Chapter Text
Cody heard the raised voices before he even touched the door. For a second, he stopped dead in the hallway, hand hovering just shy of the handle, seriously considering turning right back around and heading for his bus. Technically, washing his hands of this wouldn’t be wrong; this wasn’t his fight. Plus, he had more than enough on his plate.
But he’d already come this far. And whether he cared to admit it or not, Randy’s well-being was a permanent part of his priorities. He had run out earlier to throw himself between Randy and Drew McIntyre, after all. You didn’t do reckless shit like that unless you were invested.
So Cody pushed the door open.
The hinges creaked, loud enough to cut the argument dead in its tracks. The silence that followed was awkward and simmering with the heaviness of the leftover heat. Randy was standing dead still, glare molten-hot and burning murderous holes into Cena’s head. Cena, for his part, hadn’t moved an inch, but the tension was visible in him too, the set of his jaw tight enough to crack teeth.
Then Randy pivoted on his heel, rage leaking off him in waves. Cody barely had time to stumble sideways, pressing himself against the wall as Randy barreled past him, nearly clipping him at the shoulder. Déjà vu hit hard; he’d been in this exact position before, once upon a time, when Randy’s sanity was hanging by a thread and Cody learned the hard way how close was too close. He wasn’t about to repeat that lesson.
The door clicked shut behind Randy, sealing the thick air inside, and Cody’s eyes drifted back into the room.
Cena was still rooted in place, shoulders heavy with fatigue that Cody doubted was the kind you could fix with rest. His hand dragged back through his hair slowly, as he inhaled deeply, counting his breaths with every pass. Only when he let it out did he turn to Cody, trademark, superhero smile, slotting neatly into place. To the untrained eye, it was warmth and reassurance; the whole heroic package. But Cody’s eyes narrowed because up close, it was impossible to miss how false it sat on him. How his eyes, shadowed with exhaustion, didn’t even bother to play along.
“Hey Champ.” Cena greeted with a warmth that, in Cody’s opinion, the situation didn’t warrant.
“Hey, John,” Cody returned, his own tone sympathetic. He recognized the act for what it was, seeing as he’d worn the same one enough times himself.
If there was one thing Cody Rhodes understood intimately, it was bull-headed partners. He’d once tried and failed to wrangle Randy’s untamable streak, and now he was loving Roman, who could be just as stubborn and relentless. It was a full-time job to keep up with men like that emotionally. And standing here, watching Cena, he saw the same strain bleeding out of the man currently.
“I didn’t think you’d be on SmackDown today,” Cody offered carefully. Cena’s big SmackDown farewell had already played out. By all accounts, his bow was supposed to be taken.
“Yeah, well… the things you do for a relationship,” Cena muttered quietly, tinged with that begrudging honesty that slipped out when his guard faltered. His mouth twisted before he could catch it, before he straightened and flashed those marketable dimples reflexively, covering the slip.
Cody caught it anyway.
“How are you, Cody?” Cena asked, and there was no sugar-coating in the tone. “I feel like I haven’t spoken to you in too long. Been too wrapped up in my own shit to check up on you. On Roman.” He tilted his head slightly at the name, his tone turning it into a question.
Cody let out a sigh from somewhere deep in his chest. He rubbed the back of his neck and shuffled into the room, dropping onto the bench, his entire frame sagging with the motion.
Cena’s eyes tracked the movement. Without hesitation, he joined Cody on the bench, leaning forward, elbows braced against his knees.
“That bad, huh?” he asked simply.
Cody let out a noise in his throat, frustration knotted with exhaustion. “It’s not like… he’s not—” He stopped, the words tangling, then sighed again. “He’s healing, yes, but…” His teeth worried at his bottom lip restlessly, trying so hard not to sound unkind.
Cena spared him the effort. “He’s intolerable?”
“Yes.” The answer came out fast, almost relieved, like Cody had been waiting for someone to say it so he didn’t have to. He blew out a breath and leaned forward, forearms on his knees. “God, yes. He’s prickly, he’s testy, he’s snappy. Feels like everything I do irritates him. I can’t breathe around him without setting him off...”
For God’s sake, Cody hadn’t even cleared it with Hunter or Aldis before showing up tonight. He’d simply taken one look at Roman on Wednesday and made the snap decision to pack his gear, hit the road, and land on SmackDown whether anyone wanted him there or not. Drew being his usual malicious self had turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Cody had needed someone to funnel his frustration into, and Drew McIntyre had been more than willing to play the villain. Running out to intercept him on Randy’s behalf had been less about strategy and more about burning off the steam Roman had left simmering in Cody’s chest. Sooner rather than later, he had no doubt Hunter was going to call him in for the inevitable lecture about respect, protocol, and how one didn’t just publicly declare themselves into a WrestlePalooza match without clearing it through the proper channels.
And when that moment came, Cody would stand there, nodding and pretending to listen, knowing damn well he would do it again should the need arise.
“...And frankly, I’m irritated by his irritation.” Cody’s voice grew tighter, teeth gritting around the words.
Roman tended to push boundaries sometimes, which was all good and fine in their line of work; boundaries were meant to be tested in the ring. But when it came to his health, the man was infuriatingly blasé, as though pain were an inconvenience rather than a warning sign. And that, more than anything, drove Cody absolutely insane.
Their latest argument had erupted on Wednesday, right in the home gym, when Cody caught him attempting to lift weights that would challenge even a fully healed body. The same Roman who still winced when he stood too quickly, who needed a full minute and some to climb two flights of stairs, apparently decided that hoisting 150lbs was the perfect way to prove his resilience-slash-rehabilitation.
Voices had been raised, tempers flared, and a few regretful words had been exchanged before Cody, exasperated beyond reasoning, grabbed his bag and booked the next flight to Virginia less than thirty minutes later. Only as he approached the gate did he remember to arrange someone to ‘supervise’ Roman (Cody was painfully aware the man would explode if anyone called it babysitting). Even with that small concession, Cody knew the entire trip was going to be a painstaking balance between caring for Roman and ignoring his own rising fury.
“Usually I let Randy seethe,” Cena said, shrugging, eyes flicking briefly to the door Randy had stormed out of. “It’s a necessary process that is essential to his temperament, and my sanity.” He deadpanned in that way only Cena could pull off.
“I can’t just let Roman seethe,” Cody replied with a rueful shake of his head. “If I did, he’d be right back in that hospital bed for tweaking something he should’ve let heal in the first place.”
“Mm.” Cena hummed in agreement and sympathy. Though his expression was more tired than anything.
They sat in a companionable silence for a few beats, the distant hum of the arena in the background, until Cena nudged Cody’s shoulder lightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Why couldn’t we have fallen in love with each other?” he asked, that teasing smirk dancing across his face. “Brains over temper, actually capable of putting our feelings into words instead of vague grunts and growls. Sounds like a stress-free environment.”
Cody snorted, imagining a hypothetical world where he and Cena could navigate feelings with the same precision as a promo. “I feel like there’d be a lot of scheduled talks,” he said dryly, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.
“Oh, definitely,” Cena agreed, wagging a finger theatrically. “And neatly detailed bullet points during disagreements. Color-coded lists, PowerPoints…” Cena’s voice took on a lofty tone, “‘Cody, please refer to Section 3, Subsection B of the Grievance Protocol, please.’”
Cody barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “That sounds more like a job description than a relationship.”
“Yeah.” Cena’s grin softened into something wistful. “Believe it or not, I like the wild card impulsivity Randy brings to the table. Makes life less… predictable.” He trailed off for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through the usual polished veneer.
Cody’s lips curved into a wry grin, and he leaned back slightly, shaking his head. “Roman got turned on by me smashing a glass cup with my grip,” he confessed, almost amused at his own words. Cena’s laugh came immediately, startled and then bubbling freely, eyes locking on Cody’s as if the image were both hilarious and scandalous.
“You could practically see the want in his eyes as he taped the cut shut,” Cody added, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I had to physically pry him off me afterwards; it was very ridiculous.” The memory was absurd, a warm counterpoint to the cold edges of the week.
Cena wiped at the corner of his mouth, amusement settling into something gentler. “Thank you for coming out to help Randy tonight.” The gratitude in his voice was plain.
Cody rolled his shoulders, deflecting the weight with a shrug. “Like I’d ever abandon him when he needs help.” It wasn’t a boast so much as a fact. He’d readily do it again.
“He’s a bit mad about how the match turned out—wounded pride and all,” John said with a vague wave of his hand. “But he’ll be back. And rest assured, I’ll make him thank you. Whether he wants to or not.”
Cody snorted. “John, it’s honestly not necessary. Talking to you about all of this has—” He paused, searching for the word. “—been weirdly therapeutic.”
“I am a really good listener,” Cena replied solemnly, a small, proud nod accompanying the words. Then, his smirk returned, teasing again. “Although… if you’re here, and the twins are on Raw, who’s the poor unfortunate soul stuck with Roman?”