002: vultures

LOSING ALWAYS USED to be so effortless— of course spending the first two years of his wrestling career as a house show jobber helped a lot with that. It used to be like a switch he could throw and glide through without much thought. Now that he'd had a taste of the big time, and had spent ninety-five days with a title belt and then blasted through a 10-0 singles record in IWF on the heels of that, it had become the hardest thing ever. He wanted to win. Getting a title contender shot in his very first match seemed like the opportunity to shine had fallen right into his lap.

And then he'd been screwed over by a dirty, rotten scoundrel. His vehement words that he'd whispered to Cruz under cover of the incensed crowd still rang in his ears: I'll remember this. He hadn't really meant it as a threat, but it sounded like one in retrospect.

Lost somewhere backstage, he was completely turned around and upset.

"STOP FOLLOWING ME, YOU VULTURES!" Larry Gowan screamed at the backstage camera crew as he threw his half-full bottle of warm Sprite at them in passing, startling them. Sadly, they weren't filming him, but his paranoia was in full gear and he was desperate to save whatever face he still had left. Maybe he'd get lucky and the Fates would grant him a mulligan on this moment.

Exhausted, he limped in what he thought was the general direction of his locker room, blinded by hot tears of frustration only to find himself pushing through a door into the parking structure.

Strong hands caught his shoulders, preventing him from walking directly into a pillar. Blinking through the haze that clouded his vision, he stared into the eyes of the one person he didn't want to see right now. "Don't," he mumbled in a small voice, turning his head away, "don't look at me right now. I'm garbage."

Without a further word he pulled from his partner's grasp, moving blindly towards the lines of parked cars. "Where the hell did we park?" He mumbled, looking around wildly.

"Lawrence, stop!" Chauncy was only a step behind, easily able to keep pace due to his longer legs. "Your bag and your car keys are back in the locker room. Why are you still in your ring gear?"

"Couldn't find the locker room and I h-have to get out of here," Gowan muttered under his breath, shaking his head, "need to get away before I do something stupid."

"Bloody hell," Chauncy snapped, raking his hand through his disheveled hair, "that tosser stole your pinfall. Everyone with eyes saw that! You were robbed, Lawrence. You didn't screw up."

"Didn't I?" Gowan's words were filled with bitterness as he continued to blindly stalk through the parking deck, "the chance of a lifetime, and that… that jerk… used the dirtiest trick in the books to-"

"Stop, please. You did your best out there. That counts for more than getting the pinfall. You put on a clinic. That match was all you. You should have heard the commentators. They couldn't stop singing your praises."

Gowan didn't reply as he continued on towards a car he thought might belong to them, his gaze focused on his destination. A few feet from that car, he suddenly stopped and sagged to the filthy cement as his knees came unhinged when the adrenaline crashed out on him. "I shoulda retired." He whispered the words vehemently, bringing his hands up to his face. "After CPW, I should have just…"

"Just what?" Chauncy murmured, dropping to his knees beside the sobbing superstar, "it's not the end of the world. There will be other title shots. There always are."

"No. I screwed up. I can't afford to screw up. I can't. I just… I can't. I can't." He kept repeating the words over and over, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Lawrence," Chauncy shook his head, looking horrified, struggling to find something to say in the face of this spectacular meltdown. LG had always lost with grace before tonight, preferring to turn the other cheek and learn from his mistakes. Tonight he was like a completely different person.

Gowan shot to his feet, "I am a joke, Chauncy. I should have retired instead of coming here. I can't compete with these kids. I can't do it when I can't even stop seeing things that aren't there."

Chauncy said nothing. Really there was nothing he could say that would get through to Gowan when he was like this. Instead he took a step back until he was leaning against one of the production vans. Like usual, Chauncy did not flinch or back down as his back pressed into the cold metal. Instead he looked Gowan in the eyes and said two words: "stop this."

"Stop this? You stop!" Gowan shoved Chauncy hard, sending his shoulders crashing into the van with a resounding thud before his eyes settled on one of the cameramen who'd actually followed the pair outside in the hopes of filming an interview. "Are those damned cameras rolling? Is this your idea of a joke?! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

He bit his lip, looking away from that hurt look in Chauncy's eyes. Sighing, he turned away and sank to the floor yet again, burying his head in his hands. "Go home. Leave me be before I do something I'll probably regret."

"You always threaten that," Chauncy sighed, "and you know I'm going to sit right here and take it on the chin. You want to have a good cry over this, go ahead. You want to pitch a fit and rant and rave like a banshee, knock yourself out."

"Just go away," Gowan muttered miserably.

"You know I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because I love you."

"You shouldn't. I don't deserve it." Gowan's eyes closed as he leaned against Chauncy, finally accepting the comfort.

"It's true. Furthermore, I spoke to management tonight… this Spencer Mackenzie fellow seems quite charming. I told him that we used to have a successful tag team, and he was quite chuffed about the prospect. What do you think of that? Would you want me to join you here like old times?"

"That's not funny."

"I'm serious," Chauncy said softly, "give it some thought, yeah?"

For a long moment, silence reigned between them as Chauncy rubbed Gowan's back as though he was a distraught child. Finally, he broke the silence in a small voice, whispering, "did they really say nice things about me?"

"They did," he smiled, "and did you hear that crowd? They were going insane for you, Lawrence."

"You sure it wasn't for those rookie kids?"

"I'm sure," Chauncy assured him, "they erupted every time YOU hit a move. When you nailed BAM SAID THE LADY, they blew the roof off. You didn't lose a single fan when you jumped ship on CPW, and they came with you when you walked out on those homophobic bastards at IWF. But that doesn't matter. Even if nobody in this damned building cared one whit for you, you're still somebody important. You're still my hero."

LG sniffled, lifting his head, "you always know the right thing to say. How do you do that?"

"It's true, Lawrence. You've done things that amaze me. You've gone a year without drinking. You've battled back from injuries that would have sidelined anyone else permanently. You're the strongest person I know."

Gowan turned away from his husband, breathing slowly. When he spoke again, it was with a tone that sounded a bit sheepish. "Geez, I've been really stupid, haven't I? I guess… I'm just…" he trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

"I know," Chauncy said, patting him on the knee, "but we'll get through this."

"Yeah, we will. It'll be ok." His back straightened as he sat up slowly, feeling that familiar optimism creeping back in. "Skippy, can you go over there," he cocked his head in the direction of the production van and the loitering camera crew, "and make sure they didn't record anything? I really can't afford to let them see me like this, especially if they might give me another shot to redeem myself..."