A/N: Expect-the-Unexpected75, you're right in that Jeff is always the victim; I think people always write it that way because it's easier to imagine, and far more fun (I know, I'm evil); Animal Luvr 4 Life, keep reading to find out!; Neroanne, Mark's a tough nut to crack, but so are Edge and Matt, so you never know what'll happen; Crystalgurl101, please don't cry!; Onions, I'll have to read that one; it sounds like an epic worthy of my attention; Nobody's Love, glad you're liking the tension and evil Matt and Adam; ponygirl-loves-mcqueen, much obliged; Nelpher, I know Jeff and Mark aren't the most traditional pair, but I'm glad you're liking it; I just love the two of them in fanfic, ever since seeing that 2002 ladder match; they just seem to fit well together; JNHwwe, thank you, and thank you; Phoenix-Syren, stay tuned!
Thank you to everyone who reviewed; I much appreciate it.
WWE owns all, I own nothing.
The morning dawned cold and sunless, and decidedly miserable.
Matt was up early. A sour smile touched his lips as he looked out the locked window of his hotel room. It was cold, rainy, and the streets outside were near-deserted.
It fit his mood perfectly.
He stretched tired muscles, and ran his hand back through his dark curls. Matt grabbed his oversized suitcase and dumped it on the bed. He had a few hours to kill before he had to catch a flight to Houston, and he figured getting his packing finished early couldn't hurt. Absentmindedly, he began to throw clothes into his bag, thinking over his plans for Jeff.
A small, flickering blue light caught his eye suddenly, blinking incessantly in the corner of his vision. He turned his head. His cell phone lay on the nightstand. Emblazoned across its display was the fact that he had a new text message.
He opened the phone.
"Jeff and Undertaker are friends. Take Undertaker away, Jeff will have no one but Jay. Then, Jeff will be right where we want him."
The message, of course, was from that scheming bastard, Edge.
He assumed this information had been procured from Jay, as Adam was far too much of a sniveling coward to do any snooping on his own.
So, his little brother had befriended the Deadman. Well, there were ways around that.
As he pondered the text message, and all of its implications, there came a sudden, loud knocking at his door. He ignored it, figuring it was housekeeping. The fierce banging persisted, however.
"Fuck off!", yelled Matt, glaring. He began to turn his attention back to the message, when a muffled growl traveled through the door, and up his spine.
"Open the door, Matt", said the Undertaker, "We have some things to talk about."
The older Hardy's head shot up. He certainly hadn't expected Mark Calloway to show up at his door at 8:00 in the morning.
"Go away", Matt postured, his tone cold and haughty as he fought to keep the surprise from his voice.
"You'd better open this door, boy", grated Mark, "or I'm gonna go to the front desk and get a key. And if I have to do that, well, things are gonna get really ugly, really fast."
Walking slowly, Matt moved over to the door, and opened it, painting a sneer on his face.
"Do you have the wrong room, or something?", said Matt, arrogance lacing his Southern drawl.
Grunting, Mark pushed past into the room. His dark eyes roamed the room for a moment, before he took a seat on the couch by the window.
"Please, have a seat", muttered Matt sarcastically.
"What's going on with you and your brother?", he said, not wasting time with explanations or pleasantries.
"Family business", replied Matt simply, his eyes narrowing.
"Bullshit", growled Mark, "I saw that little scene in catering, and I heard what you said to him in the locker room. What the fuck are you thinking? Jeff has done nothing to you-"
"Wrong!", snarled Matt, "Wrong!!! He has done everything to me. Everyone just refuses to see it." Mark heard the tendons pop in his knuckles as the older Hardy curled his hands into tight fists. "I am the one who got us here. I am the one who works twice as hard as him, only to receive half the reward. I am the one who has always, always had to labor for everything, while he, the chosen one, pretty little Jeffro, has always had everything handed to him on a silver fucking platter. Well fuck him, Mark, and fuck you!"
Matt was breathing hard by the time he finished his rant. Mark had hoped to talk some sense into him today, for Jeff's sake. Looking at him now, however, he didn't think that was possible.
"Your brother loves you", he said quietly, "And you need to look past this all of this petty bullshit, and apologize to him, and remember that you love him, too."
Matt looked at the big man strangely, as if he couldn't understand why he was here at all. "But, I don't love him. He's nothing to me. Not anymore."
Mark sighed. This was getting him nowhere. He rose abruptly. "Fine then", he said, heading for the door, "If he means nothing to you, if you truly care nothing for him, then you will stay the fuck away from him."
"Or what?", said Matt. His tone was filled quiet amusement. It was disturbing.
The Undertaker stopped, and turned. "Or you will answer to me, and to everyone else who still cares about Jeff."
Matt laughed. "Well, that's just not good enough, is it?", he said, "I mean, he really has so few friends left-"
Mark growled low in his throat, an animalistic noise that took Matt aback for a second. "Just stay the fuck away from him. Or I will end you."
He left. The door slammed shut, leaving Matt alone with thoughts.
"Well, well, well. The Undertaker wants to play", mused Matt.
Pulling out his laptop, he opened a new file and began to type, his brow furrowed in concentration. When he'd finished, a grin split his face. A moment later, he sent out an email with the file attached.
"Play with me, and you and little Jeffy are going to lose", Matt muttered happily.
He couldn't wait for that file to be opened.
* * * * * * *
"Mark, you're late!", cried Jeff, gesturing for the Deadman to come over.
The agitated Hardy was sitting at breakfast, his suitcase next to him, a near-empty coffee pot on the table. His uneaten food lay cold on its plate.
Jay also sat at the table. He gave Mark a sickly grin upon his arrival.
Sighing, the Deadman sat down heavily. "Jay, would you mind grabbing me a plate of whatever's left at the buffet?"
"Yeah, sure Mark."
The blonde superstar rose and began to maneuver his way through the mostly-empty tables.
"So, where were you?", asked Jeff, smiling, "You're like forty minutes late, and you're never late. Whatever it was, it must've been important."
"It was", he said quietly. He couldn't meet Jeff's gaze.
"What's wrong, Mark?" The young Hardy was beginning to pick up that something was off.
The Deadman looked up, his dark eyes locking with Jeff's green ones. "I went to see your brother." He hesitated. "It didn't go too well."
The young Hardy stared. "You did what?", he said, his voice suddenly hoarse.
"I guess I thought I'd be able to talk some sense into his dumb ass", he growled, before softening his tone for Jeff's sake, "I tried to reason with him, and tell him your side of things."
"Let me guess", Jeff said quietly, "He wouldn't hear a word of it, and he threatened you."
"Not in so many words", Mark assured him, "But I don't want you going anywhere near him. I mean it, Jeff. Something's off with that boy, and until he straightens things out in his own head, you've gotta avoid him. Okay?"
Jeff nodded miserably.
Jay returned then, a full, steaming plate of food in hand.
"Breakfast is served, my lord", he joked, sliding the food in front of Mark.
"Nope, you put it in the wrong spot", he said, picking up the plate and dropping it down in front of Jeff.
"Mark, I already ate", he said, confused.
"I saw your plate", scolded Mark, "and there wasn't anything on there that you'd eaten, 'cept maybe a piece of chewed-on bacon. I'm tired of you drinking coffee for breakfast. You need to eat. Now, no arguments. Eat. Now."
He handed Jeff a fork, and settled back in his chair, watching the younger superstar like a hawk. Realizing there was no arguing with the Undertaker, the young Hardy shook his head and slowly began to shovel food into his mouth.
"You really know how to win arguments with him", said Jay, impressed.
"Damn right I do", replied Mark cockily.
Jeff, chewing a mouth-full of eggs, gave them both the middle finger.
* * * * * * *
That night, the superstars found themselves, after a long day of traveling, in San Antonio, TX. They were all exhausted, and most went to bed early.
Adam, half-asleep as he brushed his teeth, looked forward to collapsing into the comfy bed and passing out beneath the gaudy, flower-drenched comforter. Tonight, he would sleep like the dead.
Suddenly, he heard his cell phone ringing from the other room, and he quickly spat toothpaste into the sink. Sprinting towards his bag, he managed to pick it up just before the eighth ring.
"Where the fuck were you?", grated Matt angrily.
Inwardly, Adam groaned.
"I was brushing my teeth", he replied, his tone infuriatingly arrogant, "What do you want?"
"Get your ass to my room. Now. We have some things we need to discuss. Room 213."
Before Adam could utter any protestations about wanting to get some sleep for once, the motherfucker hung up.
"Oh, god dammit!"
He threw the phone across the room, wishing vehemently that it would break. Instead, it just landed softly on his comfy bed.
* * * * * * *
Knock. Knock.
The Rated R Superstar wished that he was pounding on Matt Hardy's skull instead of his hotel room door.
"It's open, Adam!", came the muffled greeting from the depths of Room 213.
Sneering, the blonde superstar entered the room. Matt was sitting on the bed, studying his laptop screen, a smile painted on his features.
"What do you look so damn happy about?", Adam asked, glaring, as he made his way over to Matt's minibar. He proceeded to pour himself a glass of Jack Daniels over ice. He winced at the bitter taste as he downed it.
Matt laughed at this display.
"Angry that I got you out of bed? Get the fuck over it."
Adam slammed the glass down. "Alright, I have had enough of this shit", he snarled, "You claim to have this master plan, and yet the only progress we have made has been as a result of me. I've done everything, in case you haven't noticed! I got Jay. I found out about the Undertaker. And yet, you insist on treating me like your bitch."
"Maybe now, you have a tiny inkling of how I'm treated, in relation to Jeffrey."
"Oh, now, don't start that shit up again-"
Matt smirked. "I have no intentions of starting anything. You feel underappreciated, and overworked. You feel that I'm not contributing anything to our little… project. Fine. Let me begin contributing, as of right now. I'll tell you exactly how we're going to get rid of the Undertaker."
Adam's ears perked. "You have a plan?"
"I do have a plan. And the beginning stages of it are already complete."
"Well, fucking tell me already!", urged Edge impatiently.
"This morning, our friend Mark came to see me. He basically told me that I should either reconcile with Jeff, or stay the fuck away from him."
"Holy shit!", exclaimed Adam, wide-eyed, "What did you say?"
"I told him no, on both counts", waving this off as if it were unimportant to his story, "But after he'd left, I realized that the Deadman could become a real problem. The fact that he'd bothered to intervene on my brother's behalf showed that he cared about him. And I realized that the more I fucked with Jeff, the angrier it was going to make him. He was only going to make things more difficult as things went forward. I knew that he had to go."
"So, what did you do?"
Matt smiled evilly. "You know all of those freelance internet wrestling reporters that Vince hates so much? You know, the ones that publish spoilers for shows a week before they happen, and find out all of the dirt about the wrestling world?"
Adam nodded.
"Well, Vince once told us that any affiliation with any of these internet reporters, for any reason, would be immediate grounds for firing. And I, um, accidentally forged a letter from the Undertaker, talking trash about the WWE. I sent it out to all of the major sites. And, as I've just seen, they've all bought it, hook, line, and sinker."
He turned his computer screen to face Adam. The tall man bent over to read the screen, which was emblazoned with the unflattering headline "Deadman Out of His Skull?"
The letter itself was short, biting, and to the point:
My name is Mark Calloway, and for many years now, I have wrestled between the ropes of the WWE. Years ago, before stocks and merchandise sales became such an issue, we wrestlers actually used to have fun. Imagine that. I used to love this company, and everything it stood for, the pageantry, and the fans.
No more.
It has turned into a seething pit of greed and filth, all fueled by one disgusting pig of a man: Vincent Kennedy McMahon. He does not care about the wrestlers who put their bodies on the line for him, day in and day out. Worse, he does not care about the fans who pay to see his show. A show that, with each passing day, seems filled with less and less heart.
It is, I suppose, the price we pay for remaining silent as the tyrant McMahon lays waste to all we hold dear.
I will no longer remain silent.
McMahon, fire me if you wish. I don't care anymore. At least I'll have had my say before I go.
Wrestling should not be corporate. It belongs to the wrestlers. It belongs to the fans.
-Mark Calloway
Adam straightened, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open. "Holy fucking shit", he breathed.
Matt leaned back against the headboard, a cocky grin upon his face.
"Vince is gonna eat him alive!", Adam cackled wildly, "And to think, I was gonna call in a favor and then steel myself for another night with Vickie." He shuddered, repulsed at the thought. "Actually, to get rid of the Undertaker, she might've made me spend a whole week with her!"
Matt rolled his eyes, before looking back to the screen. He was happy with the results of his little letter-writing campaign. Already, the sites were flooded with comments from its users, most wanting to know if this was a hoax or not.
They'd get their answer soon enough, when Vince McMahon fired Mark Calloway.
Then, his baby brother would fall like a broken stalk in a windstorm.
* * * * * * *
It's true, Matt's a bastard. But we love him anyway.
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