Chapter Twenty-Six (Rebooting The Machine) [PW]
Dec 14, 2016 22:43:47 GMT -5
Post by Admin on Dec 14, 2016 22:43:47 GMT -5
Tokyo || July 3, 2016
[off camera]
"You should probably go," Jackson said softly, lifting his head to meet his wife's eyes. "I never told her you'd be here – I'm sure she assumes as much but I don't want to throw too much-" he broke off, shaking his head, stopping just short of saying 'gasoline on the flames'. He bit his lip, broke eye contact before he could read too much in Missy's expression, doing everything he could to ignore the headache looming. It was always there these days, creeping in slow before hitting him broadside like a bus. Maybe it was eyestrain. Maybe he needed to upgrade to an actual prescription instead of those drug store readers. Maybe it was another casualty of the business, another war wound like the cauliflower right ear or the scars on his legs and back or the nerve damage that made his wrists and fingertips alternate between numb and flaming pins and needles. Letting his head hang, he tried clearing his mind but the task was beyond impossible. The second his eyes closed, he could see that look on her face as her feet had landed ON Brian Stryker – that moment that had ruined everything between them. Great train of thought pre-match, really.
"She'll be here soon." He said it more for his benefit than hers, freezing when Missy's hand stroked his cheek – not because of the contact, no – he heard the muffled sound of a voice from the hallway. "Or now."
Missy withdrew, slipping into the bedroom of the suite where there was another door – adjoining room that was empty by design.
He stood up, stretching, wincing as his knees popped loudly and then he shuffled to the door, looked out the peephole to see Alexandra Kelly standing there, indecisive. They might not be blood, but she was definitely his daughter. She finally knocked softly and he jerked it open so quickly she had no time to flee. He stared at her, noting the dark circles under her eyes.
She stared right back, taking in the changes – his silver hair was a little longer than she remembered. A wry smile curved his lips as he took a step back.
"Good to see you, Pixie Lee." There was warmth in his voice, a tease of that sarcastic laugh of his. The sight of that petite girl cut right through him, all the wounds tearing right back open and he could taste something metallic at the back of his throat – foreshadowing.
Tell her this is going to be your last match. Out with a bang. Tell her that's why you insisted she come. Tell her that you're facing Lucy Wylde. Tell her that CJ will probably be here. Tell her now so your goddamned selfishness doesn't hurt her again.
Instead he closed the door and then turned to watch her in silence, trying to get a read on her because for a few seconds it had felt like nothing had changed, like Carnage Wrestling and that goddamned cage match had never happened. She sat down heavily on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, obviously tired from the long flight.
"I am less offended by that name since you are using it."
"Anyone else using it? Have to sue for copyright infringement," he quipped.
She smiled but her eyes remained serious. "You haven't changed."
"Nope. Stubborn that way," he replied, crossing the room to the little kitchenette before pulling open the fridge. "Is it too early for a drink? Beer okay?"
"Beer sounds perfect." She laughed, getting up from the stool again, restless.
Grabbing two silver cans of Sapporo, he crossed back to her side, handing her one. He saw the tells. Saw the way she kept those eyes moving, like she was searching for outs – she did the same thing in the ring, always trying to keep mentally one step ahead. He took a slow, measured sip of his own brew, studying her closely while she opened hers and took a tentative swallow, "I should have reached out to you sooner."
She put the can down before walking closer, almost as if daring herself to get within arm's reach of that danger he represented. His eyes seemed lighter than she remembered. Not black at all. She could see golden flecks around his pupils and she focused on them as she met his gaze.
"Hey," he started but she cut him off.
"My mind had been filled with poison. I thought you had turned on me." She saw him flinch at that confession, saw the way his lips thinned down to an invisible line. "Please, hear me out. I need to tell you this. I need you to understand how I felt. I thought you had left me – kicked me from the little family we had created. You, Missy and me. To cut this mushy thing short, I was hurt. And I reacted in the only way I know: I walked away."
"It happens." He stayed where he was, knowing that any sudden movement on his part might spook her. The amount of effort it had taken for her to fly around the world just for this conversation was enough of an indication how bad it had become without her spelling out all the details. "We both drank from the same well." He shrugged. "Past is past, kiddo. Not here to talk about ancient history, are you?" He took another drink, watching her shift her weight, restless and indecisive. "Talk to me; I'll listen."
"Let's start with the easy part." She told him how much she hated the company she worked for, how sick she was of everyone poking and prodding, trying to draw blood because they knew they could. She talked in circles, never really dropping the name of the people who'd wronged her. She didn't have to. He knew. He'd been keeping tabs. He'd watched her false starts with a few other companies, feeling the echoes in his own faltering steps since the start of the year. They'd both lost their way.
Letting guards down was never something he enjoyed. He'd spent years cultivating that uncaring, unfeeling machine persona – having her see past that from the get-go had always been surprising. He could see himself in those nervous twitches, able to see where she was going before the words tumbled from her lips. Knowing better than to interrupt, he took another pull of beer. When she was done, he sat in silence for a few seconds before crumpling the empty can. "Okay. Alright. Now get the hell over here and give Dad a hug."
The walls started to crumble – it was visible on her face and he was pretty sure his looked just as raw, that naked emotion there for her to see as she stepped into his embrace. She wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest.
"Sometimes," Jackson's voice came out low, "we just need to learn to read the signs – navigate our way back..."
darkhorseonline.net blog posting || 11-10-2016 00:36 HOURS MIAMI
DAYS SOBER: 1005
I should have walked away when I had the chance. Foresight says I may end up regretting what I'm about to do – definitely wasn't prepared for the onslaught of memories that came in the wake of that phone call. The ball is rolling, picking up steam and sometimes these damned memories are all I have left.
Fucking Member Berries are all the rage these days so anyone 'member that Latino kid who made that big impassioned speech about how he really wanted to prove to the world that he was ready for the big time – 'member how he called ME out? He said he wanted to face one of the best, a legend. Surreal. If there were a secret doorway hidden somewhere that'd let you in my head for a moment – some Being John Malkovich hoodoo, would you open it? Would you step inside?
These are the things that keep me up at night and now I'm not sure what kind of LEGEND chases oblivion the way I have. I'm not sure what honesty gets me these days. Pity? Comradery? Fuck if I even know.
Redemption's a hell of a name for a show. It really is. We're going into the 100th episode and I'm stuck on that number. Imagine being redeemed 100 times over? I think the Universe might have walked away before it hit halfway – nobody deserves that many chances. Do they? I don't. Never did.
And yet I'm still doing this, evidence to the contrary.
I should have departed years ago.
I didn't.
End of story.
––Jax
Tokyo || July 4, 2016 [off camera]
The morning air was cool, stinging his raw throat as he pulled in a deep breath. The bucket list didn't have any names left on it. He'd started a new one on hotel stationery instead of sleeping. No more dream match opponents. No more bullshit trappings of that goddamned career that had tried so many times to kill him. Tangible things had been jotted down instead – a list of ones he wanted to do with Missy, ones that had fallen to the wayside for too long.
Watch the sun rise in all the countries you wrestled in but never got to see.
That one was getting started today, here in Tokyo. The patio doors were open far enough that the breeze was slipping past him, ruffling the curtains and then the sheets on the bed. Missy was still asleep. He hadn't been able to, hadn't been able to shut down after they'd done their best to put ol' Humpty together again. His nose ached, full of dried blood he'd probably have to flush out with saline later. At least it wasn't broken – small favors.
Lucy Wylde had kicked his ass.
The crowd had eaten it up like usual. He'd gone through the motions well enough, keeping them in suspense longer than he'd expected to. For a few minutes, he'd actually thought he might win.
Out with a whimper.
It wasn't as awful as it once seemed.
"Hey," it was brightening along the horizon – dawn was maybe a minute or two away. He turned back towards the bed, gently tapping his knuckles on the glass, "Miss, hey. Babe... wake up. You're gonna want to see this."
The combination of his voice, the sound of his flesh hitting the glass, and her own internal clock – she bounced back fast from jetlag, had her blinking awake almost immediately. Missy sat up and took a deep breath, stretching before she swung her legs out of the bed and let her feet hit the floor. Blinking the sleep away she padded up to where he stood, and linked her arm with his, resting her cheek against his skin. He ran hot, he always did, but that sensation put a bit of a smile on her lips despite the sleepy tone of her voice. "What are we looking at?"
"The future," he replied, lifting one hand to gesture at the thinnest point in the cloud-choked sky. "Just watch. Right there."
The clouds seemed to catch fire as the sun rose, that weak glow flaring in crimson and orange. He blinked away tears, unable to keep the tremor from his voice. "That's what it's all about. That's what all this was for."
Missy's voice was uncharacteristically soft. "Remember this, babe. This right here, when you think about everything you had to get through, to be standing here with me. Sometimes," she took a breath that she was proud to say didn't sound as shaky as she suddenly felt. "All the struggles actually turn into the fucking happy ending and Disney gets to be right for five minutes."
[off camera]
"You should probably go," Jackson said softly, lifting his head to meet his wife's eyes. "I never told her you'd be here – I'm sure she assumes as much but I don't want to throw too much-" he broke off, shaking his head, stopping just short of saying 'gasoline on the flames'. He bit his lip, broke eye contact before he could read too much in Missy's expression, doing everything he could to ignore the headache looming. It was always there these days, creeping in slow before hitting him broadside like a bus. Maybe it was eyestrain. Maybe he needed to upgrade to an actual prescription instead of those drug store readers. Maybe it was another casualty of the business, another war wound like the cauliflower right ear or the scars on his legs and back or the nerve damage that made his wrists and fingertips alternate between numb and flaming pins and needles. Letting his head hang, he tried clearing his mind but the task was beyond impossible. The second his eyes closed, he could see that look on her face as her feet had landed ON Brian Stryker – that moment that had ruined everything between them. Great train of thought pre-match, really.
"She'll be here soon." He said it more for his benefit than hers, freezing when Missy's hand stroked his cheek – not because of the contact, no – he heard the muffled sound of a voice from the hallway. "Or now."
Missy withdrew, slipping into the bedroom of the suite where there was another door – adjoining room that was empty by design.
He stood up, stretching, wincing as his knees popped loudly and then he shuffled to the door, looked out the peephole to see Alexandra Kelly standing there, indecisive. They might not be blood, but she was definitely his daughter. She finally knocked softly and he jerked it open so quickly she had no time to flee. He stared at her, noting the dark circles under her eyes.
She stared right back, taking in the changes – his silver hair was a little longer than she remembered. A wry smile curved his lips as he took a step back.
"Good to see you, Pixie Lee." There was warmth in his voice, a tease of that sarcastic laugh of his. The sight of that petite girl cut right through him, all the wounds tearing right back open and he could taste something metallic at the back of his throat – foreshadowing.
Tell her this is going to be your last match. Out with a bang. Tell her that's why you insisted she come. Tell her that you're facing Lucy Wylde. Tell her that CJ will probably be here. Tell her now so your goddamned selfishness doesn't hurt her again.
Instead he closed the door and then turned to watch her in silence, trying to get a read on her because for a few seconds it had felt like nothing had changed, like Carnage Wrestling and that goddamned cage match had never happened. She sat down heavily on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, obviously tired from the long flight.
"I am less offended by that name since you are using it."
"Anyone else using it? Have to sue for copyright infringement," he quipped.
She smiled but her eyes remained serious. "You haven't changed."
"Nope. Stubborn that way," he replied, crossing the room to the little kitchenette before pulling open the fridge. "Is it too early for a drink? Beer okay?"
"Beer sounds perfect." She laughed, getting up from the stool again, restless.
Grabbing two silver cans of Sapporo, he crossed back to her side, handing her one. He saw the tells. Saw the way she kept those eyes moving, like she was searching for outs – she did the same thing in the ring, always trying to keep mentally one step ahead. He took a slow, measured sip of his own brew, studying her closely while she opened hers and took a tentative swallow, "I should have reached out to you sooner."
She put the can down before walking closer, almost as if daring herself to get within arm's reach of that danger he represented. His eyes seemed lighter than she remembered. Not black at all. She could see golden flecks around his pupils and she focused on them as she met his gaze.
"Hey," he started but she cut him off.
"My mind had been filled with poison. I thought you had turned on me." She saw him flinch at that confession, saw the way his lips thinned down to an invisible line. "Please, hear me out. I need to tell you this. I need you to understand how I felt. I thought you had left me – kicked me from the little family we had created. You, Missy and me. To cut this mushy thing short, I was hurt. And I reacted in the only way I know: I walked away."
"It happens." He stayed where he was, knowing that any sudden movement on his part might spook her. The amount of effort it had taken for her to fly around the world just for this conversation was enough of an indication how bad it had become without her spelling out all the details. "We both drank from the same well." He shrugged. "Past is past, kiddo. Not here to talk about ancient history, are you?" He took another drink, watching her shift her weight, restless and indecisive. "Talk to me; I'll listen."
"Let's start with the easy part." She told him how much she hated the company she worked for, how sick she was of everyone poking and prodding, trying to draw blood because they knew they could. She talked in circles, never really dropping the name of the people who'd wronged her. She didn't have to. He knew. He'd been keeping tabs. He'd watched her false starts with a few other companies, feeling the echoes in his own faltering steps since the start of the year. They'd both lost their way.
Letting guards down was never something he enjoyed. He'd spent years cultivating that uncaring, unfeeling machine persona – having her see past that from the get-go had always been surprising. He could see himself in those nervous twitches, able to see where she was going before the words tumbled from her lips. Knowing better than to interrupt, he took another pull of beer. When she was done, he sat in silence for a few seconds before crumpling the empty can. "Okay. Alright. Now get the hell over here and give Dad a hug."
The walls started to crumble – it was visible on her face and he was pretty sure his looked just as raw, that naked emotion there for her to see as she stepped into his embrace. She wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest.
"Sometimes," Jackson's voice came out low, "we just need to learn to read the signs – navigate our way back..."
i return your gaze and i wait in the rain
all inchoate desires, i do what i hate
— The Tragically Hip
all inchoate desires, i do what i hate
— The Tragically Hip
darkhorseonline.net blog posting || 11-10-2016 00:36 HOURS MIAMI
DAYS SOBER: 1005
I should have walked away when I had the chance. Foresight says I may end up regretting what I'm about to do – definitely wasn't prepared for the onslaught of memories that came in the wake of that phone call. The ball is rolling, picking up steam and sometimes these damned memories are all I have left.
Fucking Member Berries are all the rage these days so anyone 'member that Latino kid who made that big impassioned speech about how he really wanted to prove to the world that he was ready for the big time – 'member how he called ME out? He said he wanted to face one of the best, a legend. Surreal. If there were a secret doorway hidden somewhere that'd let you in my head for a moment – some Being John Malkovich hoodoo, would you open it? Would you step inside?
These are the things that keep me up at night and now I'm not sure what kind of LEGEND chases oblivion the way I have. I'm not sure what honesty gets me these days. Pity? Comradery? Fuck if I even know.
Redemption's a hell of a name for a show. It really is. We're going into the 100th episode and I'm stuck on that number. Imagine being redeemed 100 times over? I think the Universe might have walked away before it hit halfway – nobody deserves that many chances. Do they? I don't. Never did.
And yet I'm still doing this, evidence to the contrary.
I should have departed years ago.
I didn't.
End of story.
––Jax
you're a real machine, it follows,
i'm a real machine. follow.
— The Tragically Hip
i'm a real machine. follow.
— The Tragically Hip
Tokyo || July 4, 2016 [off camera]
The morning air was cool, stinging his raw throat as he pulled in a deep breath. The bucket list didn't have any names left on it. He'd started a new one on hotel stationery instead of sleeping. No more dream match opponents. No more bullshit trappings of that goddamned career that had tried so many times to kill him. Tangible things had been jotted down instead – a list of ones he wanted to do with Missy, ones that had fallen to the wayside for too long.
Watch the sun rise in all the countries you wrestled in but never got to see.
That one was getting started today, here in Tokyo. The patio doors were open far enough that the breeze was slipping past him, ruffling the curtains and then the sheets on the bed. Missy was still asleep. He hadn't been able to, hadn't been able to shut down after they'd done their best to put ol' Humpty together again. His nose ached, full of dried blood he'd probably have to flush out with saline later. At least it wasn't broken – small favors.
Lucy Wylde had kicked his ass.
The crowd had eaten it up like usual. He'd gone through the motions well enough, keeping them in suspense longer than he'd expected to. For a few minutes, he'd actually thought he might win.
Out with a whimper.
It wasn't as awful as it once seemed.
"Hey," it was brightening along the horizon – dawn was maybe a minute or two away. He turned back towards the bed, gently tapping his knuckles on the glass, "Miss, hey. Babe... wake up. You're gonna want to see this."
The combination of his voice, the sound of his flesh hitting the glass, and her own internal clock – she bounced back fast from jetlag, had her blinking awake almost immediately. Missy sat up and took a deep breath, stretching before she swung her legs out of the bed and let her feet hit the floor. Blinking the sleep away she padded up to where he stood, and linked her arm with his, resting her cheek against his skin. He ran hot, he always did, but that sensation put a bit of a smile on her lips despite the sleepy tone of her voice. "What are we looking at?"
"The future," he replied, lifting one hand to gesture at the thinnest point in the cloud-choked sky. "Just watch. Right there."
The clouds seemed to catch fire as the sun rose, that weak glow flaring in crimson and orange. He blinked away tears, unable to keep the tremor from his voice. "That's what it's all about. That's what all this was for."
Missy's voice was uncharacteristically soft. "Remember this, babe. This right here, when you think about everything you had to get through, to be standing here with me. Sometimes," she took a breath that she was proud to say didn't sound as shaky as she suddenly felt. "All the struggles actually turn into the fucking happy ending and Disney gets to be right for five minutes."
