Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author Note: Set after the incident in August when Layla betrayed Kaitlyn in favour of helping AJ. The title is a lyric from 'Written In Your Face' by Jim Johnston, which is otherwise known as Sheamus's entrance theme.
SOME KIND OF PRIZE
If Sheamus's glare could have caused the figures dancing across his television screen to spontaneously burst into flames, then right about now there would have been a lot of burning going on. Instead, he glared and they stayed frustratingly pain-free. He grabbed his mobile, but sure enough, the line was busy. A lot of people were calling Kaitlyn.
Blowing out an annoyed breath, Sheamus sent a simple text message – my door's always open. He wasn't going to smother her in condescending words about how much better off she was without Layla, or about how she was going to destroy the Divas who had made her life hell – in his mind, that was all a foregone conclusion. What he could offer was a place for her to dump her bags and hang out intrusion-free, as well as a lot of alcohol. Someone had to drink it, he couldn't while his shoulder was healing and his bathroom was full of pill bottles.
He was halfway through a spirited phone argument with one of his sisters about Liverpool's defence when his phone beeped to let him know that he had a message. That didn't cut the argument short – he and his sister always had plenty to say to each other, thanks to their opposing choices of Premier League teams and a shared love of Celtic FC. Fuck yes he'd be seeing a game the next time he was in the right timezone and he'd be bringing a few Americans who needed educating about the beautiful game. Kaitlyn would be there, she wouldn't miss out on an afternoon of football and beer.
Sheamus's phone buzzed, a single word had arrived – tomorrow.
He turned the television off with a satisfying click. All right then, tomorrow. That sounded good, it gave him time to get things stowed and planned.
Easing himself to his feet, and wincing at the tugging pain in his shoulder, Sheamus took a slow walk to his spare room. He had enough money in the bank to buy himself an expansive flat, but really, what was the point when he spent so much time on the road? He just needed a place to crash, so he'd bought somewhere reasonable and comfortable. It suited him fine.
The spare room bedding needed changing so Sheamus hauled out the pale blue and white set and got to work. It was a simple enough set-up – a decent double-bed, a few boxes stacked by a half-empty wardrobe, and an office chair and table. Kaitlyn liked it for its simplicity; she could veg out without getting distracted.
Done. Sheamus grinned, now he could get down to more serious business. Kaitlyn was coming, so it was time to get baking.
He was best known as a master of the Brogue Kick, but Sheamus liked to think he owned a few other skills as well. He could kick arse at Scrabble and any number of video games, he could play a pretty decent game of poker, and he could balance a spoon on his nose for an impressive amount of time – he'd won quite a few pints thanks to that particular skill. And he could be pretty spectacular with shortcrust pastry.
There was fruit to soak in alcohol and pastry to make from scratch. It took a lot of the boredom out of the day. That was the trouble with being injured, once you were done with the daily therapy, there wasn't much else to do. Oh, the front office had him doing promo work and that was grand enough, but it still left him with way too many hours knocking around the flat's four walls.
This though, baking, the smell of fruit and alcohol, the warming thought of Kaitlyn soon appearing, this was a great way to while away the time.
Sheamus had wrapped the pastry in clingfilm to spend overnight in the fridge and had left the fruit to soak up the alcohol that he was dying for a drop of. Now he was trying to sleep, the dark blinds flapping in the background. The weather was steaming and it was playing with his thoughts.
He remembered a time not that long ago when Kaitlyn's two-tone hair had splayed out across his pillow, her nicely curved body comfortable next to him. Her eye make-up had been smudged and she'd laughed until she'd snorted, immediately pressing a mortified hand to her mouth. She'd been a sight for sore eyes.
His phone buzzed again – I'm working up an appetite.
Sheamus grinned, it was like she'd read his mind.
By the time the doorbell rang out a greeting the next day, two fruit pies had been both constructed and baked. Sheamus clapped flour-dusted hands together and smirked at the black and white image displayed on his intercom screen.
"You lost, lass?"
Kaitlyn flipped him the finger, making sure that the camera got a full view of it. Sheamus's laughter was still echoing when Kaitlyn pushed her way past his door to drop her canvas bag in the lounge. Frustration was clear in posture and movement; it made something curl in Sheamus's chest.
Her hand to his bicep was more of a greeting squeeze than a warning shot. "You're lucky you're injured."
Sheamus handed her a beer. "I'm counting my blessings."
Kaitlyn clinked her bottle against his glass of soda and then seemed to notice the smell enriching the air. The smile on her face was like sunlight through morning gloom. Sheamus enjoyed it, a smile of his own making an appearance, but he could see pain in the creases round her eyes too. She was pissed off and with good reason.
"You're a god, man," she told him, gratefulness thick in her voice. "Can I drown here?"
"For as long as you want."
Sheamus's hand was warm on her back and she pressed into it with a small heartfelt smile. Yeah, he wasn't imagining the hurt and tension she was carrying. Her head rested on his good shoulder, like a key in a lock, and they stayed like that for a while, no words. Finally, Kaitlyn lifted her head, something crafty and coy in her expression. It was a stellar look.
"So I can smell at least one pie..."
"I know your appetite, lass."
She lifted her glass like she was making a toast and immediately made for the kitchen. A single pie sat smugly on the cooling rack, fragrant steam tempting all comers. Sheamus leaned against the doorframe, oh yes, he made great dessert. And he didn't do it for just anyone.
Kaitlyn put her beer down in favour of a large bowl and an even larger knife. "And there's...?"
"In the fridge."
She bowed her head in deep thanks – and not just for the pie either – and gleefully got to cutting. Once she had a nice big chunk sliced out, no less than she deserved, she made a beeline for the fridge where a can of whipped cream awaited her, almost like she was expected. Sheamus was more than prepared to get his own dessert, people got blinkered around his baked goods, it was great flattery.
He joined her on the couch as she jabbed at the TV remote, seeking out sport on his flatscreen. Eventually she settled on football and quickly shoved her feet under his thighs. Sheamus was too busy tucking into his own loaded bowl to comment, it wasn't like he'd complain anyway. Her eyes glued to the screen, Kaitlyn threw out commentary on the action through chunks of pastry, cream, and vivid spits of fruit. It was a thing of beauty.
"So you'll be wanting to hit the stadium when we're around Scotland way?" he asked/stated.
Kaitlyn gave him an 'are you kidding me?' look, with excited eyes. "Count me in twice over, dude. I'm okay with shitty overpriced beer if you are."
Sheamus laughed, because really? An American claiming Scottish beer was shitty? The jokes wrote themselves. He didn't voice them, but Kaitlyn prodded his nearest knee with brutal fingers anyway. Her nails were painted deep burgundy and when the light hit them Sheamus could see flecks of gold in there too. Like her eyes sometimes.
They watched TV for a good few hours, making plans for the next European tour. Not once did Sheamus ask her about Layla, because why remind her that the friend who'd stood by her side for so long had just viciously stabbed her in the back? He wasn't looking to twist the knife, and Kaitlyn hadn't come here to talk anyway. No words could make the pain disappear. You just had to scream and crawl through it until you could get your hands on whoever was to blame. He was looking forward to seeing Kaitlyn cave Layla's face in.
Eventually they both needed to sleep. Sheamus wasn't all that surprised when, a couple of hours after saying goodnight, Kaitlyn knocked on his bedroom door. When he voiced no objections, she slipped under his covers, her hair a wild tangle, her eyes dark with silent simmering pain and anger. Her breath still faintly smelled of sugared pastry and a tart burst of fruit.
She didn't say anything, neither did he, but she had to know that he was there if she needed anything. He glanced a kiss to her forehead and made himself comfortable. She'd probably go to the gym with him tomorrow; she'd get to beat the crap out of something, releasing that fucking shitstorm of anger and betrayal without getting arrested. The front office hated when cops got involved.
Then about a week from now, when Kaitlyn got within firing range of Layla and AJ, she'd burn through them like a fucking comet, that nasty snarl on her face and her fists flying, her body sheathed in one of those black and camouflage combos. God, Sheamus couldn't wait. She deserved every second of that bloodied payback. Until then, she had pies and alcohol, sport and punching bags, a gnarly little oasis until work and subsequent revenge started up again. She had him.
As Kaitlyn started shifting, Sheamus lifted an arm, anticipating how she was going to pretzel herself. She made a noise of thanks and settled down again. Tomorrow, when she discovered the apple pie, she was going to want ice cream. There was a block of creamy vanilla sitting in the freezer, alongside a nice tub of peanut butter and chocolate, for when she wanted something different.
At some point in the near future, there was going to be caramel-chip pancakes for breakfast, melted ice-cream on the bedsheets and somehow he'd end up smelling of her perfume, even days after she'd gone. Sheamus grinned, the pain in his shoulder, and the seemingly-endless days of recovery ahead of him, weren't so bad when he had all of that to look forward to as well.
He woke up to find his mouth full of Kaitlyn's hair and his ears full of her snoring. Living the dream. His laugh didn't wake her up, situation so gloriously fucking normal.