#final part!

She ended her speech (which with every passing second became more embarrassing but no less true) right into Wednesday's shocked face. With widely open eyes she looked very cute right now.

Enid felt metal taste, only now noticing that her fangs came out too and torn a side of her bottom lip.

Wednesday slowly brought her hand to the place where a drop of blood was about to fall. But instead of wiping it, she smudged it more, shivering just a bit when Enid's breath grazed her finger.

"Eres muy hermosa en este momento", Wednesday breathed out with almost dazed look in her eyes, before catching herself.

Enid caught her retrieving hand, pressing it to her cheek, nuzzling a bit, absentmindedly searching her wrist for the scent gland she knew Wednesday as a human couldn't have.

"Enid, I would prefer to finish my book, before dying. Can you let me go?"

"No can do", now almost halfway to wolfing out, Enid didn't bother trying to understand where her sudden obsession came from. "You see, my soulmate was thinking badly about herself, I should reassure her".

She found a spot where scent was stronger and bit there.

"I was just objectively speaking- mhn", Enid bit harder into small wrist, following with sharp eyes, how Wednesday blocked her mouth with her other hand.

You see, if not for the full moon aproaching and pouring hormones into her blood, perhaps Enid wouldn't have almost transformed from sheer irritation. Maybe she would silently listen to the story only to confide herself in the room to think and overthink things, hurting Wednesday and herself.

"Say, Wens, how can someone check if they're an Addams' soulmate?" Wednesday glared at her, even if she still didn't take her hand back. Something primal in Enid preened at it. Wednesday was clearly starting to be mad, but she seemed almost helpless to resist her soulmates attention, even though she sure could.

"As I said, they can't be truly happy with another romantic partner", Wednsday tucked a strand of raven hair behind her ear in frustration, even her cheeks were not their usual deadly white. Her hair was longer now than when they were at their first meeting three years ago. And now she started to wear it loose at home more often, despite not liking being the split image of her mother.

"Go on".

"They are immediately attracted to their respective Addams and wants to be closer to them despite everything".

"Interesting", even if Enid was listening attentively, but the image of Wednesday squirming because she soothed her bite with the tongue, was starting to make her head feel hazy.

"They are- mhn, feel the urge to protect their soulmate at all cost. And the most important, after they meet their Addams they become unable to have any romantic contact with other people".

Enid froze right before biting a second time a little higher. Her fangs and claws rectracted.

"Have you finally came to your senses? Honestly, have you just wanted to tease me? I'm a bit disappointed, to be honest. Even if the full moon not far. You knew, I wouldn't joke about that and it will be painful when we retu-"

Enid just sat there dumbfounded. Did Wednsday not know? Has she had no idea?

So when she kept accidentally extend her claws when kissing Ajax, it wasn't just nerves. And when she felt the urge to get Wednesday near and safe and looking at her, it wasn't just friendship. And when she went into the woods not wolved out to protect her, it wasn't just loyalty.

Enid started to giggle. It explained so much! And if Wednesday wasn't so pessimistic all this time and explained, everything would've been different.

"Enid? Are you alright?" See, even if Wednesday seemed cold, she was caring. "Have your hormones gone to your head?"

"You are silly", Enid managed between laughter.

"Mi amor, are you okay?" Wednesday started to sound worried, bending over to Enid, who was maniacally giggling on the ground.

"I'm not. I found my soulmate, realized I've been in love with her for three years, and learned that my soulmate wanted a gruesome death so much she forgot to ask me if I love her. Isn't it a bit silly?"

Wednesday almost toppled over, and Enid tugged her stupid, stubborn, the most perfect soulmate into her arms.

"Hi, I'm Enid", she said, smiling in bewildered dark eyes, that slowly started to soften with tears and soul-crashing relief. "I think you are gorgeous inside and out and many other things I'll tell you throughout our whole lives. I've loved you since I saw you, and I'm really glad you love me too".

Someday Wednesday will make her swear she won't tell a soul that her soulmate cried.

Someday Enid will scold her for keeping all to herself, while kissing all over her tear-soaked face.

Someday they'll tell everyone to the chorus of "well dah".

But now there is just one thing that is more important than anything.

It is to sniffle a little because Enid is not made from stone and there is her love in her arms.

Toms eyes snapped open and he inhaled sharply, pushing himself up and away from the warm, breathing person beneath him. The magic fingers were taken away and Tom forced down a pathetic whine at the loss, resisting the urge to snuggle back down into the warmth again and beg the hands to play with his hair. Sleep and exhaustion warned at his tired mind and body, dulling his mind and making his eyelids extremely hard to keep open.

'No, focus' he thought sternly, turning wide frantic blue eyes up to meet-

Bright forest green half lidded eyes, heavy with sleep and something else watching him right back from under a fringe of pitch black messy hair, somehow still adorable with a riotous bedhead. And a very familiar mischievous smile that he'd know anywhere.

Maverick fucking Mitchell.

Gods, he was still somehow adorably sexy all sleep ruffled and warm, chest bare apart from his dog tags resting between his firm pecs, which had been Ice's pillow a few minutes ago. Tom dragged his eyes back up and contemplated how into fix this, preferably with his head buried in Mavericks tits again. Heaven.

'No Tom, time travelling back to sleep on his chest for longer has to be some form of unethical or something, bad Tom bad!.....but maybe??'

It then occurred to Tom that he had been staring at Maverick for several minutes with his eyes wide, mouth open and not saying a word.

"Uhhh"

'Shit he looks so pretty like this, could look at him every morning, could make him really happy and wake him up with my-NO NO NO ABORT ABORT!!'

"Uhhh wha-" Toms voice trailed off, brows drawn together and desperately trying to maintain his composure. Ice cold, no mistakes. He's the Iceman. He can do this.

"Morning Ice, how'd you sleep?" Maverick grated out, voice at least an octave deeper than his normal register, smile softer and eyes amused at Toms probably very visible confusion.

Tom could feel his brain leaking out his ears at Maverick rumbled question. Red heat slowly spread across his face, covering his cheeks ear to ear, lighting him up in a brilliant blush.

Well there goes that ice cold composure. Oh well.

Although, Tom would like to see someone try keep their cool when faced with a very hot sleep mussed, half-naked Maverick Mitchell reclined lazily in their bed, looking like something out of a magazine and his deepest dreams all at once.

Green eyes swept over Toms face, eyeing his blush with a slow grin spreading across his face. A calloused hand came up from the rumpled sheets and gently caressed his red cheek.

To Toms eternal mortification, he let out a squeak as the hand touched his face and his blush spread down his neck and collarbone. Mavericks sharp eyes missed nothing and followed its progress with thinly veiled interest, lingering on Toms exposed chest and below , where the sheets had slipped down to tangle around Toms hips.

By now, Tom was thoroughly embarrassed and more than a little turned on. Coolness and composure long gone, he abandoned all sense and reason, and ducked his head down to hide against Mavs chest.

'Oh how the mighty have fallen' Tom thinks hysterically. 'How is this my life?!? How do I deal with this?!?!'

Very confused but with no shame left, Tom nuzzled against the soft skin beneath his face, burrowing deeper. Maybe if he hides for long enough, he'll wake up alone in his bed and this'll will all just be a very realistic morning dream and hell wake up alone in his big lonely bed. Wouldn't be the first time.

A sigh from below jostled his head gently, and Tom actually moans softly when the hands start playing with his hair again, body involuntarily relaxing, going boneless against Mavericks body, and eyes rolling back at the contact.

Nope, no dignity left. Not a one.

Tom shifted slightly to get comfortable, careful not to discourage those wonderful, wonderful fingers in his hair, limbs sliding through his rumpled blues sheets and-

Wait. These sheets are light grey. That pillow isn't mine. Nor is that bedside table. Or that lamp. Or the picture featuring Goose Bradshaw and his wife at the beach.

No. No no no no no no no.

He's in Mavericks house.

He's in Mavericks room.

He's in Mavericks bed.

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck.

Toms body stiffens again, mortification bolting through him and ripping him from he hazy relaxed state Mavericks petting seems to put him in. He tensed to get up, find his clothes and apologise profusely and-

Blunt nails lightly scratched behind his ears and a broad hand smoothed over the expanse of his shoulders and neck, massaging the tensions away. Tom inadvertently released his tense posture and melted back down into Mav at the relief and pleasure.

"Ahhhhhh that's......thats good. Thats really good."

Tom suppresses another low moan, warring with himself at getting up or relaxing into he rare comfort.

Frustrated tears stung at his eyes, because he needed to ego up and apologise and go back to keeping away and being just wingmen with Mav, but at the same time Tom didn't want to.

He wanted to stay right here cradled in Mavericks warm, strong arms and not think about the world or having to be ice cold and responsible.

Tom bunched his shoulders up and took a shuddering breath to calm himself.

Warm, god so warm, hands swept across to gently frame his face and lift it to meet concerned soft green eyes.

"Tom, whats wrong darling?"

'Darling?? Oh sweet merciful gods-'

Tom shuddered under the warmth and worry radiating Maverick. He never stood a chance. He was long gone. Had been since Top Gun. Heck, since the first time he saw a cocky, tiny dark haired pilot strut into the O club in Miramar with a pretty face and an adorable smile.

Time to face the firing squad.

Tom sniffed and looked into those enchanting eyes.

"Mav... Pete. I'm so sorry. I..I uh... don't know how I ended up here. Im-"

"Shhh darling, it's okay. I don't mind Tommy, you're okay. You're safe."

Tom could feel himself melt again at the nickname and endearment. Gods he is so in love with this man.

"No Pete, I need to tell you, I-I just. I wanted tk go home last night and you...you're that for me."

"I- Tom"

"I was tired and sore and hungry and just plain missing you. I needed you. I needed my home. Cause that is what you are for me Pete. You're my everything. My North Star. My Sunshine and my Rainstorms and all my Love. And gods- I love you. I love you so much it scares me sometimes. Cause I know you're it for me. You're my whole goddamned world. And I'll love you till the stars burn out."

A some point in his confession, Tom shut his eyes, unable to bear seeing the confusion a nd worry turn to disgust or hatred in those big green eyes he adores.

Once again, two warm hands catch his jaw and caress his cheeks, pulling his gaze up to meet Pete's eyes. A soft open and adoring expression graced Petes face.

"God darling-" Pete rasped, voice caught wig emotion, "you're a wonder, so brave and amazing Tom, I dont know how you dont see how trult lovely you are. I love you too darling. I love you deeper than the seas and more than all the skies. I love your strength and your kindness, your stubborn expression and how you never give up on those you love. Gods how could anyone not love you Tommy. You're made for love. And I love you so much- how could I not?"

Tom leaned forward in Petes hold and gently, softly connected their lips for the first time. They traded soft warm kisses, slowly exploring and loving each other. Tom sniffed and opened his eyes to look at his love, Maverick staring back up at him in pure awe and wonder, amazed at how lucky he was.

—

October 13, 1995

Mulder sat alone in his apartment, head in his hands, staring at the floor and thinking. Diana was gone—her things gone, most of the furniture, even the crock pot his mother gave them for their wedding. He wanted to believe that all of this wasn’t his fault, but he felt like a failure for the way their marriage had ended. And for the decisions he’d been forced to make because of it. At his feet was a lone cardboard box of photocopies, the most important documents he was able to salvage. It was the all he had left of the X-Files.

His clothes were also boxed up, along with his books, his trophies, his diplomas and knickknacks. Tomorrow morning, a moving truck would arrive, and he would say goodbye to this place forever. He wasn’t sorry. Just sad, a little ashamed. He’d let Diana make a fool of him here, let her seduce truths out of him while he was blindly manipulated for years. He’d planned to sulk alone until it was time to load the truck, but a knock on the door startled him. He opened it to three familiar faces.

“Well well well,” Frohike said. “If it isn’t the spooky birthday boy on Friday the 13th.” The little man shoved a bottle of Jack Daniels into Mulder’s chest and pushed into the apartment.

“Happy Birthday, man.” This from Langly who toted three pizzas, which he tossed onto the coffee table. Byers echoed the sentiment, carrying a mysterious white box under his arm.

“What are you guys doing here?” Mulder asked, not unkindly.

“Couldn’t let you sit alone on your birthday, could we? We’ve got a lot to celebrate.”

“We do?”

Frohike was digging around in the kitchen cabinet for glasses, but they were almost all packed away. He settled for a quartet of coffee mugs and plastic novelty cups. “Yes! Imminent divorce and new beginnings! Fighting the good fight!” He carried the dishes in and passed them around.

“We’re gonna miss you, Mulder,” Byers said. “But we all agree this is a good step. You can do some really good work this way.”

“Then why do I feel so crappy?” Mulder poured shots of the Jack Daniels into the mismatched cups.

“When’s the last time you saw Scully?” Langley asked, flipping open the first pizza and digging in for a slice.

“Last week.” Mulder frowned.

“Well, there’s your answer. Cheers.” Frohike knocked mugs with Mulder and threw back a shot. “All in good time, my man.”

Mulder downed his shot with a wince and reached for a slice of pizza. “What’s in the box?”

Langley waggled his eyebrows. “Goodies,” he said.

“Open it up,” Byers tapped the lid of the unmarked container.

Inside were several gadgets, one of which looked like a large gray brick, and at least two bulky phones with fat antennas.

Byers explained, “Those are hacked satellite phones that will connect from anywhere. They’re essentially untraceable and should hold their battery for several days between charges. Good for off-grid work.”

Langley was too excited to wait for him to ask about the brick. “And this one’s a hacked satellite modem. You’ll have internet no matter how remote you are. New tech, definitely not consumer hardware.”

“So you can stay in touch,” Byers added.

At the bottom of the box was a new laptop, which Mulder was sure had a range of nonstandard additions and upgrades.

“And we’re gonna come out to visit,” Frohike said. “Soon. Maybe this winter if that’s okay.” If Mulder didn’t know better, he’d think the man was choking up. He was touched, and another wave of sadness washed over him.

“Thanks guys,” he said, voice thick.

—

San Diego, CA

The warm California air made Scully think of her childhood—fond memories with Melissa on base housing, sticky summers when freckles appeared on all the Scully children’s noses. She drove up in front of a small house that was so like the one in which she’d spent those years. She double checked the address against the one on her paper; it was right, though she couldn’t imagine this unassuming abode as the site of any secret research. There was a small garden out front, wind chimes hanging from the porch roof. She breathed in deeply. There was no reason not to go in now except the terrifying thundering of her heart and the sense that there was no going back after this. She opened the driver’s side door and got out.

On the porch, she was greeted by two unsmiling men—not hired muscle, she thought. Maybe doctors in plainclothes to blend in with the suburban atmosphere. They wore khakis and polo shirts and the looked around, suspicious, before letting her in. Beyond the foyer, the inside of the house couldn’t be any more different than its outside. It was sterile, white, and filled with beeping machines and medical equipment.

“This way,” one of the men said. He led her up the stairs to the second floor landing, where a woman in scrubs was backing out of a room, closing the door behind her. The man led Scully to the left, to an open bedroom door that was just as sterile, just as white as the downstairs. Here, though, a crib sat in the corner—also white—with a mobile of farm animals hanging over it. In the center of the room stood Diana Fowley. Scully’s eyes ping-ponged between the crib and the woman she didn’t trust at all.

“Agent Scully,” Diana said.

“Not anymore.”

The other woman’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Right, of course.”

“Where is she?” Scully’s heart was pounding, and she wouldn’t allow herself to think about what—or who—was behind the other doors of this nightmare suburban experiment.

“In the crib,” Diana said, stepping aside to let Scully see. “She’s sleeping.”

Scully took three steps closer. She couldn’t breathe. As she approached, she saw a tiny figure in a onesie covered in stars, little fingers curled into fists on either side of her auburn head. “Oh my god,” she whispered.

The child looked perfect. She moved her lips into a subtle dreamy frown, and her long lashes lay against pink cheeks. Scully bent over to lay a hand on the baby’s chest, to feel the movement of her steady breathing and the tiny flutter of her heart.

“You can pick her up,” Diana said. “She’s yours now.”

Tears were blurring Scully’s vision. She tried to blink them away, but one slid down her cheek. She swiped it quickly. “And she’s well now? She won’t get sick?”

“She’s healthy,” Diana confirmed. “But she’s chipped. Like you are.”

A brief wave of anger flared through Scully, but she swallowed it down. She knew what she’d bargained for. She’d accepted the price. She brushed a finger against the baby’s cheek, and the child turned into it, as though seeking out comfort. “Does she have a name?”

“The nurses were calling her Emily, so that’s the name we put on the paperwork. You could change it, but that might take some time.”

Scully shook her head. “No,” she said. “No, I like Emily.” She couldn’t imagine giving up a single minute with this baby for the sake of another hoop she’d have to jump through. She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, then reached both hands into the crib to scoop the child up. Emily wrinkled her little nose and let out a whimper, but didn’t wake. Scully held the baby against her chest, buried her nose in the impossibly soft skin of her neck, her downy head.

“Hello Emily,” she said, and closed her eyes against the enormity of it.

—

Traveling with an infant was a new experience for Scully, and not easy while alone. She was terrified that the baby would stop breathing in the back seat while they drove, that she’d be too hot, too cold, too hungry. But little Emily seemed happy enough, and slept for much of the first day’s drive. Scully had bought a pack-and-play, formula, bottles, and diaper packages in two sizes. Instant motherhood was even more frightening than leaving the job she’d worked so hard to prove herself in.

At a rest stop in Santa Rosa to change the baby and get some caffeine, Scully discovered something hard buried in the package of clothes Diana had sent with her. It was a small cryo-package containing three vials. One was clearly blood: Emily’s, she thought, dated July of this year. Before she’d been cured. Another was mysteriously green and unlabeled. The third looked familiar, an amber liquid she’d seen before. It was labeled Purity - 3.9506. A dated code: the current iteration of the vaccine. She almost didn’t notice the note tucked below the package:

         To get you started.

                   - DF

Scully wanted to hate Diana, but she found herself unable to conjure the same fury she’d felt last year. This was a gift that Diana taken great risks to provide. Whatever bargain she’d made to keep herself safe, it was clear that the woman was still ensnared by the Syndicate’s poisoned grasp. Scully allowed herself to feel grateful to her, despite everything she’d done. Scully placed the vials back in the chamber and made a note to store them with her own recovered ova. Emily had woken up when the car stopped moving, and was beginning to fuss. Scully shoved the clean onesie into the diaper bag and unbuckled the baby, hushing softly to her and humming.

“Shh, it’s okay,” she murmured.

Scully was unaccustomed to the number of strangers’ smiles that greeted them. An elderly couple stopped to coo over the chubby infant, to remark how like her mother she was. Scully’s smile was tight-lipped and nervous. They weren’t wrong—the child did look like her. She had the same blue eyes, the same fair coloring. She tucked Emily’s warm little body against her chest and nuzzled her head.

“Let’s get you some food, hmm?”

By the third and final day of driving, fear had turned overwhelmingly to love. When the baby woke in the morning light, she greeted Scully with a wide, two-toothed grin. She sat up in her pack-and-play and pushed at the mesh sides.

“Good morning!” Scully laughed and felt a flood of warmth accompany her own smile. The little girl babbled a steady “yah yah yah.”

They had six more hours on the road, and then a whole new life ahead of them.

—

Lummi Island, WA

October 20, 1995

Beyond the mainland, the salt air reminded Mulder of chill mornings on the Vineyard. He could go fishing here, or watch the sunrise from a boat, every day if he wanted. Though the coastline and the island were different from the ones where he’d grown up, the place felt like home. The closer he drew to his final destination, the more the melancholy that had clung to him in the last two weeks melted away. He was nervous, but it felt more like excitement than anxiety now. He fiddled with the radio—there wasn’t much signal to pick up on the island, but he needed something to fidget with. The anticipation was almost unbearable.

He rounded a grove of trees and finally caught sight of the little house up a short driveway: blue clapboard, a tiny porch, a brown shingled roof over the cozy two-story cottage. He pulled up alongside a white fence—honest-to-god picket—and climbed out, stretching his limbs with a massive heave of his chest outward.

This was it. This was home, now.

The front door of the house opened, and he felt his heart stutter, then swell. There she was. There they both were.  Dana Scully walked toward him with an impossibly cute baby on her hip, smiling broadly in jeans and a woolen sweater.

Mulder couldn’t help the grin that broke out over his face. He pushed through the waist-high gate and walked up onto the porch.

“There are my girls,” he said.

Scully blushed. “You made it.”

“I did,” he said as he reached them. He leaned down to kiss the woman he’d ached for over two long weeks. Her lips were soft and sweet, and her eyes dropped closed at the contact. He cupped her cheek, curled his other hand at her waist, and felt the pull of her middle toward his. “I missed you,” he said into her mouth.

Scully breathed deeply, eyes still closed for a moment, and nodded. Then he turned his attention to the baby.

“And you must be Emily.” The infant eyed him curiously and reached a finger out to touch his nose. “Hi baby.” She pulled the hand back and tucked two fingers into her wet mouth. Mulder booped her own nose in return, which earned him a shy half-smile as she tucked her head against Scully’s neck. “She looks just like you said. Just as perfect.” Mulder palmed the baby’s downy head, where blonde hair was growing in soft and fair. The little girl didn’t pull back or object, just watched him with something like awe.

“She’s been really good,” Scully explained. “I think she’s only cried twice since I brought her here. I mean she fusses, but…” Scully shrugged.

Mulder tickled the baby’s belly, and reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a tiny stuffed fox about the size of his hand, and Emily’s eyes went wide. “You like him? That’s Mr. Fox.” He handed over the toy, which Emily grasped with both hands. “He’s like me.”

Emily pressed her little fingers into the fox’s button eyes, her tiny fingernails scritching at the plastic.  Then she brought the fox’s head toward her mouth and bit down on the pointy nose.

Scully laughed. “She likes it.”

Mulder bent to kiss the top of the child’s head, then added another to Scully’s head for good measure. “Let’s go inside, hmm? I can’t wait to see how it looks in person.”

—

Later that night they lay facing each other on her bed—their bed now, Scully realized, and the thought made her heart beat faster. They were tucked under quilts and printed flannel sheets against the autumn chill. Emily slept in the second tiny bedroom next door, warm and safe with a mobile of colorful planets and her little fox beside her.

Scully felt the momentousness of this night, now that it was just them, now that they were really together. She found herself watching Mulder for doubts, for guilt, for regret. She held her own small sorrows: leaving her mother, leaving her job. But she feared most that Mulder would come to resent her for the loss of their work in D.C., their resources, their allies inside, as it were.

Mulder pursed his lips in a frown. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

Everything, everything. Her mind was spinning: What if we fail? What if we lose her? What if they take back the bargain and come for us all in the night? What if you never forgive me? But Scully just shook her head. It felt like too much to talk about now. “It’s nothing. It’s okay.”

She knew he wouldn’t believe her, and he didn’t. He moved his face closer to hers on the pillow. “It’s not nothing.”

Scully’s fingers fidgeted under the blanket. She heaved a deep sigh, and decided not to begin their new life by hiding things, by keeping anything bottled up. “I know we have a plan,” she said. “I know we’re not giving up and that our work will just be different here, but… it’s pretty enormous change—all of this. You must have doubts. I just don’t want you to… regret this. Because of me.”

Mulder was quiet for a long moment, his brow furrowed in thought. “I understand why you might think that,” he said finally. “I know that in a lot of ways, this feels crazy.”

It did, Scully conceded. Two months ago, they woke up in their separate city apartments and put on suits to go to work for the government. Mulder was married to another woman. Now they were on a remote island off the west coast, with a baby for god’s sake, planning a resistance to a global colonization in secret. Their lives couldn’t be more different.

Mulder reached an arm across the space between them and took hold of her hand under the blanket. “It’s hard for me to explain why, but this feels right.” She could barely make out his features in the dim light, but she sensed how serious his face was, how intense his look. “Scully, all of this started for me, because my family lost a little girl, and it ripped us apart. I lost her. I lost my family. I needed something to fill that emptiness, and I did it with work, which I thought might help me find her again. I wanted so badly to fix what happened to us.”

Scully nodded. She felt her chin wobble at the profundity in the pause between his words.

“But the same evil that took my sister also gave me another little girl. And it gave me you.” He squeezed her hand. “I still need to know what happened to Samantha after my father used her as a bargaining chip. And I will find out. That hasn’t changed.” He swallowed hard, and Scully wanted very badly to lean over and kiss comfort into him. “But this,” he motioned between them, “is a real chance at family, and that’s something I never thought I could have again, not even with Diana. I don’t know what kind of father I might make, if that’s even what you want from me. I didn’t have a good role model. But… I want us to try.”

Tears were dripping down Scully’s nose now into the flannel pillowcase, and she found it hard to speak. She sniffed. Nodded. Bent her forehead to touch his. “I want that too,” she managed to say. “And I want… Emily to think of you as her father. If that’s okay, I mean. If you want it.” She shook her head at her nervous rambling. “I just know you’d be a really good dad.”

Mulder nuzzled her nose with his own , unmindful of the damp. Then he tipped his chin to kiss her lips, sliding his arm around her middle and pulling her toward him. They held each other tight in the near-dark. “Yeah,” he croaked, and Scully realized he was on the verge of tears, too. “I want that.”

Her head fit perfectly, tucked under his chin. Her face pressed against his t-shirt where she could feel his heart beating, and she pressed a kiss there. She pushed one knee between his and breathed deep, letting the smell of him, of them together, fill her with warmth and need. God, she loved him so much. It was like she’d been holding her breath her whole life, and now she was gulping in oxygen. She knew, then, that they would make this work.

“Well,” Mulder said, his tone lighter now, “if I am any good at it, we’ve got all those little frozen uber-Scullys in storage. Maybe we’ll just make a whole tribe, huh?” His hand was on her waist, and he slipped it between them to poke her belly.

She laughed through her tears, nodding. “Yeah, maybe we will.”

And then he was kissing her and she was kissing him back and it was getting too hot under the blankets for all these pajamas. They were hungry for each other. He touched her like she was the only thing he’d ever wanted, like this was the only thing that mattered. They made love in tear-streaked desperation: clutching, dizzy love—though they were quiet and mindful not to wake the baby (their baby) with too much noise. After, when they’d slept an hour or so, he woke her gently with more kisses. This time their lovemaking was slow and gentle and reverent—like they had the rest of their lives.

— END —

Bryan had called Tony right away, scared that Nigel would change his mind if he waited, and they’d had a long conversation about what Nigel wanted to do, and what it would take for him to come back. Which, once Tony started telling him the finer details of the Wembley stadium show, and how he could already picture Nigel being an important part of the show, wrestling or not, seemed to get the itch well and truly under Nigel’s skin, and by the end of that conversation, a verbal contract had been signed, and Nigel was officially going to be All Elite, starting off with Ring of Honor commentary, but could progress to literally anything else, providing Nigel wanted it enough and he passed physicals.

At the end of that call Nigel had shut the laptop closed and then looked at the wall for a good five minutes before he said, “Fuck, I’m really doing this, arent I?” Then he’d realised that he’d just told Tony he’d work for him while still actually having an actual real life job. He had a breakdown upon realising he had to quit his job, saying that he’d rushed into this and he shouldn’t have done it, and maybe he should call Tony back and tell him he was being stupid.

Bryan slapped him and told him to pull himself together. They had a small fight, nothing too crazy, but Nigel accused him of selling him a pipe dream and Bryan called him a coward. It ended with Nigel calling his boss and telling him the news that he was quitting, effective immediately. It didn’t go down well, and Bryan almost felt like taking the phone from Nigel and hanging up when he heard the way the man talked to him, even from his position on the couch next to him.

After that it had all been go go go. Tony got them on a private flight and they were taken to where they were staying. Then all the meetings. And Bryan had had to do his own kind of housekeeping, and he’d called Claudio and told him he was back, but he was going to be busy for a little bit. He didn’t explicitly tell him that Nigel was with him, or what was happening, because even though he knew Claudio wouldn’t tell anyone and ruin the big surprise, Bryan wasn’t going to ruin it either. But he promised that once everything settled down, he’d come home.

He called Regal too, and the call was a car crash from start to finish.

“Darling,” He’d said, tone firm and a little cold, despite the pet name. “Nice to finally hear that you’re alive.”

“I’m sorry, I took the loss harder than I thought.” Bryan had responded. Nigel was across from him, looking at him curiously, but half asleep too.

“Yes, well, must have been some loss if you ended up halfway across the world in bed with Nigel McGuinness.” The words were spiteful and almost bitter. Bryan’s never really spoken to Regal about Nigel, not about him as a wrestler and not about their relationship. Back when they were young he didn’t get to see Regal as often as he liked because of how much he was on the road, and when they were together there was never really much talking about other people, so he never really discussed his relationship with Nigel with Regal. But the man knows how he feels about him, it’s abundantly clear, it always has been. So to hear him sound so cold about him, them, after finding out he’d called Nigel last year, was something that Bryan hadn’t expected.

“You called him.” Bryan had said back, because he couldn’t deny that he had been in Nigel’s bed, that it was like that between them, because it was.

“Yes, last year. I should have known that if I wanted Nigel to do anything I should have gotten you involved first. Seems you have done the impossible, Bryan. The great Nigel McGuinness, back in the business. Congratulations.”

Bryan had felt his skin prickle. It had been a while since Regal had been like this with him, more than a while, quite a long time actually, probably since the last time they wrestled and he’d worked his way into Bryan’s head.

“Who said he’s back in the business?” Because they hadn’t told anyone, and he was sure Claudio wouldn’t have told him.

“As soon as I knew you were over there darling I knew what you were doing. Doesn’t take much to find out what Mr Khan is up to, either. Tell me darling, just how did you convince him to get back into the ring? Your hand in marriage? A couple of children and a white picket fence home?” The sneer at the end of the words had made Bryan feel cold. Regal was jealous. But that didn’t make sense — they’d never, ever been jealous of the other’s separate relationships. Not when Regal got every sweet young wrestler he could into his bed to test them, and not when Bryan had multiple other relationships at the time. So why now?

“Why are you doing this?” Bryan asked him, and Nigel had started looking at him with more interest then, like he realised that Regal was being difficult on the phone.

“I just don’t understand why you went to him, of all people.”

“You know why.”

Regal had been silent for a while, and then said, “Yes, well after how long it’s been I would have thought those silly little feelings would have disappeared.”

Bryan had bristled, because those words were full of misplaced jealousy. Regal has never been a one man type of guy, and neither has Bryan, and that’s always been okay. But when it comes to Nigel, it seems like it’s not okay.

So, rather cruelly, Bryan had responded with, “And after everything you’ve done you’d have thought that our feelings for you would have disappeared.”

Regal responded with silence, like he’d realised what he’d been saying.

“Where are you?” Regal had said in the end.

“Not at home, that’s all I can say.”

“Oh darling, it’s not like—“

“Don’t say anything, don’t ruin this for him. For me. Please?” Bryan had begged. He’s not a begging person, really, but he is when it comes to Regal. He knows that sometimes the man’s cruelty knows no bounds, and that he wouldn’t think twice about lifting the lid on Nigel’s return before it happened and ruining the whole thing, just to spite the man.

“You’re assuming people are going to care, Bryan.”

It was another cruel, knife twisting remark. And the way Nigel had stiffened beside him told Bryan that Nigel had heard every single word.

“They will. Otherwise you wouldn’t have called him last year. You know just as well as I do the asset he can be.”

Regal had said, “You don’t need him. This isn’t what was supposed to happen when I left.”

And Bryan had just shrugged even though Regal couldn’t see him. “Then maybe you’re losing your touch.” Bryan said, and a sick feeling had washed over him as he remembered getting on his knees in front of Mox, begging him not to hit him for what he did. Slapping Mox. Distancing himself from them all as he took Regal’s side.

“Tell Nigel to keep an eye on his phone calls in the next few days.” Regal had said, and Bryan’s body had washed cold, and he’d gripped the phone so hard that he feared it could break.

“William don’t, please don’t—“ but Bryan hadn’t been able to finish his sentence before the phone was put down on him. No goodbye, no I love you. Just the vicious beep of the call disconnecting.

“He hasn’t changed, has he?” Nigel had said, breaking the silence after the call. And Bryan had wanted to scream, because he’s always known what Regal was like. He’s the Gentleman Villain, after all, and he’s as mean as he is handsome. But with Bryan he’s always been softer, and this time, this run they had together, the Blackpool Combat Club, he was different. Different with Mox, different with Claudio, different with Yuta. He was a softer, gentler man when they weren’t in the ring or training. But no, Nigel was right. He hasn’t changed, and he never ever will, and Bryan is stupid for thinking otherwise.

++

Bryan travels to Dynamite alone. They’d flirted with the idea that Nigel could come, they’d hide him, but ultimately it’s not worth the risk of the surprise getting out, and there’s only a few days until Supercard of Honor, where Nigel’s making his big return, so he stays home. Bryan had thought about not coming too, but then when they’d caught up on everything, Bryan found out that Yuta has called out fucking Shibata, and he needs to talk to the little shit before Friday.

He doesn’t tell the others he’s coming. And when he gets to the arena, he goes to see Tony first, gets checked over by medical to make sure he’s clear to return, and then hides himself away.

If his time with Nigel has reminded Bryan of anything, it’s that he’s not very good at talking about how he feels, or saying the right things, and sometimes it’s just best to show up and prove that you’re here. That you’re here to stay.

So when he’s watching the monitors, and the guys are out, circling Kenny Omega, Mox getting ready to squash him like he’s an annoying bug, Bryan runs out.

The feeling of finally going back out to a crowd, of hearing the roar of your name, the booming base of your music hitting, it’s electric, and Bryan feels it all the way to his bones when he finally makes it into the ring. The last time he was inside the ropes, he’d just lost to MJF, and his heart was broken and it felt like nothing could fix it.

The next day, he was in England, in Nigel’s house.

Nearly three weeks later he’s back home, in the ring with his boys, he’s got Kenny on the mat and Yuta is screaming with feral rage in his face and its wonderful. It’s fucking wonderful because his heart is healed, Nigel is back in Jacksonville, watching this all transpire on TV, going over the notes Tony sent him to prepare for Supercard. He’s back, and so is Bryan, and it doesn’t matter that he lost his last shot at the title because he’s back renewed, he’s got his family back and the little piece of his heart that’s been somewhere else for the last decade is finally back. The little missing piece of his soul is home and he can finally, finally focus on becoming the best version of Bryan Danielson he’s been since 2009.

“You little shit,” Bryan says immediately when they get behind the curtain, slapping Yuta upside the head. “You called out Shibata?”

“Ow! Hello, Bryan, nice to see you too, yes, I did miss you, you fucking prick.” Yuta complains, rubbing his hand over the back of his head where Bryan hit him.

“Now now, Yuta, language,” Claudio admonishes softly, but he’s smiling, all soft and dopey like Claudio gets sometimes. “Prinzli, you didn’t tell us you were coming back.”

“Surprise?” Bryan says, not too dissimilar to the way he did when he first turned up at the car dealership to see Nigel.

“A nice surprise, at that. Come on, let’s not talk here.” Claudio says, and he gets an arm around Bryan’s shoulders as they walk back towards their locker room. Mox is ahead of them, having not said anything yet, all bouncing energy, shoulders rolling as he jumps and bounces his way into the room.

“So, what the fuck you got to say for yourself, Danielson?” He says once the door is closed. Mox is on the offensive, his shoulders hunched and his fists clenching. Bryan doesn’t blame him, not one bit, after how they left things.

“I’m sorry,” Bryan says, realising that there’s not a lot he can say beside that. “I know I can’t take anything back. I know can’t change what he’s done—“

“Ain't talkin’ bout’ him, where you been? Claudio said you were finding yourself in fucking Blackpool.” Mox grumbles.

“Oh. Did you…” Bryan looks to Claudio, because he doesn’t know if he mentioned Nigel’s name.

“No, I didn’t. I figured that’s something you’d have to explain for yourself.”

“Fuckin, enough with the secrets, what the fuck is going on?”

Bryan lets out a breath. “I went to see Nigel. I found him, and I went to see him.”

“Nigel as in, Nigel McGuinness?”

Bryan nods, and he watches as Mox works it all out in his head, lets the information roll around in his head for a moment before he says,

“He alright?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s. Good. He’s a car salesman.” Bryan says, and he says he is one rather than was one because, well if he can keep this a surprise for just another two days, the look on everyone’s faces when Nigel walks out at Supercard is going to make Bryan’s heart burst.

“A fucking car salesman? That’s fucked. We got him to thank for setting your head straight? You speak to the traitor?”

Mox’s questions are quick fire as he unrolls the ring tape from around his wrists. Claudio’s undoing his boots, and Yuta is watching them quietly.

“Yes, and yes. But we’re not — he isn’t important right now, Regal, I mean. He’s gone. We’re still here, and Yuta is calling out people like Shibata. How could you let him do that?”

“Don’t put that on me, I don’t go to ROH.” Mox says, pointedly looking at Claudio.

“I had no idea he was going to do that! He just did it!”

Yuta tries to make himself small in the corner, like they’re not talking about him.

“Yuta?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say! You want me to keep pushing and keep challenging and who better than to challenge than The Wrestler, Katsuyori Shibata?”

“I admire your spirit, Yuta, but we could have had a conversation about this, got you ready. We’ve got like, two days.”

“No offence, Bry, but you weren’t here to have a conversation with.”

Bryan deserves that, he really, really does. Because he wasn’t there. And even if Yuta had called him, he might not have answered, not with how he’s been wrapped up in Nigel these past few weeks.

“Yeah. Yeah, I wasn’t. Have you been studying?”

“Yeah, with my notebook and everything. I’m ready, Bry. I’m gonna’ do you proud.”

Bryan goes up to Yuta, runs his fingers through his hair and smiles. He hasn’t been good to Yuta, not for quite a while, and it’s time to start showing the guy he handpicked for Blackpool Combat Club that he is proud of him, that he can be the mentor that he was looking for.

“I’m always proud of you. You’ve been doing great, Yuta. Just keep studying, Shibata is gonna’ come at you hard, you need to be prepared.”

“I will be. I’m prepared.”

Bryan ruffles his hair. Bryan doesn’t think you can ever be prepared for a wrestler like Shibata, but having the confidence to call him out and say you’re ready to face him, well it’s half the battle won in his eyes.

“So, what are we doing for dinner? I’m fucking starving, and I’m not having catering.” Mox says, and he’s leaning back against the lockers now, hoodie off, sweats low and inviting on his hips.

Bryan bites his lip. “I’m gonna’ be cutting it pretty close with my flight, so I’ll just be grabbing something at the airport.”

“You’re leaving? Are you not coming to Supercard?” Yuta worries, and Bryan cups his hand to the back of his neck.

“I am, but I have some things I need to take care of at home. I’ll meet you there, okay?” Bryan’s not letting Nigel turn up to Supercard on his own. When they’re there and it’s started, Bryan will have all the time in the world to fuss over Yuta before he goes out for his match. But up until then, he’s got to see this through with Nigel. He started it, after all.

“Better not be him.” Mox says, suddenly looking more alert, more uncomfortable.

“Depends who you mean by him.”

“His Lordship.”

“No, Mox. It’s not. Told you, he’s gone.”

Mox rolls his chewing gum around in his mouth, like he’s trying to work out whether he should believe him or not. In the end, Mox gets to his feet and comes up to him, pokes him in the chest.

“You mean that?”

“I mean it in the way we’ve both always meant it. I’m here, Mox.”

Mox gives him a nod. Regal is never gone forever, no matter what he does, he can never leave the two of them forever, the same way Nigel has never left him, never will leave him, no matter what happens between them. The same way Mox, Claudio and Yuta will always be a part of him no matter what. It’s just a waiting game to see when he will pop back up in their lives and weave himself back in with ease. But for now, Bryan is here, with Mox.

“Yeah. Alright. Do what you gotta’ do,” He says, and he drops a kiss to Bryan’s mouth. “Love you.”

Bryan wants to latch onto him and never let go, show Mox how sorry he is for how everything has played out these last few months, for not being there for him, for choosing Regal again. But that’s not them, and even though there’s more to say it won’t get said for a while, it will get said on a random night when neither of them can sleep and Mox is chain smoking and Bryan makes them herbal tea. So it’s enough for now. Just like there’s more to say to Nigel, for now it is enough.

“Love you too.” Bryan says, and he knows he doesn’t say it enough. He’ll be better, from now on. Better for all of them. For Claudio, for Mox, for Yuta, and for Nigel.

++

The flight from St Louis to Jacksonville is only a couple of hours, so when he makes it back to the Air B&B, Nigel is still awake. He’s got his laptop open in front of him, papers spread out around him. It’s like he’s learning lines for a play. He’s making sure he knows everything he can about every wrestler on the card, and he can see Yuta’s page front and centre.

“Hey, didn’t expect you to still be up.”

Nigel pauses whatever he’s watching on the laptop and rubs at his eyes. “I was going to go to bed, but then I got an angry message from Jen. I forgot it was Wednesday.”

It’s Wednesday, and normally Nigel would go to the pub with his friends. But instead, he’s halfway across the world getting ready to debut in Ring of Honor as a commentator. A life none of them know Nigel has or has had.

“What did you tell them?”

“That I didn’t feel well. I’m not gonna’ tell them about all this until you know, it’s actually happened.”

Bryan comes and sits next to him on the couch, one of Yuta’s old matches is paused on YouTube on the screen of Nigel’s laptop, and there’s multiple tabs open at the top.

“They’re probably bullying her because we’re not there to save her.”

Nigel huffs, “Probably. She’s gonna’ hate me for leaving.”

“She’ll be proud of you.”

Nigel makes a noise, like he doesn’t want to talk about telling his friends about his old life, and his old life starting again. Bryan’s definitely pushed enough, so he doesn’t push with this.

Nigel presses play on the YouTube video again, picks up his pen and continues making notes. Bryan watches with him for a little bit, because this is one of Yuta’s matches he hasn’t seen, and he gets lost in watching how much Yuta has changed, how much different he’s become under the Blackpool Combat Club, even under Chuck and Orange.

“I’m worried about him going up against Shibata.” Bryan says quietly when the match ends with Yuta’s hand raised in victory. He’s clean shaven there, looks so young that it makes Bryan feel a bit weird for being his boyfriend.

“Why?”

“It’s Shibata, Nigel.”

“Yeah, but your boy’s good. He’ll give it to him good, and if he loses, well, you pick him up and you go again. He’s already done what no man has done before, and that’s become a two time Pure champion. If the kid loses, then he loses. Lesson learnt. He’ll go on and do even more great things.” Nigel says, like it’s that easy.

And well, maybe it is. Maybe he’s getting too focused on titles again, and not focusing enough on everything else. Yuta will be okay.

“Come on, let's go to bed. We have a busy travel day tomorrow.”

“I haven’t travelled this much since I retired. I forgot how big the US is.”

“Well you’re gonna’ get used to it again. Because on Friday, you’re officially out of retirement.”

Nigel shuts the laptop closed and scoops up all his papers. There’s a warm smile on his face when he says,

“Yeah, yeah I am.”

++

Luckily, they get Nigel into the arena and into a private locker room without being spotted.

Yuta keeps texting him, asking him if he’s arrived yet, and what room he’s in, and Bryan has to tell him that he’ll be there soon, because he’s just got to get Nigel out in front of all the people getting into their seats, get him out on that commentary table and then he can focus on Yuta and his match.

Nigel’s pacing the room, reading over his notes half dressed, worrying his lip over his teeth.

“Maybe this was a bad idea. What if nobody remembers who I am?” Nigel asks very quietly, and he’s still staring at the papers.

“I get why you’re nervous, but Nigel, there’s not going to be a soul in the building who doesn’t know who you are.” Bryan promises, and he stands up from his chair, digging into Nigel’s bag to get his tie out so he can put it on him. There isn’t much time left till showtime, but they don’t have to be at guerilla until after it’s started, because Tony wants Nigel to have a proper entrance, not just a quick mention that he’s in the booth.

“That sounds like a massive lie, but alright.” Nigel sighs, and he lets Bryan snake the tie around his neck and do the loops until a perfect knot is formed.

“You’re gonna’ go out there and there’s gonna be so much noise. Biggest pop of the night. Just enjoy this night. You’re back. You’re home.” Bryan says as he does the top button of Nigel’s shirt up, and tightens the knot of the tie, so that it sits perfectly around his neck. He picks up the waist coat that they’d picked out, the whole suit a dark blue, cut just right against Nigel’s figure.

“You talk about home a lot for someone who hasn’t actually been home in almost a month.” Nigel says to him, letting Bryan slip the waist coat on and start doing it up.

“Home isn’t a fixed place. Home isn’t a roof and four walls. Home is a feeling. It’s when you know where you belong, when it doesn’t matter where you go, or what you do, home is where you feel just right,” Bryan says, smoothing his hands down Nigel’s chest, pushing out any creases in his clothes. “Did you feel just right in Liverpool?”

Nigel shrugs a little. “Sometimes.” He admits quietly.

And Bryan knows what he means. Because as they’d pulled away from Nigel’s little house on the quaint little street, he realised that his heart ached just a little bit. It had, in two weeks, become a home away from home. Because it was Nigel’s, and even though he had never been there, there were traces of Bryan throughout. Bryan felt at peace there, at home, even though he’d gone there specifically to tell Nigel that he wasn’t where he should be, that he wasn’t home. It’s how Bryan knows he’s right, that home isn’t a fixed place, home is a feeling. Home is here in Ring of Honor, by each other's side, causing and creating chaos. But home is also back in Liverpool, in that little house, at the pub with Jenny, Robbie, Tom and George. It’s in Blackpool in that old fashioned B&B. It’s in all the places they’ve travelled across the country, across England and Japan. Home is Nigel, home is wrestling. Home is places you feel just right, with the people that make you feel just right.

“You feel at home here?” Bryan asks.

“It’s like moving back to your mum's place. Always feels like home.”

“Ring of Honor will always be a place you call home. We can have an array of homes.” Bryan says, and from underneath his t shirt he untucks Nigel’s spare key that’s hanging on a frayed little rope chain. Nigel hadn’t asked for it back since they left England, and Bryan isn’t giving it back. He needs to be prepared in case Nigel ever tries to disappear out of his life again.

“Is that my key?”

“The spare one you gave me. It’s mine now, by the way.”

“Just like my dressing robe? And the tie you stole?”

“You gave me all of them, there was no stealing involved.”

“And just why do you need my key?”

“Jenny is going to need someone to back her up when she beats your ass for lying about your past.” Bryan says easily, and it makes Bryan’s heart beat incredibly fast, the way the grin spreads across Nigel’s face when he says it. Bryan doesn’t know what’s going to happen after tonight, they’re going to be busy again, making towns, tapings, whatever happens with Yuta’s match tonight. But what he does know is that he’s going to be with Nigel through it all, and no matter where they go, back to Bryan’s home, back to Liverpool, or somewhere new. It will be home.

“She’s going to kick your arse too, you told her you were a personal trainer.”

“Then we will lock ourselves away. That’s why I have the key.”

Bryan shakes his head and puts the key back under his shirt. He picks up Nigel’s suit jacket and steps behind him to slide it over his shoulders.

There’s a knock on the locker room door, “Nigel? You’re needed at guerilla.”

“Coming, thanks.” Nigel calls back, and he turns to Bryan, smoothing down his suit and rolling his shoulders.

“Showtime.” He says, and Bryan nods. There’s a ball of excitement in the pit of his belly. It’s not nerves, he knows that there’s only one way this is going to go, and that’s fucking fantastic, because it’s Nigel. Nigel did commentary a lot when he was a wrestler, and it was effortless, it’s going to be the same tonight. Effortless, like riding a bike, talking, and sleeping.

“Just have fun. You’re going to be great.”

Nigel makes a face, but it turns soft quickly, and his long fingers reach out to run through Bryan’s beard, a habit he’s seemed to pick up lately.

“Bry?”

“Yeah?”

Nigel leans in and kisses him, just a soft sweet kiss, but it makes Bryan’s head spin nonetheless.

“I love you too.” He says, and then he’s turning and leaving, out of the locker room door and following the assistant who’d come to get him towards guerilla.

Bryan hadn’t actually gotten to properly say it. He’d tried, that first morning at Nigel’s place, tried to tell him that just because they’d clashed in the ring, beaten the hell out of each other, it didn’t mean that Bryan didn’t love him. But Nigel had cut him off before he could finish the words, and then Bryan hadn’t tried to tell him again. Showed him, maybe, but he hasn’t said the words. And now Nigel is telling him he loves him. Words he longed to hear for so long, finally, finally he’s hearing them. And he can’t even say it back because he’s about to go out in front of a live crowd for the first time in over a decade, and there’s going to be hours and hours before Nigel comes back behind the curtain and he can tell him.

Nigel’s music is hitting before he even gets to guerilla, and he just catches him stepping through the curtain when he does. The music is so very similar to his old theme, and nostalgia hits Bryan hard and heavy in the heart. The crowd reaction can be heard through the curtain, no need for Bryan to be at the monitor, but he does anyway, because he needs to see it. There’s a Union Jack behind Nigel’s name on the screen, loud and proud along with the music.

Nigel looks like he never left. The crowd is cheering and he’s soaking it up, two fingers in the air, just like he always did. There’s a buzz backstage as people walking past catch his face on the monitors, his name being uttered in shock and disbelief as Ian and Caprice go crazy waiting for him to join the table. Nigel does a lap around the ring, and Bryan can see the look on his face, that age old I love this face.

He looks right, he looks perfect out there, he looks like he’s stepping through the doors of his parents home, being welcomed back with open arms and a feast of his favourite food on the table.

The first words out of his mouth when he gets to the commentary table are did you hear that reaction? And Bryan feels like his heart might burst.

Regal tried to twist the knife the other day, planting the seed that they were banking on people caring that Nigel was coming back. Nigel had worried not twenty minutes ago that people wouldn’t remember who he was. But he sees it now, Nigel sees just how much people have missed him, how much people have been wondering where he went after his retirement, how much they wished he’d come back. The crowd went crazy, and he’ll see later, when Bryan makes him watch it back, just how at home he was making an entrance in Ring of Honor again.

“That’s where you’ve been, isn’t it?” A voice comes from behind Bryan, and he turns from the monitors to see Yuta. He’s got his ring tights on, and a Blackpool Combat Club hoodie, and there’s a smile on his face, he’s not accusing Bryan of anything.

“Yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t—“

“Don’t. I get it. There’s just some things you have to do,” Yuta says coming to stand next to him. His hands are tucked into the pocket of his hoodie and he’s watching the screens. “I can’t believe he’s really back, that Nigel McGuinness is really here. Is he going to wrestle?”

Bryan shrugs with a smile. “Was hard enough convincing him to come back and do this, I think we’ve got a ways to go before we get him in some boots again but, keep your title tonight and Shibata might be the least of your worries.”

“He can just have my title, it’s fine. I like my head attached to my neck, thanks.” But Yuta is grinning, and Bryan can practically see the match playing out in his head. He knows kids like Yuta and Daniel have learnt a lot of their techniques and styles from the wrestling they watched growing up, and the idea of being able to get into the ring with another one of their heros is crazy and exciting.

Bryan smiles, “How are you feeling?” He says, and it’s time to switch over to focusing on Yuta now. Nigel is out there on commentary, clearly already killing it as he gels instantly with Ian and Caprice, Bryan can focus on his protege now.

“A mixture of everything. Scared, excited, nervous.”

“Where’s Claudio? How’s he doing?” He hasn’t even stopped to ask how Claudio’s been during everything happening with Eddie. He’s such a bad boyfriend. But he’s going to be better, he really is.

“Locker room. Mox is here, we were gonna’ do some stretches and stuff, told them I wanted to find you first.”

“I’m sorry. I just needed to see him through to the end, I started it.”

“And I’m glad you did. I’m glad you got him here Bryan.”

Bryan looks back at the monitor, there’s a match on the kickoff now, and he can hear Nigel’s voice loud and excited about the moves he’s calling.

“Me too. Now let’s go and get you ready for your match.”

++

Yuta loses his title. Bryan is heartbroken when the streamers fly out over Shibata, and Yuta is laying there just getting covered in them. He, Mox and Claudio collect him from guerilla, letting him fall into their arms when he comes back through the curtain. It’s the first time Yuta’s lost a title without Regal there, so the usual post match breakdown goes a little different. There’s no watching the match back immediately, no trying to learn from your mistakes immediately. Mox bundles him up in a hoodie, feeds him a protein bar and makes him drink a bottle of water.

By the time Claudio goes out for his match, he’s feeling better. Bryan sits with him and gives him a little shoulder massage because he feels a pull in it, and they discuss how they’re going to go forward. That Yuta will get the title back one day, or a different one, there’s so many, and Yuta’s good enough to go for whatever he wants. He tells Yuta he’s proud of him, and that he loves him, and it feels like home when Yuta smiles and tells him he loves him back.

Claudio wins his match, and Yuta decides he’s going to do a run in, even though Mox grumbles about it because he knows he’ll get shit from Eddie about it later.

Bryan follows him to guerilla, watching the show wind down and go off air on the monitors. He watches as Nigel shakes Ian and Caprice’s hands, and through the curtains he can hear the fans shouting his name. Nigel does a circle around the ring, shaking peoples hands, signing posters and tickets and leaflets. When he’s on the stage again, he lifts both hands up into the air and sticks his fingers up at them, and everyone cheers. The grin that splits across Nigel’s face is enough to power Bryan through the next million years. He can see the happiness there, the pride. All the worries he’d had about not being remembered, nobody wanting him back, the doubt that Regal had put in his mind without even talking to him. It’s all gone now, people are chanting his name, begging for an autograph, no doubt asking him about returning to the ring.

When Nigel finally steps back through the curtains, a loud cheer erupts from everyone backstage, and Bryan can see that there’s a little tear in his eye. Bryan steps back, there’s so many people here that want to talk to him, and Bryan’s more than happy to let them. After all, they haven’t seen him for over a decade either.

Claudio’s off doing media, and Yuta’s tucked under his arm as they watch the swarm of people surround Nigel. There’s Joe, Eddie, Christoper Daniels, BJ Whitmer, Colt. And every time someone walks past they realise the circle has Nigel in the middle, and they end up joining. Every so often, Nigel points over to Bryan, and everyone turns to look at them before turning back to Nigel.

“Is Nigel coming home with us?” Yuta asks, exhausted now the day’s over, leaning into Bryan’s side.

“For the time being, at least. I kind of dragged him over here without a plan in place, so you know, unless he’s running back and forth from England to here every week, he can stay with us until he’s got something more permanent in place. Is that okay? We’ll have to talk to Claudio and Mox too, of course.”

“S’okay with me. Want him to teach me how to do the Tower of London.”

“If you ask nicely I’m sure he’ll be happy to. He thinks you’re cute, you know.”

“He what?” Yuta perks up a little then, and Bryan laughs at him.

Nigel manages to pull himself away from the group and comes over to them, and Bryan can see the little flush of colour that settles on Yuta’s cheeks.

“So, I take it no one knew who you were?” Bryan says, but he’s smiling up at Nigel. There’s a soft, warm look on his face, a bright light in his eyes, and that smile, god it’s beautiful. He hasn’t seen Nigel smile like this in forever.

“Oh bugger off. I hate admitting when you’re right, but I’ll give credit where credit is due.” He says, like he’s not even a little bit mad about being wrong.

“Sorry about your title kid, you did good though. I really enjoyed your match.” He says to Yuta, who’s just staring at Nigel with a type of fanboy wonder that Bryan knows he used to look at Nigel with.

“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too, Yuta. I’m looking forward to calling your matches. You have a nice bridge, you learn that from Dragon?”

Yuta gives a little nod. “Can you teach me the Tower of London?”

Nigel laughs, “Not sure I even remember how to do it myself, but I’ll give it a bloody good go.”

Yuta beams, “Thanks Nigel.”

“Come on, Claudio should be back soon, and Mox will be wondering where we are. They’ll be happy to see you.” Bryan says to Nigel, and he takes Yuta’s hand, because he knows he needs that right now. An anchor, some TLC. Bryan’s more than happy to give it to him tonight, after losing his title, and everything that’s happened these last few months.

They walk back to the locker room together, and Nigel talks through the match with Yuta, giving him tips on what he could do next time, how he could have beaten Shibata. Yuta listens intently, not looking away from Nigel even when people stop Nigel to shake his hand and welcome him back.

Claudio and Mox are in the locker room when they step inside, Claudio’s packing the belt away in his case, and Mox is a ball of frantic energy, pacing the room. Probably worried about where Yuta got too, worried that he was in a bad head space and ran off.

“Nigel fucking McGuinness.” He says, instantly holding his hand out to bring Nigel into him.

“Moxie.”

“Bryan says you’re a car salesman. What the fuck?”

“Yeah well, not anymore. I’ve officially signed here.”

“As you fucking should, Nigel McGuinness has no business fucking business being anywhere but here. You getting back in the ring?”

“You sound entirely too much like Dragon,” Nigel shakes his head. “Haven’t decided on that. Probably not, though. Pushing fifty, Moxie.”

“Stings in his sixties and man can still kick ass, age is just a number, Nigel. And anyway, we need another match. One you don’t let me win because you wanna’ be in Bryan’s pants.”

Nigel splutters, and Bryan’s own eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. Yuta and Claudio snicker between themselves.

“That’s not what bloody happened! You beat me fair and square.”

“Of course you did.” Mox is smirking, seemingly ending the conversation there and going to sit next to Yuta, throwing an arm around his shoulders and planting a large, loud kiss against his temple.

“Nigel, my old friend, ignore Moxley, as you know his favourite pastime is winding everyone up. I have missed you.” Claudio stands up and embraces Nigel, their too tall figures melding together. Nigel is visibly smaller than Claudio now, a switch from before, when Nigel was pretty much always the biggest man in the room.

“Castagnoli, fucking finally a ROH World Champion. You were great out there.” Nigel says, and he’s got a hand on the back of Claudio’s neck.

Bryan remembers a time when he got insanely jealous of Claudio. He and Nigel had tagged together against Chris Hero and Jigsaw, and Claudio got busted open at the end of the match, right around his eye. Nigel had cupped his face so tenderly, told him it was going to be okay, and helped him to the back. He fussed over him the whole time he got medical attention, stayed with him once he got his stitches, and switched rooms with the random guy that Claudio was rooming with so he could keep an eye on him, in case he had a concussion or suddenly lost his vision. Bryan was not a rational guy back then, and he didn’t like that Nigel was doing all the things he did with Bryan with Claudio. He’s not that way inclined anymore, he knows it’s just a testament to the man he’s always loved, that he cares so wholly and deeply about his friends and loved ones, but seeing the two of them together again does bring back memories.

Nigel and Claudio talk quietly for a while and Bryan just watches them, watches old friends get reacquainted, his family licking wounds from a loss. He feels a peace settle over him. All those missing pieces that have slotted together start to glow inside of him, welding themselves together and making him whole again.

A few weeks ago, Bryan was lonely. Regal was busy, and Bryan was too busy chasing down MJF and the World title to worry about where his family were and what they were doing. He was lonely and he knew, deep down, that there was something missing inside of him. It took him the loss to realise what he needed to do, to finally go and find the man that’s been missing from his life for so long.

And now, Bryan is once again in a ROH locker room with Nigel McGuinness. He’s not lonely, he’s got his family, and they’re all on the same page, fighting to good fight against the Elite.

Nigel’s key is warm against his chest under his shirt, and his voice is loud and warm in the room as he talks with Claudio. Mox is making Yuta laugh, and every so often, someone knocks on the door to come in and say welcome back to Nigel.

A few weeks ago, Bryan got on a flight to bring Nigel McGuinness back home. To bring him back to wrestling so that Bryan could be the best version of himself, because without Nigel Bryan has felt lost for the last decade.

Nigel McGuinness is home, and Bryan Danielson no longer feels lost.

Bryan stands up and steps over to Nigel, nudges his shoulder against him to get his attention. Claudio goes to sit down next to Yuta and starts packing up his bag.

“Hey,” Bryan says. “You wanna go home?”

“Home where?”

“Home with us, for now. Until you decide where you want this home to be.”

Nigel lets a smile spread across his face, and Bryan thinks it’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

“Yeah, home sounds good.” Nigel says, and he turns, probably to get his bag, but Bryan catches his wrist and entwines their fingers together.

“Love you, Nigel.” He says, and Nigel smiles, bright and wide, and squeezes Bryan’s fingers.