Respect is Earned

[Ashlee]

Wes Ikeda was sitting alone behind the production table. The arena hadn't yet opened to the Wrestlemania crowd, but there was a flurry of activity behind him.

Paul Heyman: A moment of your time, Mr. Ikeda?

Wes didn't see Paul. He only heard him, somewhere behind him.

Wes Ikeda: Sure.

Paul was then at his side.

Paul Heyman: So, I'm trying to figure out how to tell you this...

Wes Ikeda: The last time you led with that, someone was dead.

Paul Heyman: ...well that got dark. This should be less alarming then. Um, Havoc turned... in the middle of his match promo.

Wes Ikeda: Turned?

Wes' eyes went wider and he looked up at Paul.

Wes Ikeda: Turned heel?!

Paul Heyman: Yep.

Wes Ikeda: What. the. fuck!?

Paul only nodded.

Wes Ikeda: Fuck. Are you kidding me? In the middle of a program?! This was already poorly booked and now this?

Paul Heyman: I mean, it's not terribly uninspired. It wasn't great with you both playing face. He kind of played into your hand. You told the crowd he only cared about himself.

Wes Ikeda: Don't try to play this off like I'm the genius, Paul. We both know this is bad booking.

Paul Heyman: He also called you out for not booking Strowman.

Wes rolled his eyes.

Wes Ikeda: It's already seven fucking hours long. You can't book everyone.

Paul Heyman: He said you were using him to be relevant.

Wes looked up again.

Wes Ikeda: Get me a Wrestlemania t-shirt and a camera crew.

Paul grinned.

Paul Heyman: Right away, Mr. Ikeda.

Heyman scampered off to find a t-shirt, and assign a cameraman to Wes. Wes remained at the production table. Under the shelf where the monitors were set up. There were several pairs of production headphones, some with microphones sitting neatly in a row. In the middle, the wire coiled up neatly, pristine and untouched - sat a pair of DX Green headphones, the band of which was adorned with pretty rhinestones. Wes reached out and touched them. God how he missed her. He left the headphones where they belonged, and got to his feet. He headed down the hallway. Heyman came out of a side room with a t-shirt in his hand. Wes took it, and began to peel off the shirt he was wearing. The shirt Paul had provided him was Wrestlemania branded, and Wes proceeded into the room where a camera crew was waiting.

Wes Ikeda: Thanks, Paul.

Crew Member: Boom mic okay, Mr. Ikeda?

Wes Ikeda: It's fine, thank you. Ready?

Cameraman: Roll it.

Wes Ikeda: Jimmy Havoc, it isn't often that an opponent would show his true colors before the bell even rings, but here you are. You were right that I'd probably say that I'm always relevant. I certainly don't need your help to remain that way. I appreciate you trying to school me on what a deathmatch is. I know this doesn't exactly help my cause, since you reminded the world that I'm basically a dinosaur at this point, but I was wrestling in deathmatches before you were old enough to drive. You don't know me. You have no idea who I am, or what I'm capable of. I'm sure you've heard stories. Stories don't do me justice. I've mellowed out a bit, it's true. You know as well as I do though that when I get between those ropes, when I have the opportunity to hold a fluorescent lightbulb in my hand, when I make blood run down your face, I can channel the man I used to be at alarming speed.

Wes grinned.

Wes Ikeda: I know why you've gone back to the Havoc of old. It's because that's your standby. You've already admitted defeat. Deep down you know that you're about to encounter something unlike you've ever seen in your nightmares. You want to make sure you can go back to the old trope. I don't blame you. So give me your worst, Jimmy. You don't have to worry about my wife or my kids. You don't have to beg me not to go through with this. You underestimate me. You have no idea who I am. I'm not afraid of you, and I'm not afraid of the deathmatch.

Wes shook his head.

Wes Ikeda: Have you stopped to think about what it will mean for you when you're no longer the General Manager of Warfare? When you and the matches you're in are completely at my mercy? Look at the grave you've dug, Jim. The funny thing is that you think you're digging that hole for me, but when you least expect it, I'm gonna give you just. the slightest. push.

That made him chuckle to himself.

Wes Ikeda: You're gutsy. I'll give you that. You've been targeting the things I care about for months. You've been purposefully trying to get my attention. This was a power play. You knew that antagonizing me would get you right where you are today. In the main event of Wrestlemania. I don't lace my boots up for just anybody, and I think you knew that. What you didn't know? I don't need to wrestle matches! I have nothing left to prove. I don't need wins. This match does nothing for me. I don't need it. My reputation proceeds me. My record speaks for itself. Here's what I know about you. Your persona? It's all smoke and mirrors. It's all a front to make you seem confident and unbeatable. But it only takes a quick glance at your history to figure out that for all the matches that you've won? You can't win the ones that matter. The world championship alluded you. You need that big, dumb beast to do your dirty work.

Wes cocked his head to one side.

Wes Ikeda: I think you've spent the better part of the last few months trying to see if you can bring out a side of me that I thought was long since dead. In one breath you say you respect me, in the next, you talk about wanting to end me. I don't need your respect, Jim. In fact, I don't want it from someone like you. I know what the internet is saying. I know you're counting on the fact that they're right. That maybe I've gone soft. That I'm not the hardcore god I once was. I'm not the glorified stunt monkey that I used to be. The truth is, I've been called a lot of things, and I've spent the great majority of this week meeting sick kids, and raising money for charity, but tonight, when my music hits? When weapons litter the ring. When you grate my forehead with barbed wire? You're going to get a first hand experience in what the world already knows. You have no idea, Jimmy. I don't want your respect. I'm going to show you exactly who I am. You're going to realize everything you're about is child's play. You're going to be sorry you even came down this road, Jim. Because I'm going to show you that when I want to be? I am a very, very dangerous man.

Wes reached out and pushed the camera away. The camera man exaggerated the way it pointed toward the ground, and cut the camera.

Crew Member: We'll get that edited and put up on the website in the next half hour, sir.

Wes Ikeda: Thank you.

Wes started toward Heyman who had watched the whole thing.

Paul Heyman: Good job, sir.

Wes Ikeda: Eh, not bad for on the fly, I guess.

Paul went over to a chair and grabbed something off of it.

Paul Heyman: From your wife.

He handed Wes a Zippo Lighter, sarcastically engraved with a winged Hart Family Logo.

Wes Ikeda: She's mad as hell about this.

Paul Heyman: But gave you the means to set a table on fire. I'd say she's coming around.

Wes Ikeda: Thanks Paul.

He started to walk off.

Paul Heyman: Mr. Ikeda?

Wes Ikeda: Yeah?

Paul Heyman: Joanie might have booked it a little better but... I think she'd be excited for this match.

Wes smirked a bit.

Wes Ikeda: Thanks, Paul. Really, thank you.

That had been exactly what Wes had wanted to hear. He shook Paul's hand, and turned to leave the room. Tonight he was just a talented wrestler. That was all he'd ever wanted to be.