Archive of Our Own

Blake finds Zaria in the locker room after the speed match loss at Goldrush. 

It’s mostly a coincidence that she does. She’s at the venue to have a little chat with Ava, since the incompetent GM has otherwise been avoiding Blake, about how she’s somehow not booked for the upcoming Deadline event. And it is only thanks to plain nosyness that she notices the light escaping the locker room and peeks in. Zaria looks like an abandoned puppy, sitting alone and miserable long after everyone’s left. Head hanging. Her ‘other half’ is nowhere in sight. Even the ring has been disassembled, but she’s yet to change out of her gear. Sweat probably cooled and sticking clammy and uncomfortable to her skin. Zaria looks positively pathetic and now that Blake has seen her, she can’t help but step in. 

“Look at that, another loss— Didn’t I say you were going to choke?”

Zaria’s head jerks up. She does a good job of recovering, clearing the surprise on her face.

“What do you want, Blake?” Zaria says. There’s not much of the usual hostility in her voice. No, she sounds hollow and tired. But she does make a valiant effort, pulling a frown onto her face.

“I already have what I want. Thank you, by the way.” 

Blake adjusts the title hanging over her shoulder and her eyes jump to the side plates that read her name, just a moment too long. Maybe it is a bit pretentious walking around with it now that no one is around, but Blake has never cared for being too much. She still feels that same rush of pleasure as the first time she held it. But there’s something else brewing in her stomach now, anticipation of watching something fall apart. 

Getting Zaria to throw in that towel had been oh so easy.  

It’s never been that personal. Blake just wanted Sol’s title. So it began as a simple plan: Hit her where it hurts, seize her heart. Destroy the previous North American Champion from the inside out, and make it easier for herself to come out victorious. And what’s the problem if that accidentally includes weakening two opponents in one fell swoop? Who is Sol’s heart if not Zaria? Without those precious titles that Sol never deserved, that Sol foolishly gave up, what does Sol Ruca have besides the supposed best “friend” that Sol lets trail after her? 

Sure, Sol is a prideful and greedy wrestler, who gets more opportunities than she deserves, with Zaria loyal at her side like a dog. Blake’s watched them a lot. She’s watched Sol teach a monster to play nice, only to abandon it when it does. If Blake had such an aggressive creature at her side like Sol does, she’d make better use of her, she wouldn’t cripple her, file down her nails, keep her on a short leash. No, there’s use in sharp teeth and blind loyalty.

So her goal has never been to destroy Zaria. No. 

Somehow Sol has managed to do that all on her own.

Where Blake expects a retort with sharp teeth or perhaps even a shove for her insinuation, all she gets is a sigh. Zaria’s shoulders sink even lower, her frown deepens. 

She’s not even meeting Blake’s gaze.

It’s almost sad, an animal so lost without its master.

Blake reaches out a hand towards Zaria’s shoulder, unsure if she is going to be met with a bite or not, but when Zaria doesn’t react she gains some bravery and pivots direction, curls her manicured nails around Zaria’s chin. Blake tugs upwards until Zaria meets her gaze. 

Conflict swims in those eyes, along an angry sheen of tears that Zaria must have been too stubborn to let fall. It’s a pitiful sight. Someone so ruthless as Zaria diminished down to tears because of a girl. Her skin is warm, and a bit clammy from the sweat. But mostly she is soft. Softer than Blake has imagined. Big puppy eyes staring up at Blake, just begging to be saved. And that’s where the idea spawns. Sure, Blake’s entertained the thought before, having a dumb body of muscle at her every beck and call. Had somewhat of a failed little trial run when Jordynne was her tag partner. But Zaria is different from Jordynne, she already knows what Blake is made of—doesn’t expect the false niceties and wouldn’t be fooled if Blake suddenly played nice. But, unlike Jordynne, she doesn’t care for other people (besides Sol), and anything that resembles caring is all Sol’s influence, so without it… 

Blake smirks. She shifts her hand to cup Zaria’s cheek, thumb sliding up to rest below Zaria’s ear. Zaria’s side-shave tickles against the pads of her fingers.

Steely eyes watch Blake with suspicion, with a jaw tensed. But she doesn’t bite. Each breath curls warm over Blake’s wrist, and she thinks she sees Zaria’s eyes flicker, solely for a moment, with something other than disdain. Blake thrives on the uncertainty, the way Zaria waits, suspended, to see what Blake will do next. Blake herself isn’t quite sure. This wasn’t part of her original plan. She wasn’t here for this… 

“Sol’s really done a number on you, hasn’t sh—”

She’s cut off by a hand shoving into her chest, making her stumble back. Zaria’s hand, pushing Blake away as she stands. The vulnerability in her eyes has been replaced by cold steel, but hints of moisture can still be seen around her eyelashes, reflecting the locker room led lights. Her fists are squeezed so tight they’re white.

Without Sol keeping her in check, Blake doesn’t know if Zaria would actually throw a punch, or if she’s only uselessly fronting. She takes a reluctant step back. Either way she doesn’t fancy a black eye at this very moment.

“Don’t talk about her,” Zaria growls. 

Blake just barely manages to hold back a disbelieving laugh. 

This is more like what she’d been expecting, but the sudden changeup still pumps sweet adrenaline through her veins. There’s no point in reaching out towards Zaria again, now. Not when the distrust is back in her eyes, feet a shoulder's length apart, standing ready for a fight. There is nothing Blake can say to rectify the situation. Sol’s roots wind around Zaria’s heart, suffocating, but things will change.

“Fine,” she says, taking another few steps back from Zaria, with more confidence. Zaria’s body deflates with relief as the distance between them grows. Blake blows her a kiss with one hand. Ironic, is it not? To leave Zaria alone, exactly like Sol has. But she leaves with the reassurance that this is only the beginning. Their time will come. “I’ll see you around.”

The last New York house show before they're scheduled to fly back home Blake isn’t booked. Still like a dutiful NA champ she shows up, makes a small backstage appearance, and sticks around in case they change their minds.

Blake doesn’t pay much attention to the matches, but she does notice Zaria isn’t ringside like she usually is during Sol’s solo matches. Instead she’s stuck in gorilla, like every other wrestler, with a dark cloud growing over her head. Watching Sol lose her singles match against Kelani from one of their backstage screens. 

As soon as the bell has rung Zaria is off towards the stage exit. Blake follows her from a distance. She backs into a dark corner when Zaria comes to a stop near the stage entrance, waiting nervously for Sol to get backstage. 

Sol is a spitfire of anger when she comes out to gorilla. Her hair is frizzy from tumbling in the ring, and her skin is shiny with sweat. There’s a pinched look to her face, which falls into frustration when she walks straight into Zaria.

“Sol, can we talk?”

“Not now, Zaria.”

“Then when? You keep ignoring me— I’m sorry I didn't win back the speed title last Tuesday. But I promise, I—”

Zaria has barely gotten through the beginning of her apology when Sol bulldoses through her. “I don’t care that you lost the stupid speed title, Zaria!” Sol shouts, exasperated. Her eyes are narrowed, and for a moment Blake is amazed by the bitterness in them. “You cost me my NA title. Twice! I had it, I was going to win it back, but you threw in the towel in MY match. That match had nothing to do with you. That wasn’t your place.” 

With each word Zaria seems to shrink. By the end of it her head is hanging and she looks smaller than Blake has ever seen her. 

“I didn’t want to see you get hurt. I—” Zaria flounders, doesn’t seem to have anything else to say. What can she say but apologize again? Which she does, softly. “I’m sorry. Okay?”

“I don’t care, Z! A real friend wouldn’t have gone against my wishes. I told you what I wanted.”

“Was I just supposed to watch you injure yourself, again?”

Sol scoffs, a withdrawn smile taking over her face. “Whatever,” she mutters. “I don’t want to have this conversation again.” And she shoulders her way past Zaria.

“Sol!” Zaria calls after her, but Sol doesn’t stop. She doesn’t notice Blake hiding in the shadows as she passes, and she disappears round the bend of the corridor.

As Sol leaves, Zaria deflates even more—if that’s even possible. She throws her hands up into the air, breathing heavy. “Stupid,” she mumbles, shaking her head. 

Blake gives her a few moments to compose herself, before she sidles out of the shadows.

“Hey,” she says. 

Zaria spins around to face her, shackles up, suspicion in her eyes. The distrust doesn’t go away when she registers Blake, but her fists uncurl and go back to hanging at her sides. Her eyes jump between Blake and the shadowed black curtains where she had hid and Blake can practically see the thoughts ticking inside her head, and the slow realization of just how much Blake must have heard. 

“Blake,” Zaria says. The moment embarrassment catches up to her is way too easy to spot, but Blake pretends she hasn’t noticed.

“She doesn’t realize how much you do for her.”

“Don’t—”

But this time Blake doubles down. “She’s blind to it… Or does she just take you for granted?” She hums. Shrugs her shoulders, like she really doesn’t know. “Either way she’s only going to abandon you again when you do something she doesn’t approve of.“

“I said. Shut. Up.” Zaria advances towards her, and Blake lets herself get backed into a wall. 

“I was going to snap her leg.” Blake smirks. Zaria is close enough to touch if she wants to, but she doesn’t, not yet, anyways. She tilts her head back, studying the pain in Zaria’s eyes. They’re usually quite similar in height, but today Zaria’s platforms make her tower. “You protected her. And she hates you for it. What happens when another title comes between you two? Face it, Sol’s belts matter more to her than you do.” It doesn’t matter if Zaria believes her or not; the doubt, doubt that Sol cares, doubt in the relationship between the sun and her pet, is enough. A crack in Zaria's unwavering loyalty. “Sweet pathetic, Zaria.”

She swipes her hand over Zaria’s bicep, and then all the way down to intertwine their hands. Squeezing softly. Zaria’s hand is lax in hers, but Blake doesn’t care. Zaria can’t ignore Blake’s manicured nails scratching over her wrist, or what Blake has to offer.

“She doesn’t see you, not like I do. Your love is wasted on her.”

Zaria recoils, but Blake only pulls her back in. Hand reaching up to cup Zaria’s snarling face. “Don’t you want to be loved?”

“Sol— does.”

Blake moves even closer. She sinks her nails into the doubt, pokes at the wound. 

“Does she?”

Zaria squeezes her eyes shut. Good. 

Blake takes that moment to look at Zaria. She wonders how it would feel to have those big arms crushing anyone who went against her. Zaria is a simple creature, built to scream and kick and bite, to pull apart tendons with her bare hands, to lick blood from the corners of her mouth. Sol doesn’t know how to use someone like Zaria. But Blake would.

Blake squeezes Zaria’s hand carefully and then lets go, stepping away from her. Zaria’s hand jerks forward as if reaching to take back Blake's, but she doesn’t, and instead, she looks away.

After the things Zaria’s done, would it really be a surprise if Sol no longer had room in her heart for someone like Zaria? She lets the question hang in the air between them. Zaria knows what Blake is implying; she only needs to make the right choice.

Then Zaria’s stomach growls. 

“Hungry?” Blake asks. She doesn’t expect an answer, and doesn’t get one either. She pulls out her credit card and waves it in the air. It’s no secret Blake comes from money, and she has a lot compared to the other struggling amateur wrestlers, especially now with the extra bonus she gets for holding the NA title. ”I’ll buy.”

“What makes you think I’d follow you?”

“Why not?” Blake grins. She gestures to the empty corridor where Sol had walked away a few minutes earlier. “I don't see anyone else asking you.”

Zaria clenches her jaw, casting a glance towards the corridor like she’s hoping Sol will have changed her mind, and return. She won’t; Sol’s too prideful. She picked the NA title once and she will do it again. It might even mean more to her than her own well being; not many people would be ready to sacrifice a leg for a belt.

Up to Zaria if she wants to be left behind, again. Blake shrugs and starts walking away. 

She gets to the bend of the corridor, feeling Zaria’s hot gaze on the back of her neck, before footsteps pick up behind her. They’re not fast, but not slow either, keeping pace and distance, but nevertheless: following Blake.

Blake smiles to herself.

She’s rented a sleek black Hyundai for the duration they’re in New York, to go exploring. It’s parked right outside the venue. She gets to the car, doesn’t even glance back to check if Zaria is still there. And Zaria joins her in the passenger seat just a few seconds later.

The drive is silent and awkward. Blake turns on the radio, leaves it on a random channel that’s playing Christmas music way too early, and Zaria sits quietly, staring out the window, watching the sights of New York pass by. 

Blake picks a random steakhouse; she’s not the biggest fan of their food, but it seems like something Zaria would enjoy.

The restaurant is half full, so it’s easy enough to get a table. Hanging lamps litter the ceiling, creating a gloomy atmosphere where each table has its own small glow. 

Instead of the fancy steaks that the restaurant is known for, Blake orders hamburgers for them both. While they’re not as fancy, that seems the most up Zaria’s alley, and at least burgers are made with scraps from the fancy steaks. Zaria seems surprised that Blake orders for her, but doesn’t say anything. She eyes Blake weirdly when they’ve gotten the food, though, waiting for Blake to take the first bite before doing so herself. 

Blake’s surprised by how good it is. It’s a nice balance of salty and sweet, and an extra crunch from the onion. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. The meat is juicy, and she leans over the table to avoid accidentally spilling meat-juice on herself. But it does quickly stain her fingers. She looks up—

“What?” Blake asks. Their faces are much closer than earlier, and Zaria is staring at her. Blake makes a face as she licks the juice off of her fingers. “Like what you see?” 

Zaria looks away. “It’s weird,” she mumbles, and gestures to what is left of the food between them. “I didn’t think you did stuff like this.”

Blake pauses. She shifts in her seat. It’s not anything to get so thrown off about, but she feels more seen than usual. And that makes her feel vulnerable. “What? You didn’t think I ate hamburgers?”

“...Yeah.” 

“Well, I do,” Blake shrugs. It’s not like it’s her favorite food, but she does enjoy it once in a while. She’s not that much of a snob.

They both fall silent and the rest of the meal is pretty quiet after that.

As promised, Blake pays for it all, and then toes the line of acceptable behavior by dragging Zaria back to the car by hand. They don’t get far before Zaria pulls away, and stares at Blake like she’s a puzzle to be solved. But alas, they get to the car, and Blake drives them to the hotel where all wrestlers are staying. She’s managed to get a single room with a nice view (there’s only so much Ava can do to keep Blake from being treated with the glamorousness she deserves). Knowing Zaria she’s probably sharing, but with who, if not Sol?

Before Blake can ask, Zaria exits the car. She doesn’t say anything, not even a thank you, and has disappeared before Blake can step out to follow her.

The animosity between Sol and Zaria continues into the next week, much to Blake’s pleasure. And the women’s locker room is quick to pick up on the two ‘lovebirds’ no longer attached at the hip. 

Zaria seems to live between the gym and the performance centre. She’s off, that’s easy to see. Bags grow beneath her eyes with each passing day, a sullen expression remains permanently stuck to her face. 

But it is not until Zaria explodes at Tatum for touching her water bottle in the gym that the seriousness of the situation starts to catch up to people, and the few that haven’t already been steering clear of Zaria start to avoid her like the plague. Any person with a working sense of self-preservation would (maybe except for Blake, but she has ulterior motives). It is definitely not made better by Zaria stomping around with a permanent death glare which Blake’s not even sure Zaria realizes it’s what she’s doing. She gets the feeling that Zaria isn’t aware of a lot outside her head these days. But that makes it all the more fun to watch. 

And she does watch her a lot.

Sol spends most of her time god knows where. Blake only sees her once in the performance centre, one of the few times Zaria isn’t there (which Blake would wager is not a coincidence). If possible, Sol looks even rougher than Zaria.

They get one week back in Florida before they're off again for another bout of non-televised house shows. Blake’s not booked much, she knows they’re still trying to get a feel for her with the matches, but she has a sneaking suspicion that Ava for some reason has it out for her—still not budging on giving her a match at Deadline. She’s the NA champ for gods sake! 

So she spends a few days exploring, makes her appearances, and takes her nights off. 

One of these nights has Blake lounging around in her lacy black lingerie, a silk robe covering her arms, planning to spend her evening binging through Brooklyn Nine Nine. She’s in the middle of an episode when there’s a knock on her hotel door. She considers ignoring it and continuing, but her gut feeling tells her to get up and answer the door.

It’s good she does.

Zaria’s back is turned, a few steps away from the door when Blake swings it open. It looks like she’s already changed her mind, about to retreat, but she freezes at the sound of the door opening, shoulders coming up high like a shield.

“Zaria?” 

“Hey,” Zaria mumbles. Turning somewhat around to face Blake, but with her eyes glued to the floor. She doesn't even seem to know what she is doing there, but Blake isn’t about to let her retreat, not when the rabbit has presented itself at the fox's hole.

“Come in,” Blake says. She takes a purposeful step forward into the corridor, holding the door open with one hand. Zaria heads straight past her and still hasn’t looked up. 

Blake watches her walk further into the apartment, already having located the TV, a bit miffed that Zaria hadn’t looked at her. She takes a quick glance out into the vacant corridor before shutting the door.

The hotel room isn’t as nice as Blake would prefer. It’s not fit for the champion she is, but it is adequate. (At least it’s better than the others’ rooms). Spark white walls, harsh led lights she’s left off in favour of the softer glow from the kitchen, and the dull natural light from the windows which makes the place seem cozier than it is.

“Coffee?” she asks.

There’s no answer from the other room. That’s fine. They’re best together when they’re not talking. Blake makes them both coffee anyways.

Zaria seems like the kind of person that wants people to think that she drinks straight up black coffee, but Blake doesn’t really pay into that belief. She, for one, prefers something a little bit sweeter. Something that distracts her from the aches in her body instead of amplifying them. So she makes two cups of coffee the way Blake prefers it: two sugars and a splash of milk. 

She finds Zaria on the tiny hotel sofa, staring at the freeze frame on the TV. Zaria accepts the offered cup with little fuss.

Blake settles down next to her and unpauses the TV. There's not much space on the sofa. She tries to respect Zaria's space but even if she curls up in the corner, throwing a blanket over her legs, there’s merely a foot of space left separating them. 

Blake steals a glance at Zaria. Her hair is braided in the usual style, which means she’s been outside today. Clothes baggy and dark—depressing really. And her eyes are glassy like she’s not actually watching the show. It’s not a refined sight, but Blake can appreciate that Zaria still looks good in old, black sweats. 

Zaria sits still like a stone statue. She looks tired. The kind of bone tired that a cup of coffee isn’t going to fix.

Blake tugs at her sleeve until Zaria looks at her. She blinks a few times, eyes widening as she looks Blake up and down.

“What are you wearing?” she asks then, and her voice comes out kind of gruff, but she can’t hide the blush growing on her face.

Blake rolls her eyes. Zaria’s only now noticing her attire, after half an hour? No wonder she looks tired. She really must be out of it. “Loungewear. Don’t you have that in Australia?”

“We do. But it doesn’t look like that.”

“What’s wrong with this?” Blake gestures down at the lingerie. It covers just enough to leave something to the imagination, but still show-off her skin. And Zaria’s eyes lock onto Blake’s forehead as if Zaria doesn’t know where else to put them. “It’s comfortable.”

Zaria’s already strong accent seems to come out even more as she speaks. “You know what’s wrong with that.” 

“I don’t know what ever you mean,” Blake says, she worms a finger beneath a bra-strap, “but, if it bothers you that much, I could take it off.”

“No! No. Don’t do that.”

Blake laughs, but releases the strap with a snap against her skin. The conversation trails off and they return to the episode in a more comfortable silence.

Blake usually spends her nights off alone, but she doesn’t totally dislike having somebody else around. It’s not the worst thing in the world. After a while, Blake grows restless and picks up her phone. She checks her socials and realizes the reason for Zaria’s visit. Sol has posted a half-snarky something about going out for drinks with Jordynne and Thea, and not wanting to be anywhere else. Or with anyone else.

That must be the reason for Zaria's unannounced appearance.

Zaria looks like she’s going to pass out, her eyelids continuously drooping over her eyes.

“Hey, c’mon,” she says, and pats her thigh. But Zaria merely stares at her. So Blake scowls and reaches up her hand to cup Zaria's face. She gets a better reaction than that of the previous week: Lashes fluttering closed, head leaning into her. It’s pathetic, and it makes Blake smile.

She guides Zaria down into her lap, face towards the TV. She has to push a bit to make her comply, but they get there in the end. Zaria doesn't fully put her weight on Blake, she seems awkward with her head on Blake’s thighs. Blake rolls her eyes.

Between Zaria's shoulder blades she trails her hand: feeling the tense muscles beneath the fabric of her hoodie. She digs her thumb into a knot of muscle and Zaria’s whole body shivers. The muscular types have a lot of aches in their bodies. This she recognizes from having Jordynne as her tag partner that short time.  It’s almost as if the more muscles, the more they forget to stretch.

Blake continues that for a while, trailing her hand against Zaria's back and feeling out the musculature and pressing on any hard spots until they go away. She lets Zaria relax and get heavy. On the screen, the show continues but Blake finds herself continuously getting distracted by the woman in her lap. She’s never seen her like this. Softer. Not quite letting down her guard, but relaxing a bit. 

She bets Sol has seen this a bunch. More than she should’ve been allowed. Zaria should guard her heart better. She could learn a thing or two from Blake.

Time passes. Zaria doesn’t get up from Blake’s lap. And Blake lets her hands roam freely. She’s always been more invested in getting titles, but that's not to say she hasn't found both of them, Sol and Zaria… hot. Her hands move up Zaria’s neck until she cups the back of Zaria's head, allowing her to scratch at the shaved side. It makes Zaria stiffen.

“Relax,” Blake tells her. If she’d wanted to hurt Zaria, she would’ve already done it.

She runs her fingers over the neat braids on Zaria’s skull. During wrestling shows, they’re more ostentatious, with pink extensions woven in and jewelry clipped into the braids. It’s a beautiful handiwork. Looks like something someone has had a lot of practice doing. Blake imagines Zaria with dexterous fingers twisting her hair into braids every day before allowing herself to be seen by the world. She’s barely ever seen her with her hair loose (or without her warpaint). Maybe once in a short twitter video from a party Blake was too busy to attend, and even then Zaria had hid behind a hat.  

She drags one finger over a braid. Zaria is deathly still in her lap. The braids look tight. Blake can’t imagine the tension there after a long day.

Just barely visible is the natural brown at Zaria’s roots, instead of the red. Blake likes the red. It makes her look savage. 

Tentatively, she migrates her hands to the end of the braids, and has to use both hands to start undoing them. To get them untangled, she works her fingers under the loops, one after the other, and carefully pulls upwards. All the while Zaria stays frozen, not protesting, not complaining, just still. The episodes run on in the background, filling the hotel room with a low hum of noise. The braids unravel one by one, hair a bit curly from being wound so tight. Until she can run her hand through that hair and carefully scratch at Zaria's scalp.

When she’s done, Zaria’s breath has grown deep and slow. Her eyes are closed. She doesn’t even react when Blake swipes the pad of her finger over Zaria's cheek. She knows Zaria must be exhausted, and can imagine that she hasn’t gotten much sleep the past weeks, but she really didn’t expect her to fall asleep here, in the same room as Blake. It makes her feel more giddy than she’d like to admit.

Zaria’s phone has ended up on the sofa table. Even though she might want to, Blake doesn’t snoop around Zaria’s phone. No, she checks her own phone for a bit. There are a few more recently uploaded photos of Sol (from Thea), which she knows Zaria will probably lament over later. And solely to stir the pot even more she comments: “Wow, Sol, leaving out the best friend?”

Another episode starts, and she gets halfway through it before Zaria jerks awake. Her head starts to lift but Blake presses it down against her thighs again. And a confused “Sol?” slips out.

“No, not her,” Blake says, hand returning to pet Zaria's hair.

Zaria turns her head to look up at Blake, red hair now falling freely around her head. It makes her look so different from the woman in the ring. Younger. Her eyes are swimming with so much emotion, confusion and then recognition, a certain kind of mournful acceptance. 

She sinks back into Blake’s lap, turning her head away with a dejected sigh. 

“Thought you were her.”

“Well, I’m not.” 

Blake rakes her nails once sharply over Zaria’s scalp, before continuing much softer. Blake’s not like Sol Ruca. She’ll never let herself get that weak.

Zaria leaves not long after that.

The weather is noticeably chilly when they return home to Florida again, and red-green Christmas decorations have appeared all over the performance centre (surely something Ava is behind).

There are no more of Zaria’s knocks on Blake’s door. She’s not sure Zaria knows where she lives, so that’s not very strange. But Zaria sticks a bit closer after that. And with Zaria at her side, it’s like when Blake had Jordynne. A numbers advantage that can be felt even with Zaria in the background, hiding in the shadows. Something that makes people think twice before approaching Blake. 

They don’t talk much. And never about Sol. But Blake finds herself making eye contact with Zaria through the gym mirrors more often than not, and Zaria drifts near her when they’re running drills in the performance centre like she’s starting to realize Blake actually will give her the time of day. Like the spot previously reserved for Sol Ruca and Sol Ruca only, is now being carved to fit a certain Blake Monroe too.

Blake tries not to think too much about it. She’s not doing this because she likes Zaria. She’s doing this because she’s a strategic pawn to have under her control. Still, and maybe it’s because of the Christmas spirit, she feels a bit wishful about it.

But perfect Sol Ruca doesn’t leave their lives. She doesn’t magically disappear even though Blake wishes for her to. No, she’s still there, still wrestling, still showing up at the performance centre at the worst of times. 

Zaria is bench pressing on the side, muscles pulsing, veins popping. Blake’s been respectfully looking at her from the sidelines, not so close that people would connect them together, but she’s sure Zaria knows she has eyes on her. This means that Blake is close enough to overhear the conversation as Sol approaches Zaria. 

“Hey,” Sol says.

Zaria pauses her reps. Her eyes are wide, and she’s looking at Sol like she’s just seen the sun after a whole year of darkness. It’s so disgustingly sappy, Blake rolls her eyes. 

“Sol?”

Sol fiddles with her hands. “Can we talk?”

“Y-yeah,” Zaria stammers. She stands up from the bench, dropping the weights to the floor. Then she guides Sol out of the way, to a more secluded corner a few steps away, still close enough for Blake to see and hear everything if she only shifts a bit to the side.

“So,” Sol takes a deep breath, tries to smile. “I know we haven’t been talking lately, not at all, actually. But I—“ She takes another deep breath, fiddling with the rings on her fingers. “I miss you, Z. I missed you yesterday. I don’t know if I’m ready to forgive you yet, but I know you were only looking out for me, and I don’t want us to go on ignoring each other. You mean too much to me.”

“Sol,” Zaria says, and Blake can hear the awful earnestness in her voice, “I never wanted to cost you the title, I only ever wanted—”

A hand in the air silences Zaria. Sol’s eyes are squeezed shut. “Can we not talk about that? It’s only going to make me upset again, and I don’t want to be angry with you.”

“Whatever you want… I am sorry, though.”

“I know, Z.”

Zaria tries for a small hesitant smile, which Sol meets with one of her own. And Sol reaches out to touch Zaria’s shoulder, briefly. Zaria leans in towards her as if to prolong the touch, in exactly the same way she does with Blake. Everything unsaid hangs heavy in the air, like thick poisonous smoke. They want each other—old news. Blake rolls her eyes again and takes a step out from her cover. She can’t let this go on for much longer.

Blake sidles up next to the two lovebirds. She’s confident Sol doesn’t know yet where Zaria, in Sol's wake, has turned to for affection. She looks forward to seeing the expression on Sol's face when she finally realizes. 

“Sol,” she says, with barely hidden disdain. And then she puts her hand on Zaria’s arm, right where Sol had. “Zaria.” And she lets it linger.

“Go away, Blake,” says Sol. She’s not happy about the interruption.

“Now why would I do that?”

Sol’s eyes drop down to the hand she’s got against Zaria, the one Zaria isn’t shrugging off. Blake smirks, curling her fingers further round Zaria's bicep.

“Blake, stay out of this,” Zaria says, softly. It's not with the aggression Blake knows Sol is used to hearing and Sol pulls a face. 

“Aww, I would love to.” Blake pouts. “But it wouldn’t feel right to let you get hurt again. What kind of friend would that make me?” She puts air quotation marks around the word friend, aware that Sol tracks the motion with laser focus. And with that she knows she’s managed to worm her way into Sol’s mind.

Now Zaria does pull away from her touch. But Blake has already derailed the conversation. 

Sol turns fully towards Zaria, as if trying to shut Blake out. “You’re hanging with Blake now?” she asks. 

“Well, someone had to pick up the pieces after you abandoned her.” Blake mock-pouts towards Sol.

She doesn’t get her intended reaction, Sol ignoring Blake, all too used to her tactic of lying to put a wench between them. Instead, Sol looks to Zaria for the truth. Zaria would never lie to her. Zaria would tell her if she did something bad. Zaria looks away guiltily, but she doesn’t deny it. And Sol clenches her jaw.

“Whatever,” she says, “I don’t care.” But she’s not fooling anyone with that lie, and those wounded eyes looking at Zaria. It would almost be sweet if it wasn’t so nauseating.

Zaria’s focus is almost all on Sol. She looks conflicted like she doesn’t know what to say. “Sol, I—”

Blake doesn’t let her speak. “Tell me, Sol, was it rough losing both belt and girl in the span of two weeks?” She mimes the belt around her own waist, which she’s got safely stashed in her locker. It’s a trivial contest, which Blake only participates in because she finds it enjoyable getting under Sol’s skin. And oh how easy it is to do.

Sol advances. Fists curling like she’s readying to throw a punch. A sliver of Zaria that Sol Ruca has adopted. The Sol Ruca Blake met six months ago would never dream of picking fights like this.  

Zaria comes between them. She catches Sol’s fists with her hand. “Don’t—” Zaria says. Then she casts a pissed look at Blake, which sends pleasant shivers down Blake’s spine. And Blake’s sure she doesn’t manage to look as innocent as she tries to. Zaria glances towards the trainers working on the other side of the room, they’re busy but it would only take one punch for them to look up and suspend all three. So Zaria ushers them both, with firm hands, out into the corridor away from prying eyes.

As soon as they’re beyond the training hall doors Sol shoves herself away from Zaria.

“You’re working with Blake now, too?” asks Sol, an undercurrent of anger in her voice. A moment passes and Sol’s face goes pale with horror. “Did you throw in the towel so she could win?” 

“What—” 

Blake interjects, “You expect her to just sit and wait, like a good doggy while you hunt for titles and ignore her? When was the last time you even listened to Zaria, huh?” 

Sol’s accusation is far from what actually happened. Zaria didn’t throw in the towel for Blake to win the match, probably never would, either. No. Zaria is loyal to a fault, and no matter how much Blake works to change it, Sol's grubby hands took Zaria’s leash first. But she doesn’t mind Sol thinking the worst; it’s all the better for Blake. 

A fire rages behind Sol’s eyes, threatening to swallow anything in its path. It’s fueled by Blake’s self satisfied smirk. Even if Sol believes Zaria there’s always going to be that doubt.

Zaria looks like she’s in physical pain. “No, Sol— It wasn’t like that. I would never betray you like that!” 

“Really? ‘Cause it’s looking a lot like it from here.”

“What did you want me to do? I don’t have any other friends than you, Sol! Did you expect me to just stay by myself until you forgave me?”

“Well… Yeah.”

Zaria squeezes her eyes shut, her voice turning small. “I don’t like to be alone.”

“Neither do I! But you don’t find me running to Blake Monroe when I am!” 

Bringing a hand to her chest, Blake pretends to be wounded at the vitriol in Sol’s voice as she says her name. “Ouch.”

“You get to have Thea and Jordynne, and everyone else in that locker room while I get to have no-one?” Zaria returns with more venom. She must be talking about that photo of Sol eating pizza with Thea and Jordynne, the night Zaria had knocked on Blake’s hotel door and fallen asleep on her lap.

“You have me.” Sol’s voice is broken.

Blake hums, “Does she?” 

“Yes. She does.” Sol cups Zaria’s face, and Zaria leans into her hands. It’s so reminiscent of their time together, Blake sours. “Come back home, Z.” Sol takes a step back from Zaria and gestures to leave the performance centre. Blake’s stomach sinks, her blood runs cold. Sol doesn’t have to say it for Blake to know what it is. 

A choice.

Me or her. 

Zaria stands between them. Sol on one side, and Blake on the other. It’s laughably corny, the way the visuals overlap with the choice. And the other part of Blake wants to make comments about it, but Blake is too cold inside to make herself move. She already knows how the next five minutes are going to play out. Zaria chooses Sol. She’s always going to choose Sol. Blake’s not going to pretend that she means more to Zaria than Sol does, and she admonishes herself for even entertaining the thought especially when she at the same time has that sinking feeling realizing that Zaria means a bit more to her than just a simple muscle pawn as Jordynne had been. 

Zaria makes her choice, she steps up to Sol’s side. Just like Blake had predicted. But it does something to Blake, having it displayed, thrown in her face like that. She tries to plaster on her signature smirk, the one that reads that everything is a part of her grander scheme. Things might be lost, but Blake will not be made a fool at the same time. She’s sure the pain is visible on her face nevertheless, it feels stiff.

The reassured smile that comes across Sol’s face, Blake wants to claw away. It’s not fair. They fit together like oil and water, like night and day, two things that can’t co-exist even in the most perfect of circumstances. Zaria doesn’t belong in the land of the living. She’s wanted by the shadows, with Blake.

A person passes by, oblivious to the tension, shoes squeaking on the floor. Their face blurry in Blake’s peripherals.

She’d say something if she could. Selfishly try to guilt Sol into giving her what she wants. Or play on Zaria’s insecurities. Do you even realize the way you’ve been treating her? If you want what’s best for Zaria you’ll leave her alone. But all she’s left to do is stare.

Zaria throws a glance over her shoulder at Blake. It’s nothing more than guilt in the pits of Zaria’s blue eyes, repulsive pity thrown Blake’s way. Does she feel bad leaving Blake in the dust?

It doesn’t mean anything, but Sol freezes. Eyes wide, darting between Zaria and Blake. The reassurance flees her. And Blake almost finds it ridiculous. Does she not know that Zaria has Sol’s name engraved in her own flesh? Can she not see the devotion in Zaria’s actions? Does she not realize that the look she sends Blake is not one of loyalty but of apology?

Sol’s voice shakes. “You know what, Blake?” she says. She wipes an aggressive hand over her own cheek, like she’s already feeling tears that haven’t yet fallen. For someone so weak, Blake has rarely seen her cry. And she thinks of that saying: ‘Above all else, guard your heart’, because in the end, that’s what it comes down to. The quality that Zaria lacks, and Sol grips onto. 

Sol’s gaze shifts to Zaria, and she gives her a sad smile, doesn’t let it linger. “You can have her,” she says.

There’s not enough time to feel surprise or relief. Sol retreats with her tail between her legs and Zaria stumbles, like heartbreak is a physical wound and Zaria now joins the transplant list in need of a new blood-pumping-organ. Blake rushes forward to hold her up, she tries to steady Zaria against her own rapidly beating chest. 

She doesn’t know the full story of what happened in Australia, the reason Zaria left and came to NXT. But she’s done enough research, knows it had something to do with a brother and betrayal. Knows ZaRuca is not the first tag team Zaria has lost. 

“You’re better off with me,” Blake says, when her mouth finally gets moving again. And in some twisted way she means it. Zaria is like Blake; they're cut from the same cloth. Opposite sides of the same coin. Sol will never understand what it means to crave destruction like them.

Zaria doesn’t answer. But she lets Blake guide her away from the PC.

In all their time of this in-betweening, Blake hasn’t gotten to know where Zaria lives. So Blake drives a catatonic Zaria to her own home. It's the first time Zaria is at Blake’s house too and it makes Blake ridiculously nervous. She's got no reason to be, she’s sure her house is much fancier than Zaria’s. She doesn’t get much time to dwell on that because as soon as they’re past the front door it’s like Zaria flips a switch, and makes a choice. She turns around and presses Blake against the door. Her icy eyes seem meaner than usual. She’s staring with such intensity Blake shivers. 

And then Zaria kisses her. 

Zaria is commanding, but Blake doesn't mind. She tugs at Zaria's hair, and moans, and lets herself be held up against the door by Zaria's strong hands. Until Zaria gets on her knees right there in the hallway, and Blake has to fight to stay standing on shaky legs.

When they fall into bed together, Zaria wraps her large arms around Blake. Hiding her face in Blake’s chest, and holds her captive like a little child curled around a stuffed animal terrified of being left alone in the dark. And Blake takes full advantage. She curls a possessive arm around Zaria’s warm bare back, and pretends she doesn’t feel the wet tears landing against her breasts.

She tries not to think about what almost happened earlier today, no matter how often her mind drifts back to it. It’s dangerous. How heartbroken she felt. Somewhere along the way, her want transformed from a simple need for obedient muscle, to a need for Zaria.

Days pass. The air turns colder, days shorter, and fairy-lights are hung in trees, a Christmas constellation of stars. Zaria’s presence turns consistent and steadfast at Blake’s side. Zaria, who seems harder and colder, now that Sol’s sunshine doesn’t shine upon her anymore. Zaria, who is rougher in the ring than she has been for months. With Zaria no one dares challenge Blake for the NA title. Well, except for one.

Blake gets wind that Sol is trying to convince Ava of getting another shot against Blake for the NA title. It doesn’t do Sol any wonders in the women's locker room. She’s had her chance, got her shot, had the title for a little while and then lost it. Why should she get shot after shot, when everyone else gets nothing?

Ava, for once in her life, does something correctly, and declines Sol’s proposition. Blake can almost hear her nasal and placating voice: “I’m sorry, Sol. I would love to give you another try to beat that awful but glamourous girl Blake Monroe. But it would be unfair to all of the other girls that have never gotten a chance. My decision is final.”

Blake hearing of this means that Zaria, who despite the betrayal is an encyclopedia of all things Sol, picks it up too: the little tidbit of information.

And Blake can guess where this is going to lead.

They’re in Blake’s house, not doing anything nefarious, simply existing in each other's presence, curled up on Blake’s large fancy sofa. Ever since that day, Zaria’s been closer. Orbits Blake like Zaria is the moon and Blake is the earth, which in turn, much to Blake’s intense dislike, has them both living their lives in relation to the sun.

Blake’s playing with Zaria’s red hair, but Zaria is unusually tense. They’ve grown past the anxiety, moved past the tensing Zaria would do whenever Blake reached for her head. But today she remains stiff, she keeps fiddling with her sleeves like there’s something on her mind. Blake waits patiently for her to get to it. 

“Give Sol another shot at the title.”

Blake hums but otherwise remains silent, letting Zaria teeter on that tense edge of not knowing what comes next. She pets Zaria’s hair, calmly, scratching her nails against Zaria’s scalp.

Ever since Sol gave up on Zaria, Sol’s been on a downward spiral. The surfer is sinking below expectation, fucking up simple moves Blake has seen her do with ease before. She’s been posting less online, but Blake has taken a sneak peak at her recent matches. Has heard whispers about the losing streak. Sol is out of her element. Lost without her little pet. Sol wouldn’t win against Blake during normal circumstances (even though Zaria threw in the towel, Blake could’ve broken her leg and won), she definitely won’t win in this state.

She imagines pinning Sol again, watching the light die in her eyes when the referee counts to three and Sol loses again, without any outside interference. 

“Fine,” Blake says. She’ll give Sol another shot.

Zaria freezes, then looks up at Blake with wide eyes. She hadn’t expected that, had she?

Blake waits for the relief to flood Zaria, and is surprised to see a genuine smile bloom on her face. Her cheeks puff up with her smile, which makes her look more like a goof than the monster that she is. It totally breaks the effect, her hard ‘scary-looking’ image, it’s the kind of smile that Blake suspects Zaria avoids. Then she ducks her head, and murmurs a quiet thank you.

It’s kind of sweet. In a stupid kind of way, naive, maybe? Blake just barely resists digging in her nails in Zaria’s scalp, and tugs at her hair instead, forcing Zaria’s head back up so they’re making eye contact. And Zaria’s lips press into a thin line.

“But I want you at ringside, in my corner.”

Zaria agrees to it quickly. Easily. Like she doesn’t pause to think about the implications of being in someone’s corner, and definitely doesn’t think about what that will mean for Sol.  

“—and her opponent, accompanied by Zaria, she is the NXT Women's North American Champion, Blake Monroe!”

A buzz of noise goes through the audience. Shock. They've been so used to having Zaria at Sol's side, and sure it's been a while since then, some have grown used to Sol alone, perhaps even forgotten about the red-head that always used to follow the sun. But no one, no one expected Zaria to start following Blake Monroe; the one who took what some ungrateful fans still call 'Sol's NA title'. No one has expected Zaria to accompany Blake. But much has changed.

Sol is already in the ring. The challenger always makes her entrance first, which means Blake gets to see the look of shock—brief but there—in Sol Ruca’s expression when Blake walks out with Zaria by her side. It is all too sweet. Blake makes sure to curl her hand around Zaria’s bicep, her other hand holding the belt against her chest.

“The following match is for one fall!”

The audience cheers.

Blake considers pressing a kiss to Zaria’s cheek when handing her the belt, but decides against it. She’s possessive, but she’s not a dog, doesn’t need to mark a toy for everyone to know she owns it. Zaria is in her corner, that’s basically the same thing. Zaria is staring at Sol, and Blake glances over at Sol too, watching the clenched jaw, the sour expression. It’s going to be a good match, she can tell.

The bell rings without forewarning. But neither competitor rush. Blake plans to take her time picking Sol Ruca apart. She stalks around the ring, she takes one step forward and Sol takes one step back. They loop the ring once, twice, sizing each other up. 

Sol is the first to attack.

At first they trade blows back and forth. Sol puts up a stronger defense than Blake has expected. But as soon as Blake sees an opening she maneuvers Sol into a submission-hold on the mat, forcing Sol to face the far corner where Zaria is standing. She’s hovering near the edge of the ring, the NXT Women's North American title resting on a pedestal right behind her. She’s watching Blake and Sol like she doesn’t know who she is allowed to watch. “Look at that,” Blake murmurs against Sol’s ear. She keeps her volume low, makes sure her words are covered by the hum of the audience and the slap of the mat. The hold is snug, but she’s not pressing all of her strength into it, the match has only been going for a few minutes and it’s too early for Sol to tap out, besides Blake wants to enjoy what’s going to be Sol Ruca’s last match. She presses her mouth directly against Sol’s ear before continuing, channeling fake sincerity into her voice. “Poor Sol, you’ve lost so much.“ Her tongue swipes out to lick the shell of Sol’s ear, briefly, before rolling them into a pin.

The referee counts to two and Sol kicks out. She reaches one hand up to rub at her ear. 

“You don’t know shit.”

“I don’t need to know shit for her to sleep in my bed.” She doesn’t need to gesture to Zaria for Sol to get what she means.

Sol’s expression crumbles like a tower of cards in a storm, Blake can even see the muscles moving in her cheek as Sol clenches her jaw. Zaria and Sol were something more than friends; the whole locker room knows it. Like an open secret no one spoke about, the intense way they’d act towards each other, like lovers, or something close enough to it. Some fools they must’ve been, thinking they were being discreet. Blake doesn’t know how far they got, but judging from the reaction she thinks she might’ve guessed correctly. She licks her lips obscenely. 

“Yeah?” Sol twists closer. Her eyes dart to Blake’s corner (where Zaria is) and away. “So, she’s got a thing for NA champions, big fucking surprise,” she says. “But you? Are you not tired of being a copy cat? First you go after my title, now you’re sleeping with my leftovers, too?” The line is weakened by Sol’s delivery; she looks uncomfortable, not at all convinced about what she is saying.

But Blake entertains her. She’s only ever seen glimpses of this Sol Ruca, never met her head on. Maybe Zaria had been a nerf to Sol, just as much as Sol had been to Zaria. “So the surfer has teeth!” Blake mock gasps.  “You’d really talk about your best friend like that?”

“She betrayed me.” 

“By stopping me from breaking your leg? I would’ve won either way, she just made sure you didn’t get hurt, much.” Blake moves in closer, whispers the last part like a scandalous secret. There’s no strategic reason for telling her this, revealing that her grip over Zaria maybe isn’t as strong as Blake would want. Maybe it’s to show Sol what she really lost, pull her from the pretend world where Zaria had been with Blake from the very start. Maybe she wants to pour salt in the wound and watch Sol Ruca scream. “She’s the reason you’re getting this second shot.” 

Sol’s mouth falls shut. She casts a glance towards Zaria, and her gaze lingers for longer than the milliseconds she’s allowed herself throughout the beginning of the match. There’s a flood of emotions swimming in those eyes. Things Blake will never even begin to understand, and things Blake recognizes from another set of eyes, blue, not green, from another lifetime. It’s like they’re communicating through sight. Zaria and Sol. 

“I didn’t know,” Sol whispers.

Blake rolls her eyes, takes that moment, as Sol is distracted, to hit her with a clothesline of her own, rolls her up into a two count before Sol kicks out a second time. They continue like that, back and forth, Blake eggs Sol on to the best of her abilities. But Sol pulls herself together well, must’ve seen it coming, been preparing for Blake’s mindgames, because she doesn’t react as strongly to the things Blake says as Blake wants.

“You’re getting predictable,” Sol murmurs as she evades another clothesline from Blake.

“You’re getting sad and pathetic.”

“I’m taking you down.”

Blake laughs. “You can certainly try.” Many have. Not one has succeeded. Blake’s not delusional, everything has its end, and one day Blake will lose so badly that she gives up on wrestling all together. Or maybe, if she’s lucky, she’ll get injured in the ring and die in a fight of glory. But neither of those days will be today. And neither of those things will happen against Sol Ruca.

A big boot zooms towards her face, the cheap netted pattern of converse moments from leaving a mark on Blake’s precious face. She ducks, and it meets empty air instead.

“Watch for the shoe”, Sol taunts. 

“What?” Blake falters, so thrown that for a moment she stumbles and has to steady herself against the ropes. She turns to stare at Sol. It’s been months since she’s heard that phrase. No one’s supposed to say it. 

She purses her lips. It’s a coincidence, only a coincidence. It must be. Sol Ruca is a surfer, half of her personality is in her shoes. 

The punch Blake throws is nowhere near its mark. It allows Sol to gain distance, reach the ropes and propel off of them back towards Blake with a flying punch. 

Sol swings towards her face, and Blake is not prepared for it, doesn’t get her arms up in time to cover. It hits Blake in the eye. There’s a collective gasp from the audience, and stars cover her vision making her temporarily blinded. Fuck. Blake groans. She drops and rolls beneath the ropes but the lack of sight makes her misjudge the distance and she lands outside the ring with a hard thud. Which only makes her face ache more. She blinks a few times trying to clear her head, and can faintly hear the referee start counting. Her head is swimming with memories from another life (a different title, and a different pair of girls, and a betrayal so big it made her sick even though she was the one at the wheel), the pain. It feels like ages, lying there on the ground, but it’s not, the referee has merely counted to four when she opens her eyes again.

A shadow comes over her, at first she thinks it is Sol, coming to throw her back into the ring. But red hair falls into her vision, a worried expression analyzing Blake’s body, checking if she is okay.

The adrenaline numbs everything, even the pain. But it turns her limbs and thoughts fuzzy. Makes her slow to remember what she was doing. And part of her wants to sink into the feeling, stay in that bubble of fuzz with Zaria looking over her. She’s so close to giving in, but she can’t afford the distraction, can't afford to be the weak version of herself — she needs to be the woman from hell. Blake shakes her head in an effort to clear it, but that makes the fuzziness worse. Distantly she mourns the awful black eye she’s going to sport later. Then she clamps her teeth down on her tongue until she tastes bitter blood, and that helps her get back into the present. Blake flips onto her front so she can heave herself back up. Her eye pulses, like she can feel her heartbeat right behind it, and her vision is blurry, but she doesn’t need to see Sol’s sparkly makeup, or the patterns on her gear to know where to aim. So she ignores it, and climbs into the ring with two seconds to spare, finds Sol leaning against the ropes on the other side, watching her, hoping to win with a count-out like a coward.

(She looks thrown, hand cradled against her chest, like she hadn’t expected to actually make contact with anything. Like maybe, somehow, someway, all Blake ever was was smoke and mirrors.)

They’re weeks past Sol’s leg being cleared and she’s not wearing the brace. Pride once again getting in the way. One day that’s going to bite her in the ass, and Blake would like for that day to be today. She’s standing steady on it, all thanks to Zaria throwing in the towel for her. Blake would have broken her leg otherwise. Sol might think that everything is fine with it, but there has to be doubt buried somewhere within her. There’s a core realization that comes after an injury, with the proof that you’re not invincible, that there is a limit to the muscles and tendons and bones: how breakable the body truly is.

That’s the thing about injuries, once something’s broken it’s never going to return to what it once was. You can try, but it’s never going to be the same. 

Sol advances with a springboard from the lowest rope. But Blake spins out of her hold and the move lands her in direct line to kick at Sol’s weak leg, which she does. It buckles and Sol falls to the mat with a cry. 

Zaria makes a sound from the sidelines. Blake ignores her. Her head aches, she’s sweating from every pore on her body, aching with adrenaline. So maybe she had been a bit wrong, even off her A-game, Sol’s a worthy component. And if she doesn’t end this soon she fears she’s going to drop.

“She’s not going to save you this time.”

Sol rolls her eyes. Turns her weak knee away from Blake.

“And you think she’d save you? Just because she’s in your corner? She doesn’t care about you.” Now it’s Sol’s turn playing with Blake’s feelings for Zaria. It reminds Blake, briefly, of something she’d told Sol before. It was a blatant lie, then. Maybe there’s some truth to it now. But Blake is the woman from hell, and she will fuck Sol up if it so is the last thing she does. 

“That’s not what you thought when you found out she threw the towel for me.”

“We both know that’s a lie, Blake.”

Blake kicks and kicks at Sol's leg, Sol fights back with punches and nails. There’s no towel outside the ring today, Blake made sure of it. She doesn’t even know if Zaria would dare throw a towel, and the idea is neither fully loathsome, nor welcome. To have someone who cares enough to throw in the towel. To be weak enough to need it thrown. 

For both of them; no towel is for the best.

“You think,” Sol’s breathing is strained, and her words come out winded, “she’ll still look at you if my leg snaps?” 

“Don’t know. Wanna see?”

“Why not?”

The match continues, and the audience grows louder as the wrestlers in the ring become more and more reckless with exhaustion. Sol seems to abandon any defense for offense, which allows Blake a few more hits than usual.

She gets close and claws at Sol's eyes (bit of revenge for the pulsing and swelling on her own). Then she sets herself up near a corner, taking time to regain some energy. Sol is way too predictable, seeing the Sol Snatcher setup in the corner and not realizing that she is playing straight into Blake’s hand. 

Sol runs forward, takes two steps onto the ropes and flips backwards, but, where she expects Blake’s waiting head, she finds nothing but air. Nothing to grip onto, and nothing to right her spinning motion. She lands awkwardly, face first onto the mat, with a thud that even makes Blake wince.

Blake doesn’t waste any time. She pulls Sol back into the center of the ring by her weak leg, much in the same way she had done in their goldrush match. She plans to do the same, turn Sol into her version of the Boston crab, but her eyes trace the audience, cheer-ers and boo-ers, all watching her, but most importantly Zaria. Wide-eyed.

Her grip slips and Sol's feet fall lifeless to the mat. It looks like a mistake, and Blake is temporarily thrown. Feels like the curtains have been dropped and she doesn’t know her lines.

She doesn’t know if it looks as awkward as it feels when she drops down onto her knees, rolls Sol onto her back. 

One. Two. Three.

It’s a simple three count, Sol’s body already slack on the canvas, limbs exhausted and shaking and not managing to kick out. Sol loses staring up at the ceiling, with Blake pressing her down. It’s not with a submission move like she had imagined. It’s not forcing Sol to watch Zaria as she loses. No. 

Blake lays on top of her for a few moments catching her breath, her music starts playing in the background, before she rolls off. And she becomes lying a length away from Sol on the canvas instead. The drop of adrenaline is like a crash. The previous pulsing in her eye turns stabbing, which forces her up into a standing position. Maybe it always was stabbing but she just didn’t notice. 

The canvas dips, and a few moments later, the referee comes to her side with the NXT Women’s North American belt. Her hand is raised, lights and eyes pointed her way. As if on instinct she holds up the belt to celebrate. And it’s funny, she’d almost forgotten about it.

She’s supposed to feel satisfied, and the other part of her does. But her eyes search for Zaria; whom she finds at Sol’s side, on her knees, hands uselessly at her sides, searching for injuries, trying to comfort. Sol’s eyes are squeezed shut, her head turned sharply away from Zaria. This wasn’t how either of them imagined the fight would turn out, Blake bets. 

Blake turns her back to them, smiles and raises her title once more towards the audience like a good NA champ. Would Zaria have gone back to Sol's side if Sol had won? She tries not to let it get to her. Zaria is a tool, first and foremost, and Blake is simply a wielder, nothing more. She shouldn’t hope for anything more. 

It’s a few more moments alone with the audience before the redhead comes to Blake’s side.

“Your eye,” Zaria points.

Blake doesn’t turn around to look at Zaria, but she lets herself be steadied by her hands, leans most of her weight onto Zaria because she knows she can take it. She searches for any semblance of apology in Zaria’s voice, but there is none. Resists casting another glance to see if Sol is walking or being carried out. 

“I can feel it,” she says, more sass in her voice than necessary, from the pain. She just barely resists rolling her eyes, too, it probably wouldn’t do her any good. And Zaria doesn’t answer. It’s best that way. It’s not her fault Blake so often catches feelings where there are supposed to be none.

Above all else, guard your heart… If Blake had her way, she wouldn’t have a heart at all.