020 (New King) [PW]

BRAD JACKSON WAS BORED, seated at an intimate little table for two by the window that overlooked the tarmac in the lounge at Hopkins International Airport. He'd been stuck in this damned city since Sunday, being forced into working some bullshit house show on Tuesday afternoon because he didn't have enough clout with MWA to get out of it. Nursing a glass of Scotch over ice, he was staring down at the screen of his Blackberry. Idly, he ran his finger over the track wheel, scrolling through his messages, deleting a few from Jackie Sweets that were threatening various forms of bodily harm for his actions at BattleZone. "Fucking bitch," he muttered, lifting the glass to his lips again, taking another leisurely pull of the liquor. "As if you've got the balls for that?" 

A shadow fell across Jax's screen as Chauncy paused in front of him. "Hello, Bradley," he murmured, voice low and friendly, looking casual as ever with his travel bag slung over one shoulder, and a cricket bag at his feet. If one were familiar with cricket bags, it would be obvious that one thing was missing: the bat. Not that familiarity was important when Chauncy was leaning slightly over it, the back resting squarely against his foot as though he were setting up against an early bowler.

Jackson barely even noticed, glancing up for a second before letting out a derisive snort at the sight of the youngest of the Rottonbottom brothers. "Piss off," he snapped, lifting the glass to his lips again. The ice cubes rattled, just a little hint of a tremor in that motion that betrayed him in the worst possible way.

Chauncy smiled as though Jax had said nothing more benign than a hello. "You know, my brothers are all terrifically good at cricket," he began conversationally, tapping the bat against the toe of his shoe. "One of them opened for what felt like almost all of my childhood. It used to infuriate me, you know, when they'd invite me to play with them— rare occasions, all — because I was never as good, and they'd never let me win. My mother used to tell them that if they were going to play with children, they ought to at least try to make it fair. I'm glad they didn't, though, because while I'm nobody's opener, I can always count on hitting one or two sixes a season. I think that Lawrence is rather like my mother, expecting people to play fair. Me, on the other hand..." He hefted the bat as though he were playing baseball, raising it up on his shoulder with the face outwards, raising his brows as warning before cracking it down on the larger man's shoulder, ignoring the shouts of other commuters.

Jackson didn't give two shits about cricket or soccer or even rugby for that matter so Chauncy's words fell on nearly deaf ears. The blow was missed until it smashed into him, the downward strike knocking the glass from his hand and driving him into the little table that he sat at, the wind knocked from his lungs in the process. Adrenaline dumped into his bloodstream but he was still stunned from that first shot, trying to draw air into his lungs.

"Oh, dear, you seem to have spilled your drink. Not something I'm sure happens too often," murmured Chauncy, feigning concern. "I doubt that anything you value gets ruined or broken or hurt on a usual day."

Jax grasped the edge of the table, shoving his chair backwards. "So what's this.... then..?" He huffed, "some revenge... bullshit? Heh." He reached up with his good hand, rubbing at his shoulder only to immediately let out a hiss of pain. "You think you're man enough to finish this, kid?"

"And people say you're stupid," scoffed Chauncy, well aware that this probably wasn't going to go down terrifically well. The family lawyers wouldn't be pleased about needing to cover him on this one, but well, there were times when one had to stand up.

"They say I'm stupid. They say you're a weak little faggot." Jackson's teeth were bared in a smile that was almost a feral snarl. He cracked his knuckles by squeezing his hand into a fist. "So which is worse, hmm?"

Chauncy laughed almost cheerfully. "Nothing like being underestimated on the basis of the default insult being true," he answered, and shrugged, feinting to one side before aiming the bat at the ribs on the other, moving without thinking and only with the hope of striking something. This was about slowing Jax now, not necessarily winning. To be fair, he was fairly sure this entire venture would end up with him spitting teeth, but well. He hadn't started this. He only intended to finish it.

Instead of dodging, Jackson stepped closer and grabbed the bat, the impact with his hands reverberating up his arms. "Fuck you," he spat, trying to wrest the wood from Chauncy's hands without success since he'd lost all the strength in his left arm.

With a grunt of effort, Chauncy drove the blunt end of the bat into Jax's midsection. "Fuck me?" he gasped, incredulous. "You utter arse! You sneaking, backstabbing bastard!"

Cricket wasn't really his sport, but football was. As the bat connected with his midsection, he lunged forward and hit Chauncy with a tackle, wrapping arms around his body and slamming him to the floor. "Sneaking?" He laughed breathlessly, slamming his fist into Chauncy's face. "Backstabbing?" Another blow followed. "Please... you think he didn't see it coming?"

"Oh..." Chauncy shook his head, gaining enough of himself to try and rain what blows he could from this position, into Jax's torso. "Oh. Really? You. Think. He wanted to. End up. Hospital?"

Jackson grunted with each blow, oblivious to the shouts of the bartender calling for security as he pressed his forearm against Chauncy's windpipe. "You think I give a shit about where he ended up? What's any different between what I did and what you did to him, huh?"

"One doesn't. Require. Medic-uh-al. Attention." Chauncy pushed back, teeth gritted so hard that they ground together. He was simultaneously furious at Jax's criticism of his personal life, when his own was so publicly maladjusted, and inflamed with guilt at the truth of the words. Then again, any good fighter could use the truth as a weapon.

"He's alive," Jackson ground out, pressing in harder, still pinning Chauncy to the floor with that arm against his throat. "Maybe you can join him—"

"And you're bloody lucky he is," snarled Chauncy, using Jax's shift in position to drive a knee up between his legs, slithering out from under him and grabbing for the bat, pushing himself up to his knees with the tip and then cracking it over Jax's head, the sound almost comically hollow.

Jackson slumped forward in a deadweight sprawl, eyes rolling up in his head before he even impacted with the carpet.

He raised the bat again, hesitating for a moment. Part of him wanted to smack it down again, while the other half simply wanted to run away and hope to get away with the entire mess, nurse his satisfaction along with the bruises. The war was never resolved, however, security dragging him backwards and tossing the bat on the floor with a heavy clack, pulling his arms behind him. "All right, no need to get nasty," he assured them, well aware that no amount of reasonability in tone would help the situation any. "It's all done now in any case."


Morning was still a few hours away, officially speaking, when Larry Gowan pulled out the cell phone from beneath his pillow, sliding his index finger across the screen to wake it up. His finger froze over the contacts icon and he hesitated for a few seconds before tapping it, knowing that Chauncy would most certainly still be in bed at this ungodly hour. That hesitation lasted all of twenty seconds before he let out the breath he was holding, double tapping because he knew his former tag partner's number was still the top one in the list. It was already ringing when he brought it up to his ear, back to holding his breath again as he waited.

Chauncy had been hovering on the edge of sleep: not dreaming, but very close to sliding back to it. Awake enough to be stirred to action by the ringing of his phone, sleepy enough not to check who it was before answering. "Mm?"

That sleepy sound stirred so many memories that Gowan actually forgot how to speak for a second. He forgot how to breathe too, until the ache in his chest grew beyond that twinge of emotion into a dire need to take another breath. Exhaling slowly, he licked his lips and said the only thing that came to mind. "I found my phone."

"You did?" Chauncy stifled a yawn against his pillow, scrambling to remember why that was significant. And then sat up before his stomach could stop lurching, gathering the covers over his legs and gripping the phone tighter. "You did. Oh. Er..." Another yawn overtook, and he scrubbed at his eyes with one hand. "What time is it, Lawrence?"

"A little after five," he replied, feeling a little sheepish, "I should have waited. I'm sorry. You were sleeping..." sighing, he closed his eyes, gripping the phone tighter on his end. "But I wanted to tell you that the message wasn't there... it probably auto-deleted itself... they do that after three days and sometimes I forget to listen to them."

"That does explain an awful lot," he answered softly, pushing away the thought that perhaps this was an excuse or a case of wished-for take-backsies. Did it even matter if it was, he asked himself; the answer was a clear no. "I rather waffled on in the message."

"I'm sure it was," he swallowed hard past the lump in his throat, "really nice. I wish I'd heard it, Skippy, I really do." The sincerity in his voice was genuine enough, "maybe... you could summarise it for me?"

"Well, I laid things on the line, as it were. Made a full confession of my feelings, told you to call me..." The sigh wanted to turn into another yawn, but he swallowed it down instead. "Hence my reaction when I didn't get a call. I'm sorry if I added unnecessary melodrama to things." Another tug of the covers brought them up to his waist, and he wished he were better prepared: fortified with tea and toast and the advantage of being the caller.

"Feelings," Gowan echoed, nodding even though Chauncy couldn't see him. "Yes. That's precisely what I wanted to talk about, actually."

Chauncy's stomach dropped. He'd misstepped, of course he had. Didn't he always? "You er... did?" he asked nervously. "We could, if that's what you wanted. Needed, I suppose." Fingers knotted in the hem of the sheets.

"Wanted, yes. Needed... absolutely." Gowan laughed softly, his voice a tad raspier than usual thanks to the damage that had been done to his throat. "I could've died," the words came out softly, "and I realised how miserable I've been. I could have missed out on the only thing that really matters— what the hell was I thinking?" Before Chauncy could answer that, he blurted out the next words on the heels of a nervous laugh. "Feelings, Chauncy... I have so many of them where you're concerned."

"It doesn't make it any easier to say them, though, does it?" he asked, still tired enough to be off-guard. "I must have spent about an hour convincing myself to make that call."

"I waited five hours," Gowan replied and the way he said it made it clear that it had been the most agonising eternity of his life, "so that I could call and tell you that I love you."

Larry would have to have been deaf to miss that sharp, surprised inhale. "You... I wouldn't have minded if you'd woken me for that," he murmured.

"I suppose not, but I didn't want to be rude." The smile on his face was so big that it hurt. "And thank you for the book. I don't remember telling you that it was my favourite."

"You didn't have to; you used to truck that old copy wherever we went. I thought perhaps you may have needed a new one by now," he murmured, a slightly-incredulous, yet entirely pleased, smile on his own face. "I..." Deep breath. Dive in. "I rather do love you, Lawrence."

The answering chuckle was one of pure delight. "I don't think I'll ever get sick of hearing that— actually strike that. I know I won't." He paused for a second, still feeling like he needed to apologize for that ignored message. "I should have told you sooner. I just... I didn't want to get in the way of... things."

"I think perhaps, on reflection, we might be equally responsible for the road blocks. Rather than assigning blame, perhaps we simply ought to meet?" he suggested, already mentally packing.

"Well, yes. I think that's a wonderful idea." Larry nodded, feeling a little twinge in his neck at the motion. "Although I'm not really as mobile as I'd like to be right now. So..." he trailed off, "I suppose you'll have to deal with the visiting hours and all that nonsense?"

"Oh, I think I can do that. Or I can simply tiptoe in again. I don't believe they noticed me in the slightest last time," he answered, amused. "I'll have breakfast and make myself decent, and then they'll have to try and be rid of me. Sound fair?"

"Get a little more sleep if you want," Larry replied with another bemused chuckle, "heaven knows, you can probably use it after all the excitement. And I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

"I can sleep in the chair. Right now, I think we've been apart far too long, don't you?"


Non-Title Tag Match
The Knights of Anarchy vs. Hanari Carnes and Caillie Thibedeau

[[Larry Gowan and Hanari Carnes kick off the tag match to a thunderous pop from the crowd that shifts immediately into deafening boos as "Lies" by Evanescence erupts over the speakers. Jackson appears on the ramp and quickly makes his way down to ringside, taking a seat at the broadcast booth and immediately donning a headset. Hanari comes off the ropes and catches a distracted Gowan with a shoulder block that sends him staggering back into the corner. Caillie tags herself in and starts working over the left arm of Gowan. Hanari comes off the top to hit a double axe handle that almost catches a piece of his partner in the process. Chauncy storms the ring, looking to halt any double-team right off the bat. Hanari turns around and telegraphs a strike. Chauncy catches Hanari's hand, earning a pop that quickly turns into boos as he gets an eye poke for his trouble.]]

Jackson: I hate to say it, but I'm actually pulling for Jar Jar right now.

Corazon: Really?!

Jackson: Of course. You see, it's a numbers game right now— those two fruitcakes agreed to put the titles on the line at Collision Course, so really it's up to me to ensure that the odds are ever in my favor by the time that rolls around. A little tenderization at the hands of that Dominican dickbag goes a long way.

Alpine: You're despicable.

Jackson: Just good business, chief. That's all.

[[The Knights double team Caillie, taking her down with a stereo shoulder block off an Irish whip rebound before taking turns working over her arm before sending her packing to the outside. Larry rolls out after her and Chauncy hits a top rope double stomp to Hanari's arm. Hanari comes back with a seated dropkick and tags in Caillie. Caillie knocks Gowan off the apron and avoids a super kick from Chauncy. Gowan pops right back up to the apron in one bound and kicks Caillie to the floor. Hanari is kicked off the apron as well after trying to get involved. Hanari dropkicks the KoA and hits a double axehandle off the top onto Chauncy followed by a slingshot senton splash.]]

Jackson: And this is how the Knights got their name— it's chaos out there.

Corazon: Now this is a side of Hanari Carnes we've been dying to see! He's on fire tonight!

Jackson: He'll shit the bed soon enough, I'm sure.

[[Hanari works over Chauncy with some stiff chops before nailing a crisp back suplex that he bridges into a pin.

1...

2... NO! Chauncy fights out of it and dives for the corner to make the hot tag to Gowan only to be jerked away as Hanari pulls him back to the center of the ring before dropping a knee into the middle of his back. Gowan strains into the ring, shouting his partner's name. Chauncy kicks Hanari in the face and lunges for the corner again, only to have Caillie yank Gowan off the apron as Chauncy tries to make the tag. Caillie takes advantage and works him over a little before she catapults Chauncy into a forearm smash to the face from Hanari. Hanari hits a twisting elbow while Chauncy is across Caillie's knees. Hanari runs into a big boot on the corner and Chauncy hits a springboard twisting bulldog. The crowd goes bananas as he dives into the corner and finally makes the hot tag to Gowan!]]

Jackson: Here he comes to save the day... Mighty Mouse is on his way!

Alpine: Larry Gowan's come in like a man possessed.

[[Gowan cleans house on Hanari, nailing him with a spinning kick before taking Caillie out with a moonsault. Knights go for the Don't Fear The Reaper but Caillie crotches Gowan and super kicks Chauncy. Hanari is freed up but can't hit a heavily telegraphed brain buster. Hanari and Caillie roll up the Knights in stereo.

1...

NO! THEY KICK OUT AND THE CROWD GOES NUTS! Hanari and Caillie are both rebounded off the middle rope and the Knights attempt double 450 splashes but Caillie and Hanari get their knees up. Hanari dropkicks Gowan in the corner and Caillie hits a spine buster! This match just won't end! Hanari goes to the top but Gowan charges in and knocks him off balance, taking him down with a hurricanrana off the top rope. Chauncy super kicks Hanari and Gowan delivers a double super kick to Caillie! Chauncy lifts the lifeless body of Hanari and Gowan launches himself off the ropes for a textbook AK-47!

1...

2...

3!!]]

WINNER: The Knights of Anarchy via PINFALL @ 20 minutes, 31 seconds.

Corazon: What a match! Hanari Carnes and Caillie Thibedeau have nothing to be ashamed of tonight, that's for damn sure. Hey, where's Jackson going?!

Jackson: You two bitches call that a match?

[[He snorts in derision, lifting the microphone to his lips as he climbs the ring steps. His eyes move to Hanari and Caillie before shifting to Chauncy where he leans against the ropes, clutching the back of his head.]]

Jackson: C'mon, Sunny Jim, what's wrong? Cat got your tongue? Here. I've got a microphone for you, too.

[[He tosses one across to Chauncy, watching the younger member of the KoA snag it from the air.]]

Chauncy Nottingham: I've got nothing to say to you, Bradley.

Jackson: No? Hmmm... that's funny, because I seem to recall just last week, you were all gung-ho about getting to face me in the ring. What's changed? Did Wittle Warry ask you to play nice for the good people of this backwater shithole we're stuck in tonight?

[[Chauncy bites his lip, shaking his head and it's clear that he wants to say something but refuses to.]]

Jackson: C'mon, Lord Rottonbottom— go on and say it. Everyone's waiting to hear it. Tell them why you hate me.

Chauncy: Piss off.

[[Jackson feints towards the pair at the same moment that Lyv slides into the ring behind them. She cracks the baseball bat into Chauncy's shoulder, driving him down to his knees in agony. Gowan turns around as his partner falls only to be tackled by Jackson. The microphone in Jackson's hand lets out a squeal of feedback as he bashes it across Gowan's face.]]

Jackson: Enjoy your time with the belts, boys. They're coming home with us soon enough.

[[Jax and Lyv roll out of the ring, making their way back up the ramp to a chorus of booing and a rain of trash being hurled at them.]]


[[The cameras cut away across the crowd and then fade, only to pick up in the back where Brad Jackson is seen lurking a few feet away from the KoA locker room, keeping to the shadows as he taps a length of pipe against his denim-clad thigh. His wife is nowhere in sight as he leans back against the wall, keeping his eyes fixed on the hallway that leads towards the gorilla position.]]

??: Being a tad obvious today, aren't you, Bradley?

[[The voice comes from behind him: crisp, very British, holding a hint of a smile in the tone.]]

Chauncy Nottingham: I'd say it's rather unlike you, but well...

[[The sadistic smirk drops from Jackson's face as he turns around, bringing himself face-to-face with the person he least wants to see right now.]]

Jackson: Talking about being obvious, are we? How ironic. Does your master know you've somehow gotten off the leash?

Chauncy Nottingham: Does your wife know you're pushing for a jail sentence or a trip to hospital?

[[Chauncy's smile is brilliant, almost pre-emptively triumphant, a baseball bat lying casually over one shoulder.]]

Chauncy Nottingham: Past experience tells me you're dreadful at cricket, so I thought I'd try for an American sport. I'm not entirely sure what game you're planning on playing.

[[Glancing down at the pipe dangling from his fingers, Jax chuckles.]]

Jackson: The one where I win.

Chauncy Nottingham: Well, it's good to know you're ambitious. Such a shame your ambition overreaches so far. You're going to lose. And you're going to take that pipe home shoved up your arse. I've already warned you to leave Lawrence be. This time I make sure that happens.

[[That smirk is back, more condescending than ever.]]

Jackson: Yeah? You and what army, sunshine?

Chauncy Nottingham: Looks like I rather forgot to bring one. Then again, neither did you, so it evens up, I suppose.

[[Hands tighten on the bat, almost ready to swing.]]

Chauncy Nottingham: Are you planning on stalling much longer, Jackson?

[[His eyes flick to the left for just a split second, long enough to tease the arrival of his usual backup before he chuckles as if trying to cover up that minute little tell.]]

Jackson: Stalling?

[[He adjusts the grip on the pipe, shifting his weight forward at the same time he swings it. Chauncy sidesteps and the pipe smashes against the wall behind him as Jackson is too far into the swing to check the momentum. As the impact rattles the weapon from his grip, Nottingham swings his bat and connects with Jackson's ribs. There's an audible crack that may or may not have come from the cheap wood before Jax staggers back, struggling for breath. Clearly that glance over the shoulder was a fake-out because nobody intervenes as Chauncy takes another swing, this one more a bunt as he drives the wood into Jackson's stomach.]]

Chauncy Nottingham: I don't need an army to take on a weak bastard shoring up the walls of his ego with misplaced arrogance and desperation.

Jackson: F-fuck... you.

[[With a snarl, Jackson launches himself at Chauncy, driving him back against the opposite wall. He pulls his fist back to throw a punch only to have his arm twisted behind his back as security pulls him off Nottingham, separating the two.]]

Jackson: Get the hell offa me— that tea-sucking jackass started it!

Chauncy Nottingham: That's right. I was just kicking my heels around here minding my own business and doing some plumbing. Ah, no, that was you.

[[Chauncy's voice is smiling, despite the giant in the Security shirt pulling him back.]]

Chauncy Nottingham: You're getting on a tad, Bradley. Best not try this again. Next time I'll kill you...