Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, no disrespect is intended.
Succor
"Why do you insist on using these girlie girl razors Dave?"
He gives me the same patient start he does every time I bring this up, only this time I know I'm only trying to soften the larger blow, the one he doesn't know about yet.
"Women aren't the only ones who want smooth, nick free legs Chris."
He snatches the bag away from me, turns to dig through his duffel for his shaving kit.
"You don't need a girl's razor to have smooth legs. Hell, your hands are too big, that's the problem. If you'd just slow down and take your time..."
"Perhaps you'd like to come in the shower with me then? After all, your hands are small like a girl's."
"You jackass," I can't help but laugh at him. "Go take your shower, get your nice smooth legs, and when you come out I'll have a bedtime story for you.
"I can hardly wait," he says.
I settle back on the bed to wait. I have no delusions that my news will crush him, and he'll cry against my shoulder until I invite him into my bed one last time.
One thing leads to another that's what I've always believed. Take things slowly enough and they will seem like the natural order of things.
The first step was the roster split. I knew he wasn't happy at being relegated to the second string, and I knew that if I'd fallen into line the way Vince wanted me to I would have made the sting of that blow easier to bear. But he had come to find out that he was a force to be reckoned with on his own. Gone were the days when he flitted around the outside edges of greatness, now he was the shining center. It didn't take long before he accepted the fact that we would only see one another hit and miss.
Step two in my grand scheme was the tattoo, a forever reminder of what we were. It hid beneath my wedding band, but we both knew it was there. How many late night drunken conversations had I endured in my career, guys trying to convince me to get ink? All it took was one gentle suggestion from him and I was feeling the bite of the needle.
That brought us to step three. The faucets squeaked, soon he'd be joining me again. Of course I could pretend I'd forgotten the promise of a story, or joke it off, but I had agonized about this long enough. I wasn't entirely sure what I feared more, that he would be upset, or that I would be if he wasn't.
The spicy aroma of his shower gel spills out into the room when he opens the door of the bathroom. I close my eyes and breathe in deeply, listen as he comes into the room and settles on the other bed.
I roll my head against the headboard, and look at him. He is still glistening from the shower, almost too big for the smallish bed.
"You ready?"
He looks up from his nail clippers. "Ready?"
"For the bedtime story."
"Thought you were having me on about that," he says as he lays the clippers on the table between the beds. "Is it a once upon a time story, or a naughty story?"
"Which would you prefer?"
"You know what I like."
I can feel the blush creep across my cheeks, and I say softly, "Sorry to disappoint you, but this time, the story is neither happy, nor arousing."
He shifts on to his side, watching me closely.
"I'm going to retire," I say.
There is a moment of absolute silence, and in that moment he doesn't react, in fact he and I both stop breathing. And then he makes a small gasp, a sound that's so incongruous it lends itself to the moment. I rush on before he can say anything.
"Do you realize I've been at this for fifteen years? Day in and day out since 1990, with hardly any breaks. Sure, I've conned a week or two at a stretch, I did have an injury once at the start of my career. But, for the most part, I've given up over 200 days a year of my life to wrestling and the public."
His eyes are closed now, he's just listening. I plunge ahead.
"I'm tired David, tired of the glass ceiling, tired of turning down tours for Fozzy when that's where my passion is now. I'm...tired of being away from Jess and Ash all the time. I want to mow the lawn on Saturdays, throw a ball in the yard with my son, and wake up to the quiet of my house at midnight for more than two days in a row. I want to take some time to enjoy my life before I'm too old and too beat up to enjoy it anymore."
His eyes open, and I see no accusations there, no envy, no incredulity.
"When I'm done playing with my toys I'll come back. It might be a month, it might be a year, but wrestling is in my blood. I'm not ready to throw in the towel just yet."
He shifts then, sits up on the edge of the bed. So close now I can feel him even though he's not touching me.
"If anyone needs, or deserves some time off Chris, it's you," he says, his voice gravelly and deep with emotion. "Honestly, you amaze me, and you inspire me. You're an inspiration to a lot of the younger guys. But, maybe I know you in ways they don't," he has the good grace to blush and amends, "Your psyche I mean."
He reaches over, and I give him my hand, wait for him to continue.
"I'll miss you," he says.
For some reason, those simple words hurt far more than if he'd told me to go and be happy.
"It's not forever," I whisper, "And I guess it would be different if I knew I'd run across you in the market, or at the post office, but DC is a bit of a jaunt for a quart of milk."
He squeezes my hand and raises his head, "I could move to Tampa."
"Don't be silly, the girls still have school. I'm not going to ask you to move your base of operations because I'm selfish enough that I want to see you."
"The girls live with their mom, and maybe I'm the one who's being selfish here."
"Jess adores Angie," I say, hope surging through me.
He smiles that radiant smile, and all is right with the world. I'm sure there will be several more conversations about it, this isn't something to be entered into lightly. I tug his hand, pull him toward me to join me on my bed.
"No sense in letting the night go to waste," I whisper when he settles beside me.
"I'm sure," he whispers back, "That you can think of one of those naughty stories now."
"I might need a little prodding."
"Ah, well, that's something I'm quite good at."
And he is.
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