Work Text:
It’s a bloody weird business, this. You get spectacularly used to the long travel days, the shitty little venues, the constant drive to be better—do better—and you hope it doesn’t swallow you whole. Alex thinks she’s pretty good at that last part.
She compartmentalises her life neatly; wrestling in the ring and the venues, shop talk allowed on nights out but only when it makes her laugh, tape study only for small chunks of time. The rest of her life is dedicated to everything else; grocery shopping and running a 5k that leaves her and her friends covered in mud and taking videos of her cats yelling at her. It works. She’s good but she’s not burning out like so many of the others. If she’s never the blazing stars that her fiance, her best friend, and her tag partner are then so be it. What a small price to pay for a full life.
But no matter how much she compartmentalises, it has its effects. She’s long since left behind any notion of exclusivity or jealousy in her relationship. It doesn’t work. Not in this business when you can be apart for so long, when you’re spending so much time in such close quarters with other people. Maybe it would be fine for some people but Alex knows herself—she knows him—and it just doesn’t work. That’s fine. She’s understanding, she’s flexible, she’s willing to make it work. He is too.
When he doesn’t come back from Cincinnati that night, she’s not surprised. Frankly, she’s more surprised that he calls. She picks up anyway, course she does. How’s the neck? Don’t work it too hard. They’re not being like…weird, are they? Just finished packing for Wednesday. Goodnight.
It’s not an unusual conversation. Why does she feel like it is?
She doesn’t put her finger on it until she’s tucked in her plane seat, with her headphones on and an episode of her current TV addiction—Hacks, Jamie put her onto it last week—pulled up. No I love you and something placid in his voice. She’s used to him acting like a golden retriever who had just seen their favourite toy go flying. He had been calm. Weird.
They’re fine with each other at Dynamite, a quick reunion and a warm, greeting kiss before she’s sweeping off to makeup and to check her gear and to stretch. It’s only after the show when she wraps a hand around his wrist to catch his attention that she spots it. He shies away from her touch in a way he never has—even when she was prodding experimentally at his healing neck scar—and she unfurls her fingers to see a small, circular burn scar right at his wrist. She’s not stupid.
“Who the fuck put a cigarette out on you?”
“Was a joint actually.” Alex’s grip around his wrist tightens again, enough to make him flinch.
“Not my problem with this and you know it.” Her voice is even, level in the way she keeps it when she’s trying to keep her temper—not as volatile as most in this business but simmering nonetheless—in check.
“‘S not a big deal, Al.”
Liar.
He doesn’t make a habit of lying to her. She presses her thumb into the burn once more, making a point, before releasing him. “Which one of them was it? Danny and Yuta are little shites, they don’t have the nerve.” She’s thinking out loud, she knows this, but he’s just looking at her and it’s more unnerving than if he was trying to cover his tracks with his usual rambling. “Mox or Marina, innit? Not really anyone else who would.”
When he refuses to meet her gaze, she knows she’s right. “Right. Him or her?”
He doesn’t respond even when she stares at him in silence for a long moment. Usually it cracks him long before her patience wavers but, for all he isn’t looking at her, he’s resolutely silent this time. It, quite irrationally, pisses her off. “Alright. Fine. I’ll guess. It was her, wasn’t it? More her vibe than his, I reckon.”
“Al, it doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it bloody does!” She says disbelievingly, and steps back from him. “Look, whatever fucked up rehab shit they’re doing with you is your business but you’re more mad than before if you think I’m just going to stand by and watch them hurt you for no bloody reason. What could putting a joint out on you possibly achieve?”
“Dunno, I didn’t ask,” he says mulishly, like a child caught doing something he shouldn’t.
“Right. Of course you didn’t. Jesus Christ,” Alex heaves a sigh, raking her hand through her hair and shaking her head. “It doesn’t even matter. Do what you want.” She can’t have this fight with him. She compartmentalises. He lets wrestling sprawl over their life, casting a great shadow over everything else. She’ll always lose to his focus.
So she doesn’t regret it when she walks away, even though she can feel his gaze finally fall upon her back. She does, however, have a destination in mind that isn’t exactly the women’s locker room. She’s sure that she could go back there, find Jamie, beg her to go for a pint while she has a rant. It’s a better idea than what she’s actually doing.
The Death Riders always occupy their own locker room. It’s always something grimy and dingy, even when their venue is bright and shiny and new which Alex does have to admit is impressive. She’s in front of the door before she can even think it through. And then, just to complete her swath of terrible decisions, she walks straight in without knocking.
Jesus, his impulsivity is wearing off on her.
“I want to talk to Marina.” Alex is quite proud of the fact that her voice is steady and cool, like this was an everyday occurrence. When they all look up in concert, she realises that maybe she’s just walked straight into a den of wolves without a second thought.
“She saw your mark, man. Knew you shouldn’t have burned him.” Danny is laughing though, using the toes of his shoes to prod at Marina’s thigh. Alex watches her swat him away, brow raised. So they were all in on it. God, they were fucking freaks.
It’s Mox who stands first. It’s not quite an unfurling but he seems to stack his spine up a vertebra at a time until he’s standing a good eight inches above her, looking down at her. She feels, distantly, like she should be afraid but well, she’s not short on her own supply of stubbornness so she just tilts her chin up defiantly and stares at him. He doesn’t blink. Neither does she.
It’s a test, she realises, when his expression smooths slightly and he looks to Marina. “What do you think, sweetheart? You want to entertain her or are we getting rid?” His voice is just as low and gravelly as it is when a camera is turned to him and finally, Alex feels the slow creep of dread at the base of her spine. Maybe this had been a bad idea. She isn’t sure she wants to know what ‘getting rid of her’ would entail.
Marina looks up from where she had still been batting at Danny and Yuta and the expression she wears is inscrutable.
“She can stay. I’ll talk to her alone.” Marina says casually, like it’s about the weather and not the fact that she had been leaving fucking burn marks on Alex’s fiance.
“Alright. You know where we are if she kicks up a fuss.” Mox rumbles, pressing his way past Alex.
“She has a name and can hear you, by the way,” she snipes as he does and she feels the way his laugh vibrates through his chest rather than hears it.
“She might be more of a problem than we thought.” He says half-admiringly, still to Marina, and Alex rolls her eyes, fighting the urge to shoulder check him hard. Yet another battle she knows she’d lose.
But the others pile out too and close the door behind them, leaving her entirely alone with Marina who’s still lounging on a chair, legs slung over the arm of it. Now, with the two of them together, Alex isn’t actually quite sure what she wants to say. He knew what he was getting into with them–Alex knew it too. Why is she surprised suddenly that they haven’t changed? “You didn’t have to put a fucking joint out on him.”
Marina only shrugs. She only does it with one shoulder, Alex notes. It’s frustratingly blase which she imagines is probably the point.
“I mean, Jesus, what did that achieve? The rest of your shit is…I mean, whatever, I think it’s mad but at least it mostly makes sense in theory. What did burning him solve?” Alex continues doggedly, trying to find the fire that had dragged her here in the first place. It’s a lot harder with Marina’s unblinking gaze on her and she feels the words die off in her mouth.
“His neck is a problem. He needs to fix it.” Marina finally responds and Alex blinks at her.
“Well, yeah. That was sort of the point of them, y'know, cutting him open and all that. I still don’t see the relevance of burning him for the fun of–”
“I don’t particularly like him, you know.” Again, that conversational tone. She hasn’t even moved. Alex stares at her.
“Right. So this is a vendetta thing?” That, at least, would make sense. Marina resenting the new face in their stable, eager to punish him for taking attention away from her or for failing them or for whatever else weird reason she’s invented in her head. At least it would be a reason.
“Mm. No. I don’t think about him that much.”
Alex throws her hands up in defeat. “So what? You’re just some kind of sadist?”
Marina slants her a tiny smile, a flicker of dangerous amusement in her eyes. Alex feels like a wild animal that just put their leg in a trap. She can see the iron jaws of it about to clamp around her calf in the curl of Marina’s lips.
“And what if that is the answer? Was it wise to come stomping in here like you had a point?” Marina asks. The ease in her voice is disconcerting. Alex grimaces and, not for the first time, wishes she had stopped to think before throwing herself into situations.
“No. Probably not.” She concedes with a quiet tilt of her head. It was just the truth after all. Marina seems amused by it nonetheless.
“Did he tell you what we spoke about that night?”
“No. He didn’t even tell me it was you who did it.”
Marina raises her eyebrow, once and surprised. There’s a sick feeling of satisfaction that rises in Alex solely from taking the other woman off guard and then it curdles into something unsettling. He’s keeping secrets from her and Marina is surprised by it.
“So what, you just…figured it out?” Marina says slowly. Bitterly, Alex thinks that it would have been faster to call her stupid.
“It’s not that hard, is it? Like I told him, Danny and Yuta are little shites but don’t have the nerve. Pac doesn’t care about him enough. Claudio never starts the smoke sessions from what I hear. Could have been Mox but nah…more your style, isn’t it?”
Marina inclines her head, that same small smile still twisting her lips—the one that makes Alex feel ill at ease. She flips a pocket knife open and Alex’s stomach twists violently.
“What are you going to do with that?” She asks sharply, the words lurching out of her before she even thinks about them and Marina’s brow creases in amusement. Then she idly uses the tip to clean her nails.
“Why, do you want me to do something with it?”
Something about her tone sets Alex’s nerves on fire and she takes an unsteady step towards Marina. “Put it down. We don’t have to do this like this. I just don’t want him hurt.”
Marina stands slowly, the same stacking way that Mox had stood, and tilts her head consideringly. Alex feels like she’s being examined, like Marina has slid her under a microscope and is staring at her in hopes of finding some sort of fault. “He’ll get hurt anyway.”
“You know what I mean. It’s…I know what we do. I know he’ll get hurt. But I mean hurt more than he needs to be,” Alex says, instinctively standing taller.
She doesn’t expect Marina to be particularly forthcoming about her actual motives or even that apologetic. She doesn’t expect Marina to step closer to her, crowding into her space. “I don’t like him. And I’d have picked other people to join us before him.”
Alex cedes ground and hates herself for it when she feels her back touch the wall. “You would?”
The cool of the knife brushes the side of her bicep, right over the ink of her tattoo and achingly gentle. It’s worse than if Marina had stabbed her, she thinks. “Yes.”
No elaboration. She shouldn’t be surprised.
So, Alex does what she does best and lets her body respond on instinct. One hand to Marina’s hip as she spins them and shoves Marina hard against the wall and presses her forearm to Marina’s throat. “And who was that? Kris I assume. You look at her like she’s some puppy your dad wouldn’t let you get for your birthday.”
Marina leans her head back against the wall and looks up at Alex from under her lashes. If Alex didn’t think she was a soulless, heartless harpy, it would almost be a look of seduction. “That’s one.”
Alex presses harder at her throat until Marina gasps, although her eyes barely even widen. It sends a ridiculous flush of heat through Alex, one that she determinedly tries to ignore. It’s not like Alex likes her. “And the rest? Who else is so good that you feel the need to hurt him because he’s not them?” The words slide out of her in a slow, tense hiss, all buzzing fricatives and strained stops.
Marina’s silent for a long, lingering moment and then she reaches up to push the handle of the pocket knife into Alex’s palm. Instinctively, Alex’s fingers curl around it and the flat of the blade shifts to rest against Marina’s fluttering pulse. When the first bead of crimson blood wells up, staining the silver of the blade, Marina smiles.
“You would have made such a beautiful Death Rider. Aren’t you already titanium?” She purrs slowly.
The knife clatters to the floor and Alex steps back, chest aching for some indescribable reason. “I’m nothing like you.”
Marina stays where Alex had left her and grins finally, baring a mouthful of teeth like a snarling wolf. “If you say so. If you get tired of Jamie…if you want to be made strong…”
“I’m not joining you.”
When Marina wipes the blood from her neck and then licks it from her thumb, Alex bites back a noise that would definitely have been inappropriate. She doesn’t want this. She wants the Death Riders to bloody piss off and be reasonable. That last part might be a pipe dream, she’s quite aware of that. Marina is still staring at her so she shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket and shrugs harshly. “Suppose I should go.”
“I’m not stopping you.” Marina says idly, arching her back indulgently and slowly making her way towards Alex. Alex finds she can’t quite pull herself away. Instead, she surges forward and slams Marina back against the wall, slanting their lips together. It’s more of a fight than a kiss, teeth clashing as they both bite at each other.
Their mouths are bloody when Alex tears herself back. “I can’t make him stay away from you. But fucking watch yourselves.”
Marina watches her, amused. “Whatever you say.”
As Alex storms out, heart thundering in her chest, she hears Marina behind her, voice soft and dangerously sweet. “You know where we are, Alex. Keep it in mind. You could be so much more than just his.”
The thought has teeth. It follows her all the way home.