Disclaimer: No own.
Author: Chimera
Title: Pretences (5/?)
Summary: Lots of meaningless conversations.
Notes: This is getting nowhere fast. I have decided on pairings. Ain't that great? And medical info is totally made up. I have no idea of whether or not a concussion can do that to a person, but eh. I hate school. And I'm just pretending this is schoolwork so I can stay up late. And the whole 'what the heck are they?' question should be answered in the next chapter.
Buffy's jaw dropped.
Willow's did the same.
"Ho…lee-"
"-shit," Willow finished her friend's sentence.
Buffy nodded vacantly. "Yeah. That."
"Um, ow?" Buffy offered a few moments later.
"Totally."
"Yay," Willow said, nearly five minutes of awed silence later. "It's over."
Buffy blinked at the screen, which still showed the remnants of the match – a broken ladder, broken table, at least three dented chairs, and a busted announcer's table.
The picture then moved to the ramp, where the defeated team was limping toward the back. With a flick of light hair, one turned and glanced at the blonde haired man in the ring. He stopped, forcing the dark haired man leaning on him to stop too.
Edge kept his eyes clear as he stared at his younger brother. "Maybe one day, Chrissie," he whispered under his breath. "One day." He turned and helped Matt pull his brother upright from the rubble of the broken table.
"I hope so, Edge," Christian whispered back, ignoring Lance's silent sympathy.
Lance's dark eyes skated from brother to brother, taking in the soundless emotion between the two of them. "Have you talked to your family lately?" he asked Christian quietly, making sure it was low enough that Regal couldn't hear.
Christian swallowed, lightly pulling Lance to a position a little higher around his neck. "Gram Edna's the only one who wants to talk to me. But she's in that nursing home, and she's sick, so whenever I try to see her I run into my mother or Edge…and they get security to 'politely ask me to leave'." He tried to keep the emptiness from his voice, and very nearly succeeded.
Lance grimaced as he heard the light quiver in the other Canadian's voice. "Can you help me to the EMTs?" he asked instead.
"Sure," Christian answered, thankfulness palpable in his tone that the topic had shifted from his family to nice, safe, although painful topics. "You have a concussion? That con-chair-to hit you pretty hard."
"I think I'm fine."
"You sure?"
"I think I'm fine."
Matt grimaced as he lay Jeff down on one of the beds in the medical room. "Baby bro, can you hear me?" he asked, his voice raised slightly above normal level as he tried to stay calm.
Lance glanced over at the worried Hardy, icepack pressed to his temple.
The brunette took no notice, absently tucking a lock of errant blue behind his brother's ear. "C'mone Jeff," he said coaxingly, for all the world sounding like someone trying to cajole an animal closer. "Wake up Nero."
"You can go get changed if you want, Hardy," Lance offered. "I'll keep an eye on him."
Matt gave him a sceptical glance. "Uh huh. Here's the guy that gave you a concussion. He's unconscious." Matt made a mock scale with his hands, physically weighing up the options. He raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't really compute."
Lance sighed. "It's the concussion talking. And it'll keep me awake for a while."
The brunette scowled. He really had no reason to think that Lance would lie…the Canadian was notorious for his good behaviour during concussions. One of the more corruptible elements of the WWE locker room…
"I'll be five minutes, tops. He's more injured when I get back, I will rip off your arm, cook it, and feed it to you. You got me?" Matt asked calmly.
"Perfectly."
"Glad we understand each other."
Matt exited the room, sending a last concerned look to his sibling.
"Ah crap."
Buffy smiled wickedly at Matt, who looked a tad exhausted. "That was one hell of a match," she remarked. She uncrossed her legs, pressing herself off the opposite wall she had been leaning on and walking up to the oldest Hardy.
"Thanks. I like hearing opinions of people I really couldn't give a damn about."
The Slayer mocked hurt. "Ouch." Her voice sharpened. "I believe we were going to have a discussion."
Matt sighed, sitting and untying his wrestling boots. "We were. And then my brother got knocked out. Kinda changed my plans."
"Doesn't change mine."
The brunette stood, and Buffy stood at the ready. He smiled at her slight movement. "I believe to have a discussion you need two participants. Have fun having a talk to yourself." He undid his belt, and Buffy's eyes widened. She spun quickly on her heel, just in time, as she heard the faint noise of the rest of Matt's wrestling attire hit the floor. He continued as if all was normal. "I am still willing to talk, but just not now."
"Good."
There was a period of silence, in which Buffy fidgeted nervously as various noises were heard from behind her.
"Do you have any siblings?"
The question came from nowhere, so admittedly the Slayer jumped a little. "No," she replied quickly, determined not to send any factor of her surprise to this stranger.
There came a slight snort from behind her. "Trust me, you may never want any." She could almost feel Matt staring a hole through her head. "They're hell."
"Then why are you so worried?"
Matt sent a smiling glance back at the Slayer, projecting his voice slightly. "That's why they are hell."
Buffy digested this for a moment before the lack of noise made her frown. "I'm turning around," she said, and bare milliseconds later she did so.
And stared.
The room was empty.
"Hardy."
The sound of his name in that familiar voice made Matt stop in his tracks. He slumped tiredly. "What?"
Christian caught up with him and took in the expression on Matt's face. His own fell. "You hate my guts." he said in a perfectly clipped voice. "Fine. Is Lance really okay?"
The brunette blinked. "You care about someone?"
The blonde had to fight down a tiny little voice that screamed for him to slap him. Hard. "Lance is my friend. Do you know how he is or do I have to shadow you to the infirmary?"
"He's got a concussion."
Christian exhaled thankfully, glad it wasn't anything worse. "A bad one?"
"There's such a thing as a good one?" Matt questioned.
"Oh bloody 'ell." Christian started walking down the hall quickly, the way Matt had been going.
The eldest Hardy was left to blink at the strange exchange and follow the blonde towards the sickbay.
