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English
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Published:
2016-01-30
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1,513
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1/1
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Disarm

Summary:

After Ric Flair’s disgusting actions at the 2016 Royal Rumble, Becky has a lot on her mind: violence, revenge, escape, Gatorade, Legos.

Notes:

See the end for detailed content notes.

After the RR I realized that even though I had been working on "Use Somebody" for a couple of weeks, I had been writing comfortfic for the wrong person. This is a really angry, open-ended story. I feel better getting to put some words in people's mouths like this. I hope anyone who was furious or triggered by the thing that inspired this can get some catharsis.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

One.

First, she thought about a DQ. It would have wrecked her title shot and probably gotten her suspended, but it would have been worth it on some level. Roman got to go apeshit; it was Owens’s fucking job to go bananas all the time. The chairs under the ring were still warm from the “We can’t call them Texas Death Matches anymore because it’s the PG era” match earlier that evening. Who gets paid to be angry, and who gets paid to bite it back?

It would have been sweet. A forearm strike to his stupid face. Knock him on his back. Then, an leg drop from the top rope into his stupid chest. While he lies there sputtering and the bell is being rung, get the chairs. Hell, get the tables. Get a kendo stick. Set it on fire. Climb on the table. Jump off the table. Hurt him. Hurt someone.

And then she was back in the match, and trying to hurt Charlotte. It would have to do.

As she lay on the apron after being gratuitously fucked-up by her victorious opponent and kicked aside by Sasha Banks, she wished she had gone for that chair.

 

Two.

She sat a few yards from Gorilla, an ice bag taped over her shoulder, watching the entrants get ready to enter the Rumble. Charlotte and...that person...couldn’t be bothered to stick around. She felt a hand on her and she jumped, thrashing.

“Whoa, Becks!” Sami Zayn said as she grappled him. Then she let go of his arm like it was a red hot iron. A flaming kendo stick.

She looked him in the eye, a little dazed, a little embarrassed at her reaction. He bit his lip. “I watched your match on the monitor,” he said, furrowing his eyebrows. “You...hit some really great spots.”

“I did, didn’t I.”

They were silent. Sami gently held out his hand to her, telegraphing a bear hug. She took his hand and let herself be pulled in, resting her head against his chest.

“We should go slash his tires,” he said to her quietly.

“We don’t have time. You’ve got a rumble to win,” she said.

“Rain check, then,” he said, releasing her from the hug with a double tap on her arm.

The clock finished counting down, and a production assistant hustled Sami to the curtain. Becky wondered if she still had a knife in her bag.

 

Three.

She entertained a fantasy of quitting. She had some savings. She had some friends. Maybe she could go teach English in Japan, or drive monster trucks. It could happen. It happened to better people than her.

She watched Sami put Owens over the ropes and pumped her fist, getting to her feet and knocking over the folding chair she had been sitting in. Looking down at the chair, she felt cold.

 

Four.

They were drunk, and they couldn’t find Ric Flair’s car. They called Charlotte to see where they went, but she hung up on them and probably blocked Becky’s number. It was mildly surprising that she hadn’t done that already.

She and Sami staggered through a parking lot, trading swigs out of a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag.

She couldn’t remember when she had started crying. She just found herself with tears on her face, sliding to the ground against a dirty Range Rover with North Carolina plates. She leaned her back against the tire and sobbed.

“Becky? Where are you?” Sami called.

She hiccupped loudly.

“Do that again!” he cried.

She was hyperventilating. It was enough. He sank down next to her, grabbed her phone, and dialed Finn’s number. Ten minutes later, he showed up with Bayley in tow. Sami waved them down.

“I’ll kill him,” Finn swore, jumping out of the driver’s seat and making a beeline for Becky.

“Before I got the chance?” Becky sniffled. “No way.” She wiped her nose on her arm. “You guys don’t need to be here. I’m fine.”

“Hi fine, I’m Bayley,” Bayley said, lowering herself to the ground next to Becky, who laughed dryly, coughing afterward. “Hey Sami.”

“So if this isn’t Ric Flair’s car, whose is it?” Sami asked.

“Dude. It’s a rental. Look at the stickers.” Bayley jerked her head toward the car’s dash. “Rental cars always have weird out of state plates.”

“Damn. I thought we were really on to something,” Sami said, shaking his head. Becky took a shaky breath in, leaning her forehead against her knees.

Bayley pulled a small packet of tissues out of her purse and handed them to Becky, who took one and blew her nose into it.

“Okay,” Bayley said, “We’re getting you out of here.”

“Where to next?” Sami yawned.

“Wal-Mart,” Finn announced. “I haven’t gotten the new Sand Crawler Lego set yet and their website says they have it in stock.”

“What if we get recognized?” hiccuped Becky.

“We brought disguises!” Bayley said excitedly. She pulled a brown curly wig out of her bag and dropped it on top of Becky’s head. “There are more in the car.”

“You guys really know how to have fun,” Becky said, and she wasn’t even being sarcastic.

They bought late-night Legos and Gatorade and Oreos and didn’t get kicked out of the store for drunkenness. They rifled through the WWE section of the toy aisle, but they didn’t find themselves on the shelves. Snickering, they fronted all the unsold CM Punk merch.

Then they all trooped back to Finn’s apartment. Sami fell asleep quickly in an armchair and Bayley covered him with a crocheted afghan. Then she turned her attention to Becky.

“Can I do anything?” she asked.

Becky took a few deep breaths. “Get me a Gatorade. I can’t be hungover tomorrow. I have to wrestle again.”

“Driving or flying?” Bayley asked over her shoulder on her way to the fridge.

“Flying. It’s actually cheaper than the rental this time. Don’t have many people to drive with these days, anyway.”

Bayley plopped back down on the couch next to Becky and handed her an orange bottle. “Cancel it. Crash here. We’ll drive you down. Right, Finn?”

Finn looked up from the many piles of Legos he had spread out over the table, most of them still in individually wrapped bags. “Sure thing.”

Becky worked her jaw back and forth and considered their offer. “Don’t you have to be at the performance center tomorrow?”

“...yes?” Bayley said. “Coach Sara will understand.”

“I’ll let you drive me to the airport,” Becky replied.

“Close enough,” Bayley said, leaning into Becky.

“You all want to help me with this?” Finn asked, not looking up, squinting at a manual. “This steering assembly isn’t going to build itself.”

“I love it when you talk dirty, Fergle,” Becky said, a smile breaking through her clouded expression.

 

Five.

The next night, in Miami, Becky sat across from Stephanie in the conference room at the arena that served as her makeshift office.

“I’ve got some ideas for new angles that we could do.”

“Well, you know I’m always open to suggestions, and what we really care about is what’s best for business.”

“Maybe you could crucify me on a giant W, for woo. I think I could be a good human sacrifice. There’s a booming business in that.”

Stephanie’s expression darkened and she froze, not even blinking.

Becky continued. “Or, what if Charlotte threatened to have a biker gang kidnap and rape me? That’s gone over well in the past. I think it would help her build even more heat.”

“Becky, I don’t know what’s gotten into you...”

“Maybe someone could even forcibly marry me while I’m unconscious.”

Now Stephanie was just silent, looking stricken.

“If that’s where we’re going, might as well go all the way, right? I learn new things about the PG era all the bloody time. Somebody even told me there was a women’s wrestling revolution going on!”

“Look at my life, Becky. Consider my options, and respect my choices,” Stephanie ground out.

“What are my choices here, Steph? Can I look forward to anything other than having an old pervert force himself on me? He treats his own daughter gross enough. Tell me, what’s next? Is it going to get worse? If it’s going to get worse, let me know so I can just...” Becky choked on the last of those words, not finishing her thought. She gulped water from a bottle in front of her on the table.

“He did it to me too,” Stephanie said quietly. “I can’t stop him. My father...you know.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Is he going to do it again?” Becky asked.

Stephanie sighed, looking down.

The sounds of the arena filtered in to the conference room. A walkie-talkie on the table buzzed. “Thirty minutes until we go live. Steph, they need you for last call.”

Stephanie looked up. Becky stared at her. Then, without another word, Becky rose, turned her back and walked out, into the hallway, the arena, to face the rest of her life.

Notes:

This takes place after Ric Flair forced a gross kiss on Becky non-consensually, and it is more or less kayfabe. Becky has a lot of violent fantasies. Then she gets really drunk. She also brings up a lot of past rape storylines in a conversation with Stephanie. While they talk about assault, no assaults happen over the course of this fic.