001 (Love) [PCW]

Once upon a time there were two wrestlers who teamed together. One was British. The other was Canadian. They called themselves the Knights of Anarchy. They were the best of friends both inside and outside of the ring. One was barely out of his teens, and his name was Chauncy Nottingham-Rottonbottom (although he'd removed the hyphenated part a few years ago). Despite his age, he was a man of wealth, privilege and taste. The other was Lawrence Gowan, but he let his friends call him Larry. He was a former musician with a head full of ghosts and a closet packed full of skeletons. This is their story.



LARRY GOWAN LEANED AGAINST the wall outside the bar, feeling alternately buoyed by the crisp Fall air, and nauseated by the scent of the dumpster just a few feet to his left. A few minutes ago he'd bolted from the smoke-filled room, ashamed at being caught staring at the younger Rottonbottom brother like some manner-less goon. When he heard the creak of the hinges, he thought nothing of it. This door had direct access to the parking lot, after all. When a soft voice spoke from beside him, he almost jumped out of his skin.

"Fag?"

Oh God, they know. How could they possibly know?

Gowan looked over, seeing the pack of cigarettes in Chauncy's hand. Swallowing hard, he managed to shake his head, "uh, no thanks. I don't smoke."

Chauncy slipped them back into his pocket, not bothering to have one either out of sheer courtesy. Instead he leaned against the wall, folding his arms over his chest. "I told Kaitlynn you just needed some air. Hope I didn't overstep my bounds but she seemed a little concerned. Is this," he lifted one hand, waving it languidly, "something you normally do? A cry for attention?"

He shook his head, blushing again as he stared down at the ground. "No, not really. It's just… I'm feeling a little overwhelmed tonight."

"Ah," Chauncy nodded knowingly, that slight accent of his giving his words a pleasing lilt that Gowan couldn't help but find attractive.

"You don't have much of an accent— not like Stanley or Percy." The words tumbled out before he could stop them.

"Private school in Boston," he replied, "the plan was for me to be the first lawyer in the family since great uncle Cyril. But studying the law wasn't quite my cup of tea."

"Wrestling was?"

Chauncy grinned, his pale blue eyes almost glowing as he looked at Gowan. "Oh yes, was and is. Frankly, I cannot get enough of it— it doesn't hurt that I'm quite good. I've been training on the sly for the last five years behind mum's back. Not that she really had place to discover my chicanery when I was here in North American and she was back home in London."

"Your eyes are…" he caught himself, flushing again. What are you doing?

"Yes, Lawrence?"

"Very blue," he concluded lamely, looking away at the parked cars that lined the lot.

"Indeed. And my hair is brown. So are these Italian loafers on my feet. For a man who can command the crowd so well inside that ring, you really are abysmal at small talk. Are you normally this awkward, or have you made a special exception just for me?" The words were filled with wry humor, making Gowan feel even more uncomfortable. Was he being mocked?

"I'm sorry," he stammered in response, feeling his stomach twist suddenly. Maybe he did have a concussion after all. The nausea was back and he knew that he was probably going to end up dry-heaving in front of this gorgeous man in the next ten seconds. He had a choice and before he could think too hard about it, he was bolting for the street without another word…





"I've got the perfect partner for you, son." WBR said from across the room, closing his flip phone. "And I've already entered you into the tag title gauntlet for next weekend."

Chauncy was in front of the ring, dressed in sweats, skipping rope. As his trainer's words penetrated, he faltered and missed his step. "A partner? Who?"

"Larry Gowan," WBR replied. "His high flying skills, and your ground game would make an excellent combination."

"Absolutely not! Have you lost your senses? The man is a drunken imbecile. He's so erratic in that ring that it's next to impossible to even—"

"You'll go on the road with him. Keep him off the sauce. Share rooms. Carpool. The works, kid. Listen, you're losing more matches than he is. You can both stand to learn something from each other."

"I'll do no such thing! I'm not going to be his babysitter…" at the look on WBR's face, he stopped talking, realizing that Gowan was probably standing behind him.

"Sorry I'm late," LG mumbled, looking down at the floor. "I got the directions mixed up. Think I'm just a little nervous, is all. I haven't done any team wrestling in a couple years." Gowan held up a hand, which was indeed trembling perceptibly.

Chauncy turned his head, and continued his thoughts, venting… perhaps for Larry's benefit. "Yeah well, see it doesn't happen again… if we want to win… we have to be a goddamn team. I need to know you will have my back, Larry… is that too much to ask? There's something though that I fail to understand, try as I might. How did we… suddenly go from not getting booked… to getting booked for losses… to getting #1 contenders for the tag titles?" His gaze swung to WBR's, "something seems a bit off… I smell a rat. I think we're being set up for a fall… if you know something, by GOD, tell me now! I lost on Houseshow… how many times? And then I made a fool out of myself at the PPV. I don't think we should even be going for the tag titles. Maybe we're not ready for the big time… I mean, you've already had singles titles before… but I haven't. I think I might be spreading myself thin too early in the game."

"I can't work with you," Gowan said quickly, looking over to WBR almost apologetically, "you're the shallowest, most vain person I've ever met! You might be spreading yourself thin? You? The guy who hasn't won a singles match yet? You're right. I do think getting into the tag division with you is a mistake. After all, it's called tag team… and you can't be a TEAM when you're only focused on yourself!"





"BLOODY HELL, YOU DRUNKEN SOT!" The British grappler stood in the locker room, cradling his hand to his chest as the spots swam before his eyes. The pain in his hand was nearly unbearable. He began to speak, absently; completely oblivious to the fact that his tag team partner now stood behind him, frozen in the doorway, his expression thunderous. "Well, I suppose that Larry is going to say that hurting my hand was my fault, too. BLOODY HELL! It WAS my fault. I could have smote the blighter like Sampson smote the Philistines but NO! I had to punch a locker. Damnit!" He knew what had happened there. He couldn't hit Gowan any more than he could hit his own flesh and blood, his brothers Percy and Stanley. "DAMNIT! How in the blue hells did he become my brother, TOO?"

Chauncy slammed his hand down atop the trainer's table, and then howled in pain as fire slammed through his nerve endings with the impact of a Mack truck. He bent nearly double, gasping for air, almost whimpering with the pain. Gowan shook his head, choosing that moment to toss his two cents on the table, his voice filled with disdain.

"I don't need a brother." He folded his arms across his chest, trying to appear intimidating despite the six inch differential in their heights. "I already have one and he's not worth much."

Chauncy looked up, his expression stricken as he noticed Gowan standing there. He floundered for words, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment, or perhaps hurt. "You're… still here? What?" He goggled in confusion, "Larry, I thought......."

Gowan strode towards Chauncy, his steely blue glare fastened on Chauncy's taped up hand. His hands moved through the air as he spoke, emphasizing his words. "What? You thought what? That I'd left? I did… but if you had've looked you would see my coat still hanging over that locker door." He inclined his head in the direction of the lockers, and then continued, his tone growing more caustic. "I need MY KEYS to get out of his hellhole. Unlike you, I can't afford to hire a cab to take me back to the airport. I don't have that luxury! See what your problem is, Chauncy… you want someone to baby you! You want your big brother to fight your battles for you! I'm not doing it! It's not my responsibility! I'm not your babysitter! I don't owe you a damn THING!"

His ego was new, and it felt so good to feed it. Their undefeated streak had ended tonight against a rag-tag team of nobodies. To say Gowan was livid was the understatement of the year, and it wasn't just because Chauncy had botched the hell out of that moonsault.

Chauncy shook his head vehemently, "I don't need a-"

"Yes you do! Take a look at yourself. You're a loser. Your brothers were both losers. Did Percy ever even win a title? NO! They had the talent! They were good enough workers, so why the hell didn't they? Huh?! Because they're fucking lazy, just like you! Christ, have you EVER had to work for something a day in your life? I doubt it, I really do, Chauncy. People who bust their asses day in and day out show pride… something you don't seem to even understand! They TRY! You don't. God, it makes me sick! You have the talent, natural athleticism-- you know your basics! You tell me why you blow all the moves in the ring! Come on, tell me! You're lazy! You're a gosh-damn sloth! I can't take it anymore, Chauncy. You don't understand. I have to work my hardest; there is nothing less than 110% for me! I can't afford to screw things up. Maybe you can, maybe this is all a game to you but it's not for me… this is MY LIFE!"

Chauncy tried to interject again, his expression that of a whipped dog. "But Larry, we could......."

Gowan didn't wait for his thought to complete, instead he shouted louder, spittle spraying in Chauncy's face as he tore another strip off the youngest Rottonbottom. "Shut up and listen to me, Chauncy… and listen well, because I'm only going to say this once. There is no US, no WE. I understand we signed a contract for the tag team… one more month… that's all. After that, I'm pulling a Pilate… I'm washing my hands of this whole thing… of YOU. I've had all I can take of this! I'm not… GAAAAAAAAH!"

Gowan broke off, roaring in frustration as he turned away. He was inches away from hitting Chauncy, and as angry as he was, he just couldn't bring himself to hit the kid again. The bruise was already there as evidence of his earlier lapse in control. Chauncy would have one hell of a shiner come morning, as it was, not to mention the injured hand. He raked a hand through his hair, trying to breathe evenly.

Chauncy seized his moment, and began to speak, his voice breathless and rushed, as though he expected to be cut off at any second. Tears shone in his eyes, but to his credit, he didn't blink, and therefore didn't cry. "But, Larry, you're wrong about me and about my brothers. We aren't losers and I am going to prove that to you. You say we have one month. If I don't prove to you in one month that I am not a loser you don't have wash your hands of me. I will quit wrestling for good. I will be out of your hair and out of your life."

The last four words rang with finality, and Gowan blinked, taken aback. He'd come too far though to back down now, so instead he fired right back. "Good! Great! Fine! You have thirty days, Chauncy."

"Fine."

Gowan stormed across the room and grabbed his coat and duffel bag before slamming through the door again, this time for good. As the door closed behind Gowan, a sullen Chauncy stared at the floor, heaving a weary sigh. The words that Gowan had spoken had hurt more than his injured hand, cutting him to the quick like a double-edged sword. To hear that level of disappointment in his voice had ripped Chauncy to shreds. "I am NOT a loser, I KNOW that! Neither was Percy, and neither was Stanley. They both found something they felt was more important than success in the ring: love."

Love was clearly going to be his downfall as well, and with the things Larry had just said it was clear that the feelings had been building between the two of them were significantly more one-sided than he'd initially imagined. "I CANNOT be distracted anymore, on that, Larry is RIGHT. I have to find my own fire. I have to light up the ring like fireworks. I have to take NO prisoners. It is time for a major change in my outlook. It is time for a new page in the book of my life. It's time for me to go back to Wild Bill Reed! I'll prove him wrong if it's the last thing I do!"





Gowan sighed, taking another long swallow of the bittersweet coffee. "I loved you back then. That was why I had that meltdown on you. I had you on this pedestal and it hurt so much when you blew that match. I took it as a personal attack. I don't think I ever told you that."

"You did?" He sounded touched, that perfect elocution slipping slightly. "You might have told me that six years ago. Things might have ended very differently."

"Telling you now." Gowan said softly, "since it's good to go to your grave with a clean slate."

"Grave? Isn't that a titch melodramatic?"

"Maybe it is… maybe it isn't. I'm old. Way past my prime and I'm living on borrowed time as it is. The next head injury I pick up will probably kill me. I won't pussy-foot around that."

"Past glory and all aside, Lawrence, we both know I have respect for what you do, and who you do it for." Chauncy took a deep breath, letting out a sigh.

"Appreciated," Gowan muttered. He brought the coffee cup to his lips for another swallow, getting mostly undissolved sugar. He grimaced and tossed down two crumpled singles on the table. "Do me a favor, and forget I exist. It'll be better for both of us in the long run. I can't be that guy you used to know. Too much has changed. You've grown up, and moved on. We both have."

Liar. You still care. Why else would you be here right now?

Chauncy's hand shot out and caught his arm. "I never moved on. The only person I ever wanted to be partners with was you. Only you..."