Jeff didn't know how he fell asleep that night. What he did know was that when he woke up, James's breathing was uneven and he was scratching at his own neck, leaving bloody marks in his wake. "James?" Jeff said hesitantly, sitting up. Even though he was still completely freaked out by finding blood on James's arm that night, he was still hoping for some kind of logical explanation about that.

James mumbled something completely incoherent.

"James?" Jeff said again. He slowly put his hand on the sleeping man's shoulder.

James sat up so fast that he nearly hit Jeff in the process. He panted for breath, checking his neck for whatever it was he had been clawing at. "It's not there," he muttered. "Wasn't real. The bitch fucking didn't do it again." He looked over at Jeff, who was staring at him with wide eyes. "What's wrong? Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Did you have a nightmare?" Jeff asked.

"No. It was a memory." James reached over to the desk next to the bed, grabbed some tissues and started wiping the blood off his neck. "Of course, I guess this memory qualifies as a nightmare."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

James was quiet for a long time. When he finally spoke, it was in a voice Jeff had never used him before. "Have you seen the movie The Crow?"

Jeff nodded. "Yeah. Matty and I watched that movie together a long time ago."

"Well do you remember the line Brandon Lee says to that junkie mom? `Mother is the name for God on the lips and hearts of all children?' Well my mother was the complete opposite of that. She was fucking Satan. She hated me and when I was three she took a wire hanger and tried to slit my throat with it." He pointed to a scar that was near where all his scratches now were. "That bitch was fucking crazy."

Jeff stared at the scar in shock. "She did that? How could she even try to do that? You were a little kid!"

James shrugged. "Like I said, she was fucking crazy." He threw the bloody tissues into the nearby trash can. "But it doesn't matter anymore. She's been dead for nearly twenty years now. I'm fucking over that shit."

That was one of the most blatant lies Jeff had ever heard in his life. It was obvious that James still had issues he hadn't exactly dealt with. Why else would he have a nightmare about it? Feeling a little awkward, Jeff hesitantly hugged James. James stiffened for a second but he didn't pull away. In fact, even though it took him a couple minutes to do, he relaxed into Jeff's embrace. "I'm not exactly good at this hugging shit Twinky," he muttered. "Just ask the boys."

"That's okay," Jeff said. "I know how to deal with non-huggers." He glanced down at James's arm and looked at it warily.

"What?" James asked. "Am I supposed to be hugging you back right now?"

Jeff shook his head. "You came home with blood on your arms last night. I was wondering what happened to you."

An unreadable look flashed through James's eyes as he lifted his arm up and saw that Jeff was right. "Son of a fucking bitch," he muttered. He gently touched the dried blood. "I missed a spot."

"What happened?" Jeff asked. He stared at the spot apprehensively. "It's not yours."

"I got into a fight," James said quickly. "Some faces got busted. It's not a big deal." He took himself out of Jeff's arms and stood up. "I'm going to get into the shower. You want to join me?"

Jeff shook his head. "I'll take one later."

"Okay then. Suit yourself."

Jeff kept his eyes on James until he left the room. Once again, he just knew that James was lying to him. He couldn't explain how he knew this, but he did. He got off the bed and began looking around. He remembered what Cooper said about not asking questions and leaving things alone, but he couldn't do that. The curiosity was driving him insane.

He got off the bed and began searching the room. The dresser and the closet didn't reveal anything too unusual besides James's alarming amount of handcuffs (which Jeff found kind of hot, but that was beside the point). In one of the drawers of the desk, he found a notebook filled with drawings of murdered people that looked like they had been drawn by James himself. Now that disturbed Jeff more than a little bit. He kept looking at them over and over again, wanting to just shut the notebook and put it away but too hypnotized by what he was seeing. James had gone into way too much detail with all of this. Shuddering to himself, Jeff was about to close the notebook when a picture fell out of the back of it. He picked it up slowly and almost threw up. It was a picture of a woman who had been horribly mutilated.

"I told you not to do this. Why can't any of you people ever just listen to me?"

Jeff nearly jumped out of his skin as he turned around. Cooper was standing behind him now. "Cooper," Jeff said in a shaky voice. "I—"

"I should have known this was going to be a problem," Cooper muttered. He took the picture and the notebook from Jeff and put them back to where they belonged. "I should have would have known you would snoop anyway. He'll know you did it and he'll probably tell you. Are you ready to keep your mouth shut about it?"

Jeff bit his lower lip. He was really freaked out right now. "Who was in that picture?" he asked. "Who was that woman?"

Cooper hesitated for a moment before answering. "Grandma," he finally said. "That was Grandma."

Jeff gasped. James had said his mom had died; he had never mentioned her being murdered. "Did he…I mean did he…"

"He killed her," Cooper said quietly. He looked like he had given up on trying to hide it. "He hated her so that's what he did to her." He pulled Jeff up to his feet. "Don't bring it up though. Let him tell you himself. This isn't the subject to call him out on."

Jeff nodded numbly. He didn't know what else to do. James had killed his mom…he had come home with blood on his arm last night…Jeff didn't know what to think. Had James killed someone last night? Were the people in those drawings other victims? And what about those two men in the alley the night of the attack—did they get killed too?

Jeff had a bad feeling that all of those questions had one simple answer: yes. The more important question was, what was he going to do about it?

……

At the following week's television taping, both Mark and Tom were in for a surprise when they looked at the night's card. The bookers had combined two feuds into one tag match, and the resulting match was Tom and Matt Hardy versus The Undertaker and CM Punk.

"Someone must've slept with someone important." Tom muttered under his breath while he was changing.

"Don't look at me, man." Matt replied "I'm getting royally screwed in the process. I have a problem with both of them and I'm positive I heard Mark say something about a receipt when he arrived."

"Let me take care of the Phenom." Tom looked in the mirror and applied a generous amount of gel to his hair, turning it into a slick mess. "You just make sure Phil doesn't get a chance to lock in that anaconda vice of his."

"No fear of that, bro. Once is enough for me." Matt shuddered when visions of the time he'd been subjected to that particular hold went through his head. The only counter was not to get trapped in the hold in the first place.

"Cool. I'll be right back. Trainer's got a new brace for my knee." Tom stood up.

"I thought it was back to one hundred percent." Matt responded, concern for his brother clear in his voice. Despite the personal problems with Jeff, this was all business and Matt didn't want his tag-team partner going into a match with an opponent the likes of the Undertaker if he wasn't on the top of his game.

"It still is. You won't be able to waffle Mark with a chair if things get outta hand tonight, so I'm not taking any chances. Be back as soon as I can."

Not the trainer's room, but one of the larger private dressing rooms was Tom's actual destination. Checking out the corridor to make sure no one saw him enter, Tom was inside and the door locked in seconds.

"Fuck... sorry I'm late, but Matt wouldn't stop razzing me." He lied.

"I was beginning to wonder if ya were plannin' to go through with this." Mark looked up. His ring gear was still hanging on several hooks and all he was wearing at the moment was his underwear.

"Depends what you mean by this?" Tom was a little concerned that Mark might be jumping the gun with their relationship. "Fuck, you haven't even told James about us and already I'm seeing more of you than I'd hoped."

"James... let's not talk about him right now." Mark still seemed a little put off. "That mother fucker's up to his usual tricks."

Tom nodded. Over several more beers the previous night, Mark had gone into great detail about James, including his more psychotic habits. Add that to the news report Tom had heard about a body being found in an abandoned warehouse, and he got a pretty good idea what Mark was talking about.

"You even talked to the mofo since yesterday?" Tom asked

Mark shook his head. It was plain that this topic of conversation was low on his list of things he wanted to do. "Drop the subject." He barked.

"Sure, Marky-Mark." Tom answered

"Remember what I said yesterday about callin' me that?" The angsty Mark was gone, replaced with the gruff Mark that Tom knew and supposedly loved.

"I don't see any beer bottles nearby." Tom shrugged

Mark grunted, as if he was disappointed to learn this. "Tommy, I really don't wanna do this." He leaned against the wall.

"This was your plan, remember?" To his knowledge, this was the first time, Mark had ever called anyone by their familiar name. It was usually their formal name with the word 'mother fucker', 'ass hole', 'son of a bitch', or some combination of all three.

"Not that. This match." Mark answered "I don't wanna risk hurtin' ya."

"Do what you gotta do, Deadman. We're all in this together." Tom turned to the door, but then turned back around. Mark was still leaning against the wall.

"Fuckin' James. Motherfucker doesn't realize this time he's gone too far." He whispered

Tom was filled with pity for the Deadman. He knew all too well what it was like to give your heart to someone, only to have it thrown back in your face.

"Hey Phenom..."

"What?" Mark looked up and before he could ask what Tom was thinking, his lips were crushed to his.

Instinctly, Mark struggled to break free, then he realized that Tom wasn't going to let go any time soon. He returned the kiss with his usual gusto, momentarily forgetting that this wasn't James he was kissing.

Tom tore their mouths apart. "Good luck, Mark." He said, wiping away the thin trickle of blood from his lower lip with the back of his hand. He winked, then let himself out.

Mark was stunned. He hadn't expected Tom to go that, for one thing. For another, he didn't expect his body to respond the way it had. There was a noticeable bulge in the front of his shorts. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He swore. He had a match in minutes and it wasn't good for his image if the Deadman came out to the ring wth a hard-on.

"Ten minutes, Mark!" Someone yelled through his door.

"Fuck!" Mark quickly dressed, hoping that the adrenaline from the crowd would take his mind of what had caused this inconvenience.

After a quick stop to get his knee support from the trainer, Tom returned to his locker room. Matt was just as Tom had left him, though he was on his phone. Two seconds in, and Tom knew exactly who Matt was talking to.

"Gotta go, Jeffro." Matt quickly concluded the conversation when he saw Tom. "Our match is next. We have three days off after tonight's show, so why don't we get together for lunch or somethin'?"

Inadvertantly, Tom glared at Matt.

"Dude, I'll call you when I get back to the hotel. I love you." Matt quickly closed the phone. "Sorry about that."

"No skin off my back, Matty. I remember your message and even though Jeff's and my relationship is over, I don't expect you to do the same." Tom sat down on the bench and stared at his brace. "Does this fuckin' thing come with an instruction manual or do I just have to guess?"

"Let me help you." Matt squatted down in front of Tom and helped him put it on. It was compact enough that Tom could wear it under his cargo pants.

"Five minutes, guys." One of the crew stuck his head through the open door. "Phil and Mark are entering first."

"Awesome." Tom walked across the room, stretching, taking a few steps, throwing a few martial arts kicks, and otherwise testing out the brace. "Can't hardly tell I'm wearing it."

"Good. I don't want Mark trying anything like last time."

"He won't, trust me." Tom answered "Let's go."

Matt and Tom walked to the gorilla position. Punk had already come down to the ring and Mark was just about to go through when he saw Tom. His expression changed ever-so-slightly, then he was gone.

Tom and Matt paced, waiting for their music to hit.

"...and their opponents, from Cameron, North Carolina and Los Angeles, California, respectively, weighing four hundred eighty-one pounds... Matt and Tom... the Hardys!"

The crowd cheered when they appeared on stage, drowning out the classic Hardy theme.

Matt did his Mattitude gesture and Tom found himself mirroring it. At least he didn't do the Hardy Gunz by mistake. Doing his ex's sign was out of the question. If their plan was to work, Tom had to throw himself completely into his role as Mark's "boyfriend". All ties to Jeff had to be severed.

Tom and Mark started the match and immediately, Tom noticed that something was off with Mark. He was moving rather gingerly around the ring. Tom ducked a rather stiff clothesline and immediately applied a headlock.

"What the fuck is goin' on?" Tom whispered, while cinching in the hold.

"I could ask you the same question." Mark growled "What the fuck was with that kiss? Because of that, I've had a boner for the last fifteen minutes and it won't go away."

Under the pretense of adjusting the hold, Tom looked down. It looked like several tube socks had been stuffed down the front of his trunks.

"Sorry, dude. I was just trying to perk you up. I see I succeeded at least part-way." Tom backed Mark into the corner and tagged Matt.

Mark was at the mercy of a violent assault by Matt, but every move seemed to only increase his arousal. He realized that if he didn't get away soon, he was gonna cream himself. In the midst of trading head shots with Matt, he told him of his 'problem'. Matt looked at Mark as if he was crazy, and for a moment Mark pictured him grabbing the house mic and announcing to the whole arena that the Big, bad, Undertaker couldn't continue the match because he was gonna shoot in his pants.

Mercifully, Matt allowed Mark to get the advantage and tag Phil in, who was the only person in the match unaware of the problem. Even the referee seemed to notice that something was off.

Standing in his corner, Mark assessed his situation and was more confused than ever. What the fuck was wrong with him? Contrary to his earlier thoughts, this was supposed to be a relationship of convenience. It was only happening so both he and Tom could get their respective lovers back. So why was Mark now craving more intimate contact with Tom? The more he thought about this problem, the less chance of his erection going away and the more chance he was going to have to get back into the ring.

"Tag!" He shouted. Phil and Tom were currently the legal men in the match.

Tom looked over. His eyes quickly flicked down to Mark's crotch. He shook his head 'no'.

"Tag! C'mon, motherfucker, let me into the match!" Mark shouted to Phil. Something in his tone told Phil now was not the time to fuck with him.

Phil tagged Mark in, and he immediately kicked Tom in the gut, dropping him to the mat. He followed up with a leg drop into a rear chinlock.

"Still fiending?" Tom asked, though he already knew the answer to this question.

"Double clothesline... we tag our partners, then fight all the way backstage. I can't go on like this." Mark was panting, and it was not with exertion from the match. He had never, emphasize never, been this hard in his life.

Phil and Matt got back into the match while Tom and Mark continued their battle up the ramp and backstage. By the hair, Mark threw Tom into his locker room and quickly bolted the door.

"Motherfucker..." He sighed, then their lips were pressed together again. This time, Mark took the dominant position, though he knew he wouldn't last long, especially when Tom reached between them and started rubbing. "I ain't gonna..."

"I know, but we got a match to finish." This whole situation was already fucked up. "Hurry up and cum, Deadman."

Mark groaned, his cock spasming in the tight confines of his tights. He felt a not-unpleasant wetness against his lower belly and was really glad he wore black.

Tom leaned against the wall, a smirk on his face. "Now you have something to tell James the next time he gets in your face. Throw me through the curtain and I'll roll down to the ring."

Matt and Phil were still going at it in the ring when Tom and Mark made their return. Mark whipped Tom toward the post, but he reversed it, sending Mark into the steel instead. With Mark incapacitated, Matt and Tom quickly took care of Phil. This time, he was the one who tapped out.

"Your winners... the Hardys!" Matt and Tom quickly jumped out of the ring. Mark and Phil put on their best angry looks, but for one of them, it was forced. Had someone put a gun to Mark's head right at that moment and demanded that he choose who he was going to spend the rest of his life with, the name he would utter would not be "James". How fucked up is that?

…..

James didn't even hear the announcement about who had won the match. He was by himself in the living room, watching Smackdown and absolutely seething with anger. At first he had been laughing because Mark had been wrestling with a hard on. He had been the cause of more than a few of Mark's boners and it was always funny to see the Phenom trying to wrestle with one. But then he noticed how Tom and Mark were together when they were in the ring. The hatred that had been so obvious last time had been replaced with something else. It had taken him a minute to realize what it was but when he did, he had just about gotten up and kicked his foot through the television.

It was sexual tension. It was so thick that James wasn't even sure his own knives could cut it. He tried to tell himself that he was being stupid. Mark and Tom would never work. It just…it wasn't right. Besides, Mark was his. Mark had always been his. Nothing would change that.

"You're getting sloppy James. They found that fucking body! What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was drunk asshole! It wasn't like I was in my right state of mind or anything like that. Besides, why are you so worried? Nothing is going to happen to happen to me. The police have nothing to connect me with that murder."

Mark groaned. "James god damn it, why can't you ever fucking stop it? The police aren't always clueless. If something happens to you—"

"Like you even care!" James snapped. "You haven't even been home since I brought Jeff here! It's like you hate me now or something."

"I don't hate you. I'm just not putting up with this. That is our house and you having Jeff there—"

"It's my house Mark! My fucking house! I'll have anyone I want here whenever the fuck I want them here! Do you understand me?"

"You're impossible Lawson. I hope you fucking know that."

James shook his head. That conversation had taken place after the news report concerning Chase's body had aired. Mark had called because he knew who was responsible, and it had turned into another fight. "That doesn't matter," he told himself. "He still wouldn't do something with Tom. That's just…no, he wouldn't do that to me."

Not convinced at all, James walked over to the window and looked out it. Jeff and Cooper were having a water balloon fight with Connor. James knew something was up with Jeff. The kid had been really weird and distant ever since James had told him about Caroline. He knows what you did to her, a voice in his head told him. You have that picture in your room. He could have found it and put the pieces together. The boy isn't completely stupid.

James sighed. If that were the case, it seemed like him and Jeff were going to have to have a little talk about some dirty little secrets. But on the brighter side, thinking about what he was going to say to Jeff took his mind off of Mark. Because honestly, if Mark was up to something and Tom was involved with it, heads were going to get torn off—and he was not exaggerating about that at all.