that's gonna keep running back everytime you call. It ain’t for you, it never is.

See, I’ve had my career taken from me more than once… and I couldn’t bear to look at the legacy I’d left behind, I was damn near ashamed at times of the way I was potentially gonna be remembered. I scratched and clawed to get it back so I could do better- and all you wanna do is have us chase shadows and stuff the skeletons back in your Fuding closet.”

Rage fuelled regret, emotion poured like blood and cheap wine into the void left between them, as though their souls weren’t already painted in the others greatest regrets. Amber threw out her arms in exasperation, the sharpness of pain in her left shoulder forcing a pained inhale that still somehow left her breathless.

Her right hand shot immediately to her shoulder as though it might do anything to slow down the racing jolts that burned at her fingertips, leaving every nerve raw and angry in their wake.

“They fucked it up, did you know that…” An uncertain chuckle emanated between deep breaths as Amber tried to recompose herself. A small shake of the head killed the remainder of the humor left in her throat. “Complications apparently… not common, not unheard of either. Can’t fix it, according to the docs I should be ‘happy’ that they did what they could to put me back together, that I’m supposed to be grateful that I can feel pain instead of absolutely nothing at all.”

Another chuckle lived and died as the bile crept across the back of her tongue, a few more errant strands of red falling across the steely blue-green of eyes framed with darkened circles.

“Grateful. That's the word they used… I’m sure as Fudge not Fuding grateful when I’m waking up in so much pain I need to take a cold shower and just scream, hoping no one can hear me over the Fuding water…” Another pause, the syllables trailing into a depth of silence that even she wasn’t sure they could tread.

“Jesus…” He breathed, listening to her while balancing his own sudden array of emotions. Regret boiled to the top of them for poking at this.

Then again, better it spill out of her and leave him bruised than it sit and rot her from within, right?

“Your dance card is as long as you make it Red, and I know you don't want to hear and won't believe this, or that I believe it, but if you're worried about legacy…”

He cut himself off before poking with a jab, thinking better of it. His mind shuffled, suddenly only wanting to put her flames out and soothe her.

“Hell…waking up not feeling a part of your body? Since we've met, and some time before I've spent the first hour of my day willing my hands to life…” He lifted them, waggling his fingers.

“And me? I'm nowhere near the warrior you are. Couldn't endure half what you do so I know- know - that your lifespan is in your hands, Red.”

“No, don’t you just stand there and ‘Red’ me, Matt.” Another sharp breath crossed her lips as the writhing knot in her chest tightened under the weight of their tension. “My ‘lifespan’ should have ended a more than a decade ago, it should have ended almost a year and a half ago…”

Another sentence trailed, the implication laying heavy enough between them that it might have suffocated them both, if left to fester.

“I’m running out of fights. That's the harsh truth… I got Fuding doctors up my ass every other week telling me how I’m gonna lose all the feeling in my left arm if I keep going, or that it's gonna end up working up to my neck if I move the wrong way… but I can’t just…” Throwing up her right hand in frustration, Amber turned her back to Matt as though refusing to no longer engage.

“There, you got what you wanted… like usual… You can Fudge off now until I’ve got another nerve to poke.”

God, she looked small.

He wasn't ever entirely sure what he was after when he came to see her. Lord knew he'd given up on trying to guess where they'd end up when he did. Never here though…

It reminded him of Reno. Seeing her hunched over, tired and ready to fold because she didn't know eyes were on her.

All he wanted then was suddenly all he wanted now.

And before he knew it, the fool spoke.

“Then let's leave.” Plain, simple and to the point. An alarm went off in his head, but instead of listening to it he found more words she'd make him regret.

“Fudge professionalism. Fudge the gold belts. Fudge Tamika, Cam, whichever Marshall…” He furrowed his brow, trying to grasp onto his point as he struggled not to be swept away in his foolishness.

“You're more than this…maybe you aren't sure what else..hell. I don't know what else I'd do but…” He trailed off once more, letting out a sigh.

“I just want to see you content, Amber. I thought this was where that'd be but if I'm wrong, if all this is wrong? Help me fix it.”

Crinkling her nose, the freckles splattered across captured the light momentarily.

“I don’t know what the Fudge I want Matt… but I know I don’t just wanna be ‘content’. Content is sitting on the couch whiling away the days, watching them bleed into each other wondering when lifes gonna improve while doing nothing about it. Content is a life that doesn’t think that it can do any better.

I tried doing the ‘content’ thing for a year and I hated myself worse than I ever did as World Champion killing myself night after night for a crowd who’d rather have seen me dead.”

Gesturing vaguely, she forced the remnants of a half smile to the corner of her lips.

“I get that you wanna just ‘fix’ everything, but life doesn’t work like that… As if I’m not already living proof of the fact. It's noble, but it's Fuding stupid as hell.

You’re welcome to seek contentment, but I think we both know we will always want more than we can have…”

He let out a tired sigh he likely had no right to, his head bowing as his right hand lifted, gesturing to nothing at first before allowing words to form after more thorough vetting.

“If trying to see you make it out alive makes me a fool then I'll get fitted for the hat…” He shakes his head, wishing he'd chosen something better to say.

Nothing was good enough for her anyway, not in his eyes.

“Keeping you close…taking up the space I do on your dance card? It's exactly what it looks like and I won't apologize for it…” He goes to add something but hesitates, his face twitching as he fails to hide the pause.

“Wouldn’t insult you with a false one either…” pivot to a different level of honesty. Something safe.

Now it was just on her being merciful or uninterested.

Regarding his words bluntly, she barely turned her head enough to capture him in her icy periphery before acknowledging what they both probably had thought.

“You’re a f-cking idiot.” No need for sugarcoating, the niceties had long since departed the conversation, perhaps taking leave the moment he’d let his knuckles meet the door. “I just don’t even know what else to tell you…”

It seemed as though their whole relationship was built on the premise of a stalemate, this unending battle of compromises that left them both dissatisfied and without solution. Give and take to the point that neither had anything left to sacrifice at the others alter, the stairs to which stained red with the blood that had been spilled in search of something tangible.

“Just…” He trailed off, sighing as now he took her seat from her on top of everything else. He ran a hand through his hair and chuckled quietly.

“God, I'm sick of you making me tongue tied…” a jab at levity that felt like the last impotent rifle shot over a battlefield everyone had already died upon.They knew the destination they'd been heading toward, knew where the subtle games and the close calls would lead. The cliff.

So of course they tried to drag the good over the ledge to burn with them by doing nothing but admire the sangria.

“Please don't cut off your nose to spite your face, alright?” He managed “You…you matter. And it'd ruin the view besides.

Yes. I'm a Fuding idiot.”

Relenting, she turned back 90 degrees with a frustrated sigh.

“If I cut off my nose, I promise you- it's cause I’m taking their head.”

Venomous in the right dose, the response came measured in lethality. In neither agreeance nor denial, she was unwilling to acknowledge that his care felt somehow genuine in spite of the mouth it was spat from… Still, somehow this purgatory in between felt far more natural than choosing a side.

Adjusting her stance reflexively, she let her right fist unfurl and the blood to rush back into knuckles starved white in her oppressed fury and hurt.

“Anything else would be disingenuous, and hardly worth the effort…” Forcing the crooked grin, she hoped it might somehow dissuade the tension that flooded whatever space the void in between hadn’t already swallowed.

“Suppose I'll have to take that…at face value…” He smirked in his own forced levity. In truth he wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake some damn sense into her.

But vague promises of self preservation unless it was for murder would have to do.

He stood from his seat then, letting out a breath and nodding “I'll get out of your hair…unless you wanna go get a bite? Act like we're friends? I'll let you draw tag offense on a napkin.”

A soft cast of a net to keep her closer a little longer before retiring to the facade of their neighbors in ignorance existence.

“Appreciate the offer,” She started trying to offer the most genuine version of a smile she could find in the space that threatened to drag them both to oblivion. “Might just stay here a little longer though… just need to decompress a little.”

If there was a presence of sheepishness in her voice, it was unintentional as Amber cleared her throat and gently dropped back onto the nearest bench.

“You know, breath it out and all the mantras they give you in therapy…”

Levity never quite hit the same way when it wasn't from a place of sincerity. Still, he'd never deny her a chuckle however small and dry.

“How are you going to tell me you want to unwind right after turning down a back rub?” He chided in good nature although the wry smirk on his face made it obvious he was at least making faces at the bear if not poking it.

“They also talk a lot about forgiveness, self love and letting go of things that have stopped working at those things…” a brief pause before he adds “Not that I ever listened.”

A bemused half shrug followed.

“Guess I missed that lesson, huh.” There would be those who’d say she’d never learn, that acceptance of things past was the only way to have a future.

Only she'd done that a thousand times, swallowed those razor blades with a smile and did her damnedest to move on.

To live.

Only it hadn't ever left her better off… only more empty. More metal than flesh. More everyone else than herself.

Amber softened her expression naturally, allowing herself a small slump into the wall at her back.

“I think you need to save the backrub for someone else who might appreciate it… or at least not put your lights out for trying.

Still, it's a nice gesture… truly. Just maybe not tonight, yeah?”

“Not tonight…” He repeated, before adding a mirthful whistle “I might need to get the doc, have you checked for a concussion…”

It was corny, it was obvious and part of him theorized enough to bet that maybe it could be medicine for her. He'd never claim to know her, not the way he would to live inside the heads of those who opposed them.

Him.

Opposed him.

He nodded though, taking one long stride toward the door before taking a pause, he doesn't bother to look over his shoulder before speaking, as if seeing her would wither the resolve and sincerity.

“You know I'll be a few doors down…if you don't feel good enough to get yourself back to the hotel or the airport..

You Know.”

Amber gently rocked herself up to her feet as Matt reached the door. A half step suggested she might try to stop him, but the half step landed with the weight of it's immediate death.

“Yeah. I know…”

Watching as Matt skirted the threshold of the door for as long as both their patience's might have allowed, Amber shifted her stance on the spot.

Both of them anticipating a moment that neither wanted to initiate, and instead Matt Knox' disappeared through the door- allowing it to close behind him with a gentle thud.

Amber paused a few moments, her own breath hitched somewhere in her throat.

In the most automatic of senses, her breath seemed to seep between her lips and feet shuffled heavily across the floor as though any greater sound might betray her listening out for footsteps.

For silence. For a promised reprieve from pretending she was somehow coherent and in any other way ‘fine’.

Concrete gave way to tile as the bathroom amplified the ruggedness of her breath. Fingers curled, Amber found the last lingering dregs of breath leave in a sigh that echoes far more loudly than she felt comfortable acknowledging, as her hand gently wrapped around the edge of the shower tap…

He'd lingered looking for reason to stay. It was odd, he wasn't a fool and neither was she. The air, the room? The both wrote in big, red text only to be ignored for foolish pride and….

Well, what else was there?

He lingered for a moment outside the door,making a show for the passer bys of massaging knees that were instantly envious of the stream of water he heard from behind the door. God, that'd be perfect. But it could wait.

He grunted, crossing the couple steps to the gear crate and hopping up upon his perch. He'd indulge when he knew she got back safely, wherever she'd go. See her through that much and lend his strength even if she'd never accept.

Hell, she'd done it for him.