Last Chance Blueprints

He hated travelling alone, loathed being out in the public eye without a buffer, without a distraction that he could use to ignore the intrusive stares of others – not that he considered his family that, not by any stretch. It was just easier to focus on the insular circle rather than being perceived as abrupt or rude on his bad days. His anxiety had been bad since the new year had begun and he was still struggling to unpack the underlying cause. It didn't help that his eldest daughter had come down with a nasty cold, leaving Hannah no choice but to stay home rather than travel to Kansas for his second Alpha Pro match. By the time his flight had been diverted because of engine trouble, he'd been ready to call it a loss and just no show the entire event. A twisted sense of duty kept him moving forward, arguing with the United Airlines counter until they found him something else, something that had him cutting it closer than he'd have liked.

From the sporadic messages he'd gotten back, he knew it had been tough on Hannah as well and he felt like an absolute asshole for leaving her to deal with that alone. Allegra had a nasty cold. Their youngest, Freddie, was teething. He'd long since given up sleeping normal hours the moment he'd committed himself fully to the wrestling business. He knew Hannah wasn't built like that – he'd seen how frazzled she looked on the last Skype call he'd done back at the arena, before he'd hit the ring for what had turned out to be a circus. The only thing missing had been Yakety Sax piped in over the sound-system but the fans had eaten it up. The Architects had made a successful debut, even if he wasn't happy about how it had ended.

Right now, he sat behind the wheel of his car, staring down at his swollen fingers. The living room light was on – he could see that from here and he knew that meant either Hannah was still up waiting for him, or she'd fallen asleep trying to get the fussy baby back to bed. Sighing, he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out the creased photograph of his wife that he usually kept tucked into the sun visor. His numb fingers traced the curve of that smile that could light up a room before he put it back where it belonged – everyone in the business had their little rituals.

Lifting his head, he looked at the house, the little solar lights in the garden surrounded by halos that smeared when he blinked. "Home," he muttered, reaching for the handle even as his gaze drifted to the rear-view, darting away at the wreckage. He looked like an old junkie with the welts on his neck, the silver in his beard and huge dark circles under his eyes.

He felt a bit like an intruder when he stopped in the doorway, letting his gear bag slip from his hand to the floor without a sound – he'd gotten good at that over the years. He was still unsteady from the red-eye flight, leaning on the door-frame. The adrenaline hadn't faded away yet. He still felt amped up, itching for something to hit but he stuffed it down deep, forcing the lid back on that particular box. The silence sank in, coupling with the sight of his wife, fast asleep with their youngest daughter on her chest, to bring him back to reality. Finally, he pushed away from the support and made his way across the room, reaching out to smooth back Hannah's hair before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

A soft smile crossed the brunette's face as her eyes opened. "Hi." The single word came out in a whisper as she looked up at her husband's face. "I'm so glad you're here." Reaching out for his hand, she let him know how much she'd missed him just with that simple touch. His fingers twined with hers and he gave them a gentle squeeze.

He knew if she looked closely, she'd see the red welts on his neck and cheek – they'd turn into bruises by morning. His knuckles were swollen, aching. None of that mattered when he saw her relieved smile. "Me too," he murmured, resting his other hand on Freddie's back. "She's still fussy?"

"Yeah and so clingy." She gently kissed his knuckles. "She's such a light sleeper – every time I try to put her down, she wakes up."

"Sorry," he closed his eyes for a moment, feeling that pull like the undertow that always wanted to drag him down. "I shoulda..." he sighed, realizing just how exhausted she actually was, "want me to take her for a bit?"

"Nothing to be sorry for. And yeah, that'd be great." As much as she loved holding Freddie, she definitely needed a break. "Are you hungry? I can make something."

"Not at all." He pulled his hand from her grip and gently picked Freddie up, cradling her against his shoulder. "Had some peanuts on the plane," it was meant to be a joke but there was a kernel of truth there. He rarely ate on the days he had big matches – his anxiety and the meds taken for it made sure that his appetite was nonexistent, after all. Teaming up with Smith in the main event in his first actual booking was a huge deal. She knew how much it meant; how much he'd respected the guy even back in SCW.

Humming softly, he jiggled his daughter as she stirred, trying to lull her back to sleep. When she settled, he eased himself down on the couch beside Hannah, hiding the myriad of aches behind consideration for the sleepy child. "Was thinkin'," he whispered, "during all that 'me' time... was thinkin' about you. About us, really."

"You were?" Hannah scooted closer, putting her head on his shoulder. "I hope good things." Her hand rested on Freddie's back.

"Good, yeah," Lex closed his eyes, resting his head against hers. "Affirmation stuff. Know how we renewed our vows last year? Maybe we should make that a thing we do. Every year, y'know? Revisit – I know that's prob'ly not healthy. I know that's not marked forward progress when we're setting benchmarks, comparing…" he stopped talking when she shook her head slowly, feeling stupid because he was thinking about Claire for the first time in forever – he'd been blindsided when she'd left.

"I don't…" he sighed, "I want it all in the open. Always. Is that weird? I mean, I know our lives aren't this fuckin' circus I work in but-"

She cut him off with an, "I think it's amazing," leaning in to kiss his cheek. "I'd love to marry you again and again."

He couldn't help the relieved chuckle that slipped out, "maybe we find a beach when we're in California next week?" He felt that unease vanish, peace washing over him as he let it all go. Another tag match loomed, this time working with Damon and he found himself anticipating it. "I stay gold in New York... survive Death Valley, we call it a celebration. How's that sound?"

"Like an absolute dream."


"It's funny how things change, isn't it? How fickle we are – humans, I mean. We put all this stock in things, we make mountains outta molehills as we plant our flags of conviction. A year later, we forget what the cause even was. We forget what we were supposed to be standing for, passions waxing an' waning on whims."

He's speaking slower than usual, that strange drawl held in check as he takes care to enunciate, make sure the point comes across clear.

"I've been accused of that Charlie Brown, wishy-washy shit. Like my allegiances, like my fuckin' motivation was never telegraphed a mile off even while I tried to deny it, tried to play at a perfect poker face – no tells. I have trouble with social interactions. Always have. There's a diagnosis to explain it – self-censorship is a hell of a thing. To cope, I pulled myself away from people. By the time I was in high school, I'd become what they liked to call a loner. They never really hassled me much after I broke Ash's arm – just assumed all the marks on me were from fights none of 'em saw. They didn't need to because that one happened so fast an' it became the stuff of legend. See, people like to talk. They like to think they know everything about a guy like me, existin' under the microscope as we do in this business. Every word gets sifted, watered down like some asshole's panhandling for gold in that muddy riverbed that's never yielded a useful thing in years. They go back because they found something once, some little fraction of treasure."

He sniffs disdainfully.

"You keep repeatin' the same patterns; it becomes a kind of sickness. They're torn 'tween amusement an' pity – congratulations, you're another John Blade. They keep you around to watch you fail. You're oblivious. It stopped being funny five years ago.

I collect things. Words. Lyrics. Other people's thoughts. They get stirred up into my fucked-up brain, regurgitated. I've told the same story a hundred times – I don't remember who was out there listening. I don't remember if I ever said it aloud, if I ever clicked publish after spending hours rambling off nonsense, through this painstaking editing process. Does anyone keep track? Who watches the Watchmen? Who checks an Architect's work?"

That self-deprecating chuckle comes right on cue.

"It's my fault that last match went sideways. I'd lie an' say I'll do better this time, without Smitty but I can't hold myself to that anymore. The old steps are faltering. I'm in uncharted territory, off the script I wrote for myself years ago – I struggle with embracing change even though it's a necessity, even though people probably think I'm some dimestore anarchist with the way I've been skippin' around the upstart companies. People think they know, think they got me all figured out. Slap a big C on my back, label me yellow an' call it a day. Lex splits when it gets rough. Nah, see this guy just isn't into the stench of hot garbage – I'll get off at the next dumpster fire, too.

I spent so many years committed to the practice of being unknown and invisible and now they're yelling at me on the street. They're stoppin' me and asking for autographs, trying to chat me up like I'm the second coming. I hold championship gold and I can't bring myself to even mention it on social media because the trolls spend an hour afterwards shittin' all over the company – I'm stuck. This is the reality my blood, sweat an' tears paid for – this is why I want to set this company on its head – change needs to happen. I can't live like this. I shouldn't have to.

I don't thrive on the attention. You think this shit comes easy? Not now. Prob'ly not ever, if I'm being honest with myself. With y'all."

Lex sighs.

"Call me a fuckin' fraud if you gotta. I'm the patron sAINT of bullshit." 

Sarcasm oozes.

"Lucky for WarSaw, I feel caged. I feel hunted an' bullied an' picked apart. I'm raw… hurting in ways I can't explain. I wanna do some damage. I wanna tear down so we can finally start to rebuild. I wanna set the world on fire. Gonna start by tearin' down your misconceptions. REbuilding time. The plans're drawn up. Demolition begins in Death Valley. There's gold if you're brave enough to take it. We are.

We can.

We will."