It hurt. To know that you could come so close, to taste the moment in the air, and know that you could still fall so far. In a way, it was like Sisyphus.

Scoops McGee staggered his way backstage, blood dripping from his visage, sweat and scars staining him alike. Referees and doctors hounded him, trying to help him along as he scowled back at them.

"Get off'a me," Scoops grunted as he trudged through the halls, shoving them aside. The group jostled against each other, until finally, he succeeded in earning himself a moment of peace and quiet.

Scoops sighed, plopping himself down on one of the many boxes backstage, grabbing a damp towel and pressing it to his head. Thoughts blurred around his skull like bullets, each one bringing forward a new headache. Then, without warning, a pair of footsteps echoed within the hall to snap him back to his senses.

"I told you, I don't need any goddamn help-" Scoops' voice died as he saw just who was the cause of the noise. Noah Larson stared back at him, the lens of the camera in his hands trained on him.

"Hey."

"Hey yerself."

Noah trudged his way besides Scoops, sitting down next to him as he placed the camera on the other side of the hallway, the machine taking in the silence and weight of the moment as the two said nothing for a moment.

Scoops was the first to break the silence.

"I screwed up," he admitted. "Shitty little old man pride got in the way one more time. I'm the reason that bullshit turned out the way it did. If I had an extra brain cell or two, ole' Kiki wouldn't have gotten out of that match with the win. I just..."

His eyes couldn't meet his cameraman's - no, his friend's gaze. "I thought I could do it."

Noah continued to let the silence hang in the air, before a quiet admittance came from him. "I thought you did great out there."

Scoops looked back, raising an eyebrow at Noah. He took it in stride, continuing.

"Sure, it might not have gone the way you thought it would. Sure, the wrong man won. But look at it like this. Almost everyone wrote you off in that match. You were the guy in his mid-sixties fighting for one last chance at glory. You went into there without having a single win against all three men, but when the chips came down, you were also the guy who got three-counts against every single one of them."

"They knew they made a mistake doubting you. And for what it's worth? I know you'll be back there someday."

Scoops heaved a ragged deep breath, his eyes now shifting to the floor. "I'll keep fighting," he agreed. "All of life is just a fight, anyways. I started last year trying to get any kind of gold around my waist, I come into this year at damn near the tippy-top. This year, I say I finish the journey. Somehow. Someway."

"Until that comes, though, I'll just enjoy whatever life throws at me. Because I'm gonna live free and cherish the moments I do get while helping others enjoy it."

Noah's grin grew wider, and even Scoops had to hide his own smile as he hopped off the box. "Now c'mon. Let's go grab Paige and get off this stinkin' icebox."

"I'm with you always, Scoops." Noah's energy could hardly be contained as he grabbed the camera, following behind his hero.

"I know you are. And... Noah?" Scoops looked back over his shoulder one last time, unable to hide that smile for any longer. "Thank you. For everything."