Flames

Down Payment on Violence, part 1

"I thought the whole look at all my money gimmick was Sasha's territory now."

Becky probably should have turned around, but she was too comfortable. Seth's chest was wonderfully warm against her back and even if his beard was getting a bit scratchy, being cuddled up with him was still her favourite place to be. "Like you'd pass up the chance to throw money around. Maybe that can be your next act as the Messiah: bestowing money to the faithful. Believe," she concluded with a faux drawl, "and you shall be rewarded."

Seth kissed the top of her head and sighed. Their RAW rewatch was almost done, but neither of them reached for the remote. "Sure. But you don't want to turn into a walking meme, do you?"

"Well, if I can't have my puns. . . ." Becky did her best not to bristle, snuggling closer to hide any stiffness that hunched her shoulders. Being The Man was tremendously rewarding and definitely fun, but she missed having humour in her segments. She had managed some little hints over the past year—stealing Lacey's hat, bugging Corbin, even the curtailed Twitter war with Edge and Beth—but not nearly as much as she would have liked. It felt like being told to give a rousing speech, but only being allowed to use words found in children's books; smack talking was one of the biggest weapons in her arsenal, and she wasn't even being allowed to wield it properly.

It was foolish to think Seth wouldn't pick up on her pensiveness, though, and his arms tightened around her almost to the point of corsetry. "Sorry. I just don't trust Baszler. She's a lock to win at Elimination Chamber—"

"Just because she's a 'cage fighter' or whatever bullshit she wants to call herself," Becky snorted, "doesn't mean everyone else should just stay home." She didn't know why she was getting so worked up: she knew the company's rough plans for her for the coming months, so Shayna's win would hardly be a surprise. Maybe it's because I WANT a surprise, Becky thought. Feuding with Asuka—with the added threat of Kairi—had been invigorating, and she was trying to think of ways to bring that same energy to her upcoming battle with Shayna. Online and off, though, many people were writing it off before they even had a chance to fight.

"Becky." Seth tilted her chin up and kissed her gently. "Is this about taking time off after WrestleMania?" he asked softly, tucking hair behind her ear. "You're not going to fall off the radar just like that. But if you're worried, we don't have to. . . ."

"I know." Becky twisted around until she was straddling him, and for the next few moments she focussed fully on kissing him: on threading her fingers through his hair, the contented little hum he always made when she settled against him, the way his hands seemed to span her whole back. He would be leaving for Saudi Arabia again in just over a week, and she ought to be basking in moments like this, not wallowing in worry. When she finally sat back, she was a bit light-headed and she kept her eyes mostly shut. "It just feels like the women's divisions are on such shaky ground right now. I know Bayley's defending at Super ShowDown," she added before Seth could interject, "but on RAW and SmackDown. . . ."

"You don't want to see your hard work go to waste. Or any of the work the women have done. I get that." Seth stroked her back in small, idle circles. "On the bright side, at least Shayna won't be like Brock. She'll be around to defend."

"And if Charlotte beats Rhea," Becky went on, "there's no point in me going to NXT to try getting the trifecta, because they'll never want to have two Horsewomen down there at the same time. And now if I do ever go back, it'll just look like I'm in Charlotte's shadow again."

"You need," Seth murmured, raining down kisses on her neck and shoulders, "to stop thinking so much." He pulled her in closer before letting his hands drift again.

Becky reached back behind Seth's head and slowly unwound his bun, letting his hair fall around her fingers. "Well, I was going to start thinking of surprises for you for your birthday," she replied, feeling the last of the tension in her shoulders melt away. "But if you want me to stop—"

"St. Patrick's Day comes first. Since I'm marrying into an Irish family," Seth grinned, "I need to start learning all the customs, right? I already ordered a Kiss me, I'm Irish shirt."

"I bet it's black." Becky leaned in for a kiss. "You could wear more colours, you know. You'd look gorgeous in green. . . ."

Seth laughed, pulling her in tight. "At least you didn't say orange. I think you've got a lock on that one." He slid his hands slowly up her back before dragging his fingers back down, digging in just enough to make her sigh. "Does that mean I don't get a surprise when I get back next week, or do you already have that planned out?"

"If I tell you," Becky countered, "then it won't be a surprise." Her mood dimmed a bit and she tried to keep it out of her kiss. She was proud when Sasha and Alexa wrestled in Abu Dhabi and when Natalya and Lacey were finally able to fight in Saudi Arabia; now the women were having a title match, and it had been announced with little to no fuss. No clip of Stephanie McMahon crowing about making history or the 'women's evolution'—just the quiet hope that one day such matches would be so normal, so common, that they would be mentioned in the same breath as the men's without any comment. Naturally she wished she were able to help make that history; if she couldn't, however, she could think of no one better than Naomi and Bayley.

Seth saw right through it, of course. "You're making history in different ways," he murmured against her neck, "and all of it matters. And you'll get that caliber of moment too. I know you will." He shut off the television and set the remote on the bedside table before pressing Becky against the bed. When she reached for his shoulders, though, Seth pulled back. "You wanted time to think," he said with a smart-ass grin. "I don't want to disturb you. . . ."

It made Becky think of a mug she had bought for Paige years ago. "I'm already disturbed enough?" she quoted with a laugh. Seth was right, of course. The McMahons were going to do whatever they thought was best for business; it was their guiding principle, not just a catch phrase. Creative would weave whatever stories they were told to. All of that was out of her hands. She could just do her best with whatever she was given. She had done it before, parlaying her feud with Charlotte into the launch pad for her success as The Man. Losing to Shayna—if it was truly inevitable—could be a similar opportunity, a chance to transform herself yet again. Besides, she could waste energy on needless worry or spend it in a far more enjoyable way. And since she and Seth were already in bed, it was an easy choice. "Thinking hours are done," she declared, pulling him back down to her.

"I think all thinking hours should be postponed," Seth replied, sinking into her, "until I'm gone. Give them a Brock Lesnar schedule."

Becky couldn't agree more.