Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author Note: Contains hints of Becky/Sasha and Dean/Roman. Written and set before Money in the Bank 2016.

SHARED LANGUAGE

It wasn't a good day for Becky Lynch. Honestly, it hadn't been a good one for months. First Sasha, then Paige, then Charlotte, every one of them turning on Becky, acting like they were so much better than her, like she'd dragged them down, like she didn't matter at all. Paige had apologised way after; this business meant forgiving and forgetting pretty quick, otherwise, okay otherwise you could end up being World Champion like Seth who had let stuff fester and had snapped, destroying his best friends.

Becky might have done that once or twice herself, a long time ago. She'd crushed Bayley to side with Sasha, for a leg up, to stand out in that amazing division and get everyone talking. It'd worked; she was up on the main roster now, she'd wrestled at Wrestlemania. What an incredible year. Didn't mean she wasn't nursing a few tender hurts though or that she wasn't feeling a bit guilty. Taste of her own medicine, a reminder of the sharp heel of the business, how she should have seen it coming and been prepared, she shouldn't have wanted to believe otherwise. The lesson was shiny-bright and impossible to ignore; no one else mattered – gold did. Right?

Becky had played that game, didn't mean she liked it. Wasn't much to like lately at all.

Here she was right now, hands flexing, nails pressing into her thighs, feet pacing, waiting for a taxi back to the hotel. There'd been no room in any vehicles for Becky. So she'd ordered a cab and was still waiting, bag at her feet. God only knew what kind of decadence Charlotte was enjoying right now, or where Sasha was. Becky was trying not to think about that, the stuff that rose up with pain and guilt while she wasn't looking, when she bumped into Roman and Dean. She meant 'bumped into' literally – Roman had to grab her arm to stop her falling back. Becky shook her head ruefully.

"I was miles away."

"Portland, right? You seem more like a Seattle girl though."

That was Dean, chewing gum across every word. He was close at Roman's side and his hair was all soaking and roughed-up, bruises visible on his face and neck. Jericho was enjoying trying to destroy him; Dean never seemed pissed off with pain (either kind) or the marks left behind though. It was like it fired him up instead and made him laugh and swing more. Yeah.

"Ireland, always Ireland," she told him though, her fingers leaving crescent redness in her own arms. "You ever been there outside a tour?"

Dean shook his head, not looking all that sorry about such a serious lack in his life. Roman was carrying the championship belt, it looked like it'd been polished recently or maybe it was always that shiny? He looked...comfortable, content. Together he and Dean kept looking like a big cat and a lean wolf, like hunter and prey. Which was which though?

It was all connected, wasn't it? Gold, success, friendship, real lasting...can't have it all. What did that, hunter – prey, Roman – Dean, mean for the big gold? Another broken friendship? Only they'd both suffered that with Seth so why would they do that to each other? And Roman had managed to win the title without turning on anyone. Becky dug a thumb into her palm; it never stopped.

"How come you're still here?" Roman asked.

Maybe he'd noticed her bag or how she kept adjusting the goggles that were pushed up past her forehead, keeping hair out of her face. She shouldn't be transparent, right? Because if she was, people could use what they saw against her. Becky had learned that years ago but she'd also learned that an open heart meant an audience that connected, an audience that would lift and push you on to really amazing heights. Which way was really up?

"No one's got room for me," she said at last. "I'm waiting for a taxi."

Roman glanced at Dean, neither of them saying anything aloud but Becky could like see a conversation happening. She felt a prickle at the nape of her neck and her hands clenched; she and Sasha, they'd had a little something like that too. Another pain she tried not to think about, a splinter right in her gut, along her fingertips. Only it shouldn't be, should it?

"We've got a space," Dean replied. "You'll get Rome's terrible taste in radio."

Roman snorted and the look he shot Dean was pure exasperated affection. Becky's fingers pressed tighter.

"There's room," Roman confirmed. "No catch."

The fact he had to qualify that...Becky nodded though. The taxi apparently wasn't turning up right now. "Okay, thanks. This is all I've got."

"You pack lighter than Rome too," Dean claimed.

He didn't offer to take her bag, he was carrying his own, and Roman was managing two plus his belt. He could have just stuck it in its case but apparently he wanted to keep it close where he could look at it. Gold had that effect on people, especially gold that sparkly. Did he admire his own reflection in it, not seeing Seth's there anymore? Did he always place it somewhere he could see it?

A lot of the crowd hadn't seemed happy with Roman for a while. There were a lot of boos being thrown at him but he still had the belt, the audience weren't affecting that at all. The Shield had been closed up, protected, or thick skinned, except to each other. Was Roman still swaddled? Did he care? Or had he changed while going after the gold or once he'd got it? Was there an extra glint in his eye now? Was his attitude, his self-protection different? Some new kind of confidence, or arrogance? Becky didn't know him well enough and it wasn't like she could warn Dean; he knew from past experience. Maybe he knew and was sticking with Roman anyway. Maybe he looked forward to it.

Becky adjusted her goggles, seeing Sasha's shades for a moment, hearing Charlotte's laugh, the pain, and followed the boys outside, her hands flexing, her nails digging into her flesh.

-the end