Title: The overture and the underscore.

Written by Professional Scatterbrain.

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

Email: ask and you shall receive.

Rating: First chapter is R, but everything else is Pg – 13

Contents warning: In the first chapter only there is violence against women, but after that there is nothing of the sort against Lita, and in some of the final chapters there is an analysis and condemnation of the actions committed against her.

Set/Spoilers: 2005 when Matt comes back to Raw.

Summary: Their friendship was torn to shreds, now they are more messed up then ever, and missing each other more than they will ever admit. Jeff is violently abusing the leniency he is treated with, while Lita is self destructing in mass-ticket-selling style.

Pairing: Jeff/Lita

Chp 1: A great plan is all in the details

Out of all the lovers and whores, he had loved her more, and when he pushed her down, he broke. Duty and loyalty tore him into little pieces that could never be put back together again. Her eyes, her words, her touch. He was a puzzle now, and he'd lost the final pieces as she flinched away from him. It was the first time she had ever flinched at his touch.

Was this how it was meant to be?

Torn butterfly wings and awkward words?

A dream turned violent?

When Matt had returned to the WWE, like a blaze of fury and flames, he'd held all the cards and with the best hand in the game, he'd managed to deal him brother back in. For the first time in years, Jeff had willingly signed on the dotted line. Like in the old days Matt took care of the details; took care of his brother so that Jeff would take care of Matt. After all money and a cheering crowd can only do so much. A fact Jeff was well aware of.

She had never been his.

Not from the start when he'd been introduced as Matt's 'Loser younger brother,' nor now where he was just another person that held her down. That pushed her down. Another person to leave bruises on her skin. Just another person walking around with her blood under his nails. He wondered if any of the others felt like he did. If they wanted it in the way he wanted it.

He'd wanted to hurt her.

He'd wanted to break her.

But instead, he was the one that slipped off the final edge.

He'd returned to the WWE stage darker now than before. Not all the glitter was gold, and he'd learnt that the hard way. Familiar faces welcomed him back, and new ones played out a stupid game of either seduction or obviousness' which he had no time for. Matt may wholly endorse the search for centrefold constants, but Jeff tired of their cellophane antics. Their made up faces, and façades of supposable knowing smiles pasted on faces of half assed punk rock princesses, and dancing queens did little to amuse him.

Other matters were more pressing.

He and Matt planned the whole thing.

The surprise, the attack, the blindside; everything. Like a game of chess. They had certainly looked before they leapt, and it showed. Edge and her, Lita, were in the ring, he was talking, and her eyes were black as she stroked his arm. Blank eyes. Black eyes. Blank eyes. Jeff hated those eyes, and god, how he had longed to race out into the ring to fight them, and the crowd had never cheered so loud for them when he and Matt finally did.

Matt took on Edge.

Jeff was meant to help.

But Lita didn't run away.

She stood there, still and silent.

He was meant to go after Edge, but neither of the other men noticed as he approached her. He wanted to break her. He wanted to shatter her until no one could piece her back together again. It was base instinct, and it was beyond conscious thought. He wasn't meant to act on it. Matt hadn't, not really, nor had anyone else. But he wanted too, wanted more than he wanted to breathe. He wanted to break her so she was shattered and no one could fix her. No one, not even all the king's horses and all the king's men.

And as he pushed her down, he couldn't stop the words from vomiting out of him.

"You ruined everything!" he screamed, "Everything is ruined."

Throwing her down the steps, out of the ring and onto the mat covered concrete ground, he repeated those words, those threats, those pleas, over and over again. As if to burn them into her mind. But, as he tried to break her, he began to shatter. She didn't look away. She didn't say a word. She didn't even try to fight back. She just watched him, never once looking away.

Watched him with those aching eyes of hers.

He ached for those eyes of hers.

She had made him ache for those eyes.

So, he pushed her against the steel ramp with a vicious kick. But then she was limp like a doll, so he jammed her down, grating her skin against the steel. But she didn't say a word. She didn't lift a finger. She hissed in pain, and winched a little when she noticed the blood. But she didn't stop him.

He wanted to weep.

So he did a leg drop on her rib cage, and she cried out a little, and finally closed those eyes of hers. Those eyes that had watched him from the moment he had burst through the curtains, the eyes that had watched him as she sailed out to the ring, the eyes that hadn't looked away as he swore at her, and the eyes he still saw each night in his sleep. He picked her up and he held her close as he dragged her to the edge of the ramp. He remembered one of the last times he had been pushed off. She had fallen on top of him, and he'd been so worried, so terrified that she might have been hurt.

As he remembered, he nestled his head into the crock of her neck and cried.

Words of a drunk ran through his mind.

Bar fights and paddy vans filled with friends and fighters.

This wasn't how it was meant to be, and for a second, he felt her hands reaching up and embracing him. He cried harder, and he felt her body begin to shake. She was weeping too. He hated himself. He hadn't wept since he was a child, and he hadn't clung to anyone like this since he was a child either. But she was soft, and lovely, and he ached for her. He hated her. Because everything had been near perfect, then she had gone and spoiled it all.

"You bitch," he told her brokenly, and then he threw her off the ramp.

Her eyes watched him as she fell.

Honey eyes and crimson lips; tear stained cheeks and bloody hands.

But her eyes closed for good when she landed with a thump.

He turned away then.

He turned away and he didn't look back.

But that didn't mean anything really when he went to bed each night only to dream of her.

Hope you liked the first chp - once again, I want to stress that this chp will be the only one with violence against women in it like this, and there will be condemnation of Jeff's actions.