Twenty two matches since Wrestlemania 28. Two wins. He's sure there's been worse losing streaks in the long storied history of wrestling but right now, Heath Slater can't think of any. His only victory from the last four months being against Doink the Clown? ... Well. Hell.
Ordinarily he'd just brush it off and move on, continue waiting patiently for an opportunity- he's good at that, after all, hadn't spent years in developmentals waiting for his chance to really prove himself for nothing- but the landscape of the WWE had changed rapidly with multiple changes in power in only the last six months and it's hard for any of them to keep an even footing, much less someone like him who can annoy people just by showing up.
After Raw 1000 had ended, his part on the show ending with him taking a loss from a girl, no less- he knows he'll never hear the end of it, no matter how many legends had been involved in his eating that pin, the record books would forever read that on July 23rd, 2012, Lita (d) Heath Slater- he had been relieved to escape all of the mocking comments in the locker room, hotel and airport and sink into a window seat to return to Florida early the next morning.
Some of his fellow Florida-based competitors are also on the flight but they all seem a little too wiped out to even look sideways at him so thankfully the flight goes smoothly, Heath relieved to put in some earbuds and listen to music until they're ready to land. He can't even imagine what Wade will have to say as he returns to their apartment, but the place is dark- empty. Something to do with the movie, probably, he figures, greeting Boodah happily. As the dog bounds around him, he wanders the apartment, checking the mail, peeking in the fridge and other general things like that before ducking into his bedroom.
As warm and comfortable as his bed looks and feels, he can't relax enough to stay there so he returns to the living room and, finally finding the remote under some of Wade's abandoned scripts, lets the TV drone on, not even sure what's on as he drops to the floor and plays with Boodah, mumbling softly to him. He's about to doze off when a car door slams outside, attracting both of their attentions- Heath sits up straighter as the large black dog lunges for the front door, greeting Wade about as cheerfully as he'd greeted Heath half an hour earlier. "Fickle damn dog," he grumbles, rolling his eyes as Wade finally stops fussing over the dog and looks up, finding his roommate staring back at him from in front of the couch.
"Oh, you're home," he says, a glint in his dark eyes.
"Don't say it-" Heath warns, knowing that it's already too late.
"I saw your fantastic match on Raw last night. Bravo, I believe you've outdone yourself," he talks over his attempts to derail his teasing with a smirk. "What next? Mae Young? Perhaps her son?"
"Aw, shut up," Heath grimaces, moving to sit on the couch and glaring balefully down as Boodah joins him, tongue sticking out as he pants happily. "It wasn't just Lita out there, dammit."
Wade quietly concedes the point, grabbing his scripts from the table and waving them at Heath. "You didn't read these, did you?"
"No," he shrugs, a little offput by the sudden change in topic. "Why?"
"Good," he snaps, heading down the hall to put them back in his room where they belong. When he returns, he begins looking for something else to watch, not even sure what random piece of torture passing as daytime television Heath had found. "I want you to watch the movie with a fresh perspective when it's finished."
Heath tilts his head, curious. Wade had been annoyingly tightlipped about the whole thing, barely taking a minute to tell Heath he was going before he'd been off to Pennsylvania for filming. "Sure man, you know I will."
The day passes quietly, errands and chores mixed in with no sleep and wandering the beach with Boodah when they're not all hanging around the apartment, watching movies or arguing over what to order in for supper, Wade's sharp gaze on Heath, taking in how distracted he is and gives up the fight fairly quickly, letting Wade order from the Indian place a few blocks over that actually delivers. His teasing from earlier slowly morphs into worry, which only grows as Heath picks at his food, barely seeming to notice it, his eyes dull and exhausted. He wants to suggest the younger man just go to bed, eat later, but he's not Heath's keeper so he remains quiet, knowing that if Heath wants to discuss it, he will, but until then... well...
He spends most of the evening in his bedroom, working out his schedule for the following week to make sure that he doesn't overlook any interviews or the FCW appearances he has lined up, his return to the ring rapidly approaching. He barely notices how much time has passed until his vision begins to strain, a headache forming just above his eyes. Finally peeling his gaze away from his papers, he looks up and just stares at the clock for a few moments, which now reads 1:48 AM. "You have got to be kidding," he mumbles, brushing the sheets into a quick pile and into his desk drawer, where he won't lose track of them.
Stretching, he sighs as his back pops, relieved to be out of that chair and moving around once more. This is the time of night that he almost always has the place to himself, either because Heath is out partying or because he's asleep already, but when he ventures out of his bedroom, he can see the soft glow of the living room TV dancing off of the wall across from his door. Frowning, he pads softly down the hallway and pauses in the doorway, surprised to find his roommate still in the place he'd left him at hours ago, peering blankly at the TV. "You're still awake?" he asks softly, Heath barely responding to his voice. "Hey," he says a little louder, dropping onto the couch and nudging him with his elbow. "What's going on?"
There's a sheet of paper in his hands and Wade can just barely make it out from here in the muted light from the TV- it looks... well, it looks like a win-loss record of sorts, a clear cut list of all of Heath's matches of 2012, and boy the Xs marking the losses far exceed the Xs marking the wins. "Heath..."
"Ya know," he says after a few minutes, ignoring everything that had been said before, "John Morrison was fired not that long ago for his win-loss record not being up to Laurinaitis' standards."
"That was Laurinaitis," Wade points out, catching on quickly to where Heath's head's at. "He's not in charge of making those decisions anymore."
"Sure, but it's not like the board tried to stop Laurinaitis or anything. Hell, some would say Morrison had it all- the looks, the ability, the attitude... and he still got canned." Heath slaps the paper against his knee and takes a deep breath. "What do I have in comparison, really? An obnoxious face that people like to punch and see get punched, and a losing streak almost longer than my hair?"
Barrett shakes his head. "Look at Zack Ryder," he points out, still peering at the list. "He rose fast and fell even faster. He's lucky to get any TV time now, and when he does, it's rarely for an actual match. At least you get weekly opponents." He pauses, taking in the look on Heath's face, and reaches for the paper. "I understand it's not fantastic and perhaps part of why you're off your game right now, but it's better than nothing. You just need to give it time, and sitting here glowering at this paper isn't going to change things. The more you dwell on it, the harder it's going to be to get out of this slump."
"What are you doin'?" Heath asks, troubled brown eyes following the paper as Wade tugs it out of his grip and walks off, looking through a drawer in the kitchen just visible from the living room entrance.
"We," he presses meaningfully, "are going to take this pointless little paper outside and burn it."
Heath laughs, eyes wide. "Right now?" he asks when Wade doesn't join in. "It's almost 2:30 in the morning, the neighbors'll freak and call the cops!"
"No they won't, if you keep it down. Knowing you, though, it's pointless to even suggest it. Just try not to holler too much, eh?" He sighs when Heath only rolls his eyes, finally finding a lighter amongst all of the crap cluttering this drawer. "You ready?"
"Yeah," he whispers, standing up and joining Wade at the front door.
Boodah looks up from his bed and whines softly as the door is opened, but seems to have no interest in seeing what his owner is doing, his head quickly sinking down as he gives back into sleep. There is a small, portable grill that Heath sometimes drags out onto the beach to cook steaks or potatoes on while they watch the waves and it's this that Wade has in mind, pulling the lid off of it and settling it in the middle of the driveway outside of their apartment, making sure it's far away from the cars and anything else, just in case. "You do the honors," he tells Heath, holding the paper and lighter out to him.
The flame never grows too huge, but still is enough to cast an orange glow across their faces- Just what Heath needs, more orange, Wade thinks drily- as the paper burns down, Heath quietly dropping it as it curls up, turns to ash on the grill plate meant to keep food from touching the hot charcoals below. They shift, soon standing side by side as the last of his scribbled writing fades from view, ironically enough the win column for Doink being the last thing that disappears. Heath takes a deep breath and lowers the lid of the grill, blocking out the small wisps of smoke still trickling up from whatever remains inside.
"Feel better?" Wade asks after a few minutes, turning to look at his roommate. He can barely see him, his hair curtaining his face, but it's pretty clear he's still staring at the grill.
"Y'know, I think I do," he admits, clearing his throat. "Thanks."
The Brit makes a non-committal noise before pushing him back to the apartment. "Now go get some sleep, you look like Hell."
Heath huffs and slaps his hands away but, really, he's out before he even hits his pillow, sleeping so soundly that even Boodah bounding in at 5 AM doesn't wake him up at all.
When another Raw rolls around and he loses again, this time to a returning Randy Orton, he takes deep breaths, Stares at the lights overhead as he tries to recover, figure out how best to move without adding to the agony his neck and back are enduring right now thanks to that RKO. Wade's words play over and over in his head, reminding him that it's just going to take time and patience and he can't just give up, no matter what. He may be down, but he's not out. Making it to his feet, he drops against the top rope and ignores the referee, staring up at the titantron, the large W logo on the stage below it.
WWE had always been his dream, and he had made it this far, and he wasn't going to give it up without a fight. No matter what.