Darcy stared at the ceiling after waking. She wasn’t sure how long she ended up fixated on the crevices up above her, merely losing herself in the faint details she could hardly make out without her glasses on, the finer points smudging together, indistinguishable from one another. Her apartment held this stifling, quiet quality whenever she woke up alone, a situation that the universe seemed to insist she ought to find herself in.

She blinked. In that fraction of a second, she saw the image of the corpse she stared at as clear as day. A portrait framed in the entry hall of her mind. She hadn’t decided what was more distressing, that she was still getting these intense visuals of the scene or that he, again, wasn’t there.

Sighing into her hands as she fought to free herself from the mattress's tender embrace, she reached over onto her nightstand, a dark shade of violet, and clumsily grabbed her glasses, the oil of her finger leaving a small mark on the inner lense that she noticed immediately upon placing them on her face. An irritating reminder just out of the corner of her eye. She had half a mind to clean the lens, but decided she simply couldn’t be bothered as she lifted herself from her bed, a blanket draped around her as an impromptu hood to protect from the cool air the AC delivered while it hummed above. Stepping into her bathroom, her fingertips traced over the clean, cold marble finish to reach her toothbrush, a somewhat upper end model that she quickly moved to apply a drop of toothpaste to. She glanced down at her phone, noting the time before looking into the mirror, seeing only herself staring back.

She quickly looked back towards her phone.

---

A cheap travel toothbrush scraped across Ned’s teeth as he stared into his reflection, provided by the largely desilvered mirror of a truckstop restroom. He spit into the sink, watching the foam slide down the drain before looking back up to see himself gazing back. Certainly, he didn’t want to count out the luxuries he had grown accustomed to staying in mostly one place, but there was something nostalgic about this setup. It was like being right back in his early indie days, adapting to what the road had in store. When his destiny felt more in the hands of the weather than it did himself. How many times did he and a few other indie stars survive out of a truckstop or motel just to fight before a crowd of apathetic dozens for a few bucks? How many times did they swear they were going to regret it, only to shrug off the annoyance and enjoy a milkshake or beer with one another. It was only now, pondering upon it all, that he realized that he didn’t remember a few of the faces of some of those he worked alongside for months at a time and even the names seemed faint now. Memories best held by the scuffed edges of dressers and broken faucets that avoided repair long before them all.

He wondered when he would become that for someone else. A name without a face to recall alongside it.

Trying to shrug the thought aside, he lifted his phone, noticing the time and making a slightly overdo phone call, his fingers racing before nestling the electronic slab between his shoulder and ear. He instinctively prepared to cup some of the water in his hands to rinse out his mouth before thinking twice, given the state of the restroom.

“You’re late,” Darcy answered somewhat bluntly as Ned waved his hands to remove the excess water, brushing down his pants to dry the remainder.

“Yeah,” Ned admitted, his tone carrying a subtle guilt with it, “but only two minutes this time.”

“Psh,” Darcy’s tone became comedically stern as she continued on, “late is late. And that means you messed up.”

“Oh c’mon,” he relented, chuckling a bit, “that’s a little uncalled for!”

“If you can kick out of a Bourbyboom-”

“A Bobbybomb.”

“Whatever- if you can do that, you can handle the lightest rib in the world,” Darcy insisted, sticking her tongue out even though she knew Ned couldn’t possibly see it.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he smirked, enjoying the passing moment they shared, regardless of his awareness in regards to its rapidly approaching conclusion. Time seemed to shrink when she was near.

“So, how has work been?” He asked, inspecting one of the brown, thin paper towels before wiping his chin.

She gave a half-snort, “Well, you know, it’s as good as ever. “Hey Darcy, why isn’t Acrobat working?” Basically just that for eight hours. It’s a living.”

He chuckled, appreciating her snark all the more after their unfortunate encounter at the Grand Canyon, his laugh petering out as he tried to put words to how he felt currently.

“How’s being in a van with strangers and a guy you’ve had a ton of problems with?”

“Cramped,” Ned replied, thinking back to a moment earlier in the trip, “I think… I think someone tucked me in?”

“WHAT?!” He heard Darcy fumble her toothbrush, giggling away after a collection of clattering from the fallen item. He rolled his eyes, exhaling with amusement after she had finally calmed down.

“You good, Darce?”

“I dunno,” she announced ridiculously, “who am I competing with?”

They both continued laughing with each other for a little more before looking at their respective mirrors, their expressions shifting solemnly. It was Darcy who broke the silence first.

“When is it going to be enough?” She asked.

Ned dodged the question somewhat, suspecting her intent, but uneasy at finding the potential answer out for himself.

“What do you mean?” He responded.

“I-,” She halted herself, swallowing the thought, “nevermind. We’ll talk about it later. Love you.”

“Love you,” Ned replied, hearing the soft jingle that signified the end of the call, followed by the decidedly less loud speech of Bobby Bourbon, having just opened the door to check up on him.

“Gee, Ned, never took you for the type to say that you love yourself. Hey, that’s progress! Good for you!” Bobby commented, misreading the situation, though Ned was unable to decipher whether or not it was intentional. Bobby’s consistent approach of acting utterly uncomplicated made him all the more complex to someone like Ned. Sure, he didn’t like everything Bobby did, in fact, he outright hated a lot. But there was someone underneath there trying to do good.

Probably.

“I was on the phone, Bobby, I’ll just be a minute more,” Ned said, finally placing his phone back in his pocket.

“I don’t mean to rush you, but we are on a schedule here. Space Camp Softball waits for none of us.”

“I get that… I just,” he paused, trying to articulate the sensation that had been bubbling in his chest without Bourbon assuming it had something to do with the van food, “I feel connected to my roots here. It’s been a long time since I’ve been on the road quite like this, but it still feels like a pair of old shoes. Worn, but comfortable.”

Bobby nodded, hearing Ned out, “Well, Ned, I’m no philosopher.”

Only the sound of running water.

“But?”

“Oh, that’s it. See you in the van?”

“Yeah,” Ned replied, a hint of exasperation seeping through as he checked the mirror, catching a glimpse of the bags under his eyes. The lines and subtle signs of exhaustion that had etched themselves onto his body.

“When is it going to be enough?” echoed through his head as he turned the faucet off, stepping out to return to the van’s cramped interior.

He knew the answer, but he didn’t want to say.

---

---

---

“Heritage. It’s more than just blood. It’s the pieces of ourselves that we identify. The roots we draw attention to as much as the roots we don’t. And it’s easy to wonder sometimes whether you are who you are because or in spite of where you come from.”

“Take LSM. She is intensely proud of one half of herself and feels deep shame for the other. And, frankly, I can’t blame her. Being the offspring of Charlie Nickles is an unfair situation for any human being to be forced into. But the issue is that aforementioned shame permeates everything she does. Self-sabotage might not be genetic, but you’d swear it was looking at those two. When LSM isn’t losing to bad “walked into a bar,” jokes on Anarchy, she’s drifting about from match to match with barely a hint of real pride in her abilities or trust that she can make it. The sad fact is that she can’t seem to learn the lesson Jenny Myst of all people managed to: you don’t have to be defined by some man in your life. You can redefine what your roots mean to you, but you’re not going to do that, are you? Because that means having one earnest moment in your life that isn’t undercut by a giant novelty flag. She’d rather distill her entire personality down to her ring name than find out who Robyn Gonzalez is and be happy with that person. It’s not just a bad way to go about trying to win, it’s just really tragic to watch in practice.”

“But for all her flaws, at least LSM has something to pass on. She has a heritage to give that isn’t a $40 suit and an $80 haircut. Can’t say the same about Finn Kuhn, though. And it’s frustrating because I don’t even dislike Finn, he is just lacking in any and all ambition. What are you going to give to achieve your goals? When are you going to buckle down and sacrifice something meaningful? Do you know how many people I’ve watched throw their best years into this sport that I love- that we love just so you can walk up, try for a match or two before deciding you’d rather be your own eye candy? Sure, I’ll go through rough patches, but there’s a reason my mere association lifts up talented people. Being on the side of Ned Kaye puts you on the radar of the Universal Champion. Being on the side of Finn Kuhn puts you on the radar of WatchMojo’s Top 10 “Whatever happened to?” list, placed slightly higher than Kuhn himself. You have nothing to inherit because you’re not willing to invest enough to lose, Finn. You will never give yourself fully because that would mean believing in yourself and you don’t have the slightest interest in that.”

“In this sport, we are given walls and we’re defined by what we do when we collide with them. Finn slows down before he can feel the impact. LSM hits it once and sulks off to tend to her wounds. I have hit walls more times than I can count and you know what I do? I hit again. And again! Ad infinitum until it breaks because I’ll be dead and buried before it breaks me! I can bleed, but that’s what makes me dangerous: bleeding doesn’t slow me down one fucking second. I am The Ace, the man who kicked out of the Bobbybomb, the only person to challenge others to be better and to consistently get them to be so. I bring out people’s best because that’s what it takes to keep up. Because my blood might be on that mat, week in and week out, but wrestling…”

“...is in my blood.”

"You can't run from yourself."