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Long after the crowds have left, and the others have packed up and gone to their hotels, Becky sits in the locker room. She’s still in her ring gear, the sweat long dry, making the material itch and chafe around the edges, but she can’t bring herself to move.
She’s got her belt laid out on her lap, tracing the lines of the W and the curves of her plates.
Her belt. What a joke.
She already knows they’re taking it from her, and it makes the victory tonight a little bittersweet.
She knows she should be happy – proud even. What she and Charlotte did out there? They weren’t just spectacular, they were making history.
Still…
A throat clears across the room, and Becky isn’t in control of the small smile that curls at the corner of her mouth.
“Hey Champ,” Charlotte says, quiet even in the still room.
“For now,” Becky replies.
She doesn’t want to taint this night for Charlotte – the blonde put her all into putting Becky over, and she really is grateful. She just can’t help feeling this way.
Charlotte sighs and steps in, but the look in her eye says maybe she understands. She’s changed out of her ring gear, wears a simple gray shirt and pair of dark blue jeans, her leather jacket thrown over one shoulder.
“Sorry,” Becky mutters, looking down again as the taller woman slides onto the bench behind her. She hears the jacket hit the floor. “Don’t mean to be sucha brat.”
“That’s kind of your thing right now, isn’t it?” Charlotte teases, but her tone is kind and she slips long arms around the redhead, pulling her close.
Becky shivers – she had no idea she was cold until she felt Charlotte’s warmth against her back.
“Not with you,” Becky whispers, and her voice is weak, just short of cracking.
Tears well up in her eyes and a lump rises in her throat, but she fights them down.
She won tonight. She has no reason to be like this.
“Don’t tell anyone, but I kinda like it,” Charlotte says, nuzzling the side of her neck and resting their cheeks together. “I’m sorry, baby.”
Now Becky pulls away, huffing as she stands and turns. She's dropped the belt on the bench, forgotten.
“You’ve got no cause to be apologizing, Charlotte,” she insists, her arms coming to wrap protectively around her own middle.
She’s sore from the match, but that pain seems small compared to the weird, unnameable ache in her chest.
“No,” Charlotte agrees, not getting up but looking like she wants to. “But I know what’s going through your head right now, and I’m sorry you have to go through that.”
“I won tonight, for Christ’s sake! I should be happy. Ecstatic even!” Becky’s voice is loud in the mostly empty room, exasperated. “I dunno what’s wrong with me.”
Charlotte looks like she wants to say something, maybe use logic, but she closes her mouth after a second.
She stands instead, picking up her jacket and the belt from where they slipped to the floor, and walking with purpose over to the smaller woman.
“I’m packing your shit, and we’re getting out of here.”
“What?” Becky asks, confused.
“You heard me.” Charlotte says, draping the leather jacket over Becky’s shoulders. “You can shower at the hotel.”
The redhead looks at the taller woman as if she’s lost her mind.
“We’re still feuding, Charlie. We can’t--”
“Screw. That.” Charlotte says, voice dipping low in that way that Becky would usually appreciate. “We just gave them Match Of The Year. We’re allowed a single night of being off the clock.”
Dazed and clutching Charlotte’s jacket tighter around herself, Becky watches her girlfriend throw all her things in her suitcase.
Handle in one hand, Charlotte wraps her other arm around Becky’s shoulders, physically moving them from the locker room.
Becky doesn’t talk as Charlotte leads her through the hallways to the parking area. Doesn’t say a word as she is gently deposited in the passenger’s seat and belted in.
They’re on the highway before a wave of emotion rises up and beaks through Becky’s control.
She leans forward, one hand against the dash, the other over her mouth to try and stop the single sob that breaks loose.
“I’m...I’m so fucking tired, Charlotte. So fucking sad.” She shudders as she breathes in and out, but manages not to sob again. “I miss everybody.”
“I know, baby.”
“I’ve been goin’ so hard, and for what? To put Ronda Rousey over? Gimme a break, huh?”
Charlotte glances over briefly, before turning her eyes back to the road.
“Want me to take her out?” the blonde offers.
Becky laughs through a few tears, wiping at her cheeks.
“You would, wouldn’t you?”
Charlotte signals and merges lanes, grinning. “In a hot second, babe.”
“It’s just...it’s not fair.” Becky sighs and leans back in the seat, covering her eyes with a hand. “Not that any of this is fair.”
“I’m only going to say this once. Ronda is a flash in the pan, and barely that. She’ll be gone by this time next year, forgotten, and we'll be out in the ring getting the cheers we deserve.”
Becky shifts her head, looking at Charlotte through one cracked eye.
“Not like you to talk shite behind someone’s back.”
Charlotte snorts, rolling her eyes.
“It’s not talking shit if it’s true.”
“And what makes you think the Rowdy weirdo’s gonna burn out so quick? Creative’s pushing her like Sisyphus with his rock.”
“Because she doesn’t have the drive that we do. To her, this is a consolation prize because she failed at her chosen career. She has no respect for what we do. And the fans are gonna see that.”
The car pulls into the hotel parking lot, and Charlotte turns off the ignition.
They sit in the darkness for a few seconds, neither saying anything, before Charlotte unclips her belt and, in the smoothest move that Becky’s every seen, slides over the center console and straddles her lap, reaching down to hit the seat release as she does, so Becky’s leaned way back.
“Alright, whatever mood I was in before, that was too masterful for me to be anything but impressed.”
Charlotte grins. “Just impressed?”
Becky shrugs as much as she’s able, hands coming up to settle around her girlfriend’s hips. “I’d be lying if I said it didn’t light my fire.”
Becky takes a deep breath, but Charlotte’s hand shoots up and covers her mouth.
“Do not ruin this by singing or making a stupid pun.”
Sorely tempted, eyes narrow with mischief, Becky licks Charlotte’s hand.
“Ew! Seriously?” Charlotte groans, wiping her hand on the seat next to them. “How are you turning a guaranteed yes into a no right now?”
“One of The Champ’s many skills,” Becky says, chuckling.
She looks up at Charlotte, ache in her chest different now.
Charlotte glares for a moment, before her expression softens too.
“You really think I got what it takes to make it, don’tcha?” Becky asks, fingers curling in Charlotte’s shirt. The material is soft, soothing even.
“I really, really do.” Charlotte replies, reaching down to cup Becky’s face.
They kiss and it’s short but sweet, like coming home after a long, hard day.
“Well,” Becky breathes as they break apart. “If you believe in me, I can’t lose.”
“Not as long as I’m around, no, you can’t.”
Another wave of emotion rises up in Becky’s chest, but it’s better this time, warm and good.
“I really love you, you know?” she whispers, head turning aside to look out the window, suddenly shy.
She feels a gentle but firm hand turn her back.
“Good. That makes this way less awkward,” Charlotte whispers, and kisses her again.
The sadness isn’t gone, but the warm feeling is stronger and bigger.
They get out of the car and slip quietly in the hotel, allowing themselves a single evening of just being before they have to gear up again.