022 (unity) [SCW]

of unbroken unity sewn flawlessly invisible inside 

all other images, thoughts, smells, and sounds.

— Aberjhani 

Friday, June 19, 2015

"You're what?" Chauncy glanced at the phone in his hand as though it had bit him, before bringing it back to his ear. "Stanley, I think you must've gone quite mad. Either that or you've been replaced by a changeling."

It was ridiculous. Unheard-of. Unthought of. His brother, the perennial bachelor, who'd spent the last most-of-his-life mooning over the girl that got away, a messy giant of a man who enjoyed cricket games, following his brother's wrestling career and offering advice that was more about reliving his own glory days in the ring than real suggestions, and who brewed what had to be the worst beer in the world save Fosters lager, doing this?

His brother's chuckle came through the line, hearty as usual. "I can assure you I've definitely not taken any sort of leave of my senses. This is perhaps the most logical thing I've done in years, Chaunce."

"Getting married has nothing to do with logic, Stanley. Or rather, it shouldn't. See? Wrong from the very beginning."

"I beg to differ," Stanley sounded both firm and resolute, "giving up a position such as mine required careful consideration. I didn't call for your blessing, baby brother. I called to ask you to stand up for me when the time comes."

"Well, of course I will, Stanley, but you've got to admit, it's all very out-of-the-blue. And you're going to be stuck with this woman, and a child, to boot, for the rest of your life. You could be utterly damning yourself on an impulse." Chauncy shook his head, letting out a frustrated sigh. "Marriage is hard, and if our brother's poor showing is anything to go by, parenting is a bloody nightmare."

"I can't, in good conscience, let sweet Prue twist in the wind simply because I'm too frightened to get back in the saddle." Stanley sighed, "and that was a dreadful metaphor, but you said it yourself. I've been alone for far too long and it's hardly as though we just met. We've worked together for more than a decade."

"Yes, but she's your co-worker, not your friend, Stanley. Even if your relationship is on friendly enough grounds. I think this is..." He sighed, shaking his head again, as though he could force sense into his brother via the gesture, half a world away. "I think that if you had the slightest first-hand experience with how difficult marriage can be, you'd rethink."

Drawn by the sound of Chauncy's voice, Larry walked down the hall, using the towel draped around his neck to wipe the last of the chlorinated water from his face. He froze in the doorway to the study at the last words that fell from his partner's lips.

"Ah yes, the voice of experience speaks!" Stanley remarked, his dry sense of humour there in the twist of the words, "and if it weren't for such wonderful role models in you and Percy, perhaps I'd be inclined to agree with you. Between the two of you, I've seen a good deal of the opposite ends of the spectrum, from functional to dys."

"I am not in the least dysfunctional," answered Chauncy loftily. "And if you're looking for a role model on parenting, you couldn't be further from an ideal. Trapping somebody into a relationship via a child is a dreadful thing to do, and I can't help but think this is the case right here."

Larry reached out, bracing his hand on the doorframe as though the words had come at him like a physical blow but he still kept his mouth shut.

"I offered," Stanley corrected him, a hint of irritation creeping into his tone, "there was no coercion involved."

"Perhaps not visibly so, but coercion seems rather par for this course." Chauncy sighed. "Look, of course I'll be there for you, but remember, it's with the misgivings that I'll be there for you again when this all goes to pot."

"Your concerns have been noted and filed accordingly, baby brother. I'll ring you again when we have a definitive timeline to work with. Do ask Larry if he'd be willing to take the trip out for such an occasion," the double meaning was clear enough in the words, even though he was polite enough not to mention how Gowan had very nearly missed their mother's funeral.

"Is Lawrence not welcome, then? I'm sure he wouldn't mind staying at home..." Chauncy let his words trail off, terse as they were.

Stanley chuckled, "I'll save you a beer." Before Chauncy could protest how awful that offer was, he'd already rung off without saying goodbye.

Heart in his throat, Larry closed his eyes, leaning against the doorway now, trying to wrap his head around what he'd managed to stumble upon eavesdropping. He wasn't welcome somewhere?

With a final grunt of frustration, Chauncy set the phone back into the cradle before turning around. "Oh, there you are. How was your swim?"

His eyes flew open and Larry stared at him for a split second before he turned on his heel and strode out of the room, not bothering to answer. Making his way to the kitchen, he pulled open the fridge hard enough to make the various condiment jars in the door rattle before reaching in to grab a bottle of iced tea.

"Wha-?" Chauncy strode after him, walking up to the kitchen counter and regarding his husband with a perplexed expression. "Lawrence, what on earth is the matter with you? You look as though you've found half a worm in your apple."

"I'm not even sure who you were talking to, but..." he shook his head, setting the bottle down on the counter before turning to look at Chauncy, "I don't think it matters, really. At least I know how you feel."

"I was talking to Stanley, he's- wait, how I feel about what?" Shocked, he rounded the counter, reaching out for his partner's hand. "Lawrence, I was talking to Stanley, who rather startled me with his news and-"

"And what was it you said? My ears are ringing... I can't even think I'm so..." Larry pulled his hand away from Chauncy's so violently that he managed to bash the bottle of iced tea with his elbow, sending it spinning off the counter. "If he knew what an awful undertaking marriage was-"

Fast as he was, Chauncy was too slow to catch the bottle, which landed heavily on the floor before rolling away to rest against the kickboard. "Well, his will be, if he ends up marrying The bloody Honourable Prudence Hobson," he began, straightening up and leaving the bottle right where it had landed. "She's far too young for him, her father is a nightmare, and she's three months up the spout! Not to Stanley, obviously. He's still in love with her and he's walking into a disaster with his arms spread and a smile on his blimmin' face. What do you expect me to say, 'Congratulations, brother-mine, on this delightful undertaking, do have a wonderful life raising somebody else's son and dealing with your in-laws, I'm sure that your father in law will at least be able to choose decent liquor for the wedding, since he's familiar with every brand in the entire United Kingdom.' If you think I was talking about us, then I'm gobsmacked, frankly. I thought we'd put all of that particular nonsense to bed."

"I'd thought so too, yet here we are. Since when did you put such an emphasis on age? What does it matter if he's happy?" Larry's eyes were narrowed into a glare, "if you weren't talking about us, what's so sour about the prospect of marriage? Stanley's a reasonable fellow. I'm sure he's not-"

"Stanley is not reasonable when it comes to this. He's been in love with the same woman since the dawn of time, and this isn't likely to change that. I'm not sour on the prospect of marriage, however grim it may seem right at this second, I'm grim on him allying himself with those people. Prudence worked for Stanley because her father wouldn't give any of them a penny, and her brother bogged off after their mother died and gave him everything. No sense of duty amongst the lot of them. And he's marrying her? It's unbe-bloody-leivable."

"You can't very well expect him to carry that torch forever and die alone and unloved! That's hardly fair, Chauncy. You know the poor man can't have children of his own so maybe this - have you actually stopped to consider that - is what he actually wants?"

"I don't expect him to carry the torch, but he's doing it anyway. Hard to miss, since he lights his entire life with the thing. How many months ago he was referring to babies as little monsters? No, he hasn't changed his mind, he's trying to be all noble and failing. Or setting himself up to, which is like as not the same thing."

"So being noble is akin to failure. I see. Are there any other startling revelations you'd like to bludgeon me over the head with while we're at it? Might as well get them all out in the open." Breaking eye contact, he went to go fetch the bottle he'd knocked flying only because his throat was starting to hurt from both raising his voice and trying not to burst into tears of frustration.

"No, trying to be noble when you don't mean it, is akin to setting yourself up for failure. If you'd stop cherry-picking everything I said, trying to find slights, you wouldn't be so unreasonable. I don't have any revelations to make, Lawrence. I think he's making a mistake, because marriage isn't just something you do to help a person out, like giving a cup of sugar to a neighbour, or walking somebody's old granny across the road." Chauncy growled in frustration, and yanked open a cupboard door, deciding that a cup of tea might at least help one of them calm down. He turned, gesturing lightly with the mug. "Or is it that you're holding back on something and you're... what do they call it? Transferring?"

"Holding back? On what?" He cracked open the bottle and took a long swallow of the sweet tea. "What could I possibly be transferring? Like you said, we put everything to bed weeks ago."

Chauncy flipped on the switch of the kettle, setting the mug down carefully, defying the urge to slam it on the laminate. "Then why on earth are we fighting right now?" he asked, voice tight and low, teeth gritted.

"I..." Gowan shook his head, "I don't know. I overreacted. I jumped to conclusions and I... good grief, I'm just awful. I'm sorry."

"I mean it, Lawrence." Chauncy didn't turn around, attempting to hide his efforts to keep his emotions in check. "Why must you always think the very worst of me?"

"I don't. I swear to God, I really don't. I'm just..." he sighed, raking his free hand through his still-damp hair. Turning away, he moved to the sink and poured out the rest of the tea simply to give himself something to do. "I'm terrified, I suppose." He rinsed the bottle and then squashed it with the cap partially on before tightening it to keep the plastic flat. "One of these days, something awful will happen, I'm sure. I guess I'm trying so hard to head that off before it ever comes to a head that I'm creating mountains out of grains of sand."

"If you keep doing that, the something awful is going to be a sandstorm," he answered, wrapping the cord of a teabag slowly and deliberately around the handle of the mug. "I'm not your enemy, nor do I want to be, but it sometimes feels as though I'm being forced into the role. Do you not believe me when I say that I love you? Is that it?"

"I believe you." The words came out softly as he leaned against the counter, feeling as though they were a thousand miles apart instead of less than a few feet. "How could you even ask me that? After everything..." and there was the damned prickle of tears like clockwork. "I'm sorry. This is my fault. I shouldn't have been eavesdropping."

"I wasn't talking about us. I wasn't talking about our marriage," Chauncy insisted, shaking his head again, pushing away the urge to become more emotional, himself. "It's not anybody's fault. You can't operate on half of a conversation."

Larry sighed, turning around and crossing to where Chauncy stood. Reaching out, he laid a hand on his shoulder, "you're right. I'm sorry. Please don't be upset."

He stiffened, but didn't pull away. "The last thing either of us need right now is to be at odds with each other. I'm going to make a cup of tea and then perhaps we could benefit from discussing strategy for winning, rather than this?"

Nodding, Larry withdrew, "yes.. Of course. I think that would be a good idea. The last thing we want to do is end up looking as inept as Valerie and Alysson."

(the past: Wichita, KS)

Monday, May 10, 2004

Chauncy let himself into their shared hotel room, trying to be as quiet as possible, failing almost immediately as he clunked the cast against the light switch, hissing breath between his teeth. The room was the last place he wanted to be. Anywhere near Gowan was the last place he wanted to be, and the man would inevitably be here. But WBR was insistent on them sharing the road, sharing the room, sharing everything, in the hope of shaping the two of them into something approximating a real team.

And it wasn't going to work.

It wasn't going to work because Lawrence was a sot, and he was a... a... what was it that had been said? The shallowest, most vain person he had ever met? Lazy? Worse, lazy as a familial trait, his brother's failures in the ring being lumped on him as well.

WBR was wrong. This was not going to work. It would never have worked. It was chalk and cheese, oil and water, and every other cliche he could possibly name, if only the sharp stars of pain would stop ripping up his broken hand and bothering him so that he could only list the most obvious. He flipped on the bedside lamp with his other hand - the stupid one - and stared for a moment at the bed as though he could will himself undressed and under the covers.

"S'not mornin' yet, is it?" The mumbled question came from the other bed, muffled by the blankets that were pulled up over the head of his tag team partner.

"That depends entirely on what you mean." He toed off his shoes and awkwardly pulled back the covers. "It's almost three, I've just spent a million years waiting in Casualty for my hand to be cast... er... Emergency Room, not that it matters, and why do this lot have to change the words for everything in any case? I mean, SUV? Bloody ridiculous." He glared. "It doesn't matter. Sleep it off, as I'm sure you were doing."

"The experiment was a failure," Gowan muttered, still half-asleep, "I'll call Bill in t'mornin'... tell him though'm pretty sure he saw that... travesty tonight along with the rest of the world."

"It was always going to be. A team won't work when one member doesn't want to work with the other," snapped Chauncy crisply. "Particularly when said one already holds views based on familial lines. Not something one can help."

"That's not..." he threw the covers back, rolling over to look at Chauncy. "I like Stanley. I didn't..." his whiskey-soaked and still half asleep brain was having trouble keeping up with the conversation, let alone recalling verbatim what he'd said in anger before leaving the arena. Oh, but he remembered the sentiment, the desire to lash out and hurt the boy because he felt so horribly betrayed. Their first loss and it had been with gold on the line. "I... oh goodness... your hand. I didn't even ask."

"You were rather busy explaining to me that I'm lazy and entitled at the time. I doubt you could have squeezed concern into the conversation comfortably," Chauncy replied loftily. "One more month and you're free to go. The hand is broken, so like as not that month won't require a shred of effort other than the eight-ounce weightlifting you're so fond of."

One more month. Those three words resonated, digging into his ears and burrowing into his skull like that episode from the original Star Trek series. In his state of inebriation, he actually pictured them carving him up - they might as well since he could actually feel the pain. It wasn't in his head, though. It was a dull ache in his chest. "I... maybe I was too hasty."

"I don't know, it seemed like you were voicing somewhat long-held opinions," answered Chauncy. "Despite the fact that you're wrong. I'm not lazy. My brothers aren't lazy. I'm bloody well good at this, it's just..." He let out a frustrated noise. "It doesn't matter."

"It does," Gowan insisted, "if it helps any, I don't remember what I said at all." The lie of omission was still a lie. Pieces were trickling back now, making him wish time travel was a reality. "I was... well... I called you lazy?"

"That doesn't help. I believe your exact words may have been, 'goddamned sloth'." He sat down on the edge of the bed, fussing over the cast to avoid looking at the man across the room. "I'm not an idiot, you know."

"Did I give you the impression I thought you were?" Larry sat up slowly, testing the waters to make sure he wasn't going to give himself vertigo from his last few hours of excessive drinking. "I really don't. You're a very clever boy, Skippy. Honestly."

"You very much gave the impression that you feel I'm wasting everybody's time. That I'm some rich boy with the same hobby as my brothers, that I don't take this seriously. I do. And I had every intent of proving you wrong, only..." He held up his hand by way of illustration, miserably letting it fall back into his lap. A very clever boy. Who had just completely made a fool of himself in front of a man who he thought of as... a hero. A hero, professionally. Who was giving away his feet of clay perhaps, but this was all, just somebody he worked with, somebody a million miles away from where he was. Somebody he was lying to, by way of omission. He sighed. "You should sleep. I should sleep. I'm all in."

"You have potential. You do. I just don't think I'm the right one to bring you to that next level. I'm past my prime, Chauncy. I need to just hang up my boots and wash my hands of this whole dog and pony show before someone gets seriously hurt." There was a pointed look at the cast in that moment, punctuated by a sigh.

"You're what... thirty-four? You're peaking. And I'm not going to listen to excuses. I said I was going to prove you wrong, and I meant it. Wrong about every single thing." He lay down, awkwardly tugged over the covers, and rolled away. It would have been the perfect closing gesture, apart from his inability to switch the bedside lamp back off.

"Thirty-five in November," he replied with a nod even though Chauncy wasn't looking. "Did they give you anything for the pain?"

"Nor the embarrassment," he murmured, closing his eyes, bringing the aching hand closer to his chest to support it.

"I might have something in my bag if you want it." Larry threw off the covers the rest of the way, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "It's really no trouble. Do you want me to get it for you?"

"I don't want you to put yourself out, but if you'd switch off the light? I don't want to-" He sighed, knowing if he finished the sentence, explained why he needed such strict control over his mouth, that the game would be up. "You always feel rotten after taking that sort of thing."

Nodding, Larry moved to his feet and reached for the lamp, switching it off and plunging the room back into darkness save the sliver of light that bled in around the edges of the ill-fitting curtains on the window. He stood there in the dark for a few moments, waiting for his eyes to adjust before he moved closer to Chauncy's bed. Slowly, he reached out and laid a hand on his partner's shoulder, "I don't want to break up the team," he said softly, "so don't fret... and... uhm... sleep well? Wake me up if you can't.... I'll just be over there."


An open letter to my other half:

Our opponents know precisely where they stand in our eyes (thanks largely to you), so I won't bore the world with another rehashing of your already most salient points. Instead I am going to address this week's missive (much to your chagrin, I'm sure), to you. Yes, you.

I wanted to hang up my boots more than ten years ago and it wasn't because I was injured or bored or felt my time being relevant had drawn to a close. No. It was fear. 100% unbridled terror. I'm sure that's not really much of a surprise to you, given how well you know me and my fondness for the 26-ounce arm curls. By the time Wild Bill Reed had had the genius idea to form a team of the unlikeliest misfits, taking his most seasoned basket case and matching him with the most promising wet-behind-the-ears rookie, well, let's just say that habit was more than ingrained. When I felt the yips coming, I'd take a nip to the point where I was spending the majority of my days lubricated just to function. But you, bless your big heart, you kept trying to keep me clean and accountable to where I had to put the bottle down simply because I didn't want to see that disappointment in your eyes anymore. I remember that night of our first real blow-out fight like it was yesterday. I recall how harsh I was, tearing you apart over a simple mistake. You didn't deserve that and I cringe in hindsight because it was that adoration in your eyes that tore me apart in the worst possible way. You looked up to me then and I was so gutted over that loss of our first championship.

Winning those belts in SAWF meant everything to me because working with you was a polar opposite to how it was with my half-brother Shawn Stevens back in WCWF a couple years before - like your completely misunderstood example to Valerie and Alysson, we were two disparate individuals with completely different goals once that bell rang. He was obsessed with winning at all costs and grew unbelievably frustrated when I refused to wield a weapon or grab a handful of tights to push an advantage. He didn't understand my resistance, claiming that, 'everyone else does it so why shouldn't we?'

With you though, it was different from the get-go. You were professional. You were respectful and that passion you've always had for the business shone through every single time you climbed between those ropes. It was like a switch was thrown. You smiled more. Your eyes glowed and you were this unstoppable wall. I was in awe of your ring awareness, even then. Long story short, I was honoured to have someone like you - a partner of your calibre at my side. You were more than just the hand I would tag out to when I felt my energy start to flag. You were my best friend and confidant. You were this bright, shiny light in my life... and then the inevitable happened. We flew too close to the sun, the wax melted and the fledgling Knights of Anarchy crashed and burned. It was never really the same after that and it was 100% my fault we spent the next four years drifting further and further apart. But you had college and I had the bottle for company while I ran through a rather unremarkable near-year of success in Millennium Wrestling Alliance (although I avoided their tag division like the plague because I didn't want to have to pick up that phone, swallow my pride and admit that I needed you). But you knew. Somehow, you felt that void the same way I did and you... goodness... I'm sorry. I can't even write this without getting emotional now. You know what I mean. You know what you did. The rest of the world will simply have to accept that even with my heart on my sleeve, some things are still meant to be kept private.

I guess what I'm trying to tell you is that you're the sole reason the KoA still exists. You're the reason I didn't give up on the business altogether in the fall of 2010 after that horrible man called me "Lawrence of A-Gaybia" on television. You gave me the strength to carry on, to seek out a new company that wouldn't place an absurd label on me because of the person I love most of all. Sure, the fans were there, supporting us. We had our friends and family. But I was never stronger than when you were there by my side, holding my hand. I know that as long as you're there, anything and everything will continue to be a possibility - from defeating Sherry Diamond and Marissa Kane to convincing you that your hat still is, and has always been, blindingly white. Neither is in any sort of doubt as I pen these words now.

Take a bow. Go ahead. You've earned it because you, Chauncy, you are the glue that holds me together in the best possible way. Honestly, that's why I started calling you 'Skippy' back eleven years ago. People have come and gone over the years, but you were sticky and consistent, like peanut butter - I realise now that it was immature to saddle you with such a silly name, but at the time I thought it was clever and perfectly encapsulated how I felt without putting too much of myself out there. That damned fear, remember? It was flippant of me to pass it off under such glib terms, so I'll apologise for that now. You deserve better, but I'm simply not clever enough to come up with anything.

Those last three title reigns of ours were substantial (I don't count PCW since it was all of forty-eight hours before the company went under) and they were because of YOU. We beat Redneck Rampage because of you. We schooled Shades of the Sun and earned this opportunity because of you. We put in ten of the best years of my career, together, and that blows my mind completely. Ten years is a very long time in this revolving-door industry. The fact that we're still household names, still known for being one of the best teams out there speaks volumes. I cannot claim that credit on my own. A team isn't one person. It requires a heart and a soul. A brain and the chaos of emotions to offset it. We have that, you and I. We always did, even at the start, as much as I never wanted to admit it. But you knew and you wouldn't let me roll over and play dead as much as I wanted to. I love you for that dogged determination most of all.

I'm still here because of that heart that beats in your chest. I'm here because of that smile and that pride I see in your eyes every time our music hits. I'm still here because of the common sense you whisper into my ear when I'm about to blast off, half-cocked. You are the other side of the coin. You are the yin to my yang, the shade to my sun. We are perfect together.

Here by my side, you are an angel - my angel - and I want the world to know that without you, none of this would be possible. There would be no Knights of Anarchy, no challengers for #Sherissa's tag team stranglehold, if it weren't for Chauncy Nottingham, the other half. Here by my side, you are destruction - we are unstoppable.

A million times over, thank you. From the bottom of my soul.

Lawrence