#baeoe series

[spine-buster]

Chapter 25 - The Beginning and the End of Everything (Finn Balor)

A/N: IT’S THE END OF AN ERA, Y’ALL!

I cannot thank you all enough for liking, reblogging, and commenting on this story.  This was definitely a labour of love, and although the updates at the end were few and far in between (thanks, work, you heartless bitch), I hope you all enjoyed the ride that was Gemma and Fergal.  Be on the lookout for some future one-shots with those lovebirds.

I’m going to be taking a bit of a break from multi-chapter fics right now because I am working on developing my next Adam Cole fic -- more on that to come in the future!  One shots will still be posted and I’m going to try and write Defensive III in the meantime.  

Thank you again, from the bottom of my heart.  You guys are the best.

@wrestlewriting @thegenericluchadora @thewriterformerlytaggedas @fan-fiction-galore @anerdysouthernbelle @spot-of-bother @amaranthine-reign @baleesi @flnnbalor @smuppies @sarahmatthews7 @daintymissdevitt@newjapan @corey-renee @running-ropes @balorsomega @karleedaniels27 @kazuchika @ileana0300 @alexahood21 @ohcristimhookedonhavocimsodunne@fembxt @heelturn-timesten @kaitlynwwefan @50shadesofadamcolebaybay @50shadesofkennyomega @chasingeverybreakingwave @thyestean-feast @thecandicej @devittsbalor @sp00kylesley @danahart @sietefinns@kaydee-kayyyy @powerbombshell @swedish-strong-style @blondekel77@irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @nickysmum1909 @houndofjustice-imagines @wwesmutdonedirtcheap @wweximaginesxd @indywrestlinglover-life @mandi512 @kakakatey @ourscratcheddreams @sleeplessandcynical @badame124 @thevixeniris 

Fergal was positive he had never been more nervous in his entire life.  He wasn’t this nervous the first time he got into a ring.  He wasn’t this nervous before his first match.  He wasn’t this nervous before any Best of the Super Juniors Tournament, sold-out match at Korakuen Hall, debut in WWE – nothing.  That was all trivial now.

Gemma was finally allowed back on the ice.

He knew whatever he was feeling paled in comparison to what she must have been feeling.  He knew that she had waited a year for this; that every breakdown, every temper tantrum, every stretch, every squat, every lunge, culminated in this moment.  This was the moment for her.  

He was with her in Toronto, obviously, for the big moment.  Paul had allowed him to take some time off, and he’d be back in Toronto next weekend too, to help with logistical stuff pertaining to Gemma’s hockey camp.  It was going to be a busy week, and definitely an emotional week, where a lot of things would change for Gemma.  He was almost sure she was ready…and he wasn’t sure if he was ready.  

He could feel the excited and anxious energy radiating off of her as they moved about her parents’ house, getting everything ready.  Gemma had packed her hockey gear, and chose her Team Canada jersey to wear for the occasion, since it was the jersey she played her last game in.  James had already packed it into the trunk of her car – he and Nabilah were taking their own car to the Ricoh Coliseum, where everything was going to go down.  Fergal was standing in the living room, holding Gemma’s stick, as he watched her mull about the kitchen filling up her water bottle and contemplate out loud about bringing snacks.  She was definitely nervous.  The last thing on her mind should have been snacks. 

“You almost ready?” he asked softly, taking into account the time.  Her coach, Jane, and her teammates from Team Canada were going to be there for 11.  It was already past 10 and they needed to drive all the way downtown to get to the arena.

She looked at him like she had forgotten he was in the living room.  “Yeah, just about,” she said.  “Do you think I should bring an extra water bottle?”

“I’m sure they will have that there.”

“What about Gatorade?  I should bring Gatorade, right?”

“Gemma, they’ll have Gatorade,” Fergal smiled.  He walked towards her as she opened the fridge, put the old water bottle she had taken out two minutes ago back in, only to pull out another one.  “Gemma.”

“It wasn’t cold anymore.”

“Gemma,” he said more sternly so that she would look at him.  When she did, he put his hand over hers.  “I know you’re nervous, but this is going to be great, okay?”

“I know,” she nodded quickly.  “I’m sorry…I’m not usually this…”

Fergal furrowed his brows.  “Who’re you kidding?  Yes you are.”

Gemma snorted.  “Shut up.  I’m a basket case, I know, but I’ve never gotten nervous about hockey before.”

“So why are you nervous now?” he asked.

Gemma took a deep breath.  Fergal’s earnest baby blues were too much for her to handle at this point, so she focused on the water bottle instead.  “It’s…it’s been a year, Fergal.  An entire year since I’ve been on the ice…since I’ve played hockey.  Do you know how long that is?”

Fergal knew it felt like a lifetime, that it was a lifetime for her.  That she was robbed of the one thing she enjoyed most and now it was being given back to her, however small.  He nodded his head as she leaned in to kiss her temple.  “I know.  I know how long it is.”

“This is going to be insane,” she let out a forced chuckle to try and hide the strain in her voice.  The tears were already forming.  “I’m so happy you’re here to see it.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

She turned towards him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders before giving him a kiss.  “I only wish you could have seen me when I was in my prime.”

“That’s where you’re mistaken, Gemma Saad-Fitzgerald,” he kissed the tip of her nose.  “You are in your prime.”

“No…I mean like the prime of my career.”

“I mean what I said,” Fergal smiled.  “You are in the prime of your career.  Just because you’re not playing hockey doesn’t mean you’re not in your prime.  You’re starting this hockey camp, you’re giving a once in a lifetime opportunity to thousands of girls across this country…and who knows what else is going to come your way.  I would say that’s the prime of a career.”

Gemma scrunched her face to hide back the tears as she his her face in the crook of Fergal’s neck.  “What did I do to deserve you,” she mumbled.

“You were you,” he whispered in her ear.  “Now let’s go so you can be you again.”

The car ride to the Ricoh Coliseum was eerily reminiscent of Fergal and Gemma’s early car rides through the streets of Orlando.  She was mostly silent, looking out the window at all the houses and buildings on the way.  The only time she spoke was when she directed Fergal through the streets, bypassing what the navigation system was telling him so they could take the quicker route.  Once they arrived, they were ushered to the private parking area.  Fergal didn’t bother finding a spot close to the door this time.

Once he parked, he turned off the ignition and looked over at Gemma in the passenger seat.  She was staring straight ahead, deep in contemplation.  She was mere steps away from the rink – steps away from her moment.  

“You alright?” he asked.  She nodded her head.  He reached across and grabbed her hand in his, stroking her fingers with his thumb.  “You wanna go in?”

“Ferg?” she ignored his question.

“Hmm?”

“Before we go in, can I talk to you about something?”

“Of course.”

She took a deep breath, collecting herself before squeezing his hand gently.  “I just…I want to let you know…when I started this, rehab…I was so…angry at everything.  At the world, at hockey, at my physiotherapist, at you, but most importantly, at myself.  And you helped me not be so angry.  You helped me remember the good things in life…and you…you helped me…” she began tearing up, her voice cracking, “you helped me smile again.  And that’s the most powerful thing anyone could have ever done for me.  I know it hasn’t been easy for you – I know how difficult I can be – but you never gave up on me, even when I gave up on myself,” she was crying at his point, her cheeks and eyes red as tears rolled down her face.  “So before we go in there, I need you tell you…I need to tell you how much I appreciate you, and admire you…and how much I love you,” she took a deep breath.  “I love you so much Fergal.  So much.  I can’t picture myself with anyone else but you.  I can’t picture anybody being able to do what you’ve done.  I love you.  I love you.”

It was Fergal’s turn to cry.  It had taken Gemma a few months to say those words after he said them, but it was worth it.  God, everything this past year was worth it.  All the highs and lows, the deep talks to the blow-out fights, every phone call, every message, every car ride – he would do it one hundred times over if it meant he could hear those three words come out of her mouth again.  “I love you too, Gemma,” he mumbled, leaning over to kiss her.  It wasn’t a new sentiment, at least for him – he had kept his promise when he told her that her not saying it wouldn’t make him stop saying it – but now that he heard it once, it was all he wanted to hear for the rest of his life.  “I love you so much.”

“I love you.  I love you,” she repeated.  “And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay you for what you’ve been able to do for me.”

“But you don’t have to,” he affirmed.  “Being you is enough.  You getting to this moment is all the repayment I’ll ever need.  Seeing you succeed and be happy is the best thing in the world to me,” he said, kissing her again.

She took a few deep breaths, letting his words sink in.  When their tears ceased to fall, she bit her lip.  “Ready to go in?”

“Are you ready?”

With a nod of her head and a final kiss, Fergal opened his door.

Fergal firmly believed that what he was witnessing before him was magic.  There were no words to describe the happiness, the delight, the exuberance that was on Gemma’s face as she skated along the ice.  He remembered the videos he watched of her when she won her gold medal and thought to himself that she might even be happier now than she was then.  Her laughs were so loud and infectious, he could hear them from where he sat in the penalty box.  Her teammates were all smiles as they skated with her, passing around a puck and taking light shots towards the nets.  Media had showed up from some of the major sports outlets to film.  On more than one occasion they had gotten in the way of the hockey players, who virtually trampled them over.  

“Hey Fitz!” her coach called out.  “You think your shot held up?”

The smile on Gemma’s face stretched from ear to ear.  “You bet your ass it did.”

“Let’s find out, shall we?” he smirked.  “Hey boys!” he pointed to all the cameramen.  “You’re gonna wanna catch this.”

Two of her teammates skated back onto the ice with targets that they placed on the net in specific areas.  Two at the top, two at the bottom, and one where the goalie’s five-hole would be.  They cheered as a bunch of pucks were brought towards Gemma, who set herself up in her regular shooting position. As the cameras rolled, Gemma took pucks and began shooting the targets. 

Cheers erupted every time one was hit – and in a mere 15 seconds, it was all over.  She’d been able to hit all five targets in only 15 seconds, using only 10 pucks.  Her teammates surrounded her in cheers and congratulatory headbutts.   Fergal noticed her coach setting up pucks in a pyramid at the opposite end from where he was sitting in the penalty box.  He motioned over for another camera man to get in behind the area so he could film.  “Hey Gem!” he called out to her again.  When she looked his way, he pointed towards the pyramid.   “Is that the best you got?”

Fergal watched as Gemma’s face changed from happy to competitive.  She saw the challenge and wanted to rise to it.  It was apparently easy to hit targets in a net, and she wanted to go one step further.  

She pushed five pucks in front of her, organizing them all in a line.  Fergal watched in anticipation her first shot, which knocked the top puck off.  Her second shot completely wiped out the puck on the left.  Her third shot hit the remaining puck so hard it crashed into the glass behind it.  Her fourth was a slapshot to the rest of the period, causing it to explode and leaving one sole puck rolling along the boards.  With her last shot, with sniper-like accuracy, she shot her last puck and knocked the rolling puck off the boards. 

Once she was finished, she looked at her coach with her eyebrows raised.  “Still the best shot in the game, huh?” she smirked.

“Atta girl,” Fergal mumbled to himself proudly.

It had been a week since Gemma had gotten back on the ice, and it was like she was a completely different person.  Fergal could see and sense the difference the second she stepped off the ice at the Ricoh Coliseum last week.  Since then, the two videos of her target practice had gone viral, showcasing just how much of a true talent she still was, despite not having been on the ice for an entire year.

Now, her main focus was the hockey camp.  She and Fergal had met with some Hockey Canada executives last night and were scheduled to meet up with John and some guys from the Toronto Maple Leafs for dinner to talk sponsorship opportunities.  She had gone out to lunch with her mom earlier in the day before she came back to rest and get read for that night.  Nabilah had gone to get her hair done; James was playing a round of golf with his buddies.  Gemma was sitting at the kitchen table, painting her nails, while he was sprawled out on the couch, watching TV.  It was a rare, quiet moment in a life that was a whirlwind from the moment he opened his eyes to the moment he shut them to sleep.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Gemma standing in the doorway.  “Ferg?”

“Hmm?”

She walked over to the couch slowly, sitting down facing him.  He pulled himself up from lying down so he could look at her.  “We…we need to talk.”

The four words any person walking the earth would dread to hear.  He gulped.  “About what?”

“When I…when I said I was going out with my mom today, I was lying,” she began.

Sirens began going off in Fergal’s brain.  She wasn’t exactly off to the best start.  “Okay…where did you go instead?”

“I uh…I went for a job interview,” she revealed.

“A job interview?”

“Yeah.  With Hockey Night in Canada.”

Fergal calmed down considerably, but there was still some skepticism on his part.  “Okay…”

“About a week ago, they had called me and asked me to come in.  I didn’t tell you because I had no idea what it was about.  I thought maybe they just wanted an interview after those videos went viral.  But they…they asked me to be on Hockey Night in Canada.”

Fergal could barely process the words that were coming out of her mouth.  She had known about it for a week?  Hockey Night in Canada?  “Gemma, that’s amazing,” he finally let out.

“You think so?”

“Of course!” he exclaimed.  “Gemma, Hockey Night in Canada is like…an institution.  This is…this is like everything you’ve ever wanted as a kid, besides being a hockey player.  This is your dream.”

“It is…this does mean a lot…” her words sounded unsure.  Fergal became nervous at how hesitant she sounded about this.  “But I’m putting what it means to me aside for now, okay?  It just means a lot in general.  It means I’m going to be based in Toronto long term.  It means both of my jobs are here.  It means that I can’t move, even if I wanted to --”

“Gemma --”

“It means that you’ve gotta be willing to be here.  To move to Toronto,” she deadpanned, her voice quivering.  Fergal knew there were tears coming because she had already thought about how this talk would go in her head.  She’d give the proposition to him.  He’d say no.  They’d break up.  She’d be alone and lonely.  She’d work her job, and be happy about it, but her personal life would be void.  He’d go on working in the WWE.  Soon, they would become distant memories for each other.  One day, down the road, she’d flip on the TV and WWE would be on, and she’d see him in the ring, and remember their short, fleeting relationship.  But it would all be over.  

“So if you’re not committed, I need to know now.  Before anything goes forward.  So that I know where we stand.”

“Gemma…” he said softly, holding both her hands in his.  “I’ve been committed from the beginning.”

She came to a slow realization of what he had just said.  “So you’ll stay.”

“Yes.”

“You’ll move to Toronto.”

“Yes.”

“You’ll…you’ll…” she tried to get out, but tears interrupted her.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Fergal embraced her.

When she broke down and cried into his shoulder, grasping at him as if he would float away, he realized the magnitude of what had just happened.  It was what happened over the last week, really, that culminated to this moment, to her crying on his shoulder, overjoyed.  She had said ‘I love you’ before she knew anything official about his willingness to move to Toronto for her.  She had exposed herself, made herself vulnerable, made herself susceptible to heartbreak, all before she knew his decision.  She had taken the biggest, greatest risk of her life, not knowing if it would lead her to sadness or happiness.  

She hadn’t let fear get in the way of making a decision.  And it had the best payoff.

“I feel like I’m walking into Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory,” Gemma declared as Ron MacLean escorted her and Fergal throughout the Hockey Night in Canada studios.  She had called that morning to let them know her decision, and not even ten minutes later Ron had called her, offering to show her around her new workplace.  She ‘dragged’ Fergal along, but he was just as willing as she was.  After all, he wanted to see where his girlfriend would be working a majority of the year, and he wanted to meet her colleagues.  

“It is a bit magical, isn’t it?” Ron nodded his head as they walked on set.  “Elliotte should be here any second to give you the crash course in teleprompter reading.  Why don’t you take a seat?”

Gemma looked at Ron like he had two heads.  “You serious?”

“Better get used to it now, right?” he smiled.  

As Gemma walked around the desk, taking everything in, Fergal had to stifle his laugh.  She really did look like a kid in a candy store.  Soon a man emerged – Elliotte, probably – who began to talk to her all about the set up and production, pointing out each microphone, camera, and teleprompter on set.  

As Fergal stood off to the side, watching Gemma take it all in, Ron ended up standing beside him.  “You must be Fergal, Gemma’s boyfriend,” he extended his hand.

Fergal loved how when he was in Canada, he was simply ‘Gemma’s boyfriend’.  “That’s me.”

“The wrestler,” Ron went on.  “I saw you at the NHL Awards.  PK Subban told me who you are.”

Fergal chuckled.  “Yeah, PK and I are making a buddy-cop movie.  The Rock is going to produce it.”

Ron shook his head.  “That boy comes up with the craziest ideas.  But hey, he did tell me a little bit about you.  Guy from Ireland?  Lived in Japan?  Moving to Toronto now?” Ron smiled.  Fergal nodded his head at it all.  “You must really like Gemma.  No Irish guy I’d know would choose to go through Canadian winters.”

Fergal chuckled, but kept his eyes on Gemma looking at the teleprompter and messing up her lines already.  The smile that took up half her face stretched from ear to ear.  “I know.  It’s not the easiest or the most straightforward of paths.  And Gemma…this past year.  She hasn’t been the easiest or the most straightforward either.  But I love her.  And she loves me.  And that’s the beginning and the end of everything.”

[spine-buster]

Chapter 23 - The Beginning and the End of Everything (Finn Balor)

@wrestlewriting @wrasslin-x @thegenericluchadora @thewriterformerlytaggedas@fan-fiction-galore @anerdysouthernbelle @spot-of-bother @amaranthine-reign@baleesi @flnnbalor @smuppies @sarahmatthews7 @daintymissdevitt@newjapan @corey-renee @running-ropes @balorsomega @karleedaniels27@kazuchika @ileana0300 @alexahood21 @ohcristimhookedonhavocimsodunne@fembxt @heelturn-timesten @kaitlynwwefan @50shadesofadamcolebaybay@50shadesofkennyomega @chasingeverybreakingwave @thyestean-feast @thecandicej @devittsbalor @sp00kylesley @danahart @sietefinns@kaydee-kayyyy @powerbombshell @swedish-strong-style @blondekel77@irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @nickysmum1909 @houndofjustice-imagines @wwesmutdonedirtcheap @wweximaginesxd @indywrestlinglover-life @mandi512 @kakakatey @ourscratcheddreams @sleeplessandcynical @badame124 @thevixeniris

“How do I look?” Gemma asked one last time as the limousine stopped, the driver putting the car in park and exiting.

“Like I said…you look delectable,” Fergal eyed her.  She’d chosen a floor length black dress with a gold belt and straps, and an exposed back.  At first she wanted to wear something that looked like a nun’s habit but he managed to convince her out of it.  He was trying every day to make it known to her that despite the “new body” she always harped on about, she was still attractive and sexy; still allowed to feel like a million bucks.  She had looked at herself in the mirror for a good ten minutes with the dress on.  When she made a quip about gold being her colour anyway, he knew she’d chosen the dress.

They posed on the red carpet for a few pictures before a handler ushered them inside.  Upon entering the building they were met with a few more photographers, taking informal pictures of them before Gemma had to do the media scrum.  

Fergal watched as she looked around the room, mentally counting the amount of reporters lined up interviewing hockey players.  He squeezed her hand to get her attention.  “You alright?”

Before Gemma could answer him, her name was called loudly from beyond the media scrum.  Gemma turned her attention away from Fergal, trying to find the voice that had called her name.  Fergal watched as Gemma’s face lit up.  “John!”

A good looking man in a very well tailored suit speed walked towards her, engulfing her in a giant hug.  Fergal noticed the media pass around his neck sandwiched between their bodies.  “God, I’m so glad I get to see you before the ceremony!” the man exclaimed, letting go of his hug but still keeping his hands on her arms.  Fergal was watching closely.  “How are you?  How’s everything?”

Gemma shrugged her shoulders, a giant smile on her face.  “Everything’s good.  You know.  Could be better but it’s still good.”

“Making the best of a shitty situation.”

“As always.”

Fergal stood awkwardly watching the interaction before the man looked his way.  His hands dropped from Gemma’s arms.  “You must be Fergal,” he said, extending his hand.  Fergal shook it politely.  “I’m John Patterson.  Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Fergal nodded his head.  “How do you know Gemma?”

“We’ve worked together in the past,” Gemma answered for him.  “John works for the Leafs now,” she looked towards him.  She backhanded his arm playfully.  “Are you head of PR yet or what?”

“I’m working on it,” John blushed.  “But speaking of, make sure you stop by Patti for us so we can get an interview with you – lifelong Leaf fan and all,” he turned to point out the reporter in the scrum Gemma would need to speak to.  “Will I see you at the after-party?”

“Of course.”

“Okay, good.  I’ll come find you,” he hugged her again.  He turned to Fergal.  “It was really nice to meet you, man.  I’ve heard so much about you.  But I’m working tonight, so I’ll catch up with you at the after-party.”

“Yeah, cool, nice to meet you too,” Fergal said, John leaving halfway through the sentence.  

Yet another man in a suit approached them, this time much older.  “Ms. Fitzgerald, are you ready?  You’ll begin just as Mr. Bergeron moves on.”

“Yes sir,” Gemma nodded her head, flattening out her dress.

Fergal knew that was the moment where she’d be gone for at least fifteen or twenty minutes and he’d be left alone in the background.  He knew he would have to ask her the only question that was currently on his mind.  “That John guy, you said he worked with you before?”

“Mhm.”

“Where?  Hockey Canada?”

“Uh, not entirely.”

“Well, where then?”

Gemma gulped, wishing the first reporter would call her over.  She saw Patrice Bergeron moving along to the second reporter.  “You remember how I told you I’ve only really had one serious boyfriend before you?”

Fergal’s heart fluttered for a moment – not in the good way.  “That was him?!”

“Mhm.”

“That’s your ex-boyfriend?  He works for the Leafs?”

“Mhm.”

“Wait…” Fergal replayed the conversation.  “Why did he say he’s heard so much about me?”

Before he could say anything else, the older gentleman approached them again.  “Ms. Fitzgerald, you may go ahead to the media scrum now.”

“Gemma.”

“I’ll be back.”

“Gemma,” he said sternly, but she left him there to process what he just heard and ask himself a million more question he’d have to wait to get the answer to.  

He watched her every move as she made her way through the scrum.  In that time, his brain was on overdrive trying to come up with some answers.  So, she had an ex-boyfriend who worked in the hockey world.  He knew she had one; she just never specified who he was or what field he worked in.  Now Fergal knew.  John was attractive.  A ‘Suit’ type.  Slightly older than Gemma but of course, younger than himself.  Anyone Gemma knew would be younger than him, Fergal reasoned.  He was ten years older than she was.  He was an old geezer.  And it was possible (was it clear?) that they still kept in touch.  How else would John know she was with him?  Nobody mentioned it on WWE programming.  He never tweeted out any pictures of them together.  She didn’t tweet out any pictures of them together.  This was their first official event together.  He didn’t even hug her during his return match, at her request.  Unless he knew because of Fergal’s attendance at the Leafs game where they honoured Gemma.  But they weren’t even together then.  Did she tell him over text?  Over phone call when he wasn’t around?  What was that conversation like?  Why did she even feel the need to tell him?  Why -----

“You alright?” Gemma’s voice interrupted his spiralling train of thought.  “We should go sit down.  It’s just through there.  We’re in the fourth row.”

Fergal didn’t want to wait any longer for answers.  “What happened with you and John?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why’d you guys break up?”

Gemma tugged at his arm, pulling him through the black curtain so they were alone in the area between the media scrum and the main area, where nobody would hear what they were talking about.  “We were just on different paths,” she began, looking at him.  “I was traveling a lot and then he got the job with the Leafs.  There was never any ill will or anything.  It was very mutual, and we knew it had to be done.  We were very mature about it.”

“That’s why you two still talk.”

“Yeah.  He’s a good guy.  There aren’t many like him in hockey – at least in the offices.  He doesn’t let his position get to his head.  That sort of thing.”

Fergal calmed down considerably.  There was no way he was going to completely freak out.  She was so calm about telling him.  And there was no way he was going to ruin her night at the NHL Awards by getting angry with her.  John did seem like a pretty levelheaded guy.  And if he was good enough for Gemma to date and still keep in touch with, he would be good enough for Fergal.  “So I shouldn’t be worried about him?”

“Oh no way,” Gemma scoffed.  “He’s married to his job now.  He wants to be like, head of PR for the Leafs by the time he’s thirty…he’s a career man.  Always was, really.  He’ll be one of those guys that doesn’t settle down until he’s in his late thirties or early forties.”

“Like me.”

Gemma smiled.  “Like you.”  She leaned forward and kissed him quickly on the lips.  “You don’t have anything to worry about Ferg.  He’s great but he’s not Fergal Devitt level great.”

The NHL Awards were fun for Fergal.  Though he was in a different environment than what he was used to and felt a little bit out of his element, he was enjoying the ambience and ceremony.  The more important thing was that every time he looked at Gemma, she looked like she was having the time of her life.  He absolutely loved seeing her so happy.  Throughout the night she had hockey players – guys she loved and respected and probably watched on TV – coming up to her and telling her how much they loved her.  Fergal could tell it was surreal for her.  Every time one left, she’d squeeze his arm and dig her nails into his skin.  She’d tell him who the person was, as if he would know how much weight their words and praises had on her.  ‘That was Joe Sakic, Ferg.’  ‘Ferg, that was Sidney Crosby.  Sidney fucking Crosby.  People say I’m the female him.’  ‘Holy mother of God, Fergal.  Mark Messier!  Mark Messier!’

Gemma received a standing ovation from everybody when she went out on stage, and Fergal knew she was trying very, very hard to keep her emotions in check.  To be given an ovation in a room full of your peers was a lot to handle.  He could tell, too, that one of the cameras panned right to him, standing and clapping along with everyone else, but at that point he didn’t care.  He was there for Gemma and Gemma only.  If hockey writers and reporters wanted to speculate about who he was and do some digging, he didn’t care – he was there to support his girlfriend.  That was all that mattered to him, and that was all that should matter.  

Gemma said a few kind words before presenting the Hart Trophy some young guy a guy named Connor McDavid.  It was about five minutes before he’d see her again, and by that point it was the end of the show.  Everybody in the arena began to leave for the afterparty, which is exactly where he and Gemma were headed for a bit before calling it a night.  He knew she would want to mingle with everyone so he made sure to have an extra shot of espresso to stay awake.  

As they began to make their way out of the T-Mobile Arena, both Gemma and Fergal both heard an extremely loud ‘GEMMAAAAAAAAAA!’ from behind them.  Gemma spun around quickly, only to see P.K Subban running towards her.  Her face lit up immediately as he picked her up and spun her around.

“PK!” she squealed as she set him down.  “About time I saw you!”

“I had to surprise you!  Look at you in this dress, girl,” he gave her the up down.  “Did you choose this or did your boyfriend over here?” he nodded his head towards Fergal.

“Hey, be nice,” she pointed her finger at him comically.  “And for your information, I chose this dress all by myself.”

“You must be the infamous PK Subban,” Fergal chimed in, completely taking Gemma by surprise.  She had no idea how Fergal knew who he was.  Bless him, but he was completely clueless about hockey – as clueless as she was about wrestling.  “I’ve read a lot about you.”

“I hope you’ve only read the good articles,” PK quipped.

“You bet.  One of my best buddies is from Montreal and he told me about your donation to the children’s hospital.  You’re the fucking man, PK.”

PK put his hand over his heart solemnly.  “Hey man, it’s my honour to do stuff like that, you know.  You understand completely, don’t you Balor?”

Gemma couldn’t believe what she was hearing.  Fergal knowing who PK was, bringing up his donation to the Montreal Children’s Hospital; PK bringing up Fergal’s wrestling name?  “Are you stalking my boyfriend, PK?”

PK rolled his eyes.  “I don’t stalk your boyfriend, sweetheart.  My little cousin is obsessed with him,” he focused his attention back to Fergal.  “He’s got the bodysuit and everything.  I had to buy it for him for Christmas.  He wouldn’t shut up about it and now he won’t stop wearing it.”

Fergal couldn’t help but laugh.  He always found wrestling in the most unconventional of places.  “Well in that case, he should get a little too sweet from me.”

PK’s eyes bulged out of his head as he whipped out his phone.  “Dude, he’s gonna freak.  Next thing you know we’re gonna be doing a buddy cop movie together.”

“PK --” Gemma tried to interject.

“I’ve already thought about this – what about something simple like Subban and Balor?  Or do you want to be first?  Balor and Subban?  Who’s the good cop and who’s the bad cop?” he chatted as he took the selfie.  

“PK --”

“Ooooooh dude, what about a sitcom?  Like the odd couple?  Hey could you get John Cena to make a cameo?”

“Pernell-Karl,” Gemma emphasized his full name.  “Stop scaring my boyfriend.”

“I’m not scaring him!” PK defended himself.  “He loves the idea.”

“Hey PK, let’s go!” another voice shouted from within the crowd.  

“Hey listen,” PK put his hand on Fergal’s shoulder.  “Anytime you’re in Toronto with this one over here, you let me know.  I know people who can get the pilot script going in no time.”

“PK!  Let’s go!”

He disappeared into the massive crowd of people as Fergal continued to laugh at the prospect of them in any sort of TV show together.  Judging by how well their brief meeting went, any hypothetical time they’d spend together would drive Gemma nuts.  “I love that guy,” he chuckled.

“How do you even know who he is?” Gemma asked, shaking her head.

“Hey, I do my homework.”

At the after party, Gemma was having the time of her life.  She milked her drink for a while, only because so many people were coming up to her and talking to her.  Some conversations were jovial while others were more serious – some even whispered or talked in low, hushed voices so no-one else would hear.  Gemma would nod along secretively.  Fergal wondered what they were saying – but then again, he’d know the second they got into their hotel room. 

It was only when they were alone together, briefly, that Fergal noticed her eyes go wide for a very brief second.  She immediately looked down and away from whatever she had been looking at.  

Fergal looked behind him.  Was it PK again?  Was it someone else she idolized?  “You alright?” he asked.

"Don’t look now…but…do you see that woman behind you? In that tight bandage dress?" 

He looked behind him immediately and saw exactly who Gemma was referring to.  "Yeah..." 

"That's her. That's Amanda Robinson."  

Fergal tried to remain calm.  He really did.  But at the mention of that name, he felt his blood begin to boil.  He took one good look at her and promptly decided she was the absolute ugliest woman he'd ever seen in his life. Sure, she was conventionally attractive to some, but knowing what she had done to Gemma, knowing how she had no remorse, that she practically bragged about it and was still allowed to step foot on the ice made her the ugliest woman in the world. No apology. No acknowledgement of wrongdoing.  Nothing.

"Want me to get Becky on her?" he asked, his jaw tight. 

"That sounds tempting, but I'll pass. She's not worth it."

“I ought to go over there and give her a piece of my mind,” Fergal said through clenched teeth.  

“Ferg.”

“I mean it.  She fucking injured you, Gemma.  What is she even doing here?”

“I don’t know, but please don’t.”

“This is your night.”

“Technically it’s Connor McDavid’s night.”

Fergal looked at her.  “You are the best god damn female hockey player of your generation.  Don’t you ever forget that.  She can show up here and try to get attention but nobody, nobody, not the least her, is ever going to change the fact that you’re the best.  Fuck, you’re probably better than half the guys here.”

Gemma couldn’t help but crack a smile.  “Thanks.”

“I’m stating the truth.  You’re the best Gemma.  That’s what’s going down in the record books.”

Gemma was tired as she answered questions for a room full of reporters the next morning.  There would later be a luncheon for everyone involved in the ceremony last night, especially for those who won awards.  Gemma had been invited and thought it was a nice way to cap off the weekend.  She wasn’t told about the press conference beforehand, but she participated nonetheless.

It was very different from the last press conference she held, to say the least.  At the last one, of course, she had to announce how she couldn’t play hockey again.  It was the hardest thing she ever had to do.  And to do it in front of a room full of people?  That made it even worse.  Things were different now, but she still felt slightly uncomfortable.  Usually when she did these, it was because of a good game or a win in an international tournament.  Now, instead of questions pertaining to her game, she was getting questions about her ‘retirement’.  She asked them specifically not to call it a retirement.  She wasn’t retired.  She was twenty-six, for heaven’s sake.  No twenty-six year old should be retired.  

“Ms. Fitzgerald, I’m from the Vancouver Sun.  I was wondering if you saw Amanda Robinson at the ceremony last night?”

Uncomfortable murmurs made their way through the room.  What was this douchebag trying to do?  “No, I didn’t see her.”

“Did you hear the remarks she made?” he asked again.

“No.”

“May I have permission to play the recording?” he asked, but barely waited for Gemma’s answer.  He pressed play and a reporter’s voice filled the air, asking about what Amanda thought about Gemma presenting the Hart Trophy.

“She looks good though.  I mean, I thought she was pregnant at first, but when I was told she wasn’t I figured her body just filled out,” Amanda’s voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard.  “I saw her still limping from her injury tonight, which is a shame because by now she should be walking fine.”

Gemma felt like her entire body was on fire.  She tried to maintain her composure, to not let the room full of press know how angry she was getting, but she rolled her eyes slightly.  It was the only action she actually wished got caught on camera.  She figured there was no more front to put up.  No more grace for the sake of Hockey Canada; no more polite attitude for the sake of her spot on the team.  

“Any response?” the reporter asked.  

“You can tell Amanda Robinson I’m still limping because it’s heavier to carry gold around the neck than silver.”

[spine-buster]

Chapter 19 - The Beginning and the End of Everything (Finn Balor)

A/N: I wrote the last scene while eating the last of a tub of ice cream, so you know…sorry if it sucks.

@wrestlewriting @thegenericluchadora @thewriterformerlytaggedas​ @fan-fiction-galore @anerdysouthernbelle @spot-of-bother @amaranthine-reign @baleesi @flnnbalor @smuppies @sarahmatthews7 @daintymissdevitt @newjapan @corey-renee @running-ropes @balorsomega @karleedaniels27 @kazuchika @ileana0300 @alexahood21 @imnobodiesbitch @fembxt @heelturn-timesten @kaitlynwwefan @50shadesofadamcolebaybay @50shadesofkennyomega @chasingeverybreakingwave @thyestean-feast @thecandicej @devittsbalor @sp00kylesley @danahart @sietefinns @kaydee-kayyyy @powerbombshell @swedish-strong-style @blondekel77 @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @nickysmum1909 @houndofjustice-imagines @wwesmutdonedirtcheap @wweximaginesxd @indywrestlinglover-life @mandi512 @kakakatey @ourscratcheddreams @sleeplessandcynical

“It’s going to be fun, I promise,” Fergal assured Gemma as he held her hand outside of the Performance Centre, both of them looking up at the giant WWE logo.  Like she had been outside of the skating ring a few weeks ago, she was nervous to step foot inside.  She knew she had told Fergal she wanted to see him back in the ring, but now, when faced with that reality, she was nervous.  Not so much for him, and not so much about everybody she was going to meet – it was for herself.  She didn’t want to cause any undue attention to him; she didn’t want to cause any embarrassment.  What embarrassment she would cause, she had no idea, but she knew it was a possibility.  It always was with her.

She squeezed his hand and looked over at him.  “I’m really excited to see you in the ring,” she said, completely sincere about it, too, despite her nerves.  

“I’m excited for you to see me,” Fergal said.  “Have you ever seen wrestling live before?”

“Never.”

“It’s a treat,” he smiled.  “I mean, this isn’t a live show or anything, but what goes on in this place is magic.”

Gemma couldn’t help but smile at his giddiness.  “Well, let’s not waste any more time, then.”

“C’mere,” he mumbled, pulling her closer to him and kissing her quickly.  Now that everything was ‘official’ he felt much more comfortable kissing her in random places and not just in the privacy of their homes.  It felt good to kiss her whenever and wherever he wanted.  “If you need a minute to yourself while you’re in there, just let me know, okay?  There’s a lounge you can go to, or even one of the medical rooms.”

“I think I’ll be okay,” she assured him.  “Just do me a favour and don’t worry about me while you’re in there.  Focus on what you need to be doing.  I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.”

He kissed her again quickly.  “Let’s go.”

Gemma had never been in the Performance Centre before, but from Fergal talking about it all the time (and, to a much lesser extent, Mandy and the other girls from Chas’s birthday) she felt like she already knew where everything was.  When he led her to the ring area, people training surrounded her.  Many of them stopped whatever they were doing and waved hello to Fergal, who waved back and joked with them to get back to work.  

Soon, a giant, burly man approached them, hugging Fergal tightly and patting him on the back a few times.  They exchanged a few quick words before Fergal turned back towards Gemma.  “Matt, this is Gemma Fitzgerald,” he introduced them.  “Gemma, this is Matt Bloom.  He’s one of the head trainers here, and he took me under his wing when I first got to Japan.”

Matt and Gemma exchanged a polite handshake and some pleasantries.  “It’s nice to finally meet you, Gemma,” Matt said politely.  “I’ve heard a lot about you from Fergal and Rami.”

“Good things, I hope.”

“Only the best things,” he smiled.

“I hope it’s okay that I’m here,” Gemma said.  “Fergal talked about his return to the ring and I really wanted to be able to see it…I haven’t seen him wrestle live before, and I’m sure seeing it in person isn’t the same as watching it on YouTube.”

“It’s perfectly fine that you’re here.  You’re in for a treat,” he looked towards Fergal.  “Why don’t you go put your stuff on, and meet us in ring seven.”

Fergal looked towards Gemma, who was already smiling at him.  “You good?” he asked.

“She’ll be safe with me,” Matt winked.  “We’re gonna talk about you, though, just so you know.”

Fergal snorted.  “Everything he says is a lie.  Don’t listen to a word he says.”

“I don’t know,” Gemma shrugged her shoulders playfully.  “I don’t think Matt has a lying bone in his body.”

“This girl get it,” Matt pointed at her, chuckling before slapping Fergal lightly on the shoulder.  Fergal, shaking his head, turned around and made his way towards the back where he would change.  Matt, in contrast, began to lead Gemma throughout the rings, stopping every so often to comment on someone’s work.  He seemed like a pretty popular and knowledgeable trainer, and everyone he interacted with listened intently to what he had to say.  Gemma never doubted his effectiveness – it was just nice to see, early on, how successful he really was at his role.   

“You’re the athlete that had to retire,” Matt mentioned casually as they finally arrived at ring seven.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“I’m very sorry that happened to you,” he said, and Gemma could feel the sincerity in his voice.  “Ferg mentioned you one day and I happened to look you up.  You are fantastic.  I mean I’m not the biggest fan of hockey but what I was able to see was spectacular.”

Gemma couldn’t help but blush.  The thought of this giant man sitting down in front of a computer, typing in her name, and watching her hockey videos made her feel warm inside.  “Thanks.  That means a lot.”

“What are the plans now?”

“Uhhh…I’m not completely sure yet,” Gemma admitted.  “I’m currently writing an article for Sports Illustrated about being a half-Arab female hockey player, but other than that there isn’t much, besides rehab.  I think after rehab everything will become a bit clearer.”

“When will that be?”

“August.  I’m there for a full year.  My new goal is to not have to need extra time.”

“Well, considering the extent of your injury, that would be miraculous,” Matt commented, looking impressed.  She was astonished that he knew about it – he must have read about it when he looked her up.  That he even remembered surprised her to the fullest.  “You look like you’re already there, anyway – or at least have just a little bit left to go.”

She smiled slightly.  She was happy her progress was visible to others.  “I kind of am, but I want to be able to get back on to the ice.  Not competitively, of course, but enough so that I can skate with my future children and not be in pain or anything.  Hockey…is still very important to me.”

“Well of course it is,” Matt said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.  “It’s been a huge part of your life for a long time.  I don’t think it will ever not be a big part of your life.  It’s like wrestling.  A lot of wrestlers, you know, they retire from in-ring work, but they really just assume another role within wrestling.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh sweetie,” Matt chuckled.  “Practically every trainer at this facility is a former pro-wrestler.  Most of our producers and road agents are former wrestlers.  The guys who run the wrestling schools, independent of this one, are former wrestlers,” he explained.  “There’s nobody who knows the ins and outs of the wrestling business better than a former wrestler.  Even me!  I’m a 20 year vet, retired, but here I am training the next generation.”

Gemma nodded her head at his words.  The situation he was explaining was, of course, similar with hockey.  Many former hockey players ended up becoming agents, broadcasters, coaches, or went into the head offices for managerial jobs.  The hockey industry protected their own.  But that was NHL, aka the big leagues, aka male hockey players.  The comfortable futures weren’t necessarily the same for women.  That’s what she needed to worry about.  

Before she got caught too much in her thoughts, she tried to keep on the subject at hand.  “What do you think Ferg’s gonna do when he retires?”

“That’s up to him,” he said diplomatically.  “Maybe he’ll retire on the beaches of Bray.  Maybe he’ll retire when he’s 75.  He’s always done what he wants to do, on his terms.  I don’t think that’ll change anytime soon.”

“What’s not gonna change anytime soon?” Fergal’s Irish accent interrupted the two.

They both spun around to see him dressed to go through drills.  Matt decided to answer the question.  “Whether or not you’ll ever have more than a hundred carbs a day.  Now get into the ring.”

Gemma sat on the sidelines in complete awe as she watched Fergal move fluidly throughout the ring.  He was right – it was a sort of magic that she didn’t quite understand until she saw it in person.  Matt was instructing Fergal on which moves to work through and asking a bunch of questions, but she could tell he was confident in what Fergal was doing.

“He’s definitely been coming here without me,” Gemma said to no one in particular.  

“Hmm?” Matt asked, hearing her.

“Ferg…he’s been back in the ring a while, hasn’t he?  That’s why he’s already so good?”

Matt chuckled to himself.  “No sweetie, he’s just that good.”

Fergal and Gemma had gone to lunch with Matt after he had finished his training session, and Gemma heard a bunch of stories about Fergal’s shenanigans in Japan, from when he arrived at 24 years old to just a few years ago when he decided to leave for the WWE.  When Fergal missed a bullet train and nearly missed one of first shows; when Fergal got food poisoning at a sponsor dinner but had to pretend nothing was wrong as to not offend the sponsor; when Fergal got so piss drunk one night Matt had to carry him back to his place bridal style.  It was a life well lived.  Fergal had done so much throughout his life and had gone through so many different experiences.  He had done in ten years what most people failed to do their entire lives.  All before her.  

Gemma thought about this as they kissed each other.  Fergal’s need to have his lips on Gemma’s at all times hadn’t stopped since the first time they kissed, save for the week they didn’t speak.  Now, lying on his bed with Gemma on top of him, she couldn’t keep her mind off of the stories Matt had told her at lunch, and how Fergal had experienced so much.

He seemed to know that something was on her mind because instead of increasing his pace and severity of the kisses, he was slowing down.  He bit at her lip playfully, causing her to smile.  “You alright?”

Gemma nodded her head, sliding across his body so she was lying by his side.  “You’re always kissing me, Fergal Devitt.”

He smiled.  “You’re my girlfriend now.  I can kiss you whenever I want.”

“You think you’ll ever stop?”

“No,” he deadpanned, leaning forward slightly to kiss her while she giggled.  When he pulled away, she was biting her lip, just staring at him.  “What’s on your mind, love?”

She brought her hand up and dragged her thumb along his bottom lip.  “Do you ever think about how there’s ten years between us?” she asked softly.  

Fergal wondered where she was coming from with the question.  “Not really, to be honest…”

“I don’t mean it like…whatever…” she shook her head quickly.  “I just mean, like…at lunch today, all those stories Matt was sharing.  You…you lived this entire life before you even met me, and it was so amazing.  You did all these amazing things and went to all these amazing places, and everything just sounded so cool.  And you were having the time of your life…”

“And…?”

“And now you’re here with me in a bed in Orlando --”

“Having the time of my life,” he interrupted.

Gemma couldn’t help but give him a facetious disapproving look.  “I just…sometimes I think it’s funny how life works out, you know?  You accomplished so much in those ten years.  I accomplished so much in those ten years, too.  You won all these titles, you got signed to WWE…I made national teams and I won a gold medal.  It’s all so…amazing.  I mean, the timeline of it is just insane to me.  We didn’t even know each other a year ago and now we kiss each other’s faces off every moment of the day.”

“It’s meant to be,” Fergal said, knowing that’s what Gemma wanted to hear.  Not that he didn’t believe it himself – he did completely.  There was a reason Gemma came into his life.  But he knew she wanted to hear those words.  He knew she wanted to hear their meeting and their relationship was some sort of divine intervention; something that would have happened in any world, in every universe, regardless of circumstance.  

He could see a smile growing on her face.  With a reaction like that, how could he think any different?  “You really think so?”

“I know so.  This is something special, don’t you think?”

He could see her cheeks flush red.  She only nodded her head, too happy to hear those words coming from his mouth.  She leaned forward to kiss him again, not wanting to speak anymore.  She had talked enough.  There were more important things to do now.  

She could tell Finn was eager by the way he kissed her, and by the way his hands slipped under her top in record time.  Her hands moved just as quickly, running themselves through his hair and gripping at the nape of his neck.  The higher his hands traveled, the higher her shirt lifted; soon, it was above her head, Fergal throwing it across the room.  

Gemma had exposed her body to Fergal before – at Cocoa Beach, and in Iceland, naturally – but this was so much more intimate, more sensual.  His touch gave her goosebumps and made her hairs stand on end.  His hands were wandering everywhere, feeling every inch of her, and when they came around to her front, her breath hitched in her throat.  

She had changed.  She knew she had changed, and she knew he knew she had changed.  Her body wasn’t the same as it was a year ago, six months ago, three months ago.  It had changed from what she was used to, from what her body was when she was an athlete.  At the end of the day, though, she was still getting used to the change.  But it was still her body.  At the end of the day, she still owned her body.  Nobody could take it – or its capabilities – away from her. At the end of the day, she was still in a bed with Fergal feeling her up.  

“Don’t be nervous,” he breathed out quickly, biting down on her bottom lip.  “You’re fucking beautiful Gemma.  Don’t think you’re not.”

A lot more touching, a lot more kissing.  Some unhooking, more pulling, one more article of clothing thrown across the room.  Quick kisses, long kisses; wet kisses, little bites; fingertips grazing, nails scratching.  Gemma didn’t think she’d ever been so turned on in her life.

Fergal had switched their positions, pinning Gemma under him as he kissed down her body, just as he had done on the couch weeks ago.  She felt ready to explode but he kept licking and kissing a path lower.

She grabbed at his hair to get his attention.  “No,” she said, shaking her head slightly.  

“What?” he asked, stunned she wouldn’t want him to go down on her.

“I need…I just need you inside me right now,” she panted.  She didn’t exactly want to go into the reasons why she didn’t want him to do that yet.  “I need to feel you.”

He smiled mischievously at her.  “Next time?”

“Next time.  I need to feel you, Ferg.”

Well, her wish was his command.  He came back up and kissed the tip of her nose.  “Lay on your side for me,” he said, doing so himself.  She did as she was told.  “Now give me your leg.”

She hesitated at first.  Her knee brace, albeit a small one, was still on, and she wanted to move as slow as possible just in case she got a jolt of pain again.  They looked each other directly in the eyes as she hooked her leg over his, feeling his hardened member against her thigh.  

He entered her slowly, considerately, allowing her to adjust to his size, knowing this hadn’t happened for her in a while.  To be fair, it hadn’t happened for him in a while either, and he was in a state of euphoria knowing that it was Gemma in his arms, Gemma that was looking him in the eye, Gemma whose body was moving so in sync with his.  He had wanted this for so long, had dreamt of this for so long.  He couldn’t take his eyes off her.  Despite their movements, and their panting, and the pleasure they were both feeling being tangled in each other’s bodies, they didn’t take their eyes off one another.  It was unlike any other intimate moment they had experienced before.  

His hand, which had been caressing her leg, slipped in between them to tease her.  At his touch he knew she wouldn’t last much longer.  As her pants became louder, her moans irregular, and her eyes closed slowly, he increased his speed, allowing her to go over the edge and scream out in ecstasy before he did the same.   

As she came down from her high, Gemma had a satisfied smile on her face.  When she finally looked Fergal in the eye again she leaned forward and kissed him.  Still inside her, and coming down from his own high, he tightened his grip on her; he wanted their bodies closer, though they were already flush against each other.  

When they pulled away from the kiss, Gemma licked her lips.  “I’ve waited so long for someone like you,” her voice was barely above a whisper.  “I’ve waited so long for you.”

“I’ve waited so long for you too,” he said, meaning it completely.  

“I’m sorry I took so long.”

Fergal cradled her face in his hand.  “We are both here now.  That’s all that matters.”

[spine-buster]

Chapter 18 - The Beginning and the End of Everything (Finn Balor)

@wrestlewriting @thegenericluchadora @fan-fiction-galore @anerdysouthernbelle @spot-of-bother @amaranthine-reign @baleesi@flnnbalor @smuppies @sarahmatthews7 @daintymissdevitt @newjapan@corey-renee @running-ropes @balorsomega @karleedaniels27 @kazuchika@ileana0300 @alexahood21 @imnobodiesbitch @fembxt @heelturn-timesten@kaitlynwwefan @50shadesofadamcolebaybay @50shadesofkennyomega @chasingeverybreakingwave @thyestean-feast @thecandicej @devittsbalor@sp00kylesley @danahart @sietefinns @kaydee-kayyyy@powerbombshell @swedish-strong-style @blondekel77 @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @nickysmum1909 @houndofjustice-imagines @wwesmutdonedirtcheap @wweximaginesxd @indywrestlinglover-life @mandi512 @kakakatey @ourscratcheddreams @sleeplessandcynical @thewriterformerlytaggedas

“Ferg!  FERG!  Hold up!” Matt Bloom’s voice roared out as he watched Fergal stumble around the ring, using improper footwork and getting up too slowly.  He had been doing it for the majority of the drills and the run-throughs of his move sets, and Matt was getting more annoyed by the minute.  “Cut it!  Stop!”

Fergal let out a yelp of frustration as he and Rami stopped their sequence.  “What?!” Fergal demanded of his mentor.

“The fuck’s wrong with you?!” Matt screamed, raising his hands to his sides.  He had no idea what had gotten into Fergal and why he was being such an ass.  He’d had a sour attitude the moment he stepped foot in the PC.  “You’re gonna injure Rami if you keep this shit up!”

Fergal looked over at Rami, who was huffing and puffing and stretching out his neck, trying not to look at Fergal.  Fergal shook his head.  “He’s fine,” he huffed, trying to absolve himself of any wrongdoing.  

Matt was beside himself.  He’d never seen Fergal like this, ever.  Not even when he was a young boy in the dojos in Japan.  “Hey Ferg, if you’re gonna have that attitude, do me a favour and fuck off,” he shouted angrily, pointing towards the set of doors.  “I’m fucking serious.  Get the fuck out of my ring.  Now.”

Fergal didn’t waste another moment, dropping and rolling out of the ring in frustration.  He heard Rami do the same but didn’t bother to look back at his friend as he made his way through the set of doors and into a break room, where the talent would sometimes hang out.  Luckily, it was empty, allowing Fergal to curse in frustration and hammer punch the countertop in the kitchen.  

Finally looking behind him, he saw Rami enter and close the door behind him.  The look on his face was not one of happiness.  Fergal knew he was disappointment more than angry.  Rami hardly ever got angry.  “What the fuck is going on?” Rami asked, in a much more pleasant voice than what his face portrayed.  

“Nothing’s going on.  Can’t a guy just have a bad day?”

“No no no.  You’re Fergal Devitt.  You don’t have bad days.  Or at least, when you do, you don’t act like this,” Rami said.  “What’s wrong?”

“I said nothing.”

“Did something happen with Gemma?”

Fergal seethed.  At his reaction to her name, Rami understood the root of the issue.  “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Ferg, tell me what happened.”

“Nothing.  Happened,” he stressed.  “Nothing happened.  That’s the whole fucking point,” he said on the couch, watching as Rami followed him and sat beside him.

“Explain.”

“I asked…I asked her when we were going to make things official, after Chas’s birthday.  And she said she didn’t think it should happen because I was going on the road again soon.  I told her it doesn’t matter what she thinks should happen, it’s what we want to happen.  And I asked her one more time if she wanted it to happen, and…she stayed…silent.”

“Fuck,” Rami muttered.  “Have you talked to her since?”

“No.”

Rami shook his head.  “Fuck fuck fuck.”

“The thing with Gemma is that she’s stuck in her head a lot,” Fergal felt the beginnings of a rant happening.  He liked to think he understood Gemma more than most.  “She thinks too much about everything.  She likes to be in control of everything, and I get that, I do.  But ever since she was told she couldn’t play hockey anymore, she’s felt like she’s lost control – of her life, her emotions, her career, everything.  So she tries to control what little she can.  The biggest thing she tries to control is people.  Because she knows if she can control them, they can’t hurt her like hockey did.  But she doesn’t seem to understand that the people she surrounds herself with don’t want to hurt her.  We are never going to hurt her.”

Rami let out a long sigh.  “This seems a lot more complicated than I thought it was.”

Fergal shook his head.  “You don’t even know the half of it.”

“For two people who’ve seen each other practically every day since last August, this must be killing you, though,” Rami said.  “I mean, it’s obvious that you care a lot about her, and that this is killing you.”

“Is it that obvious?” he asked sarcastically.  “Because it’s apparently not obvious to her.”

Rami nodded his head.  “I get it.  But she’s got a lot going on right now, Ferg.”

“Of course she is, but the one good thing that can happen in her life, she’s pushing away,” he complained.  “I don’t get it.  It’s not like this is all one-sided, that this is all me.”

“I don’t know what to say, Ferg.  I don’t know her as well as you do,” Rami said sympathetically.  “But the fact that you two haven’t talked in a week is unheard of.  This…this situation needs to be fixed.  It isn’t healthy for either of you.”

“You’re right,” Fergal nodded his head.  “But she needs to be the one to fix it.  She’s the one that got us into this mess, she’s the one who has to get us out.”

“Communication is a two-way street.”

“I’m not calling her.”

Rami face-palmed.  Fergal was being more stubborn than he anticipated.  With that type of attitude, Rami wondered if this would ever get resolved.  “That’s not a good way of looking at it.”

“If she can’t see that what she did was wrong, I can’t help her.  She’s gotta…learn?  Is learn even the right word here?  She’s gotta realize she can’t treat people that way.  She can’t control every situation how she wants to.  She can’t control every outcome of her life.  She has to learn how to deal with things not going her way.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Rami shook his head.  “I actually think she has learned.  She got the biggest shock of her life when she was told she couldn’t play hockey anymore.  That was her biggest learning experience – that things might not always work out the way she wants them to; that she did all this work, she dedicated her life to hockey, and it was taken away from her,” Rami tried to explain as articulately as possible.  “She’s scared, Ferg.  She’s scared shitless that she’s made all this progress with you by her side, that she’s done so much work to establish a friendship or a relationship with you, and she’s scared it might get taken away from her too.”

Rami’s words hung in the air like a heavy cloud.  He was right.  Gemma was acting out of fear – fear of having something else ripped away from her.  Fear of losing something else she loved.  If she pushed him away, it wouldn’t hurt as much; if she kept him close, it would eat her alive.  She was trying to control the situation because she didn’t want to be scared of its outcome; she was controlling the situation because she was fearful of what the future held, either way.  

It was Fergal’s turn to let out a heavy sigh and bury his head in his hands.  He felt Rami give him a pat on the back in support.  “What am I gonna do?”

“Talk to her, Ferg.  Talk to her.”

Gemma had been depressed all week.  She had lost much of her appetite and her sleeping became erratic – between the crying and the overthinking, she was a self-made mess.  She had been keeping up with her physiotherapy but half-assed everything; when she’d get home, she’d lie in bed and not do much else.  She hadn’t seen Fergal at the centre all week, and assumed he voluntarily chose to spend his days at the Performance Centre, in the ring, instead of with her.  She didn’t blame him.  She didn’t know if she’d be able to forgive herself for what happened last week, and she didn’t know if there would be an opportunity to fix it.  She wondered, too, even if it was fixed, if things would ever be the same between them.  She knew if she were Fergal, she wouldn’t forgive her.  She had caused too much pain at this point, and she wasn’t worth it.

Now was one of the rare occasions she left her bed.  She dragged herself into the kitchen, retrieving a frozen meal from her freezer that she popped into the microwave.  Looking down at her phone, she saw no new texts from Fergal, like she had been hoping all week.  Again, she didn’t blame him.  She was the one who put them into this situation; it should be her to get them out of it, right?  That’s how the world worked?  The only thing flashing across her screen was the last text message sent from Jane about four hours ago.

For the love of God, call him please.

Gemma had decided against it then.  What on earth could she possibly say to him to make him forgive her, she thought.  It was clear she was a mess.  It was clear she had no idea what she was doing with her life, no direction and no solutions to the problems that currently plagued her.  

Despite her feelings of helplessness, her fingers managed to find their way to his name in her phonebook, pressing dial.  The phone rang and rang until she got his voicemail.  She hung up.  She tried again.  And again.  And again. She couldn’t do this.  She couldn’t live with herself knowing the pain she caused him.  Without overthinking, for once, she grabbed her jean jacket and keys and opened her apartment door, leaving her microwave to beep in silence when the meal was finished.  She’d walk to his house if it meant she could speak to him and make things right.

She knocked hard once she had limped her way over to his apartment.  She’d gotten a few stares and polite nods along the way, but that didn’t concern her anymore.  The only thing on her mind was Fergal.  What she used to be so self-conscious about was now an afterthought.  

He opened the door, and she saw the look of confusion on his face before it turned to irritation.  She knew this was all unexpected.  Hell, she still didn’t know what the hell she was doing, or what she was going to do.  “Hello,” he said, his voice completely monotonous and devoid of any discernable emotion.

“Can I come in?” she asked, her voice small, knowing full well he could slam the door in his face at any moment.

She was shocked when, after a few moments of serious contemplation on his part, he moved so she could step in.  When both of her feet were on the front hall mat, he moved quickly so he wasn’t so near her, walking back in to his apartment with his back to her.  She slipped off her shoes and watched him for a few moments.  He looked like he didn’t care; that her showing up was a nuisance to him and his plans for the evening (which it probably was).  “H…How are you?”

His eyes finally met hers, giving her a bothered look.  “Could be better.”

“Yeah…” she nodded her head, looking away.  God, this was going to be harder than she thought.  She was going to fuck this up.  She was going to fuck this up royally.  “Um…we need to talk.”

Fergal shook his head.  “No.  We don’t need to talk.  You need to talk.”

“Right, yeah,” she looked down at the floor.  “I uh…I need to talk.  Right.  Where…where do I even begin?”

Fergal stayed silent.  Gemma realized she was going to have to do this all on her own.  Again, she didn’t blame him.  She really did need to explain herself.  “Okay…uh…maybe I should start by saying that I didn’t come here with a plan.  I didn’t come here expecting you to forgive me, or for us to like…I don’t know, be friends again.  I know you’re mad at me and I understand why you are.”

Fergal looked down at his feet.  “Why do you think I’m mad at you?”

“It’s not because I rejected you,” she answered him.  “I mean, it is because I rejected you but it wasn’t the action of rejecting you.  It was the reasoning behind it.”

“You’ve given it some thought, I see,” he said sarcastically.

“I have,” she nodded her head.  He was being cheeky with her.  He had every reason to be.  She just wished it didn’t make her so emotional.  “It’s all I’ve been thinking about this past week.  I’ve barely eaten, I’ve barely slept.  All I could think about was how much I hurt you.”

“Good,” Fergal couldn’t help but say.  “You’re finally seeing how much pain you can cause others.”

She knew she had caused him pain, but hearing him say it made her emotional.  “I do, I have,” she said, her voice cracking.  “I feel like from the first day we’ve met until now, all I’ve ever done is cause you pain.  And last week, when you said you wanted to be with me, I…” she sniffed, wiping the tears that had already fallen down her cheeks, “I couldn’t understand why you’d want to be with someone like me.”

She noticed his face soften a little bit at her words.  “Gemma…”

“We both know how much of a mess I am,” she continued.  “That’s the one thing that’s been consistent from August until now.  And you…you deserve the world, Fergal.  You deserve someone who isn’t so emotional, so angry…you don’t deserve someone like me.  And I can’t wrap my head around why you’d want a mess like me.”

She saw his Adam’s apple bob in his throat.  His cheeks flushed quickly and his eyes became red in almost an instant.  “Gemma, I’ve only ever been honest with you from the beginning…”

“I know you have, and I’m being honest with you now.  I don’t think I deserve you.  I don’t want to be the person bringing you down…I refuse to be that person.  And I feel that’s all I’m going to be to you.  I feel…I feel like a liability,” she finally admitted.

“No,” he said firmly, finally rushing towards her and embracing her in a strong hug.  “Don’t you ever – Gemma, I don’t ever want you thinking that.”

“I can’t help it,” she mumbled into his shoulder.  He felt her tears on his neck and pushed her away slightly to look her in the eye again.  “I have so many problems.  So many issues I need to work out, and I don’t want to drag you along with those.  You deserve to be happy.”

“I am happy when I’m with you,” he said firmly, not wanting to cast any doubt.  “God Gemma, can’t you see that?  You drive me nuts sometimes but I’m the happiest whenever I’m around you.”  She shook her head at his words, unable to believe them.  He wiped her tears with his thumbs and held her face in his hands.  “Gemma.  Please.  You have to listen to me.  You have to believe me.  I like you Gemma.  I like you for all the things you are and all the things you’re capable of doing.”

“I don’t feel like I’m capable of doing much, Ferg…” she whimpered.  “I can’t…I’m useless.  I can’t play hockey anymore.”

Fergal furrowed his eyebrows.  “I don’t see you as just a hockey player, Gemma.  Some jersey with with a number on the back and a giant maple leaf.  I see you as a human being.  A human being capable of so much.”  He knew he’d have to reiterate his point.  “I want this more than anything.  I want you.  I want all of you.”

He couldn’t hold it in any longer.  He dipped his head down and kissed her passionately, tasting her salty tears.  He didn’t let go of her, and his lips didn’t part from hers until he felt like what he was doing was hammering the point home.  

When he became breathless, he pulled away, but still stayed close enough to feel his lips graze hers as he spoke.  “Do you want to make this work?” he posed the same question to her as he did a week ago.

She nodded her head.

“Can I have all of you?” 

She took a deep breath.  “Yes.”

[spine-buster]

Chapter 15 - The Beginning and the End of Everything (Finn Balor)

Trigger warning: very slight mentions of self-harm and suicide.

@wrestlewriting @thegenericluchadora @thewriterformerlytaggedas @fan-fiction-galore @anerdysouthernbelle @spot-of-bother @amaranthine-reign @baleesi @flnnbalor @smuppies @sarahmatthews7 @daintymissdevitt @newjapan @running-ropes @balorsomega @karleedaniels27 @kazuchika @ileana0300 @alexahood21 @imnobodiesbitch @fembxt @heelturn-timesten @kaitlynwwefan @50shadesofadamcolebaybay @50shadesofkennyomega @chasingeverybreakingwave @thyestean-feast @thecandicej @devittsbalor @sp00kylesley @danahart @sietefinns @kaydee-kayyyy @powerbombshell @swedish-strong-style @blondekel77 @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @nickysmum1909 @houndofjustice-imagines @wwesmutdonedirtcheap @wweximaginesxd @indywrestlinglover-life @mandi512 @kakakatey

The month of January moved slowly but steadily.  Fergal kept at his physiotherapy schedule religiously, and Gemma was makes strides in hers.  Their usual rides together to and from the centre were a mix of chatty and quiet, much like before Gemma’s announcement.  However, this time around, there was no anger, no crying from that feeling of anger – it was replaced by her being apathetic, disinterested, disassociated.  The looming feeling of uneasiness about her future hung in the air constantly.  They didn’t bring it up much, the fact that she didn’t know exactly what she could work towards now that she couldn’t go back to hockey.  

Fergal tried to hang out with and be around her more often than usual.  Seeing as she still had no one in Florida to keep her company, he was her only outlet.  He’d try to bring her spirits up – they’d go for lunch or dinner, watch movies, go for walks around Lake Baldwin; sometimes he would be successful in lifting her spirits, other times he could see right through her and tell she was putting on a show.  He was scared for her, and he only admitted that to her in a way that barely scratched the surface for how much he was actually scared for her.  Was he worried she’d become depressed, even more so than she probably already was?  Yes, of course.  Was he worried she’d become completely disinterested in everything – her health, her well-being, her friendships, her relationships?  Absolutely; it was always a possibility for someone in her position.  Was he worried she might hurt herself?  Was he worried she’d do something…stupid?  He didn’t know what to think.

He hated the uneasiness and he hated how, despite how close they had become, he still wasn’t able to completely read her.  Yes, he was able to decipher most emotions now, and how she was feeling in most situations just by looking at her, but it wasn’t enough for him.  He wanted to know her wholly.  He wanted to be able to help her without her having to ask for it or act out first.  He wanted to be able to read her like a book; to crack the spine and open her fully.  It would have made his life so much easier.  There would have been so many more opportunities to help her, to understand her.

And then there was Rami.

Ever since Rami had moved to Orlando, every February he hosted a NXT skating party as a way for all the new recruits and other wrestlers to let loose, have some fun, and get to know each other better.  Fergal had learned about it his first year in and had great times at them ever since, even going so far as to make sure he was in Orlando for the annual event.  But with all of the recent drama, he had almost forgotten about it.  When Rami had sent him a reminder text, asking him if he was attending and if he would be bringing Gemma, Fergal’s mind went in to overdrive as to how he was going to approach the subject with her.  Should he do it delicately?  Should he just surprise her and bring her there?  Should he not even tell her about it at all and just go alone?  Rami would kill him, and so would Gemma, to be perfectly honest.  Plus, he could never do that to her.

He had no idea what he was going to do.

It was a while before he decided what to do – only two days before the actual skating party.  Out for coffee, he managed to catch her in a good mood, and thought there would be no better time to ask.  He knew if she was in a good mood, she’d be more likely to say yes – anybody would.  “Listen, can I talk to you about something real quick?” he asked as casually as he could.

“What about?”

“It’s about Rami.”

Gemma’s eyes went wife, her face flush with worry.  “Oh my God, what happened to Rami?” she asked, preparing herself for bad news.

“Oh no no – fuck – nothing’s wrong with Rami.  I started that completely wrong,” Fergal shook his head at himself.  He was such a tit.  “Every year, Rami hosts a skating party for all the NXT wrestlers s they get to know each other and have fun,” Fergal explained, noticing how Gemma blinked a few times at the mention of skating.  “Anyway, I go every year, because I love Rami, and I love the idea behind why he started it and continues to do it, and, well…he’s obviously invited you to come along,” he let the words hang in the air for a bit.  “And I’d really like you to come.”

“You would?”

“Of course I would,” Finn stressed.  As if he wouldn’t want her there.  “I know you can’t skate right now but I think it would still be nice for you to hang out with everyone.  I think…I don’t know…I think it might be good for you.”

Gemma mulled over Fergal’s words.  She looked away.  “Thanks for inviting me,” she began.  Fergal knew it.  He set himself up for a denial.  At least he tried; he could at least tell Rami he tried.  “I think you’re right.  It would be good for me.  I’ll come with you.”

Fergal practically had to do a double take.  “Wait…you’ll come?”

Gemma smirked.  “You thought I’d say no, didn’t you?”

“Kind of.”

Gemma shrugged her shoulders, a smile still on her face.  “I don’t blame you.  But I need to get out more, I think.”

“You’re making the right decision,” Fergal said.  “These things are super fun.  Everybody goes and has a blast.”

“Should I bring anything?”

He was happy that she was making the effort; that she was going to immerse herself in a situation where she could meet new people in an environment she hadn’t been in in a while.  He knew she hadn’t been to a rink in months, save for the arena for her retirement ceremony.  “I mean, I don’t think so, but I’ll text Rami.  Usually he orders in all the coffee and hot chocolate, but I don’t think he’ll pass up homemade goods.  What were you thinking?”

Gemma shrugged her shoulders.  “Just something simple.  Chocolate chip cookies or something.  When I was a kid, after every game I had, my mom would let me have a brownie.”

Fergal smiled.  “Then you should make brownies.”

Fergal could feel Gemma’s nervous energy the second she opened the door.  He had gone inside so he could help her carry out any trays of treats she had made, except he saw her scurrying about her apartment nervously, trying to remember everything she needed to bring.  There were two separate trays of homemade brownies.  There was her sweater in case she got cold.  She contemplated bringing her pair of skates to lend to someone in case they didn’t have a pair, but when Fergal said all that was taken care of at the rink, she put them back in her room.  The fact that she had a pair of her skates in her apartment this entire time felt like a stab to his heart. 

“You don’t have to be nervous, you know,” Fergal said as he stacked the trays of brownies on top of teach other and picked them up.  “Rami’s gonna be really happy to see you.”

“That’s like, what?  Two out of fifty or sixty people?” she asked sarcastically.  Seeing the look on his face, she took a deep breath.  “I’m trying to remain calm,” she clarified to him.  “It’s normal to be nervous for this sort of thing, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is.  I’m just telling you that you have no reason to be.”

“Easier said than done, Ferg.  But we should go.”

The drive to the skating rink was just under half an hour, and during that time, Gemma was eerily quiet.  She had been looking out the window for most of the ride, answering Fergal’s questions politely but curtly, seemingly lost in her own thoughts.  He knew she was probably trying to calm her nerves but a little voice at the back of his mind told him it was probably more.  She was hiding something from him and he wanted to know what.

When he pulled into the parking lot and drove into a spot, he looked over at her.  Her leg was jiggling uncontrollably as she looked out the window towards the building.  He put the car in park and took the keys out of the ignition.  “Hey…you alright?” he asked softly.

Gemma took a deep breath.  “Ferg, take me home.”

“What?”

“I can’t do this.”

“Gemma,” Fergal shifted in his seat to lean closer to her, grabbing her hand and holding it in his.  “Gemma, what’s wrong?  Tell me what’s wrong.”

She shook her head.  “I thought I’d be able to do it, but I can’t.  I can’t do it.”

“Yes you can.”

“There’s gonna be so many memories,” she said, her voice shaking.  “Oh god, this was such a bad idea.”

“Gemma, this wasn’t a bad idea.  It’ll be okay,” Fergal attempted to calm her down.  “Come on, talk to me.”

“You don’t know what it’s like, Fergal,” she continued.  “I can’t…I’m not going to be able to go in there without everything coming back.  Every drill I’ve ever worked on, every practice, every game, everything that I ever worked for that led me here, unable to another fucking game ever again.”

“Listen to me,” Fergal gripped her hand tighter.  “All that work was not for nothing.  You can do this, Gemma.  I know you can.”

“It’s going to be so hard,” she gulped.

“I know it will be.  I know,” he nodded his head.  Without thinking, he brought his other hand up to wipe a tear from her cheek.  She grabbed his hand and kept it cupped on her face.  “But I know you can do it, Gemma.”

“I don’t think I can, Ferg,” she shook her head.

“I know you can,” Fergal said firmly.  “Gemma, you’re the strongest fucking person I know.  I know you can do this.  I know you can go in there.”

Gemma took a few deep breaths, trying to take in what Fergal was telling her.  “You don’t…you don’t think people will ask --”

“No.  We’re all athletes, Gemma,” Fergal cut her off.  “When they see your brace they’ll know and won’t ask questions.”  She nodded her head at his reassurance.  “Besides, what about all those brownies you made?” he asked, trying to make her smile.

He succeeded, with the smallest of smiles appearing on her face.  “I’d take them back home and eat them all myself,” she deadpanned.  “You know I’d be able to do it, too.”

He smiled back at her, unable to keep the grin off his face.  He rubbed his thumb across her cheek gently.  “You wanna go inside?”

She thought about it for a second before nodding her head gently.  “You’ll be with me, right?”

“I’ll be wherever you want me to be.”

They got out of the car together, Fergal opening the back door to retrieve the trays of brownies while Gemma stared at the building, psyching herself up.  As he approached her from behind, he balanced the trays on one hand and grabbed her hand with the other, giving her a reassuring squeeze.  He could feel her body shaking as they walked towards the entrance slowly.  Gemma even stopped a few times, taking a few deep breaths and listening to reassuring words from Fergal before she would continue.  She opened the door, unwilling to let go of Fergal’s hand.  

As they were about to make their way into the skating rink area, past the mezzanine, Gemma stopped again.  She was able to see the rink boards through the glass panels on the door.  Every so often, she’d see heads with knit hats on them gliding around.  There was a faint sound of voices, and even some screams.  

“Hey,” Fergal said softly, squeezing her hand.  “You can do this.”

She wasn’t so sure.  Her feet felt like cement.  “You always believe in me so much,” she said.  “Why?”

Fergal shrugged his shoulders.  “Because you give me reason to.”

God.  He was saying things like that and holding her hand, expecting her not to blush or swoon?  Impossible.  She gave him a tight-lipped smile.  “I don’t know how…or why I do.”

“You just do,” Fergal said.  “You underestimate yourself, Gemma.  I’m not saying you’re the strongest person I know as a cliché.  You really are one of the strongest people I know.”

She felt like she was about to cry again.  Between looking at Fergal and looking at the rink, she was going to become a ball of tears at any moment.  “Well, you’re the strongest person I know for putting up with me.  I still don’t know how or why you do it.”

Fergal remembered back to the first time Gemma asked him why he hung out with her if she was such a rigid and emotional bitch.  Back then, he told her he liked her, and that much was true.  He did like her.  And now?  He liked her even more.  Despite everything telling him not to, he did.  

“Let’s go Ferg.  Before I have time to change my mind,” Gemma’s words interrupted his thoughts.  She led him through the door, the cold air hitting him quickly.

To their right they immediately saw Rami, who was opening a box of donuts on the table with the coffee and hot chocolate.  It was as if he immediately felt their presence, because they didn’t have to look at him too long before he turned around.  “HEY!” he exclaimed, a giant smile overtaking his face.  “You guys made it!”

“Yeah, sorry we’re a bit late,” Fergal said, noticing Rami look down at their hands.  “Gemma made some brownies.”

“You did?!” Rami exclaimed.  “Aw Gemma, you’re the best!”

“I figured everyone would enjoy a good homemade brownie after skating,” she smiled.  

“Over some coffee and hot chocolate?  You bet,” Rami said as Fergal laid the trays on the table, right next to the donuts, taking off the cling wrap covers.  “Ferg, you need to put on a pair of skates right now.”

“Now?” “Right now,” Rami repeated.  He looked back at Gemma.  “Did Fergal tell you the number of times he fell flat on his ass last year?”

Gemma giggled.  Seeing the cool, calm, and collected Fergal Devitt falling would be a sight to behold.  “He didn’t.”

“I lost count somewhere around thirty-seven,” Rami winked.  “Let’s just say he’s not as graceful on the ice as he is in the ring.”

“Will you shut it?” Fergal quipped, throwing the balled up cling wrap at Rami.  

“Where’s his skates, then?” Gemma asked Rami.  “I’ve gotta see this for myself.”

“He’s gotta get his size over there,” Rami motioned to the back of the room where an attendant was handing out skates.  “You think you can put them on him while I take care of this?  I can carry you over to the penalty box to watch everyone when I’m done, if that’s cool with you.”

Fergal looked towards Gemma, seeing her smile.  “Yeah, that sounds great.  Thanks Rami.”

Fergal couldn’t have asked for a better day.  Rami had snapped a picture of them as Gemma was lacing up Fergal’s skates like he was a kid, uploading it to Twitter with some witty caption.  Gemma seemed to be having a great time, despite having to sit in the penalty box for the duration of the day.  Despite this, she had a smile on her face for what seemed like the entire time, and – much to Fergal’s surprise – especially when someone would skate up and strike up a conversation with her, particularly any of the girls.  She made Tommaso her personal slave who fetched her coffee and donuts, and she took a slew of selfies with Nhooph and Mandy.  

After a while Fergal skated up to the penalty box.  Mandy was hanging around talking to Gemma, but when she saw Fergal she skated away, telling Gemma they’d talk more later.  He almost fell opening the door and stepping into the penalty box, which caused Gemma to snort and laugh until he was sitting down on the bench.  “You love to laugh at my misfortune, don’t you?”

“I can’t help it,” she giggled.  “An Irishman attempting to skate is my weakness.  What can I say?”

Fergal couldn’t help but smile.  “You’re my weakness, you know that?”

He knew he would make her blush with that statement.  She looked away from him briefly before meeting his eyes again.  “You know before?  In the car?  When I was freaking out?”

“Yeah.”

“What would you have done if I didn’t let up?  Like if I kept demanding you take me home?”

“I don’t know.  I just would have tried to calm you down, I guess.  I would have tried to make you feel as comfortable as possible.”

Gemma looked down between them, biting her lip.  She reached across the short space between them and placed her hand over his.  “I don’t…I don’t know if you know this, Ferg…but you’ve got this, like, aura about you.  I feel like whenever I’m with you I’m not this crazy, fucked up person.  I feel so…calm…and I feel so…I don’t know, put together?  Like I don’t feel like I’m in pieces around you.  I feel whole.  As whole as I can be right now.  I don’t think you’ll ever know how much I appreciate that.”

Without saying another word he leaned forward and kissed her.  A shiver ran up his spine upon the realization that she was responding, which meant she didn’t want him to stop, which mean she liked what he did, or at least accepted it, or – God, he was already fucking overthinking this.  Her lips tasted like the remnants of hot chocolate; he assumed his tasted like one of her brownies.  He carefully put one of his hands on her thigh before opening his mouth wider, slipping his tongue along the bottom of her lip delicately.

He completely forgot they were in a public place, surrounded by people, until he heard Rami’s skates scratching the ice and his voice howl, “Somebody’s gonna get a zam-boooonnnneeeerrrrr!” as he skated past the penalty box at lightning speed.  Gemma broke away at that point, trying to suppress her giggle as she looked away in embarrassment, resting her head on Fergal’s shoulder.  Fergal gave Rami the middle finger, which Rami pretended to catch and store in his heart, much to Fergal’s amusement.

When Fergal looked back down at Gemma, a shy smile had taken over her face.  The only thing on his mind now was when he’d be able to kiss her again.

[spine-buster]

Chapter 17 - The Beginning and the End of Everything (Finn Balor)

@wrestlewriting @thegenericluchadora @thewriterformerlytaggedas @fan-fiction-galore @anerdysouthernbelle @spot-of-bother @amaranthine-reign @baleesi @flnnbalor @smuppies @sarahmatthews7 @daintymissdevitt @newjapan @corey-renee @running-ropes @balorsomega @karleedaniels27 @kazuchika @ileana0300 @alexahood21 @imnobodiesbitch @fembxt @heelturn-timesten @kaitlynwwefan @50shadesofadamcolebaybay @50shadesofkennyomega @chasingeverybreakingwave @thyestean-feast @thecandicej @devittsbalor @sp00kylesley @danahart @sietefinns @kaydee-kayyyy @powerbombshell @swedish-strong-style @blondekel77 @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @nickysmum1909 @houndofjustice-imagines @wwesmutdonedirtcheap @wweximaginesxd @indywrestlinglover-life @mandi512 @kakakatey @ourscratcheddreams @sleeplessandcynical

Gemma was on her third reapplication of her lip-gloss by the time she shuffled into Fergal’s car due to his incessant need to have his lips attached to her at all times.  He had picked her up at her apartment and they seemed to have already decided he was going to end his night there, too.  One of his friends Chas – who, he explained, was Chad Gable on TV – was having his birthday party at a bar that doubled as a karaoke bar on Saturday nights.  Fergal was going and had decided to bring Gemma; Rami was going to be there, and he wanted to start to introduce Gemma to more of his friends so she would be more comfortable around them as people and as athletes.  Chas, she was told, was also an Olympian, though he didn’t make it to medal rounds.

Fergal could tell Gemma was nervous as he drove through the streets, but when he reached across the console and held her hand in his, she gave him a sincere smile and an appreciative squeeze.  It wasn’t a long drive to the bar, and Fergal decided to park closer to the entrance for Gemma’s sake.

Almost immediately as they walked through the door, they heard a high-pitched scream.  Mandy, one of the girls Gemma had gotten along with at Rami’s skating party, ran towards them with her arms extended, singing Gemma’s name as she engulfed her in a hug.  

“It’s so good to see you again!” Mandy exclaimed as she grabbed Gemma’s hand.  “Here, come with me.  We’re over in our own little corner.”

“Thanks,” Gemma smiled, tugging at Fergal with her free hand so he would follow them.  “It’s really nice to see you too.  How’s training been going for you?”

Mandy flipped her hair glamorously to look back at Gemma.  “It’s been great!  You should really come by with Fergal one of these days!  God knows we need a little more girl power at the PC.”

At Mandy’s hair flip, Gemma could really see and take in just how beautiful she was.  Her long blonde hair and beautiful round eyes accentuated her facial features – not to mention she had a body to die for, and was currently showing it off in a flowing, off the shoulder crop top and some tight blue jeans.  When they arrived to where everybody was already hanging out, snacks and appetizers already spread out across the table, Gemma caught the attention of Nhooph, who greeted her as enthusiastically as Mandy did.  Cassie and Jessica, friends since high school, tapped Chas on the shoulder so he could greet his new guests.

“Fergalicious!  My man!” Chas was smiling from ear to ear as he hugged Fergal.  “Long time no see!  I’m so happy you’re here, man!”

“Yeah, me too,” Fergal smiled as he looked briefly at Gemma.  “Chas, this is my friend Gemma – we’ve been rehabbing together.”

Chas looked directly at Gemma and smiled.  “It’s really nice to meet you.  Thanks for coming to my birthday even though you don’t know me and you’ll have to put up with my awful singing later.”

Fergal leaned into Gemma, pretending like he was going in for a whisper.  “If you can believe it, this is the fellow Olympian I was telling you about.”

Chas perked up when he realized Fergal had said ‘fellow’.  “You were in the Olympics too?  What sport?”

“Ice hockey,” Gemma replied, smiling.  “Team Canada.  Gold medalists at Sochi.”

“Siiiiiick!” Chas exclaimed.  “I didn’t even make it to medal rounds!  Man that’s so cool!”

“Yeah, it was pretty amazing.  Now I’m stuck with this one over here,” Gemma nodded her head towards Fergal.  “Can’t understand a word he says with that accent.”

Fergal sneered at her playfully while Chas laughed out loud.  “Hey now,” Fergal warned.  “You watch your mouth.  I’m your ride.”

“Aw man, I counted my lucky stars when Fergal and I were at the PC together,” Chas said.  “This guy’s legit, man.  I heard you got back in the ring not too long ago.”

“Yeah, just about two or three weeks ago now.”

“You know what that means,” Chas wiggled his eyebrows playfully.  “You’re gonna be back on the road soon!  Back on the never-ending grind!”

“Crossing my fingers.”

“When do you think it’ll be?” Chas asked.

Fergal shrugged his shoulders.  “Probably after Wrestlemania.  I can’t really be put in any storyline right now without it being awkward so they’re thinking of having me come back the Raw after ‘mania.”

“Biggest show of the year, sounds about right to me for Finn Balor,” Chas smiled.  He looked over at Gemma.  “I bet you’ll miss the accent when he’s gone.”

Gemma was trying to keep a smile on her face, but all this talk about Fergal leaving for the road again was putting her on edge.  She hadn’t really given it much thought, to be perfectly honest, the entire time they had been friends, despite hearing from Fergal how gruelling a schedule it was.  It made her realize that she was currently living in utopia where she saw Fergal every day, was able to talk with him, rehab with him, drive with him, eat with him, kiss him.  But what would happen when all that was over?  What would happen when he went back on the road and she was stuck in Orlando rehabbing by herself, taking an Uber by herself, eating by herself?  What would happen to her as a person?  What would happen to her mind?

What would happen to them?

A shiver quickly ran up her spine as she caught a quick glance of him laughing at something Chas had said; by this point she wasn’t paying attention to the conversation anymore and was only focused on the inevitable future of Fergal leaving and only being back in Orlando once a week, if that.  She didn’t even factor in autograph signings he might have, or appearances he might make at Wizard Worlds or ComicCons that would keep him away from Orlando longer.  She didn’t even factor in overseas tours to the UK and Europe and Japan where he’d be gone weeks at a time.  She didn’t even factor in --

“Hey Gemma, what song do you want to sing?” Mandy’s voice intervened before her thoughts could induce her into an anxiety attack.  She had a clipboard and everything, ready to write her name down.  

Gemma wasn’t in the mood to sing anymore.  She never was in the first place – she wasn’t one for karaoke – but now she really didn’t want to sing.  “Uhh…I don’t…I’m not gonna sing, I don’t think,” she stuttered out.  “I’m not much of a singer.”

“Well, none of us are singers,” Mandy giggled.

“No, it’s not that.  I don’t like…I mean I get nervous…”

“Oh, okay, that’s totally fine,” Mandy smiled.  It was that easy.  Gemma almost wanted to hug her for how simple it was and the fact that Mandy didn’t pressure her into doing it.  “I’m sure Cassie will have no problem going twice…hell, even three times.  That girl thinks she’s Celine Dion -- RAMI!  Hey!”

Gemma looked behind her to see Rami saluting everybody before hugging Mandy and turning to hug Chas.  He hugged Gemma quickly before Mandy grabbed hold of her hand.  “Come sit.  Who wants to hear what the boys have to say when there’s so many better things to talk about with the girls,” she urged, leading Gemma away from Fergal and toward the table to sit beside Cassie.

“Want one?” Cassie smiled, pushing a basket full of mozzarella sticks towards Gemma while finishing one herself.

Gemma looked at Cassie, beautiful and svelte in her spaghetti strap top, her hair cascading down in loose waves; at Jessica, her raven hair in a high ponytail and barely a smidge of makeup on her flawless face; at Nhooph, her almond eyes and caramel hair what every girl dreamed of having.  She couldn’t believe that they had taken such a liking to her so quickly.  Bum-kneed, shorthaired, untoned, temperamental Gemma.  

“Oh, no thanks.  Fergal and I already ate.”

“What are we eating, boys?  I’m starving,” Fergal said aloud to both Chas and Rami.  He saw the girls munching on some mozzarella sticks and wanted some of the same.  But he knew the girls wouldn’t let up on the food, which meant the boys had to order their own spread.

“Before we get food we need to clear something up,” Rami said.  “What’s going on between you and Gemma?”

“Yeah man!  She’s really cute,” Chas piped in.  “Maybe we’ll get some nachos.”

“I mean, you saw us kissing at the skating party.”

“Exactly.  So what’s happened since then?” Rami asked.

Fergal shrugged his shoulders.  “More kissing.”

“That’s it?”

“For now.”

“Well why hasn’t anything else happened?”

Fergal shrugged his shoulders again.  “Too busy.”

“Too busy with what?”

“Kissing.”

Chas snorted while Rami rolled his eyes.  “Maybe you should use your mouth for something other than kissing one of these days.  Seriously dude, you better get going on that.”

“I mean…I think it’s pretty clear there’s something going on.  I know it, she knows it,” Fergal explained.  “All we really need to do is have ‘the talk’ that makes it official, but that’s just a formality at this point.  It’s not like either of us are seeing other people.”

“Just…make sure you make it official,” Rami said.  

“You said you met her in rehab?  So you’ve known her since August?” Chas piped in.  Fergal nodded his head.  “So when did you start to like her?”

Could Fergal pinpoint a specific moment?  Probably not.  It was definitely more of an amalgamation of things – a build up to the feeling.  He thought back to some stand-out moments: when she confessed to him that she was seeing a therapist; that night he invited her over for pizza; that day with Rami when he saw her smile genuinely for the first time while talking about hockey.  The trip to Iceland, Ireland, and England was a definite big one; the conversation in the hot springs about being destined to meet each other; seeing her laugh with his dad and hold baby Niamh.  “I don’t know.  It kind of just…happened.”

Chas smirked.  “But you’re happy it did, aren’t you?”

Fergal nodded his head.

Gemma had had a great time as Chas’s birthday.  His singing was awful, but the group did pick some amazing songs to sing (Mandy, who had chosen ‘Man, I Feel Like a Woman’ by Shania Twain, got the girls rowdy and screaming), which had everybody laughing and going for multiple rounds.  She and Fergal stayed back, refusing to go up on stage despite a progressively drunken Chas demanding that they do – or that at least Fergal do so.  Gemma couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much fun watching other people.  It had been so long since she’d been out in this type of setting that she had almost forgotten how good it felt to laugh until she cried, to scream and yell and throw her hands up in excitement and jubilation, to dance in her seat to the beat of a song.  

It was late when they decided to leave and drive back to Gemma’s apartment.  They hadn’t kissed the entire night, not even when they were in the darkness of the car, and Gemma knew Fergal was itching to.  He had gotten his fill before they left but that apparently wasn’t enough.  It still bewildered her, in a way, that he wanted to be kissing her.  Unfortunately, she couldn’t keep her mind off of their earlier conversation with Chas, about how Fergal would be going back on the road soon.  She knew it was inevitable now that he was back in the ring.  But how soon was ‘soon’?  How much longer did she have left with him?

Her biggest fear was that he’d leave and she wouldn’t be ready.  That it would be abrupt, with no transition, leaving her to feel anger and helplessness.  That it would regress her.  

She thought about these things and these things only, her stomach in knots as they pulled up to the curb outside her apartment.  Without a word Fergal parked and they exited the car, walking together towards her front door.  She knew what he’d think would happen when they walked in the door – earlier in the night, she thought the same thing, but now she wasn’t so sure.  Now, she was too stuck in her mind to think of anything else.

She turned on her front and kitchen lights before setting her keys down on the counter.  Finn followed behind her, albeit not closely, watching her every move.  When she finished fiddling with some things, and looked towards him, he took a step towards her.  His eyes weren’t glazed over, but they weren’t empty, either.  There was something in them she couldn’t see; something in them she didn’t quite understand yet. 

He kissed her, and she let him.  It was soft, like most of Fergal’s beginning kisses, but he worked up to something more, eventually teasing her bottom lip with his tongue.  Standing in the middle of her kitchen, Gemma thought an equal part that they should stop this, an equal part that she wanted him to lift her on to the counter so she could wrap her legs around him.  

It was hard for her to think straight with Fergal’s tongue down her throat.  She was turned on but hesitant, accepting of his kisses but wanting to push him away.  She couldn’t let things get too far before her left.  She couldn’t hurt herself like that.

When Fergal moved on her mouth and started kissing along her jawline, she bit her lip.  She shouldn’t be doing this.  She really shouldn’t be doing this.  She leaned her head back, giving Fergal more access to her neck, and he began placing wet, open mouth kisses everywhere, dragging his lips along her skin sensually.  

When that action didn’t garner a moan from her, Fergal became a little bit sceptical.  Usually, that was all he needed to do.  He wondered if she was just tired, or if she wasn’t feeling it as much since they were standing in the middle of her kitchen and not lying down on a couch or bed.  He stopped for a moment, bringing his head back up, giving her a look filled with a mix adoration and lust.

She bit her bottom lip.  “You’ve gotta stop looking at me like that,” she whispered.

“I can’t help it.”

“Yes you can.  Just look the other way.”

Fergal smiled at her attempt at humour.  He looked down at her lips quickly before looking at her in the eyes again.  “When are we gonna make this official?”

Gemma stays silent.  She kept looking at him, and as she did, he could see the colour drain from her face.  He waited a few moments longer, but she still said nothing.  That rubbed Fergal the wrong way. “What is it?”

Gemma’s eyes looked every way except forward, to the man standing in front of her.  “I don’t know…if anything should…happen…”

Now the colour drained from Fergal’s face.  He removed his hands from her waist and took a small step back so he wasn’t so close to her face.  “What?”

Gemma sighed.  “Ferg…”

“Explain.”

She didn’t think she needed to explain, but apparently he needed answers.  Was the fact that he was leaving soon so completely lost on him that he really didn’t know why she said what she said?  “Ferg…you’re gonna be leaving soon.”

“So?”

“So?  So you won’t…be here anymore.  You’ll be all over this country and all over the world while I’m still here until August.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” he asked.

Gemma couldn’t believe the question.  “What’s that got to do with anything?  I’ve spent the last seven months with you almost every fucking day…and now you’re just going to be…gone!” her voice raised.  “Do you not see how that’s going to change things?”

“Things will only change if you let them change,” Fergal said.  

“Things will change, Fergal,” Gemma said sternly.  “I don’t know what kind of fantasy world you’re living in, or think we’re going to live in, but you not being here all the time is going to make things different.  Especially for me.  I’m not going to have someone to talk to all the time.  I’m not going to have you around.”

“Gemma, people have worked through long-distance relationships before.”

“Yeah, but not with me,” she objected.  “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m pretty fucked up.  I’ve got a lot of issues I still have to work through.  And I don’t exactly want to spring all those issues on you while you’re working and traveling and doing all these sorts of charity events.  I don’t want you to have to deal with me.”

“I don’t deal with you Gemma, we’ve fucking been over this,” he said, his voice raising and getting angrier.  “You’re just thinking of every excuse in the book to throw at me.  In case you don’t remember, I was there dealing with your rock bottom.  Not Jane, not your parents, not your coach or your other teammates – me.  I was the one on the front lines.  I was the one taking care of you.  I was the one who held you when you couldn’t stop crying.  So you saying you don’t want me to deal with the next stage of your progress is complete and utter bullshit and you know it.”

“What if it’s not a stage of progress, hmm?” she demanded.

“You’re an eternal pessimist, you know that?  Why can’t you just be happy for yourself?!  Why can’t you see that what we have is strong and resilient and able to withstand whatever comes its way?”

Gemma started shaking her head vehemently the second he accused her of being an eternal pessimist.  Her reaction to it told him she knew he was right.  “You…I can’t…I can’t deal with you when you’re like this.  When you always think your right.  Things won’t always work out…don’t always work out, especially when it involves me,” she said.  “I don’t think anything should happen.”

Fergal took a step towards her again, close to her face as if he was going to kiss her.  “It doesn’t matter what you think should happen, it’s what you, we, want to happen,” he said in a low voice, for maximum effect.  “When you want something, when you know something is right, you find ways to make it work.  Do you want to make it work?”

Gemma stayed silent.  The longer Fergal looked at her, the longer she could see tears start to well in his eyes.  She felt a tightness in her chest when she saw the moment he realized she wasn’t going to say anything.  He looked down at the floor, away from her, ashamed of himself.  

It was only after Fergal barged out of the apartment, leaving without a word, that Gemma started crying, almost to the point of hyperventilating, realizing exactly what she had just done.  

[spine-buster]

Chapter 16 - The Beginning and the End of Everything (Finn Balor)

@wrestlewriting @thegenericluchadora @thewriterformerlytaggedas @fan-fiction-galore @anerdysouthernbelle @spot-of-bother @amaranthine-reign @baleesi @flnnbalor @smuppies @sarahmatthews7 @daintymissdevitt @newjapan @corey-renee @running-ropes @balorsomega @karleedaniels27 @kazuchika @ileana0300 @alexahood21 @imnobodiesbitch @fembxt @heelturn-timesten @kaitlynwwefan @50shadesofadamcolebaybay @50shadesofkennyomega @chasingeverybreakingwave @thyestean-feast @thecandicej @devittsbalor @sp00kylesley @danahart @sietefinns @kaydee-kayyyy @powerbombshell @swedish-strong-style @blondekel77 @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @nickysmum1909 @houndofjustice-imagines @wwesmutdonedirtcheap @wweximaginesxd @indywrestlinglover-life @mandi512 @kakakatey @ourscratcheddreams

Fergal and Gemma had been doing a lot of kissing lately.  

Light kisses, passionate kisses, kisses on the forehead and hand, kisses that were ordinary and kisses that were extraordinary.  Ever since the kiss in the penalty box at Rami’s skating party, Gemma had been on a different type of cloud nine.  She didn’t want to attribute her newfound happiness to Fergal completely, but he was playing a big role in making her feel normal again; making her feel like she could still live a happy and fulfilling life outside of hockey.  The traits that she, at one time, belittled him for, all those months ago – always smiling, always joking, being so happy-go-lucky it hurt – these traits she wanted to see now more than ever.  

Nothing physical was ever shown in public – at restaurants for lunch, at cafés for coffee, at the physio centre, especially the physio centre – but the second they were in his car, or in either of their apartments, it was all hands (and lips) on deck.  Fergal’s lips on hers, his hands combing through her short hair; her hands grabbing at hers just so she could feel his skin, her soft intakes of breath at the still-surprise of it all.  It was beautiful and crazy and breathtaking and scary all at once.  It was personal, between them, with no outside interference, no outside interaction, no outside world to worry Gemma about anything and everything.

The thing that was currently keeping her mind off of anything and everything was the feel of his lips against hers; how his beard tickled her skin and sent shivers down her spine; how his large hands lost themselves underneath her clothes and grazed along her body, eagerly feeling every curve and valley, every muscle and battle scar.  The best massage in the world was no competition for Fergal’s hands.  Today, it started in the morning with kisses in the car, and continued after physio when they got back in and Fergal suggested they go to his place for lunch.  He clearly had other plans for lunch.  The second she sat down on the couch he was beside her, and not ten seconds later he had his hand around her neck pulling her to him.  His lips were like the Florida sun; she imagined hers to be the clouds.

She hated that she couldn’t straddle him on the couch but Fergal made do.  He eventually moved her so that she was pinned underneath him, propping himself above her.  The only thing she could taste was him as they continued to make out like teenagers on his couch.  The kisses he placed on her lips, along her jawline, and up to her ear were soft and quick, but then his tongue darted out and traced a path down her neck, over her clavicle, and between her excruciatingly non-existent cleavage that elicited her first moan.  She looked down to see he had a wicked smile on his face.  Suddenly his hands were at the waistband of her tights, playing with the hem, which got another moan out of her.  It had been so long since she had been touched; so long since the last time she had been kissed.  Teasing her, his hand moved to the back of her thigh, moving to lift her leg so she could wrap it around him.  But his movements were too quick, too eager, and in one swift moment a jolt of intense pain hit Gemma’s knee and she let out a scared yelp.  

Fergal immediately stopped all movement, his hand leaping off of the back of her thigh in fright.  “Holy fuck,” he breathed out, looking down at her leg.  “Fuck, are you okay?”

She winced in pain but managed to nod her head.  “I’m good, I’m good.” “Seriously Gemma…fuck,” Fergal said as he moved off of her.  “Are you okay?  Where did I hurt you?”

“You didn’t hurt me.  It’s just my fucking knee,” she said as she watched him lean back on his knees.  “It was just…too quick, I think.  It’s okay,” she tried to play it off but her attempt was futile.  She was in pain and there was no way to tiptoe around it.  

“Fuck, I’m so fucking sorry,” Fergal said, shaking his head at his stupidity.  He just had to think with his penis and not his head.  He should have known better.  He should have known this could have happened, given she was trapped under him – he thought at least that would be more comfortable.  He should have known the sudden movement could have hurt her and--  

“It’s not your fault, Ferg,” she stressed, wishing only that he would be back on top of her and have his tongue all over her skin.  After taking a few deep breaths and closing her eyes, all while Fergal watched her, the pain subsided, for the most part.  She’d have to be more careful in the future.  “Well, that ruined the mood, don’t you think?” 

Fergal couldn’t help but smile as he ran his fingers through his hair.  “I’ll say.  I’m scared I tore your ACL again.”

“I’m not going to snap in half.  I’m not a twig.”

“I know, it’s just that I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did hurt it in any way,” he said, getting up off the couch, signalling to Gemma the unfortunate end of their long-but-still-too-short-to-her make-out session.  She took a deep breath instead of asking him why he was leaving her lying down on the couch all hot and bothered.  Clearly he was not in the mood anymore.  “You could have told me you were uncomfortable.”

“I wasn’t uncomfortable,” she said, feeling like she needed to reiterate ten different ways in twenty different languages that what just happened wasn’t his fault.  He was up at this point, walking the short distance over to his kitchen to open his fridge and grab a bottle of water.  She took the opportunity to lift herself up and sit on the couch like a normal person.  “Shit like this happens, Ferg.  You must know that by now.  And anyways…it must have hurt your shoulder to lay on top of me and prop yourself up like that.”

He shrugged his shoulders at her suggestion.  “It wasn’t too bad actually.  Ever since I got back into the ring little things like that don’t bother me as much.”

Fergal watched as Gemma stiffened at his words.  Immediately after they came out of his mouth, he regretted saying them.  “You…you got back into the ring?” she asked.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.  “Uh…yeah.”

“When?”

He couldn’t lie to her.  He was capable of doing a lot of things to a lot of people, but he could never lie to Gemma.  “Uh, the week before Rami’s skating party,” he braced himself for impact.

Since it was about two weeks since the skating party, it meant he had been in the ring for three weeks.  All Gemma did was nod her head.  “That’s cool,” she said absent-mindedly.  

He knew he had to tell her one day that he had been back in ring, but today was not that day, it was definitely not the time, and it was most definitely not the way he wanted her to find out.  He knew that she wouldn’t be jealous, per se – she wanted him to be back in the ring just as much as he wanted to be back in the ring himself – but, instead, that she would take it apprehensively since she was no longer working to get back to the ice.  Whereas her dreams and career came to an abrupt end not too long ago, his was starting back up again and he was inching closer and close to a return date.  He was disappointed that he couldn’t make it back at the Royal Rumble, but at least he was making it back.  

“Gemma…” he began, erring on the side of caution.  “It’s okay to be angry.”

“I’m not angry,” she said without missing a beat.  “Why would I be angry?”

“Because I’m able to be back in a ring and you can’t be on the ice.”

“Are you saying I’m jealous of you?” she accused.

“Of course not.”

“Or resentful?”

“Gemma.”

“Or annoyed?”

“Now you’re just putting words into my mouth.”

“Why do you think you know how I feel?”

Here we go.  Her voice was unusually calm but there was bitterness to her tone that Fergal knew all too well.  “Because I usually do.  And I know you don’t like admitting that half the time, but you said so yourself.”

“Well don’t you just know everything,” she mumbled, grabbing her phone from her pocket and quickly typing something into it.  

“Gemma, don’t be like that,” Fergal warned.  “I said it was okay to be angry.  It’s okay to be angry at the situation, not to be angry at me because I know how you feel even though you’re trying not to show it.”

“What’s anger gonna do for me, huh?” she asked, pushing herself up to stand.  “Is anger gonna get me back on to the ice?  Is anger gonna get my knee to be as normal as it can be again?”

“It’s alright to feel something, Gemma,” Fergal stressed.

“Sometimes I’m just sick of feeling, Fergal.  I want to be doing.  I want to see people doing.  I get what you’re trying to say, I really do, but what has anger ever done for me?  What’s sadness ever done for me?”

“When you scored your golden goal, when you won your Olympic gold, you weren’t happy?”

“Of course I was.”

“And that pure elation you felt, it meant nothing to you?”

“I felt that pure elation because of my hard work.  I was doing something.  I kept doing my work even when we were down 2-0,” she explained.  “I didn’t have time to feel anything in the heat of the moment, down 2-0 to an arch-rival team.  I didn’t feel hate, I didn’t feel anger, I didn’t feel sadness – I didn’t feel anything because I was too focused on doing my job.”

“That’s fine Gemma, I get it.  But it’s different now,” Fergal said.

Gemma narrowed her eyes at him.  “Thanks for the reminder, Fergal.  I had no fucking clue.”

“Gemma – come on – no – I didn’t mean it like that and you know it.”

“I know I know, it’s okay,” she faked her aloofness, looking down at her phone again.  “Anyways, I promised Jane I’d give her a call, and my Uber is here, so I’m gonna head out.”

“Gemma,” Fergal said sternly.  “Don’t go.  We need to talk about this.”

“I think we already have,” she said as she slipped on her shoes.  “Plus you’ve made it quite clear that you already know how I feel.”

“Gemma, stop,” Fergal practically pleaded, watching as she opened the door.  She completely ignored his pleas.  “Gemma,” he called out after her as she walked through the doorway.  “GEMMA!”

She slammed the door behind her, not looking back.

Can I call you?

What for?

Well, you stormed out of my apartment this afternoon, for one.

So?

I was trying to talk to you.  I was trying to get you to open up to me and you completely shut me out.

So?

I was trying to figure out what made you so upset and you didn’t care.  I was trying to understand you.

Can I just fucking call you?

Please?

I’m still on the phone with Jane.

Not even ten seconds after she sent her last text, Fergal’s name flashed across the screen.  She knew that if she didn’t answer it he’d probably make his way over to her apartment; it was in her best interest to do so.  “Hello?”

“You’re a bad liar, you know that?” he said, ignoring any pleasantries.  “Thought you were still on the phone with Jane.”

She pursed her lips together…not that he could see.  “What do you want, Ferg?”

“I want you to open up to me, Gemma,” he went right in for it.  “I thought we were over this.  I thought we were over you putting your guard up with me.  What’s going on in your head?”

Gemma was silent, trying to collect her thought and formulate them into words.  “I’m not jealous of you,” her voice was much calmer and much more gentle than it was even moments earlier when she answered her phone.  “I’m not resentful of you.  Or angry.  I’m none of those things.  I don’t know why I said that.  I’m just…do you remember a long time ago when you invited me to go to NXT with you, and I said no because I didn’t want to be around athletes?”

“So you don’t want to be around me anymore knowing I’m back in the ring?” Fergal asked indignantly.

“Don’t.  Put words.  Into my mouth,” Gemma emphasized calmly yet firmly.  “I’m trying to talk to you Fergal.”

“I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.  Go on.”

“When I didn’t want to go with you to NXT, I said it was because I didn’t want to see how great of an athlete you were while I sat on my ass incapable of doing anything,” she said.  He was impressed with her memory.  “I meant it.  I’ll admit that to you.  That was before I knew I could never play hockey again.  But things have…changed now.”

“Okay…”

She sighed heavily.  “This is all coming out wrong.”

“Take your time.  Talk to me.”

“Listen, I’m ecstatic for you Ferg, I really am.  And you know I am.  But you didn’t tell me when it was happening and I had a right to know.  We’re supposed to be honest with each other, right?  And you weren’t honest.  I’m not gonna like…get jealous of you.  I want to be there to encourage you and you didn’t give me the opportunity to do that.”

Fergal couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  “You want to see me do basic drills in the ring?”

“Yes!” Gemma exclaimed.  “Why don’t you want me to be happy for you and your progress?  I want to be happy for you but you never give me an opportunity to do that.”

“Gemma, I do want you to be happy for me!  I want to give you the opportunity all the time but I’m scared of your reaction to these things.  I don’t know how you’ll react to seeing all this…athletic stuff going on around you while you can’t participate in it,” Fergal admitted.  He knew she’d never get into a wrestling ring, healthy or not, but drills were drills and he was sure hockey and wrestling had some overlap when it came to training.  If he brought her to NXT, or the Performance Centre, he wouldn’t know if she’d smile or sulk the entire time.

“I understand why you would feel that way.  I don’t exactly make it easy for you…or predictable,” she said.  “I know it’s a complete 180 from what I’ve said in the past but I…I kind of want to be around athletes now,” she admitted.  “I want to see what’s possible.  I want to see the strength and endurance the human body can go through…like what my body went through. And I won’t be jealous.  I won’t be angry, or resentful.  I’ll just be…I don’t know.  I’ll be happy seeing people doing what they love, even though I can’t do what I love.  I want to see people doing.”

Fergal smiled.  A large, genuine smile at what Gemma had to say.  She proved him an idiot time and time again – and this was another one of those times.  To say he completely misread everything about the argument – thinking it was all about him when it really wasn’t – was an understatement.  She was growing.  She was attempting to show him her growth and he hadn’t let her.  “If you were here right now I’d kiss you,” he admitted, biting his lips, wondering about her reaction to those words now that he was allowed to kiss her.  “I mean, I’d punch myself in the face, but then I’d kiss you.”

“Why?”

“You wanted to show me your growth and I didn’t let you, and for that, I feel awful,” he said.

“Why wouldn’t I want to show you my growth?” she asked innocently.  “Who else would be able to measure it like you?”

“Nobody,” he shook his head in disbelief.  “You’re something else, you know that?”

“I’ve been told once or twice,” the playfulness was back in her voice.  “Does that resolve everything now?”

“It does,” Fergal said.  “I’m sorry for…overreacting.”

“You didn’t overreact.  Like I said, I don’t make things easy for you.”

“But I certainly don’t help, jumping to conclusions and all.”

“You help a lot.  You force me to really think about things, Ferg,” Gemma confessed.  “You send my mind into overdrive but if it wasn’t for you I don’t know what would be on my mind right now…or where I’d be.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Fergal saw the time.  “We should both get to bed,” he offered, bringing an end to their heart-to-heart.

“What time is it?  Oh – shit,” Gemma said, probably looking at her own clock.  “You’re right.  But before you go, you’ve gotta promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“The next time you go to NXT, or the PC, you have to bring me so I can watch you.”

A shiver ran up Fergal’s spine.  “Deal.”

[spine-buster]

Chapter 14 - The Beginning and the End of Everything (Finn Balor)

@wrestlewriting @wrasslin-x @thegenericluchadora @sammiielli @fan-fiction-galore @anerdysouthernbelle @spot-of-bother @amaranthine-reign @baleesi @flnnbalor @smuppies @sarahmatthews7 @daintymissdevitt @newjapan @corey-renee @running-ropes @balorsomega @karleedaniels27 @kazuchika @ileana0300 @alexahood21 @imnobodiesbitch @fembxt @heelturn-timesten @kaitlynwwefan @50shadesofadamcolebaybay @50shadesofkennyomega @chasingeverybreakingwave @thyestean-feast @thecandicej @devittsbalor @sp00kylesley @danahart @sietefinns @kaydee-kayyyy @powerbombshell @swedish-strong-style @blondekel77 @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @nickysmum1909 @houndofjustice-imagines @wwesmutdonedirtcheap @wweximaginesxd @indywrestlinglover-life @wwesmutdonedirtcheap @wweximaginesxd @indywrestlinglover-life @mandi512 @kakakatey

The next morning, Fergal woke up before Gemma but didn’t dare to move.  It somehow came to be that her arm was still over his chest, and he was still clutching her hand in his.  He moved his head slowly to take a good look at her; he wished he could say she looked peaceful, but she didn’t.  Her body was tense; her brows unnaturally furrowed.  When he’d woken up before her on their jaunt to Iceland she looked more peaceful, happier.  There was no doubt the stress and high emotions of the last few days got to her.

He didn’t think he ever felt so heartbroken for a person in his entire life, and he had met a lot of people along the way.  But the way Gemma loved her sport was so unique to him – it was an all-consuming one, much like his love of wrestling.  It preceded everything else.  To have that taken away from her, at such a young age – for heaven’s sake, she was still in her prime! – was completely unjust.  It was the universe playing tricks on somebody it shouldn’t be playing tricks on.  

When Gemma let out a small groan, he knew she was awake.  She shifted slightly but kept her arm on his chest before opening her eyes.  At first it seemed like she didn’t remember where she was, and why Fergal was in the bed, but she soon remembered and her eyes relaxed.  “Good morning,” her voice was raspy.

“Mornin’,” Fergal whispered.  “How’re you feeling?”

Gemma shrugged her shoulders.  “Alright, I guess.”

“How’d you sleep?”

“Alright.”

Fergal knew that was as much as he was going to get.  He squeezed her hand slightly and rubbed his thumb across it.  “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

Without hesitation Gemma nodded her head, which calmed his nerves considerably.  If there was one thing he was nervous about, it was that Gemma would bottle things up inside.  That was the last thing he wanted.  “Do you have any media today?” he asked again.

She shook her head.  “No.  Everything’s done now.  We’re free until I leave tonight for Orlando.”

Fergal looked at her sceptically.  “The 6:30 flight?  Air Canada?” he asked.

A small smile broke out on Gemma’s face.  “You’re on that one too, are you?”

“You betcha,” he smiled.  “So uh, what are we going to do today?”

“Well, I need to change,” she said, looking down at her body.  She had slept in her regular clothes last night.  No doubt she was uncomfortable.  “I may as well go home…and uh, my parents are gonna wanna see you, so you may as well come too.  Then I can bring you somewhere.”

“If you’re not up for it, it’s okay,” Fergal said.  “I can fend for myself for the day.”

“No no, it’s okay,” Gemma shook her head.  “Please.  Let me do this for you.  It will take my mind off of…everything.”

“Okay,” Fergal said softly.  “You just let me know when you wanna go, and I’ll start getting ready.”

“Can we just…” Gemma started unsurely, contorting her body to look out the window of the hotel and then to the time on the alarm.  “Can we just sleep in for a bit longer?”

Fergal took the initiative to move closer to Gemma, snaking his arm underneath her pillow, to which she readily responded, moving closer to Fergal and laying her head on his chest.  Within minutes she was asleep again.  Fergal kept hold of her hand.

After getting ready and packing the little clothes he brought to Toronto, Fergal and Gemma took a taxi to her parent’s house.  Gemma took a quick shower and re-packed for Orlando while Nabilah made breakfast for everyone.  When Gemma came down into the dining room she seemed to be in better spirits, and was chatty with her parents throughout the meal.  She had decided to bring him to King West, the trendy district in downtown Toronto where they could hang out in a café or get some drinks on a patio.  

During the subway ride down Fergal tried to talk about anything besides hockey.  Gemma seemed to be doing fine attitude wise and even cracked a few jokes.  She seemed happy with the fact that she didn’t have any media to do and could just relax with him.  Tomorrow, back in Orlando, she’d be back at physiotherapy.  He knew that would take a toll on her.  Before, she was working towards something – a goal to get back on the ice.  What would she be working towards now?

“I’ll have to show you my favourite coffee shop once we get down there,” she said.  “They honestly make the best cappuccino.  I haven’t been able to find a good substitute in Orlando.”

“Oh yeah?” Fergal smiled.  “You sure it isn’t Tim Horton’s?”

Gemma snorted.  “I assure you it is not Tim Horton’s.  Although I’m going to stuff a Timbit into your mouth by the end of the day whether you like it or not.”

Fergal contorted his face to look disgusted.  “I can’t eat Timbits I’m on a low-carb diet God Gemma you are so stupid!” he mimicked the infamous line from Mean Girls, causing Gemma to break out into laughter.  He giggled along with her, appreciating the fact that he could make her laugh under the circumstances.

When they got off the subway, Gemma guided him to street level, amongst all the skyscrapers, old buildings, and Roy Thompson Hall.  Seeing all the older buildings, converted into trendy bars and restaurants, reminded Fergal somewhat of Dublin.  He could understand why Gemma liked the area so much.

Her favourite coffee shop was just as trendy and cute as he imagined it to be.  They ordered a pair of cappuccinos, and Gemma had somehow convinced Fergal to split a slice of carrot cake with her.  They sat in the window seats, people watching as they waited for their coffee and cake.  

“This place is cute,” Fergal said as he settled into his seat.

“I come here with Jane a lot,” Gemma said.  “There’s been many discussions about game strategies at this window.”

The first mention of hockey.  “Oh really?”

“Mhm,” Gemma nodded gently.  “We uh…every time we ever leave for an international competition, we always come here and come up with a game plan.  Like, how we’re gonna help each other out on the ice.  How we’re gonna score.  How we’re gonna make the highlight reel.”

“I bet they always materialize.”

Gemma smiled slightly.  “Well, we were here before the Olympics, so I guess they do.”  She tapped her fingernails against the wood table for a few moments.  “I have a bit of news.”

“What’s that?”

“I had Sports Illustrated contact me, asking me to write a piece for them about being a half-Arab female hockey player,” she revealed.  

Fergal’s eyes widened.  “Holy shit, are you serious?”

Gemma nodded her head quickly.  “I accepted, too.  When we get back I’m going to start writing it.”

“Gemma, that’s amazing,” Fergal smiled.  “Congratulations.”

“Yeah, I’m excited.  We’ll see what happens with it.  Are you gonna read it?”

“Read it?  I’m going to read it, post it on Twitter, on Instagram, I’m going to frame it for you,” Fergal counted on his fingers, causing Gemma to laugh.  “Seriously, is that even a question?  Of course I’m going to read it.”

“Good,” Gemma gave him a cheeky grin.

The young woman who had taken their orders behind the till returned to the table with their cappuccinos and the slice of carrot cake.  Gemma smiled politely at her while Fergal thanked her.  They fell into comfortable conversation, the hockey talk flowing in and out of the conversation.  Fergal was glad to see Gemma laughing and smiling, enjoying the carrot cake while she shared more stories about growing up in Toronto and her adventures on its downtown streets.  

With Gemma’s back turned towards most of the traffic coming in and out of the coffee shop, she didn’t see most of the action or any of the stares that were directed towards them – whether it was because these people knew she was Gemma Fitzgerald or because she and him were hogging the window seat Fergal didn’t know.  However, there was one man who decided to take his curiosity into his own hands.  He approached their table slowly and cautiously, giving some hand motions to Fergal asking whether or not it was okay to approach.

“Looks like we have a visitor,” Fergal said lightly, nodding his head to the side so Gemma could look that way.

Gemma looked to her side to see the man, dressed casually in jeans, a polo and a baseball cap.  He looked half-scared, half-excited.  A woman, who she assumed was his wife, was looking on from behind a baby stroller.  “I know I’m interrupting, but aren’t you Gemma Fitzgerald?” he asked.

“That’s me,” Gemma nodded, smiling slightly.

“Oh man!  Hey!” he exclaimed louder than she thought he would.  “I just…I walked in and I recognized your face out of the corner of my eye, and I was like dude!” he explained quickly.  “Hey, can I get a quick autograph?  I’ve got my nieces who really like you.”

“Yeah, sure,” Gemma agreed.  “You have a marker?  What do you want me to sign?”

The man pulled out a pen from his pocket and handed it to her along with a small agenda he had obviously taken from his wife’s purse.  Gemma asked for the named of the nieces and gave them each an autograph on two separate pages.  “Here you go,” she handed the agenda back to the man.

“Sick!” he exclaimed, not bothering to thank her.  “Man, we were watching the Leafs game last night and saw your tribute.  Sucks about your injury,” he said, as if it were some injury with a routine six or eight-week recovery period.  

“Yeah, it does suck,” she nodded her head.

“I was reading up on it after.  You like, had a torn ACL right?  Like it was so bad they had to go in and surgically repair it and shit?”

“Uhh…yeah.”

“And that’s why you’re lagging behind in the physio, cause it was so bad.”

Fergal shot him a glare.  The guy was being a prick, that much was certain, and Fergal felt like he should clear his throat, clink a glass – something to remind him he was intruding on their time and he should have left after he got his autograph.  He’d like to see this guy come back from major knee surgery and then comment on recovery time.  He could tell Gemma was trying to remain gracious.  “Yeah.  You can imagine how hard the physio is for someone who had to get their knee surgically reconstructed.”

“My nieces were sad about it, but what are you gonna do?”

Fergal furrowed his brows at the man’s slight switch in tone.  “Well, hopefully all my physio will help me regain one hundred percent movement back into my knee,” Gemma said diplomatically.

“But you can’t play hockey again,” the man reiterated.

Fergal looked to Gemma.  She was tight-lipped.  “No.”

“Sucks,” he shrugged his shoulders.  “You know, if it was one of the boys, he’d be able to make it back.”

It was at that moment Fergal wanted to punch him.  He even shifted in his seat to stop himself from bolting upright and uppercutting the man in front of his wife and child.  Gemma, still tight-lipped, nodded her head once at the statement.  Before she or Fergal could say something, the man’s wife had approached and tapped him on the shoulder, signalling for them to go.  He nodded one more time at Gemma before leaving out the door with his wife, still never thanking her for the two autographs.  

“Don’t fucking listen to him,” Fergal said through gritted teeth, trying to keep his anger in check.

“Stop,” Gemma mumbled.

“I mean it Gemma.  Don’t you dare fucking listen to him.  Your surgeon had to surgically repair your knee and that guy is acting like it’s a fucking sprain,” he continued.  “You’re doing the best for someone in your position and --”

“Please drop it,” she said more sternly.  “I don’t want to talk about it.  Just drop it, please.”

“No, I just need to get this out right now,” he said, unable to hold back.  “Don’t listen to anybody who fucking tells you someone else would be able to come back from this injury.  It’s fucking bullshit that anybody – especially someone who isn’t even an athlete – thinks he can just say shit like that to you.  He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.  He thinks he knows about knee injuries just cause Francois Beauchemin or Erik Johnson had them?  They weren’t nearly as bad as yours and the fact he think they are is stupid as fuck.”

When he finished his little rant, he noticed a small smile on Gemma’s face.  “Did you just name-check Beauchemin and Erik Johnson?” she asked.

“Yes…”

“How the hell do you know who they are?”

Fergal shrugged his shoulders.  “I…I researched them.”

“You researched them?”

“Yeah…like I googled ‘hockey players with knee injuries’ once and learned about all the guys.  Erik Johnson missed an entire season on only two torn ligaments.  An entire season!  And you had to surgically reconstruct your knee!”

Gemma sat back in her seat, the smile playing on her lips getting slightly larger.  “You…you googled hockey players with knee injuries?”

“Yeah.  I wanted to see what you would have to go through…what you’d be up against.  Nobody that I saw, or read about, has had such a severe a knee injury as yours.  Not even Bobby Orr.”

“Bobby Orr?!” Gemma exclaimed, letting out a giggle before covering her mouth.  “Fergal Devitt, did you just name-drop the great Bobby Orr?”

“What’s the big deal?”

“I never thought I’d hear an Irishman name-drop Bobby Orr, that’s all,” Gemma smiled.  “You’re something else.”

“I’m trying to be serious here,” Fergal said.  “I don’t want you thinking your inadequate or anything just cause some jackass says a guy would have been able to return from the injury.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t need some jackass on the street to make me feel inadequate.  I already feel inadequate without him having to tell me.”

Fergal’s heart sunk to his stomach.  “Gemma…”

She reached across the small table and patted his hand.  “I’ll feel better about this eventually, Fergal.  One day.  I’m not sure when that will be, but I promise you it’ll happen.  I’ve just…gotta wallow in this feeling for a while before I start to get more optimistic about things.  My whole life was taken from me.  I’m not sure what I’m supposed to feel if not inadequate.”

“Well…I’m going to be there for you,” he said, the feeling of her fingers grazing the backside of his palm sending shivers up his spine.  “I’m going to be there for you to help you feel anything but inadequate.  Because that’s the last thing you should feel.”

“I know you will.”

[spine-buster]

Chapter 13 - The Beginning and the End of Everything (Finn Balor)

@wrestlewriting @wrasslin-x @thegenericluchadora @fan-fiction-galore @anerdysouthernbelle @spot-of-bother @amaranthine-reign @baleesi @flnnbalor @smuppies @sarahmatthews7 @daintymissdevitt @newjapan @corey-renee @running-ropes @balorsomega @karleedaniels27 @kazuchika @ileana0300 @alexahood21 @imnobodiesbitch @fembxt @heelturn-timesten @kaitlynwwefan @50shadesofadamcolebaybay @50shadesofkennyomega @chasingeverybreakingwave @thyestean-feast @thecandicej @devittsbalor @sp00kylesley @danahart @sietefinns @kaydee-kayyyy @powerbombshell @swedish-strong-style @blondekel77 @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @artgurl559-blog

QUICK A/N: I know I haven’t in the past but I’m going to start using my regular tag list for this story for all future chapters.  Feel free to like and reblog and let people know about this story!  I’m sure there are a bunch of Balor fans I’m not tagging that might enjoy something like this.

And now, sadly, on to the first awful breaking news of the year…we have gotten word, and now confirmation, that hockey player and Olympic gold medalist Gemma Fitzgerald has been forced to retire due to her knee injury.  Last August, Fitzgerald suffered a complete rupture of her ACL, a torn MCL, and a litany of other tears and ruptures in her knee after she crashed into the boards after an altercation with Amanda Robinson of Team USA.  She has been quietly attending physiotherapy in Orlando, Florida, but after a recent evaluation, doctors concluded that her knee will never fully recover enough to be able to play hockey at an elite level.  Fitzgerald, best known as the woman to score the ‘golden goal’ for Team Canada at the Olympics, will be holding a press conference at 3pm today to discuss the shocking news.  

Fergal was practically in tears as he watched Gemma’s press conference live.  She had flown back to Toronto with her doctors the day before.  A large conference room at a hotel was set up and filled to the brim with reporters for the press conference.  At the table, she sat in the middle, flanked by her doctor, her surgeon, Diane, and the general manager for the women’s national hockey team.  After a prepared statement, she was forced to answer question after question from the litany of reporters.  Her voice was dull, emotionless, and her eyes were empty.  He could tell she was still having a hard time, that she felt dead inside despite being in a room full of people.  

He didn’t know how she was doing it; how she was keeping it all together, after having to repeat details of her injury, why exactly she couldn’t play again, all the minute details reporters kept asking about.  He knew if it were him, he wouldn’t be able to do it.  He’d send out a statement and that’s it.  Who would want to face all those questions?  Who would want to relive the injury over and over again?  It was absolute torture.  

Rami had been texting him.  He was watching the press conference live, too, and was upset at what was unfolding.  Not to the degree of Fergal, of course, but upset nonetheless.  He shared Fergal’s sentiments of this being absolute torture for Gemma and how the media should ease up.  ‘But they won’t,’ he told Fergal, ‘because the hockey media in Toronto is just as bad as it is in Montreal.’ When the press conference ended Fergal wasn’t sure what to do with himself.  He thought about making himself something to eat but he wasn’t very hungry; even if he was, he wasn’t so sure he’d be able to hold it down.  He thought about watching stupid cat videos, or soccer highlights from the European leagues; anything to get his mind off things.  That only lasted so long.  Before he knew it he was on Twitter, going through the tag of Gemma Fitzgerald and reading what fans and journalists alike were writing.

Gemma Fitzgerald is the reason why my daughter put on a pair of skates.  She’s the reason my daughter sees herself as a future hockey player.

Fitzgerald is the best of her generation, and although he career was cut short, the argument could be made she was in the top 10 of all time.

Sad day for hockey in general, not just women’s hockey.  Fitzgerald’s better than a lot of NHLers.  This is horrible news.

Robinson now has a target on her back.  She should be banned from ever playing again.  Everyone knew what she did was deliberate.

Fitzgerald has inspired so many little girls.  Her power is truly beyond hockey.  What sad news.

And then, Fergal’s phone rang.  He expected it to be Rami or someone else but was shocked to see Gemma’s name flash across his screen.  He answered it so hurriedly he almost dropped it on the floor.  “Gemma.”

“Hey,” she sounded exhausted.  “Uh, how are you?”

“How are you?” Fergal asked, completely ignoring her question.

“Not good,” she admitted to him, the faintest crack in her voice.  “It’s…it’s a lot.”

“Where are you right now?”

“I’m in a hotel room,” she said.  “In the same hotel we had the press conference.  God, it was so fucking hard.”

“I can imagine.”

“Like, you’d think that the statement by the doctors would answer any and all questions they would have, but apparently not,” she complained.  “God, they practically made me relive the last five months over and over again until they sucked all the blood out of me.”

“I’m sorry that you had to go through that,” he said.  He didn’t really know what else to say.  “Tell me how you’re feeling.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone.  Fergal automatically knew she was crying.  “Ferg…” she managed to choke out.

“Gemma, come on, tell me,” he urged her.

“I feel like my life is over,” she was full out crying at this point.  “I can never play hockey again Ferg.  Ever.  What if someone told you you could never wrestle again?  Your life would be over!  Your world would be shattered!  No press conference or reassuring words from your doctors or hugs from your mom and dad would be able to make you feel better!” she began to freak out and ramble like she did the night he brought her back to his place and she saw the bruise she gave him.  “I just feel so empty, like nothing is going to be able to fill me up again.  I lived and breathed hockey and now I can’t play it anymore.  I’ll be so close yet so far.  I’ll be able to skate but I can’t do drills.  I can hold a stick and put on my uniform but I can’t…I can’t…”

“Shhhhhh,” he tried to get her to calm down, though he was thousands of miles away.  God, all he wished was to be by her side right now, hugging her.  “Gemma, it’s all going to be okay.”

“You keep saying that.  Everybody keeps saying that.  What I need everybody to realize is that it’s not going to be okay.  If I’m not playing hockey it’s not okay,” she stressed.  “The one thing I love most in this world has been ripped away from me.  I don’t know how I’m ever going to get over it.”

“I know it doesn’t seem like it now…but you will,” Fergal tried to offer some words of encouragement, although he knew they would probably have no effect.  “I mean…fuck, that came out wrong.  You’re never going to fully get over it, and that’s okay.  But you can find other ways to love hockey besides playing the game.  Listen, you’re always going to love hockey, and hockey is always going to be a part of your life.”

She was silent on the other end, and he wasn’t sure if it was because she was soaking up his words or because she was trying to compose herself and stop crying.  Probably the latter.  He probably wasn’t saying anything to help her feel better.  “Ferg?”

“Mhm?”

“I don’t know what I did in this life to deserve you telling me all these nice things when I’m at the lowest I’ve ever been…but I just want to let you know that even if I don’t show it…I do appreciate it.”

A small smile crept its way onto his face.  “Anything for you, Gemma.”

“Can I…can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“The Toronto Maple Leafs…they’re going to be honouring me this Saturday, on Hockey Night in Canada, before the face the Canadiens,” she began.  “I’ve gotta make this speech, but my family…Jane…I mean, we’re all getting a private box to hang out in afterwards.  I just…I need you there.  Can you come?”

It was an automatic yes.  There was no way he would have said no.

Fergal had been in his fair share of arenas before, but tonight, Saturday night at the Air Canada Centre, everything just felt…different.  

Despite the gruelling press conference Gemma still had more media to do.  He was able to watch reruns and live interviews on TV sets at various locations he found himself in, but he found it extremely hard to watch. Knowing how Gemma was feeling, knowing how hard this was for her…it almost made him sick.  But now, at the Air Canada Centre, she was forced to put on a brave face.  She was gracious to everyone, forcing a smile, shaking hands and posing for pictures.  She looked exhausted.  Fergal knew she was exhausted.

They finally got five minutes alone together about half an hour before the ceremony was supposed to begin.  Fergal made sure to take her aside before things got started.

“Are you doing okay?” he asked, holding her elbow lightly.  

“Surprisingly, yes,” she nodded her head.  

“Are you sure?”

“I just gotta make sure I don’t cry during my speech, because if I know I do I won’t be able to stop,” she chuckled, trying to make herself laugh.  

“Is there something I can do?  Do you…I don’t know, do you want me down there on the ice or something?” 

“Only my parents are gonna be on the ice with me,” she told him.  “Jane isn’t even gonna be there, cause if Jane’s there then the whole team has to be there, you know?  Gotta keep in minimal.”  

“Okay, sure,” he acquiesced, nodding his head.  “You sure there isn’t something I can do?”

Gemma smiled briefly.  “You’re fine, Ferg.  You being here is already enough.”

As if on cue, Gemma’s name was called from the opposite end of the hallway.  Both Gemma and Fergal looked to see another brunette walking towards them.  She was moving quickly, wearing a nice pair of fitted black pants and a navy blazer over a Toronto Furies t-shirt, which Fergal assumed had ‘Fitzgerald’ written on the back.  “Hey babe,” Gemma smiled slightly.

“Hey hun,” the woman smiled, looking over to Fergal briefly.  “This must be the infamous Fergal Devitt.”

“You’re right,” Gemma nodded her head.  “Ferg, this is my best friend Jane Hounslow.  Jane, Fergal.”

Fergal stuck out his hand and Jane shook it strongly.  “It’s nice to finally meet you,” Fergal said.  “Gemma’s told me so much about you.”

“Likewise,” Jane smiled wryly.  

Jane wanted to say something else, judging by the look on her face, but Gemma quickly nipped that idea in the bud when she saw Jane’s smile.  “Anyway, you can wait in the box with Jane,” she said quickly.  “And I’ll be up there after my speech.  I assume that’s why you came to find me?  I need to be somewhere?” Gemma asked Jane.

“Larry Tanenbaum wants to take some photos,” Jane nodded her head.

“Alright, fine.  I’ll see you guys later, then,” Gemma said as she began to walk away.  She paused for a moment before turning back to Jane.  “Soyez pas bizzare,” she shot to Jane.  [[Don’t be weird]]

“I can’t promise anything,” Jane winked back.  Gemma snorted and shook her head, continuing to walk away.  Jane looked back at Fergal, another wry smile on her face.  “You and I have a lot to learn about each other.”

Fergal barely made it through the video package tribute that was shown to the arena.  They had compiled every major highlight, clips of interviews from when she was just starting professional hockey at 18 years old, clips of her coaches and teammates singing her praises, clips of little girls saying how cool and amazing she was and how they wanted to be just like her while waving Canada flags and wearing her jersey.  It was very emotional.  When the video package ended, they cut to a few people in the crowd who were already in tears; a quick shot of the owner’s box, where Brendan Shanahan and Lou Lamoriello were on their feet clapping; a group of girls, each wearing a Team Canada Fitzgerald jersey, their dads sitting between them.

The standing ovation Gemma received as she walked out on to the ice was deafening.  The cheering and clapping didn’t stop for a good few minutes.  He, Jane, her parents – they were all on their feet, following suit, clapping and cheering and wiping tears away, just like everyone else.  Eventually, the crowd stopped clapping and cheering, and let Gemma say her speech.

“Thank you to the Toronto Maple Leafs organization and the Montreal Canadiens organization for hosting me and organizing this tribute tonight.  As everyone in this arena and everybody watching knows, hockey is a team sport.  Therefore, I would like to thank my teammates from the Toronto Furies and the women’s national hockey team for being an endless source of support and strength during these last five months, and in particular these last few days.  I’d also like to thank my team of doctors, my physiotherapist Diane, and everybody down at the rehab clinic in Florida for taking such good care of me.  I will readily admit that I haven’t been the easiest person to be around these last five months, and they have been working miracles to get me back on my feet.

All I’ve ever wanted to do was play hockey.  When I was a little girl watching Hockey Night in Canada with my parents, I immediately fell in love with the game and the magic of it all.  I remember telling my parents, my extended family, cousins, anybody who would listen, that I was going to be a hockey player – I was going to be the next Cassie Campbell, I was going to be the next Hayley Wickenheiser.  Don Cherry and Ron McLean wouldn’t be able to stop talking about how good I was.  To an extent I accomplished those dreams, but I still feel like there could have been so much more to do, so much more to accomplish.  

Despite my premature retirement I feel a deep sense of gratitude.  Gratitude that for eight long years I was able to play hockey professionally; gratitude that I was able to represent my country at the World Championships and the Olympics; gratitude that I was able to create my own magical moment for fans when we won the gold medal; gratitude that my teammates have been with me every step of the way.  I want to end this speech by addressing one group in particular.   To all the little girls in the crowd and watching at home who live and breathe hockey like I do, I want to say one thing: I see you.  I see you, and your passion, and your commitment, your tenacity and your hard work, and I encourage you, I implore you, I DEMAND you follow your dreams.  It could be you one day, scoring a golden goal for Team Canada, inspiring millions of other girls across this nation to pursue their dreams.  You are the future of this sport.  Make it what you want to see.  

Support women’s hockey.  Support the dreams, the hard work, and the dedication of women’s hockey players.  This may be my end as a player, but this does not mean the hockey world has seen the last of Gemma Fitzgerald.”

The entire arena was on their feet again as Gemma finished her speech and saluted the crowd.  The teams, still on their respective benches, began knocking their sticks against the boards in respect.  Two runners came to clear the podium away, and the captains from each team skated towards Gemma for the ceremonial puck drop.  After a polite photo op, she dropped the puck, shook the captains’ hands, and made her way backstage.

She eventually made her way up to the private box, and was greeted with warm hugs by everybody.  Not wanting to talk about anything or go over what she just did, she settled on Fergal’s left side, while Jane was on his right, and they focused on watching the game, explaining things to him and screaming about penalties like any fans would.  

The Leafs ended up winning 4-3 in overtime, which made Gemma happy, at least briefly.  When it was time to go, Fergal began saying his goodbyes to Jane, James, and Nabilah, but the feeling of Gemma gripping his elbow stopped him.  

“I’m just gonna make sure Fergal gets back to his hotel safely,” Gemma said to her parents, who were obviously expecting her to go home with them.  “He doesn’t know this part of the city and I don’t want him getting lost in the crowd.”

“Well…okay,” Nabilah nodded her head, not really having much of a choice.  “Are you going to take a taxi home?”

“Yeah mamma, don’t worry.”

“It was nice to see you again, Fergal,” James shook his hand.  “Maybe we’ll see you again before you go back down to Florida.”

“Yeah, for sure,” he nodded, unable to keep his eyes off of Gemma, who was essentially ditching her family to ‘make sure he got to his hotel room safely’.  What did that even mean?  He knew exactly where his hotel was – he was a big boy, he had Google Maps, he had the Uber app.  Did she want to talk about something?  Did he do something wrong?  Did someone say something to her?

“It was really nice to finally meet you,” Jane’s voice stopped his thoughts from going in to overdrive.  Gemma was working something out with her parents and he had no clue how long he had been staring at her.  “I have to get back home, but like James said, hopefully I’ll see you again before you leave for Florida.”

“Thanks.  It was really nice to meet you too,” Fergal said, leaning in for a hug.

Jane readily reciprocated.  “I can see why Gemma’s become so attached to you,” she said, only loud enough for him to hear.  

Before he could ask what she meant by that, another tug came at his arm.  “Ready?” Gemma beckoned.  

“Ready.”

The walk back to the hotel room took all of five minutes.  By the time they left and were walking the streets, the crowd from the hockey game had dispersed, so Gemma wasn’t recognized or bothered at all.  To Fergal’s confusion, they barely spoke, Gemma mainly just directing him where to go and asking what floor he was staying on.  There was so much to say, so much that could be said, but nothing.

When he opened the door with his keycard, Gemma made her way in.  Fergal followed close behind, but deliberately took his time, watching her as she paced at the edge of the bed a few times before finally sitting on it.  When she finally locked eyes with him, she let out a breath she didn’t know she was keeping in.  “You’re okay with me being here, right?” she asked.

“Of course,” Fergal said softly.  “Do you really need to ask?”

“I just wanted to make sure.”

Fergal waited a few moments before asking what he thought needed to be asked.  “Do you want to talk about something?”

Gemma shook her head.  “No.  I don’t want to talk.  I’m sick of talking,” she said.  “I managed to keep it together for the ceremony, now I’m just going to leak, if you don’t mind.”

Fergal half-expected that was coming.  But the fact that she was comfortable doing it in front of him rather than Jane or her parents was something he didn’t expect.  “Leak away,” he said as he sat down beside her.

She started to cry automatically.  It was like a tap.  Tears just started free flowing and she buried her head in her hands.  Fergal did the only thing he could think of doing, which was hug her.  Almost immediately she melted into him, grasping at him and crying on his shoulder.  He let her cry, words escaping him, as there was nothing really left to say.  She’d had a rough day, and he wasn’t about to make it rougher; he just wanted it to end as comfortably for her as possible.  

Eventually he came to the realization that she wasn’t going home; that she would be staying here, with him, in his hotel room, because she wasn’t going to stop crying anytime soon.  He moved to bring her closer to the pillows, and moved to take off his sport jacket to make himself just a bit more comfortable.  Gemma began wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and he moved as quickly as possible so she wouldn’t feel deserted for too long.

When he lay back down beside her, she latched on to him again.  He moved closer to her and grabbed at her hand, clutching it against his chest.  After a while, her crying stopped, her breathing softened, and she was fast asleep against him.  Fergal could only hope that, in her sleep, she wouldn’t relive the pain of the last few days.  

[spine-buster]

Chapter 11 - The Beginning and the End of Everything (Finn Balor)

“Gemma, last time I checked it was only your knee that was injured, not your hands!” Nabilah Saad-Fitzgerald scolded her daughter with a knife in one hand and a bowl of strawberries in another.  Gemma would have been scared if this scene hadn’t happened countless times growing up.  “Come sit at the table and cut these strawberries!”

Sitting on the couch in her living room, watching hockey commentators speak on the upcoming IIHF World Junior Hockey Tournament, Gemma rolled her eyes.  “Mama, I’m watching TV!” she called back.  

“You mean you don’t watch TV in Florida?” Nabilah asked sarcastically, waving the knife around.  “Could have fooled me!  You can’t tell me the World Juniors aren’t on in Florida with your satellite TV!”

Gemma snorted at her mother’s words.  Gemma never got away with anything while she was home.  She’d never win against Nabilah – she never did.  Nabilah was the queen of the house; even her dad acquiesced to her.  “Can you at least bring them here so I can cut them?”

“Sixteen years and she hasn’t changed one bit,” he mother muttered in Arabic as she brought the strawberries over to the coffee table for Gemma to cut, setting them down in front of her daughter.  “If you get any stains on the couch I won’t feed you for a week, understand?”

Gemma couldn’t help but snort again at her mother’s threat.  “Yes mama, I understand,” Gemma said, learning forward so she could grab the knife.  “I’ve never gotten a stain on our couches before, I’m not going to now.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Nabilah nodded her head, walking away.  “I’ll be in the kitchen.  Call me when you’re done.”

Gemma had been back for about a week now, at her parents’ home – the home she grew up in.  Her physiotherapy had stopped for about two weeks over the holidays and when she went back to Orlando in the New Year, her surgeon and doctors would be doing a full check-up and review of her injury and her progress to date.  She was excited, if only because they would be able to give her a more accurate timeline as to when she could get back on the ice.  She didn’t want it to preoccupy her mind too much, especially over the holidays, but she thought about it a lot.  Probably too much.  

The holidays were her favourite time of the year, if only because her house was filled with family.  Her parents always hosted Christmas, ever since she could remember.  The house was full of family members young and old, big and small, and Gemma loved the craziness of it all.  Growing up as an only child meant she was close to her cousins, considering them like siblings, her original best friends (before she met Jane, of course).  Now that a lot of her cousins her age were getting married and having kids, the family was growing, and she was all too happy to be surrounded by toddlers and babies.  

“So, what’s Fergal up to for the holidays?” her father James asked as he set the table for the numerous guests – the extension and extra tables came all the way out to the living room.  This was usually a job left for Gemma but Nabilah didn’t want her making 100 trips to and from the basement to get the extra plates.  

“He’s back in Ireland,” Gemma informed him, catching the look her mom gave him, a smile playing on Nabilah’s face.  Gemma wanted to roll her eyes.  “I mentioned he has a big family, right?  There’s five siblings, and they’re all married except for him, so there’s a bunch of them.”

“How lovely,” her mom piped in.  “Have you two spoken at all since you came back?”

They were basically on a constant chat on WhatsApp, despite the time difference, but Gemma didn’t want to admit that.  “Here and there,” she lied.  “He’s busy catching up with all his friends, I bet.  Plus he isn’t the type to be attached to his phone.”

“So all that texting you’ve been doing has been to Jane?” her dad asked. “Yeah,” she lied again, “and Sarah, and Amber, and Jocelyn,” she rattled off the names of some of her teammates as cover.  

“So this Fergal fellow,” Nabilah piped in again.  “Does he follow hockey?” Gemma snorted.  “Mom, he’s from Ireland.”

“So?”

“The Irish aren’t exactly known for their love of hockey,” Gemma said.  “Hurling, maybe, but not hockey.”

“So he didn’t know who you were when you met?”

“He had no idea.  One of his best friends who is Canadian clued him in.”

“But now, he watches you?”

“Well, there isn’t exactly anything new to watch,” Gemma mumbled.  “But I have no idea if he’s seen any of my games or tournaments.  He hasn’t really mentioned it, to be honest.”

“You should make sure he does, so he sees how good you are,” Nabilah pointed dramatically at her daughter.  

Gemma smiled at her mom.  “If I won a gold medal, I think he knows, mama.” “Do you miss him?” James asked suddenly.

Another thing Gemma had to lie about.  She’d never admit it out loud but she missed him like crazy.  After their Ireland, Iceland, and England trip, she caught herself thinking about him more and more everyday; his contagious laugh, his toothy smile, the Finn-freeze he’d do in pictures.  She missed it all.  And she never thought she would.  “I mean, a little bit, obviously.  He is my friend.  But I missed Jane more.”

James smiled at Nabilah, wondering who Gemma was trying to convince more. 

With the Christmas meal done, Gemma felt like she was about to explode.  A mix of traditional food and Arab food was enjoyed by all, and now, almost all the adults were either passed out on the couch in a food coma, or sitting at the table trying to recover from one.  Most of the babies and toddlers had gone down for the afternoon nap, which meant all the adults still had about two hours before they’d start to wake up.  

Lunch was eventful.  One of her cousins Aidan, only two years older than her, announced to everyone he finally proposed to his long-time girlfriend Summer, which meant a wedding was on the horizon in about a year.  Another cousin, Hannah, revealed she was pregnant with her second child, which is why she couldn’t partake in the traditional champagne toast.

Then, of course, there was an event created by Gemma’s own stupidity.  She, of course, had been texting Fergal all day, and it had continued throughout lunch, albeit in much slower conversation since she didn’t respond immediately.  But when she had sent him a joke and he had responded with a quick remark, she couldn’t help but smile down at her phone screen in her lap.  And that’s when it happened.

Her aunt Eliza asked why she was smiling down at her phone.  Gemma stuttered.  The table went silent and every single pair of eyes was on her as they awaited her answer.  When she finally admitted it was a friend, a friend named Fergal whom she met in Orlando, a tidal wave of questions flooded her.  Who’s Fergal?  Where’d you meet him?  What’s he do?  What’s he look like?  He’s got an accent?  He’s from Ireland?  Where in Ireland?  What’s his last name?  What’s his blood type?  What was the name of his third grade teacher?  What size shoes does he wear?  Where does he get his hair cut?

It overwhelmed Gemma, but it was nothing she hadn’t faced before.  The same flurry of questions were asked when they learned of her last boyfriend, Johnny, an employee of the Toronto Maple Leafs head office.  They were together for two years before breaking it off mutually.  Still, she didn’t want her entire family finding out about him, especially not now, at Christmas dinner, and especially since there was nothing to really talk about.  They were friends, and that’s it.

Friends.  But then, when her friend got wind that she was finished lunch, and he suggested he call her, that little grin that incriminated her during lunch incriminated her again.  She didn’t even have to tell her mom what was going on.  When she stood up from her chair and was going to explain, Nabilah just waved her off, telling her to go in to the bedroom that the kids weren’t sleeping in.

Dialling his number, he answered on the second ring.  “Hey you,” he said warmly.  “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you too,” Gemma repeated his sentiment.  He wondered if he could sense the giant grin on her face through the phone.  “How are you?  Miss my grumpy attitude yet?”

Fergal snorted.  “Pretty pooped, but I wouldn’t have gone to bed without calling you,” he revealed.

“Oh God, what time is it there?” 

“It’s only nine.  But I seriously did so much today I’m ready to pass out.  We opened presents, had lunch, took a walk ‘round the neighbourhood, then walked to the beach, then came back and made hot cocoa…” he rattled off.  It all sounded amazing to her.  “What about you?”

Gemma huffed.  “I got interrogated because of you,” she scolded him playfully.  “Twenty-five people asking ‘Who’s Fergal?  What’s a Fergal?  Where’d you meet him?  What’s he do?  Where is he?’”

“That’s funny, because the only questions anyone here asked me were ‘Where’s Gemma?  How’s Gemma?  Who’s she with?  What’s she doing?’  It’s like I don’t even exist!”

“I’m sorry you’re so jealous of me, but I can’t help it that I’m popular,” she used a line from Mean Girls, causing Fergal to laugh.  “Maybe we should have switched families for the holidays.  Clearly they only care about the opposite person.”

“Clearly.”

There was a pause in their conversation before Gemma heard Fergal’s voice again.  “Hey Gem?”

“Yeah?”

“I do kinda miss you.”

She could feel her cheeks flush red.  “I miss you too, Ferg.”

As they continued their conversation, Gemma wondered if, hundreds of miles away, if he could sense her curling up into a ball, listening to his accent like she hadn’t heard it in years, a small contended smile on her face.  She knew there was nothing she’d rather be doing right now.  

It was all a blur to Fergal.  Here he was, standing at the baggage claim at Pearson International Airport in Toronto.  He’d call a cab to take him to the Saad-Fitzgerald house.  He’d be seeing Gemma in just over an hour, if everything went smoothly.  

How did he end up here?  Well, it all happened so quickly.  After a few more phone calls to and from Gemma throughout the week leading up to New Year’s Eve, it was obvious to everyone around him, especially his parents, that Fergal was missing her more than he let on.   Then, after spending New Years Eve with his friends, he had a quiet breakfast with his parents, where his mom told him, “If you want to go Ferg, you can go.  You left me for Japan at 24…we’ve been doing this dance for over ten years.  I don’t mind you leaving.”

And so that night, he booked the first flight out from Dublin to Toronto.  Now, he found himself at the door of 245 Briar Hill Avenue in Toronto, knocking, his shoes covered in snow.  He didn’t notice a car in the driveway, and hoped to God someone was home.  He was cold and the taxi had already driven away.  He didn’t know where else he could go.

Thankfully, he heard the rattle of a lock and chain a few moments later, and the door was opened.  An older woman, wearing glasses and a cozy looking sweater opened the door.  “Hello?”

Fergal smiled charmingly.  “Hi, you must be Nabilah Fitzgerald?”

“I speak to you Jehovah’s Witnesses once three years ago and you still remember my name!” she yelled out, waving her finger at him, about the close the door.

“Oh no!  No no!  It’s not – I’m not – no!  My name’s Fergal – I know your daughter Gem --”

“Fergal!!  Fergal from Orlando!” Nabilah exclaimed, swinging the door open.  “Fergal!  Come inside from this cold!  Come come come!  In in in! Inside!  Inside!” Nabilah all but pulled him into the foyer, closing the door behind him.  “Where are your boots?!” she demanded, looking down at his paltry Vans sneakers.

Overwhelmed, his mouth gaped open, and he said the only thing that came to his mind.  “I’m Irish.”

Nabilah nodded her head in understanding, as if that was a legitimate excuse.  “Ah yes, of course.  You weren’t expecting the snow.”

“No I wasn’t.”

“I’ve been in this country thirty years and even I don’t expect it sometimes,” she joked.  “What are you doing in Toronto?”

What was he doing in Toronto?  Showing up announced to the Saad-Fitzgerald residence, apparently.  “I uh, I came to surprise Gemma.”

Nabilah had a toothy grin on her face.  “Ah yes, of course,” she said knowingly.  “Take off your shoes.  Come by the fire to warm up.  Gemma and her father are out but they should be back in less than an hour.”  As he took off his shoes and followed her into the house, she kept talking to him.  “You want something hot to drink?  Some hot chocolate?  Some coffee – oh no, you’re Irish, you must drink tea!  I’ve got a lot of tea --”

“Mrs. Fitzgerald, it’s no bother --” he tried to wave her off.

“Bother?!  What bother!  It’s nothing!  I fill a kettle with water and I put it on a stove!  Nothing!” she kept exclaiming.  “You sit on the couch and warm up.  You’re not used to our winters and I don’t want your blood to freeze.”

Once Nabilah prepared the tea, she brought it over and settled into polite conversation with Fergal.  She asked about his family, the holidays, and he answered all her questions earnestly.  She told him the story of how she met James, how long they had lived in this house, and what Gemma was like as a kid, pointing to some family portraits in frames and pictures of her in her first ever hockey uniform that were on display on the fireplace mantle.  She was about to break out a family photo album before they heard the garage door begin to open.   

“That’s them,” Nabilah said, standing up from the couch and bringing their mugs into the kitchen.  “She’ll be happy to see you, Fergal, even if she doesn’t show it.”

It was at that moment Fergal realized that Nabilah was probably acutely aware of the issues Gemma was having with her injury.  He couldn’t form another thought before he heard her voice call out throughout the house.  “Maaaaa!  Dad still has some bags in the car!”

“I’ll be right out!” Nabilah called back, barely making a move from the kitchen. He heard the door shut, and the rustling of bags, before the squeak of some old floorboards in the stairs that signalled Gemma was on her way towards them.  When she finally ascended the stairs, she still didn’t notice him, too preoccupied with making sure the bags didn’t break from the weight.

“Hey,” he said plainly to get her attention.

She stopped dead in her tracks, her head whipping over to him.  “Ferg?!” she set down her bags.  “What are you doing here?!”

“I thought I’d come to Canada in the dead of winter for a vacation,” he joked as he watched her make her way over to him.  

She embraced him tightly, throwing her arms around him tightly and squeezing him against her body.  He reciprocated, wrapping his arms around her too in a tight hug.  “I missed you,” she said, loud enough so he could hear but not her mother in the kitchen.

“I missed you too,” he whispered, squeezing her a bit tighter.  “That’s why I’m here.”  She broke their hug to get a good look at him, as if she still didn’t believe he was there in the living room.  She looked good; well rested, relaxed, her cheeks flushed red, probably from the cold outside.  “You cut your hair,” he smiled.

She rolled her eyes and snorted, dropping her arms from around his shoulders and pushing his chest lightly.  “Why do you notice these things?”

“Who’s this?” a man’s voice filled the air, causing Gemma to spin around.  “Ah, you must be Fergal?”

“Yep, that’s me,” he nodded to who he assumed was James.  “It’s really nice to meet you Mr. Fitzgerald.”

“You’re in for a treat, Fergal.  Big hockey game on tonight.  Canada versus Russia in the semi-finals at the World Juniors,” James smiled, setting down his grocery bags next to where Gemma had set hers down.

“Have you watched hockey with Gemma yet?” Nabilah asked, who was now standing in the entryway from the living room to the kitchen.  

“N-No, I haven’t.  But I’ve seen her play.”

Gemma’s eyes went wide at the revelation.  He’d actually done it – he’d looked her up on the internet.  “You have?”

“Well, yeah.  I looked up your gold medal game – I had to, the way everyone talks about it,” Fergal admitted.

“When?” Gemma asked.

“Long time ago,” Fergal shrugged it off.

“She’s good, isn’t she?” Nabilah winked, clearly proud of her daughter.  

“She is.  Best I’ve ever seen,” Fergal smiled.

“Best of her generation,” Nabilah nodded towards her daughter, who was now blushing yet looked mildly annoyed.  “That’s me and James waking up at 5am to take her to morning practice.”

Fergal laughed as he saw Gemma roll her eyes.  “Yeah, I know the feeling.  My parents would do the same for me for Gaelic football.  I think it killed them a little inside when I chose wrestling instead.”

“Oh, wrestling!  So you do Olympic wrestling then?” James asked.

“Oh no no no.  I wrestling in the WWE, and I used to wrestle in Japan.”

“How awesome!” James exclaimed.

“Where’s your stuff?” Gemma intervened.  She didn’t even give him a chance to answer before she looked at both her parents.  “I’m going to help him set up in the spare room,” she announced.  

Before Fergal could say another word, Gemma began dragging him through the house.  He grabbed his suitcase quickly, never breaking stride, and followed Gemma before reaching what he assumed to be the spare bedroom she had mentioned.  She turned on the light and closed the door behind her after pulling him in.  “Your mother did the same thing to me when she saw me outside with only Vans on,” he joked.

“You’re insane,” she said, but he wasn’t sure if she had heard a word of what he just said.  “What are you doing here?”

“I told you, I missed you,” he repeated his earlier sentiments.  “My mom said I was apparently all mopey around the house…and well, she knew that it would cheer me up if I came over to see you.”

Gemma looked at him like he had three heads.  “Seeing me would cheer you up?”

“Yeah,” Fergal nodded.  “Crazy, right?”

Gemma didn’t say another word.  Instead, she extended her arms out to hug him again, embracing him tightly just as she’d done in the living room a few minutes earlier.  “Ferg, you’re certifiably nuts.”

He snorted.  “Yeah, but the craziest part is…mammy was right.”

Gemma stopped breathing momentarily.  Had he just admitted he was happy being with her?  That he would rather be here, with her, in a snowy and cold Toronto with her parents, rather than at home in Ireland, with his own parents?  God.  

She squeezed him tighter.  A tingle went up her spine as she felt him nuzzle his face into the crook of her neck.  

Fuck.

Friends my ass.

[spine-buster]

Chapter 12 - The Beginning and the End of Everything (Finn Balor)

Fergal was acutely aware that Gemma had her major check-up today.  It was all she talked about for the last week – since they got back to Orlando, really.  Her doctors were in Orlando, her main physiotherapist Diane would be involved – it was the day she had been aching for.  She was both excited and nervous.  All she wanted to know was when she would be able to get back to hockey.  

He wanted to be able to be there for her, but she had gone without him.  There wasn’t even an invitation on her part for him to go with her.  He knew that regardless of the outcome, she’d be at the facility later, so he looked forward to seeing her there.  He could hardly focus on his own exercises, knowing Gemma could come in any minute, giving him the news he now wanted to hear too.

His mind preoccupied, he decided to send her a quick text.  Hey how did everything go?  Call me when you get the chance.  I want to hear your good news.

“Texting Gemma?” John asked as Fergal put his phone back on the ledge, looking at it longingly in case she texted back right away.  

“Yeah…she had her check-up today.  I want to see how it went,” Fergal explained.

John looked around the room hesitantly.  He approached Fergal and leaned in relatively close, as if he was about to tell a secret.  “If I tell you where she is, will you focus properly on your exercises?”

Fergal was taken aback by what John had said.  He knew where she was?  It wasn’t like she was captive, but God, it would have been nice to know at the beginning of the session.  “Where is she?”

John sighed.  “She’s here, in the building.  She’ll be out soon and you’ll be able to see her, okay?  But you’ve gotta focus on your workout or else you’ll end up making a mistake and setting yourself back.”

Fergal clenched his jaw.  Gemma was here?  In the building?  Already?  She hadn’t let him known.  How was she able to sneak in?  Did she come with Diane?  “Okay, fine.  How long will she be?”

“I don’t know.  But we’ve gotta start again, let’s go.”

“Fine, let’s go.”

About fifteen minutes later, while taking a quick water break, he noticed the familiar short brown hair of Gemma lying on a bench, facing away from him, Diane encouraging her to do some exercises with her knee.  Completely ignoring John, he began to walk towards them to try and get something out of Gemma.  But with an eagle-like instinct, Diane looked up and saw him, pushing her hand out for him to stop.  He did so, throwing his hands up in exasperation, but Diane shook her head vehemently.  He tried motioning to Gemma, but Diane just kept shaking her head at him.  She didn’t even say a word, which meant Gemma didn’t even notice he was trying to talk to her.

“Let’s go, Ferg,” John said sternly from behind him.

Now Fergal was just pissed off.  Why wasn’t he allowed to see her?  Why hadn’t he been told she was in the centre?  It wasn’t like he was just some random guy – they were friends.  Everyone at the physio centre knew this.  He bit his tongue from saying something as he walked back towards John, hands on his hips.

As Fergal worked on his push-ups, John spotting him and making sure he was rising and falling properly without too much strain on the shoulder, a loud shriek was heard suddenly from the other side of the room.  John’s focus was taken away from Fergal momentarily as he looked over to see what the commotion was.  Fergal stopped his push-up.  He couldn’t really see much since John was blocking the way.

As John was about to respond, another shriek echoed through the room, causing Fergal’s hairs to stand on end.  It was Gemma.  

By the time he stood on his feet and looked over, she was being tended to, in the process of being whisked out of the room, but she was swearing and struggling against the physiotherapists in each and every direction.  He completely disregarded John and began to follow the medics out of the main area to wherever they were taking her.  Gemma kept screaming at them to let her go as they tried to pin her down so she wouldn’t squirm all over the gurney.  They pushed her into one of the private doctor’s rooms, medical equipment everywhere.  Fergal slid into the room unnoticed, his mind on overdrive.

“Ferg, you need to get out,” John’s voice was heard behind him, but Fergal already knew he was going to ignore him until he found out what was wrong with Gemma.

“What happened?” Fergal asked to no-one in particular.

One of the medics looked over to Fergal quickly.  “She fell…must have hurt her knee in the process,” he said quickly, in an almost annoyed tone since they clearly had a situation on their hands and Fergal had the gall to sneak into the room, let alone ask a question.  “Gemma, you have to stop moving!  We have to look at your knee!”

“Stop it!  Stop it!  Let me go!” she screamed through tears as she continued to struggle.  “Let go LET GO!!!”

Swinging her arms in each and every direction, and kicking her good leg as best she could, the medics had to duck to miss what would be punches and kicks.  “Miss Fitzgerald, if you don’t stop we’ll have to sedate you!” another medic warned, dodging a punch.

Gemma clearly wasn’t hearing anything they were saying.  No pleads, no threats, nothing.  “Get out!  Let me go and GET OUT!” she wailed.

“Get the haloperidol,” the medic beside Fergal whispered to another.

Fergal went into panic mode.  He had no idea what that was but he knew they weren’t going to inject Gemma with it.  “NO!” he exclaimed firmly, all of the medics looking at him now, including John, who was looking at him like he was insane.  “I’ll handle this.  Everyone get out.”

“Ferg --” John started, but had no time to finish since Fergal had resolved what he was going to do.

“John, get everyone out,” Fergal said.  “Now.”

“Ferg --”

“OUT!” he demanded, and John had no choice but to follow Fergal’s orders and tell all the medics to leave the room.  He had no idea what Fergal could do, and he was still half in the mind that he could lose his job if Fergal got hurt while alone with Gemma.  The medics left the room so quickly, his thought process ended just as abruptly as the last medic shut the door.

Just as soon as the medics were out the door, Gemma sat up on the gurney.  She stood on one leg, looking at Fergal.  Her face was read and glistening with her tears.  “Get out, Fergal.”

“Gemma, sit down,” he grabbed her arm.

“Get out, Fergal.”  

“Sit your ass back down!” he yelled.

“I said GET OUT!” she exclaimed, jerking her arm away from him.  She started to throw her arms around again, and in her blind rage-filled pain, she didn’t even notice that she punched him in his arm – his good arm, thankfully.  He grabbed her hand forcefully so she couldn’t punch anymore.  She bent over, trying to loosen his grip on her, but he took the opportunity to get behind her, so her back was to his chest, and grabbed her other arm as well, holding them firmly down against her body so she couldn’t harm him or herself.  He was like a human straight jacket.  

“Gemma, stop.”

“Let me go!” she tried to wiggle away, but his grip was too strong.  She was sobbing at this point, her words barely coming out.

“If you try and get away you’re going to hurt my shoulder,” he warned, figuring that if she had no regard for her own body, she at least have some regard for his.

It seemed to work.  She stopped trying to get away from his grip on her, but the sobs still escaping from her were painful to see and hear, even more painful than the push-ups he’d been doing earlier.  He relaxed his grip slightly, relieved that she didn’t take the opportunity to get violent again.  “Shh…it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” she whispered through her sobs.  “I’m not getting better.  Nothing is getting better.  I keep falling.  It keeps hurting.  Nothing is getting better.  Nothing.”  

“Gemma, you know these things take time --”

“No!” she wailed again.  “My knee is never going to be the same.  The doctors told me I can never play hockey again.”

Fergal stiffened at the words.  ‘The doctors told me I can never play hockey again.’  He immediately felt sick to his stomach.  The one thing she loved more than anything in this world, she could do anymore. “Gemma…”

Her cries made his throat run dry.  “My life is over,” she sobbed out.  

Fergal’s heart broke into a million pieces.  “Your life isn’t over, Gemma,” he said, knowing that he sounded absolutely stupid.  He knew that if the roles were reversed, if he had been told he could never wrestle again, nothing anybody would say could help.

“I can’t take it anymore,” she cried.  “I can’t do this anymore.  I can’t take it.  I can’t take it.”

“Shhhh,” Fergal leaned his cheek against her head.  He sat down slightly on the gurney.  They sat together, Fergal listening to Gemma’s cries.  All he felt he could do was be there, be a bodily presence in the room to let her know she wasn’t alone.

After a few minutes, he decided to pose a question.  “Does it hurt?”

Gemma nodded her head.

“Can I call the doctors back in so they can help you?”

Gemma shook her head vehemently.  “No.”

“Gemma --”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said immediately.  “I’ve gotta hold you down and make sure you don’t hurt anyone.  Especially yourself.”

“Don’t leave,” Gemma repeated with fear in her voice. 

“I’m not leaving,” Fergal affirmed.  “Can I call them back in now?”

After a moment of hesitation, she finally nodded her head.  “You’re going to be okay, Gemma,” Fergal whispered as he placed his lips on her shoulder, above the material of her top.  “You’re going to be okay.”

Fergal called out to the doctors.  They came into the room cautiously, but once they saw Gemma had calmed down and that Fergal still had a hold on her, they were much more willing to get to work.  They had Fergal and Gemma move, so that they were both sitting on the gurney properly while they inspected her knee.  Fergal held her arms down the entire time, through every flinch.  They never let go of each other.

When all was said and done, Fergal was relieved to learn nothing major had happened, mostly because she didn’t fall on the side her knee was injured – the spike in pain was due to the sudden movement from the fall.  They gave her some paid and sleeping medication and called it a day, forgoing the rest of her physiotherapy session.  John came in and told her that if she ever got violent again she’d be moved; she nodded her head in shame.  Fergal volunteered to take her home.  

He led her out to his car in a wheelchair.  She had stopped crying but was so completely devoid of any emotion that it made him scared.  The usual attitude she had was gone and, although she gave him a hard time with it, he quickly realized he would rather have that attitude than this.  She was a shell.  She was so unlike what he knew her to be, and he so desperately wanted that Gemma back.  

As he approached the passenger side of his car, he knelt down in front of her before he opened the door to let her in.  “Listen…I don’t want you to be alone right now, so I’m going to bring you to my apartment…unless you want to go to yours.”

“I don’t care,” she whispered, looking away from him.  “Take me to my grave for all I care.  I already feel dead.”

His stomach twisted at her words.  He barely even noticed that she had taken the initiative to open the door herself and sit in her seat – he came back to his senses when she slammed the door in his face.

The rest of the day wasn’t filled with much.  Gemma spent most of her time crying, Fergal trying to console her but to no avail.  He tried to get her to eat, but she refused, opting instead to sleep, thanks in part to the sleeping medication given to her at the clinic.  Fergal, worried, made sure she only took the prescribed amount, not a pill more or less.  She slept for most of the afternoon.

Around dinnertime she took a few calls.  One from her parents, that lasted the longest, which caused her to cry again.  Another from her agent, where he assumed they went over the logistics of what would happen next: an announcement, a press conference – what professional athletes do when these things happen.  The last call was from Jane, and for a while, Fergal was sure all Gemma did was cry into the phone.  

He didn’t bother to drive her home, and she didn’t ask him to.  He was in the washroom one minute, and the next she was in his bed, on top of his covers.  He assumed she wanted to sleep again, although he didn’t know if she’d make it through the night, from pain, crying, or otherwise.  

“You don’t mind, do you?” she asked when he walked into his room.

“Not at all,” he said.  “You do whatever you need to do, Gemma.”

At this point, he had no qualms stripping right in front of her.  It was his apartment, after all.  She watched him as he pulled his shirt over his head slowly, revealing his toned a muscular body.  As he turned towards his credenza, she noticed a fairly large purple and green bruise on his left bicep.  “What’s that?” she croaked out.

He looked towards the top of the credenza to what he thought she was talking about.  “That was in Japan, after I won this tournament there called Best of the Super Juniors.”

“No, on your arm.”

He looked down, turning his neck so he could see what she meant.  He finally saw the bruise but didn’t seem to give it any mind.  “I guess that’s from today.”

Gemma’s chest tightened.  “From me?”

“Yeah.  From when I was trying to get you to calm down.”

“Oh my God,” Gemma muttered as she began to cry instantaneously.  “I’m a monster!” she wailed.

“You’re not a monst --”

“But I am!  How can you deny that?!  I did that to you!”

“Gemma, it’s okay --”

“STOP telling me it’s okay!  I hurt you for heaven’s sake!  I’m horrible!  I’m a monster!  GOD!” she kept wailing.

Not bothering with his shirt anymore, Fergal rushed over to Gemma and wrapped his arms around her.  “Come on Gemma, it was an accident.  It doesn’t matter.  I didn’t even feel it.”

She continued to sob in his arms, his words doing nothing to help her feel better.  “I’m a monster.  I’m a monster.  I don’t deserve to play hockey again.  I don’t deserve to be happy, or to have you in my life, or to have anybody in my life!”

“Gemma, stop it – no,” he said sternly, trying to get her to look at him.  Through all her tears and sobs it would be virtually impossible.  “Gemma, listen to me – you deserve happiness, whatever you do.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes you do.”

“I hurt the people that love me most!  They give me everything – give give give!  And I take take take!  And I give nothing back!  I’m selfish and I’m greedy and I’m just an awful person!”

It became clear to Fergal that there was nothing he could say or do to get her to calm down.  There was no talking sense to her, especially at her most vulnerable.  The only thing he could think to do now was continue to hug her, make his presence known to her.  He was here for her, as he always was, and he’d continue to be there for her through this.

If he thought she had hit rock bottom before, he was sorely mistaken.  This…this was rock bottom.  

[spine-buster]

Chapter 1 - The Beginning and the End of Everything (Finn Balor)

It is a truth universally acknowledged that an athlete sidelined with an injury wants to recover as soon as possible to get back to their sport.

That is why Fergal Devitt found himself waiting on a gurney in his physiotherapist’s office, only one day after surgery.  He wanted – no, he needed – to begin physiotherapy as soon as possible.  That way, he could be in less pain.  That way, he could get motion in his shoulder back.  That way, he could be back in a wrestling ring.  

The last few days had been a complete whirlwind for him, and that was taking into account his lifestyle of a wrestler – constantly traveling, constantly in airports or a car, waving to fans, talking to media, signing memorabilia, fulfilling obligations.  On Sunday, he had become the inaugural WWE Universal Champion.  Monday morning, he flew to New York City on a red-eye from Los Angeles to do a Good Morning America appearance.  By the afternoon, he was in a hospital taking MRIs.  By the evening, he had relinquished the title.  Tuesday morning, he was in surgery.

Truth be told, when the anaesthesiologist knocked him out, it was the first time in days that he’d gotten proper sleep.  Besides the hectic schedule, the pain in his shoulder radiated throughout his entire body when he lay down.   He was lucky to still have his mother and father in town – they had flown in to see him win, obviously – and they were able to extend their trip for a few days after his surgery to make sure everything was okay.  Two friends had already been through the surgery as well, and not too long ago either, so he knew he had them to lean on too, literally and figuratively.

Despite his circumstance, Fergal Devitt considered himself fortunate.  This was his first major injury in almost twenty years of wrestling.  Even at his age of 35, when most men burned out or were thinking about retirement, he was still going at it, feeling better than ever (despite the injury, of course).  Fergal considered himself an eternal optimist, which meant that he knew he was going to recover, going to get back in the ring, going to do what he loved.  

Fergal squeezed the small ball he was given in his hand, waiting for his physiotherapist, John MacLean, to make his way into the room.  He had only been waiting for about five minutes, which he didn’t mind, but he was starting to get antsy.  He knew this session would hurt, and he knew he’d probably have to pop some more pain medication to deal with the pain afterwards, but he was eager to start.  

After a few more moments, the doorknob giggled and John MacLean walked into the room.  Fergal immediately perked up, squeezing the ball harder.  “Mr. Devitt, how are you?” John greeted him politely.

“Call me Fergal.  And I’m fine, how are you?”

“Pretty good,” John focused on his clipboard as the door closed behind him.  “How’re you feeling?  Still in pain?” John asked.

Fergal nodded his head.  “The medication is helping though.  My mum’s been making sure I’m doing everything the doctor said…sleeping on that chair, squeezing this ball,” he flashed the green ball briefly to John.  

“Great, good to hear,” John smiled, writing something down on the clipboard that Fergal could only imagine was illegible scribble.  All medical professionals seemed to have the same chicken scratch handwriting.  He never understood his prescriptions.  “Alright, so, I want to explain something to you very quickly before we begin,” John began.  “You’ll be working with me today, but our receptionist accidentally double-booked me, so there’s going to be two of you simultaneously.”

Fergal shrugged his good shoulder.  “I honestly don’t mind.  It’s not like I’m going to be balancing on balls and doing push-ups today…you’re going to be moving my arm for me.”

John smiled again.  “Thanks for understanding, buddy.  So you’ll be apologetic to my plight of having to move your shoulder, then go on to move her knee.”

“Hey man, this sort of stuff happens all the time.  I don’t mind so long as we get the session in,” Fergal said.  “Plus, it’ll give me some time to catch my breath.  My spidey senses tell me this is going to hurt like a bitch no matter how many people I’m booked with.”

Gemma Fitzgerald was angry.  She was positive her face was in a permanent scowl – it had probably been in a scowl even when she was put under for surgery.  Even though she was used to it – used to the crutches, used to the knee brace, used to the pain – it still didn’t get any easier for her to comes to terms with.  Nothing about this situation was noble, or brave; there was nothing to be happy about, or put a smile on her face in any situation, under any circumstance.  A permanent scowl was in her permanent future.  

Everything was familiar to Gemma except her location.  Usually she’d be in Canada (preferably her hometown), or at least New England for her recovery, but never this far south, in Orlando.  She didn’t know how to get around – she couldn’t get around because of her injury, and she had to rely on other to ship her off to various locations she needed to be.  She didn’t really like her apartment; a little one bedroom on the ground floor of a townhouse complex on one of Orlando’s many lakes.  Her new physiotherapist’s office was stereotypical and completely unlike her old physiotherapist’s office, which was bright and airy, more home-y, mostly because she had been there more often than not.

She could barely sit on this gurney.  She could barely stand anything and anyone around her.  She wanted to scream but she knew she shouldn’t; there was no plausible explanation for her screaming bloody murder while waiting for her physiotherapist.  Was there a pillow for her to punch?  She looked behind her – there wasn’t.  She let out an exasperated sigh and felt her cheeks flush, the first sign that tears were about to fall.  She was a mess, hardly able to keep it together.

She was on the verge of getting up and walking out of the room before John MacLean, the man who was going to be her physiotherapist, walked in the room.  Took him long enough.

“Hi Ms. Fitzgerald,” he smiled politely at her, a clipboard in his hand.  “How are you doing today?”

“Fine.”

“How are you feeling?  Are you still in pain?”

Gemma shrugged her shoulders.  “Kind of.”

“Kind of?” John cocked his head to the side.  

Gemma inhaled deeply.  “I just got out of major surgery less than a week ago.  Yes, I’m still in pain,” she said.  It was the most obvious answer in the world, which is why she didn’t understand John asking her such a stupid question. She knew John wouldn’t appreciate the attitude or the sarcasm, but it wasn’t really her fault.  Regardless, he took the comment in stride and wrote something down on his clipboard.  ‘New anti-bitch medication for Ms. Fitzgerald’ she imaged him writing.  

“Ms. Fitzgerald, before we begin I just have to explain something.  It’s not a big issue, but we accidentally double-booked this session, so there is going to be two of you simultaneously,” John explained.  “Are you okay with that?” As if the day could get any better.   She shrugged her shoulders.  “Whatever.” “Ms. Fitzgerald, I need your full consent to be able to run the session,” John said with a hint of sternness in his voice.  “I can assure you that we will take every precaution in not making this happen again, but for today I need you to be okay with this.  The other patient is an athlete too, except with a shoulder injury.”

“I guess I don’t really have a choice, do I?  Yes, I consent,” she huffed.  “Now can we get going, please?  The sooner I’m out of this brace the better.”

Fergal was in the designated area first, due to his legs working just fine.  He watched as other physiotherapists worked on their own patients, various injuries clear to him – one person kept rotating their ankle; a young woman kept extending her arm in and out; others were stretching.  

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw John accompanying a woman into the open area.  She was walking with a crutch, a leg brace extending from her thigh all the way to her ankle keeping her left leg completely straight and in place.  She grimaced as she walked, completely tuning out John’s questions of her being in pain and asking if she wanted to stop and take a rest before continuing.  Eventually, she made her way to the physio bench beside where Fergal was sitting.

He got a good look at her as John helped her on to her own physio bench.  She had short brown hair, a chin-length bob, and it looked unbrushed.  Her face was dominated by a pair of thick eyebrows, her nose long and her lips thin.  Naturally, he wondered how she got injured, but he knew better than to ask that as his opening line.  

When she was settled in, lying on her back, John turned his focus to Fergal briefly.  “Fergal, this is Gemma.  Gemma, Fergal.”

“Hiya,” Fergal said, waving briefly, waiting for Gemma to respond.  Instead, she huffed and puffed in pain, squeezing her eyes open and shut.  She even turned her head away from his slightly, as to not catch his eyes.

Fergal looked to John, back at Gemma, and finally back to John, who gave him a sympathetic but telling slight shake of the head.  “Alright, let’s get you two started.” Fergal didn’t think he’d ever been in so much pain before.  After John had gotten him out of his sling, he began to move Fergal’s shoulder, and even got Fergal to move it himself a couple of times.  But it hurt.  A lot.  He had to stop and collect himself more than a few times because he just couldn’t take it.  At one point, he even asked John to stop.  

But apparently that was nothing compared to what Gemma was going through.  She couldn’t lie still.  Any small movement garnered groans, whimpers, cries out in pain.  Tears were falling although she tried to wipe them away as quickly as they fell.  Her knuckles turned white from how hard she was making fists with her hands.  At some points she was practically hyperventilating.  

It was all very hard to watch and listen to.  Fergal never liked to see anybody in so much pain.  When the session was finished, John put the full leg brace back on Gemma, helping her up from the bed and back on her feet.

As John grabbed her crutch learning against the wall, Fergal could swear she looked back at him for a millisecond.  “It was nice to meet you,” Fergal said politely.

Again, he was met with silence.  John gave Fergal another sympathetic look as he helped her waddle off to the receptionist where she’d have to sign out before going home.

When John returned, he began to help Fergal put his giant sling back on.  After a little bit of wincing here and there, it was firmly in place.  John handed Fergal’s little green ball back to him, encouraging him to keep squeezing it throughout the day.  

“What’s up with that girl?” Fergal asked as John recorded the last bits of the session on his clipboard.  

John looked up.  “Gemma?”

“Yeah.  She seemed…I don’t know, a bit cold.  Standoffish.  Kind of miserable, really.”

John shrugged his shoulders.  “She’s been like that for a while, from what I hear.  At least since about a week or two before her surgery,” John said.

“What did she get done?” Fergal asked.

“That I can’t tell you,” John said seriously.  “I’m not allowed to discuss patients with other patients.”

“Gotcha.”

“Although, I mean, it’s kind of obvious it’s a knee issue.”

“Right,” Fergal nodded his head.  “She’s doing all of her physio here, too?”

“For the foreseeable future, yeah,” John nodded his head.  “But don’t worry about being double-booked with her again.  I’ll make sure it’s one-on-one from now on.  To be honest, you might not even ever see her again.”

Fergal nodded his head in understanding, John telling him he was good to gather his things and sign out of the building.  As John walked away, back into the offices, Fergal looked over to the physio bed Gemma had used.  Some of the material was still scrunched up at the sides where Gemma had been squeezing it, ready to rip it out at any given moment.  

Fergal began to wonder whether or not this was Gemma’s first injury; whether all of this pain was new to her, or if she had experienced it before.  Before he could get too deep into thought, he snapped out of it, hopping off the physio bed and making his way to the front to sign out.

After all, like John said, he’d probably never see her again.  

[spine-buster]

Chapter 10 - The Beginning and the End of Everything (Finn Balor)

It didn’t take long for Gemma to fall in love with Reykjavik.  The town was quaint, the people were lovely, and scenery was beautiful.  She and Fergal had spent their first day in Reykjavik together, exploring the city; on their second day, they took a day trip to The Golden Circle to see the Strokkur geyser, the Gullfoss Waterfall, and Thingvellir National Park; now, their third day was completely dedicated to relaxation at the Blue Lagoon.  She hadn’t quite over-exerted herself during the city or Golden Circle tours (half the time Fergal made sure she didn’t), but she knew her knee would appreciate this day.  Especially since tomorrow they’d be traveling again, flying to London so Fergal could show up at the WWE UK Championship announcement.  

The day had been long but relaxing, and they both had a blast.  Gemma was able to take off her brace while she was in the Lagoon and it felt amazing to her.  She hadn’t felt so relaxed in months.  It helped that Fergal was there, cracking jokes and chatting up random people.  They met a nice Icelandic family there with their children, as well as a Spanish couple who climbed mountains as their holidays.  Fergal even got recognized by a fan at one point, right in the water, and Gemma was roped in to take a picture of them.  It was awkward, but she didn’t think too much of it.  

Later that evening, they settled into their hotel room on a resort close to the Blue Lagoon.  Fergal being Fergal forgot to change his reservation at the hotel, which meant they were stuck sharing a Queen-sized bed.  He didn’t think too much of it – it was Gemma trying to figure out all the logistics.  She had to sleep a certain way so it wouldn’t aggravate her knee; he had to sleep a certain way so he wouldn’t aggravate his shoulder – would they be able to make it work?  Would there be room?  Did he snore?  Did she snore?  What if he hogged the covers?  She needed her covers.  He didn’t seem to care much, shrugging it off and saying something along the lines of ‘Who cares?’ and ‘It’ll work, whatever.’  Gemma wished she could just brush things off like that.  

After grabbing a late dinner courtesy of room service, they both decided, for one last time, that they’d take their last midnight dip in their semi-private hot spring just a few metres from their door.  They changed into their bathing suits and robes and approached the hot spring.  There was one more couple, who were occupying the room next to them, enjoying the late-night hot spring, but they were at he opposite end of the spring, which was nice.  Gemma took off her brace and Fergal helped her back into the water slowly.  

After a few more comments about how good it felt, how they would both miss the feeling, there was a moment of silence between them.  “I’ve been meaning to ask…” Fergal said as he shifted his body to get a bit more comfortable.  “How’s your therapy going?”

“Oh, it’s going well,” Gemma said, not even opening her eyes.  “My therapist is so good, you know?  She gets me.  It helps a lot.”

“Good.  I’m glad,” Fergal said.  

There was a short moment of silence before Gemma finally opened her eyes and looked over to him.  “Have you ever been?  To a therapist, I mean,” she asked.

“No, I can’t say I have.”

“Why not?”

What a question to ask.  Only Gemma.  “I don’t know.  I guess I’ve just been fortunate enough in my life that I’ve never needed one.”

She chuckled slightly, looking away.  “You’re lucky.  I’ve been seeing mine since I was at least 19.”

“Seriously?” It was his turn to look at her.  

“Mhm.  My parents just wanted to make sure I was coping well with everything,” she revealed.  “The media was getting to be a lot for them, so they thought it was a lot for me, too.  But I was fine.”

“But you kept seeing her?”

“Yeah…I mean I stopped for a bit, but now that this is happened, I called her again.  There’s nobody else I’d rather speak to.  Well…no other professional.  I talk to Jane, and I talk to my parents, and…well, I talk to you now too.”

Fergal’s smile crept back on to his face.  “Well, good to know.  I’m glad you feel comfortable talking to me.”

“Do you ever think that we were, like, meant to meet each other?” she blurted out, making Fergal figure the question had been on her mind for a while.  The hot spring was making her become philosophical, apparently.  “You know, like, we kind of got injured around the same time, we both got surgery, we both ended up at the same physiotherapy centre…it’s like the universe is trying to tell us something.”

Fergal shrugged his shoulders, smiling slightly.  “I don’t know, I guess.”

“I’m being serious!” she nudged him, causing him to giggle.  She knew he was just riling her up.  “What are the chances that we’d be put at the same physio clinic?  What are the chances that we’d become friends?”

“What are the chances you’d be nice to me?” he wiggled his eyebrows comically.

“Stop being an ass,” she giggled.  “I’m a nice person when I’m not injured.”

“To answer your question,” Fergal began, pausing for dramatic effect.  “I do think the universe works in mysterious ways.  And I do think we were meant to cross paths somehow.”

“Do you think…do you think that if neither of us got injured, we still would have met somehow?” she asked.

She sounded like a little kid asking a parent if Santa Claus was real.  Who was Fergal to deny her the thoughts she had about their friendship?  “Of course we would have,” he agreed with her.  “Probably at a charity event, like a Make-a-Wish.  A children’s hospital visit, even.  There would have been plenty of opportunities to meet each other.”

Gemma smiled at his words, clearly finding solace in what he was telling her.  “Good,” she said firmly, settling back into her position and cranking her head back to stare up at the stars.  

She had closed her eyes, after taking in the night stars, and didn’t see that Fergal kept staring at her, long after her eyes shut.

“You should probably change your shoes,” Gemma said, giving Fergal the complete up down as they stood backstage at the O2 Arena in London.  “Your suit looks nice but the shoes ruin the whole look.”

“But they’re comfy!” Fergal challenged, looking down at them as he buttoned up his suit jacket.

“They ruin the look!” she repeated emphatically.  

“I think they look fine,” he said.  “I’ll change if my boss tells me to.”

Gemma snorted.  “Yeah, don’t listen to the girl who’s trying to save you from a disastrous fashion choice.”

“It’s not disastrous!” 

“What’s disastrous?” a British male voice interrupted them.  

Fergal knew the voice immediately, spinning around to see none other than William Regal in a sharp three-piece suit.  They embraced each other and exchanged pleasantries; all while Gemma was standing awkwardly, waiting to be introduced.  “Will, this is my friend Gemma,” Fergal finally introduced them.  They gave each other a polite handshake.  “We’re at the same physiotherapy clinic.  Thought she’d enjoy the UK wrestling scene since she doesn’t have a clue about the American one.”

“Nice to meet you, miss,” William smiled at her.  “So, no clue about the American wrestling scene, then?” 

“None whatsoever,” Gemma quipped.

“And let me guess, torn ACL?”

Fergal gulped.  He saw the small smile on Gemma’s face fade.  “Uh, yeah, among other things.”  

“Torn MCL?  Meniscus?” William pestered.

Gemma glanced over at Fergal.  “He’s good.”

William let out a heart laugh but Fergal knew better.  Gemma was squirming.  “I’ve been around the block a few times, my lady,” William said.  “And I’ve known an injured wrestler or two.  What’s your sport?”

“Ah, hockey,” Gemma said, looking over at Fergal again.  “Should I ge--”

“FERG!” another voice called, interrupting Gemma, and Fergal could see her almost seethe and squirm at the same time.  Fergal looked beyond Gemma to see Paul walking towards him, a giant smile on his face.  “Ferg, my man!  How was the flight over?” he asked, shaking Fergal’s hand and hugging him tightly.  

“Yeah, it was good,” Fergal answered, his attention still focused on Gemma.  Paul noticed and turned to looked towards her, practically waiting to be introduced.  “Paul, this is my friend Gemma.  Gemma, this is my boss Paul.”

Like with William Regal, Paul and Gemma exchanged a polite handshake.  Fergal was about to intervene, to tell Gemma that yes, she could go to her seat now, especially because he knew she wasn’t comfortable, but William beat him to speaking.  “She’s a hockey player!” he announced, continuing the elongated introduction Gemma wanted no part of.  “She’s incapacitated right now so she’s joining us.”

With that comment, however innocent it was on Regal’s part, Fergal knew Gemma had had enough.  She looked at him desperately, begging him to get her out of there.  He knew he had to act quickly.  “Hey Gemma, why don’t you go out to your seat before it gets too crowded out there,” he offered, giving her an out.

“I think I’ll do just that,” she accepted immediately.  “It was nice to meet you Paul…William,” she nodded at them both.  “I’ll see you all out there.”

The three men stared at her as she limped away, waiting for her to open the door to the room where the announcement would be before focusing their attention back on each other.  “A hockey player, huh?” Paul said.

“Yeah,” Fergal nodded his head.

“Torn ACL?”  Fergal nodded his head.  “You met her at physio?”  Fergal nodded his head at Paul’s question again.  “Shouldn’t she be out of the brace by now?”

“If you see her again, do yourself a favour and don’t mention that to her,” Fergal cautioned.  “She might tear your quad again.”

Paul snorted.  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As Gemma watched the entire press conference unfold, she couldn’t help but notice how natural and happy Fergal looked as he spoke about the wrestling scene in the UK.  She knew public speaking wasn’t everybody’s cup of tea, and she knew Fergal was more shy and introverted than most, but seeing him at the podium, speaking about wrestling, she could see he was truly happy.  And why wouldn’t he be?  Although he wasn’t back in a ring, this was the closest he could be to one, and she could tell it made him ecstatic.  

She became emotional as she watched him.  It was almost too much for her, sitting in a crowd watching someone be so close to doing what they loved, while she was still in recovery.  She hated that this ate away at her – she absolutely hated it.  She was happy for her, she really way, but deep down, in the depths of her mind, she was still angry, still frustrated, that she was longing to do the same thing.  

She left earlier than the rest of the media, and it wasn’t because she wanted to waddle out without a bunch of people around her.  She slipped away during the photo opportunity, with all the participants in the tournament on stage posing.  She didn’t know exactly where she was going backstage, but she knew she wouldn’t last much longer watching.

Fergal, on his part, noticed her every move.  He looked at her more than a few times throughout his speech, although he wondered if she noticed.  He saw her leave early, and knew, just by seeing the look on her face, that she had had enough.  He was determined to get backstage to find her, and the second he got the okay from Paul, he left the stage.  She couldn’t have gone far.  

He found her, finally, sitting on top of an electrical box backstage, keeping to herself as she almost always did though there were runners and production crew everywhere.  As he walked towards her, she noticed him and smiled meekly, looking down immediately to his shoes.  “You didn’t change them,” she remarked, referring to his shoes.

“Paul said I didn’t need to.”  

She rolled her eyes.  “Well, if he says so…”

The sarcasm was practically oozing out of her.  “Hey, he’s my boss.  If he says it’s okay, it’s okay,” he shrugged his shoulders.

Gemma nodded her head, looking away from him as if she was trying to hide something.  He knew her by now – at least he liked to think.  Upon closer inspection, he saw that her eyes were red.  “You alright?” he asked, giving her the opportunity to tell him what was wrong on her own.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Why were you crying?” 

“I wasn’t crying,” Gemma quickly denied his observation.

“Yes you were,” Fergal said.  Just as Gemma was about to deny it again, he spoke to interrupt her.  “Don’t lie to me, Gemma.  Tell me why you were crying.”

At this point he stepped between her legs, so she couldn’t look anywhere besides at him.  She took a huge breath, and, instead of saying what was bothering her, leaned forward and laid her head, forehead first, on his chest.  She kept taking deep breaths, even as her head rested against him, and he knew she was trying to calm herself down, so that she wouldn’t cry again.  He didn’t dare attempt to move.  “Gemma…”

“I shouldn’t have come,” she breathed out, her voice cracking.  “I shouldn’t have come here.”

Fergal furrowed his brows.  “Why not?”

“It’s hard.”

“What’s hard?” he asked.  She didn’t immediately respond, instead choosing to continue her heavy breathing.  “Gemma, what’s hard?”

“You.  This.  Watching you do this,” she mumbled into his chest before finally raising her head to look him in the eye.  There was already a tear falling down her cheek.  “You looked so amazing out there…so poised, so natural…you were really in your element.  Even if it was just media.”

“And?”

“And…it’s so nice to see you doing what you love.  It makes me wish I was doing what I love right now,” she said, looking away.  “But I’m not.  And I don’t know when I will be again.  Everything is so up in the air and I don’t know what’s going to happen and I know this is your day and I’m sorry I’m taking this away from you and --”

“Gemma, stop,” Fergal said softly, cutting her off from her rambling.  “You don’t need to apologize for anything.”

“But I do,” she emphasized, wiping her cheeks with her hand.  “I’m crying backstage at your big event and I feel like such a Debbie downer.  But seeing you out there, seeing how happy you looked, it just…it made me want to be that happy, too.”

Fergal’s heart broke at the words.  Fergal knew she was unhappy; that much was clear – her attitude was evidence enough and she had told him she was unhappy in a million different ways.  But it didn’t make the words any easier to hear, especially now, as she said them so plainly.  “What can I do to help you?  What can we do to help each other?” he asked, desperate for her to give him answers.  

She apparently didn’t hear the second question.  “There’s nothing you can do to help me.  I have to find it within myself…at least that’s what my therapist tells me,” Gemma shrugged him off.  

“No,” Fergal rejected, stepping as close as he could get to her, the front of his thighs against the electrical box.  He grabbed at her arms and grazed his fingers down to her elbows, cupping them in his hands gently.  “Tell me what I can do.  What we can do.”  A few fresh tears fell from Gemma’s eyes as she shook her head, not saying a word.  “Gemma --”

“Ferg!” a voice suddenly called out from down the hallway.  Fergal looked towards the source of the voice; Gemma looked the opposite way.

“What?” he demanded, annoyed.

“Paul told me to come get you,” Pete Dunne called out again.  “Said something about a few media phone calls.”

“Tell him I’ll be there in two minutes,” Fergal said firmly.  “Go tell him.”

Pete took the hint, disappearing down the hallway again.  Fergal focused his attention back on Gemma, who was already looking at him.  “You should go,” she whispered.  

“No.”

“Don’t worry about me, Ferg.  I’ll meet you back at the hotel.”

“Gemma, stop,” he stressed again.  “We need to help each other.  Tell me how we can help each other.”

Gemma took a deep breath.  “You can help me by doing what you love.  Go back out there and do your job.”

“Gemma.”  He felt like all he was doing was saying her name, but he was trying to get her to see his point.

“Stop it, Ferg,” it was Gemma’s turn to get firm.  “I know you want to help but you’re not the solution to my problems.  I’m the solution to my problems.  Now go,” she said, wiggling off the electrical box and pushing Fergal away from her in the process.  

“Gemma --”

“I’ll meet you back at the hotel, Ferg,” she cut him off, already walking away from him.  “Now go do your job.”

“Gemma!” he called out after her, but she didn’t stop her stride.  Without looking back once, she turned a corner, leaving him alone in the hallway.  

Back at the hotel, Fergal made a beeline for Gemma’s room, almost forgetting to drop off his bag in his own room.  He wasn’t angry, per se, but he was annoyed and slightly irritated that she had left in the way she did, abruptly in the middle of their conversation, seemingly not wanting to solve anything.  He understood that she was uncomfortable, but he was reaching his boiling point and she had absolutely no idea.  She was completely enraptured in herself that she barely even noticed him.  

He knocked at her door frantically, urgently.  It took her a while to answer, and she stood at the door, blocking him from automatically walking in.  “You’re back,” she stated, surprised he was there so early.

“Can I come in?” he asked, and she finally moved so he could enter the room.   When he walked in, he saw her suitcase on the edge of her bed, most of her things already packed in.  She was flying out tomorrow, while he was staying back for the holidays – a full three weeks with his family that he was really looking forward to.  

But none of that mattered right now.  He needed to get to the bottom of things.  He saw her sitting on the edge of her bed.  “Why did you leave like that?” he asked.  “You could have at least waited for me.  I left only a half an hour after you.”

“I told you, I couldn’t be there,” she told him as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.  “It was too much for me.”

Me.  Me me me me me.  That’s what was making him angry.  “Did you ever stop and think that it was too much for me, too?” he demanded, sounding as angry as he felt inside.  “Did you ever think that I was having a hard time being around my peers and kids I fucking trained who are getting to do what I love?”

Gemma was stoic.  She heard his tone of voice loud and clear.  She didn’t give him an answer, knowing that whatever she said wouldn’t be good enough. The silence only made Fergal angrier.  “You are so incredibly selfish that you don’t even see that other people around you are in just as much pain as you are, yet you do nothing for them,” he was practically scolding her now.

“Did you just come here to yell at me?” she asked, attitude back in her voice, though she looked like she was on the verge of tears.  

“No, I didn’t, actually – but your attitude is making me.  Eeeeeverybody knows you’re itching to get back to hockey.  Well I’m itching to get back to wrestling every single fucking day,” he emphasized the last four words.  “I’m feeling down in the dumps too but I’m not dragging everybody down with me!”

Her eyes began to water, her cheeks flushing red as he laid it into her.  “Are you trying to make me feel horrible?” she whined out.  

“No.  You’re doing that by yourself because you know I’m right,” Fergal said.  “Not everything is about you.  I’m trying to tell you how I feel.”

“Then why are you here?  Why did you invite me to come on vacation with you?” she demanded of him, tears flowing freely now.  

“Because, Gemma, you have these moments of clarity where I can see the real you, the Gemma that existed before the surgery, and she’s the one I want to know, that I’m itching to get out of you.”

“Yeah?” Gemma’s tone was sarcastic.  “Well what if she’s gone?”

“She’s not gone.  You’re still her,” Fergal stressed.  

It was then that she fully broke down, a sobbing mess sitting on the edge of her bed.  She brought her hands up to cover her face as her body shook, and Fergal, despite his anger, felt horrible.  He moved to sit beside her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into his body.  She responded to him, crying into his chest and not bothering to move away, despite the verbal beat-down he just gave her.  “I didn’t come here to make you cry.  And I’m sorry.  But --”

“I’m trying Fergal, I’m trying.  I swear I am,” she sobbed out, voice uncontrollably loud from her sobs and wails.  “I swear I’m trying to be a better person.  I swear.  You have the patience of a saint for putting up with me for this long.  A saint.”

“Gemma --”

“I’m sorry for leaving you there.  I’m sorry I didn’t see how hard it was for you.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry for everything,” she apologized profusely.  

“It’s okay, it’s alright,” he said soothingly, patting her hair.  “I didn’t mean to make you upset.  I just wanted you to know how I feel.”

“I know I’m not the only one suffering.  I know it’s hard for you too,” she wept, no signs of calming down on the horizon.  “But how can I help you when I can’t even help myself?  I need do be able to do that first, don’t I?  Before I ruin your life like I’m ruining mine?”

“Hey, come on, you’re not ruining your life,” he began to rub her back, a feeble attempt to calm her down.  “You’re not ruining your life, and you’re not ruining my life either.”

She waited a few moments before speaking again, taking deep breaths to calm herself down.  “It definitely feels like it,” she mumbled into his chest, her voice a lot more controlled than before.  “I mean it, Fergal.  I don’t know why you stick around.  I don’t know why you’re so nice to me.”

“What did I tell you that day in the car, huh?” he asked.  She stayed silent.  “I like you, Gemma.  I like being around you.  I think you’re funny, and I admire you passion and dedication for your sport and for charities.  There are so many likeable things about you that overshadow your injury and your attitude about being injured.”

“I wish you knew me before I got injured,” she said.  “I wish you knew me when I was normal.”

“I don’t,” Fergal countered.  “I like that I’m getting to know you at your lowest point…it makes your climb back to the top that much more incredible to witness.”

Gemma didn’t respond.  There wasn’t anything left to say, at least to her.  She knew she needed to calm herself down, to stop crying and to take what Fergal was saying to heart.  At her silence, Fergal knew, too, and accepted that there was nothing more he could say; nothing more she could say that would make either of them feel any better.  

And so, instead of speaking anymore on the subject, they both stayed silent, hugging each other, alone in a hotel room.  

[spine-buster]

Chapter 9 - The Beginning and the End of Everything (Finn Balor)

Gemma sat stiffly on the couch in the Devitt’s living room, the room full of Fergal’s family, including his little nieces and nephews, and clutched her drink against her chest.  His dad had poured her a glass of red wine to have before dinner, and she didn’t want to be rude, so she accepted, even though red wine always made her sleepy.  She was engaged in a conversation with Fintan while Fergal spoke with his sister Anne-Marie, Fergal’s nine-month-old niece Niamh bouncing on her knee.  Fergal’s mom was slaving away in the kitchen, preparing a nice roast for the entire family at Fergal’s request (“He definitely still loves his mammy’s cooking,” Fintan joked with her earlier), while Fergal’s youngest brother Eoin set the table.  Everybody else – Fergal’s two other brothers, and his various siblings-in-laws – were mingling about, engaged in their own conversations.  

Fergal, with that cheeky grin of his and his constant “So, did you think about it?” and “Are you coming?” questions, had managed to convince Gemma to join him on his mini vacation.  Three days in Ireland, three days in Iceland, three days in England.  He’d have to work in England, at some sort of UK Tournament the WWE was having, but Gemma didn’t really mind.  She didn’t expect him to change his plans now that she was tagging along everywhere.  Sitting in his parents’ living room, she still couldn’t believe she said yes.

“So you said you’ve been to Ireland before, then?” Fintan asked her.

“Oh yes!  My dad’s family came from Enniscorthy,” Gemma explained.  “When I visited them when I was twelve we stayed with them and did a driving tour of Ireland.  It was amazing.”

“What was your favourite part?”

Gemma didn’t have to think long and hard about the answer to that question.  Even with all of her traveling for hockey, her family trip to Ireland was still her favourite.  “I have two that to this day, I can’t choose between.  I’m a city girl through and through so I was so in love with Dublin and its history when we went.  But we also did a hike up Croagh Patrick and --”

“That view!”

“That view!” both Fintan and Gemma exclaimed at the same time, giggling at one another.  “Yes, that view is something else, isn’t it?” he asked, taking a sip of his wine.

“One of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen,” Gemma nodded her head in agreement, taking the opportunity to take a sip of her own wine.

“Anne-Marie!” Leonie’s voice called out from the kitchen.  “Anne-Marie, come in here for a moment!”

Anne-Marie rolled her eyes playfully, a smile on her face, as Gemma and Fintan looked towards her.  “Duty calls,” she said, standing up and holding Niamh against her hip.  Before she began to walk to the kitchen, she stopped dead in her tracks.  “Gemma, do you mind holding Niamh for a bit?”

Fergal was apprehensive about his sister’s idea.  Since she had stolen him away to talk to him, he wasn’t able to keep tabs on Gemma, and wasn’t sure if she was feeling comfortable or not.  He knew his family were trying to make her feel as comfortable as possible; for any other person, his family’s actions would have worked.  For Gemma…well, as always, he had no idea about how she’d react to it all.  “Annie, I don’t think --”

“Oh my God, please,” Gemma’s eyes lit up at the prospect.  He looked over at her and she was practically begging.  She’d been eyeing Niamh since she arrived with Fergal’s other brother Ciaran and his wife, Jessica.  She was so chubby and was dressed in bumblebee print pajamas.  “Give me the baby.”

Anne-Marie smiled as she watched Gemma stand up, using the edge of the couch as a crutch, and extend her arms out to take Niamh.  Fergal kept his eyes on Gemma as she started bouncing Niamh.  Niamh looked at her wide-eyed, bringing her hands up to feel Gemma’s face.

“Hello Niamh!  Hello!  Hello!” Gemma cooed at her, causing Niamh to smile.  “You’re a big baby, aren’t you Niamh?  And look at your eyes!  So big!  So blue!  Just like mommy’s and daddy’s!”

“You’re a natural, Gemma!” Fintan smiled at the sight of her holding one of his grandchildren.  

“I love babies,” she revealed, continuing to bounce Niamh in her arms.  “I’ve got a lot of little cousins I always had to look after at family functions and --”

She was interrupted by a generously loud shriek of delight by Niamh, causing everyone in the room to laugh.  “Seems like she likes you too!” Fintan laughed.  

“Good, cause she’s coming home with me!” she exclaimed, looking down at Niamh again.  “Yes!  Did you know that?  You’re coming home with me!”

Fergal couldn’t keep the smile off his face, seeing Gemma comfortable with little Niamh in her arms.  She kept cooing at the baby and looked so happy, Fergal wondered why he didn’t think of this sooner.

“RIGHT!  Everyone at the table!” Anne-Marie’s loud voice called out from the kitchen.  Moments later she came through to the dining room, holding the roasting pan with Ireland-themed oven mitts.  “Roast’s ready and hot!”

Gemma sat in between Niamh’s mother, Jessica, and Fergal, who had managed to wiggle his way to sit beside her.  Dinner was lively, with the siblings speaking over each other and the in-laws trying to get a word in edge-wise.  The babies were bounced on laps, and Gemma had fun listening to everyone’s conversations, their Irish accents getting thicker as the night progressed.  

When Fergal’s mother began to cut the cake Eoin and his wife brought for dessert, Fergal noticed Gemma shift uncomfortably in her seat.  He saw a small wince on her face as she wiggled around.  “You alright?” he asked, his voice low so nobody else would hear.  

“My leg’s just falling asleep,” she informed him.  

“You wanna take a quick walk?”

“I might have to,” she looked at him.  “You don’t think your mom or dad would get offen--”

“Come on, I’ll help you,” Fergal extended his arm immediately for her to use as leverage so she wouldn’t have to use the table.  The thought of his parents being upset was absurd.  She was wearing her brace, for heaven’s sake.

“Everything alright, dear?” Leonie asked as both Gemma and Fergal stood up from the table.  “Do you not like chocolate cake?”

“Are you kidding?  I love cake,” Gemma smiled.  “But my leg is falling asleep…I just need to take a walk.”

Leonie nodded her head in understanding as Jessica helped move Gemma’s chair enough so it wouldn’t be in her way.  Gemma thanked her, Fergal moving as well, giving her enough space to walk into the living room to do laps around the coffee table.  Luckily for her, the dining room and living room spaces were open, so she could still hear and be apart of conversation if she wanted to.  

“What’s up with the knee anyway, Gemma?” Fergal’s brother Eoin asked suddenly.  “Is that a torn ACL?”

Eoin didn’t see the death stare Fergal was giving him.  The one thing – the one thing – Fergal didn’t want anyone to bring up.  My God, couldn’t Eoin just accept that she was injured and move on?  He didn’t need to know every damn detail.  

When Fergal looked back at Gemma he could tell her body language and demeanour changed immediately.  “Among other things, but yes,” she said, confirming Eoin’s suspicions.  

“How’d it happen?” Eoin asked.  Fergal was going to kill him.

“Ice hockey,” Gemma said simply, not giving anything else away.  

“When?” Eoin persisted.  Fergal was going to murder him.

“This summer.”

“Shouldn’t the brace be off by now?  One of my mates tore his a few years back and it was off in what seemed like no time.”  Fergal was going to murder him and hide his body in the woods.  

“Uh…yeah.  Well…every injury is different I guess.  You’re lucky you didn’t see me with the giant one I had on right after surgery,” she tried to make a joke.  “This one is at least a bit smaller.  And to be honest…I wear the brace, like, mostly for aesthetic purposes…to remind myself that I’m not invincible, that I can’t do everything I want to do.  If it was off and I got a burst of energy I could think I’d be fine to do kickboxing but end up permanently destroying it, you know?  And I can’t do that because I need to get back to hockey.”

Fergal could tell this was a hard conversation for Gemma to have – and definitely one she didn’t want to have.  Though she’d made leaps and bounds of progress on her knee, she still had a way to go.  He looked towards Eoin, giving him another death stare, which he finally noticed.  “Well, I’ll bet it’ll be off soon for you anyhow,” Eoin smiled.

Gemma smiled too, but Fergal could tell there was nothing behind it.  “Yeah, I hope so.”

“You know, I could have just stayed at a hotel,” Gemma said for the umpteenth time as she carried her suitcase through Fergal’s cottage by the sea.  There was no way she’d drag the wheels along the hardwood floor she saw the second she walked in.  He had insisted she stay there, while he stayed with his parents, the second he knew she’d be coming with him.  She adamantly denied him, saying she would just find a hotel, until he all but physically barred her from doing so.  ‘If you book something, I’ll call them and cancel it. Bray’s a small town, I know everybody.’

“No way,” Fergal crinkled his face.  “Why make you spend money when I have an entire house you can stay in?”  

“Because I have the money to spend,” Gemma crinkled her own face, in response to Fergal crinkling his own face.  “Seriously, why aren’t you staying in your own house anyway?”

“Cause my mammy wants to see me as much as possible,” Fergal gave her a cheeky grin.  Gemma smiled as he led her down a hallway to the small but comfortable master bedroom.  She lifted her suitcase on to the bed and Fergal watched as she began to unzip it.  “Was that too much tonight, or were you okay?” he asked, concerned that she was just saving face the entire evening.  After Eoin’s questions, she was noticeably (to him) quieter.  “Sorry about Eoin’s questions, by the way.  He can be a bit of an ass.”

“You have a huge family,” she said, and he knew that was her way of saying there were a lot of people.  “But I enjoyed myself.  They’re all very nice.  Your dad is quite the charmer…I can see where you get it from.”

“Are you calling me a charmer?”

“You charmed me into coming here, didn’t you?” she looked him right in the eye.

Fergal’s cheeks blushed.  Was this the glasses of wine speaking on behalf of Gemma?  He never thought those words – any flirtation, really – would come out of her mouth.  He was pleasantly surprised and welcomed it.  “I think you specifically said I harassed you into saying yes, but I’ll take charmer if that’s what you’re giving me.”

She looked away, probably realizing exactly where this conversation was headed.  “And I was serious about taking Niamh home with me,” she changed the subject.  “That has to be the cutest baby I’ve ever seen.”

Fergal smiled at her fixation on his baby niece but he understood it completely.  She was a cute baby, after all; she had Devitt genes in her.  “So, are we still planning to go to the beach tomorrow?”

“Yeah, of course,” he said, nodding his head.  “I’ll come pick you up tomorrow morning.”

There was a moment of silence between them as they both stood awkwardly beside the bed, facing each other, in front of Gemma’s open suitcase.  Fergal was looking right at her; Gemma was still looking away.  Every so often, however, their eyes would meet, and the smile on Fergal’s face would grow.  “You know, as much as I give you a hard time…I’m really appreciative that you invited me on vacation with you,” Gemma said quietly, only looking at Fergal near the end of the sentence.  

“It’s not problem at all.  I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t want you to come,” he said in an equally soft voice.

“I think you’re one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.”  

There was a small smile on Fergal’s face.  “You should get some sleep…you’re probably jet-lagged,” it was his turn to change the subject.  

“You don’t mind if I use your shower, do you?” Gemma asked.

Like he’s done many times before, he gave her a quizzical look.  “No Gemma, I want you to be dirty and sweaty this entire trip,” he said sarcastically.  “Geeze, you Canadians are so polite.  Of course you can use my shower.”

“Cheeky,” she said.  “Goodnight, Fergal.  I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

The next morning, Finn woke up bright and early and picked Gemma up at his house, bringing her back to his parents’ for a much less crowded traditional Irish breakfast.  To Fergal’s surprise, she was delighted to see black pudding – she hadn’t had it since her trip to Ireland at 12 and was excited to have it again.  His parents thought that was hilarious.  

After breakfast Fergal’s dad drove them to the seaside, since Fergal never learned to drive standard or on the left side of the road.  Seeing as it was December, the beach was barren – there was virtually no one around, save for only about three or four people and their dogs playing in the ocean.  Fergal, who knew the area like the back of his hand, guided Gemma towards the pavement, where she’d be able to walk more comfortably rather than the sand.

As they walked Fergal spoke of his childhood.  How happy he was, how much he enjoyed sports and the outdoors, how his siblings were his best friends.  Since Leonie was a stay-at-home mother she brought the kids down to the beach a lot, especially during the summer.  When he became a teenager, he’d come down himself or with his friends and stay until late at night.  

Gemma giggled at the image of Fergal and his friends doing what teenagers did down at the beach.  God knows what he got up to, especially with the ladies.  “I bet you brought all the girls down here,” she smiled.

Fergal scrunched his face up.  “Not really.  I went to an all-boys school, anyway.”

“You can’t tell me a young Fergal Devitt wasn’t a ladies’ man.”

“Young Fergal Devitt was a wrestling nerd who played with Legos after school.  Not exactly the hottest commodity,” he giggled, playing down his role as a Casanova.  Of course he had girlfriends throughout high school, and of course he brought them down to the beach, but they only lasted a few months, at most.  Wrestling was always his first love, and many girls didn’t understand that.  

“I guess I can relate,” Gemma revealed, looking out onto the ocean.  “I went to an all-girls school.  Any guys I met through friends or hockey were always, like…I don’t know, assholes,” she deadpanned, unable to think of a better word.  Fergal snorted at her choice, causing her to laugh as well.  “I’m serious!  There were two types.  Type one was the ‘Oh, you think you know how to play hockey’.  Type two was the ‘Because you know how to play hockey, you’re not like other girls’,” she lowered her voice to mimic that of a teenage boy.  “Which is a crock of shit, because hockey aside, I’m exactly like other girls.  What’s wrong with other girls, anyway?”

“You sound like my sister.  She went to an all-girls school too,” Fergal said.

“It does a girl good,” Gemma commented, smiling.  

There was a moment of silence between the two, Gemma looking back out onto the ocean again.  Fergal watched only her, despite how beautiful the morning sky looked.  “You wanna go see how cold the water is?” he asked, knowing it’s what she wanted to do.

Gemma smiled at him, and at the next walkout, they began their trek towards the ocean.  As the beach was filled with rocks and pebbles, sand only appearing about ten or fifteen feet before the water, Fergal slowed his pace because he knew it would be harder for Gemma.  She slowed her pace considerably, and looked nervous as she tried to step on smaller pebbles or flatter rocks.  She teetered uneasily a few times.  

“Ferg…” she said, her voice fearful.  “I’m not so sure this was a good idea.” “It’s alright, you’re alright,” he said, moving back slightly.  “What’s got you worried?” he asked.

“The rocks.  They just make everything uneven,” she said.  She had stopped walking at this point, not sure if she should go any further.  “My balance is thrown off.”

“Here,” he said, thinking quickly and moving so that he could offer his good arm to lean on.  “Grab my arm.”

“Ferg, I don’t know.”

“Come on, I got you,” he said.  “I won’t let you fall.  We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Gemma took a deep breath before latching on to Fergal’s arm and taking her first cautious step.  She looked down mostly, slightly ahead of her, so she could find the best place to step next.  Fergal helped her with the patience of a saint, pointing out particularly flat rocks and even squishing some down himself with his own foot.  It took them a while, but soon enough they hit the sand, and Gemma breathed out a giant sigh of relief.  

He helped her take off her shoes and cuff her jeans so they wouldn’t get wet before doing the same for himself.  Gemma didn’t bother to wait, taking a cautious step into the water as Fergal was cuffing his pants, screaming at how cold it was.  He laughed before sneaking up behind her and splashing the cold water on to her with his foot, garnering another scream followed by a death glare.  With her good foot, she kicked some water back at him, and soon, it was an all-out war.  

 Throughout all the splashing, yelling, kicking, blocking, giggling, and despite getting wet and soon shivering, Fergal realized he was having the time of his life.  

[spine-buster]

Chapter 8 - The Beginning and the End of Everything (Finn Balor)

Being in the car for a paltry ten or fifteen minute ride to a physiotherapy clinic was one thing.  Being in a car for over an hour because you were somehow convinced (read: made to feel bad for not attending and not wanting to make the person feel bad) to go on a road trip to the beach with a group of people, only one of which you actually knew, was another.  

Alas, this is where Gemma found herself: in the front seat of Fergal’s car, with Rami, Fergal’s old friend Becky, and her boyfriend Luke squished in the back, on their way to Cocoa Beach.  Gemma felt horrible that the guys, as big and muscular as they were, had to be shoved in the back while she got the luxury of the front seat.  They kept saying it was no problem, that they didn’t mind, but Gemma figured they were just saying so because it was the polite thing to say.  Becky was bright and bubbly, very friendly and talkative, which was keeping Gemma’s mind off of the fact that Luke and Rami probably hated her, at least for that hour to Cocoa Beach.

Fergal coaxed her into the entire day, of course.  She was adamant at first about not going – how stupid she’d look on the beach with her brace, even though she got moved to a slightly smaller one now so it wasn’t as much of a pain or a hassle.  Fergal somehow managed to get her to say yes, even reluctantly, and he saw it as a success on his part.  He’d told her Rami had been asking if she was coming, that he was excited to see her again, but she didn’t know if she believed him. 

Gemma, for all the attitude she had bottled up in her, found herself becoming friendlier with Fergal than she ever thought possible.  She would never admit it to him, but she enjoyed their talks when he drove her to and from physiotherapy, and their pizza dinner was not a one off – it had now become a weekly (sometimes even bi-weekly) occurrence, though the dinners ended being a lot healthier.  She found herself joking with him, making sly remarks, wanting to hear his ridiculous giggle and see that giant, toothy smile that took up his entire face.  She had less anxiety around him, and didn’t feel as if she was going to burst out into tears at any moment.  He made her feel normal, despite her circumstance.  

When they finally arrived at Cocoa Beach, Gemma was able to stretch while Rami grabbed her beach bag out of the trunk.  They were lucky enough to find a parking spot close to the beach, so they didn’t have to walk far before they set up their towels and chairs.  Becky helped Gemma set up her chair before laying down hers and Luke’s towels right beside.  Gemma saw Fergal prop up his chair on the other side of her.  

“I’m so glad we decided to do this,” Becky said to no one in particular as she set down her bag on her towel so it wouldn’t fly away.  “I live in Florida and feel like I haven’t been to the beach in years.  It’s all people talk about back home.”

“I’m glad we did this too,” Rami piped up, taking off his shirt in one swift movement before stuffing it in his bag.  “Ready to go into the water, everyone?”  

The men were all wearing their swimming trunks as shorts, so it was easy for them to be ready to go in the water in an instant.  It took more effort for Gemma and Becky to strip down to their bathing suits.  “You guys go first, we’ll meet you in there,” Becky said to Rami.  

Luke and Rami began to race towards the water, diving into a wave as it hit them.  Gemma looked to her side to see Becky stripping down to her bikini.  Gemma tried her hardest not to stare, but it was proving hard.  Becky’s body was to die for.  It was so toned, muscular in all the right places, and her bikini was just revealing enough to show the right amount of skin.  Gemma was so focused on Becky’s impeccably toned body, she almost didn’t hear Becky ask, “Do you need any help, Gemma?”

“No no, it’s okay,” Gemma shook her head after a few seconds.  “You don’t have to wait for me, either.  I’ll be in in a bit.”

“You sure?”

“It’s alright, Becks,” Fergal’s voice interjected.  “I’ll be here just in case.”

Becky looked directly at Gemma.  “Well, alright, but don’t be afraid to call me if you need help with something Fergal can’t do cause he’s a boy,” she smiled, winking quickly before running towards the water.

Once she was gone, it was only Fergal and Gemma.  Gemma looked towards him, moving her body so that she was facing him somewhat, to see that his shirt was already off.  He was wearing his sunglasses, already facing her, and Gemma could tell he was looking at her.  “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” she assured him.  She looked out at the water, watching as Becky splashed Rami with her foot before Luke picked her up and swung her over his shoulder.  “How long have you known Becky again?”

“Since she was fifteen.”

Becky had mentioned she was thirty now, which meant he’d known her for fifteen years.  She was amazed they were able to maintain a friendship with their hectic schedules.   “And you guys have never…?” Gemma inquired.

Fergal scowled visibly.  “No.  She’s like my little sister.  I trained her, for heaven’s sake.”

“Yeah, but she’s gorgeous.  And she seems like a lot of fun,” Gemma persisted.

“She is,” Fergal agreed with her.  “But it’s never happened.  Never even thought about it, to be honest with you.”  It was a question he had to field loads of times from people who learned about his and Becky’s history.  At least Gemma was polite about it – most people were a lot more vulgar.  “Do you need me to help with uh…your clothes or anything?”

“No,” Gemma shook her head.  “I think I’m going to stay here for a bit.  You can go in the water if you want.  I’ll stay back and watch everyone’s stuff.”

Fergal took off his sunglasses, so Gemma could really see him staring at her.  He didn’t know what was wrong with her, or what was going through her mind, but he was determined to find out.  “Gemma, seriously?”

“I’m just not feeling very comfortable right now.  I think it was the long ride over here,” Gemma tried to lie, but she realized, as soon as the words left her mouth, that Fergal did not believe her.  

“Either you’re going to tell me what’s wrong now, or you’re going to have to hear me ask you about it all day,” Fergal warned, basically giving her an ultimatum.  “So what’s it gonna be?”

Gemma shifted uncomfortably in her chair, Fergal’s gaze burning through her.  With a look like that, it was no time until she would crack under pressure.  “I just…I’m not…” she tried to begin, not knowing how she was going to word this in front of Fergal so that he didn’t think she was a complete idiot.  She sighed heavily.  “I’m not feeling…confident…I haven’t been lately…ever since the injury my body has been…changing on me…and it just doesn’t feel the same.”

There was a moment of silence between the two, Fergal taking in what Gemma was admitting to him.  He knew what she meant, and he really didn’t know what to say.  He didn’t want to tell her that it was pointless worrying – it was a legitimate concern, especially as an athlete, most especially as an injured athlete.  There was nothing worse than feeling uncomfortable in your own body.  “Gemma…”

“Tell me I’m stupid, it’s okay.”

“No…it’s not stupid,” Fergal shook his head, trying his best to understand.  “I know you have your…worries…about your body, and it’s perfectly understandable.  But, if you ask me…you don’t really have anything to worry about.”

Gemma gave him a disbelieving look.  “Easy for you to say, Adonis.”

“Don’t try and divert this,” Fergal shook his head, disapproving of her deflections of him trying to help.  

“Do you know how hard it is to be around people who are in the best shape of their lives and you just…aren’t?” Gemma tried to justify her feelings.  “It’s just so….awful.”

Fergal couldn’t help but chuckle.  “You think every single person on Cocoa Beach is going to be these fabulous fitness models with rock hard abs and skimpy swimwear?” he asked rhetorically, not really meaning to be rude, just wanting her to realize the thought of everyone around them being fit was absurd, and the thought of everyone looking at her and judging her was absurd.  

“No, but I’m here with four of them,” Gemma deadpanned, attitude back in her voice.  “It’s bad enough Rami knows who I am.”

“So now you think my friends are judgemental,” Fergal shot.

“No!” she practically screamed.  “God, I’m not saying that at all!”

“Then what are you saying?”

“What is it with you?” she asked harshly.  “Why do you always do that?!”

“Do what?”

“Why do you always take my words and make them offensive?”

“Because they are offensive!” Fergal was almost yelling now.  He couldn’t even remember the last time he raised his voice at a person.  “You’re sitting there and you’re telling me that the thousands and thousands of people at Cocoa Beach right now are focused only on you?  That my friends, who haven’t had a day off in months, are going to throw away having fun day at the beach to judge you?”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all!” Gemma argued, practically on the verge of tears.  “It’s me judging them!  God Fergal, do you have any idea what it’s like to see people just walking?!” she demanded.  “I can’t drive, I need support bars installed everywhere like I’m some sort of senior citizen, somebody has to move my knee for me because it’s so fucked up I can’t move it on my own without risking re-injuring it…and people are just WALKING!  Like it’s nothing!  And right now it’s everything to me!”

Fergal was rendered silent.  He felt like an asshole, now that he had accused her of what he did.  He saw a few tears trail down her cheeks.  She couldn’t even look at him.  She was gripping at the beach chair so hard her knuckles were turning white.  “Gemma…”

“Are you happy?” she barely sobbed out.  

“No, I’m not happy,” Fergal mumbled.  “I feel like an asshole, to be perfectly honest with you.”

“Well, good.  You deserve to feel like an asshole,” she said as she wiped her tears with the back of her hand.  “You think I’m this awful person that thinks people are judging her but I’m not.  It’s me.  It’s me being jealous of other people.  I was a pro athlete and now I’m reduced to being jealous of people walking normally because I can’t.”

“I don’t think you’re an awful person.  I’m sorry, Gemma,” Fergal apologized sombrely.  

Gemma took a moment to compose herself.  “It’s okay.  I’ve said and done much worse stuff to you.”

“Let’s not make it a competition,” Fergal said.  “But I mean it.  I’m really sorry.” “You’re forgiven.”

Fergal paused for a moment, looking out at the water like Gemma had done before.  He debated whether or not to say what he wanted to.  Before he could logically decide, his heart spoke for him.  “Can I tell you something?”

“What?”

“I understand this whole situation is tough for you right now.  But to be honest with you, you’ve got absolutely nothing to worry about.  I wanted you to come today because I wanted you to see that despite your injury you can still live a normal life and not be so…angry at everything and everyone all the time,” he said, staring directly at her.  “And I personally guarantee you the minute you start walking with my towards that water and put your feet into the Atlantic Ocean, you’ll feel better about things.  So… what do you say?”

Gemma paused, looking towards the ocean again.  Becky was still on Luke’s shoulders as Rami dunked his head in the water.  “I…I…” she stuttered out, another refusal threatening to escape her lips.  

But she had no reason to refuse.  She had no reason not to believe what Fergal was telling her.  She had no reason to sit in her beach chair the entire time and watch as everybody else had fun while she sulked.  She looked at Fergal once more; he hadn’t taken his eyes off of her.  In one swift movement, he got up from his seat, extending his left arm – his good arm – to support her for when she got up.  Grabbing his hand, she raised herself from her beach chair.   He smiled proudly at her.  “Let’s go.”

“No.  Freaking.  Way,” Becky’s jaw was practically on the floor.  “You’re an Olympic gold medalist?!”

“Yeah,” Gemma blushed, biting her lip as she smiled at Becky sitting beside her.  They were all in the middle of dinner at a restaurant near the beach and Rami had broken the news to Becky and Luke, who looked equally as impressed.  Gemma hadn’t made any mention of it until Rami brought it up.

“She’s kind of a big deal in my motherland,” Rami bragged again, stuffing a fry into his mouth.  “National hero and all.”

“I wouldn’t call myself a national hero,” Gemma disputed.

“I’d call you a national hero,” Rami persisted.

The day at Cocoa Beach had been even more fun than Gemma could have imagined.  Fergal was right: her bitterness, her attitude, her cynicism – they all seemed to melt away the moment the cold ocean rushed against her feet on the beach.  The more she interacted with everyone, the more she laughed at everybody’s crazy antics, the more she engaged in the splashing and kicking of water.  Though she couldn’t participate much in some of the other things everyone was participating in, she had enough fun watching their shenanigans.  It had been a while since she smiled and laughed so much.  It was a welcome feeling.

And to think, she’d almost gone head-to-head with Fergal just hours earlier.   Now, Gemma found herself at dinner with them, laughing and giggling some more as Becky, Rami, and Fergal shared some embarrassing stories from the locker room.  She was having a great time – no amount of cynicism could creep through right now.  

“So wait, what sport did you win a gold medal in?” Becky asked.

“Ice hockey,” Gemma said.  

“Team Canada was down 2-0 in the third period against Team USA,” Rami explained.  “This one scored two goals in the third period to force overtime, then in overtime scores again to complete her hat trick and win the gold medal.”

“Jesus Christ,” Luke gasped, clearly shocked at the revelation.  “You’re a boss ass bitch, Gemma!”

Gemma snorted, shrugging her shoulders.  “I try, I try.”

“Cheers to Gemma being a boss ass bitch!” Becky announced, grabbing her drink and raising it in the air.  Everyone else at the table followed suit except for Gemma, who was blushing and too embarrassed to do much.  Becky nudged her until she picked up her glass.  Gemma noticed that Fergal was looking at her intently.  “To Gemma!”

“To Gemma!” everyone chanted, clinking their glasses together.  Gemma noticed that Fergal had kept his eyes on her, a smile on his face.  She tried not to look at him for too long, fearing she’d blush even more, but her attempt was useless.  It was only when she noticed Rami starting to look between them, the smirk on his own face growing, that she stopped.  

“When the waiter comes back we’ll have to get a picture of all of us,” Becky smiled, already looking around for the waiter.  “I’m having dinner with an Olympic gold medalist!”

“And I’m having dinner with a women’s champion!” Gemma exclaimed.

“And I’m having dinner with the inaugural Universal Champion!” Luke followed.

“And I’m having dinner with an 11-1 record UFC fighter!” Rami followed.

“And I’m having dinner with…Rami,” Fergal said abruptly.  

Everybody at the table laughed as Rami hung his head in shame.  Everyone knew Fergal could have said ‘former NXT champion’ but decided not to.  “Yeah, well…fuck you too,” Rami huffed, comically turning his back on everyone.  

The highway ahead was almost completely clear, but that didn’t lead Fergal to start speeding to get home any quicker.  Instead, he kept driving at a steady speed, looking over at Gemma in between keeping his eyes on the road.  For the first time since he met her, she had a small, content smile on her face instead of a scowl or her ‘resting bitch face’.  It was clear she was exhausted from the day’s activities, but he could tell she was happy.  That’s all that mattered.  

Becky and Luke were passed out in the backseat, Becky’s head resting on Luke’s shoulder.  Rami was passed out too, his head leaning back and his mouth gaping open – ‘catching flies’ as Fergal had put it.  Gemma had laughed when she saw them passed out, especially Rami, and snapped a quick picture of them to use at a later date.  

“You alright?” Fergal whispered, looking over at Gemma briefly.

“Yeah, I’m good,” she answered, her smile growing.  “I had a really good day today…a really good day.  I’m feeling great right now.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he smiled.  “It’s good to see you happy.”

“I should do this more often, shouldn’t I?” she looked over to him.  

Fergal smiled.  “Are you asking me if you should go on vacation more often or are you asking yourself?”

Gemma didn’t answer; she just continued smiling, which was fine by Fergal.  He concentrated on the road for a few moments.  “You know, I’m going to Ireland and Iceland soon.  You should come with me.”

Gemma whipped her head across to look at him.  “Fergal.”

“What?” 

“That’s your vacation, you nutjob,” she giggled slightly.  “I’m not going to intrude on your vacation.  I’m not going to be one of those people.”

“You’re not going be one of those people because I’m inviting you,” he persisted.  She shook her head, smiling at his ridiculous proposition.  “At least tell me you’ll think about it.”

“I’ll think about it,” she acquiesced.  There was no way she’d crash his vacation.  None whatsoever.  

[spine-buster]

Chapter 7 - The Beginning and the End of Everything (Finn Balor)

Fergal only thought about how Gemma would get to his flat once he heard her knock at the door.  Like it had been doing a lot recently, his mind went on overdrive when he knew he would be near her or with her in some capacity.  He didn’t know why.  Despite their kind of heart-to-heart earlier in the week at the coffee shop, he still couldn’t help but watch what he said around her most of the time.  He liked to think that she wouldn’t blow up on him now – now that she knew he was on her side and ready to listen to her, support her.  But like most things concerning Gemma, he wasn’t so sure.  He could never say he was 100% positive she would or would not do something.

She was about ten minutes late from the agreed upon time, but he wasn’t mad since he was an idiot and didn’t offer to pick her up.  Her Uber was probably late.  Hell, she probably got into a fight with the driver because he had tried to help her and she kept refusing.  

When he finally opened the door he was greeted with Gemma and her crutch.  There was no attempt to dress up on her part – she was wearing a pair of workout tights, a light oversized sweater, and a dark denim jacket.  Not that he thought she would – this wasn’t a date, after all.  He smiled at her and let her wobble into the apartment.    “How are you?” he asked politely, taking her jean jacket and hanging it on his coat rack.  He noticed a small red maple leaf patch sewn underneath the collar, the number 23 in black in the centre of the leaf.  

“I’ve been okay,” she said softly, shrugging her shoulders.  “I’ve had better days.  You know how it is.”

Fergal was able to get a good look at her, now that he had hung up her coat, and noticed that her eyes were red.  Her face wasn’t wet, but her eyes were definitely red; rubbed aggressively by the back of her hand to rid the evidence of her tears, he thought.   It was obvious she was lying, at least somewhat.  “Were you crying?”

She nodded her head.  He hoped she’d explain why without him having to ask, but of course, she stayed silent.  He should have known better than to think she’d explain something without persistence on his part.  “Why?” he asked.  

Gemma shrugged her shoulders again.  Fergal was beginning to think it was her go-to answer for everything.  “Cause I’m an wreck who can’t keep her emotions in check?” she asked rhetorically, attempting a joke.  Fergal clearly didn’t find it funny, not laughing at all and not picking up on her sarcasm.  She sighed, knowing she’d have to explain.  “I’ve been crying a lot since I got injured.  My emotions have been an epic shit-storm.”

Fergal nodded his head, trying to understand.  “Yeah, me too.”

“Not as bad as mine, I bet,” she said, her eyes darting around the room.  “You have a nice place.”

“Thanks,” he said politely, absentmindedly.  He was still stuck on the crying part.  He didn’t appreciate her trying to change the subject, especially when he was trying to talk to her.  “Seriously, are you sure nothing else is wrong?”

“Positive,” she said, a lot more convincingly this time.  He gave her a look, and she noticed.  “Honest to God, Fergal.  My emotions are just all over the place.  Like I said at the coffee shop…I just want to be playing hockey.  I hate that I’m not right now.”

“You will be, eventually.  Just like I’ll be wrestling again,” he tried to offer some words of encouragement.  

“Yeah, well…” she shrugged her shoulders again.  It was obvious she didn’t believe him and was brushing him off.  “What are we having for dinner?”

It was obvious to him that she didn’t want to talk about it; that she had tried to cover up the fact that she was crying in the first place before she got to his apartment.  Nevermind the Uber theory from earlier.  “There’s this place that does amazing gourmet thin-crust pizza,” he said, digressing to the fact that she didn’t want to discuss why she was crying anymore.  He knew if they were going to have any semblance of a good night he should stop trying to bring it up.  “You in?”

“Damn right I am.”

Once the pizzas were ordered, Fergal invited her to sit on his couch while he prepared drinks for them; he swayed her out of a boring request of water and convinced her to have a bottle of a craft Irish cider his parents literally smuggled in through their suitcases when they were in town for SummerSlam.  Upon taking a sip and announcing she really liked it, Fergal smiled proudly and joined her on the couch, flipping on the TV but turning down the volume, just so it could be background noise.  

They settled into casual conversation, mostly about their families.  Fergal told Gemma about his brothers and sisters, how he was the second oldest, and about his new sisters-in-laws and brother-in-law he considered family now, too.  He spoke glowingly about his little nieces and nephew, how Eoin’s daughter looked exactly like him, and how his parents were enjoying their new role as grandparents.  

Gemma was surprisingly more open than usual, and he enjoyed her this way.  When she spoke of her family, a constant smile was tugging on her lips.  She spoke of her Arab mom, Nabilah, from Lebanon, and her dad, James, a Canadian now for generations but whose family originally came from Ireland.  She had no siblings to speak of but she spoke about a family trip to Ireland when she was a preteen to visit her Dad’s extended family.  She also spoke at length about Jane, her best friend.  Jane, who had a path quite similar to hers – young female hockey player, scouted at a young age, made a name for herself independently with her skill, without the help of shady ‘agents’, and definitely without the help of hockey reporters who only wanted to focus on the boys.  The fact that they had both made it onto Team Canada was their dream come true; the result of years of hard work, playing just like the boys – hell, even fucking better than the boys.  

Fergal was having a great time, and he hoped at the end of the night he could say the same for Gemma.  When the pizza came, they exchanged one slice each before digging in, focusing their attention to the TV, a re-run of a network sitcom keeping them entertained.   During commercials, they kept their conversation going, funny stories about their families making them laugh.  Fergal told Gemma about the time his little brother hit him in the forehead with a golf club, causing a permanent scar; Gemma told Fergal about how she was once responsible for her father’s black eye = they were practicing slap shots and he was the goalie, of course.  The next day, he had a slew of meetings at work and it was quite the talk around the office.

The only real hiccup in their conversation was when Fergal offered Gemma another beer.  Instead of accepting another one, she shook her head vigorously.  “I really should just stick with water,” she waved him off.

“Come on, live a little,” he joked.

“Nah, I can’t.  Besides the fact that too much alcohol might mess with any painkillers I might need to take, beer won’t do my body well,” Gemma said.

“Oh come on, Gemma,” Fergal laughed, thinking she was joking.  

“I’m being serious!” she said, a little more harshly than Fergal anticipated.  “Not everybody can have Adonis abs like you do.”

Fergal cocked his eyebrow.  “You mean the abs I kill myself in CrossFit for,” he offered.

“I mean the abs I don’t have and won’t have for at least a year since I can’t work out like I usually do,” she clarified.  “Seriously, I can’t slack too much, especially since I need to get back into even better shape than I was in before when I starts to play hockey again.”

Like most conversations he had with her, he digressed and gave in.  There was no use fighting with her.  She was set in her ways, and in her beliefs, and, well, who was he to make her deviate from them?  “Alright, fine…you have a point,” Fergal smiled slightly.  “I wouldn’t want my abs disappearing on me after the shit I put myself through just to get them.” 

“See,” Gemma nodded slightly, “you’re on the dark side now.”

“Yeah, but I’m not gonna regret eating that pizza.”

Gemma snorted.  “Yeah, me neither.”

When the night winded down and Fergal could tell Gemma was tired from the day and wanted to go home, he offered to drive her back to her place, which she accepted.  They hopped into his car and he drove through the streets slowly.  

“I’m going to show up to the NXT tapings in about two weeks,” he said as his foot barely touched the gas pedal.  He noticed Gemma look over at him.  “NXT is like the wrestling developmental system – well, at least in the WWE, in Japan they have these things called dojos where you train --”

“I know what a dojo is,” Gemma interrupted him.

“Right, of course you do,” Fergal said, shaking his head at himself for being such an idiot.  “Anyway, I’m going there in about two weeks, because they’re going to be taping NXT shows.  Do you want to come with me to see it?”

He could tell Gemma was taken aback by the proposition, though she tried to hide it.  She ceased looking at him and began to look out the window, like she always seemed to do in times where she was unsure, or just didn’t want to talk.  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said, her voice soft again, like when she first got to his apartment and had been crying.

“Why not?”

“I don’t…I just don’t feel like being around athletes right now,” she revealed. “You’re hanging out with me,” Fergal challenged.

She snapped her head towards him, her eyebrows furrowed.  “You’re not wrestling every time I see you,” she countered.  “You’re injured just like I am.”

“What’s the difference?”

She sighed, crossing her arms across her chest.  “I don’t get to see how great of an athlete you are while I sit on my ass literally incapable of doing anything,” she grumbled, looking out the window again.  “I appreciate the offer but I don’t want to go.”

“Well, alright,” Fergal gave in, knowing he hit another sore spot with her.  “Just thought I’d ask is all.”

Despite his slowed pace, he reached her apartment quickly, pulling up at the curb like he usually did when he picked her up and dropped her off.  She hadn’t said another word to him since she told him she didn’t want to go to NXT with her.  He knew she was upset, and he had only himself to blame.  He put his car in park and shifted so that his body was facing hers a bit more than usual.   He noticed that she wasn’t looking out the window; instead she was just looking straight in front of her, obviously contemplating something in her head.  “You alright?” he asked.  He felt like that was all he ever asked her.

She looked over at him.  “Why do you want to hang out with me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…like…it’s obvious I’m not easy to deal with right now.  I’m a mess, I cry about 75% of the day…I’m a hormonal and miserable bitch,” she said.

“So?”

“So?  You invite me over for dinner, you want me to go to NXT with you.  Why do you want to hang out with me?” she repeated her original question.

Fergal shrugged his shoulders.  He wasn’t exactly sure, either.  She was hormonal, she was miserable.  But there was something more to her, and he knew it was there because he saw it in that video of her Golden Goal.  It sounded stupid, but it revealed a lot to him – a lot she didn’t know.  A lot that he couldn’t see in her now, but he knew he would see in her in the future.   But how could he say all of that out loud?  There was no way.  So he resorted to shrugging his shoulders and stating what he wanted to say in its simplest terms.  “Because I like you.”

Gemma looked at him like he had five heads.  “You like me?”

“Well, yeah,” he said.  She kept giving him the same look and that made him know he needed to clarify his comments.  “I mean I don’t write Mrs. Fitzgerald-Devitt on notebooks or anything but despite your mood swings, I like you and I like being around you.  You’re only miserable because you’re not doing what you love right now.”

Gemma couldn’t believe what she was hearing.  Somebody liking her, wanting to be her friend at the absolute lowest part of her life was something she didn’t think was possible.  She wasn’t sure what to say.  “Uh…thanks.”

Fergal nodded his head in acknowledgement.  “So if you don’t want to come to NXT with me, do you at least want to get dinner again?  Maybe sometime next week?”

He felt like he was waiting a lifetime for her response.  In Gemma’s defense, she was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that Fergal enjoyed her company.  He tried to control the smile threatening to take over his face when she finally answered with “Yeah…okay.”