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This is it, Lyra thinks to herself. Her back to the canvas and her eyes to the stars. She’d always assumed she’d die in the ring. She just didn’t think it would be so soon, and she really didn’t think it would be at the hands of Becky Lynch. Her hero, her icon, her friend. Her ender.
Traitor.
She squeezes her eyes shut as she feels Becky’s hands on her again, and the wind’s knocked out of her one more time. She didn’t think there was any wind left to knock, but Becky finds a way somehow.
And as her head finally hits the mat hard enough for her vision to start swirling and dimming, she has one more thought: everyone else is gone. You’ve got no one left to save you.
She vaguely knows she’s being rolled out of the ring, half-escorted and half-dragged to the back where she can see the bright white lights of the medical room. She probably needs a real hospital. She can’t even bend her legs and her body doesn’t feel like hers.
Lyra is left alone in bed and she doesn’t know what she expected. It’s not like she was just almost murdered on live television or anything. Mostly par for the course in this industry. She settles down for a long few hours, waiting for the show to be over, waiting for someone to care.
It’s not a few hours, though, but maybe a few minutes before the door slams open in a direction Lyra doesn’t think it’s supposed to go, and a blur of a human being shoots through the doorway with a panicked cry of “DOVE!”.
“Tatum—” is all Lyra manages to exclaim before the bed moves five inches to the left with a whump. Lyra knew she would be here. She had a habit of popping up even when she wasn't next in line for a title. Tatum collapses against the side of the bed, hands gripping Lyra’s arm, and mouth speeding a kilometer a minute.
“I’m sorry I wanted to stop her I really tried to move I’m sorry but I just I just I couldn’t move I was so scared for you I just got so so scared and please don’t hate me dove please I’m so so so so sorry I wanted to help but—”
Tatum’s words come between heaves of frantic breath and small breaks in her voice, like she’s holding back a flood of tears.
“Tatum,” Lyra says again. Her own voice sounds ever so weak and battered, but Tatum hears it anyway and shuts up fast. Lyra can’t move her head, but the top of Tatum’s appears in the corner of her vision, all furrowed brow, wide watery eyes, and thick eyeliner. For all the moments Lyra hadn’t expected her to be there, this one was maybe the most shocking.
“I’m sorry,” Tatum mutters, finally choking a few tears loose, seeming as overtaken as Lyra feels.
And Lyra can’t move without pain shooting through every muscle in her body, but she does it anyway. She shuffles her arm over to where Tatum’s hands are gripping the bed frame, and with a wince, she puts her hand over Tatum’s, thumbing across her calloused knuckles. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” Lyra says, and she means it more than anything.
Tatum seems to take this as an invitation, and the bed bows slightly as she crawls and shuffles herself up onto the mattress. This tiny bed is not made for two people, it’s barely made for one but Tatum has never cared about silly logistics like personal space; she practically drapes herself across Lyra’s right side, and it should really hurt but Tatum is always weirdly warm and so it sort of feels like Lyra’s being cuddled by a heating pad, albeit one who is starting to sniffle in Lyra’s ear.
Lyra isn’t sure how to comfort her. Yeah, it would have been nice to have an assist, but Tatum doesn’t owe her anything. Lyra has been dodging Tatum’s calls as much as possible since leaving NXT. The things she felt (feels) about Tatum aren’t conducive to her goals. So, she’d hid from her. If Lyra was her, left behind and ignored for months on end, shit— she wouldn’t want to rescue herself either.
But Lyra’s world tilts on its axis as she realizes it, as her tired brain finally catches up and really processes the words Tatum had been stuttering out through her tears— Tatum was just frozen, scared. She hadn’t left her alone out there on purpose.
And all that doesn’t matter, because even though Tatum wasn’t there then, Tatum’s here now , sticking to her slightly with sweat and sobbing into her shoulder, and with every movement Lyra’s sore down to her bones and it’s the most wonderful discomfort. It’s more than Lyra can say for literally anyone else, that Tatum is here. Lyra realizes that even having someone there to annoy her is still having someone.
So, as best she can, Lyra turns her head and kind of awkwardly leans her temple against Tatum’s forehead. She hears Tatum’s breath catch in her throat, and the little thrill that runs through her is definitely not befitting a champion.
“Why’d you come?” Lyra asks her gently, their faces still pressed together.
Tatum’s sobs subside, and she scrubs at her face, nearly cuffing Lyra in the jaw. Her eyeliner is still, surprisingly, from what Lyra can see, kind of intact. “I wanted to see you win,” she says.
Lyra deflates. “So… I let you down.” The idea that she might have disappointed Tatum is unfathomable, she realizes.
“No,” Tatum says immediately, voice peaking in distress. “No, you didn’t. Never.”
“But I didn’t win.”
“No, silly. I mean— I just wanted to see you win because I knew then you’d have to come see me .” Tatum bumps her slightly. “Number one contender, remember?”
If Lyra’s heart could have broken any further, it might have then, for just… so many different reasons. “Congrats on that,” she mutters. “I hope you beat them.”
Lyra feels Tatum’s jaw working next to her cheek as she searches for words. “The titles are great,” she says finally. “I hope Gigi and I win those things. You know I wanna be a champion like you. But, really, deep down, I realized I just hoped that I would get a second to talk to you. So I guess it’s like I already won.”
“Lucky I almost died, then,” Lyra jokes weakly, ignoring the twist in her gut at Tatum’s confession.
Tatum giggles in her ear. Her breath is warm and gentle and smells like bubblegum. “If I knew that’s what it took, I would’ve beat you up a long time ago.” Tatum freezes up next to her as she almost certainly, like Lyra does, starts remembering the time when she did finally have enough of Lyra and threw her into the steps.
Lyra hasn’t thought about that in ages. She’s been tossed around and attacked more times than she can count. She forgave her, and evidently it was much sooner than Tatum had forgiven herself. At least Tatum had done it because she was hurting and not out of hatred, and that was so much more than Lyra could say for everyone else. It didn’t mean that period her life wasn’t one of the worst.
“I wouldn’t do that again. Promise,” Tatum says quietly.
And Lyra realizes that she already knows this somehow, that Tatum had never once lied to her, that Tatum is the only person she could ever really trust in this horrible place. But her head hurts and she feels like she’s being too personal with Tatum already. “Even if I said I hated My Chemical Romance?”
Lyra feels a small smile against her cheek, and Tatum lets out a jokey gasp. “Maybe I’d consider it then.”
Lyra isn’t really sure if she’s kidding, but it’s somehow funny anyway, and she’s delirious enough to let bygones be, and her laugh rattles her bruised rib cage enough to send her into an ever-more-painful coughing fit. Tatum quickly unfreezes and pops up over her, hands splayed on either side of her abdomen, and Lyra can finally see her full face, painted with concern and streaks of eyeliner. Her black hair hangs like a curtain around the two of them, cutting them off from the rest of the world.
Lyra finds herself staring up at Tatum, because there’s not really anywhere else her line of sight can go. She isn’t sure if she’s delirious, or what, because she just finds herself thinking Tatum has a really lovely face.
“Dove?” Tatum asks in a tiny little voice. “Are you okay?”
Lyra shifts her head as well as she can, tilting it to the side. She can’t escape Tatum’s wide, sweet hazel eyes. “No one really asks me that.”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Tatum wonders.
“I don’t have friends like you do,” Lyra admits.
Tatum’s knees are tucked against Lyra’s side, and she scoots up to balance herself as she brushes a piece of Lyra’s tangled hair out of her face. “I’ve always been your friend,” she says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Her finger trails down Lyra’s cheekbone, and Lyra feels like she should flinch away, that it’s her job to, but she doesn’t. She’s felt so many things tonight that her floodgates are downed at this point, and she can’t stop herself, and she doesn’t want to.
Right now, she feels sick— not just from the likely concussion, or the painkillers that they’d given her, but actually truly ill at how she’d just dropped the only person who really cared about her like she was nothing. For what? A championship she barely got to defend? Tag titles she didn’t have anymore? She had nothing to show for keeping everyone at arm’s length. Nothing except…
“You still like me?” Lyra’s voice shatters on its way out.
Tatum’s brow furrows like she can’t compute the thought, and her lips curve into a little, pouty smile. “Of course. Just because you showed me how to have other friends doesn’t mean you’re not still my favorite, sweet dove.”
At this, Lyra feels the words on her lips, the ones Tatum had said to her so many times in the past without ever having them returned. She could just say them now. They’re closer to the surface than they’d ever been before. Instead, she just whispers her name. “Tatum.”
Tatum cocks her head. “Mhm?”
“I can’t really, er, move,” Lyra says slowly. “But could you do me a favor?”
Tatum sits straight up on her haunches, at attention. “Anything.”
Lyra swallows hard. She practically feels wind whistling against her skin as she toes the edge of this cliff. “Could you come down here and kiss me?”
And Tatum already has huge eyes and deathly pale skin, but when Lyra’s words hit her ears, her eyes somehow widen and her skin somehow blanches even more, and she begins to shudder. She looks like— well, she looks like someone just threw her to the canvas, like the wind’s been forced from her lungs. Lyra feels a surge of horror, wondering if she’s upset Tatum somehow. Maybe she’s misread this entire situation. Maybe Tatum’s obsession really was purely platonic all along. For once, Lyra is worried she’s too much for Tatum.
Then Tatum’s open mouth curves upwards at the edges with a disbelieving giggle, and Lyra realizes that the face Tatum is making down at her is simply excited incredulity, sort of like a child on Christmas morning receiving a present that their family had insisted over and over again was too expensive, or, really, how she’d looked when Lyra offered her the surprise of a tag team match. “Okay,” she stutters out, leaning in a little bit, and Lyra’s breath quickens. If Lyra was able to move at all, the way Tatum’s eyes pin her now would have rendered her motionless anyway. “I can do that.”
“Good,” Lyra says lamely. Tatum hovers where she is, looking at Lyra, unblinking for several moments. They’re frozen, staring at each other. Lyra has watched a lot of Tatum’s matches, and yet, she’s never seen her look so terrified. “... So were you thinking now?” Lyra prompts. “I did mean now.”
“I’m working on it,” Tatum says, gaze now affixed to Lyra’s lips. “Okay. Okay.” She leans down, squeezing her eyes shut hard. Her hair is blanketed across Lyra’s shoulders, and she’s closer than Lyra has never let her before, and her bubblegum breath is all that Lyra can feel. At the very last moment, Tatum dodges out of the way of Lyra’s face and instead ducks her face into the crook of Lyra’s neck. “I’m sorry!” she cries out, muffled. “I got nervous!”
And god damn it, it’s just really cute. No one has ever been this nervous to kiss Lyra before. Lyra lets out a laugh and leans into Tatum’s soft hair. “You okay?”
Tatum nods rapidly, face still buried in Lyra’s shoulder. “Just, uh, a second.”
“Take your time.” And Lyra waits. They breathe together in harmony, Tatum’s breath slowing to match Lyra’s, to ground herself. Lyra is content to just lie here with Tatum for as long as she can, because she realizes with a squeeze in her stomach that there’s going to be a time where Tatum has to leave, to go back to NXT, and Lyra will have to stay here. They’ll both be all alone again.
Well, Tatum won’t be. As much as the thought stings, she finds a little bit of comfort in it. Even though she’d abandoned Tatum, failed to do right by her, there were other people that didn’t fail her.
“You won’t make fun of me if I’m bad at it, will you?” Tatum asks meekly.
“When have I ever made fun of you?” Lyra says. She’d pushed her away and blown her off a million times, she knows guiltily, but she’d never made fun of her, that was for certain.
“Never, I guess.” She’s still speaking into Lyra’s shoulder, and Lyra can feel her lips moving against her collarbone. It sends sparks pinging through her. “I just don’t want to give you any reason to leave again.”
Lyra closes her eyes and lets out a long, sad sigh, more at herself than anything. “Oh, Tater. It was nothing you did.”
Lyra feels Tatum perk up, pulling her face away from her neck. “Really?”
“I was dealing with my own stuff. I need you to know that…” Lyra struggles for the words. “You were never too much for me. You—”
At this, her voice is cut off by the frantic press of Tatum’s lips to hers.
She barely has time to breathe in, to savor the way Tatum feels against her before Tatum jumps back with a squeak.
“I’m sorry. You weren’t ready.” Tatum shakes her head. “I'm sorry, I’m sorry,” she repeats over and over, and Lyra is dumbstruck at the sight of her as if she’s never seen Tatum before, her lips sticky with Tatum’s black lipstick, her mouth tasting of bubblegum, and Tatum is flapping her hands around frantically in front of her and they had just kissed.
Tatum had really just kissed her.
And she really liked it.
“Tatum!” Lyra bursts out. She uses all her returning strength to reach up and loop the front of Tatum's shirt between her fingers. Tatum stops mid-word as if Lyra had hit her pause button. “Stop apologizing,” she commands, and drags her down as hard as she can into another kiss.
Tatum freezes up against Lyra for a second, and Lyra is going to let go of her, worried that she caught her off-guard, but then Tatum lets out a dreamy sigh and melts into her, letting her body slot into place on top of Lyra.
“Ow,” grumbles Lyra against her lips, not seriously, and Tatum lets out a giggle as she kisses her, and Lyra forgets about any sort of pain she might have been feeling at the sound. Lyra wishes that she could run her other hand up Tatum’s spine, to pull her in even closer. But for once, the ring general is not leading this. Tatum has full control— sort of a scary thought for Lyra. As of today, she has control of zero of the things in her life, and her last act of control, she decides, right then, is to give it up to the only person she can trust.
Their mouths still together, Tatum stills, slowing a bit as if she can hear Lyra’s thoughts. Then, slowly, hesitantly, she runs a hand up the back of Lyra’s neck and into her hair, the other hand resting on Lyra’s cheek, so Tatum is tenderly cradling her head in her hands. Lyra lets her fist slowly unclench from Tatum’s shirt so she can drift her fingers along the base of Tatum’s neck, and her lips part. Tatum lets out a little whine into her mouth, and Lyra's head spins with desire. It's been so long since she just let herself want. She sinks into it, into Tatum, into letting emotion control her for once. Tatum's smile tastes better, sweeter against her lips than the kiss of any championship she can imagine.
And surprisingly, a moment later, Tatum is the one to break the kiss, their mouths barely apart from each other, still breathing each other's air. Lyra opens her eyes to see Tatum’s own so close, crinkled at the edges in a face-splitting smile. “What?” Lyra murmurs.
“My eyes were closed for so long that I missed you,” Tatum explains, completely seriously.
Lyra lets out a laugh, and their lips brush against each other again for the barest second, and she feels it everywhere in her battered body. “Missed you too, Tater,” she says, and she means it on a much larger scale than just the kiss.
And Lyra thinks Tatum might know this, because her eyes squeeze shut, and she lets out a squeal, and she kisses Lyra again and again, first on her lips three times and then peppering them all over her face, and Lyra can’t help but keep laughing, the pain of the rest of the day nearly forgotten as she’s under barrage. She’s sure that her face looks insane as it is, covered in Tatum’s black lipstick.
Whatever, Lyra thinks. It’s better than bruises.
🪶
April 25, 2025
10:43 PM
Tater🥔: hi hi hi dove
Tater🥔: you said to text you when gigi and i got back to the hotel safe so
Tater🥔: i’m texting you now teehee
Tater🥔: theres a pool and everything
Tater🥔: and shotzi said we might get to go before the show tomorrow
Tater🥔: do you want to go swimming with me dove
Tater🥔: i would be the best tag partner for chicken youve ever had
Tater🥔: just let me know
Tater🥔: ☺️🪶
my sweet sweet dove 🥰🪶🫦: I’m glad you got back safe!
Tater🥔: your phone works!!!!!!!!!!
my sweet sweet dove 🥰🪶🫦: Sorry the medics kicked you out. I would love to play chicken with you another time but right now I can’t really move, unfortunately.
Tater🥔: oh yeah sorry
Tater🥔: i just got so excited about the pool that i forgot 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤
Tater🥔: you definitely need to be able to move for us to crush shotzi and gigi in chicken!!!
Tater🥔: because we are the awesomest team ever 🖤🥰🪶
my sweet sweet dove 🥰🪶🫦: That’s okay Tater🥔. Heart
my sweet sweet dove 🥰🪶🫦: That was supposed to be a heart Emoji, I am talking into my phone. I still can’t really move my hands at all.
Tater🥔: oh no dove!!!!!!
Tater🥔: can i come take care of you?
Tater🥔: please please please 🖤🖤🖤
my sweet sweet dove 🥰🪶🫦: Well, you kind of screamed at a paramedic when he told you to get off the bed, so you might have to wait until they let me go.
Tater🥔: they’re trying to take you away from me 😕
my sweet sweet dove 🥰🪶🫦: They should be more used to people threatening to injure them. Really. It was definitely an overreaction.
Tater🥔: i would take such good care of you
Tater🥔: i would feed you delicious soup
Tater🥔: and kiss you on your forehead 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰
my sweet sweet dove 🥰🪶🫦: I know, Tatum.
Tater🥔: i would even sing you a song
Tater🥔: i would give you as many cuddles as you wanted
my sweet sweet dove 🥰🪶🫦: And I would really appreciate that.
my sweet sweet dove 🥰🪶🫦: Hey, you know. I think there’s a window open. I can feel a draft. The draft is large enough that the window could probably fit a person.
my sweet sweet dove 🥰🪶🫦: Maybe even a pretty girl who threatened to kill a paramedic. Maybe even her and a container of pho.
Tater🥔: am i the pretty girl???
Tater🥔: you think i’m pretty dove?!!
Tater🥔: REALLY????!!!!???
Tater🥔: 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰
my sweet sweet dove 🥰🪶🫦: If you brought me soup then I would think you’re even prettier.
Tater🥔: say no more!!!!
Tater🥔: i’m on my way
Tater🥔: if they kick me out then i’m taking you with me!!
Tater🥔: they cant take us both alive!!!!!!!
my sweet sweet dove 🥰🪶🫦: Ah, well, we will see if I can move by then.
my sweet sweet dove 🥰🪶🫦: But I’ll go wherever you are.
Tater🥔: gigi isntrying to cstch me buti’m faster!
my sweet sweet dove 🥰🪶🫦: Are you really running here?
Tater🥔: its inly two miles1
my sweet sweet dove 🥰🪶🫦: Just stay safe, Tatum. You have a match tomorrow, remember?
Tater🥔: OK
Tater🥔: IvLOVE YOU MY DOVE
my sweet sweet dove 🥰🪶🫦: I’ll see you soon.
my sweet sweet dove 🥰🪶🫦: Heart