Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mirage closes the fridge, the apartment returning to pitch blackness, the only thing breaking it up being the sunlight peeking through the slats of the blinds. She sets the makeup bag down, staring at her reflection in the mirror before realizing it’s pointless to touch it up in the dark and sighs. 

Her ponytail swings as she slings her gym bag over her shoulder, shoes squeaking on the vinyl floors. It’s burning hot and bright outside, as always, and she uses a hand to shield her eyes as she locks the door. 

It’s a short walk to the gym but a fine layer of sweat forms on her skin anyway. She wipes it off, pushing a loose strand of hair back along with it, when she approaches the taco stand.

“Hey, manita, how’s it going?” the man asks.

“Eh, more of the same,” she shrugs. “Just one al pastor please.”

“Just one? Not two?”

She nods. 

“Money’s tight, you know.”

“Yeah, I get it,” he replies as he makes the taco. “You going to the gym?”

“Yep.”

“They should hire you, you’re always there anyway.”

“I wish.”

She hands him cash as he hands her the taco.

“No drink?”

She shakes her head, a bite of the taco already in her mouth. 

“It’ll give me cramps,” she says as she walks away. “My body is a well-oiled machine.”

He laughs and waves goodbye, Mirage reciprocating the gesture, and once she turns the corner she scarfs down the rest of the taco. 

Truthfully, she would have gotten a drink had she had more than five dollars remaining in her wallet, but she doesn’t, so the gym water fountain it is. 

It’s relatively empty when she gets there, a couple people scattered on the various machines, and she sets her bag on a bench in the corner. The punching bag is feet away, ever so slightly swaying from the fan, and she stares at it while she puts on her headphones as if she’s trying to intimidate it.

Well, she is about to punch it a thousand times, it should be intimidated. 

She squares up, focus narrowing to just the bag as pop plays softly in her headphones. 

Wham.

The whap of her fist hitting the bag echoes through the gym.

Right hand. Left hand. Right hand. Left up to block. Step back. Right hand. 

It’s a rhythm, a routine, a flow. Getting into this flow is as natural as breathing for Mirage, her body falling into it before she can even think, shutting out everything other than the way her body is moving and the sounds of the bag, the music setting a pace in the back of her mind. 

Hit when the key changes. Dodge when she starts singing. Come from the left with the guitar. Ooh, this is a good song. Right. Block. Left. 

Someone drops a weight and she flinches before snapping back into focus. 

Song change. Switch sides. Double right. Under with the left. 

She doesn’t realize how long it’s been until the music stops, the CD spinning in empty air. 

She takes a deep breath, hands coming up to rest on her forehead, chest rising and falling. She realizes she forgot to use setting spray and therefore her makeup is probably running down to her chin, sighing at the fact. 

Her knuckles are throbbing and her heart is beating like a jackhammer, and when she turns around to get water someone is standing a foot away. 

Mirage yelps, fists flying up, and the stranger holds up her hands in a calming gesture.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she says, remarkably calm for someone who almost got punched in the face by someone who just spent forty-five minutes practicing. 

Mirage pulls her headphones down so they rest around her neck, observing the stranger. She’s shorter than Mirage, wearing a very nice, definitely not a workout outfit, brunette hair pulled back into a bun. She’s pretty. Pretty enough that it momentarily distracts Mirage from wondering why the fuck this well-dressed woman is talking to her right now, but Mirage’s heart is pounding and her throat is dry and she hopes this conversation will be over soon so she can sit down. 

“I know this is gonna sound insane,” the woman says. “But I’m developing this show.”

She holds out a business card. Mirage takes it. 

Big neon letters that read GLOW. 

“A show? Like, on TV?”

“Yes, but not the usual TV show,” she states. “It’s wrestling, all women, not the usual misogynistic shit.”

“Wrestling?”

Mirage’s dad would watch wrestling at night, the flashing lights and primal grunts noticeable in her room, but she never watched it with him, couldn’t even identify one of those guys if she tried.

“Why me?”

“Well, obviously you know how to fight,” the woman says, gesturing to the punching bag. 

“Yeah, but,” she replies, trying to find the words to explain to this woman that boxing and wrestling are two totally different things. “Isn’t wrestling, like…fake?”

“It’s definitely more planned than other kinds of fighting,” she concedes. “But the physicality is still there. The energy. Plus, you have rhythm, you were following along with that music-”

“I was?”

She nods and continues, “And you’re wearing makeup to the gym.”

Mirage looks to the side self consciously.

“No, no, it’s not a bad thing. I’m just saying that, even though you were beating the shit out of that bag, you were doing it with panache.”

Mirage stands there, unsure of what to say.

“Everyone else on this show is new too,” the woman says. “We’ll train you, rehearse everything, come up with your character, everything.”

She places a reassuring hand on Mirage’s arm.

“It’s just an offer,” she says. “An opportunity. Maybe come the first day and if it’s not for you, you can leave, no questions asked.”

“Wait, what’s your name?”

“Sasha.”

She extends her hand, and Mirage wipes her palm across her leotard before shaking Sasha’s hand. 

“Mirage.”

“Girl, that’s a wrestler’s name right there,” she laughs. 

She points to the business card in Mirage’s hand.

“Address is on the back,” she says. “And we’re giving everyone who auditions twenty bucks. If that sweetens the deal.”

She smiles and walks away, turning to wave after a few steps before heading out.

Mirage looks at the business card, fluorescent lights glinting off of the shiny letters. 

She’s not a wrestler, partially because she knows nothing about wrestling, partially because from what she does know it’s a bunch of beefy men throwing themselves onto each other and she does not exactly have the physique to withstand that without breaking her spine. Her only weapons are her fists and her scrappiness and neither of those can be present in the ring. 

You have rhythm, you were following along with the music.

You’re wearing makeup to the gym.

Even though you were beating the shit out of that bag, you were doing it with panache.

The address on the card isn’t too far away. Sasha will give her twenty bucks if she just shows up then leaves. 

She’s going only for that. 

The “arena,” if it can be called that, is a warehouse-like space with wooden bleachers and a wrestling ring in the middle, everything gray and brown and echoey and empty. 

Twenty bucks. You’ll get twenty bucks.

She sits at the top of the bleachers, observing the other girls there. There’s a pretty blonde with giant tits who looks like she should be in a Playboy spread instead of a wrestling ring, a brunette with a boisterous laugh talking to another brunette with an equally boisterous laugh, a girl who looks like she’s been lifting weights twenty four hours a day for years, two who are carbon copies of each other giggling and yammering in a way that seems unintelligible but the two of them appear to understand it perfectly, a girl in pigtails wearing all yellow.

The door slams, and Mirage looks over to see a woman with bright red hair and possibly the most stunning face she has ever seen walking in. She’s angular everywhere, sharp cheekbones, long nose, hair straight and falling across her face like a curtain. 

Mirage looks at her for a moment before averting her eyes, glancing around. There must be less than twenty girls here, a real motley crew, all of them looking like they’re here for different things. Sasha said everyone would be new but half of these girls, including Mirage, don’t look like they’ve ever even gotten into an argument, much less jumped like twenty feet in the air to body slam someone while wearing a bikini. She knows this is a different type of wrestling but really doesn’t see how this is going to turn into any kind of wrestling. 

Sasha and another woman enter the room, Sasha smiling while the other woman stoically regards them. 

“Hello, everyone,” Sasha greets, receiving a few hellos back. “As many of you probably already know, I’m Sasha, the director of this show. This is Isabe-”

“Mistress.”

“Mistress Isabelle Brooks,” Sasha corrects. “The former WWE women’s heavyweight champ.”

“That may have been years ago, but I still got it,” Mistress states.

“She’s gonna be your coach.”

“Isn’t this a tryout?” a woman on the bleachers asks, voice sharp and powerful.

“Calm down,” Sasha says. “It is a tryout, but as far as I know most of you are newbies, so we’re gonna teach you some moves and see how well you execute them.”

Silence. Everyone’s looking at her and she’s looking at them, the air weirdly tense, then Sasha claps and says, “First, let’s do some stretches.”

They’re stretching in the ring, girls in various positions of rolling their shoulders or touching their toes, and Mirage looks around again, wondering who she’s gonna be matched up with, if she’s even gonna be matched up with anyone before Sasha realizes she’s not gonna get anywhere with this and sends them all home to be replaced by a different batch, a batch who actually knows what they’re doing. 

“Damn girl, you’re flexible as hell,” the girl next to her says, one of the ones with a loud laugh. She’s tall and skinny too, stunningly beautiful, straight off of a Paris runway. Mirage questions what she’s doing here only because it seems like this woman wouldn’t want to damage that face. 

“I guess those gymnastics lessons when I was four paid off,” Mirage jokes, eliciting a chuckle. “Thank god there’s another skinny bitch here so I don’t break my spine.”

“Nuh-uh, you got muscle,” she says. “I’m the one built like a noodle.”

They laugh, and the woman says, “I’m Xunami.”

“Mirage.”

“So, Mirage, if you think you’re gonna break your spine, what are you doing here?”

“If you’re built like a noodle, why are you here?”

“I thought it sounded fun. And because she’s giving us twenty bucks for showing up.”

“Yep, that’s my reason too.”

Xunami is about to say something, but Sasha steps into the ring and yells for their attention. 

“I’ll let Mistress take it from here,” she says. “And remember guys, this is just a tryout. Don’t stress.”

That would be a wonderful message except that Mistress is looking at them like she’s trying to stress them out as much as possible so Mirage has a hard time believing it. 

“Alright,” Mistress says as she steps into the ring, gesturing for them to all move back. “Your doing well as a wrestler is based on if you can move and if you can follow basic directions. Can everyone do that?”

Mirage and Xunami glance at each other, beginning to giggle, and Mistress asks, “Hey, what’s funny?”

They go silent, and Mistress smirks almost imperceptibly before continuing with her lesson. 

“First up, forward rolls,” Mistress says. “Just like preschool.”

“I don’t know what kind of preschool she went to,” Xunami mutters.

People start doing forward rolls, Mistress nodding in approval.

The stunning redhead does it perfectly. Of course. 

Backward rolls. Falling on their backs and not wincing at the pain. Jumping off the ropes. Mirage is sure she’s doing terribly at all of it, unless every part of your body is supposed to sting like a motherfucker, but it’s weirdly fun. She finds herself getting lost in the movement, the physicality, the mental calculations of how and when to do what. It must have been hours already but she doesn’t wanna stop. 

“Now we’re gonna get into pairs,” Mistress announces. 

Mirage and Xunami look at each other and smile, sure they’ll get paired up considering they have similar builds and they’re standing together. 

“You and you,” Mistress directs, pointing to two girls on opposite sides of the ring. “You and you.” Again they’re on opposite sides of the ring.

“You,” Mistress points at her.

Mirage follows her arm to the opposite side and wonders if this is about to be the best thing that ever happened to her or the worst.

“You,” she says, pointing at the redhead. 

Chapter Text

Anetra is scouted at the gym. She has her leg in the air, about to deliver a devastating blow to the training dummy when she notices a woman a few feet away with a business card. Anetra stumbles, lowering her leg, the momentum of the kick making her spin and shakily stick her arms out so she doesn’t fall. 

Great. What a great first impression to make on this woman, even though Anetra doesn’t know what she’s here for.

She looks at her, waiting for her to make the first move, and the woman says, “Hi, how are you, I’m Sasha.”

She hands Anetra the business card, shiny black with neon letters. GLOW on the front. An address and phone number on the back. 

“I’m developing a show,” Sasha continues. “Women’s wrestling, but our own franchise, different from what’s been dominating wrestling for years.”

“Wrestling? Like, piledrivers and shit?”

Sasha nods and says, “Don’t worry if you don’t have any experience. We’re gonna train you all, rehearse everything, make sure everything’s gonna be perfect before we tape the first episode.”

“I already have a job,” Anetra says, sticking out her hand to give the card back.

“Aw, that’s too bad.”

She doesn’t take the card.

“Auditions are on Saturday. If you’re curious.”

She walks away, and Anetra looks at the card and back at Sasha in confusion. Why hadn’t she taken the card back? Why tell Anetra when the audition is when clearly she’s not going to be there?

She puts the card in her purse to get rid of later, then goes back to taekwondo. She wonders why Sasha approached her, anyway. Sure, she’s strong, and currently fighting a training dummy, but aren’t there girls out there who actually train to be wrestlers? Is she struggling to find enough people to do the show? That’s not exactly reassuring. 

Plus, as she very clearly said to Sasha, she already has a real job, a job with hours and benefits and a guaranteed salary. Maybe five years ago she would have considered some stupid thing like this, but now she wouldn’t throw this job away for some TV show that could get canceled after one episode. 

She forgets about it quickly, the exercise distracting her. 

She’s been at work for four hours with only one spreadsheet to do, the light of the computer screen burning her eyes before she heads out to smoke only for a change in pace. When she comes back, she sees the card in her purse, the letters reflecting off the fluorescent lights of the office. She grabs it, twirling it idly between her fingers, then someone knocks on the wall and she puts it down. 

“Hey, Anetra, how’s it going?” her coworker asks, leaning against the door of the cubicle.

“Same old,” she says. “Finishing this spreadsheet.”

“The spreadsheets never end, do they?”

She replies with a small nod, not wanting to continue this conversation but not wanting to go back to work. 

“You ever watch wrestling?” she asks. “WWE and shit?”

“Yeah, all the time!” he exclaims. “Aw man, last week when Rowdy hit that sick powerbomb on Super Fly-”

She doesn’t know what a powerbomb is but wishes she could hit one just to ease the ache in her back from the rolling chair. 

He looks like a little kid on Christmas as he throws out a bunch of names and actions that Anetra doesn’t know, then realizes she isn’t participating in the conversation and asks, “So, uh, why do you ask?”

“One of my friends is getting super into it,” she lies. “But, I mean, isn’t it kinda…staged? How can you get excited if you know who’s gonna win?”

“Well, we don’t know who’s gonna win,” he says. “And it’s just fun to watch a bunch of guys beating the shit out of each other.”

He laughs, and she offers a small smile before glancing at the card.

“I think you should give it a shot,” he says. “Go to a bar on a Friday night, drink some beer, watch a match. It’s like sports but with funny costumes.”

He lingers awkwardly for a second, then says, “Alright, nice talking to you.”

“You too.”

She spins back around to face the computer, its flickering screen of the same numbers she’s been staring at for, well, technically hours but also years, the values changing so little day to day they may as well be the same. The card is sitting right next to it, GLOW taunting her.

No. It’s not taunting her. It’s like a siren, calling her towards a terrible mistake. She has a real job. She’s not risking that for some dumb sport. 

There’s an hour-long meeting the next day and she wonders what god she pissed off. 

She blows off steam at the gym, kicking the dummy until she’s sure she’s gonna break its neck. She can’t help but remember Sasha approaching her in this very spot, telling her she should become a wrestler. 

Nope. Don’t do it, Anetra. Remember your benefits. Remember the fact that if some roided-up girl slams you you won’t be able to do this anymore.

She attacks the dummy with a roundhouse kick, the sound reverberating through the gym.

Another hour-long meeting the next day.

Maybe pure spite is what makes her drive to a warehouse on Saturday.

There’s already several cars in the parking lot, some beaters, the usual Hondas and Toyotas that magically appear in every parking lot across the country, a Porsche, a Mini Cooper with bumper stickers covering the entire back. 

The women inside are just as varied, every age, race, size and shape represented on the bleachers where they’re gathered, talking amongst themselves or eyeing each other. Anetra doesn’t even know where she’d place in this competition.

Not that it matters, considering she won’t be joining the show even if she somehow blows everyone out of the water during tryouts and they beg her. She’s just here for the experience, for a workout, a fun story to tell on a future date. Hey, did you know one time I got scouted for a women’s wrestling show? I know, right, so random. She’ll tell him this story and he’ll tell her one and then they’ll drink their wine.

Sasha and another woman show up, introducing themselves, then Sasha tells them to get into the ring and stretch. At least they’re doing the actual workout stuff first, not icebreakers or something stupid. She’s already self conscious enough, her hair making her stick out amongst the sea of natural hair colors. A blonde has been eyeing her since she walked in and Anetra has been fastidiously ignoring it. 

They stretch for a few minutes, then Mistress steps up and says, “Alright. Your doing well as a wrestler is based on if you can move and if you can follow basic directions. Can everyone do that?”

Two girls start giggling, making Anetra look at them.

They’re both tall and absolute waifs, arms skinnier than Anetra’s have ever been in her life. She wonders how they got scouted. It reaffirms that wrestling is more of a vanity sport than an actual competition. Maybe Sasha got too caught up in hiring based on appearance and realized she had to get some muscle in the cast, hence why she’s here. 

They’re both beautiful, in an objective sense, but one of them is so pretty Anetra looks at her for another moment, snapping back to attention when Mistress yells at them for laughing.

“First up, forward rolls,” Mistress says. “Just like preschool.”

Alright. Something slightly difficult. 

People start trying it, to varying degrees of success. That girl practically throws herself into it, long legs splaying out as she lands on her ass, then she smiles and runs back to her spot. She has a nice smile. 

They do backward rolls, most of the women doing even worse than their front rolls, and Anetra feels bad for the ones who are here seriously because there’s no way this show is gonna get more than one episode, or even happen, if this is the potential roster. She feels bad for thinking it, but it’s the truth. 

They do more exercises, a few leaving at various times, then Mistress announces they’re gonna get into pairs. 

Fuck. 

Anetra’s ready to slip out, but then they’re all silently standing around the ring and it’s too late, fuck. She doesn’t want to sabotage her partner, but she doesn’t want to work with anyone either, just thought they were gonna do solo stuff for today.

She again wonders what god she pissed off as Mistress goes down the line assigning the pairs. 

She gets paired up with the pretty girl. The girl waves at her, smiling, and Anetra gives a small wave back. Oh, fuck, this girl is excited about this, is taking it seriously. Anetra is gonna tell Mistress she’s leaving, to pair the girl with someone else, but the girl is already approaching her, ponytail bouncing as she jogs over. 

“Hey, I’m Mirage,” the girl says, extending her hand.

“Anetra.”

They shake hands, and Anetra sees the girl’s, Mirage’s, muscles flex, feels the strength in her arm.

Well, she hadn’t expected that. 

“Your move,” Mistress starts. She beckons for one of the women to step forward, then has her extend her arm so it looks like it’s touching the back of Mistress’ head. 

Then Mistress throws herself forward, doing a front flip and landing flat on her back. 

Everyone startles, jumping or shrieking, including Mirage, her reaction so animated it makes Anetra chuckle. 

“So we have to shove our partner hard enough that she does a fucking flip?” someone asks.

“No, you have to make yourself do a flip,” Mistress says. “The one pretending to shove her just has to act like she’s doing it.”

Everyone spreads out across the gym to practice. Anetra volunteers to be the one who does the flip, even though she knows she’s gonna regret it when she sees the bruises later, and Mirage asks, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, uh,” Anetra mutters as she arranges them, nudging Mirage’s outstretched arm into place behind her head. 

She flings herself forward, landing on her back loud enough that the mat thumps. It hurts immediately, shooting down her tailbone, and Mirage yelps and jumps back.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” she asks. “That looks like it hurt.”

“It did,” she grunts as she stands up.

“Hey, red hair,” Mistress yells from across the room. “Catch yourself with your hands a little before you land.”

Anetra wonders why she didn’t tell them that before they started doing it, then looks around and sees that everyone else is doing that already, hands by their sides as they land. It barely even looks real, a person getting flung over their own body wouldn’t have their hands by their sides.

Then again, this is wrestling. It never looks real. No wonder the people who watch it only do so at the bar where they can get drunk and excited about anything. 

“Okay, let’s do it again,” she says.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she says, getting into position. “You want this job, right?”

“Yeah, so do you-”

“Alright, come show me what you got,” Mistress commands, cutting her off.

The teams go one by one, Mistress nodding in approval, then it’s Mirage and Anetra’s turn. Anetra barely pays attention to what Mirage is doing, focusing on doing her thing without injuring herself, and when she gets up Sasha gives them an approving thumbs up. 

Mirage looks at Anetra and claps, and Anetra smiles. Her back still hurts, but at least she did her job for Mirage so the girl can get through to the next round. 

They take a break, and Anetra grabs her bag from the bleachers, sipping from her water bottle as she slings her bag over her shoulder.

“Wait, where are you going?” Mirage asks, brows furrowed.

“Home,” she reluctantly admits, having not intended for Mirage to see her. “Look, I’m sorry, but I was gonna leave right before this pair thing, then we got paired together and I didn’t wanna leave you.”

“But then I’ll still be alone.”

She looks around, seeing that no one else is leaving, the number of competitors still even. Soon to be odd when Anetra leaves. 

She sighs. She could already be in her car, blasting the AC and heading to the pharmacy to get the strongest OTC painkiller she can before this back pain turns into soreness, but now Mirage knows and is asking her not to and she has really big eyes like a baby deer.

Well, it should be around 5:00, which means that rush hour has started and getting home will probably take as long as this tryout will.

“Okay,” she says, “I’ll stay.”

Mirage claps and smiles widely, thanking Anetra. 

Anetra is sure then that Mirage will make the cut, that in a few months she’ll be flipping channels and see her with another girl in a chokehold. She has the drive. And a figure that men will salivate over, they’d be stupid not to put her on the roster.

“Break’s over,” Mistress says, summoning them back to the ring. “This time I wanna challenge y’all. We’re gonna do it tag-team style.”

“Kinky,” the blonde that had been looking at her earlier murmurs. Mirage and the blonde’s partner, an Asian girl wearing a yellow leotard and socks and shoes that makes her look like a highlighter, laugh, and Anetra mostly just wonders why the blonde has long acrylics on her last two fingers but not her first two. 

“Pair up with another group, try to make it interesting,” Mistress says.

“You, other Asian,” highlighter girl says, pointing at Anetra, and Anetra doesn’t quite know how to respond to that but both of their partners seem to be fine with working together, so she shrugs. 

They start introducing themselves right as she feels the need to pee, so she tells them she’ll be back before heading off. 

When she comes back, the groups are practicing, yells and grunts and slams of mats filling the warehouse, and Anetra finds her group on some mats in the corner.

“Hey, I’m ba-” she says as she taps Mirage on the shoulder.

She sees a flash of what looks suspiciously like a fist flying in her direction before everything goes black. 

Chapter Text

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” Mirage mutters as she paces back and forth in front of the woman she just knocked out. 

“Well shit, you’re definitely making the team,” Jane remarks. “Nymphia, we gotta step our game up. Can you do a backflip?”

“No I’m not making the team!” Mirage exclaims. “I’m probably gonna go to fucking jail or some shit-”

“I’ll bail you out, that was cool as fuck.”

Mirage ignores Jane and kneels next to Anetra. The others in the room have started to figure out that something’s gone wrong, Sasha and Mistress running over. Mirage has her head in her hands, taking deep breaths to stop from sobbing. Her jumpy ass just knocked out a person and her chance of getting this job in one fell swoop. The person who was about to leave and only stayed because Mirage asked her to and also maybe has a little bit of a crush on. It’s like a domino effect, this one action took out three things. 

Anetra is sitting up, a hand pressed to her eye, and Sasha rubs her shoulder comfortingly. 

“I’m so sorry,” Mirage says. “God, sorry, I don’t have a car so I can’t take you to the hospital but I can buy you a gift card or something-”

“It’s okay, Mirage,” Sasha says. “Accidents happen.”

“This isn’t a fucking boxing match, why was I even in punching mode?” she questions to herself.

“It’s okay,” Sasha assures. “I found her when she was high-kicking a training dummy like she was trying to kill it, I think she knows how to take a punch.”

Someone has brought an ice pack for Anetra, and she removes her hand from her eye to grab it, revealing shocking redness spreading on the area, and Mirage knows it’s gonna be a black eye. 

She also notices that there’s a scar running through that eye, faint but now prominent with the broken blood vessels blemishing everything around the scar. 

It makes Mirage feel even worse. One of the twins is kneeling next to her, a comforting hand on her knee, and Mirage wants to thank her but can’t do anything but hold back the tears welling in her eyes. 

Anetra is sitting up now, eyes flicking back and forth to follow Sasha’s finger. Oh god, what if Anetra has a concussion and can’t look at the sun and therefore can’t go outside because they live in Vegas and then her life will be ruined for weeks-

“You should have tried out for a boxing show,” Anetra says. “That was a good hit.”

She removes the ice pack for just a second before wincing and putting it back on.

“I don’t know why my first instinct was to punch you,” Mirage says.

“Well, I did sneak up on you.”

She’s acting as normal as possible, but it’s obvious she’s hurting.

“You know what, I think we’re gonna end the audition here for today,” Sasha says, stating the obvious. “Actually, you know what…”

She looks around the room, lips moving imperceptibly, then says, “Actually, we have an even number, so we’re gonna end the audition, period. Congrats, you all are the gorgeous ladies of wrestling!”

Most of the girls celebrate, cheering and high-fiving, but Anetra says, “Wait, Sasha, I’m sorry but I’m not doing the show.”

“What?”

“I,” she says, gritting her teeth as she switches her ice pack to the other hand. “I was gonna leave earlier, but then there was an odd number, so I just stayed to help.”

“Oh,” Sasha says. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Alright then, I guess we’ll have to hold another day of auditions to find one more to make it even, if any of you know anyone who might be interested-”

“Wait, but I’m not doing it either,” Mirage interjects. “Right?”

“Why not?”

“Because I,” she stutters. “Because I just fucking knocked someone out? Sorry, that sounded mean-”

“Baby, I said it’s fine,” Sasha says, polite but authoritative. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, but I’m not stopping you.”

She waits a second before adding, “I’m sure we would all love to have you on the team.”

Some of the other girls smile and nod. 

“The two of you worked well together,” Sasha says. “Too bad Anetra won’t be joining us.”

She stands and says to the rest of them, “Well, anyone who knows for sure they wanna be a gorgeous lady of wrestling, follow me to the office.”

She gets up and starts walking, all of the girls except for Mirage and Anetra following her. Mistress stays beside Anetra, supporting her as she stands up, and Mirage stands in front of her and says, “I can’t even tell you how sorry I am, I feel so bad.”

“It’ll be a topic of conversation at the office,” Anetra replies, smiling. “It did hurt like a bitch, but don’t be sorry. And definitely don’t quit because of me.”

“Sasha wasn’t lying when she said you two were good,” Mistress says. “It’s a shame Anetra’s leaving, but it would be even more a shame if you left too.”

They walk to the bleachers, Anetra grabbing her things, and Mirage stands in the middle of the gym, so unsure of what to do she wishes she’d never come so that she wouldn’t have to worry about it. 

The other girls start streaming out of the office, twenty dollar bills in hand, and Jane announces, “Alright, I’m going to the Luna, come if you want.”

She grabs her bag and walks away, Nymphia alongside her, and some of the other girls follow. Mirage does want to go, especially now that she has twenty extra dollars, but it feels wrong to knock out a woman then turn around and go partying five seconds later.

To her surprise, Anetra is walking right behind Jane, and Mirage runs over and asks, “Wait, are you going with them?”

“Well yeah, I’m not concussed,” she says. “And I think I earned a drink after getting sucker punched.”

She grins and continues walking.

Mirage smiles dazedly before jogging over to the office and asking Sasha for her twenty bucks. 

The Luna is somewhere between a bar and a club, the music loud enough that one can dance to but not too loud as to where they can’t talk, a cleared out floor space in between the bars. Xunami had offered Mirage a ride, the two of them jamming to her cassettes on the drive over, and now they’re there in their workout clothes but that’s fine, it’s a casual place. Somehow Jane changed into a cocktail dress along the way and is now holding a shot in each hand, swaying to the music, and Xunami cheers and moves to stand alongside her. 

Anetra is sitting at the bar, reading the menu, somehow looking happy for a woman that got punched and knocked out cold just a few minutes ago. Mirage is about to apologize again, about to buy her a drink as a peace offering, maybe sit down next to her as they have their drinks together…

“Mirage, come dance!” Xunami yells, startling her. “Shit, girl, don’t punch me!”

Mirage rolls her eyes playfully, allowing herself to get dragged by Xunami to the dance floor. 

She dances, takes a shot, is practically yanked away from the bar again by a drunk Xunami. 

“So, are you gonna join the show or not?” she yells over the music. 

“Girl, I don’t know,” Mirage replies. 

“You want to, right?”

She shrugs and nods. 

“Then do it!”

“But I punched Anetra and there’s gonna be an odd number and shit-“

“Who cares that you punched her, it just means you’re ready to get in the ring! And Sasha said she didn’t mind that there’s an odd number!”

“I know, I know.”

“You need to join, we need another big titty bitch on the team,” Jane interrupts. “We’re dangerously underrepresented in this group.”

“She’s got her priorities straight!” Xunami laughs. 

Mirage laughs too, the alcohol and the insane day she’s had combining to make her feel warm and fuzzy. Nymphia approaches with another round and shit, it’s a party, others joining them on the dance floor as the night goes on. 

“We’re on GLOW, bitches!” Xunami exclaims, eliciting rambunctious cheering and screaming. 

Mirage does not participate in said rambunctiousness, just raises her glass in solidarity, lingering towards the outside of the group. It feels wrong to celebrate being part of GLOW when she doesn’t even know if she is going to be a part of it. 

She looks over and Anetra is looking at her, observing her, and for maybe the first time in her life when a pretty girl is looking at her she shyly averts her eyes. 

She makes her way over to Anetra eventually, getting a cup of water mostly as an excuse to be near her. She’s sweating like a pig and rapidly getting tipsy and this is definitely a bad idea but, hey, Anetra’s not doing the show, they’ll never see each other again. 

“Why weren’t you celebrating with them?” Anetra asks.

She noticed that. 

“Well, feels wrong to celebrate when I’m not on the team,” she laughs. 

“You’re not on the team?”

“You didn’t hear me saying that earlier?”

“I mean, you rocked my shit pretty good, I think my brain had to recalibrate.”

“I’m so sor-“

“It’s fine, I swear,” Anetra says. “Got twenty bucks and I’m at a bar with people who aren’t my coworkers, it’s been a pretty good day.”

She smiles, and Mirage smiles back. She stumbles a little over her own feet, and Anetra says, “Whoa, might wanna slow down there.”

“I’m drinking water now, thanks mommy.”

This alcohol has apparently completely disarmed her brain filters, the last word slipping out before she can tell herself to shut the fuck up, and Mirage’s eyes go wide as she drinks her water. She hopes Anetra has been drinking a little too. Or maybe a lot. 

“Well, I think they’d be pretty sad if you didn’t join the team,” Anetra says, pointing with her thumb at the rest of the girls. 

“You think so?”

“Yeah! You’ve been over there the whole night. I think Jane bought you like fifty shots.”

“Eh, I think that’s just because she wants to fuck me.”

Anetra’s eyes go wide at that, and she cranes her neck to look at Jane, whose arm is currently linked around Nymphia’s as they drink shots together, then back to Mirage. 

“I don’t know, maybe I’ll join,” Mirage says. “I just…I don’t know, man, I get freaked out about stupid shit sometimes, not that hitting you is stupid shit, well it was stupid of me to do but it’s not stupid-“

She stumbles again and Anetra reaches out a hand to steady her, her skin warm and comforting, and Mirage is momentarily distracted. 

“I haven’t gotten drunk in a while,” Mirage states. “Don’t judge my tolerance.”

“How long is ‘a while’?”

“Two weeks.”

Anetra laughs and it makes Mirage’s heart flutter and god she’s so gone and she’ll probably never see Anetra again so she kind of wants to make a move but also Anetra hasn’t been flirting back so she’s probably not interested but also she’s bantering with her so that could maybe be subtle flirting and oh god Mirage is drunk and needs to either get back on the dance floor or get her ass home before she does something dumb. 

Anetra’s hand is still on her arm, and she says, “It’s pretty late, maybe you-“

“Yeah, I probably should,” she laughs. 

Anetra stands up right as Jane is heading over with a napkin and pen. 

“Wait, are you leaving?” she asks.

“Yeah, I’m gonna call a cab or something,” Mirage says. 

“Well shit, give me your number first,” Jane says, holding the paper and napkin out. “We should go out again sometime.”

Mirage is writing her number when Jane continues, “Or stay in. Either one works.”

She winks and Mirage grins and replies, “Just for your information, I don’t take calls after midnight.”

“What about 11:59?”

“I’ll consider it.”

She hands her the napkin, and Jane takes it with a mischievous grin. 

Mirage looks back at Anetra, who is fiddling with her empty glass. 

“It was nice meeting you,” she says. 

“Don’t say that yet,” Anetra replies. “I’m driving you home.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, you said you didn’t have a car, right?”

“Yeah, but I can get a cab-“

“It’s totally fine, I was leaving anyway,” Anetra says. 

“Oh my god, thank you so much.”

Mirage says goodbye to everyone, receiving several hugs and goodbyes and “see you on Monday”s that she just smiles at, not confirming or denying. 

Anetra drives her home, one hand on the wheel, the other resting against the window, eyes scanning to see her surroundings, and Mirage realizes she’s staring at her but doesn’t care. 

They arrive at her apartment building, and as Mirage is getting out she says, “Thanks again.”

“You should join the team,” Anetra says. “Live out your gorgeous ladies of wrestling fantasy. You’ll be great at it.”

“I think you would too.”

“Nah, but thanks though.”

She waves goodbye, and Mirage waves back and walks to her apartment, waving one more time before closing the door and resting against it. 

You’ll be great at it. 

Maybe it’s the higher than usual amount of alcohol in her system. Maybe it’s the adrenaline from the day. Maybe it’s the way Anetra was smiling when she dropped her off. Maybe it’s just because she looks great in a leotard. 

Either way, something in the universe convinces Mirage to call Sasha and leave a voicemail that probably sounds something like “hey it’s Mirage I wanna be on the show.”

Chapter Text

Mirage walks sheepishly into the gym on Monday, not sure what the girls will think of her deciding to do the show after all. Lots of them said they wanted her to do it, but they might have just been being nice.

Xunami, though, is absolutely thrilled, squealing and running over to hug her. 

“You did it! You joined! I knew you would, didn’t I tell y’all I knew she would?”

“I’m the only one here who can actually fight, you need me,” Mirage says, then laughs to show she’s only a little serious. 

“You and Anetra are the only ones,” Xunami corrects. 

Mirage furrows her brows and looks at the bleachers. Why did Xunami mention Anetra? Did she join, too? Hope is rising in her chest before being squashed by Xunami saying, “At the bar she told me she does taekwondo or whatever it’s called. But she’s not here, so we need you, girl.”

Mirage forces a laugh, trying to conceal her disappointment, and says, “Watch out, I have an insatiable thirst for blood now.”

Xunami cackles and leads her to a spot on the bleachers, where Jane and Nymphia are sitting. 

“Welcome back, sisterrr,” Jane says. “I knew you were gonna join since you clearly don’t have anything else going on in your life.”

While Mirage flips her off, Nymphia asks, deadpan, “So who are you punching next?” 

“No one,” Mirage declares. “Unless Mistress tells me to because she scares me.”

“You better go talk to Sasha, make sure you’ll get all the paychecks and health insurance and shit on time,” Xunami says. 

“It’s really funny that you think we’re getting health insurance for this,” Jane says.

“Hey, as long as they give me some good screentime, it’s alright.”

Mirage doesn’t give a shit about health insurance, though maybe she should at her grown age, she just needs the money. And maybe some screentime like Xunami said. And maybe for a certain redhead to realize this is her true calling and stroll through those gym doors and right into Mirage’s lap.

That last part is equally unlikely as health insurance, but she lets herself fantasize about it as she walks to the office.

“Well, look who came to her senses,” Sasha greets.

Mirage smiles sheepishly and says, “Guess it makes a little more sense for me to punch people and get paid for it instead of staying at the gym.”

Sasha laughs and says, “What we’re doing here is a little different than punching, but Mistress will teach you all about that.”

Mirage grabs her paperwork, then asks, “So, uh, Anetra didn’t-“

Sasha shakes her head. 

“Can’t win ‘em all, I guess.”

Mirage nods, downtrodden. She should have known Anetra wasn’t going to join considering she said it about fifty times, but Mirage was in denial all of those times. If she’d known she would never see her again she would have told her she’s cute or invited her to dance or something.

She rejoins the girls. Soon after, Mistress throws the gym doors open with a thud, making the room go dead silent. She steps up to the ring, stone faced, and Mirage involuntarily shrinks back a little when she looks at her. 

“So, you all decided to join the team,” Mistress says. “Don’t get too attached to it, because some of you might quit after today.”

Mirage quitting again would be incredibly embarrassing, so she resolves that she won’t even if every single other girl does. 

Mistress has them line up and touch their toes. Some can’t even do that, but Mirage stretches until her hands are fully on the floor and her forehead is almost touching her knees. Mistress walks by with a clipboard and writes something. 

“Show off,” Xunami mutters

“All fun and games until I get my ass handed to me on the mat.”

Next is sit ups. Mirage does alright at these too, completing the required thirty without feeling too sore.

“Again,” Mistress says. “What, y’all thought I was only gonna make you do thirty? You think Rowdy Roddy only does thirty sit ups? We’re doing ninety!”

A collective groan echoes through the gym. By number fifty Mirage is getting a little shaky. By number seventy she has to pace herself so she can breathe. By number ninety she can barely yank herself off the ground. 

“Alright, so you can do the bare minimum of sitting up,” comes Mistress’ taunting-coach-voice. “I was gonna make you do push ups after this, but I won’t.”

Mirage breathes a sigh of relief.

“I’m gonna make you do burpees.”

She’s starting to reconsider that thing she said about not quitting.

For hours, they do burpees, squats, bicep curls, tricep dips. They do stretching and yoga, which would be relaxing if their muscles weren’t screaming. They do handstands, planks, walk up and down the stairs of the bleachers over and over again. Mistress connects every exercise to wrestling, walking around with her clipboard and noting down observations as twenty women curse her out in their heads. 

“This is the foundation of a frog splash!”

“If you can’t squat, you can’t do a fireman’s carry!”

“How the hell are you gonna lift a grown ass woman if you can’t lift a ten pound weight?”

Mistress promises the final workout will be running, but Mirage doesn’t have a lot of trust in the woman’s word anymore. They can run at any pace they want, and Mirage starts slow, but after a couple laps she finds herself picking up speed, running on adrenaline and her last reserves of energy. Xunami is jogging alongside her, tired but still looking gorgeous. Nymphia’s making faces like she’s being tortured. Jane is moving at a pace that can barely be considered a run, groaning all the while. 

“Keep going, ladies. You think Ric Flair or Hulk Hogan got thighs like that without running?” Mistress says. 

“Those are men, they’re stronger than us,” a girl whines. 

“Not fucking true, mama,” Mistress declares. “The only difference between them and you is training, and that’s what we’re here to do. You guys are the gorgeous ladies of wrestling, not the gorgeous ladies of sitting on your ass!”

Mirage appreciates the feminism of it all, but she also feels like she’s about to puke. 

“One more minute,” Mistress says. “Make it count!”

“Wanna run as fast as we can?” Mirage asks Xunami.

“Now why the hell would I wanna do that?”

Mirage starts running anyway. May as well finish this hellish endeavor with a bang. 

Then, Mistress tells them they can stop, and everyone sighs in relief. Some plop to the floor, some wobble to the bleachers, some run to the bathroom with hands over mouths. Mirage finds her group and lies on the ground, eyes closed. Her heart is beating so hard it hurts, her arms and legs and abs and muscles she didn’t know existed are shaky and tired, yet her mind feels active, euphoric even, like a runner's high. 

“So? Anyone ready to walk out?” Mistress asks. 

No one moves. 

“Alright. Now who’s ready to wrestle?” 

She gives them the smallest break before telling everyone to get in the ring. 

She describes one move, some kind of headlock, then has everyone go up one by one to do it to her. Mirage is up in the ring, elbow wrapped around Mistress’ neck, when she looks around and sees a flash of red through the office’s window. She looks closer at it, now seeing that the red belongs to someone’s hair, and it really fucking looks like Anetra’s hair-

Mistress escapes the headlock, twisting Mirage’s elbow until her shoulder blade feels like it’s gonna snap. 

“I told you you were good,” Mistress says. 

Mirage doesn’t want to admit that she was distracted because she thinks she saw Anetra in the office, but the only other thing her brain can muster is, “That’s my revenge for you making us do ninety sit ups.”

Mistress looks at her, stone faced, then laughs and says, “Alright, save it for your future opponents. Next!”
While Mirage sits and watches the others, she keeps craning her neck to try and see into the office, which she can’t from her spot on the floor. After all the other girls practice their headlock, and as the minutes tick by and there’s no other sign of Anetra, Mirage thinks that she’s just hallucinating. 

Then, while Mistress teaches them a second move, the office door opens, and Sasha and Anetra walk out and stand towards the side. No one else looks at them, and Mirage looks back and forth between them and the rest of the girls, again swearing that she must be tripping. Anetra said so many times that she wasn’t going to join the show. Then again, Mirage did that, too, and here she is. 

When Mistress is finished explaining, Sasha and Anetra walk up to the ring. This time, the others notice, some of them looking around as if to ask if it’s real. Anetra’s black eye is just as visible as it was two days ago, and Mirage winces.

“Ladies,” Sasha says. “You might remember this lovely woman right here, Anetra.”

Mirage swears Sasha is looking at her and smiles in a way she hopes displays happiness that Anetra is back and apologeticness for punching her in the face.

“And if you don’t remember her, you’ll get to know her soon, because she has officially decided to join our team!”

Mirage’s heart soars up, making her lightheaded, but in a good way. Anetra’s back! Anetra decided to join the team! Some of the girls clap and cheer, and Mirage has to stop herself from jumping up and yelling. 

Her excitement furthers as she thinks about what has happened, how they’ve interacted, all the future things that are inevitably going to happen between them, how many different ways Mirage will get to talk to and work with and hang out with and maybe potentially flirt and kiss and-

She’s gotta chill. She needs to get to know Anetra better before deciding if it’s an actual infatuation or just a physical desire. And then once she confirms that it’s an actual infatuation she’ll have to tamp that down because this isn’t a lesbian bar. There’s probably legal reasons and shit stopping her from fucking a coworker, but she’s mostly concerned about the awkwardness of what would happen if Anetra wasn’t into her or was, horrifyingly, straight and would reject Mirage or get her fired or fight her for real in the ring, all of which would be absolutely horrendous. 

Mistress shows them more moves, calling everyone up to demonstrate on her again, and Anetra is there, Anetra is watching the demonstrations and doing the moves and she’s actually here and this is actually real. 

They don’t interact until the end of practice, when Mistress announces, “Tomorrow we’ll be learning more skills and practicing on your teammates, not me. We’ll be rotating the pairs, seeing who works well together, so get ready to get up close and personal with your fellow ladies.”

She looks around, then adds, “Some of y’all look like you might enjoy that a little too much. Keep it cute.”

She dismisses them with a wave.

Anetra comes up to Mirage and says, “So, you decided to join after all.”

“Yeah, girl, so did you! Why’d you change your mind?”

Anetra shrugs and says, “Felt right. Something in the universe was just telling me.”

“I felt the exact same way.”

“And work was horrendous,” Anetra adds. “Turns out showing up with a black eye leads to a couple questions.”

“I’m so sor-”

She laughs and says, “It’s totally okay. I’ve never gotten one before, and it makes me look like a bad bitch, so I can’t be mad at that.”

“You already look like a bad bitch, that’s just a bonus.”

Mirage looks around, sees that the people who might have given her a ride home have already left, and sighs. She’ll have to spend money on a cab, money from a paycheck that won’t come for another week.

“What’s up?” Anetra asks.

“Oh, nothing, just thinking about which cab company to call. 702 Taxi is a little faster but the guys at the Desert Cabs are always talking on the phone and I love to eavesdrop.”

“Oh, I’ll give you a ride.”

“What? Oh, no, you don’t have to-”

“It’s totally fine. You’re only, like, fifteen minutes away, right?”

“Yeah.”

Anetra takes out her car keys and gestures for Mirage to follow. The brunette takes the opportunity to smile like an idiot before schooling her face into a neutrally polite expression.

“You were really impressive. When everyone else was barely running but you were sprinting,” Anetra says after driving for a bit.  

“You saw that?”

“I snuck in when you were all distracted,” she says with a little grin.

“You must be James Bond or something, bitch, I didn’t see you at all.”

Anetra bursts into laughter, genuine, unrestrained laughter, then says, “I don’t think James Bond tiptoes around gyms like that.”

Mirage laughs and asks, “What other fuckin’ spy am I supposed to use as an example?”

That makes Anetra laugh harder, and Mirage wasn’t even trying to be funny but she’s not complaining in the slightest. 

“What were you doing after you snuck in?” Mirage asks when the laughter has died down.

“Talking to Sasha. Finding out exactly how this thing is gonna work before I leave my job for it.” 

“What’s your job? Or, well, former job, I guess.”

“Financial analyst.”

Mirage’s jaw drops, and she says, “Oh my god! That’s like…a smart person job.”

“Eh, it was more boring than anything,” Anetra says, though she looks proud, as she should be.

“Well, if you were bored at your smart person job then that means you’re extra smart.”

“Oh stop, you’re gonna make me blush.”

Mirage can tell that the idea of her making Anetra blush is one she’ll return to in her brain far too many times. 

“So, you quit your job for this?”

“I’m using my PTO, and then I’ll quit. If this goes well,” she tacks on. 

“You don’t think it’s gonna go well?”

“I mean, I trust Sasha to put on a good show, and a lot of these girls seem like they’re talented, but she told me that they don’t have a big budget and that the first match has to do well or the whole thing might get canceled.”

Mirage nods understandingly. She wasn’t thinking about that stuff because she had nothing to lose, no job to quit in favor of this, but obviously it would be a huge concern for someone with a good career. 

“I mean, you said it, Sasha’s gonna put on a good show and a lot of these girls are really talented, so how could the first match not be incredible? Especially now that you’re here, shit, our show is gonna be bigger than the mens’!”

“I’m not gonna help that much.”

“You totally are! You’re all muscular and shit, didn’t Sasha say that she scouted you because you were beating up a training dummy?”

“Yeah, but that’s taekwondo. It’s hitting, kicking, it’s, I don’t know, it’s real combat, not some preplanned headlocks.”

Mirage doesn’t know much, or, well, anything about taekwondo, but she asks, “In taekwondo, you’re not really hurting the other person, are you? Like, you’re kicking them, but you would probably get in trouble if you kneecapped them, right?”

Anetra laughs and says, “I guess.”

“Then it’s kinda fake, too. Just like wrestling.”

Anetra is silent for a moment, then she says, “Damn, you just made me reconsider my entire sport. Also, I’m not that muscular.”

“You totally are.”

She grabs Anetra’s bicep without thinking, and it’s just as strong as it looks, shifting a little in her grasp, and she quickly removes her hand before her brain loses all function. 

Then Anetra grabs her bicep and her brain actually does lose all function. She forces a little laugh, trying to act casual and not like the woman she’s been crushing on is grabbing her arm to feel her muscles.

“You’re strong, too,” Anetra says, releasing her arm and placing her hand on the gearshift which might be even more sexy. “Do you work out a lot?”

“I box, if you couldn’t tell by the punch.”

“Yep, that explains a lot.”

“Used to dance and do gymnastics. But other than that, I don’t do anything consistently, I just have a lot of energy. If I don’t walk or dance or do push ups in my room at four in the morning or some shit I’ll go crazy.”

“I wish I was like that. I feel like I turned twenty five and mother nature just sucked the energy right out of my body.”

“That’s hot.”

Mirage doesn’t know where this sudden boldness has come from, which combined with her lack of thought filtering could lead to danger, though Anetra doesn’t seem to be put off by her yet, so she continues.

“How old are you?” she asks.

“Twenty eight.”

That shocks Mirage even more than Anetra’s job.

“How old are you?”

“Thirty.”

Anetra tries to hide her surprise, but the subtle widening of her eyes gives it away.

“I did not expect that,” she admits after a second. 

“Same. But why, is it because I dress like a teenager?” Mirage jokes. 

“Well, that too, but mostly because of the energy, like you said. I feel like people just lose that over time. Why’d you think I was older?”

“You’re mature. Or at least it seems that way. You’re a whole ass financial analyst, and I’m older than you and my last job was at McDonald’s, just to put it into perspective.”

“Hey, no judgment here, they make some good ass food.”

They arrive at Mirage’s apartment building, and she’s sad. She feels like they could have talked for hours, but now it’s over. 

“Thanks so much for the ride,” she says. 

“And thanks for saying that taekwondo is fake and giving me an existential crisis on a random Monday night.”

Mirage laughs and replies, “It’s a combat sport but I gave you your first ever black eye, clearly it’s fake.”

“Mm, true.”

Mirage gets out of the car, holding the door open, and the air feels heavy, like they’re both waiting to say something else. 

But Mirage can’t think of anything else that she can say right now, so she just asks, “See you at practice tomorrow?”

“What, you think I’m gonna go through all this and not show up?”

Mirage rolls her eyes playfully and says, “Well, now you have to show up, or I’m telling everyone what you just said.”

“Deal.”

They both smile, then Mirage shuts the door and waves goodbye. 

So not only is Anetra hot and nice, but also smart, funny, generous, and chill, and they’re gonna be working together in this physical-ass job for several weeks at minimum. 

Mirage is so utterly gone, and she’ll have to control that later, but now, in the privacy of her apartment, she lets herself smile and prance around and thank the universe for bringing the two of them back together.