The sounds of raucous cheering was hard to dismiss over the humdrum of catering as the show chugged to life on screen worldwide in real-time and Roman found himself drawn like a moth to a flame to the small crowd of tech workers and agents who had gathered around the flatscreen backstage which was airing the in-ring action as it happened.
Joey Mercury and Jamie Noble were conspicuously missing of course, and by the size of the Authority's crowd in there he had a good inkling of where they were, skulking out as Seth's unofficial babysitters—he softly snorted at the thought, Joey had after all been instrumental in The Shield's creation in what seemed an eternity away as the cracks in Triple H's shaky coalition widened with Orton's enraged storming of the ring to disrupt their little celebration.

There was the nagging bit of logical thought that tried to rationalize this as a good thing.
That it was high time someone within the Authority called traitorous aerialist on his chronic backstabbing disorder.
That there should have been some cathartic sense of schadenfreude at the sight of Seth sprawled out on the mat, a victim of Orton's increasing frustrations at being sidelined as a relic, and no surprises here, considering Orton's track record as a team player when the focus wasn't on him, but as the tightening of Roman's fists would concur the rest of him neck-down was having a hard time believing that.

There was something about the way Seth struggled to get to his feet, finally aided by Joey and Jamie that awakened a wild surge of hatred and love and longing which spiraled upwards from its dormancy and he felt the current seemingly flow right down to his fingertips as the realization dawned that the dull ache over old wounds, wounds which would not heal had been throbbing away all this time; he'd merely desensitized himself to it. Until now.
Four months ago, that would have been Dean and himself helping up the shaky aerialist after an assault from the youngest member of Evolution. Four months ago, Orton would have gotten nowhere near his former brother and best friend without getting torn to pieces first and foremost.
And the more he thought about it, the more rage became evident on formerly stoic features.
This was wrong.

"Oi Fabio….what's the deal man?"
Road Dogg, alarmed by his sudden storming off had followed in his wake. The good-natured chuckle had died down as the older man reached out for Roman's shoulder concernedly.

"I thought you'd enjoy that! Two-tone had what was coming to him, din'ee?"

"You don't get it."
Roman shot back a little more harshly than he'd meant to. Dogg's features twitched like that of a kicked puppy, taken aback by the young Samoan's sudden intensity though to his credit he didn't seem insulted by it in the least.

"Damn straight he had what was coming to him, but that out there? That should have been Dean! That should have been me! Stupid son of a bitch is a weaseling traitor, but he's our weaseling traitor. He's our former brother. He's our architect. Not theirs. And most fucking definitely not that pantsless cocksucker's! Can't believe this— "

There was a cacophonic CLANG-BANG of a heavy trashcan being kicked five doors down, the bigger man's gridiron experience bubbling to the surface as the nearby lockers suffered his wrath under a hail of hamfisted blows and Dogg wisely took a step backwards.

"—BULLSHIT!"

Roman had at least outside the ring stopped using actual people as his personalized punching bag from his early days in the Shield though the veteran was certainly in no mood to find out if the normally easy-going young man still had a taste for it.

"He's ours."

The harsh tone had died down to a startling child-like quiet as Dogg finally re-approached Roman who was now leaning against the wall with a hand pinching the bridge of his nose wearily.

"We came in this company together. Climbed the ladder and broke the glass ceiling together, buncha hotheaded rookies too big for our flak pants. Then you lot took him from us and all the pieces came tumbling down like fucking jenga blocks yeah?"

There was a small laugh which sounded too watery to be malicious in nature.

"…Sorry 'bout that."
Dogg murmured as he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

"Executive decision, big guy. There was no helping it."

"Man, quit it. Ain't like I'm blaming you for shit."
Roman raised his eyebrows and shot a sidelong glance at the veteran in mild surprise, unused to anyone remotely close to Hunter showing him genuine remorse over the whole thing.

"One of them put the loaded gun in his hand. Sometimes the guy you would take a bullet for is right behind the trigger, and Seth pulled it on us. He may call himself a member of the Authority, preening around in that stupid latex ring gear with a briefcase full of dildos or whatever….."

The cackling snort that the former DX member allowed himself brought a small, rueful grin to Roman's features.

"….But he was Shield first and foremost. Orton doesn't deserve him. John, bless his ridiculous rainbowbarf hustling doesn't deserve him. Seth pulled the trigger on us, Dean and I. If anyone deserves to fucking rip him a new one, if anyone should be hammering the nail in his coffin…..it should be his brothers. The guys he turned his back on. If we came in together, we sure as hell should head out together one way or another."

There was a calm still in the air as both men watched the rush of bodies in between the Gorilla Position and the locker rooms up ahead, neither of those locked in the trance of putting on the weekly, two-hour extravaganza paying any heed to them at all.
Here, time seemed to slow down a bit.

"But you don't really want to…..do you Joe?"
Dogg pursed his lips and looked up into the young Anoa'I's face, noting the degree of resignation there was in Roman's tone once the anger had simmered down. Unlike Dean, the slavering excitement at the thought of tearing a former team mate limb from limb was strangely lacking.

"The whole nail in his coffin thing?"

An eternity seemed to pass as Roman deliberated over the question, gaze lost and faraway in a better time before he finally rooted himself firmly to here and now.

"No. No I don't."
said the Pensacola native curtly as a hand slipped into his shirt to fish out the old Shield dogtags all three of them had worn not too long ago, thumb gently rubbing across the steel surface. They had been given a set by creative, merely another one of the items from the merchandise stalls initially though he had the idea of having the date of their debut as a team engraved in the back.
There were times it felt like he was holding on to a ghost, the occasions that Seth had called him out for being bullheaded and stubborn —more stubborn than Dean! —resonating in the deepest corners of his mind.
Maybe he was, but someone had to be and he would make no apologies for it.

"Dean and him, they're destined to dance till the day they fucking die and I ain't gonna stop 'em. Me?"

Roman traced over the numbers grooved into the metal, licking his lips in trepidation as to how much he was willing to share with the man next to him before throwing all caution against the wind with a rattling breath.
What he wouldn't do to hear the screeching of heavy metal over the rental's radio as they cursed each other out of over terrible song choices over a hundred miles of interstate. What he wouldn't do to look in the rearview mirror and see the scruffy aerialist asleep in the back, at complete peace with the world and safe in his hands.

"I want him home, and if the only way I can do that is by carrying him home after laying his ass to waste on the mat, then I'll do it. He's our brother no matter what he did, Dogg. If anyone's gonna kick him stupid for misbehaving, it's us. And if he's gonna have to fall at some point…if it's one of us at least he won't be alone. Authority ain't no family of his. We are."

"I can get that."
The former DX member nodded lightly, making some semblance of sense out of the earlier outburst and trying to digest more than he had bargained for before internally swearing himself to secrecy. Roman had trusted him with what anyone else would have viewed as a weakness, which was a leap of faith for a man as imposing as he was in the ring.
A few seconds passed in companionable silence before he tapped the Samoan on a broad shoulder and gestured towards the tech area.

"C'mon. You got an interview scheduled, remember?"

"You fucking serious?"
Roman deadpanned with a frustrated sigh.

"Right now?"

"Yeah right now."
said the veteran with a soft snort as he threw a glance over his shoulder to the strapping young Anoa'i who trailed behind him like a curious schoolboy.

"Pitbull Dean's busy chasing after a demented swamp preacher. When else are you gonna tell your dumbass brother he ain't as alone as he thinks he is?