QUARANTINE [APW #6]

It was eerie, walking through McCarran with the dark night beyond the windows and the place deserted like a ghost town– it felt like one of those post-apocalyptic disaster movies he used to enjoy – fifty shades of the Langoliers. He hadn't even wanted to go to New York despite the obligation and the fact that he'd never willfully no-showed a booking in his entire career. The world was too chaotic for him to handle and while he'd found the empty aisles at the grocery store almost humorous at the beginning of the month, it was starting to get scary. At first it had felt like the same panic that always came before a big storm. Batten the hatches. Stock up on non-perishables.

His anxiety was in overdrive, cold sweat making that old Brutal Apparel hoodie stick to his arms. He felt like he could crawl out of his skin, like the unease clawing at his insides was going to burst from his chest like that Alien parasite. "Breathe," he muttered under his breath, pulling down the face shield he usually used out on the bike. "Just breathe." He adjusted the backpack over his shoulder, picking up his pace after risking a glance over his shoulder. Nobody around. The few folks who had been on his flight had already disappeared, almost as if they'd been swallowed by the void. In the distance, he saw a dark-haired woman holding a fussy toddler and the déjà vu hit him harder than he expected. He shivered and the pain in his back flared to life, bringing nausea with it. This time, his stomach started to churn, leaving him no choice but to reverse direction, bolting for the men's room with about as much grace as Frankenstein's monster.



He hated himself for that moment of weakness now that he could see Hannah standing a few feet away with Allegra in her arms. Sighing, he reached for his bag, picking it up and slinging it over his shoulder. He had to brace his leg against the conveyor belt for a second as he straightened up, feeling like he was going to keel over for a second as his back started to spasm. Steeling himself, he turned around slowly, making eye contact.

Allegra had been ignoring the buzz of noise and people in the airport, focused on the more important task of attempting to retrieve Hannah's cell phone from her bag, but when she looked up and caught a glimpse of her father, she immediately straightened, pushing up and away from her mother's neck to get to him. "Mine dad," she announced firmly, concentrating on going limp enough to be put down.

Hannah's breath caught in her throat as she looked up, catching sight of her husband standing there frozen in front of the baggage carousel. His eyes were wide, that look of startled shock not just feigned for one of his infamous selfies this time.

"MINE! DAD!" Allegra insisted, shouting right in Hannah's ear.

"Okay, Peanut." She kissed the side of her daughter's face, using that pause to steel herself. "We're going to see Daddy." Crossing the floor, she was aware of every step that brought her closer to her estranged husband. She offered him a neutral smile as she came to a stop in front of him. She didn't even attempt to touch him, figuring he didn't want that. "Hey..." she murmured, finally looking at him.

"Hey," he replied, his eyes on the toddler as she strained towards him.

"Daaaaaddy," Allegra exclaimed, trying to reach for him.

"Do you wanna take her? I'll get your bag." She kissed the toddler's cheek, wishing she could do the same for him. "She's missed you, Lex. We both have."

He nodded, letting the bag drop to the floor at their feet before reaching out to take the squirming toddler from Hannah's arms. "Missed you too," Lex said softly, and for a split-second Hannah thought he was talking to her as she reached for his bag, only to realize he only had eyes for his daughter.

"Traffic wasn't too bad on the way here," she was trying her best to sound like everything was normal even though she hadn't seen him in more than two weeks. "It shouldn't take too long to get to the house."

Lex followed a step or two behind, wincing as Allegra grabbed a handful of his beard and started tugging on it. "Hey now," he murmured, shifting her position so that her grabby hands were out of reach, "careful with the face, alright?"

They made it to the car and Hannah unlocked it, tossing Lex's bag on the seat. She wanted to ask him where he'd been, why he'd shut down on her completely. The charges she'd seen on the credit card statement made her think he'd been in New York, but she wanted to hear it from him.

He tried to settle Allegra into her car seat, only to discover that she didn't want to let go of him. As soon as he pried her hands from his shirt, she started to wail. "Shit. I guess I'd better ride back here with her."

Hannah wondered if he'd react at all if she let her own tears fall, feeling as though they were tearing her up inside. Pasting on a tight smile, she nodded and slid behind the wheel. "You'll have to stay, then. For her."

"Yeah." Lex finally got his daughter into her seat and then settled in beside her, buckling his own belt. His left hand was in the toddler's clutches and she was happily playing with his fingers.

"Lex?" The words were stuck in her throat. She wanted to rant and rail at him for not coming home but she didn't understand what was going on between them.

He leaned back in the seat, closing his eyes. "If you're gonna ask me why I haven't come home, just do it already."

"I won't push you into talking about something you clearly don't want to." The words came out hollow, "we don't have to talk. We'll turn off all the lights. You can sleep and I'll just-"

"Han…" he sighed, keeping his eyes closed even though the motion of the car was making him nauseated, "I just needed some space, alright?"

Another wave of wanting to cry rushed over her as well as wanting to beg him not to ever leave her again, but she didn't do either. "Lex," she sighed, biting down on her lower lip. "Shit."

"You think you know the reason I've been on the road as much as I can the past few weeks, but you don't."

"If this is you… wanting..." she stumbled over the words, not daring to look at him in the rear-view for fear of what she might see. "If you want out, just tell me."

"Shit," he looked down at Allegra, happy to see that she was drifting off to sleep while still clutching his hand. He stayed silent for a few miles, long enough for her to get off the highway, taking the quicker route home through the country.

"Lex?"

"I don't even know where to start." His voice came out low as he leaned forward, unbuckling his belt so that he could wrap his long arms around the passenger seat before leaning his head against the back of the headrest. Everything hurt. He couldn't think, couldn't even focus on the conversation at hand. It felt like the end of the world and he just wanted to lay down and die.

"Two weeks without a word, without seeing you. What am I supposed to think, Lex? Tell me." Her voice shook, "are we… are... you..?" She couldn't bring herself to even finish the question, as if speaking it aloud was going to send her entire world crashing down around her ears.

"I don't know who I am anymore," his voice was muffled, the words strange. He sounded so lost, so damned broken and it tore her apart to hear it – he sounded like he had when they were teenagers, like he had all those nights Clay had beaten him half to death and he'd crawled through her bedroom window, looking for solace.

"Lex… what can I do?" There was desperation in her tone, her knuckles white on the wheel.

"Just let me go."



His throat was raw, a rotten film coating his tongue and teeth as he bent over the sink, running the cold water over his wrists. His stomach felt hollowed out, his ribs throbbing in sync with the fire wrapped across his back. Purging himself in this hideous airport restroom hadn't helped him one bit. He wanted to burn his clothes after kneeling on the floor— who knew what sort of germs he was coated with now. If the damned Metal show in New York hadn't assured that, the floor here most certainly had.

The inside of the restroom was blue and white, some twisted checker-board pattern from the depths of hell— the blue life-sized male silhouette reflected in the mirror didn't help. He kept catching sight of it in his still-blurred peripherals, thinking he was being watched. He closed his eyes, breathing shallowly while his lips moved in a silent prayer to whomever might be listening up above. He'd taken triple the amount he usually did, the oily taste mixing with the lingering sickness in a way that made him want to stick his finger down his throat and finish the job. He wouldn't, though, because he could barely straighten up as it was.

His fingers gripped the edges of the sink and it was a wonder it didn't crack under the pressure. He felt the world coming full-circle on him. Felt like he was running and maybe it was just because he'd been in New York. Maybe it was because that damned lizard brain had been awakened again.

Everything slowed. The pain finally ebbed. He was in the mid-50s of that mental countdown from one hundred when his skin erupted in goose-flesh as a shudder crawled down his back. He heard the squeak of shoes on the tile that he'd soaked, realizing he wasn't alone.

"Lex?"

His eyes snapped open, bloodshot and bottomless black, honing in on the intruder. He looked right through her and Hannah immediately looked away, stuffing her hands into the pockets of his oversized hoodie.

"I... uhm..." she wanted to tell him that she'd seen him across the concourse, that she'd come alone and that her sister Charity was watching the girls but the words got all tangled up when she saw the abject misery on his face. He looked like a stranger, like the nightmare version of the man she loved. "Jesus Christ," she reached out as if to touch him and he shrank back. "What happened?"

"Quarantine." The single word slipped past Lex's lips as he cupped his hands under the blessedly cool water. "It was all in the text. I can't go home…" he sighed, wondering if she'd watched the show, if she knew how fucking insane his work environment had actually become. The thought of travel was ludicrous and the arena for Metal had been packed – he didn't even understand how Irina had made that happen. "I'm sure I've been exposed. There were thousands of people... it... it wasn't like 5B. It wasn't empty."

"I know."

"…you shouldn't be here."

Lex splashed the cold water on his face, washing away the sweat, feeling his skin tingle at the change in temperature. The anxiety was muted now, no longer frantically clawing away inside and the hollow felt more pronounced, like he was going to cave in on himself – it had been such a constant for the last few months that he almost mourned its absence.

"I know." She repeated it softly, "that's why I'm here."

When he opened his eyes, she was closer, and he deliberately took a step to the left, waving his hand under the paper towels. One whirred out and he pulled it off violently, wiping his hands angrily. "You shouldn't be here." He repeated, stuck in a loop. Maybe she hadn't heard the first time?

"The girls are with Bruce and Charity for a few days – I got your text and you can fuck right off with that. We're a team. In this together. If you're doing two weeks in quarantine because you think you might be infected, then I will too. And if you are? I'll look after you."

"Han-" he started but she cut him off.

"Don't even," she snapped, thinking about that time five years ago when she'd picked him up at an airport just like this. She remembered the bomb he'd dropped on her and how she'd let him walk away without a fight. "You don't get to decide without me. That's not how this works."

He could taste blood, could feel the rawness in his throat as he swallowed hard. He finally straightened up fully, pressing his back to the wall – the twinge was gone for the time being and he wondered if he looked as high as he felt. Time had slowed to a languid crawl and he had no idea how long he'd been standing there, gaping at her audacity. Finally, he bowed his head in defeat, muttering, "tell me it'll be alright, then?"

"It will, Lex." She knew it wasn't just the thing with his back or the pressure of wrestling in Alpha Pro now that he'd finally found his stride. He didn't do well with change, with chaos – as much as he wanted to pretend he was a phoenix and could rise above the ashes, she knew better. "I promise."


"Lather, rinse, repeat – I can't escape the feeling that I've been here before. And maybe that's just because the world as we know it is crumbling around us, mirroring all my worst anxiety nightmares. It could be the nationwide shortage of toilet paper and the fact that I've been all but forced to spend a week inside that has me taking off on this tangent – definitely could be the collapse of civilization that has me waxing philosophical here. I mean, it could be a million other things, but let's pretend for a second that my head is lodged firmly up my own ass and I think that I'm the center of the known universe. Oh wait, no – my bad. Wouldn't want to rip off that Bloodlines shtick."

You don't need a visual to tell the North American champ is rolling his eyes. There's a slow inhale and it's not clear if he's smoking or if he's simply trying to control his emotions.

"This year... it's been a real shitshow. What's next? Who's next on the chopping block? You? Me? There are no certainties in this business. Most days I can't tell if I'm looking down the barrel of a gun that's ready to take me out or if it's Andy Dufresne's shit-smeared tunnel to freedom. Usedta think it was important to go out with a bang. On your own terms, clearly defined. Now I know better. The best you can hope for's to die in your sleep. The important part isn't how you go out, though. If we learned nothin' else from those who've passed, is that what gets passed on matters. That's what tripped me up. It's not about the end, about the credits rolling across the screen. How many people stick around through all that shit, hoping for one last little thrill? Unless you're a Marvel fan, you don't give two shits. It's about the time that comes before that sudden stop – it's about the climb and/or the fall. You know I'm right. So maybe nobody gives a shit about you now. Maybe they're gonna write you off just like they do me. Maybe they're gonna see you as a weak link and maybe you're feeling that a little too much after last week. I get it, man. You coulda been something."

He sucks his teeth for a moment.

"There's no lust for life here. There's no suicidal tendencies. There's just a love of the industry which is a disease in and of itself. It's just another addiction though, isn't it? And fuck, if we could actually mainline those cheers – we'd be the happiest little sadists around. It'd make it so much easier to just have it as a given, as an absolute. That's what makes us sick. Gets inside, under the skin. It's an itch that can't be scratched, a scab on the brain that can't be picked – it FESTERS. And for some of us, it's good. It drives us. It propels us upwards and onwards. Others, it INFECTS. It whispers doubts. It taints until everything you touch rots. Until everything's RUINED."

There's that self-deprecating laugh.

"Am I talking about me? Aaron Blaze? That's the tricky part. That's where it boils down to semantics, where it matters what side of the fence you're on – the wind always changes direction. Twist it as you see fit, like you motherfucks always do.

Gonna have to isolate now. A self-imposed QUARANTINE."

Inhale. Exhale.

"I should write a book about all the times I've been wrong versus the times I've been right. Nobody'd buy it 'cause fifteen minutes from now nobody gives a shit about you or me or this company or any of this shit – it's temporary. Glory fades, after all. You already knew that, though. You know everything. You an' your buddy who think you're gonna set the world on fire. Yeah, okay. Maybe there'll be some ashes left for Bloodlines to scatter when THE ARCHITECTS are done."