A/N: Okay…wow. I am afraid of this fic. *hides* This is inspired by Monday Night Raw with Bret hosting, past events, the break-up of Jerishow, and an rp with a friend. This is going to be one hell of a ride, just grab on and hold tight if you have the courage. I barely do—but that didn't seem to stop the musi from this…and by the way…anyone have a life preserver? I feel like I'm going to drown in this fic! *gulp* Thank you for reading, please review if you can!

~Past and Present~

He'll never love you, the way that I love you 'cause if he did, no no, he wouldn't make you cry.

He might be thrillin' baby but a-my love (my love, my love), so dog-gone willin'.

So kiss him (I wanna see you kiss him. Wanna see you kiss him) Go on and kiss him goodbye, now—

Na na na na, hey hey-ey, goodbye. Na na na na, na na na na, hey hey-ey, goodbye

Listen to me now

~x~

"I don't know anyone back here."

Bret mumbled feeling a bit awkward, and a little overwhelmed. After being mobbed by tons of people expecting him to know them like he had been following RAW enough to remember who each and every person was, he ducked down a corner to get away from it all. He was flattered by the admiration and chants, but these days he wanted to be in the spot light less than he used to.

Now, he was just looking for something to do after the show, which didn't involve Shawn, even after they supposedly had their brand new start. The main problem to that was that Hunter was bound to be with him, and Bret didn't want a brand new start with that big nose, unless it started off with punching him in said over large facial feature. He glanced at the names on the doors as he moved down a hallway, hoping for one that looked familiar. He walked by Jericho's, skidded a bit, and walked back to it.

"Finally. Someone I know." He knocked on the door, waiting.

Inside, Chris tilted his head at the door, wondering who was knocking. After all, he wasn't the most sought after person right about now. There were very few on the Raw roster to choose from who might be tapping on his door. His heart beat a little bit faster, at the thought that it might be Paul, and he rushed over only half dressed in a pair of designer jeans, his hair still wet from his shower. He pulled the door open, but immediately his elated smile fell into a frown that was becoming characteristic on his face. He was expecting someone a little taller, and with less hair, not Bret Hart.

"Bret." Chris didn't try to hide the annoyance laced in his voice. "What do you want? Have you come back to insult me and call me a hypocrite for the second time in one night?"

"Look, about what I said earlier. Maybe I was too harsh. I just…like I said, it's finally over; I want it to stay over. I'm done with Shawn Michaels." He threw up his hands--his blonde ghost was finally out of his life, or at least a lot less haunting than he had been. "I also wanted to say you and Paul seemed really great. Especially you." He shrugged a shoulder. "But everything comes to end, y'know?" His next words were carefully measured, because he sensed that there had been something much deeper with Jerishow than just a tag-team. "You can either let it go, or never get over it. I've done the second one enough times in my life to say that's the wrong option, or at least the loneliest option."

Bret almost chuckled at his own words. As a younger man he wouldn't have bothered offering his advice so freely, and his advice back then would have been less profound. What, was he suddenly becoming a wise old man? Well, time had just taught him things the hard way, that was all. He watched Chris's face as his eyes blinked slowly, as if processing what Bret had said.

His words hit close for Chris, but he just had a hard time letting go of things, even when they were clearly over he wanted them to be salvaged—and Bret one to be talking about letting go, after he held onto something for twelve years? Anyway, Chris didn't want to be left alone, which was his biggest reason for scratching and clawing to hold on. It didn't seem to matter though, how ragged his nails tore against that precarious ledge. No matter how hard he tried, being alone was always the outcome. Each time he told himself this was it, this was different, but it never was.

He didn't know what he did to drive people away, or what he was lacking. He'd spent endless hours looking into the mirror, and asking his reflection that question, as though he'd get any answer but a few tears and this arrogant, harsh personality he'd built up in order to hide behind. He'd made the mistake of showing Paul what was really behind that shield, and now here he was, crushed again.

You all love to see Chris Jericho down and out!

His own words which he'd spoken in the ring not long ago at Smackdown event echoed through his mind. He studied Bret closely, considering his words, but right now he couldn't let go of all the wrongs. What did it matter to Bret anyway? Bret wasn't known as the most compassionate person, and he had no reason to care about what Chris was going through. Chris's gaze darkened at the older man, his scowl deepening.

"You know nothing about Paul and I." Chris hated the unsteady sound of his voice, the whine in it, but sometimes he couldn't stop it. He just felt so devastated. He couldn't even look at Bret, so instead he looked down at his bare feet, and started to close the door.

"You're right about that, but one thing I sure as hell know a lot about is broken relationships. That seems to be my specialty. It's never pretty, it's never amicable." Bret frowned a bit. "But listen, if you feel that strongly about it Chris, then…do something big to win him back. Something that will make him see he made a mistake in ending it."

"Maybe I could..." Chris stopped, his sentence dropping off as the person they were discussing appeared behind Bret, looming easily over him. "Paul!" Chris moved past Bret. "Paul, we need to talk, please I lo--"

Chris was once again interrupted, this time by Paul shoving something hard against his chest that it knocked his breath away for a moment.

"I didn't come to talk, Chris. I made it clear that I'm done with you. If that wasn't enough to get through to you, then maybe this is." Paul motioned at what he'd shoved against Chris's chest, which the blond now had in his hands, it was Chris's Fozzy shirt. "That was in my bag. Just thought you might want it back."

Chris opened his mouth to protest, and chased after Pauls retreating back.

"I said it's over!" Pauls' voice echoed loudly through the hallway. He pushed Chris against the wall, and bent, their noses touching. He stared into Chris's eyes until tears formed on the golden lashes, and dripped down his face. Paul left him. Chris was completely humiliated and hurt. He sank down against the wall, wiping his pink eyes with the wadded up shirt in his hands.

Bret had stood there watching the scene fold out, trying to determine whether or not he should step in or sidle out of the way down the hallway--out of the confrontation completely. After all, there wasn't much he could do to move a bulldozer like The Big Show. It turned out that it had all happened too fast for Bret to really do anything at all. Paul growled his harsh words, and left Chris even more broken than he had been before. Bret stood there rubbing his arm, and finally got fidgety. What the hell was he supposed to do? He found his thoughts drift back to The Dungeon, and a very young, fresh, conquer-the-world blond who had the only smile that would ever compare with that certain other blond. Now, that conquer-the-world one was hunched against the wall crying into a dirty shirt, his life seeming to be in pieces at the moment. Bret felt compelled to step over, and offer Chris a hand.

"Come on, let's get out of the hallway." He motioned toward Chris' dressing room. He moved him into the room, and closed the door behind them, in order to give the younger man a chance to ride out the wave of his heartbreak.

When Bret turned around, Chris had moved away from him, and pulled open his locker. He was trying hard to stop the tears and hold back everything that wanted to flood out. He didn't want Bret to see him like this—he couldn't. After a few deep breaths he managed to use his angry, cold, persona to shut out everything else. He pulled out his bag and stuffed the Fozzy shirt into the bottom, found a clean shirt, and pulled it over his head. When he turned back to Bret his tears were dried, and his face seemed void of any emotion, his eyes empty.

"I'm too good for that gelatinous, parasitic freak anyway!" Chris bit out, as he shouldered his bag. "You're too good for Shawn Michaels too." He added, talking in that flat tone which he used in the ring. "If you don't have some little touching post-apologetic reunion to attend to with the princess, then why don't we go grab a drink or two? We can talk about how we're both the best in the world at what we do."

"No, I don't have a reunion with Michaels. What everyone saw early was it. I'm staying away from him. He's nothing but trouble. He was back then, and I'm sure he is now, despite all the rumors of some grand change in him." He rubbed his temples. "A drink sounds great—but I have to watch it these days. I can't drink like I used to." He said putting his hand on Jericho's shoulder. "Come on, my treat. Now, let's get the hell outta here."

~}|{~

The bar was a welcome site to Chris, who was still struggling to keep things from boiling over. In the rental he tried to keep his mind off Paul, but it wasn't working as well as he'd hoped. When he managed to shove Paul out of his thoughts, then his mind wandered to others. He thought back to Shawn, and that catastrophe which had prompted Vince to put them in a feud--the one where Chris messed up Shawn's eye, and punched his wife, all because he'd been jilted once again. Others floated through his jumbled mindscape, but mainly his thoughts were on Paul and Shawn, but then Shawn led to Bret, who was now sitting in the booth across from him with a bottle of Grey Goose between them.

You screamed the loudest of all in The Dungeon. Bret had said earlier, and that had brought back a memory Chris hadn't entertained for a while. He wondered if Bret even remembered, hell that night they'd both been drunk. Chris most likely wouldn't have remembered it himself, but that had been his first time with a man, and he was so young, and it wasn't just any man it was thee man. He sipped on his vodka and watched Bret.

"So...did I really scream louder than anyone else in The Dungeon?" Chris was surprised to feel his lips curving a little, moving towards a smile on a night when he really didn't feel like smiling at all.

Bret sipped at the strong liquid which he hadn't tasted for a while. He didn't drink that much anymore, but he had liked his vodka in the worst way in his youth. It had got to the point, in fact, until he couldn't remember what he'd done the nights he was wasted, or how many nights had even passed together. He remembered very vaguely something that had once happened with Chris on one of those drunken occasions. They were wrestling? To this day he couldn't recall the majority of that memory, and he had always wondered about it from time to time. He was running his finger around the glass in thought, trying to recall even now, but found that he couldn't. As for the screaming that took place in The Dungeon--

"Really, it's hard to tell. A lot of people screamed there. Tyson has an incredibly girly scream. But loudest? You may be the winner of that award, Chris." He laughed, smiling a bit when he saw Chris doing the same. "That smile. I remember that smile the most of all. You always smiled the most when you were up to something—which was most of the time." He teased. In fact, Chris had one of the best smiles of anyone he'd ever trained or met. It was challenging, teasing, and slightly mysterious.

"Some of my most treasured memories are from The Dungeon." Chris said. "I learned a lot there...I learned a lot from you."

Chris kept his eyes trained to Bret's darker ones, trying to figure out if he was reading any potential double meaning into the words. He was attempting to decipher, without having to outright ask, just what Bret remembered about the time Chris had spent in The Dungeon, more importantly if he remembered that one time that meant the most. He had decided if Bret didn't show any indications of remembering that night, then he was just going to keep that jewel to himself. It would be too awkward to just dump it out on Bret right here, right now.

"Yeah about that. The dungeon has a lot of memories for me too, but some are fuzzier than others." Bret sat his drink down and avoided the cobalt eyes across from him. "I have something to ask you. Years ago…do you remember a time when you and I got smashed? I remember some parts of it, but not all. I remember wrestling at one point, but most of that night is missing in my memory." He took a long gulp of the Grey Goose, letting it burn down his throat. "Chris, what happened that night?" Bret asked finally, looking right back into Chris's vibrant eyes.

Chris hesitated for a moment, and then swallowed the rest of the clear liquid that was in his glass. It was now, or never.

"Yeah, we wrestled that night. I wanted you to show me The Sharpshooter and we just ended up in an awkward, impromptu match. You finally pinned me. You held my shoulders to the floor and sat on my waist. "What else do you want to learn?" You said, only it was slurred because we'd drank a lot." Chris was smirking a little, as all of that night played out clearly in his mind, as though it had only been yesterday. "I said I wanted to learn anything you had to teach me, and you winked, and bent down close to my ear, and you growled: "Chris, I could teach you a lot of things." Before I could say anything else, you…you kissed me. I was shocked but...but I kind of liked it. I really wasn't sure of myself back then, about where I stood on certain issues, but after that it was clear to me. You taught me a lot more than wrestling that night."

Bret paled a little. He'd often wondered if there had been something heavier than a little wrestling that had went on that night, but he never had imagined it to be all that. Now that Chris had laid it all out, he could actually remember some of it. He remembered the alcohol making his touches clumsy as he moved around Chris's young, beautiful, body. He remembered their fingers laced together when it was over. Chris's eyes were wide watching him with silent admiration, long blond hair stuck to his cheeks which were tinted with a pretty rosy blush from their activities.

"I… I really enjoyed it that night. I can't believe I didn't remember it all. I was so smashed… Jesus Chris, I'm sorry. I wasn't out to take advantage of you."

Chris laughed.

"Bret, calm down, it's okay. It's always been a memory I've treasured, and really I ought to thank you for it. You helped me discover myself. You have no reason to feel bad for it." Chris's smile grew a little wider. "Maybe you just have a weakness for pretty blonds." He reached for the bottle in the center of the table, and poured more of the liquid into his glass.

"You're right I guess, but that certain 'weakness' as you called it, usually lands me in the middle of trouble. Maybe it was better that I didn't remember this until now, or who knows what kind of drama would have went on. As it was, things seem to have turned out pretty well for you. You're one of my greatest successes. You're out there doing the memory of The Dungeon proud."

Chris's face colored red at the flattery from his mentor. He looked back down, feeling a little guilty now for what he was about to say, like saying it would let Bret down...but he'd been thinking about this since he and Paul started having problems outside the ring. If he and Paul couldn't stay together, if that ended broken like everything else, Chris had made his mind up that he was going to quit, and leave the squared circle behind him for good. It was all just getting to be too much for him to cope with.

"Thanks, but I...I don't know. I don't know if I'm doing as well as all that. Really Bret...I might not be around much longer." Chris's brow furrowed up as he looked down into the alcohol in his glass. "I think it's time to pull the plug on Chris Jericho. There's nothing left for me in this company." I can't stay here alone like this. He added mentally, a wave of sadness, and despair rushing over him.

"What? No!" Bret shook his head, his voice pitched up. "Don't make that mistake, Chris, you're so talented, and they need you so badly. Look at it this way, now that you're free from tag team commitments, you can move on to the big picture. You should go for the heavyweight belt, and get yourself back into the main picture. I'm sure you could convince Vince to go with it, you've always been a good talker—just don't quit Chris, don't!" Bret said pounding a fist on the table enough to rattle the glasses and bottle. "You've still got it Chris. Don't waste it. Don't let what happened tonight ruin you forever, don't let your broken heart dictate your life like I—like some people do. Promise me you'll try. One more time, try for me."

Chris's eyes were misted over, at Bret's powerful words. He didn't want to try anymore. He was tired of trying and trying some more. But that look on Bret's face and the things he said, he thought highly of Chris, and even though Chris didn't want to stick around, he didn't want to let his mentor down. Slowly, he nodded his head and drained his glass again.

"Okay Bret...I'll try." He tried to make it sound like his heart was in it, but Bret had a pretty good shit detector so no doubt he could tell that at this moment, his words weren't very strong. But, maybe that was good enough answer for right now. Chris reached for the bottle again, but stopped when a shadow fell over the table. It was quickly followed by a voice that made Chris scowl and had his hackles rising right away. It was Hunter.

"So, Christina." Hunter leered. "How does it feel to be banned from the companies top show?"

Chris's grip tightened around his glass as he stiffened with anger. Hunter just continued, always one to rub salt into wounds.

"Better yet, how does it feel that you don't have your giant lap dog to fight your battles anymore?" Hunter snorted.

That was it. Any better mood that might have been slowly creeping up on Chris had been sucked away to rage. He lunged at Hunter, and the two started a battle of fists as Chris screamed things that were mostly incoherent, tears streaming down his face. Shawn rushed over, along with some others, and finally the two of them were pulled apart. Someone shoved Chris back into the booth he'd been in before Hunter came over. Shawn latched onto Hunters arm and pressed his fingers to a drip of blood slowly leaking from his lovers' nose. Shawn looked from Bret, to Chris, back to Bret again.

"Did you put him up to this because you hate Hunter?" Shawn snarled at Bret, seeming to forget everything that had just played out in the ring earlier.

"Whoah, calm down there diva." Bret put his hands up. "Big nose came over to our table, not the other way around. If you could keep your bitch on a tighter leash, Shawn, then things like this wouldn't happen." Bret smirked, as Hunter's nostrils flared, his eyes seething. Maybe Bret's feud with Shawn was over, but he had yet to forgive Hunter, and it might be twelve more years before or if that day ever came.

"I'm no ones bitch, Hart!" The taller blond spat.

"Listen, LeVesque…" Bret spat with just as much venom as H, and he moved out of the booth so the two were face to face. "You didn't have the balls to come out to the ring tonight, or face me like a man, or anything—not that I ever expected it. Wait until you've had a few drinks in you to come over here and pick on someone whose just had his heart stomped on, so you can feel badass or something? Is that it? Well, that sounds like a sissy bitch to me."

"Get out of my face old man." Hunter shoved Bret, to which Shawn gripped his arm tighter.

"Hunter, let's just go--"

"I may be old--" Bret interjected his voice a growl. "But I have enough hate stored up for you, Big Nose, that I could lay your ass out and fuck you up like you've never been fucked before."

"Tch, you'd break a hip."

"I'd break your god damn face."

For a few tense moments, they were toe to toe, eyes burning like hot pokers into one another. Shawn was ducking his face into his hand, the present resembling too much of the past for his comfort. Wasn't his night about putting the past to rest? Shawn tugged at Hunters arm again.

"Come on Hunt, let's just go. This isn't worth it."

After a couple more silent, snarled, moments, Hunter obliged Shawn and followed him out of the bar. Though in his mind, this wasn't over. Hunter didn't care what kind of hogwash Bret said in the ring to Shawn, to Vince, to the WWE Universe, none of that mattered, and he doubted how much truth—if any—there was to it all.

"Jesus Christ." Bret muttered, as he turned back to the table, pulling at his gray-brown hair. He cursed again, when finding it empty, the bottle of Grey Goose laying depleted on its side.

He glanced around the bar, looking for the tuft of spikey blond hair that belonged to his drinking partner. After a bit of hunting, he finally noticed him at the bar and approached. As he got closer, he could hear the sobbing, and see Chris's shoulders shuddering with the convulsive waves. There was already another empty bottle of vodka on the counter, and another in Chris's hand that was being worked on.

"Chris, let's get out of here." Bret said quietly, attempting to help him off the bar stool.

Chris allowed himself to be helped down—or maybe chugging so fast had just made it impossible for him to stay on the seat. He was gulping from the bottle again, and Bret had to pry it from his griping fingers as he cried, the alcohol running down his chin and wetting the front of his shirt. Bret sat the other bottle on the bar and tossed some money, one arm wrapped around Chris's waist to try and steady him. He managed to get Chris out to the rental without a face plant—which he didn't need because one of his eyes was already sporting a purple crescent beneath it from where one of Hunter's fists had connected.

Bret got him into the car, and drove them back to the hotel, his stomach knotting up as Chris leaned against the window and wept. He wrangled Chris into the hotel, and leaned him against the desk, hoping he wouldn't fall down because he probably couldn't pick him back up from a prone pile on the floor. Bret got his room key, then glanced at Chris.

"What room is Mr. Chris Irvine staying in?"

The woman behind the counter looked over her computer screen, and shook her head.

"I don't have a room registered under that name."

It occurred to Bret then, that Chris was probably going to stay with Paul that night, until everything just imploded.

"Never mind, he's staying with me tonight."

Bret got Chris into the elevator, and grimacing, wiped his messy-wet face with the sleeve of his shirt. When he drew it back it was covered with wet splotches from the flowing tears, and shiny patches of glistening snot. This wasn't how Bret had imagined his evening turning out, after such an attempt to avoid drama.

"Showme the Shar'shooter." Chris slurred. "Mr. Hart show me the Sh-Shoo…Shoopsharter…"

Bret sighed.

"No Chris, I'm not showing you The Sharpshooter. You already know all about it anyway."

"Budahwanna learn." Chris cried.

"You are drunk, and you are going to bed."

The elevator came to a stop, and Bret dragged Chris out of it as he kept up his nearly incoherent sobbing and rambling. They got to Bret's room and he moved Chris to the bed. He shut the door, kicked off his shoes, and joined Chris. The blond was staring up at the ceiling, his eyes never stopping their tears, but his lids were starting to droop. His eyes rolled back, then snapped open, like a child trying to fight off the inevitable sleep, he was trying to fight away the heaviness of the alcohol that was ready to drag him under.

"Chris, just go to sleep."

"Nuhhuh…"

Bret couldn't help but smile a little. He remembered when Shawn would get wasted out of his mind, and he'd do something similar. Shawn was always such a child…but that was all finished with, Bret reminded himself. But even so, Chris's whimpering reminded him of Shawn, and he really just wanted Chris to go to sleep so he didn't have to remember the nights when Shawn cried. He knew that was selfish, but he'd always been accused of that particular flaw. With a sigh, Bret ran his hands through Chris's short hair, dragging his fingertips lightly against the scalp, just like he used to do to help Shawn sleep on those nights when he couldn't. Finally, Chris's eyes were closed, his breathing changed, the trails of tears stopped. Bret wiped the corner of Chris's eye with his thumb, where those tiny wrinkle lines were. He rolled over, staring at the ceiling, a jumble of thoughts crashing through his head.

Vince had asked him to stay with WWE, behind the scenes of course, helping out some of the youngsters, and pitching ideas to Creative—who needed all the help they could get so it seemed. Bret had quickly turned Vince down. It was enough that he'd done as much as he had, he sure as hell wasn't going to work for McMahon's company again. Yet now, something compelled him to take out his cell, and study it. I'm going to regret this…Bret mentally growled at himself, as his thumbs fumbled with the tiny buttons on the keyboard.

I've reconsidered. I'll come back to the company, on one condition.

Bret sent the text message to one Vincent Kennedy McMahon. The condition? He was going to personally see to it that Chris got what he deserved, at least in the ring. Chris was going to get the title, and the respect he deserved, or Bret's deal to work for McMahon was off the table. He tossed his phone to the side, and wondered again what he was doing. Maybe this was his way of trying to make up for so many wrongs he'd committed to others over the years, or maybe Chris was right. Maybe he just had a weakness for pretty blonds.

~}|{~

A/N: Yes, there's another note at the end. Have mercy, what have I gotten myself into this time?