Gonna Get Mine

Well, that answered that.

The match had been made – I would be taking on the Ripper, and officially seeking the World Title once more.

I never paid much attention to the online discourse surrounding CWF, despite strong and frequent encouragement from the higherups to do so. I knew myself, and knew that once I began following that sort of thing, it would be harder and harder not to obsess over it.

Plus I’d never had a Twitter account, and in 2026 that was quite the humblebrag!

And besides, I didn’t need to be chronically online; I had Eris. They had rigged up a number of programs – I couldn’t gather exactly what it all involved, but they were more than happy to give me a summary of “teh interwebz” whenever I asked for a general gauge of the state of the online fandom.

Apparently the collective view this time was something akin to “fucking finally!”

Though, as they noted, most of the discourse around our World Title match was secondary to the frankly staggering news that CWF would be closing at the end of the year.

I don’t think there was a single person, online or otherwise, who had been expecting that.

Doubtless Jaiden would have more of an explanation in subsequent weeks. “Last Call” certainly sounded pretty final; I couldn’t remember whether it had always had that name, or whether it had been changed after Jaiden’s Decision. I suppose it didn’t really matter. Right at this very moment, only two things mattered to me. How I was going to beat Ripper in London in a few weeks; and how I was going to beat… whoever they ended up putting me up against.

I was most of the way back to my hotel room, fresh off the tremendously satisfying feeling of kicking Wade Moor squarely in the face and pinning him in the middle of the ring, when the message came through with my opponent for the week. I grinned as I exited my cab, almost missing the group of cyclists coming past; Amsterdam took some getting used to!

Dangerous Dan… oh, how long had it been?

Somehow this was our first time facing off since CWF had come back – now I thought of it, it was our first time ever facing off in singles action. While we’d fought a few times in the last go-around, I had been backed up by Eris and Dan – god, that was going to get confusing given my husband’s name – had had the help of his brother.

Somehow, me not having Eris felt like more of a loss than Dan not having Chris.

I wasn’t particularly worried. Perhaps I should have been, but the fact remained that the last time we fought, Eris and I had won decisively. Had won decisively twice, now I thought about it. And… well, you talk about a tale of two careers…

And, I thought to myself, there’s the fact that you’ve beaten Ripper within the last month and Dan failed to get it done.

Well, Dan got it done…

Oh for fuck’s sake, I’m just going to refer to Dangerous Dan as DD.

I arrived at my hotel room – considerably smaller than the American hotels I had gotten used to – and headed for the shower. The hot water felt damn nice. It hadn’t been a particularly grueling match against Moor and Hansen, but a match was a match, and this one had come off an international journey; and the flight over had been Delta Premium Select rather than a magically-enhanced carriage.

… this has been a weird year.

I toweled off, got into my sleeping clothes, and calculated the time in Alabama, where Dan would probably be preparing for his next HVW event. It was 10pm here, so… 5pm?

This was the trouble with both of us touring on different schedules, the time zones were impossible to keep track of!

But I figured I’d at least be unlikely to wake him; at most, I’d interrupt an early dinner. I called, but he didn’t pick up; I shrugged. He was probably just at a promo event, or maybe Sam confiscated his phone again. I sent him a quick text message and promptly fell asleep.

---

Most of the roster was going directly on to Paris; I had opted to go “home” to England. Well, I say “opted”; my mother didn’t exactly give me much of a choice. Her power of guilt-tripping was phenomenal, honed over generations of British pseudo-aristocracy. I had gathered some of the skills, of course, but I was still comparatively young – a sprightly thirty-seven to my mother’s sixty-four – and unlike her, I had recognized it for the manipulative relationship-destroyer it was and hadn’t actively practiced it.

… I don’t need therapy, I swear.

I texted Dan again – still no reply, but that was at least somewhat expected, it was the middle of the night. I texted again when we landed in London, but was shortly distracted by the arrival of my parents’ car. Neither of them was actually in the car, of course, they just sent it to collect me at Heathrow. I didn’t recognize the driver; I gathered that Harrison, who had been our family’s driver when I was a girl, had retired some years ago.

‘I hope you had a nice flight, ma’am,’ he said, holding the door for me. ‘My name is Thomas.’  

‘Is that your first name or your last name?’ I asked, offering my hand, which he shook after a moment’s hesitation.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said.

There was a beat. ‘So…’

‘It was an unfortunate clash of family traditions, ma’am.’

‘… your name is Thomas Thomas.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

A few dozen questions flitted through my mind, but I figured that Thomas had probably received every possible variation of each of them to the point of infuriation; so, I decided simply to get into the back seat, while Thomas placed my suitcase in the trunk and started the car.

‘So,’ I said, unable to resist at least one question, ‘when people call you Thomas, do you imagine it being your first or your last name?’

I caught the faintest hint of a smile in the rear-view mirror. ‘It depends, ma’am.’

‘On what does it depend?’

‘Well, that depends too,’ he said. Okay, now I was pretty sure he was messing with me.

‘May I call you Tom, to cut through the ambiguity?’

‘As you wish, ma’am.’ I could definitely see a smile now.

‘Well then – very nice to meet you, Tom.’

‘And you, Dr. Highlander.’

We drove on a few minutes, heading for the motorway. It was strange; once, this was my primary route out of the airport; now, I was far more used to the road heading up to the Academy. Dan and I had lived there on-and-off, teaching classes during the winter break at the American universities we had been working at before… all of this.

I briefly thought back to New Years Eve, 2026, and chuckled to myself at the thought of how I would have reacted had I described the year I was in for. I don’t think I could reasonably have anticipated CWF returning, much less fighting in a tournament three hundred years in the future.

And now… now, it was coming to a close.

I had been becoming used to my new paradigm, to the touring schedule. I had even become used to the idea that I might become the CWF World Champion again. It was true that Ripper was no pushover, despite his recent losses to my family. But then neither was I. I had a very real shot at reclaiming the title that I had unceremoniously lost on the first defense; and I was more ready now than I had been when I faced off against Gordy King.

I might be the next CWF World Champion, yes… and I might be the last.

‘If I may be impertinent, ma’am?’ asked Tom. ‘You look troubled.’

I took a deep breath. ‘Tom… how much did my parents actually tell you about me?’ He didn’t reply; perhaps there wasn’t a polite answer. ‘Well,’ I continued, ‘all you need to know for the purposes of this conversation is that I don’t stand on ceremony, and I don’t hold much with the old rules. Now, if you do, I’ll go along with it; but frankly, I’d rather not treat you as less-than for archaic rules of “station.” Basically, you don’t need to call me “ma’am” or “Dr. Highlander” – Caledonia is fine.’

‘Of course, ma’am,’ he said, with the hint of a smirk. ‘Regardless, if I may… you seem troubled.’

‘I am, a little,’ I said. ‘I’m… did my parents tell you what I do for a living?’

He chuckled. ‘No, but… well, let’s just say I’m looking forward to watching you beat the stuffing out of Dangerous Dan next Infernalia.’

I chuckled. ‘Well, now that that’s in the open…’

And we passed the rest of the ride happily talking about CWF. Tom had been watching since the 2009 run; it had taken him a few weeks upon beginning the job to realize which family he was working for, and the realization had delighted him. We were reminiscing about the last time Eris and I crushed the Danger Boiz as we pulled up my parents’ driveway; my parents, along with the staff, were waiting.

‘So… appearances, ma’am?’ he asked.

‘I don’t give a fuck,’ I said, grinning.

‘Alas, ma’am… I must,’ he said. As the car pulled to a halt, he grinned. ‘It fucking sucks, but hey, that’s the job!’

I laughed, waiting in my seat for Tom to open the door. I emerged and hugged my parents. After the usual “how was your flight” and “we’ve had lovely weather”, we went inside, where a nice cup of tea was waiting in the drawing room.

‘So listen, darling,’ said my mother. Oh, that’s never good. ‘I didn’t say anything beforehand because I hoped it might be avoided, but…’

Oh God, what this time?

My father continued. ‘Lord Urquhart is coming to dinner tonight; we’ve been planning it for some time, and there was no other time in the next several months that would work for all of us.’

I laughed, though entirely without mirth. ‘Urquhart,’ I said flatly. ‘The man who tortured my husband and attempted to annul my marriage for some harebrained scheme to take down Elisha. That Urquhart?’

‘Now, Caledonia…’ said my father.

‘Don’t you “now Caledonia” me!’ I exclaimed. ‘In what universe did you think I’d be okay with this? That man nearly destroyed my life!’

‘I told you,’ said my mother under her breath.

‘This couldn’t be avoided,’ he said. ‘Proper manners dictated -’

‘Oh, fuck manners!’ I yelled.

‘Caledonia!’ scolded both of my parents.

I excused myself, making some mutterings about wanting to take a walk and get some fresh country air. I did want a walk after the long car ride, but mainly I just needed some alone time.

 

My parents’ estate had several walking paths around the grounds, some passing through a small pine grove that at one point might have been intended to be a wood farm. I had always loved that grove when I was younger; I imagined myself as one of Robin Hood’s merry men - that I was a girl was irrelevant, I just loved bringing out my bow and arrow and pretending to rob from the rich so I could give to the poor. That my family was the rich somehow never occurred to me.

 

It was to the grove that I wandered, not even really realizing where I was going. There was a little dell towards the center of the wood where I had always gone to think in my youth. Sure enough, there was the bench; the paint had worn a little, but it was still recognizable as the sky-blue bench on which I had spent many a lazy afternoon with a book.

 

I sat on the bench, fuming. Urquhart. I had spent so much time with his distant descendant in 2326 – himself a despicable little toad - that I had almost forgotten the original. And from what I had heard, he was utterly unrepentant for what he had done to me.

 

.

..

…

 

Why, why, why did my parents do this?

 

I had known, of course, that I would have to forgive them for what they did to Dan - and to me, for that matter - if I wanted any sort of ongoing relationship with them. I had urged family therapy, but my father had unilaterally refused. As it was I had been faced with an impossible choice - forgive the unforgivable, or live as a stranger to my parents. I knew that so many others had been faced with a similar choice, and had decided differently… but that wasn’t me.

 

The Order of the Oncoming Storm… it loomed over all. I couldn’t quite believe that my father was still so deeply involved, still harbored the ambitions of taking down the Institute and restoring the Order’s power. In 2018, it might have been understandable; the only indication of the path that the war between Order and Institute would lead us down was one Justin Rishel fever dream. But now, not only had multiple of us been to the future and seen it for ourselves, it had been broadcast on worldwide television. Even if they didn’t believe me, Mark had gone to the future too, and had been snatched out of reality in the middle of a national broadcast, surely they’d believe him.

 

Of course, that was contingent on him remembering…

 

As if the thought had summoned him, my cousin emerged from the woods into the clearing in which I sat. He didn’t say anything as he sat down next to me, and the two of us sat in a not-uncomfortable silence for a few minutes.

 

I really ought to be as angry with Mark as I was with my parents, since I knew full well he was still working with Urquhart, but… well, we’d fought side by side in 2326, and he’d saved my life at least once. That sort of thing buys some grace.

 

‘So,’ he said after a while, ‘I’m guessing you’re planning on heading over to the Dog and Anchor for dinner tonight?’

I laughed wryly. ‘Is that shithole still open?’

‘Come now,’ he said, ‘I always liked their fish and chips.’

‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘so did I.’

We sat a while longer. After a while, I said ‘Really? They thought I’d be okay breaking bread with Urquhart?’

‘Your parents are upper-class, Caledonia,’ said Mark, ‘the idea of not being able to break bread with a revolting member of the aristocracy simply does not compute.’

‘But you like him.’

‘Well, he’s been my patron for over a decade at this point,’ said Mark. Hm. Not actually an affirmative statement. We sat a while longer, there being… really nothing else to say on that line of conversation. ‘So. Dangerous Dan, Danny B… might all this be a Freudian desire to get one over on your husband?’

I laughed. ‘I think you’re projecting a little there, cousin.’

‘Think you’re good to take him?’ he asked.

‘Which one?’

He shrugged. ‘Well, Danger Lad is next, so him.’

I leaned back, looking up at the sky. It wasn’t quite sunset yet, but the day was growing darker, and the pine trees swayed in a gentle breeze. ‘I mean, yes? You never know until you get into the ring. The last time we fought each other… well, I mean, we’ve never actually fought one on one, but…’

‘Didn’t you and Eris crush him and his brother for the tag titles?’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘along with the Moxleys. But he’s improved since then; it’s true that this run hasn’t been especially kind to him, but he was the Paramount Champion for a decent run, and he gave Ripper a pretty good fight.’

‘Didn’t he take a fairly decisive pummeling from that Peacock Jerry fellow?’

‘Jared Holmes, as you well know, having fought him several times,’ I said with a smirk. ‘And yes, it was a pretty clear win.’

‘Don’t you have a victory over both Holmes and Ripper?’

‘Well, MJ was the one who actually got the pin, but…’

‘A victory is a victory,’ said Mark firmly.

I started to reply, but I felt my phone vibrate. ‘Hold that thought,’ I said, pulling the phone from my pocket.

Huh.

Sam Hamilton.

‘This is Caledonia,’ I said, unable to keep the slight apprehension out of my voice.

‘Erm… hello, Caledonia, this is Dan’s manager Sam…’ he said. ‘Listen, there’s nothing to worry about, but…’

‘Sam, when someone says “there’s nothing to worry about” that immediately sets off seventeen alarms,’ I snarled.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘Well… there’s nothing to worry about, but…’ Clearly, he was operating on a script he’d been rehearsing. ‘You might have been wondering,’ he continued, ‘why Dan hasn’t been answering your calls.’

A million possibilities flashed through my mind. Had my husband been deliberately ignoring my calls? Had Sam actually confiscated his phone again?

… was he dead?

‘He’s alright,’ said Sam, ‘but, erm… we may have overworked him a little.’

‘What. Do. You. Mean?’ I asked acidly.

‘… well, you know how it’s very hot in Texas at this time of year?’

‘Yes,’ I snarled.

‘… and you know how Dan isn’t the best when it comes to hydration?’

I rolled my eyes. ‘He passed out at a campaign event, didn’t he?’

Sam sighed. ‘Tried to take a selfie with everyone in the autograph line. Did I mention that HVW’s getting massive?’

‘Just… is he able to talk now?’

In the background I heard a thicker-than-usual Australian accent. ‘Hey, is that me wife?’ slurred Dan. ‘Love you babe!’

‘Define “talk”,’ said Sam.

I sighed. ‘Tell him to rest up… and for fuck’s sake, ease up his schedule, you’re throwing him back at that bloody World Title again.’

Sam made a few apologetic noises as I heard Dan singing – if the half-slurred roar he was making could possibly be called singing - Halestorm’s Here’s To Us, and promised to keep my husband to three promotional events a day.

I hung up, sighing. ‘All well?’ asked Mark.

‘… ask me again on the other side of this match.’