This is self-therapy of some sorts and a piece for everyone else out there who will miss Edge the way I will. This is fiction, I neither own nor will earn anything for doing this.
Chris was lying on the bed with his back propped up on the headboard, only wearing his boxers, dress shirt and the dark blue tie that was loosely hanging around his neck. The window beside the bed was open, letting warm sunlight and fresh air in the room and he enjoyed his first free afternoon in two weeks with his eyes closed and a cigarette in his right hand.
He would be the last person to deny that he liked to have many people around him, to party in the middle of a big crowd or to get everyone's attention when he performed on stage – Chris had on more than one occasion been called an attention whore – but that didn't mean that he didn't like the quiet every now and then.
On the few days off he still had over the year just sitting there, smoking and thinking of nothing was one of his favorite pastimes, the other one being nearly the same with the small difference that his old Ozzy, Maiden or Beatles albums were rerunning at full blast until someone finally had the guts to come up to him and complain about the noise coming from his hotel room.
Today was a day were he preferred the silence though, and that was why he heard the faint sound of the door to the bedroom opening and closing before someone slowly approached his spot on the bed.
Opening his eyes and turning his head to the side he wasn't overly surprised to see Mike standing beside the bed and looking down on him with an unreadable expression on his face.
Without really thinking about it Chris reached for the ashtray to put his cigarette out. Mike didn't smoke and he usually refrained from lighting a cigarette when they were together, knowing that there was a big difference between killing his lungs and killing his younger lover's ones.
His conscience didn't like being the potential reason for Mike's early death as much as it didn't like the thought of damaging his kids with his unhealthy habit, which was why he didn't reach for a cigarette when anyone of the four was in the immediate vicinity – to be honest he didn't even smoke when he was with the WWE roster, although most of the guys most likely wouldn't have minded.
The only people he really felt comfortable lighting a smoke around were his Dad, his band members and Mark and Shawn of all people. Mark simply didn't care if his body took any more damage than it already had in twenty plus years of wrestling and Shawn, despite having quit smoking years ago, had only grinned at him when he'd pulled out a cigarette and said that if he would die from that bit of smoke after all the alcohol, drugs and suicidal stunts he'd done in his life God really had a fucked up sense of humor – Chris couldn't argue with that.
Jumping a little bit when Mike's hand grabbed his wrist before he could stub out his smoke, Chris snapped out of his thoughts and shot the younger man beside him a confused glance. Mike slowly shook his head in response and then took his hand away, indicating for the blonde to continue smoking.
For a moment Chris wanted to tell his lover that what he was doing wasn't healthy but slug down the words that were already on his tongue when he remembered that Mike was his own man and that it really wasn't his place to scold him like a child.
"You're awfully quiet today." he took another drag form his cigarette and leaned back against the headboard, seeing Mike doing the same beside him from the corner of his eye.
Mike said nothing in response and there was silence between them until Chris brought the cigarette to his lips once more and was again stopped by his lover's fingers that grasped his hand, Mike's free hand coming up to take the cigarette from him.
Their eyes met when Chris gave the younger man a questioning look, blue locking with blue, but Mike just remained silent and held his stare while his fingers worked the cigarette out of the blonde's grip.
Chris let him take it away from him, somehow knowing that starting a fight with his brunette lover probably wasn't a good idea right now – instead his cerulean eyes followed the movement of Mike's fingers when he brought the smoke to his lips and inhaled the same way the blonde had done a few minutes ago.
Doing so probably wasn't the wisest idea considering the younger man to his knowledge hadn't really smoked before, but to his surprise Mike managed to only cough a little before taking another drag.
There was something painful about the way his fingers clenched around the cigarette while his face remained stoic even when he coughed again, a lot harder this time, and Chris would have liked nothing more than to take the cigarette away from him and draw him into a tight hug but knew better – with Mike you always had to wait for the moment where he decided to come for you and not the other way around, that he had learned the hard way over the course of their relationship.
After one last drag Mike passed the finished smoke back to him and Chris put it in the ashtray without taking his eyes off his lover.
"With you it was different… I knew that you were coming back ultimately." the younger man gulped, "Now- I mean he isn't dead or anything… it's just-"
Trembling fingers intertwined with his and Chris' drew his lover on top of him the moment the first sob left Mike's lips, pressing his head against his chest and holding him tight.
"He is alive, but… he's a good guy, he put his body on the line for his job… he didn't deserve for it to end like this. He didn't." Mike wept against his torso, hot tears soaking his expensive dress shirt while everything the older man could do was to hold on to the man in his lap and gently stroke his hair.
The brunette in his arms shuddered, "Fuck! I mean why, dammit? …why him? Why?"
What hurt the most about the question was that he didn't have an answer, that Chris couldn't explain to his lover what no one could explain. He had asked himself that exact same question so many times, he had asked God, had screamed and raged and cried, but there was still no answer, nothing he could tell Mike that would be able to lessen the pain.
"I don't know, Mike." his voice sounded oddly calm, collected, "I wish I knew, but the reality is that I don't. No one does …I'm sorry."
Strong arms wrapped themselves around his chest, holding on to him in a vice like grip that the blonde had no intention of breaking anytime soon. Mike needed the contact – and if he was honest with himself he needed it just as much.
"He will live, he won't end up in a wheelchair… I should be grateful." the younger man pressed his forehead against Chris' chest, "Everything's okay… I shouldn't be crying, it's stupid."
"No." putting his hands on both of Mike's cheeks he lifted his head to look into a pair of beautiful, tear-filled blue eyes, "Cry."
One of his thumbs wiped away a tear from his lover's face before he leaned down to press a soft kiss to his lips, his voice breathy, "Cry. It's good that you still can."
Lifting Mike's head he placed a kiss to one of his cheeks, then to the other, to his forehead, to the corner of his mouth until his lips covered his lover's, the younger man opening his mouth to pull him in for a real kiss this time.
Chris could taste the smoke of the cigarette on him when Mike's tongue brushed against his, could feel the silent tears once again running down his lover's cheeks, could feel the cold and the sorrow when he entangled one of his hands in Mike's brown hair and he pushed into the touch.
It broke him apart.
But a part of him also was glad, glad that Mike could grieve, that he could cry – because after everyone, after everything, after Chris… he wasn't sure if he had any tears left.
I wasn't planned to turn out that way, but... yeah, it is as it is.