Chapter Text
Cody crossed the threshold of his locker room feeling like a collection of bruised ribs and shattered nerves. As far as he was concerned, he was a spiritually and physically broken mess, shutting the door behind him and leaning back against the cool metal.
He closed his eyes and let his head thud back, trying to breathe through the phantom grip of Gunther’s fingers still ghosting around his throat, praying for a moment of silence to recalibrate his soul.
“Well, you look like you’re having a truly magnificent day.”
The voice didn’t belong to a ghost, but it was certainly haunting Cody’s food budget. Damian was currently half-submerged in Cody’s mini-fridge, a sight that was as absurd as it was familiar. He was bent at the waist, his entire frame seemingly swallowed by a fridge that was barely three-quarters his height. The frantic, crinkling rustle of a biscuit packet echoed from the depths of the appliance.
“Damian,” Cody croaked, watching him methodically ransack his supplies. “Do you think I’m paying for some past life transgression? Is this karma?”
Damian finally emerged from the cold depths, cradling a serving tray laden with an impressive haul of snacks, finger foods, and several biscuit packets, all arranged with the utmost care. He straightened to his full height, tray in hand, and took a moment to genuinely appraise the wreckage before him.
Cody was still shirtless in his wrestling attire, his skin a roadmap of red welts and darkening purples. In his hands, he clutched the Undisputed Championship, a belt that weighed more with each passing day, and had become less a symbol of glory and more a symbol of everything he was slowly losing to the weight of keeping it.
Fresh off a match against Ricky Saints, the night had ended not with a celebration, but instead with Gunther ambushing him, and basically choking the life out of him until the world went blank.
It almost seemed like the pressure of being a champion sometimes wasn’t worth it. Sure, it was prestigious as hell, and a lot more shiny when you were watching another champion carry it from a distance. But from the inside, it all seemed like a slow erosion of everything that made you human.
He thought briefly of Roman, currently knee-deep in his own brand of chaos over on Raw, but compared to the systematic dismantling Cody had just endured, Roman’s life looked like a five-star spa retreat. Of course, Cody knew better than to voice that aloud. It would do him significant good to keep that particular comparison away from Roman’s ears if he wanted continued housing and a bed that wasn’t the sofa.
“You’re going through a rough stretch,” Damian finally said, his tone infuriatingly calm. “It’s fine. All champions have their moments of character-inclined suffering. It doesn’t mean the sky is falling, Cody.”
He moseyed over to the leather couch and dumped himself onto it. His eyes glinted with something appreciative as he began methodically digging into the pilfered tray.
These days, it seemed Cody only received the ‘top star treatment’ so that Damian had a premium selection of snacks to raid. The man was there unfailingly every Friday, cleaning out the fridge like a scheduled hurricane. Then again, Cody knew the snacks would only wither and expire under his own neglectful watch, so he couldn’t find the energy to truly complain.
Cody moved away from the door, depositing his championship on a shelf with more care than he felt it deserved these days. He contemplated the logistics of a proper shower versus a simple cleanup, already knowing neither would wash away what he was carrying inside.
“R-Truth sent you into exile again?” Cody asked, reaching for a towel and beginning a halfhearted wipe-down of the sweat and grime coating his skin. The shower could wait until he got home. Maybe, if he played his cards right, he could broker a massage out of Roman for his troubles before they moved on to more… entertaining distractions.
“I love the man, I truly do,” Damian said, his voice muffled by a mouthful of muffin. “But sometimes I would readily choose banging my head against a concrete wall over trying to communicate with him. Or whatever passes for communication in his world.”
“What about Jimmy and Jey?” Cody asked, already knowing the answer would explain Damian’s presence here. The twins didn’t take kindly to interruptions when they were in a certain mood, and Damian – smart man that he was – knew when to make himself scarce.
“They didn’t seem to be in a ‘friendly’ mood,” Damian shrugged, reaching for a savory pastry. “So, I did what anyone dating into that gene pool would do and tactfully removed myself from the equation. Self-preservation and all that.”
The knock that came on Cody’s door was perfunctory at best – barely a warning before the door swung open without waiting for acknowledgment.
Jimmy and Jey, the objects of their discussion, immediately filed in, Jimmy making a quick break for Damian on Cody’s couch. He bent over to plant a quick kiss on Damian’s lips, tasting the muffin on his boyfriend’s mouth before settling beside him on the couch and unapologetically commandeering the tray of food.
Jey, however, went straight for Cody. He began a slow, 360-degree prowl around him, his eyes narrowed as he appraised Cody’s half-clothed form, cataloging each bruise and specific signature of violence that he would undoubtedly feel obligated to replicate on whoever had put them there.
Finally, Jey stopped in front of him, his gaze locking onto Cody’s. “You good?”
“No, Jey, I’m not ‘good.’ I just got strangled by an angry Austrian,” Cody said, rolling his eyes as he pulled a Nightmare tank top over his head, wincing as the fabric brushed his sore ribs. “As someone who has also been on the receiving end of said angry Austrian’s attention, I’d expect you to know better than to ask such questions.”
“Point,” Jey conceded with a tilt of his head.
“It’s not just you, Cody,” Jimmy added between chews, waving a half-eaten egg roll for emphasis. “Things are hectic for everyone right now. Our family can’t even get they shit together.”
Cody pouted thoughtfully, his mind turning over the volatile state of the Bloodline. “On the matter of your family—”
“Oh, here we go,” Jey interrupted, his eye roll dramatic enough to be seen from space. He pivoted on his heel and began walking toward the other end of the room to avoid the lecture he smelled coming.
“No, wait—I’m not—I’m not trying to accuse anyone of anything,” Cody stumbled through, aware of how ridiculous he sounded. “I’m just... not not accusing you of things?”
“We’re just worried,” Damian helpfully piped in, crumbs dusting his chin once more.
“Exactly!” Cody gestured toward Damian with relief. “Worried.”
As much as Roman was desperately trying to do things differently this time, Cody could see the ugly machinery of the old Roman trying to claw its way back into the light. Which wasn’t intended to be an indictment of Roman. He was human after all, for all his larger-than-life presence and carefully cultivated mystique. And when Roman got scared, or uncertainty crept into the corners of his carefully constructed fortress, his defense mechanism was a scorched-earth policy. Violence, dominance, the reassertion of control through any means necessary.
The feud with Jacob Fatu was deteriorating in ways that nobody had anticipated. And frankly, Jimmy and Jey weren’t helping matters with their constant encouragement for Roman to simply amplify the violence and lean harder into aggression rather than seeking any kind of resolution. That was a discussion with the twins that Cody would need to bring up very cautiously, lest he end up facing the wrath of the twins alongside Roman’s spiraling temper.
“If you’re so worried, go talk to Jacob then,” Jimmy said pointedly, his expression hardening. “We’re the ones actually trying to keep this family from imploding.”
“Or would you rather Roman just sit back and let himself get disrespected?” Jey added, shooting Cody a baleful, defensive look that signaled the end of the polite portion of the evening.
“You know what, I’ll be the ‘asshole’ in the room right now,” Damian declared, abandoning his food to throw up air quotes with both hands. “Roman is a champion, which means he has a title to defend. It shouldn’t matter who the challenger is or what the last name says on their driver’s license. There. I said it.”
As Damian leaned back against the couch, sinking into the leather, he was met with a very aggressive side-eye from Jimmy.
To his considerable credit, Damian held firm under the weight of that death stare, refusing to flinch or look away.
“So basically what you’re saying is that Jacob is justified in everything he’s been doing?” Jey asked, his voice carrying a testy edge that suggested he was calculating how much physical harm he could inflict while maintaining plausible deniability.
“Technically…” Cody started, and could already feel the cool earth of the grave he was digging for himself, likely three feet deep on that one word alone. Then again, he never really knew when to simply stop, so he pressed on. “Jacob wouldn’t have had to resort to desperation if Roman had simply granted him the title shot when he first asked.”
It was, in Cody’s genuinely held opinion, an entirely valid point. And every time Roman growled about familial disappointment or complained about Jacob being an endless, ungrateful thorn in his side, Cody felt the urge to scream this exact sentiment. But he’d learned through hard experience and harder losses to hold his tongue. Roman these days operated with the temperament of someone perpetually standing on a hair trigger, and antagonizing him would yield nothing but scorched earth and painful regret.
The betrayed horror the twins were currently regarding him and Damian with only validated that Cody’s silence around Roman had been his only sensible decision of the month. Their eyes carried the weight of judgment and disappointment, kind of like the kind of anger that came from feeling like people you’d invited into your inner circle had somehow turned traitor.
The tension remained thick enough to choke on until the door flew open once more. R-Truth materialized suddenly, clutching both his own and Damian’s tag titles over his shoulders.
“Hey, DP,” he greeted brightly before stepping inside. His gaze swept carefully over each occupant, cataloging the tension in the set of their shoulders and the careful distance maintained between bodies.
His expression shifted into something approaching concern. “Aw damn, was y’all praying? My bad. I can go if y’all want? Don’t want to mess up the vibe with the Big Man.” He gestured vaguely toward the ceiling.
“Actually, I think I’ll go with you,” Damian ‘the Betrayer’ Priest announced. He practically leaped to his feet, abandoning his carefully curated snack selection with suspicious alacrity. The movement was so abrupt it bordered on desperate, and the message that he intended to get out before the fallout began was exceedingly clear.
He cautiously navigated past Jimmy’s knees, taking meticulous care not to brush against his visibly pissed-off boyfriend or even dare to make eye contact.
“Aldis probably has some plans for us anyway,” Damian added, his voice carrying false brightness as he reached Truth and began steering him toward the hallway.
“Actually, I just came to talk to you about the new clubhouse decor—” Truth started, but Damian was already shoving him out of the room.
“And you can tell me all about the drapes away from here,” Damian insisted.
The door clicked shut, leaving Cody alone with the twins and their matching, twin-caliber glares.
“Okay, now guys—”
A sharp knock interrupted him, and Cody felt something that might have been gratitude surge through him toward whatever higher power had decided to intervene. Even if that same deity had apparently been strategically napping during Gunther’s ambush earlier.
“Come in!” Cody called out, his voice bordering on desperate. Anything was preferable to the verbal filleting he was certainly about to receive from two out of three of the most family-oriented men on the fucking planet.
The door creaked open, revealing Drew McIntyre leaning against the frame. Cody’s relief vanished instantly, replaced by a fresh wave of irritation. He almost considered surrendering back to the twins.
The man wasn’t even supposed to be here today, considering he had no bookings scheduled. But apparently that was exactly why he was dressed in casual street wear rather than his signature leather kilt. His hair was pulled back into a tight, meticulously crafted bun, and his usual smug Scottish smirk was firmly in place as he let his gaze deliberately, painfully slowly trail over each person in the locker room, savoring the discomfort.
“Uh-oh,” he drawled, his accent thickening as it always did when he was enjoying himself. “Am I interrupting a family moment?”
“You must be fucking lost, Uce,” Jimmy spat hotly, abandoning his tray of food without hesitation and lifting to his feet. His frame immediately shifted into a fighting stance, clearly prepared to eject Drew from this locker room by any means necessary, violence very much preferred.
Drew merely lifted an eyebrow, performing the role of shocked innocence with wonderful acting. He tilted forward slightly, squinting his eyes as if struggling to read something crucial. His finger traced along the nameplate affixed to the door, making a pointed show of examining it.
“Cody Rhodes... nope. I’m actually in the right place,” he said cheerfully, ignoring the twin attack dogs edging into his personal space. “I just wanted to talk.”
Jey’s spine stiffened. “Like hell we’re going to let you—”
“It’s fine,” Cody cut him off with a weary wave.
“It’s fine?” Jimmy echoed with genuine incredulity, his voice pitched high enough to suggest Cody had actually lost his mind. “Since when did the word ‘fine’ and Drew McIntyre live in the same sentence?”
Since he and Roman had apparently become buddies who swapped spit, Cody thought bitterly, though he certainly, emphatically, decisively, wasn’t jealous. He was absolutely composed. Totally fine. Not at all preoccupied with the mental image of Drew’s hands on Roman, of Drew’s mouth on Roman’s mouth, of whatever had passed between them that had been significant enough to warrant a fucking mock proposal.
He was the least jealous man in the building. Really.
“He just said he only wanted to talk,” Cody said, though the words came out tighter than he intended. He shot Drew a look that was approximately half question, half threat. “Right?”
“And how’d that work out for your wedding ring last time?” Jimmy spat directly at Cody, though his eyes never wavered from Drew.
“Not to worry, I have my own now,” Drew said, waving his left hand to flaunt a simple gold band. “It’s not quite on the ‘matrimonial’ level yet, but it’s a steady work in progress.”
Apparently, the drunken proposal between Drew and Seth had actually stuck. Good for them.
“I’ll be careful with him,” Cody sighed, turning to Jimmy with an imploring look, trying to silently coerce them into leaving before a brawl broke out.
Jimmy watched Cody suspiciously, then turned a deadly stink-eye back on Drew. “If you say so,” he muttered, his lip curling in disgust. He grabbed a fistful of Jey’s shirt and started toward the exit. “Come on, Uce.”
“Jimmy, what the hell—”
“They want to talk, Jey,” Jimmy said pointedly, investing the word ‘talk’ with an emphasis so heavy it practically had its own gravitational field. “We should give them their moment.”
Jey clamped his mouth shut, clearly still fuming but also aware enough to recognize that Jimmy had made a decision and arguing would only cause problems. He followed after his brother toward the door, both twins radiating unhappiness so palpable it was almost a physical presence.
Drew gently sidestepped from where he’d been blocking the exit, both arms raised in a gesture of surrender as the twins strode past him, the door shutting behind them with finality.
“Fifty bucks says they suspect something shady is going on between the two of us,” Drew said with a conspiratorial smirk the moment the door sealed shut.
“Too bad they’ll never realize that you and Roman are the ones swapping spit instead,” Cody retorted, the words emerging acidic and sharp enough to draw blood.
He watched as Drew’s smirk fell away entirely, replaced by something more neutral, all traces of playfulness evaporating instantly.
Apparently, Drew seemed to be operating under the grand illusion that he and Cody were friends – or at least on the path to it. And even if Drew daring to kiss Roman wasn’t annoying enough to make Cody fantasize about creative methods of torture every time he laid eyes on the Scottish bastard, there was still the very frustrating stretch of time where Drew had made Cody’s own life absolute hell. A sudden, suspicious friendship with Roman didn’t just wipe the slate clean.
“I actually came here to apologize for that,” Drew said, his voice shifting into something that sounded disturbingly like sincerity. The words were shocking enough to dislodge every distasteful thing Cody had been about to say, leaving him standing in confused silence. “What happened with Roman was a roleplay of sorts… I know it doesn’t justify kissing another man’s husband, but the circumstances called for a charade, and we put on one hell of a show.”
He took several measured steps closer, his hands crossing over his chest in a posture that was either defensive or contemplative. Cody couldn’t quite determine which. “But it was still a violation of you and Roman’s marriage, and for that I am genuinely, sincerely sorry.”
Cody studied him for what felt like an eternity, cataloging every detail of his posture, his expression, the apparent genuineness in his eyes. Everything about this Drew was fundamentally at odds with the Drew of months prior, who’d been singularly focused on taking Cody’s title and physically dismantling him at every available opportunity. But Cody, contrary to his public persona, was a deeply petty man.
“You know what, Drew? I don’t give a fuck,” Cody said flatly, though numerous fucks were in fact being given – particularly where Roman was concerned. But he would absolutely not be telling Drew this. He would not be admitting that the image of Drew kissing Roman had burrowed under his skin like an infection. “I’m not going to question your friendship with Roman or ask you to stay away from him, because Roman is a grown man entitled to his own decisions. No matter how utterly wrong those decisions might be.”
He leveled Drew with a look so demeaning and thoroughly contemptuous that he was genuinely surprised when Drew responded with nothing more than a surprised huff of laughter.
“But if there’s one hill I’m ready to die on,” Cody continued, his voice dropping into something more dangerous, “it’s that there’s absolutely nothing good about your intentions toward him. Not a damn thing.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Cody. It was one kiss,” Drew said, throwing his hands upward in exasperation.
“I’m not talking about the kiss,” Cody snapped, surprising himself with the ferocity in his own voice. “I’m talking about your sudden, out-of-nowhere, blossoming brotherhood with Roman that somehow achieved actual depth in the span of three weeks.”
Roman was desperate. Cody was almost certain of this fact, though sometimes he suspected Roman himself wasn’t even fully aware of the depth of his own neediness. He was desperate for genuine friends, for people he could talk to without every fourth reminder about his long history of being an absolute asshole. Cody had no idea how Roman and Drew had managed to click in the first place – the timeline was conveniently obscured by his own strategic distance from Roman during that period – but it was far too tidy and far too perfect to be genuine.
Drew very obviously harbored some sort of hidden agenda slash carefully constructed long game, but Cody couldn’t quite piece together whether the target was Cody himself or whether Drew had fully committed to some scheme to mess with Roman directly.
Drew tilted his head and watched Cody with something that resembled pity far too closely for comfort. The look grated violently on Cody’s nerves.
“Are you that insecure that your husband actually having friends is a threat to you?” Drew asked, almost conversationally.
“Friends don’t go around kissing each other, do they?” Cody responded hotly, the question practically burning in his throat.
Drew tsked softly, nodding. “So it is about the kiss?”
“I’m onto you, Drew,” Cody said, bypassing the entirety of that line of questioning. He wasn’t interested in being psychoanalyzed by someone he fundamentally distrusted and disliked. “Whatever long con you’re running, I’ll be right here waiting for you to show your true colors. And when that day comes, I will very much enjoy putting you down.”
A lengthy, charged silence stretched between them.
“Goodbye, Cody,” Drew finally said, his voice stripped of all the earlier levity. He turned on his heel and headed toward the door with measured steps. “For what it’s worth, I do genuinely hope you accept my apology.”
Cody certainly did not, and he was fairly certain it was evident in every atom of his being.
“And I hope you don’t take out whatever anger you’re carrying on Roman instead,” Drew added quietly, his hand on the door. “Because he certainly doesn’t deserve it.”
Then Drew opened the door and stepped through.