Homecoming King

Charity McLeod felt as though her heart was going to beat right out of her chest as she watched her bruised and bloodied husband fight his heart out. One hand was resting over her heart while the other was on her pregnant stomach. She was doing her best to keep her breathing steady, but at times she forgot to actually breathe. It felt as though the match was never going to end and as tears were streaming down the blonde's face, she reached into her purse that was next to her and pulled out a red-beaded rosary. Wrapping the beads around her hand, she closed her eyes and silently prayed whatever higher power there was that Bruce would be okay.

She heard the voice of Madoke Kawada, tinny over the sound of her own racing heart, "Morgan Payne has failed to respond to the ten-count. The winner of this match... the winner of the Triad Challenge, Bruce McLeod!"

Charity's eyes snapped open and the tears started to stream rapidly down her damp cheeks. She kissed the rosary and slid it around her neck and under the top she wore. With shaking hands and unsteady arms, she pushed her pregnant self to her feet and found the closest unopened bottle of water. More than anything, she wanted to run out and hug him, congratulate and shower him with tears of joy. She knew better. She knew that it was better to stay here and wait it out. Unscrewing the cap, she turned and watched the monitor, a proud smile crossing her tear-streaked face. She saw the legendary Freddy Fever award him the trophy, saw how close her husband looked to falling over. When the last of the action had finished and the cameras were no longer rolling, she turned her back to the now-dark monitor, trying to ignore the silence that surrounded her.

A part of her was thankful that Bruce had relented, and had actually asked her to come along at the last moment, although he hadn't let on to the audience or the other competitors that she'd been lurking backstage. Just when she was starting to steel herself to get up and go look for him, she heard heavy footsteps in the hallway. A moment later the door swung open and Bruce stood there, one hand gripping the door frame for a moment as he tried to catch his breath. Somehow, he looked far more battered than he had on that tiny little monitor, his one eye almost swollen shut, the bruise already spreading across his nose to blend with the dried blood caked all about the fresh stitches that had been put in to replace the superglue that had been applied hastily during the twenty minute break before he'd taken on Morgan Payne.

"Cherry-love..." his voice sounded like it hurt him to even speak but he managed to push off the cold metal frame, drawn to her like iron filings to a magnet. Especially now, she was his true north. "I... did it."

"You did." Her tears multiplied as she met him. Charity's arms wound around him as best as they. "I'm so proud of you, so proud." Now that he was in her arms, she felt herself start to relax. "You did so great."

He couldn't bring himself to say anything else, clinging to her to keep himself upright for the moment as he fought against the fatigue. He'd wrestled two matches before resorting to the sort of catch-as-catch-can fighting he'd done for almost three years for The Circuit. At the end of it all, after Treats had been eliminated, he'd felt that old desperation, had found that part of himself that he'd forgotten. Fighting for his life hadn't been some cute little metaphor then. It had been his reality and the Russians had owned him; his soul had been mortgaged a thousand times over. Taking a shuddering breath, he closed his eyes, letting the clean scent of Charity's hair and skin fill his nostrils, banishing the stench of blood and sweat.

Holding onto him as tightly as she could, the last thing Charity wanted was to let her husband go. "Oh, my love, you were amazing out there." She didn't care how sweaty he was or the fact that blood was possibly staining her own clothes. Even though it hadn't been that long since she'd seen him earlier, to her it felt like an eternity. Tears were still streaming her cheeks as she pressed her face against his neck. "You scared the shit out of me but I am so proud of you." Pulling her face back, her lips pressed against his, needing to kiss him, needing to reassure herself that he was indeed here, still alive.

He kissed her back, reassuring himself that this was real. He wasn't dead in the back of that truck. He wasn't bleeding out from all the damage. He was here, upright with half a pound of black thread holding his brains in his head.

Bruce felt a rush of emotion and it hit him like a tidal wave, buckling his knees. He let go of Charity, not wanting to hurt her and slumped gracelessly to the floor. Now that the fight-or-flight adrenaline had faded, he was left feeling exhausted right down to the core – where he'd found the second and third winds to keep on fighting into the final round against Morgan Payne was a mystery in and of itself. He knew he was going to be feeling that for days to come and he was supposed to be fighting at the CCW Cornfield Combat event on Sunday. There was no way in hell he was going to be in fighting shape by then. There was also no way he was going to flake out on a booking when they were so few and far between these days. Slowly, he peeled off the thin fight gloves he had on, not surprised to find his knuckles swollen and shredded beneath the black fabric. He didn't usually wear these but with the way his hands immediately started to ache once they were off, he thought maybe it might be wise to consider for the future. The pressure had helped, had kept the arthritis that he knew was building in the joints at bay.

Looking up, he found Charity rooted to the spot, staring at him in a way that made it clear she was moments away from wringing her hands. "Bruce-"

He blew a raspberry, closing his eyes for a moment. "Am fine," he murmured, needing to reassure her. It was probably better, in the grand scheme, that she was here to see it all from start to finish. Worrying about his state now, in the aftermath, when she was over an hour away in the suburbs wouldn't have been healthy for her or the babies she was carrying. "Jus' needed tae sit a spell..." or awkwardly sprawl, as it were. That wry smirk twitched at the corner of his lips as he met her eyes again. "Spaghetti legs. That's all."

"Okay." She breathed a not so subtle sigh of relief as she helped him to a nearby chair. The bottle of water that she'd opened for him was close by and she grabbed it, willing to hold it for him while he drank. The anxiety she'd felt had started to fade, replaced by the realization that it was over and he'd come out a champion. "I booked a hotel room just five minutes from here. They've got comfy robes and room service and a huge jacuzzi tub." Leaning over as best as she could, she placed a kiss on top of his head. "Then we can head home tomorrow."

"Sounds marvie." Grateful, he took the bottle of water from her, taking a small sip, which he swished around his parched mouth. He could still taste the bitterness cloying to the roof of his mouth and tongue, wishing the cameras and the interviewer hadn't caught him seconds after puking his guts out in the trash after his fight with War Queen Leah. "Unlimited hot water..." he forced himself to swallow, hoping it would stay down, "jus' what these old bones need. A good soak. Mebbe get lucky an' all this sore flesh'll just slough right off?"

He chuckled, taking another small swallow of water when his guts remained calm. "So..." he sucked his teeth for a moment, considering what he'd done now that there were no cameras rolling. "Gonna get a shot at some pretty big gold. Multiverse Championship... can be defended anywhere under the Splat umbrella... the way I understand it, anyhoo. Got a lot of work ahead of me if am gonna be ready tae take on Miss Silver or Carnivore or even fuckin' Payne in the arse. Got three months, roughly – August 20th I'll be back here. Not a whole lotta time."

"You'll be ready, I don't have any doubt about that." Reaching out, she pulled the closest chair up and took a seat so that she was still next to him. Once settled in, she mulled over what he said and as happy as she was for him, she also felt apprehensive. Their twins were due in just a few weeks and the thought of him maybe not being home as much was scary. Not wanting to bring him down, she gave him a smile. "You're going to do them proud."

"Am I?" He tilted the bottle at her as a mocking salute and took another pull of water, wishing it was something stronger. "Cherry..." he sighed, knowing by her pensive look just where her mind was at. After twenty-some years together, he knew her tells. "Am sure if I manage tae win the bloody thing, can campaign for defenses 'twixt these walls. Less travel, aye? Promised yeh that. An' if things pan out in The Wrestling Commission... that'll be it. No return tae Chasin' Glory – move on. Let the shit with Clarissa go. Let them have their glory." Even as he said it, he wasn't sure he was ready to do that.

"Okay." She nodded, "if that's what you want."

"After Sunday, might be my last with Christ on a Cracker Wrestling. Don't really see myself managin' tae eke out a win now. Not like this."

The look on her face made it clear she didn't agree and he shrugged it off. "Well, awright. If it happens, I'll tell them I can't commit past the end of June. Drop that too. Won't be like how it was when Siobahn was born. Promise tha'. Okay?"

"Yeah." She said the word with a nod as she placed a hand over one of his. "I know it's all going to work out, but honestly I'm starting to get scared." She hadn't told him about a few nightmares she'd had about something being wrong with the babies when they were born. Of course, her doctor had assured her at every single one of her appointments that Victor and Maggie were healthy and on track. Looking at Bruce, she leaned in as best as she could and kissed him on the lips. "Tonight, it's about you and I want to spend the rest of it treating you like the champion I've always known you are."

His eyebrow lifted and he chuckled, "ach well... not sure I've got much left in the tank, but I'll give it a sportin' go." He knew she didn't mean they were going for a passionate roll in the hay. Neither of them were in the right shape for that to happen. "A nice soak, first. That's what am gonna need most. Mebbe some ice for this eye..." he knew how bad he probably looked, how awful that eye was going to be for the next few days. He'd be lucky if he had decent vision in time for that next match. "Ice for everything, most like."

A part of him wanted to linger a little longer, bask in the unreal accomplishment that he'd just managed to pull off. He knew there was bound to be hate, there was bound to be someone to rain all over his parade. He wanted to crawl into an ice-cold shower with his gear still on, let all the filth wash away to be discarded down the drain, along with the chains that had held him back for far too long. "Should go, hmm?" His gaze met hers, one eye clear and bright while the other was swollen shut.

"Yeah, I think so." Charity gently grabbed one of his hands and gave it a squeeze before going through the task of pushing herself out of her chair. She felt exhausted herself and when she got up, she felt out of breath. It didn't matter though; Bruce was her top priority that evening. "I'll carry your stuff, okay?"

"Bought the little jobby with the wheels on it." He forced himself to his feet with an agonized groan and a wince that made his head ache, "make it easier. Knew I wasn't gonna be fit for much else after goin' up against Leah, let alone the rest of 'em." He stopped to shove the fight gloves that were sitting on his lap into his pocket and reached for her hand. He hesitated for a moment before lifting it to his lips, kissing her knuckles next to that ring he'd had made for her so many years ago. "Thanks. For being here. Yeh were right," his voice came out rough, filled with emotion, "needed that more than I knew – we both did, aye?"

When she nodded, he let her hand drop back to her side and put his arm around her, leaning against her only slightly as they made their way towards the door, stopping only to grab the small rolling case that contained Bruce's street clothes. In the doorway, he stopped and looked back, a strange feeling washing over him. He wasn't sure if it was pride or joy or even the worst sort of exhaustion ever. He just knew, as he looked around at that locker room that was so similar to the thousands of others that he'd been in over the last two decades, that it finally felt right. This felt like home.