A/N: You've probably learned by now that I am an amateur at naming what I write. But I came up with this one last minute, and I think it fits, quite honestly. Hope you enjoy, my inspirations for this fic were the writings of incredible authors such as Fellowshipper, forgiven, and pandora1017, just to name a few. I just found the complexities of how they wrote Christian so possibly accurate and heartrending. I also (highly) recommend their work, too.

Additonal: So sorry the first chapter of Burning Alive still isn't here! I've been stuck for so long on the opening paragraphs that it's all become so silly! I apologize and I assure you, I will get my act together and get it up as soon as possible! Thanks for all the feedback!

The time-set is following the June 3rd episode of Smackdown – roughly a few days after the Tuesday taping.

Mending Fences

Randy was upset.

He was angry and displeased and more than anything, confused. He also couldn't help but feeling a little betrayed, too. But who was to blame him? He had every right to be upset. His lover had, without warning, changed the direction of the scripted feud they were to begin and initiated it a couple of weeks early by abruptly hitting him in the face with World Heavyweight Championship.

Needless to say, he hadn't expected any of it.

The modification of the storyline's official start, the way it had been carried out, and the fact that it had all been done without his consent aggravated him. Jay...He was most likely the one to have rearranged things. If he was given an idea he didn't like, he would attempt to alter it. But if there was an idea he was in favour of, and seemed to be all for, then he was probably the one to have suggested it in the first place. But why? Randy couldn't figure it out. Jay's heel turn wasn't designated to happen until the week before Capitol Punishment. So why would he move it up?

The original plan had been to yet again reinforce the 'mutual respect' supposedly shared between them by making Jay the special referee to help Randy win his match against Sheamus. After Randy won, Jay was to hold his hand up in victory and seem genuinely happy for him, albeit also a bit wistful he wasn't still Champion. Smackdown would end there, and until the few weeks after, Jay would remain a baby-face.
Or so he had thought.

Instead of what he had been expecting – a hug, a handshake...some sort of gesture of congratulations – he had gotten the belt to his face. Two weeks earlier than expected. And for what reason? It wasn't clear.

Thus explained why he was currently navigating his way through the hotel he was staying at for the night, wandering the 6th floor in hopes of finding Jay. Since that fateful Smackdown, Jay hadn't spoken one word to him. He hadn't responded to his calls or texts, either. And since they had begun rooming together a while ago, he had vacated that arrangement too and presumably started sharing a room with someone else.

Randy could feel himself boiling with intense jealousy at the thought of Jay with someone else...sleeping next to, and potentially with, that person. As far as Randy knew, they weren't broken up, so if Jay decided that they were, he would essentially need Randy's agreement. But he wasn't going to be providing that, Hell no. As long as he felt that there was no solid excuse as to why they should break up, he wasn't going to let Jay declare it over when it was nowhere close to being so.

'Not without a fight,' Randy thought to himself, as he reached room 623 (the room Cody had suggested for him to look). He had lived his life with that notion in mind and never found a better meaning of it than the situation he was in right now.

He knocked, paused for a minute, and then knocked again. There was no immediate answer, and when he was convinced to knock again just in case, the sound of quiet footsteps emanated from the other side of the door.

"Just a minute," he heard a familiar foreign voice say before the door was opened.

Sheamus, or Stephen Farrelly, rather, stood before him, noticeably surprised by his sudden appearance. "Randy?" one of his red-toned eyebrows rose, but his expression was considerably hospitable. "What're you doing here, fella?" he asked, his Irish accent thicker than most often.

Randy, still in the mindset that Jay might actually be here, glanced into the room behind Stephen. There was only one bed and a couple of suitcases, so he knew that believing his lover was here would be foolish.

He sighed. "I thought Jay might be here."

The Dublin native's stance softened in sympathy. "Why? What'tsa matter?"

"I haven't seen him since Tuesday..." Stephen visibly acknowledged what he was referencing. "And I'm worried. I need to talk to him, but can't find him anywhere."

"What made you think he'd be with me?" The Irishman inquired curiously and understandingly.

Randy lowered his head, thinking to himself he shouldn't have listened to his former stable-mate. "Cody told me he saw you two leaving together, so I just thought—"

"Me 'n Jason?"

Randy nodded.

"Cody said he saw us?"

Again Randy nodded.

"I wasn't with 'im," Stephen said simply. Randy accepted this and made a move to leave, but Stephen added: "I think he was with Bryan, though."

The Viper turned back around, countenance defined with readable interest, the hint of an obvious question on his pursed lips.

"Room 617."

/

Once again faced with the surface of a hotel door that was just several feet from Stephen's, Randy took a breath before knocking, this time with more fervour, then stood back and waited.

He didn't have to wait for long, because within an estimated 30 seconds or so, the door swung open and Bryan Danielson, better known to the WWE Universe as Daniel Bryan, emerged. Unlike Stephen, he didn't seem surprised that Randy was standing in his doorway. In fact, he looked like he had been expecting him.

"Hello, Randy," said Bryan, in his casual, well-mannered tone of voice. "What's up?"

Randy didn't bother with the formalities. "Is Jason here?" he deadpanned.

And Bryan didn't bother lying, either. "Come in," he merely invited, and Randy followed him into the room, taking a look around. Jay's bags were set next to what he guessed was the bed he slept in; Randy was relieved that the room was indeed a double.

After offering one to his 'guest', and having him decline, Bryan extracted an iced-tea for himself out of the mini-fridge and sat on the canary yellow loveseat that matched the hue of the rest of the room.

"Jay," he summoned calmly, and shortly after hearing his name called, said man came out from the bathroom, freezing instantly at the sight of the person he had succeeded at avoiding for the past few days.

"What are you doing here?" He sputtered, clearly caught off guard, and before he could push him away, Randy was enveloping him in a firm embrace.

"I was worried about you," the taller man murmured against his lover's tight-knit forehead. "I'm so glad you're OK."

The blonde pulled away from his grasp, giving both him and Bryan a loathing glare, his crystal blue eyes narrowed and his crossed arms and his frown telling of anger.

"Bryan."

The man in question raised his hands in defence. "I didn't do anything! He just showed up, knowing you were here and I couldn't lie to him." He lowered one, the other rubbing at the back of his neck and looked at the Viper. "How didyou know he was here, anyways?"

"Stephen."

"Stephen?" Jay repeated, his face scrunching up adorably in perplexity. "How did he—?"

Randy interrupted him before he could continue. "It doesn't matter." He took a step towards his lover, who had taken a few back after they had hugged. "I need to talk to you about Tuesday...about us..."

For a minute Jay didn't say anything, seemingly thinking things over and then finally giving in with an exasperated sigh. "Fine."

Bryan read both of their mutual thoughts before either could vocalize them. "I'm out," he said, grabbing his jacket from the closet near the door, "I'll be at the bar with Kevin if you need me."

"We're so sorry for kicking you out of your own room, Bry—"

He waved Jay's apology off, slipping one of the two key-cards he had been given into his jeans' pocket. "Don't be. Just focus on you guys, OK?" He smiled, lingering in the room a moment longer, and then exiting.

The shutting of the door was the last thing heard before silence joined tension in the heavy atmosphere.

"Randy..."

"Don't say anything just yet." An angry glare was thrown his way. "You still owe me an explanation."

Jay looked somewhat apologetic for the briefest of moments before he turned away from the unnerving pale blue eyes that followed him. "I don't believe I owe you anything," he muttered frostily. He knelt down and unzipped one of his suitcases, rearranging things for no reason at all but to provide an excuse for him not to be meeting Randy's steel gaze.

"Like Hell you don't," the man behind him growls, "what about the belt to my face? Am I supposed to forgive and forget the fact that you hit me with my own Championship?"

No answer. Jay paused what he was doing for a few seconds, but then began again, this time more visibly stiff and his movements slower.

"What happened that made you change things, Jay? What made you decide to move up your heel turn, not tell me about it, and then continue to ignore me afterwards? And don't tell me it's my fault, I haven't done anything to have made you—"

"Don't flatter yourself," interrupted Jay's suddenly low voice. "It has nothing to do with you."

Randy blinked, taken aback with what had he had just thought he had heard. Jay moved from his position on the floor to the bed nearest him, his back turned and still refusing to face him.

"Excuse me? 'Flatter myself'?" Randy repeated incredulously, eyes narrowed in offense. "You fuckin' came out of nowhere and hit me in the face with myChampionship," he snarled, "I think I have a right to be upset—!"

"It's not about you!" Jay yelled, whipping around. The sight of him eliminated every word that threatened to jump out of Randy's throat, and caused not only the deafening quiet that followed his outburst, but a mutual ringing in both of their ears as well. His cheeks were flaming, eyebrows furrowed in frustration and his lips were pursed in a tight grimace. The younger man met the elder's crystal eyes, and it seemed like there was tears about to spill from them. However, there was no time to confirm if he was right or not. Jay pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapped his arms around them and then buried his head into the crevice his limbs had created.

"It's not about you," he choked again, his words muffled, "It's about me."

And watching this – watching Jay fall into himself so inexplicably – The Apex Predator, as he was billed due to his snake-like behaviour in the ring, felt all the anger that had once been arising inside of him disappear. His first and only reaction was to comfort the distressful blonde, and he did. He sat next to him and pulled his small frame into his own, more masculine and defined one. Surprisingly, Jay didn't resist as Randy had expected he would, and merely settled himself into him even more.

They sat like that for an undetermined lapse of time before Randy spoke up again.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked softly, shivering slightly at the sensation of Jay's warm skin against his own before they separated.

Jay hadn't cried at all, it seemed, and if he had there was no trace at all of any tears that had fallen. It figured...the whole world could be ending, and 'Captain Charisma' would still refuse to tarnish his 'manly image' by getting over-emotional. He was still in the mindset that tears were for the weak, and though not necessarily traits of weak women, he thought it was something to be considered feminine.

Randy had thought that way, too, once. But he realized now that crying wasn't a sign of being weak...it was a sign of being human.

"Jason..."

"Of all people, I thought you'd know by now."

"Know what?"

An exhausted sigh and then: "That it's some sort of fucked-up defence mechanism."

Randy tried not to be too aggravating, really he did, but Jay was being so unhelpful with his answers that it was hard not to get confused. "I don't—" he started, but he didn't have to get farther than that.

"I'm always the first one to turn..." Jay mumbled bitterly, "Adam...Chris...Matt..."

Randy flinched at the thought of his exes, but it was controlled; it was just the way their names are being uttered that he was concerned about. "I don't understand what that has to do with anything."

The Canadian finally looked up at him, and when he did, his expression was nothing but clear and comprehensible. "Don't you get it Randy? I leave before I'm left. It's wired in my mind somehow that everyone I know and love is going to walk out on me eventually, and the first thing I do is walk out first. I don't confront anything or anybody, not even myself and I just...I just panic. I'm scared of being deserted and hurt that I make sure it doesn't happen to me.

"I built up a wall around me – a huge, protective wall that was supposed to be indestructible – and I didn't let anybody in. You...You just happened to be an exception, and I couldn't resist this, and I..." he exhaled, his breath a bit shaky, "I guess that since we were going to be feuding, that you wouldn't want to be together anymore. So I just took the easy way out...I went behind your back and asked Creative to move up the turn sooner than it had originally been planned. I thought that if I did that, I wouldn't have to have you leave...I could just push you away..."

"Hey," Randy caught Jay's chin in his free hand, the hand that was pressed comfortably against the small of his back and cupped it, gently tilting his face upwards so that they were eye-to-eye. They stared wonderingly at one another before the distance between them was no more. And after a deep, reassuring kiss, Randy stated breathlessly: "I'm not going anywhere."