Au Revoir

I. Her Honor

“...and the next shift'll knock off and the next shift'll start and the next shift'll knock off and the next shift'll start…”

Such is the babbling of the radio as a man from Western Australia explains without really explaining how the postal service works, specifically the sorting. How a postcard he mails out to a friend across town will have to go a-bouncin' all over the place before coming back because there's no sorting place in the territory or whatnot. The Multitudes are only half listening as the vessel takes a sip from her tea. The chatter is just a distraction from what she both does and doesn't want to listen to: the phone call between Jacky and Noah Adams. Just in the other room lies the short-term fate of Glass Jaw Academy, whether they did enough to keep the lights on or if they'll all get thrown ass-over-teakettle out of the warehouse that had become a second home.

Restless, she paces a bit in the hallway, stopping only when she's in front of a certain picture. One that both had been looking at more offers since Jack came back home. Her husband--younger and built more like a stick shack than a brick shithouse--smiling proudly and holding up his freshly signed contract whilst on the shoulders of a younger Noah and a noticeably older man. To him, Anna speaks.

“What do you think, Angus? You ever think that if given a chance, you'd do things a little differently?”

The question is phrased this way for a reason. By all accounts, Angus Adams didn’t seem like the type who would completely alter his life if he knew the weight his son carried after his demise. Yet she thinks he would at least pause. A good bloke who lived life to the fullest, loved his boy, and loved to wrestle. Wasn’t the best at training stars, but emphasized heart and guts above all. Also burnt money like he was trying to keep warm, which is why they are in this situation in the first place. The picture doesn't respond. Good thing. Having one dead man that can talk back is plenty.

Of course, you don't ask such a thing without considering the question yourself. There are quite a few things Anna Daniels--in part and in whole--would gladly fix, if given the shot. Looking back at the trail of blood, bodies, and souls along her path remains a sobering experience.

What would've happened to those rookies back in Nashville had she not sicced a menace on them to make a statement? Would they have become stars? Or would they have faded out just as quickly? Then there’s the PuppetLisa incident. Should she have reacted sooner? Should she have made her at all? How could she try to pretend to be a hero when at least two universes were murdered by her own Frankenstein’s monster? What about Jacky? Putting so much pressure on him by simply existing caused him to make choices he shouldn’t have and not manage his injury when he should have. He doesn't blame her for it. He blames himself for losing the way. Even so…

Speak of the devil. He appears with the subtle squeak of the door with the noise being loud enough to stop the psychic weight from trying to reemerge. He keeps his head down and for a brief moment, there is a sick feeling in the Time Lord's stomach.

“Well?”

The madman from Kurri Kurri looks at her. He can't suppress the smile on his face for long.

“We're still kickin’, love!”

From that comes the celebration loud enough for Bucky to perk up from his momentary boredom. The couple is entangled in each other. They know they're not out of the woods and they won't be for quite some time. But progress is worth celebrating when you're under the gun.

“They aren't coming to repossess…”

“...as long as we keep chiseling away at the debt.”

Jacky nods, places a smooch on her forehead, and speeds towards his rapidly cooling breakfast. “And it's because of you, ya know. I poured all my money in and Noah's been tryin' before I even stepped in–”

“We know.”

“You didn't have t–”

“We know!” The acknowledgement getting louder this time. “Now eat your damned eggs before they get stone cold.”

The husband does as he's told while she strolls back to the table. Sitting down on her proper chair, a stray thought is snagged from the winds in her head.

“Jack, why didn't you kill Rob?”

He barely stops himself from choking on the breakfast he's trying to eat at Mach speed.

“Wha-what?!”

“You were so gung-ho about turning that man into paste. What changed?”

There's a pause as the Aussie tries to find the words. A fraction of the food falls into the awaiting jaws of their beloved pet. After a moment, he speaks.

“I wanted to. Before I laid a hand on him, I would've loved nothing more than to do it. But…”

The flash of memory of Rob aching for the end to come and his regrets blazed through Jacky's mind for a minute.

“...I saw a glimmer of something, ya know? Like he was dragging a load he couldn't keep carrying. Way I see it, making a man like that kark it before his time wouldn't have been a blessing for him or me. Not when he still has some chance.” He takes another bite. “Besides, I knew you'd be back to help him.”

Anna scratches behind Bucky's ears. “Yeah? How'd you figure?”

The smile came back to his face.

“‘Cause he told me what you said after. That you'd be there until the end. And I knew you wouldn't say that if you didn't mean it, even if he didn't know that.”

Goddamnit. She hates that he's right.

II. Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

Airport bars - the last frontier of freedom in a world that grows smaller with each day. Order two meals or ten shots. Nobody cares. No one is judging you here. They don’t care who you are or where you’re going and they recognize you solely for the unimportant blip on the timeline of days that make up their life.

They take all of your freedoms eventually, don’t they? Nothing is forever, he thinks to himself with a smirk as he swirls his half-cold Dunkin’. Taking a swig of the bitter coffee, Rob reminisces of that bartender named after a Fleetwood Mac song in Orlando when he was grounded during Hurricane Ivan. Maybe some of those blips are indelible.

Does she think about him? Probably not.

He checks his watch, wincing in pain. Between a four and a six, he thinks with a smirk, is a pretty good scale for most anything. If he’s drinking or fighting or hurting between a four and a six, he’s about where he needs to be. Above or below and it’s dangerous. Between Jacky and The Masters of the Whateverthefuck Russians, he’s rolling at an eight. His nose is definitely broken. The medics did a good job patching him up, but it’s a five-alarm fire every time his shades slide across it. Why would he be wearing shades inside at nine in the morning while sober as a nun? To hide his double-barrel black eyes from the squares of the world, the hacks who don’t want you to smoke inside or drink in the morning - the ones who probably were fucking right all along.

Beside him sits a mother and child. The boy can’t be more than five years old and he’s surprisingly well-behaved considering they’re delayed an hour already. He’s wearing a blue Transformers shirt and his sneakers light up with every step.

“Pretty fucking cool kid,” Rob remarks under his breath, taking another swill from the coffee.

Rob can’t see the book she’s reading from, but he can hear her. He lets his head roll back onto the stiff airport chair, a torture device, and closes his eyes, trying valiantly not to think of the wreckage of his past.

“Once there was a tree, and she loved a little boy,” The Mother begins reading to her child. Rob gives in and reviews the happenings of the last few weeks and months in his head. The conversation with the elderly woman at the AA meeting sits heavy on his heart as the Mother’s voice drifts in and out. “And the boy loved the tree very much. And the tree was happy.”

His thoughts turn to ReVival - the absolute mudstomping he received from Kael & Freeman and Anna Daniels. Despite his rotten nature, she came to his aid at his absolute bottom. How bad would it have been had she not shown up? In the commotion of it all, they didn’t get the chance to reconcile things.

Why did she do it?

Through his reflection, Rob picks up on an emerging pattern in the book. The boy, who thinks he is the main character, only ever says “I want”. He takes from the tree over and over again and leaves when he’s gotten his fill. Rob thinks of all the tears he’s cried to Anna about his woes and how she’s been there every damn time.

And the tree keeps giving.

Images of Anna Daniels in a ridiculous fake beard and wig holding up Cecil Farthington as he implodes into her flash into his mind. Anna’s voice as she promises to stay with Rob through his dernier combat. Never once did she mention that her life back home was on the edge of disaster, leaving Rob blindsided when Jacky shared about their financial troubles.

“And so the boy cut down her trunk and made a boat and sailed away. And the tree was happy... but not really.”

She never makes it about her nor shows a soft spot in her titanium armor because Rob never gives her the chance to.

Will he allow this to be the final act of their story? No, he thinks to himself, no he will not. Their final act should be that of the Phoenix.

Big Dick Stallions and The Twins have their own stories, a reason why they may deserve this win. But theirs are the stuff of tremors. Enough to make you ask those around you, “Did you feel that?”. Anna Daniels’ story is a fucking a mega quake. The White and Silver Phoenix rising above all of the naysayers to capture these titles is a tectonic shift in the very bedrock of PRIME. Hell, of wrestling, and she needs him to pen the final chapter.

Fuck Your Tag Team’s dénouementact will be beautiful because that is what Anna Daniels fucking deserves.

He takes out his phone and hits a few buttons.

“Lem. I need you to do some things for me.”

Oblivious to Rob’s grandiose journey of self discovery, the Mother brushes her son’s hair.

“And the boy did. And the tree was happy.”

III. The Mason’s Forge

Rob has never been to Australia. He’s never been anywhere that wrestling didn’t take him. If it wasn’t for wrestling, he’d probably still be in the Flowery Branch Trailer Park. The flight was long and cramped and lacked the usual mountain of single-serve liquor bottles he would quell his aching mind with. But, for Anna and Jacky, he would’ve taken it ten times over.

He shoots a nod to the cabbie that’s waiting for him before checking his watch. Just before eight in the morning here, something like six at night back home. Home. He has not known a home in a very long time. He’s had places, but not that feeling, like a kid being under his warm blanket - none of the monsters can get you here. Funny enough, working with Anna is probably the closest thing to that in years.

So here he sits outside Glass Jaw, drinking a black coffee, ready to mend Anna and Jacky’s hearth.

As if on cue, a yellow Volkswagen van begins to roll into the parking lot. Despite being old, she’s been taken care of and could potentially tell stories of the trio who are currently looking at the figure sitting outside the building. Jacky glances over at his wife, confused.

“Did he tell you he was coming here?”

Anna takes a glance at her phone to make sure she hadn't missed anything. “Nope.”

“What d'ya think he wants? Round two?”

The Muse shrugs. “We're just as baffled as you are.”

In fact, the only one that isn't befuddled is the four-legged furball. He wags his tail. Perhaps this is a new friend whose lunch he could steal. The couple give each other looks, having a conversation without speech before inevitably coming to the same conclusion. Seat belts get unbuckled, doors are whipped open, and Bucky is the first one bounding out from the back seat. The black lab sniffs at the strange man. He can smell Something Wrong. Hello, strange man. His tail wags a little as he takes inventory.

Meanwhile, ol' Jack gives a nod as he heads to the front door. “G'day, Robbie. Hope you don't mind me rushing in to turn the lights on real quick.”

With those greetings out of the way, that leaves his tag partner strolling over casually.

“The fuck is going on, man?”

“Living the dream. That’s what white dudes say when they want to kill themselves, you know?”

He grimaces, knowing that that sounded as bad coming out as it did in his head.

“Dante, take Bucky inside. You and Jack start without us.”

The best doggo whines at this request, but is tempted away by the promises of treats. Anna smiles and nods at each person as they pass through. She waits until they're all inside before looking back at her partner.

“Go on.”

“Yeah, well, you know… what I’m trying to say is, I’ve made a hall of fame run out of being fucking wrong, but the way I did you is top five. How can I ease your burden?”

The vessel pinches the bridge of her nose. How many times has she heard that?

“We don't like sharing our burdens to anyone. There's reasons for that. First of all, opening up gives people an opportunity to misuse your fragile bits for their own benefit and honestly? Fuck that jazz. Life's hard enough without all of that.”

Rob fights the urge to respond. She needs to get this out and he owes that to her, this and so much more.

“Reason number two is that our burdens are never just our burdens. This tag team thing we're doing, for instance. 95% of the reason we're doing it is for you, we'll admit it. A man comes up to us and says he wants to try and burn down the whole damned world with ya before kicking the bucket and who the fuck are we to say no to that? It's pressure, sure. But it's also an honor in a sick kind of way. 1% is for us possibly getting a chance to piss on Jared Sykes’ metaphorical grave by taking his dumb forever titles. And the last 4%?”

Anna holds her hand up to the building behind them.

“This place. It doesn't look like much. It used to look like…well, you if you were a building. But Jacky? He fucking loves this place. We're helping him and his buddy in the attempt because it gives him a purpose in life. For the first time in months, he's happy. Legitimately happy.”

There's a short pause. She snickers.

“That and we can't help but butt in because we might still have a tiny bit of a savior complex left. Most of it has been eroded out of us. Every now and then, though.”

For the first time since the Legend has shown up and that stupid kiss, she looks him in the eye.

“You're a shitbag, Rob. We knew that the moment we met you. Despite what you are and what you’ve done, we forgive you. We want to finish this strange trip with you. And since you really want a burden to carry for us, let's try to make it a golden one. Because you're not getting any livelier and running the worst wrestling school in Australia is fucking expensive.”

Silence. A comfortable, healing silence, though. Rob knows Anna needs to feel that her words have sunken in.

“Anna, you deserve more than I can do to repay you, let alone make right for what I did. You and Jacky both. I promise you if you’ll have me, I will spend the rest of my life trying to make right - and I’m probably the only motherfucker that’s ever meant that when they said it to you.”

While not enough to elicit a laugh, this gets at least a light smirk from Anna. He goes on.

“I still want to burn the world down with you. There ain’t a better way to end this journey than to fucking scalp The Twins and The Big Dig Stallions at UltraViolence. I wanted to win this for my legacy, for how I’ll be remembered.”

Rob snorts and spits on the ground. Almost done.

“I want to win this because you deserve it. You deserve to spit in all of their faces, Anglo Luchador and Fred Dick and Lindsay Troy, all of them. They should ALL be standing below you as you stand on the turnbuckles hoisting the belt in the air. This ain’t my story, Anna. It’s yours and I was wrong for not seeing it sooner.”

Anna scoffs. In part at the pure ridiculousness of the thought, but the other half is that she knows he means it. The fact that he's serious about it is, quite honestly, one of the most touching things to happen to her. Yet in this profession, snarking is infinitely better than taking a hundred years to sort your emotions out.

“Yeah. Like they'd ever admit they were wrong. We've long burnt our bridges by being what we are in PRIME. They don't get it, they don't want to get it, nobody really cares, and that's okay. Fuck them.”

For a brief moment, her fingers twitch. An ancient need for a cigarette comes and goes.

“You know how they're going to brand this, right? The big second chance for Anna and Rob. And why shouldn't they? It's a lovely little fairy tale that can only end in triumph or tragedy. Black or white. Tom and Rowan and shidpant Fred? Inside their subconscious, they're thinking “We already beat them because we did it before”. They don't understand. They don't understand that there are no second chances in life. Redemptions, sure. But you can't go back and even if you can, you might not like the person you become.”

There's a smirk on the Muse’s face as she kicks a random bit of dust.

“For better or worse, we are what we are. It would be a disservice to anybody we've ever cared about, waged war with, or whose burden we carry to pretend otherwise. The best way to honor them is to learn our lessons and go forward a little bit smarter. You may not have as much time as you would like, brother. But as long as you're breathing air, you still have the choice.”

Anna takes a moment to really observe Rob.

“We deserve this—both of us. Don't know about you. But we don't see this as a second chance. We see this as the next chapter.”

“Whatever it is, we’re going to fucking crush them. Come UltraViolence we lock them in the gates of hell and we don’t let them out until those belts are ours. I don’t care if I gotta break my promise to Troy and die in that ring, you’re walking out of there with some fucking gold.”

Rob tips his coffee in a faux toast to Anna. All of the words required have been said, thoughts shared and feelings expressed - any more would only cheapen their shared experience. The only tender that remains is the work, defeating Big Dick Stallions and The Twins succinctly to add an exclamation point at the end of this chapter.

“Here’s looking at you, kid.”

With that, Rob returns to the waiting taxi. Anna takes a moment to watch him leave, noting that his figure was standing a little bit taller than it ever did. She smiles, shakes her head, and begins to open the door…only to collide with the ball of energy that is her husband. The words sputter out of him.

“Annie! Phone call! Noah! Building! Paid off!”

She blinks in confusion. “Jack, what the fuck have you been smo–”

The Time Lord doesn't finish as she's gathered up in a hug tornado of happiness. It'll take twenty minutes for the world to stop spinning and the news to fully hit.

When it does, she'll wonder whether to hug Rob or punch him.