010 (No Regrets) [SVW]

"Bill," the words came out accompanied by a soft sigh, "am I doing the right thing?"

WBR looked up from the mountain of paperwork strewn across the top of his desk inside the office of Wild Ones Wrestling Academy. Chauncy Nottingham was staring at one of the black and white photos on the wall— the Knights of Anarchy with their hands held high, identical golden belts hanging from their fingers. "Son," WBR cleared his throat, "I can't tell you the answer to that. Lord knows I ain't the authority on what's right an' what's wrong these days. You look deep inside yourself an' you tell me if it feels right."

Chauncy turned away from the photos on the wall, shaking his head. "It's not that simple, Bill—"

"The hell it ain't, boy!" Bill's meat-hook fist slammed down on the desk, sending papers fluttering to the floor like snow.  "You need to separate the goddamn career from your personal life. Whether or not you can't trust him between those ropes has no bearing on your marriage—"

"I can't trust him. Period. There's no exception to that statement. I look into his eyes and I see a bloody stranger— a broken, desperate, horrible little man—"



"Bill," the youngest Rottonbottom brother's voice was hesitant, filled with confusion, "am I doing the right thing?"

That thought had been foremost in his mind since the last Livewire. His secret life under a mask was draining on him, and confusing at times. He had almost forgotten himself several times while wearing the mask. Those times, when an oblivious Larry Gowan had stopped the Marauder to congratulate him on an impressive match had been touchy. He couldn't talk to his partner, of course— it would have ruined everything. His voice was too distinct, too recognizable. He just had to grunt and nod as if he barely understood. Luckily, the frustration he continued to feel was well hidden by the mask.

Wild Bill Reed opened his mouth to answer, and was immediately cut off as his cell phone began to ring, the familiar sounds of a stripped-down midi version of Sweet Home Alabama filling the awkward silence.

Larry Gowan sat upon a lumpy mattress across town from where WBR and Chauncy were, shacked up in yet another dive of a motel. He'd been booking his own accommodations, saving and hoarding each penny, to better keep himself stocked with his poison of choice: Wild Turkey. The glass sat on the bedside table, forgotten as he drank from the neck of the nearly empty bottle. One thing was on his mind. Well, two things, actually: his loss at last night's Livewire and something else that even the vast quantities of alcohol couldn't erase. Guilt. He wanted to call Chauncy and apologize for his careless words in the locker room— it had been a month and he hadn't seen him other than for their semi-final tag team tournament match. Even then, the boy had barely spoken to him. He hadn't seen the kid wrestle a singles match since it had happened. If anybody was responsible for Chauncy not living up to his potential, it was this man, sitting right here.

For the tenth time, he set the bottle aside, and picked up his cell phone, punching in a familiar number. He had worked up enough liquid courage at this point. The phone was answered on the first ring, and Gowan grinned inwardly at the thought of those first few bars of Lynyrd Skynyrd's most memorable ditty being cut short to be replaced with Wild Bill Reed's booming voice.

"Hey, kid! How the hell are you doing? You left too soon, I wanted to congratulate you on the tag win....you both did a great job!" 

An awkward silence stretched out, and then Gowan cleared his throat, speaking in a voice that was rusty, and slightly slurred. "That was all Chauncy, not me... I sucked ass out there tonight, Bill. I blew up before I even got to the arena. Listen, Bill... I wanted to ask you something... am I... you know, doing the right thing?"

"What right thing? Crawling into a bottle and blowing off everyone who trusted you? Are you sober, or should I ask what bottle you poured your pitiful ass into tonight? You out hunting those Wild Turkeys again? Ain't no answer in the bottom of a bottle kid. I know.....been there....LIVED there. DAMN NEAR died there....too many times!"

Chauncy frowned, immediately knowing who he was talking to. Lawrence was still drinking and now he was calling to interrupt in the middle of an important conversation? He needed to talk. He needed to figure things out, and he needed his mentor and trainer to help him, to act as a sounding board, if you will. "Bill, this is important! I really need to figure out if all of this is worth it. I mean, BLOODY HELL!  You said Larry is drinking again," he said it loudly, knowing that his voice would carry to the man on the other end of the phone, "and we both know that isn't good. That's probably my fault too. I feel like I abandoned him. I.....Bill.... ARE YOU LISTENING?!"

Gowan groaned, and the sound carried across the airwaves, preceding his voice only by a moment. "Bill? Is this a bad time? Is... he there with you? Oh God... oh no. Please... please don't tell him who you're..."

"Don't you worry about timing kid, the timing is just fine..." He took the phone away from his ear, covering the mouthpiece as he turned his attention back to Chauncy. "...you just hold your horses there! This CALL is important too."

"Listen, Bill," Gowan's voice was hoarse, "I didn't call to get a lecture... and frankly, I resent the implicimation that I am anything less than sober at this point in... um... time."

"Yeah, kid, I know the story.....you're sober as a judge......starkle starkle little twink, who the hell I am I think.....right....Kid...I AIN'T EVER met a judge who's as sober as he seems."

"Goddamn it, I call to ask you a simple question, and you have to turn it into a public lynching. Yeah, so what? I had a few drinks... I'm just winding down... you know, kicking back, and drinking a few brew-skis with my pals over here... I've got the wall... and that other wall... and the sofa over there has tons of personality..." a humorless chuckle came across the line next, but really, it sounded like a strangled sob.

Upset with being ignored, Chauncy engaged in what could only be described as a tantrum. "If that bloody call is so important, I shall seek my answers from someone who actually has time to listen!" 
 
WBR again covers the mouthpiece of the phone. "You sit your blue-blooded ass in that chair NOW. I am sick of WHINING, and it IS gonna stop NOW!"

He turned his attention back to the phone, his eyes narrowing in irritation. "You forgot the porcelain god, and his son whose name you keep calling right before you pass out........'RALPH....RALPH....RALPH'.......Kid, if you think what you are doing resembles ANYTHING close to life, you're just lyin' to yourself. You say I don't know anything about you? You are DEAD wrong. I not only know ALL about you.....I WAS you.  I pushed EVERYONE away, and climbed into a nice cozy bottle...and stayed there for damned near fifteen years. It took a REAL friend to finally make me open my eyes, and he damned near killed me to do it. Son......you can't HAVE those drinks....not like other people can...and we BOTH know it. There ain't nothin' social about what you're doing!"

Gowan laughed again, a sharp bark bordering on hysteria, and his swallowing was audible over the line as he finished off the last dregs of the cheap ass whiskey in the bottle. He belched loudly, and then replied, his voice filled with equal measures of weariness and bitterness. "I didn't push him away, for the record. He chose to go."

"Aw, hell," Bill's eyes cut to Chauncy where he sat, silently seething, "that's not—"

"I can't take the bullshit anymore, Bill... this' not about you or me or drinkin' or sobriety... it's about not being able t'take the pain anymore. That's what I wanted to ask you... if walking away from Chauncy was the right thing... is he going to make something of himself? That's what matters... NOT ME. So, don't even fucking pretend you give two shits about me... we both know that's a lie. Once a jobber, always a jobber— that's what I am, Bill... an' I'm sick of taking the bumps... ok? Sick to death of it." </font>

Bill took a deep breath, considering his words, and then he replied with heartfelt sincerity. "Kid, listen to me. There's something you just don't get. There are a lot of assholes in this business... a lot of cutthroats, and backstabbers, everyone wants their moment to be on top, so when you find a true friend in the middle of this three ring circus, it's a rare thing. That ain't something you should let slip through your fingers," his eyes lifted to lock on Chauncy, the words clearly meant for both of them.

"Yeah, but..."

Bill's voice grew hard and brusque. "I ain't done... at least respect me enough to listen to what I have to say, kid. Everyone dies. That's a fact of life. Some of 'em leave us in the ring... in accidents... and some even take themselves out of the game. You can't change that... and cutting yourself off from life ain't an answer, it's just plain bullheadedness. You aren't the cause any more than I'm the king of Spain... that's just stupid talk. There ain't no such thing as bad luck... or even good luck... luck ain't even luck... you gotta make your own breaks. The Gowan I know ain't a jobber... you went through that hell I call a training camp... hell, you outshined all them rookies... you can't sell me on that jobber line... you're a damn skilled wrestler and a hell of a worker. You may be going through the motions in life like a danged robot, but that's your own choice. You asked for my opinion... and darnit, you're gonna get it. Walking away is never the right choice... you gotta fight for what you believe in! Hell, the two of you could learn a lot from each other if you could stop fighting for three seconds!"

Gowan was utterly silent, trying hard to control his emotions. He gulped audibly a few times, and then shook his head before speaking, glad that Bill couldn't see the tears streaming down his face. The words had hit a little too close to home. "I..." his voice faltered, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "Bill... I... can you tell Chauncy I'm sorry...?"

Bill shook his head before replying. "Tell him your goddamned self!"

"NO! Wait!"

But it was too late, Bill had already covered the mouthpiece, handing the phone to Chauncy, his tone full of quiet authority. "You settle this now, like adults, or I'll whoop both of your asses."

Chauncy took the phone from WBR's hand; his palms grew sweaty, and his mouth went dry. "Lawrence? Hullo."

"Hi."

"It's Chauncy."

"Yes," Gowan's voice was soft as he kept his replies simple, "I know."

Bloody hell, he sounded like a fool, but he swallowed his pride, and said his next words in a rush. "I'm sorry I let you down... you were right, about all of it... I wasn't trying at all and I can see that now. These past few weeks were an eye opener for me, without a doubt— not getting booked," he almost faltered over the lie, "was a real godsend and I have you to thank for that. If it hadn't been for that night... well... I wouldn't be here right now. I'm feeling better than ever, Larry... I'm in the best shape of my career... and I owe it all to you. I'm sorry that I was such a disappointment, I was selfish... and stupid—"

"Don't—"

"Please just let me finish, Lawrence. It's hard for me to admit I was in the wrong—"

"You weren't." Gowan muttered and then lapsed into silence.

Chauncy feared that Gowan had hung up. He looked at the phone display, which was still counting the time of the call, down to the last second. "Law— Larry... are you there?"

He finally found the voice to reply, his emotions slurring his words more than the alcohol had. "Yeah'm here... you don't have anything to apologize for, Skippy... this entire thing was my fault... I manufactured a reason... I can't even 'member what it was. S'not even important now... none of it is. I'm sorry... I owe you an apology... you don't owe me nothin'."

"That's where you're wrong, Lawrence. I owe you my whole new outlook. I owe you a new lease on a stagnant career— if it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't be on the hot streak I am on in singles matches. For the first time in my life I have FOCUS. That's because of what you taught me."

"Hot streak? I haven't seen you wrestle a single match in the last..." the thought trailed off, as Gowan sat there in a puzzled silence. The pieces seemed about to fall into place, he was on the brink of epiphany.

Chauncy chuckled, and then said something that shocked Gowan right out of his socks. "Please Meester LaREE, de Eenglish, she is hard for me."

Click. And just like that, he knew. "Oh my GOD... that was YOU?! I... pantsed you in the middle of the ring!"

"I had to prove to you that I was worthwhile. I had to prove that I was good enough. I couldn't think of any other way. I just had to prove that I was worthy to be your partner."

Gowan laughed again, and this time it was the sound of amusement. "I feel like a horse's ass, Chauncy... I can't believe that was you! I mean, damn... you kicked my ass all over the arena that night! Hell, I'm still hurting from that... and WOW... I'm speechless. But, you didn't have to prove a damn thing to me... I had no right to demand that of you. I'm not a superstar... I'm no Hall of Famer... I'm no Wild Bill... or Silas Creel... or any of those others... I'm nothing special, Chauncy... I should be proving that I'm worthy to work with you... not the other way around..."

"Lawrence, that's not tr—"

"Chauncy, listen to me, please... this is very hard for me to say... so I'd prefer to only have to say it once... and then like mission: impossible... we'll let the tape self destruct, and never speak of it again. What I did to you was stupid... and it was... well, for lack of a better word... just plain immature. I don't own you... and I had no right to push you like that. I realize it worked out well, but it was still wrong of me to set up insane expectations and expect you to live up to that... that isn't friendship... that's... I dunno, dictatorship or something. You should have told me to go fuck myself... you should have punched me in the face, instead of beating that poor locker senseless. You taught me something too, Chauncy and for that I owe you more than I can ever repay. You are the better man— you taught me about integrity and loyalty. You're—"



"—you're damned right I classify him as a lower life form!" Larry Gowan paused, breathing heavily. "He's a scum-sucking traitor piece of shit! His betrayal was a big part of it, yes... but not the way he thinks. He doesn't get it, Mark. Scars. It has everything to do with scars... wounds. Everything adds up over time, Mark... it wasn't just the one thing. It was... all of them... in a row, ending with him helping to destroy the last of the Knights of Anarchy legacy. You think that travesty in New Mexico was solely my fault? I gave everything I had to pull out that win and he... h-he..."

Mark Bishop leaned forward, resting a hand on Gowan's knee, "Larry, I know. I saw the match. Everyone saw it— even Matt Stone saw it and is using that as a cause to belittle you—"

"To hell with Matt Stone!" Gowan shook his head, "the KoA was EVERYTHING to me, Mark... to me, it wasn't just a name. After WCWF folded, it wasn't just a group to hang out with or a name on a locker room door that was infinitely cooler than my own... it was a set of ideals. A moral code. Knights. Chivalry. Honor. And Chauncy threw all that out the window! He doesn't even want to finish out the remainder of the year now. You know how foolish I'm going to look when SVW and iiW get wind of that? I'll be blackballed so fast my head'll spin! I've got nothing left but trying to make one last desperate run on the ashes of my damned career—"

"There has to be a way to fix this, Larry," Bishop's voice was soft, "and cracking open that bottle over on the table isn't it."

"I'm not going to drink it. Brad gave it to me because I asked him for it—"

"Brad Jackson? Right," Bishop snorted in derision, shaking his head, "the guy who cost you at least three championships I know of and almost ended your career back in 2008 just happened to hand you a bottle of the best damn Scotch on the planet so you can look at it? C'mon, Larry... Brad's a snake. He wants to watch you crash and burn."

"He's changed," Gowan insisted, "you haven't seen him since he checked himself into rehab."

Mark shook his head, "nor do I want to. Brad screwed you over... more than once. He begged your forgiveness... only to use you. And you let him! And now you're telling me that you can't forgive Chauncy for getting mad at you for falling off the wagon?"

Gowan's voice was flat, his eyes glittering with anger, "Brad saved my life, Mark. That has to count for something. I could have died that night... hell, I should have! He's not all that bad, he's just... misunderstood."

"Misunderstood?! Come on, Larry! He's a psycho! And you call him a friend? Are you nuts?"

Gowan chuckled, and the sound was devoid of mirth, "I also consider you a friend, Mark... does that qualify me for the loony bin? I'm serious. Do I have to explain myself... I mean really?" Mark nodded as Gowan took a deep breath, leaping to his feet before continuing. He began to pace, accentuating his words with movements of his hands.  "Fine. The reason I still associate with Brad is this... I don't care about the screw jobs... frankly, I'd come to expect that from him YEARS ago. I don't totally trust Brad. I never have;  most of the time, I can see it coming a mile away. It's not like he goes to great pains to hide his intentions. Not like Chauncy... that's what hurts, Mark. It's not that I never expected it from him... it was that I expected MORE from him. I looked up to him. Christ," he shook his head, "I loved him. Do you know how damned hard it was to even admit that after all the years locked up inside my own head? Do you know how many nights I woke up from dreams about him, feeling like a damned pedophile because he was barely eighteen when we first met? Do you know what that's like to go out in the world every day, wearing a happy, smiley mask and pretending that you're not dying of loneliness because you can't be with someone who makes sense?"

"I..." Bishop shook his head sadly, "I don't, Larry. I can't even fathom how hard that was."

"And now I'm out thanks to IWF— thanks to those goddamn prying assholes— the whole world believes that I'm gay—"

"Wait... 'believes'? You married another man, Larry. I don't think that's much of a logic leap at this point."

Gowan's head was in his hands as his fingers massaged his temples, "I think maybe you should go, Mark. I don't want to talk about any of this."

"Just tell me one last thing, okay?"

"Goddamn it, Mark! Chauncy wasn't just a friend or a lover or my confidante... he was my soul mate... hell, he was my mentor, as skewed as that seems. When Bill brought us together in the ring... when he forced us to share quarters, it was the best thing that ever happened to me. T-that's why I can't stand to look at him now. I thought he was more than that... I thought he was..."

"Thought he was what, Larry?"

"I thought he was one of the good guys," his voice was flat, "I was clearly mistaken."