A/N: Seraphalexiel, your review made me smile; you seem to have to have a pretty good handle on who can be described as what in this story; it's good that at least one person out there knows what's going on, because I find myself staring at the screen in bewilderment more and more (maybe it's just a case of very early senility setting in). Renna33, I love your enthusiasm! Your questions will be answered this chapter, so read on… slashdlite, I love your analytical reviews, there are times when they make me think about what I've written, and help me to figure out if I've missed anything; so thanks! :) Animal Luvr 4 Life, you may just be right… ;) ExtremeDiva18, thanks for reading! Onions, I'm glad you're excited and all, but don't cry.
Thanks, reviewers!
As always, WWE owns all, I own nothing.
Matt smiled innocently as he accompanied Mr. McMahon to a private room down the hall.
"What's this about, sir?", he asked. He sounded utterly confused, as any guiltless man would.
"I think you know exactly what this is about, Matthew", replied Vince. He didn't look at Matt, just kept his gaze on the hallway ahead of them.
"No, sir", said Matt, a note of false confusion in his tone.
They came to the doorway of a small office then. Vince ushered Matt inside, then shut the door. The chairman took a seat at the desk, motioning for Matt to sit as well.
The older Hardy shook his head. "I'd rather stand, if you don't mind."
Vince shrugged. "Suit yourself." The chairman leaned forward heavily, his elbows resting on the hard wood of the borrowed desk. He looked tired. "So, let's just put it out there. You claim complete innocence in the beating of your brother-"
Matt gasped, feigning horror. "Of course I do!" He schooled his features into a façade of puzzlement and hurt. "Are you implying otherwise? Vince, why would you ever accuse me of that?"
"I didn't accuse you. Jeff did."
"Oh my god…", breathed Matt. He collapsed into a chair and dropped his head into his hands, acting as if his world were falling apart. "Why would he say that? I mean, we've been having our differences lately, but I would never hurt him!"
Vince studied the older Hardy, his eyes unflagging as he observed the emotions playing across Matt's darkly handsome face. He looked distressed, saddened, a bit frantic. It was all almost too dramatic for Vince's liking.
The chairman took a breath.
"Jeff came to me and said you jumped him in the parking garage", Vince said quietly.
"But-"
"Quiet!", snarled the chairman. Matt sat back, a hurt look on his face.
Vince shook his head, his face tight with some unidentifiable emotion.
"Now, I was flabbergasted when your brother came to me with these claims, Matt. I just couldn't believe it. I wanted to absolutely know for sure, before I said anything to you. I wanted to make sure this wasn't just a ploy on Jeff's part to get you into trouble." Vince looked down. This was obviously hard for him. Getting a hold of himself, he met Matt's wide-eyed gaze, fury behind his eyes. "Through my influence, I managed to get a copy of the security video from the parking garage." The chairman stood, and leaned over the desk, his gaze intense on the older Hardy. "I watched the tape. I saw everything. So you can stop the innocent act now."
For a moment, Matt stared at the chairman like a cornered animal, his eyes growing cold, hard, and predatory. Then, suddenly, he smiled, leaning back in the uncomfortable chair as if he didn't have a care in the world.
"I should've realized Jeffy might grow a pair and report his injuries. I thought I'd beaten him badly enough to shut him up, though. My mistake." Matt sighed. "Oh well. No use crying over spilled milk. Or blood."
Vince looked disgusted. "I read the note you left for him in the garage. You are a world-class bastard, Matt."
The older Hardy threw his head back and laughed. "Yeah, I suppose I am. Such a shame that neither of the Hardy Boys are what people thought they were. Jeff is a whining coward, and Matt is an abusive megalomaniac."
McMahon looked sad as he picked up a manila envelope. He pulled a piece of paper out of it. "You remember this, Matt? Do you remember when I first offered you and your brother these contracts to sign? I'd rarely seen two brothers who were so happy, or so close. I was proud to offer you this contract. Now, it makes me sick, having you associated with my company. You messed up, Matt. And it saddens me to do this, because I know how much you love wrestling, and I know how much you'll regret this, down the line. But I can't keep you on anymore. I'm sorry to say it, but you're terminated, effective immediately."
He moved to tear up the contract.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Matt's voice was quiet, but something in his tone made Vince freeze up.
Vince glared, his hands poised to tear the representation of Matt's livelihood into bits.
"Oh? And why not?"
Matt leered at him. "Because", he said, "I know something I'm probably not supposed to know."
Vince slowly put the contract back on the desk. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Well", said Matt, "everyone knows that, as the chairman, you always have access to the best ass in and around the company. But, what everyone does not know, especially your lovely wife Linda, is that you at one point had an ongoing affair with Hacksaw Jim Duggan, of all people. I'd wondered why he's been on RAW so often lately…"
"You little motherfucker…", breathed Vince, his eyes wild with rage.
"Are you still fucking him, Vince?", asked Matt, a coy smile perched on his lips, "That's actually a horrible, horrible mental image, but different strokes for different folks, I guess."
Without warning, the enraged chairman leaned over the desk and punched Matt across the face, hard. The Hardy brother rubbed at his jaw, wiping a small bit of blood off of his cut lip.
"If you think that bringing up my affair with Jim is going to save your sorry fucking job, then you are wrong, my friend!", snarled Vince, his face a mask of rage, "I want you out of here, now! You are fired!" He tore up the contract and threw it in the trash can. "And if I see you anywhere near one of my shows again, I am calling the fucking police. Do you hear me?! Get out!"
Matt's face was blank as he watched his contract go into the trash. He felt a pang of sadness, and anger. He quickly buried them. They wouldn't help him now.
He left the arena without a word, and without looking back. He had no reason to look back. His path had been made clear to him now.
He had work to do.
* * * * * * *
Jeff sighed contentedly. He was going home.
Mark, who was driving with one arm hanging loosely out of the open window so he could feel the warm southern breeze, glanced over at his young friend.
"I feel like I haven't been home in ages", said Jeff, whose wounds were already looking much better. The swelling had returned to normal, and the bruises had faded into gray and yellow-toned obscurity.
Jeff's vitality had returned, simply from being away from the white-washed walls of the arenas.
Mark let a smile touch his lips as he returned his attention to the country road. He let his eyes roam the landscape. North Carolina was beautiful. It made him think longingly of his home in Texas.
Jeff sat up suddenly. "Make a right down here, Mark, then a left."
Mark turned onto a dirt road, driving them through a wooded area. They passed a brick house on the right.
"Is that yours?", asked Mark, glancing over at it.
Jeff looked down, his eyes hooded. "That one's Matt's."
"Oh." Mark didn't know what to say.
They drove on in silence.
About five minutes later, they arrived at the entrance to what Jeff called "The Imagination". Huge paintings and sculptures adorned the land everywhere Mark looked. It was… very Jeff.
"This is impressive, kid", said Mark, gazing at a huge horse sculpture.
Jeff smiled shyly. "Thanks."
They came to a stop then, and got out.
"When did they finish your house?", asked Mark.
Jeff began walking towards the front door, and fishing for his keys. "They finished a few months ago. I'm still trying to get everything moved in. A lot of my stuff is still over at Matt's place." He sighed. "You see now why I need to resolve this. My entire life is intertwined with his. I live on the same land as him. Half of my wardrobe is still in his closet."
"I know, kid", replied Mark, "And I also know that you'll be able to work all of this shit out, with time. He's just angry, and jealous, and spiteful right now. He'll get over it. And when he does, he'll come to you, and he'll apologize."
Jeff smiled. "You think so?"
"Yup."
Jeff turned then, and opened the door.
A smell hit him that nearly knocked him onto his back. He peered into the shadows, trying to see what its source could be. His eyes widened as his gaze latched onto something in the front room, and he stumbled backwards, nearly knocking Mark over.
Something between a sob and a scream tore from his throat, and echoed throughout the empty house.
* * * * * * *
Matt sat on the hotel bed in the ever-deepening gloom of sunset. He didn't move to turn a lamp on. The darkness suited his mood.
He held tightly to a picture of him and Jeff, that had been taken when they were children. Before the fights, and the drugs, and the jealousy, and the anger had tainted their relationship.
Matt sighed, running a hand through his hair. He tore the picture up, and crumbled the pieces into tight little wads, until he couldn't see his and Jeff's beaming, innocent faces anymore.
His mouth drew into a cruel grimace, his eyes becoming frigid chips of ice. He wanted to hurt someone. He wanted to pound their face over and over into the wall until they bled.
He thought about the years he'd put into wrestling, slowly breaking down his body, show by show. And now, when it was all said and done, here he was, alone in a darkened hotel room.
"You're all I have left, Jeffy", he whispered, staring ahead expressionlessly, "It's just you and me, now."
He watched as the last remnants of sunlight left the sky.
Sighing, Matt finally gave in and turned on a lamp.
* * * * * * *
Jeff stood stock still, staring wide-eyed into the darkened front room of his new home.
"Jeff, it's okay", said Mark gently, knowing full well that sounded completely stupid. It damn well wasn't okay. He could smell something terrible wafting out of the place, tickling his nostrils and the back of his throat. Sickeningly sweet. Chemicals mixed with something… altogether different.
Jeff let out a pitiful whimper, turning away from the door and closing his eyes.
Mark embraced him, letting him know that he was safe. "Go and wait in the car, kiddo. I'll check it out." He spoke softly, in as non-threatening a manner as possible.
Jeff looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes. "Mark-"
"It's okay, Jeff. I'll be alright. Go ahead." He gently guided his young friend towards the car. "I'll be out in a minute."
Jeff gave him a lingering pain-filled look, before turning and shuffling off towards the waiting vehicle.
Sighing heavily, Mark moved into the doorway. As he got closer, he was forced to put his sleeve over his mouth and nose, to cover the horrible smell emanating from the place.
He felt along the wall, and located a light switch, flipping it on.
He forced down his scream. He forced himself not to react outwardly at all.
Quickly, he shut the door, hoping to ensure that the young Hardy would not be able to see what had been done to his newly-built house.
A noose had been suspended from the ceiling light. It was swinging gently back and forth, as if by the power of some magical breeze. There was a dead dog hanging there, in a fairly advanced state of decomposition, to judge by the smell. It had, the Deadman guessed, at one time been a Jack Russell Terrier, but it was difficult to tell now. He fought down a rising wave of nausea as he realized that the small corpse had been skinned, from the neck down. A pool of now-dried blood had collected below the grisly thing, pooling on the floor.
"My god", whispered Mark, staring at it. In that moment, gazing at that horrible sight, the Deadman truly felt afraid for Jeff's welfare.
Mark forced himself to tear his eyes away from the dead dog. He would get rid of it before returning to the car, he told himself.
He looked around, immediately seeing that the place had been ripped apart in every sense of the word. Any personal items that Jeff had managed to save from the fire were now lying in heaps of trash on the floor. Black spray paint had been taken to the walls and furniture. Jeff's artwork, which hung frameless on some of the expansive, formerly white walls, had been painted over with the black paint, all ruined. Mark growled low in his throat when he saw that. He knew how seriously Jeff took his artwork, and how irreplaceable it was. Apparently, Matt knew as well.
His gaze traveled over the walls. Insults, curse words, every horrible thing Matt could've thought to say to his younger brother had been scrawled everywhere, in the black spray paint. He'd even written on the carpeted floor, and the furniture. Mark was beyond furious.
The Deadman sighed heavily, looking around with sad eyes. There was nothing salvageable here. At least not now.
He moved towards the dog, intent on bringing it down from the ceiling. His eyes widened when he heard the click of the front door opening.
Before he could stop him, before he could block his view of anything, Jeff opened the door, and stood there staring at his home, in ruins.
"Jeff-"
"Be quiet", the younger Hardy said softly, his voice eerily calm, "Just, don't talk right now."
Mark watched as the he entered his ruined home, running his hands over the spray-painted walls, the black-washed artwork. He watched as Jeff got on his knees and began sifting through a pile of broken things. Jeff stopped suddenly, seeming particularly interested in one piece. He picked up a mutilated frame that had been bent beyond repair, and gingerly began to pick the pieces of glass out of it. He stared at the image beyond the glass. He and Matt, smiling, arms around each other, beers in hand.
"It can't go on like this", Jeff whispered, "This has to be some type of fucked-up phase he's going through, that's going to play itself out. It has to be." Tears began to run down Jeff's face. He looked up at Mark, almost pleadingly. "I want my brother back."
The Deadman looked down at his friend, and nodded gently. "I know, kid."
He helped Jeff up, and guided him towards the door. The younger man refused to relinquish his grip on the picture of he and Matt. He hugged the broken frame close to his chest, feeling some tiny shards of glass push into his skin. He didn't care. He felt the pain was quite appropriate, given the people represented in the picture.
Jeff wiped at his face as he got into the car. He was so tired of crying. He was so tired of feeling weak.
He watched as Mark walked back into the house, and quickly disposed of the poor, dead dog, leaving it inside the treeline for any woodland predators to take.
The Deadman returned to the car then, getting in and strapping himself into the driver's seat.
For a moment, neither man could bring himself to speak.
"Why don't we get out of here, kid?", said Mark as he drove down the dirt path towards the main road, "You can call someone to clean up that mess in there. In the meantime, you can come and stay with me in Texas."
Jeff looked over at the big man, head cocked to the side, as if in thought. "You know, Deadman", he said slowly, "That sounds like the best damn idea I've heard all year."
Mark nodded once, smiling. He turned his attention to driving, trying to navigate these damn North Carolina back roads.
Once he figured out where he was going, his mind began to wander. He still had a little over three weeks before his return. Normally, he'd be going insane with boredom. Now, however, there was plenty to keep him occupied.
Mark shot a subtle glance over Jeff's way. The younger man was dozing against the window, still clutching tightly at the mangled picture frame he'd taken from his house. Shaking his head, Mark returned his eyes to the road.
Jeff couldn't see what a monster his brother had become. And, worse, he couldn't see how much danger he was truly in. Matt was devolving into a sociopathic criminal, a far cry from the kind-hearted, generous boy he'd been.
Three weeks. The Deadman's eyes narrowed in determination. If it were up to him, Matt would get a taste of his own medicine, and much, much more, by the end of that time.
Mark smiled his dark, evil, Undertaker smile, staring at the shadowy road ahead.
Matt Hardy had chosen his path.
Now, let him reap what he had sown.
* * * * * * *
Adam stared down at his cell phone, which had been ringing non-stop for the last twenty minutes. All of the calls were coming from the same person, a person who he had absolutely no desire to speak with.
"God damn him", Adam whispered furiously, as his ringtone began blaring again.
"He's nothing, if not persistent", remarked Jay dryly, who was sitting with his ex-partner and ex-friend on a park bench. He was, in a half-assed manner, feeding some pigeons with stale, moldy bread.
"GOD DAMMIT!", roared Adam, when his phone rang yet again. He began tearing at his hair in frustration.
"Why don't you just answer the fucking thing?", said Jay, rolling his eyes.
Adam glared. "Whatever", he mumbled angrily.
Opening his phone, he said coarsely, "Yeah?"
"I need to meet with you." It was Matt Hardy's cold, authoritative voice.
"I'm sorry", replied Adam, "This line is for WWE personnel only. You must have the wrong number."
"Bring up my firing again, and I will put you in the hospital", he said icily.
Adam swallowed nervously. He believed every threat Matt Hardy made these days, serious or not. Next to him, Jay continued to feed the birds, both ears glued to the one side of the conversation that he could hear.
"Now as I said", continued Matt, "I need to meet. My plans have changed, now that Vince fucking McMahon decided to terminate my contract."
"Wait just a fucking minute here", said Adam, "You are still going through with Operation Destroy Jeffro, even after you've been fired?!"
"Especially after I've been fired! My little brother has ruined my life! He deserves to lose everything, just like I've lost everything!"
Adam could think of nothing to say to this. Matt was truly beginning to scare him with this shit. He'd agreed to partner with him in the beginning because he truly believed it would benefit his retention of the title.
But he had never wanted Jeff to suffer. He'd never wanted to see him broken. He'd just wanted him out of his way.
Breaking into Adam's turbulent thoughts, Matt growled, "Midnight. The Dusty Motel out on Chestnut St. You can't fucking miss it. I'll be in Room 235. Don't be late, or you'll fucking pay for it."
He hung up before the blonde superstar could reply.
Dropping the phone into his lap, Adam ran a hand across his face.
"Anything interesting?", Jay asked lightly, still feeding the birds.
"Nothing", Adam replied, staring numbly ahead, "Nothing at all."
* * * * * * *
Well, crap. Adam's having some issues with good ol' Asshole Matt. And Poor Jeffro's having a nervous breakdown! So much to do, so little time.
Review! Review! Review! ;)