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Summary: "Congratulations," she says, her voice strangely quiet as she twines her fingers through his. ReignsNikki, set after Royal Rumble: 2015, oneshot
Okay, so there's a lot of backlash over poor Roman winning the Royal Rumble this year. And, I mean, I kind of called it because, IMO, it was kind of a given. Although, I thought he should have won last year because last year's Rumble was so good (except for the fact that D-Bry wasn't in it and Batista won and then Punk left; okay, maybe it wasn't good at all, but still...) and I thought he really made his mark in that PPV. But anyway! This is a little ficlet set after the event. It's also my first attempt at a RomanNikki fanfic. I've thought these two could very interesting together but hardly anyone writes for them, which is a shame. The title is taken from Fall Out Boy's new song (their new album is fabulous, so check it out). Anyway! Enough of my rambling and on to the fic!
Centuries
The thrill of victory surges through his body. His heart hammers in his chest, his pulse bounds, his lungs expand with air sharply inhaled through flared nostrils. Roman Reigns gazes at the large Wrestlemania sign hanging over the ring and thrusts a finger in its direction, pointing at what is now his destination in only a few measly months.
The crowd is not happy at all, and he tries his best to not care. The crowd can say what they want to say, can chant what they want to chant. That's what he tells himself. He has worked his ass off for this prize, from having it stolen from him last year to now, having the very thing he has strived for his entire life right in front of him, within an arm's reach.
He feels a bit sad for two of his competitors, two that deserved the victory probably more than he did, but he won; how could he say no to such a huge, momentous push?
Roman couldn't. It was as simple as that.
Though the excitement of the victory is enough to make him happier than he's been in a very long time, it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, one that is hard to shake, especially when he saw Daniel Bryan - fan favorite and the best technical wrestler in the business - eliminated so early. Especially when he saw his brother tumble over that top rope. Dean Ambrose had skyrocketed to stardom since their faction had toppled over like the frailest building imaginable, and Roman finds it hard to imagine that he deserves this chance over him.
The Powerhouse stays out in the ring, basking in what should be his glory, but the boos just become louder, the resentment almost palpable in the energy of the place. The Rock embraces him, tells him he's proud of him, and Roman feels as if it's true. Rocky's always had a way with words, after all.
And yet the crowd still boos.
Roman stays in the ring for as long as he is supposed to, long enough to end the Pay-Per-View with his victorious figure, standing alone in the ring, one man out of thirty.
One versus all, indeed...
People have already started to file out of the place, disgruntled. The commentators remark on his "remarkable" victory and how his match with Brock Lesnar at Wrestlemania will be one to remember.
He only hopes as much.
Roman rolls out of the ring and moves toward backstage. His mind is full of thoughts, all warring with one another. The entire place is either protesting or leaving and Roman can't help but feel just as unsettled - he had pictured his big win as something more than this...
In somewhat of a daze, his feet carry him through the curtain and to the sweet privacy of the gorilla position, where he tries to gather himself.
Probably foolishly, he expects more people to be out there congratulating him, but he only finds The Rock, who hugs and congratulates him more formally before moving off into the locker room, and then Dean, who gives him a hug that is almost completely out of character for him. His fingers dig into his shoulders so hard that Roman isn't sure if Dean is angry at him or not.
"Fuck those guys," he mutters harshly in his ear. "Fuck them."
And then Dean parts from him as quickly as he appeared, stalking away as if offended by the very oxygen in his lungs. Roman is oddly touched; if he knows Dean at all, he knows that little display must have come after a lot of inner turmoil.
"I'm envious of your bromance," says the sweetest voice, just to his right.
Roman turns, heart heavy in his chest, and yet light at the same time.
"Nik," he breathes, a reluctant smile overcoming his face. He feels as if he should not be smiling, although he has just had the biggest victory of his life, he feels he would have won more if he had lost.
She saunters closer to him. It's probably silly but he finds that he cannot for the life of him describe her walk as anything but a saunter.
"Watch out," he warns, only half-serious. "Don't want Hunter and your gal pal Steph catching us."
Nikki looks at him, her eyes playful. When she speaks, her voice is low, "Don't worry, Mr. Reigns, I'm only here to offer my condolences to the man who is going to lose to Brock Lesnar at Wrestlemania."
Her voice is tempered with a wryness that he is particularly fond of, and Roman catches the bluff for what it is. "I had no idea you were a Paul Heyman girl."
"Now wouldn't that be great?" she questions, sounding almost excited at the prospect.
"For your career, yes," Roman replies. "Heyman could sell water to a fish."
Nikki laughs, stepping closer. Dangerously close. He can smell the intoxicating mixture of sweat from her previous match as well as a few tell-tale notes of her preferred perfume.
However, there is something sad in her eyes as she moves closer. So very close. Roman's fingers twitch as he restrains himself from brushing the wayward strands of hair from her face.
Nikki Bella, however, has never been known for her restraint.
She reaches out to him, her fingers brushing his for the briefest of moments before threading through them, lingering. She breathes deeply, closing her eyes, before opening them and fixing her gaze on his face, the fingers of her other hand trailing upward and wiping the blood from his cheek. There is something sad in her eyes, and yet indignant. The strange contrast is something that is central about Nikki as a person, something that he finds himself entranced by.
"Congratulations," she says, her voice strangely quiet, as she gives his fingers a squeeze.
Roman laughs. "I guess I know exactly how Batista felt last year, huh?"
Nikki's grip tightens as if his words offended her. "You deserve this, Roman," and the way she says his name causes a chill to roll over his back. "Don't let those people out there, or the people in here, tell you any different."
He smiles at her - it's a feeble little thing, hardly with any feeling, but he tries. For her, he tries.
"I'll keep that in mind."
She leans forward and her lips barely brush his ear as she whispers, "You better, or you'll have to answer to me."
Roman smiles again. This time, it's genuine. "Oh, I'm terrified."
"You should be," she says, falling back a bit, untangling her fingers from his. Their presence is immediately missed. "I can take you."
"Mm," Roman acknowledges. "I might have to put this to the test some time, Nik."
"Yeah," she replies, cheeky. "You just might."
As Nikki turns to walk away, Roman finds himself calling out to her, his voice strangely thick in his throat as he tries to get the words out, but eventually he tells her, simply, "Thank you."
She gives him that little smile of hers, the one that lights up her entire face and the room along with it, "It's what I'm here for, Reigns."
And, for the first time that night, he considers himself the luckiest man in the world.
End.