Title: Savin' Me

Rated: M (Mature)

Genre(s): Romance/Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Pair(s): Chris/Phil, Jeff/Adam, ?/Chris

Summary: Even though Phil passed his public field sobriety test, the GM still stripped him of his title. Humiliated and heartbroken, Phil knows exactly who to blame. Chris Jericho. Can their relationship survive this test?

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone. I also don't own the song.

Warning: Slash, Mentioned Alcoholism, Self-Harm

Part: 3/? - The Storm

OOOO

Prison gates won't open up for me,

On these hands and knees I'm crawling.

All I reach for you.

I'm terrified of these four walls,

These iron bars can't hold my soul,

And all I need is you.

Come, please, I'm calling.

OOOO

"Phil, baby, you're all bloody." Chris stated the obvious, his blue eyes focused on the bloodied arms of his husband. But he couldn't see the marks… he couldn't see where the blood came from. "Are you hurt?"

Phil removed the ice from his nose, which had been battered but, remarkably, had not broken. "I'm fine. But what do you care, anyway? You showed me how much you cared when you took my title from me."

Chris frowned. "First of all, you threw your title at me. And second, of course I care about you. I love you."

Phil chuckled bitterly, and it sounded incredibly nasally with the pressure on his nose. "I'm supposed to believe that you actually love me? That's a lie if I ever heard one."

"Why are you acting like this, baby-boy? I know you're not a brat, so don't act like one." Chris chastised.

"A brat, huh? I've been called a lot of stuff, Irvine, but never a brat. Bonus points for creativity." Phil smirked.

Chris felt the frustration rise within him and threaten to boil over, but he wouldn't let that happen. "Let me see your arms, Phil."

"No." Phil retorted cooly.

"Phillip Jack Brooks, let me see your fucking arms now." It was not a question, it was a statement. And Phil couldn't have cared less if he tried.

"No." Phil repeated.

"Phil…" Chris warned lowly. If he had to, he would head over there and forcibly remove the fingerless gloves and the tape to see what was hurting his baby.

"Why should I let the man who hurts me constantly come anywhere near me? Quite frankly, I wish that you had never come back to the WWE. I wish you had stayed with Fozzy, or found some other way to spend your time like DWTS. 'Cause our distant relationship wasn't this painful!" Phil exclaimed sadly.

Chris didn't answer him. Was that how Phil truly felt? Did he really want Chris as far away from him as possible? Or was it only the immense pain that he felt in his face and back talking? He didn't really want to take the time to find out. If he stayed here and continued with this conversation, he would slip-up and seriously hurt Phil and their relationship. And he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he did that. Sadly, he cast one last look at Phil's arms. If there was still trouble with them by SmackDown, he resolved to restart the questions.

Phil watched as he left, silently thankful that he hadn't removed the material that covered his wrists. When the door closed behind him, Phil quickly stood up, walked over, and locked it. And when he was sure that there would be no more unwanted visitors, he tossed the bloodied material into his gym bag and walked over to the sink. He turned the water on as cold as it would come and stuffed his arms under the faucet. Flincing when the cold liquid splashed on the wounds, he watched as red water swirled down the drain. Slowly, the flow calmed until it was almost non-existent.

The events from earlier replayed in his mind as he fell back against the bathroom wall, the water in the sink still running. He pulled the blade out of his gym bag. He didn't know why he had brought the blade with him… after all; he had known that he was booked to lose. In fact, Creative planned to make him look like an idiot for quite some time. Whether this was at the GM's insistence or not, he didn't know. Weakly, he wrestled with his boots and socks, before he tossed them into an abandoned corner. And then he stared at his unblemished calves.

"I'm stronger than this… I'm stronger than this… I'm stronger than this… I'm stronger than this…" the blade trembled in his hand as he continued to stare at his calves. "I'm stronger than this… I'm stronger than this…"

His body rocked back and forth on its own accord, the blade flat against his skin. He didn't need this. He didn't need to do this. But then his mind started to wander, officially breaking his concentration. He thought back to Chris calling the world's attention to his father's alcoholism, making up lies about his precious sister's situation, questioned his mother's morals, and called him a bastard. Chris didn't love him. Chris didn't love him at all. Maybe he never had. Phil flinched as he turned the blade and made the first cut, so low that it would be covered by his boots.

A thin stream of blood oozed from the wound, covering his leg quickly and dividing at his ankle. He wanted Chris. Chris didn't want him. Chris didn't love him. That was enough to create two more cuts, each a little longer and a little deeper then the last. That same old, tired towel – now bleached to hide the stains – was used to dry his tears and stop the bloodflow. Lazily, he cleaned the mess from the floor as well. Putting a little bit of guaze over the wounds, he taped it up and tenderly made to stand.

Chris was right. The WWE Championship was all that he had left. And now, Chris had taken his all.

OOOO

Phil was about to slide his keycard and crash in the hotel room he shared with Chris for a well-deserved night's sleep, when he heard high-pitched laughter come from inside. And he knew for a fact that Chris, multi-talented as he was, just couldn't make his voice quite that high. He had a woman in there. So, that was how he really felt about Phil. Now that he had Phil's title, what they shared meant nothing. Chris was cheating on him. But Phil was never one to jump to conclusions… he needed hard-core evidence.

Quickly, he slid his keycard and flinched when the loud beep echoed in the silence. However, it didn't seem to disturb the two love-birds. So, he opened the door, his eyes trying to adjust to the overall darkness. There was a woman, with long dark hair and vibrant eyes, that was helping herself to the liquor in their cooler. From what he could see, she wasn't wearing much. And then, Chris came around the corner with an open beer bottle in hand, naked from the waist up, dressed in his favorite leather pants.

"Cheers." He said to her, before their bottles clinked noisily.

OOOO

A/N: Please Review!