To The Stars - 2. January, 2018

Thursday, January 5th

"Daddy!" Jilly cried, putting on her tantrum-in-ten-seconds face. Oh no, Diego thought, picking her up in his muscular arms. "Juwi stole my 'tato!" She said, letting out the first whine. It sounded like someone was letting air out of the tyre.

"Bean, you're supposed to be sharing. He's allowed to have some 'tatos," he gently reminded her, rocking her against his hip. Julian wasn't even looking, eyes fixed on the Power Rangers, stuffing fried potato bites down his throat with his tiny fingers. He's going to be a big boy, he thought.

"But I wanted that one!" She wailed and moaned. "He ate my 'tato! Mine!" If there was anything that Jilly could complain about, she'd do it until she was blue in the face. Truly her mother's daughter.

"Then what do you want me to do about it?" Diego asked, starting to panic. Zoey was going to be here any minute to pick up their twins and the last thing he needed her to see was another hysterical display by one or both of them - something she never failed to blame him for. It was as though they could sense their mother's presence from miles away and the sheer strength of that women's malevolent aura triggered meltdowns just so Zoey could see that Diego couldn't control his kids. "Do you want me to make you some more?"

"NO! I want my 'tato!" Jilly insisted, and Diego rolled his eyes. Why was he naive enough to think she would listen to reason? Only four hours ago she had an astronomical meltdown because he refused to let her flush his car keys down the toilet.

"Go and pick a new potato," he instructed her, putting her gently down on the ground. "You can have any potato you like. You tell Juli that he needs to share, okay?"

"Juwi! Daddy says you have to let me have all the 'tatos!" Jilly ran back over to him. Julian quickly took a handful and crammed them all in his mouth at once before she could snatch them away and Jilly squealed with horror and smacked him on the face.

What little assholes, Diego thought, but he was sick of playing referee and decided to make himself a hot drink. Just a few seconds of quiet would be nice. He walked back through the kitchen, only to see a shape flying through the air at him from the top of the bench. Both his paternal and wrestling instincts kicked in and he effortlessly caught her in mid-air.

"You need to stop doing that!" Diego growled at her, pinning her close to him and tickling her ribs. "You're going to hurt yourself again. Or me!" She squealed in laughter and hammered her fists down on his shoulders in protest, trying to bring him down.

"That's it! You're getting the Silva Spiral!" He hoisted her up across his shoulders and carried her, screaming and laughing, to her bedroom. The Silva Spiral was Diego's most famous move - his finishing move. He spun her around off his shoulders, caught her legs with other hand and slammed her onto the soft mattress underneath. Nobody was supposed to have favourite children, but Diego was only human, and Nina was such a Daddy's girl. Maybe he'd change his mind in future, but he hadn't seen Troy since he was six months old, and the twins were going through the terrible threes.

"When I grow big and you grow small, I'm going to do the Silva Spiral to you!" She threatened him, sitting up and resuming her paltry attempts at beating her father up.

"Yeah? Well when you become the Women's Champion, I'll challenge you to a match!" He grinned, sitting down with her. "I mean it though, Marshmallow. You need to stop jumping off the counter! If you fall and hurt yourself, you won't be allowed to be a wrestler, you know. Oliver Vickery hurt himself and he's not allowed to wrestle for a long time until he gets better. Don't do anything dangerous. Next week, we'll play on the trampoline, how about that?"

"You're just scared I'll beat you!" She told him fiercely. She's just like me at that age, Diego thought to himself. If that's true, then she's going to be a difficult kid. Perhaps it's penance for what I put my parents through.

"Oh yeah? Prove it next week little miss smarty-pants, but you make sure it's nice and safe! Believe it or not, Aunt Rachel does not jump at Daddy from the kitchen counter!" Diego kissed her on the forehead, causing her to squirm and squawk with embarrassment. Such a daddy's girl. Such a tomboy. Fanatic about wrestling and the UFC, always trying to beat up her peers and prove herself. Hopefully, this phase would end before she ended up hurting herself or her little brother or sister. "Now hurry up and get ready! Mom's going to be here soon!"

"I don't want to go home with Mom," Nina declared, lying back and grinning, her dark brown hair long, wild and tangled. "I'm gonna stay here with you!"

"Not if Mom has anything to say about that," he snickered. "She'll kick my butt!" Audrey would never do such a thing. Where Marisol vanished back to Monterrey with their son after things ended horribly between them and Zoey was the physical manifestation of a migraine, he and Audrey remained reasonably close, and it had a significant effect on little Nina. They lived apart, but they were functional parents together. They were still friends - even though she was always treating him like a child who didn't know how to raise his child.

"But I'll miss you!" Nina protested, clinging to her pillow.

"And I'll miss you too, but I'll pick you up again on Tuesday! I might even stop by for a visit. Maybe you, Mom and I can go out for--" he suddenly heard a couple of cries from the sitting room and panic set in. Julian was crying, but there didn't seem to be anything wrong with him. Diego crouched in front of him and attempted to speak to him, but Julian's face was twisted in a hideous mask of sheer emotion.

"Little man, what's the matter?" Diego frowned, but Julian was too far gone to reply to him, sitting with gunk on his face and all over his shirt. Oh, no. He made himself puke again.

"Juwian ate all 'tatos and sicked on the floor," Jilly helpfully pointed out, and Diego looked down to see he was kneeling right next to a chunky orange puddle of vomit with undigested potato bites scattered on the carpet.

"Oh my god little man!" Diego swallowed his urge to yell at him. I shouldn't have trusted him with so much food. Dammit. "How did you eat until you got sick? What are you, a cat? C'mon, stop that. It's not the end of the world."

Julian took a while to console, but eventually, mid-sob, he forgot he was supposed to be upset and started laughing at the television again. Best investment I ever made, he thought. Even if he was one more replay of the Power Rangers from tearing the hair from his head, it was a secure and reliable way to appease the kids... usually.

"I think we better wait for Mommy in the kitchen," Diego screwed up his nose at the rancid vomit smell, throwing some paper towels over it. He had no idea how to clean that up. He'd just get rid of it and let someone from the maid's service do her thing when she came in tomorrow. He might even tip her an extra twenty. Vomit was just something he could not handle, and apparently, the apple indeed does not fall far from the tree, because every time he managed to make himself throw up, Julian seemed to think he was about to die. When Diego helped him into a new, clean shirt, Julian saw the vomit on his old shirt and began to whine all over again.

"Juwian sicked!" Jilly reported gleefully to Zoey when the younger woman let herself in. Diego frowned at her. Jilly was such a little tattle-tale, always telling Mommy when Daddy messed up in any way. Zoey was bedazzled in a tremendous amount of jewellery and a cocktail dress. She looked as though she'd had her hair done and a manicure too. The best that my money can buy, he thought bitterly.

"Why was Juli sick?" She asked her daughter, but her eyes were on Diego.

"He ate too fast," Diego shrugged, but Zoey was already angry.

"What are you, stupid?" She yelled, cuddling her little boy close. "You know he does that! Weren't you watching him?"

"I have both Bean and Nina here as well, I can't keep my eye on Julian forever," he hissed, wary that all three children were watching them argue.

"And they didn't have more than three hours of screen time a day?" Zoey asked, and Diego knew he needed to lie. He had a hyperactive five-year-old and three-year-old twins. The television was one of the only ways he could reliably keep them all happy without wanting to kill himself. Three hours maximum. Yeah, of course he'd been following that rule...

"Cutting it close, but no they didn't, Zo," he reassured her, wanting her to finish her interrogation and piss off back home to the river Styx.

"Don't you lie to me, they tell me everything!" Zoey snapped at him. "You're supposed to give them three hours max. I'm so sick of doing everything and raising our kids up good just for you to screw it up when they come here!"

"I dunno what you mean by everything, Zo," Diego clenched his jaw. "I mean, somehow they're with you half the week and being raised solely on my paycheck."

"They don't need money!" Zoey poked him in the chest. "They need a father, not a television!"

"Yeah well, I'm sorry I have to work to provide for them, and for some reason you as well," Diego was getting mad. This was the sort of crap she told the twins all the time. Daddy doesn't love you. Daddy doesn't care. Daddy doesn't want to spend time with you. "Life must be simple for you, not having to work for anything in your life and using all that spare time to come up with ways to try and make me look like a crap father. If a fat slice of my salary isn't enough for you, why don't you try getting a job and telling me how easy it is?"

"That's how you speak to the mother of your children?" Zoey shook her head in disgust. What a hypocrite. "You better get your priorities straight, Diego. Otherwise, you can forget about coming by next Tuesday."

Diego shot a look of pure poison at her, before leaning down and taking the twins in his arms. She called them Jillian and Julian. He still couldn't believe she got away with that. Didn't the doctor hear those names and think it was a bad idea? They'd been born four weeks premature when he was on tour in South America, so Zoey's choice of names ran unopposed. Diego rectified the situation somewhat by nicknaming his daughter Jillybean, and eventually shortened it to Bean. Zoey didn't like it, but Jilly always responded to it. "Have fun at Mommy's house, kids. I'll see you in a few days!"

"Bye Daddy!" Jilly was quick to go back to Zoey, but Julian was not. He hugged Diego's leg, not wanting to let go. Eventually, Diego dislodged his tiny hands and Julian reluctantly walked over to his mother and sister.

"Love you both, please behave yourself," he grinned. Zoey slammed the door behind her on her way out, and Diego smacked his hand against the refrigerator in his anger. Whatever he saw in her, it died a long time ago - then she realised she was pregnant. How convenient for her.

"Daddy are you okay?" Nina asked timidly. Figs. He forgot she was there.

"Just a little upset, Marshmallow," he forced himself to smile. "Zoey and I just don't like each other very much."

"Then why did you have Jilly and Juli with her?" She asked bluntly, and he stopped in his tracks. That was an excellent question, but not one he was ready to discuss in depth with her.

"I didn't know I was going to!" He answered honestly, leaning against the counter. If he took his eye off her for a minute, she'd climb on something. "Jilly and Juli were a surprise. A good surprise!" Like hell they were, he grimaced. He wanted the abortion, but Zoey wanted child support. Still, the moment he saw them for himself, he fell in love with them. To Zoey's credit, she did grow to genuinely love the twins as well. It was the one thing he didn't despise about her.

"Are you going to wrestle tomorrow night, Daddy?" Nina asked, trying to cram her tiny left foot into her right shoe. It's not that hard, Nina. It's the same shape as your foot. Why is this such a problem for you? Kids.

"I hope so. I have a new friend I might be wrestling with these days," Diego explained as he helped her put her shoe and lace it up.

He felt his muscles tighten as he remembered Lovecraft. Since Michelle's decision last Friday, the showboy had attempted to get in touch with Diego three times. Diego ignored the call and both text messages. He was still in denial. Maybe Michelle would change her mind tomorrow.

"Can I come?" She asked excitedly, but he shook his head.

"It's up to Mom," he loved pulling this card, because unless it was a special occasion, Audrey usually said no. They would watch him live on television instead. Thankfully, Audrey did end up saying no, to Nina's chagrin. Good. He could always count on her to play the bad cop.

~

Friday, January 6th

"Babe!" Rachel greeted him with a brief hug and a briefer kiss. It was freezing today in Worcester. "How are you feeling tonight?"

"Like crap," he admitted, dragging his small travel-case behind him on its wobbly wheels. "Juli spewed up on the rug, Bean's inherited the bitch genes from her mother and Nina's one more dangerous stunt away from child services getting involved."

"That's all pretty fascinating, but I'm talking about your little meeting with Michelle," Rachel took him by his free hand. She wasn't so interested in the children. "What's going on?"

"I dunno, I forgot to bring my crystal ball with me!" Diego snapped, irritable. It hadn't been a good day for him. "With any luck, she's been in an accident on her way here and I don't have to be seen with that little knob jockey."

"Calm down," Rachel squeezed his hand, putting on her stern voice. "Don't let Ollie hear you were talking like that, or he'll put you through the wall."

"Ollie's different," Diego pointed out. "He's not a sissy like that Lovecraft queen."

"Yeah well, Ollie doesn't see it that way," Rachel said coolly. "If you're determined to hate Lovecraft then go for your life, but do it because he skips the queue and spits on our culture. Don't do it because he's gay. That's a dick move."

"He's not just gay!" Diego grumbled, raising his voice. "He's the most flaming queen I've ever seen! The makeup and women's shoes and that ridiculous hair... disgusting, right? I don't care that he's gay and all that, but why does he have to rub my face in it?"

"Now you're just being a douchebag," Rachel's acidic reply told him that he'd crossed the line. "You literally have the Brazilian glad on your jacket when you go to the ring. Does anyone accuse you of rubbing it in their face? No, because that would be ridiculous. Good luck with Michelle." Upset with him, she stormed off.

"It's not the same thing!" Diego yelled after her, annoyed that she always took everybody else's side over his. Whatever! He was getting bored with her anyway. They barely ever had sex anymore. Oh well, there's an upside to that. At least it was a certainty that he wouldn't have another baby mama sucking the money from his account like a freaking vampire. Although the backstage crew was busy setting up for tonight's show, very few of the performers had shown up yet. It was expected that they would all arrive two hours before the show started so that everyone was organised and ready to go. Diego wanted to make sure that he had extra time to adapt to whatever might be going down tonight, so he was half an hour earlier than that. It was only four-thirty PM. Michelle's office door was closed and there was no reply when he knocked. Grumbling, knowing she'd be furious if he let himself in, he sat down on his travel bag and brought out his phone. It was a shame Rachel was pissed off; he would have enjoyed her company. She was probably taking this time to sleep around with one of the backstage crew. Maybe Jimmy Vause.

Loud footsteps approached and Diego looked to see big, round space boots. He glanced up to see Lance Lovecraft as the wearer of those shoes, gingerly strolling up to the door. His vibrant red hair was teased and wavy, touching his shoulders and falling over his face. A thick black line surrounded his eyes and winged at the tip, and red shadow painted the remainder of his eyelid. He was in a frilly white button-up shirt with an enormously oversized red bowtie, and very tight black jeans with slits that exposed his skin. Did he escape from Arkham Asylum or something? He acted like a clown, so it made sense for him to dress like one.

"Hi," Lance nervously greeted him with an awkward wave, his long nails painted red. He spoke with a surprisingly deep voice and a delightful Queen's English accent. Diego didn't reply to him. It wasn't strictly personal this time. It was by the order of James "Big Bad Jimmy" Vause. Nobody communicated with Lance unless the job demanded it. He wasn't stupid enough to disagree with Jimmy. Nobody ever was. "She's not here yet?" Lance asked after a short silence. Diego shook his head, and Lance sighed. "I get it. You're not allowed to speak to me either?" Diego wasn't required to answer that question and chose not to. He kept his eyes on his phone, watching replays from Monday's minor show, and Lance seemed to get the hint. Finally.

Diego had watched the replay of Lance and Jimmy's match. It was the cringiest thing he'd ever seen. Sloppy, amateur and downright embarrassing. It made Jimmy look like a fool, and by extension, the entire men's locker room. At the finish, Lance forgot to get in proper position for Jimmy's powerbomb finisher. Whether he was tired, dazed or merely stupid was up for debate, but he was dead weight and forgot to sell Jimmy's finishing move as well, getting back to his feet when he was supposed to be down for the count. The crowd was confused and Jimmy was furious on camera, calling Lance an idiot in front of everybody. It could be construed as Jimmy's aggressive, angry character on camera, but anyone who knew better could see that the big man was genuine. And now, lucky Diego Silva gets to be tarred with that same brush, he thought angrily. We should call Lovecraft the career killer.

"Boys! Glad you're here!" Michelle's gravelly voice cut right through the thick tension in the air as she bustled her way past and opened her office up. She was wearing a skirt today, which was strange. It was freezing and she always wore pants. "You and I need to have a long talk, I think."

"How are you today, Miss Peterson?" Lance asked her in a cheerful, diplomatic voice, eagerly following her in. Ergh, and he's also a filthy little suck-up. Diego trudged in afterwards.

"Well I haven't had sex for at least eleven months so forgive me if I'm a little tense," she quipped, taking a seat behind her desk. "How about you, limey Lovecraft? I'll be straight up with you. I didn't expect you to show up today. This is a pleasant surprise, and I don't surprise easy. Welcome back."

"Of course I'm back," Lance bowed his head and fidgeted with his fingers. "I don't want to let one bad match put a stop to me."

"A bad match?" Diego sneered at him, incredulous that the boy didn't even seem to acknowledge the damage he'd caused KADA. "That wasn't just a bad match. That was a freaking abortion."

Michelle slapped the desk with an open palm, scaring both of them and commanding their attention. She looked mad.

"We all know last week didn't go as we hoped," she pointed a finger at Diego. "So I'll give you the next thirty seconds seconds to get everything off your chest and then I don't want to hear about it anymore, Silva. New year, new KADA."

"I... I'm so sorry," Lance opted not to sit next to Diego. Rather, he stood a few paces away, keeping his distance. "I got so scared and I... I fell apart."

"Yeah, and you know why that is, right?" Diego folded his arms and refused to look at him. "It's because you don't belong in the wrestling industry. You made a mockery of everything that's important to us, and if you had any respect at all for us and what we do, you'd go back to London and you'd never, ever come back. I don't even want to see you in the crowd when we go on tour."

"Okay, now that we've got our feelings out, we can leave those behind in 2017 where they belong," Michelle's sharp grey eyes lingered on Diego. "What's done is done. We only look forward from here on and you boys are going to get along while you're in this building, you got it?" She waited for a reply, but Diego didn't give her one. "You got it?" She raised her voice, thick with the accent of Brooklyn, and she often spat words out like a machine gun without pausing for breath. With English being Diego's third language, he sometimes had trouble following her. Diego conceded and gave a nod. "Right, well you're both here like I asked last week, this is good news. You're both on the chopping block but you being here means you're ready to take a chance to save your jobs, and for what it's worth, probably mine," the older woman spoke too quickly and with too much authority for Diego to interject.

"Now, limey Lovecraft - do you mind I call you limey?" She paused briefly, barely long enough for Lance to stammer an affirmative, then she continued talking a mile a minute. "Great, we're bonding and you can give me whatever nickname you feel like when you're ready to do so. Most go with 'Chelle, but if you're a creative soul, then impress me. Now, you're actually in an extraordinary spot, as far as I'm concerned. Reviews are in and they're divided. Nobody thinks it was a good idea to put you in that match. Absolutely nobody. Don't worry, kid, we were all young once and we know what it's like to get an opportunity like that, but Bloom had no right to offer it to you. I blame her for this crapfest. But there's something to be said for the publicity you've generated for us. A lot of groups, particularly LGBT and feminist and the sort, have been giving us a lot of praise for bringing someone like you into our craft."

"Someone like me?" Lance asked uncomfortably.

"Yeah. The face, the clothes, the gay icon thing, they're eating it up," Michelle took a cigarette from her purse, but she decided she didn't need it and tossed it back. "You spit in the face of the traditional patriarchy, and that's something I personally give you props for. We ignore the fact that you can't wrestle, then we've got a decent role model and good gay representation. Be yourself, even when the industry is against you. This is good!" She hit the table with her fist to emphasize her point. Diego opened his mouth to disagree with her, but she was too quick. "Don't interrupt me when I'm speaking, Silva. Now limey Lovecraft, you understand I can't let you into the ring until we tighten up your ship, right?"

"Erm," the boy was glowing under his layer of makeup. "I--yes. I'm sorr--"

"Piss on your apologies, kid. I can't do anything with apologies. I need you to work with me to fix this mess and then you can consider yourself forgiven. Capisce?" She nodded, and Lance, intimidated by her boldness, nodded feverishly back at her. "Good stuff kid, you've got the easy job. Now you, Silva," she turned her body to meet his gaze. "Your feud with Fox was supposed to end last week, but plans have changed and we're going to continue it a while longer before he goes on to a title match or two with Vause. This'll mean another big match, so I'll leave it up to you and Fox to decide what stipulation you want. A cage match? Ladders? Something good. What do you want?"

Diego was pleasantly surprised. He was ready to be stuck with the red boy, but he would instead be going for a few more rounds with Sean.

"A cage match could work. Fox is a freak in there, but he and I haven't had a tables match before - and I already put him through the announce table last week," Diego pointed out, and Michelle clapped her hands. "We can work that into a storyline."

"Great thinking, Silva, I like that direction," Michelle popped a stick of gum in her mouth and began to noisily chew. Gross. "Alright. Tonight Fox will beat Chandler, then you're going to run in and throw him around a little. Put him through the table again. That'll get the fans riled up and ready for a tables match in a month or so.

"Alright," Diego nodded, and he was grateful that Michelle seemed to have forgotten that she threatened to pair the two of them up.

"What about us? Didn't you have plans for us?" Lance piped up, and Diego was so close to smacking him across the face. Why couldn't you just shut up?

"I was wondering when one of you would have the vulva to bring that up," she said, and Diego squirmed. Michelle, gross. She never said balls. She always said vulva, labia or ovaries. It was creepy. "It wasn't the one of you I was expecting, I'll admit." She smirked to Diego, who shrunk in his seat. "So, Lovecraft! You like to dance, don't you?"

"Yes!" Lance bubbled. "Ever since I could walk!"

"Well! You're in luck, then," Michelle stood up and stretched, wincing in discomfort. Her body was falling apart. Too many unhealthy habits and years of unchecked injuries. "So we're thinking four to six weeks and we'll wrap up Silva's story with Fox. That'll be when we bring you back on television, and hopefully, you'll have lost some of the heat by then."

"So... what do I do until then? Am I going to dance?" He asked sheepishly, twirling his finger around his bizarre hair. It was like the mane of a lion.

"You bet your supple ass we are," Michelle stood up, her knees cracking. "Go and get in your ring gear, then we're going to take a walk together to the stage. It should be set up and ready to go by now unless those mutts have been slacking. Then we're going to hit the lights and you're going to dance your little heart out, and we'll record. We'll edit some clips and air a vignette every week during the show to hype you up. We're going to start you off again from scratch. I'm on your side, my limey friend. There are things I can do to keep you relevant on television while you work on your in-ring ability."

"Dancing?" Diego snorted. "I thought it was KADA wrestling, 'Chelle. Not America's Got Talent. No offence, but this is all freaking stupid."

"Hey limey, can you wait for me out in the corridor? And shut the door on your way out?" Michelle asked him tensely. Lance nodded happily and did what he was told. She glared at Diego, inhaling and exhaling like a bull.

"What? It's the truth!" Diego stood up and hissed at her. "He's good for nothing! This is a wrestling show! Why are you indulging him? I don't freaking get it!"

"You're not paid to get it, Silva," she pointed at him. "I've already made it clear that you're working on borrowed time already. If he can draw a crowd, that makes him a bigger success than you in the eyes of Marg and Jerry, so if I were you, I wouldn't try to make waves. To them, you're expendable. There are a thousand beefcakes just like you that would jump at the chance to fill your spot. Don't push me, because I'm the only reason you're still taking home the bacon. If you don't want to cooperate with Lovecraft, then you can go to another company."

"Alright," he withdrew and raised his hands, his face burning with humiliation and anger. "You're the boss."

"Yes, I am," she remarked. "I knew you hadn't forgotten."

~

Friday, January 26th

It started the same way every week. Before the show's main event, everything would fade to black and the teaser would play. A single white spotlight would flick on from overhead, and Lance Lovecraft was in the ring alone in an empty arena, dressed in his extravagant peacock inspired wrestling attire - skin-tight short-shorts, long boots that passed his knees and long gloves that passed his elbows. His entrance theme would begin, the lights turned to different shades of pink, red and purple and for a full minute the boy would dance to his music, the camera keeping face obscured. After his sultry routine, Lance would turn to blow a kiss to the camera and the dazzling red caption would read "Lance Lovecraft returning soon to KADA."

Diego had a lot of animosity for Lovecraft, but he had to admit, the boy was an amazing dancer. So fluid, graceful and... seductive. It made his skin crawl to see a man behave in that way. Each week the choreographed routine was different and more risqué than the last. This week, it ended with Lance doing a full split and beckoning the camera with a coy smile. It wasn't right. Men weren't supposed to be so... alluring. Pretty. Gloria, Sean and Ollie didn't seem to think so, though, as he waited patiently while they watched a replay of the night's show at the bar later that night. Ollie hollered loudly and banged the table at the climax of Lance's provocative performance and Sean kicked him under the table.

"I don't think I should be so turned on!" Gloria remarked with a cheerful titter, her eyes still on the television behind them. "That was hot."

"Hell yeah, it was!" Ollie whooped, catching the evil eye from Sean over the table. "What? You thought so too!"

"Well... yeah, but you shouldn't say that!" Sean caved in and grinned. He looked at least eight younger than his twenty-four years, with his thick-rimmed glasses and his long dark hair tied neatly into an artful bun, like some kid at the high school chess club.

"Why don't you ever dance like that for us, Sean?" Gloria asked him, throwing her long blue and black hair back over her shoulder. She naturally drew attention to herself in crowds and had been the first one recognised by a fan when they arrived.

"He does for me," Ollie winked, and Sean turned red, shyly sipping his martini through the straw.

"Oi, he's been sent to Coventry," Diego reminded everyone, frowning. "Don't let Jimmy catch you talking about how good limp Lance is."

"Oooh, are you going to tell on us, Di?" Gloria teased him, raising one of her black eyebrows. "You seem eager to talk about Lance. In case you forgot, we'd actually moved on to Sean." She reached across and pinched him right where his nipple lay under his shirt.

"Don't! What's wrong with you?" Diego asked, rubbing the sore area. He was beginning to wish he didn't agree to come along, but Gloria had insisted.

"You work with them all the time and then you go to your hotel room!" She had scolded him when he was ready to leave. "Come out and have some fun! Get to know Sean and Ollie. They're keen to get to know you. Do it for me?"

Besides, he and Sean had been working together every week for nearly two months, often with Sean getting his ass kicked. Sean had been such a good sport about everything, and he always - even if just to be polite - asked Diego if he wanted to join them going out. How could I keep refusing? The least I can do for someone I put through hell every weekend is to buy him a drink, I suppose.

"Oh lighten up!" Ollie's incessant cheer was infectious, but Diego was too intent on moping today. "If anyone has a pout it should be me! I'm watching you put your hands all over my baby every week. A man could get jealous, seeing you together so much."

"I don't think it's as good for him as it is for me," Sean quipped, his eyes on his drink. Diego couldn't help but laugh at that one, and his new friend gave him a nudge in the ribs. Maybe he could stand to lighten up, he decided. He spent his weekends being a sourpuss with Rachel and his weekdays being a sourpuss with Nina, Jilly and Julian.

"It's pretty good for me, I'll be honest," he laughed. "I'm keen to be the one who gets thrown through a table for a change."

"You're keen?" Sean spluttered, his eyes eyes bugging out of their sockets behind his glasses. "I don't think there's anything left for you to throw me through! It's my turn, Diego! I have two months of pain to exact on you and I'm going to enjoy it!"

"Yeah well, do your worst, little Waya," he used the boy's stage name, his Cherokee name.

Sean glared at him playfully. He could see the eagerness in the boy's rich, dark eyes. He wasn't surprised. In professional wrestling, someone as small and lean as Sean was nearly always depicted as an underdog and took a lot of punishment in the ring. The fans just loved it when Waya was able to pull out a win on the much bigger Diego Silva. It made for a terrific show, but it did mean Sean didn't get to beat up on the other guys as much as they beat on him. Sean always took the thrashings like a man; he took some insanely nasty bumps that even some veterans would refuse to do. The idea of finally getting to put Diego through a table in two weeks after all the abuse he'd suffered had him excited enough to burst.

"You two are just perfect for each other," Gloria pointed out. "In a wrestling sense of course!" She added quickly when all three men looked at her in disgust. "Hey! Sean's a total masochist, and Diego's pants get tighter every time he gets to throw some poor bastard through a table. They're made for each other, that's all I'm saying!"

"Di's pants can stay at maximum looseness!" Ollie pointed at him with a mock angry face. "Save that nastiness for Lance Lovecraft." Diego's expression quickly fell, and Gloria was the one who noticed.

"My little starling, it's not the end of the world!" She reminded him, reaching across and patting his shoulder. "This could be good for you! It could really jazz up your career."

"You did not just say that!" Ollie laughed at her, and even Sean managed a smirk. "What if he's so bad, he actually makes Diego a worse wrestler? Do you think it works that way?"

"He's not wrestling, is he?" Sean looked panicked for a moment. "I've come way too far just to have him paralyse me now because he doesn't even know the basics!"

"Oh, you guys are all such bitches!" Gloria exclaimed, putting on her stern voice. Like Michelle, she was raised in New York and carried the accent. "He's just going to be Diego's manager, and even if you bitches give me sass for it, I still think it's a good idea! Give Lovecraft some time to find his feet! You were all wrestling babies at one point."

"You'd remember," Ollie flicked his shades over his eyes. "You've been in the company ever since they used mammoth wool to cover the ropes!" Gloria slapped him and kissed him on the cheek.

Sean and Ollie began laughing together all over again but Diego was deep in thought. He'd been there in the arena when Lance's teaser had played on the big screen and he'd heard the reaction. It was very mixed and divided, but the noise generated by the crowd was intense, close to the pops received by Irina, the incredibly popular women's champion or even Sean, everybody's favourite little guy. Even Diego in his bitterness couldn't deny that limp Lance knew how to play a crowd. He'd been dancing and acting for many years over in England and had almost two million followers apiece on three different social media sites. Lance's weakness was that he was all style, no substance. The opposite of me, he thought. Although he'd been incensed at the idea a month ago, now he was beginning to feel a little optimistic. Crowd heat had a way of spreading like chicken pox when wrestlers were frequently seen together. And what choice did he have anyway? It was his last chance, so it had to work.

"As long as he doesn't make me look bad, y'know?" Diego shrugged. "Michelle's made it clear that I don't have any say in what happens with limp Lance. I hope nobody starts thinking I'm some kind of flamer like he is."

"Oh, Diego's valet is a gay guy, so he must be gay," Gloria rolled her eyes and swigged from her bottle.

"Right," Ollie sat up straight with a crooked grin. "And the worst thing in the world is when people might reckon you're gay, right?"

"It's okay Diego," Sean leaned across and pecked his cheek, making him recoil. Why always with the gay stuff? "We won't tell anybody you're actually straight."

"You know what I mean!" Diego stammered, aware that the ice beneath him was starting to crack. "Like him. Like Lovecraft.That kind of gay. Not yours."

"What do you mean 'that kind of gay?''" Gloria screwed up her face in disbelief. "Is he gayer than normal? Are there different levels of gay? Is it like a colour palette? Can we call it fifty shades of gay?"

"He's like... you know! A real queen. I just... someone like that shouldn't be involved in something as dangerous as wrestling, you know?" Diego said uncomfortably, and Sean rolled his eyes. Ollie looked around incredulously to see if everyone else was indeed hearing what he was hearing.

"So this guy here," Ollie pointed to Sean, who looked like a deer in the headlights with all attention on him. "You know Seano, right? He's one of the gays. At home, I kid you not, he ;istens and dances to Beyoncé pretty much every hour of the day, especially when he's doing housework. Right now he is drinking a goddamn pomegranate martini! He bakes with my Mom and he shops with my sisters, and he is an insatiable power bottom."

"Oliver!" Sean blurted out in horror, embarrassed and covering his face while Gloria almost spat her drink right out of her mouth.

"Too much info," Diego muttered, looking away. Ollie disagreed.

"No, it's the right amount of info, my man, because even knowing all that, I wanna ask if you think anyone has ever taken a chair shot or a spear tackle through the crowd barricade better than my baby?"

"Uh... well," Diego knew he was right. Too open about his sex life, but undoubtedly correct.

"Yeah, that's what I thought! So if Seano rocks up next week wearing a goddamn corset, is that going to make him a bad wrestler?" Ollie was laughing before he even finished the sentence.

Gloria began cackling, no doubt imagining Sean doing precisely that. Sean was embarrassed, not exactly happy with his place as Ollie's example. Diego's silence answered the question for him.

"Exactly," Ollie was satisfied, and he reached over to tweak the Cherokee's ear. "You don't have to wear a corset, babe. Unless you want to." What if Sean did wear a corset to work? How could Ollie be okay with that?

"Real talk Di," Gloria leaned her severe but comely face on her hand. She had nice brown eyes that popped behind her eyeliner. "I'd find a way to solve your obsession with sexual orientation and what makes a real man pretty quick if I were you. Otherwise, you and Lance are just never going to work."

"He's just a bit femme," Sean shrugged, still red from the embarrassing talk. "That's why everyone loves him, I suppose. Maybe I should start wearing a corset."

"Can someone get us another round?" Diego asked, changing the subject. He was tired of being the asshole in the conversation.

Looking a little disappointed, Gloria nodded. "It's my turn! But can we get up and dance, already? It's nearly eleven and if Diego stays out past midnight, he turns into a pumpkin."

Sean took little convincing and was on his feet before Diego even saw him moving. Ollie let out an exaggerated noise of agony while putting some weight on his bad knee, and grabbed the crutch he was using. Poor guy, Diego thought. He'd been out of action for a while and still had months to go. He was optimistic and kept his spirits up, but Diego knew how much wrestling meant to the big man. He could see it every time Ollie visited backstage.

"Come and dance," Sean extended his hand towards Diego, who felt uneasy at the prospect of such intimate contact. "Come on!" He begged with a cheerful smile. "You'll have fun! I promise. I'll even make myself look stupid so nobody looks at you!"

"I don't dance," Diego admitted. He had two left feet when the music came on, but that was only half the truth.

"So I'll teach you. You don't want Lovecraft to upstage you two weeks from now!" Sean's grin widened, and Diego sighed. Do it. He let Sean pull him to his feet and drag him excitedly into the next room. He felt a pang of affection for Sean Fox. He was such a nice kid... and he had a really pretty smile.

Thank you to anyone who read. You guys rock!
EDIT: I'm cleaning up some of the early chapters now that I've posted the finale.