007: Everchanging

Eleven days had passed in the blink of an eye. He tried to tell himself that it wasn't the same as when he'd distanced himself from Hannah after learning that Vic Donimari was his father and not hers – a Maury Povich level mindfuck disguised as a deathbed confession. He tried to tell himself that it wasn't the same as when he'd pulled away from Jana – 'gone on walkabout' – in this desperate effort to find the vital parts of himself that he'd lost. He couldn't stop repeating the same patterns over and over. Flight was easier, isolation and alienation preferable to tearing open more wounds so why the hell had he kept this flight unchanged? Why had he come back home? Was he looking for more punishment for the crimes nobody knew about that robbed him of sleep even on good nights?

No.

This was avoidance of the worst kind. It wasn't that erosion he loved to wax poetic about. It wasn't the limelight or the fame or the extra fifteen pounds of hardware in his luggage now. Eleven days – almost twelve now – had become a sort of litmus test for his soul. He should feel bad. He should feel remorse on some level for letting her run away, for letting her think the worst. He just felt numb, a strange phantom limb tingle deep in the cockles of his heart.

Through his blurred vision, he caught sight of that old Ramones crest on a sea of black, lyrics immediately flashing through his head and he murmured them aloud, "nothin' to do, nowhere to go… wanna be sedated."

The girl in the hoodie had her back to him but the closer he got, the more uneasy he became. He knew it was Hannah before she turned around, before he saw the exhaustion written all over her face. He stopped dead, getting a few nudges and bumps as people more intent on their cell phones crashed into him without any apologies.

When Hannah locked eyes with him, she couldn't stop the tired smile that crossed her face even as his gaze skittered away. "Hey." The simple word came out soft and she slid her hands into the pockets of that old Ramones hoodie that she'd worn just for his sake – it was an olive branch. "There's soup in the crock pot at home. If you're hungry. I'm sure you're tired after that long flight and…" she trailed off, shifting her weight to the back-foot as though she saw something in his expression that made her wary.

"I only left Jana because of the baby."

The absolute normalcy of what she said hit him hard as he shoved his hands into his pockets, so she didn't see them shaking. He hadn't really come down from the fight yet, hadn't really been able to process – or obsess over – every little nuance of the match. Bits and pieces were fading already, blurred by exhaustion or maybe supplanted by this inevitable moment. "I…" he tried to find words in the oatmeal his brain had become. If he focused on one thing, he knew he could muddle his way through until sleep came. Instead of finishing, he spotted his case rounding the bend and inching towards them and he tried to time it, so he bent to scoop it up cleanly as it passed. He miscalculated, and it became an awkward fumble before falling at his feet. A soft exhale bordered on a wry chuckle as he lifted his hand to rub the back of his neck. "Hey," he murmured, his eyes finally lifting. He held her gaze, trying like hell to read her mind. Was she still angry? He couldn't tell.

In silence, he stared at her, feeling like he had the moment he'd walked into that bar in Athens and found her standing there eight years ago. The past was screaming in his ears, telling him not to fuck this up like he had everything else up to this point. He was too tired to put on airs, to feign a level of hurt after almost twelve days of silence he'd been too chickenshit to break. She'd automatically given him the out – she always had, she always would. He'd been happy to take it but now he was rusty on the rest of the dance. "You… uh…" he swallowed past the catch in his throat. "Han, I'm-"

"It's fine." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "We can talk about stuff after you've slept. Right now – right here – isn't the time or place."

A few years ago, Hannah would have pestered him to death. She'd have pushed and poked and cajoled until he felt the anger rising. Mute, deflated, he let her steer him towards the doors that led outside. Her hand slipped into his, fingers fitting perfectly between his like they always had. That level of familiarity brought him a few steps back from the abyss. When he blinked, they stood beside her car and when he saw the empty booster seat in the back, he looked back at her. "Where's-"

"Having the time of her life with her cousins. Ellie and Dev are gonna drive her home in the morning," she slammed the trunk shut with his suitcase and backpack safely stowed. "I figured you needed a little time-"

"Like summer vacation, I'm sure." He paused, déjà vu hitting him hard as the rest of what she'd said filtered through his haze. He remembered a time she'd picked him up in Chicago, right after Freddie had saved him from drowning. He remembered feeling a similar disconnect, that weariness down to his bones that he'd called soul sickness. Shaking off the uneasy feeling, he slid into the passenger seat, unable to hold in the sigh as he took the weight off his aching legs and feet. "Talk if you gotta."

Hannah stared through the windshield, gripping the steering wheel. Put on the spot like that, she couldn't think of a damn thing to say to cut the tension between them. "How about instead," she turned so she was facing him, "you tell me what you're feeling."

"What I feel?" He mulled that over for a few seconds, trying to separate Lex the human being from The Boy, that recklessly suicidal mess he became when the blows started to rain down. He wanted to tell her that walking out in a huff was no better than the vanishing act Claire had pulled on him, punishment for a slight he didn't understand. The silence had been worse with her. Infinitely more confusing. It didn't matter much on that front – he didn't even recognize her anymore. Couldn't see a shred of that soft-spoken girl that he'd fallen so hard for. "We can't keep doin' this to ourselves, repeatin' the same..."

"Lex, I'm trying."

"You think I don't know that?" He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. He dug his fingers into a tender spot on the back of his head, that twinge of pain grounding him a little. He felt a childish flare of irritation that she hadn't even said a damned thing about his match or the trip overseas. "Jana didn't know about the baby until a few weeks ago." He broke the silence in the worst way possible, "wasn't ever part of the…" he stopped, bit his lip and shook his head slowly, realizing he needed to start over and be as coherent as possible. "She's not talkin' to me now."

Hannah had known on some level that he'd never really cut ties with Jana. It hurt to have him admit to it so casually, but she shook it off, swallowing her pride and the bitterness as well. "Should've stayed and talked to you…" There was a prickle of tears that came to her eyes. Bringing the sleeve of the hoodie to her eyes, she quickly wiped them away. "I heard what you said and…" she bit back a sniffle, "I went to worst case scenario. It's not a good excuse, I know that."

"No more excuses…" his tone came out flatter than he wanted, and he hated himself for being so numb when he could feel the emotions coming off her in waves. "Listen, there's nothin' to be gained in this bullshit flagellation, y'know? You heard maybe a sixteenth of the conversation, assumed the worst an' reacted..." he held up a finger to forestall her two cents when he heard her take a breath, "again, no blame, alright? It happened an' the last fuckin' thing I wanna hear right now are a bunch of lame apologies."

"I wasn't," she shook her head quickly, "you deserved better. The benefit of the doubt and-"

He opened the door and got out, walking down the line of cars before he was even aware of his own movement. His ears were ringing, that prickly numbness crawling over his skin. He could hear her saying his name, could feel his knuckles pop as fists formed and he counted to ten, slowing his stride and forcing his fingers to relax. The first instinct was to lash out, to hit her and stop the words from coming out of her mouth, from crawling inside his head and setting up roost there. He held his breath, stopping the second she caught up and reached out to grab him.

"Don't-" he caught himself before finishing it, unable to keep his tone level even though his voice was barely over a whisper. He was about to tell her that he didn't want words, more empty goddamned lip service. He wanted actions, to see a change in the way things progressed instead of them both falling into the old broken patterns of codependency. When she caught her breath on a gasp and started to pull away, he realized he'd done it again. "No. Han…" he turned and pulled her into a tight embrace. "That's not what I was sayin'. I love you. I know you love me, okay? You don't gotta…" he sighed. "I'm not that fucked up kid no more. You don't need to rub salve on my wounds, tell me I'm a good boy all the time."

Even as he said it, he knew it wasn't true. He knew that's why he'd sought her out in the first place. It hadn't totally been because he missed his daughter. It had been a quest to find that missing piece, the thing that had been gone since Finn Whelan had tried to end his career. As much as Jana had loved him, had encouraged him, he'd been unable to tolerate it, finding a reason to hate everything she said – he could see now he was transferring his own self-loathing into her attempts to be supportive. Hindsight didn't help much. "I guess maybe… deep down I got doubts." The words came out before he could check them. "About myself, about what kinda person I really am 'cause I wanted to just keep on with the secret, keep both worlds goin' long's I could." He was talking too fast, the exhaustion blurring his words together, "after all the shit… I wanted to hold a happy thought. I wanted…"

She nodded, tilting her head back to look up at him. "I know." He could see understanding there in her eyes, a strange sort of empathy as he chuckled bitterly.

"If the business didn't want me around, least I knew I had you an' Jana both who did, y'know?"

"I do. I still have that inkling of fear that I'm gonna wind up alone." Her smile was sad as she took his hand, pulled him back in the direction of the car. "I know it's stupid. I do. I mean, I have Allegra. I have this perfect life I wouldn't change for anything with my babies and their hero – my champion." She turned and pressed her palm to his cheek, "I love you, Lex. Better or worse… sickness and health.

"Yeah." He couldn't think of anything else to say because she was right. He was always going to be fighting that battle, no matter how good things got in his life. "We should…" he gestured at the night around them, feeling a strange sort of calm washing over him. The adrenaline was fading. The Boy was retreating into the shadows. He didn't mourn the sensation as he met her gaze. She saw the shift, saw the warmth in that half-smile, "let's go home. You want me to drive?"

She thought for a moment and shook her head. "I got this." There was a flirtatious smile on her lips as she slid behind the wheel, watching him get in. She started the car, revving the engine as she reached for his hand. "As soon as we get home, though? It'll be your turn to drive."



"Can't stop. Won't stop. Which one is it, though?" There's a rueful chuckle before the grainy darkness resolves, revealing Lex Collins sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. There's tape residue visible across the back of his right hand, sticking to the dark hairs that remain on his tattooed wrist. His knuckles are torn up; a few of the cuts are still oozing clear plasma but he twiddles the fingers of his right in a sort of mocking wave before he starts picking at the edge of the tape across the other.

"Skill versus will – I'm sure you've heard that before somewhere. Forget who drilled that difference into my head. Doesn't matter right now. Experience is a trap when you really think about it. It's a perpetual motion machine, impossible sure, but it's this fucked up cycle where we keep piling on until the bough breaks. I keep pushing. Always. See, I have to prove all the critics wrong. I have to silence a voice that stopped being relevant at least a thousand years and half a dozen championships ago. But hey, y'know, we all have our rituals. We all have a sentence to carry out. Sounds a little bleak, doesn't it? Go through the motions. Feed on their energy like a goddamned vampire an' tell yourself that it's reciprocal. They get something outta seein' you succeed. They feel like they're part of the process. 'Tween you an' me, though? It's bullshit. It's not altruistic in the least."

He lifts his hand, rubbing it across his mouth as if he wants to scrub away the bitterness of the confession. A sigh escapes as he closes his eyes.

"I never aspired to much. I think I've told this story before. I got into the fight business 'cause I wanted to channel my rage. I wanted to learn how to defend myself – when I was a kid, under his roof, I didn't feel like I had that power. I can't begin to explain why that made sense at the time, why I allowed it to happen. An' let's be clear on this – I don't need nails or a fuckin' cross. I'm not seekin' martyrdom or sainthood or any of that crap. I just… I'm not a statistic. That's the thing I'm still fighting against the hardest. The story evolves like this: I get my hands on Riot's other belt an' I'm the King of the Castle, right? Unfuckwithable. Yeah... no. Not even close. I got mixed up in shit I shouldn't have at the end of Anarchy 42. Friends close. Enemies closer, right?"

He sniffs disdainfully.

"No. See… no. That's not what any of this is about. I'm not lookin' to get involved in some faction pissin' contest. I just fuckin' hate the numbers game an' those who abuse it. An' this, I'm not seeing some trial by fire. This is about writin' a new definition, turnin' a page to start a new chapter – hell, a new book altogether. Learn from the past but don't repeat it. Tell yourself who you are but don't lose sleep over somethin' so goddamned ever-changing. Don't chase ghosts. Don't dig too deep – these are the rules a good guy never breaks, right?"



"You are not meant to be a human punching bag." The doctor said, breaking into Lex's reverie. "There isn't a single person in this world that should accept that fate, let alone aspire to it. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

He shrugged, no emotion in his voice when he replied, "it's no big deal, Doc. I can take a punch like a champ an' keep on' fightin' – it's not just my job, alright? It's–"

"Son, I'm not talking about the wrestling."

There was a brief flicker at the use of the word 'son', just a tightening in his jaw and around his eyes before it vanished back into that carefully arranged neutral mask. "I wasn't either."

"You tell me things like that for shock value, yet you feel like you don't need to be here?"

Collins closed his eyes because the darkness was better than counting the acoustic ceiling tiles for the millionth time. "Goes without sayin', don't it?"

"I'd like to hear it from you, if it's all the same..."

Lex sighed. "An' you're gonna keep pick, pick, pickin' away 'til I spill all the secrets an' fill all the silence with stupid word-puke so what's the point in avoidin'? Yeah. I feel like I don't need this. Talkin' ain't never served no purpose but makin' a guy thirsty–"

"If you'd like something to drink, I can have Linda fetch you some water–"

"Ain't like that, Doc. You bring a man water when he's thirstin', that's just addressing the immediate need, ain't it? That's not what this' about... never was. An' I know Han wants me to unload all my baggage here but you know how fuckin' light I'd be if I unloaded all the dead versions of myself I'm cartin' around inside..." he gestured vaguely at the side of his head, "I need the weight, Doc. Keeps me from fuckin' floatin' away, y'know?"

Bennett sat there in stunned silence before softly clearing his throat. "I offered because I want you to be comfortable, Alex–"

"Lex," he corrected, just a hint of irritation creeping into that reflex. He reached up to rub a hand over his face, sighing, "you sure like to talk in circles, don'tcha?"

"And you like to avoid direct questions, making it necessary. Tell me about Hannah." Doctor Bennett watched the smile on his patient's face – the first emotion that he didn't try to hide.

"She's the only good thing'at ever happened to me. I know that sounds like a loada shit, but it's true. If she wasn't there..."

"Be honest, Lex. I can't help you if you're not honest."

"If she hadn't been there... well I wouldn't've made it past sixteen. I know that for a fact an' I swallowed up all his abuse. He used to wait 'til I was in bed an' creep in with the lights off – hit me with a bar of soap in a sock. He'd laugh while he did it but it was better'n him hurtin' Loo. Got to where I didn't even have to do nothin' to set him off. Just breathin' was enough. Just bein' under the same roof..." there was no inflection to his voice, no emotion there. It was hard to tell if he was lying or not, but the good doctor had the reports from the hospital the night they'd taken him away from that home. "I sucked it up, y'know? An' when he was spent an' blacked out'n front of the TV, I snuck out an' went to Han. I climbed in her window–"

"How old were you?"

"First time?" He furrowed his brow, thinking about it in a way he never had before. "Guess maybe I was ten. I dunno... but that seems right."

He consulted his notes, "so she would have been eight?"

"Yeah, prob'ly." Collins shrugged as he heard the pen scratching on the paper, oblivious to the fact that the doctor thought he was talking about something else entirely, "all she had to do was touch me an' it was like she pulled all the poison out. He could do whatever he wanted to me... say whatever... break every bone in me an' it was nothin' soon as–"

"So it went on for years, until you were seventeen? Until the night you were removed from the home?"

Lex nodded, "well yeah. She was my best friend – still is. Always will be. She's the only one who knows me inside an' out." He sighed, "so yeah, prob'ly a couple times a week... more 'round the time I turned thirteen, I guess."

"I see," Bennett's pen flew over the paper, making a few marks as he tried to keep the judgement off his face. No wonder Hannah was so enamored with this boy — the relationship was as sickeningly codependent as they came. He wondered how long Collins had been passing the abuse on down the line to his poor wife.

"She was... a soft landin', y'know? Maybe you don't, but no matter how bad it got, I had that. I had her an' she never looked at me different. She never said shit about me when I missed a couple days of school like the rest of 'em did, makin' up stories an' I just let 'em talk, y'know? Easier'n tryin'..." he trailed off, shaking his head and the doctor looked so thrilled at that confession, so proud of himself to have finally made a breakthrough that he felt bad.

Bennett flipped a few pages in Collins' file, looking for truancy reports, finding none. "You had poor attendance?"

Lex snorted, the sound bordering on a laugh. "Yeah, guess you could say that. Don't have any of that on my record, do ya? Nah. He was always quick to write a note an' explain it all away... I was into cars an' sports so injuries happened an'... y'know... I was sick a lot in high school," he tried for a smile, but it turned out as more a pained grimace.

"So–"

"Yeah," Lex closed his eyes again, leaning back against the couch so he didn't have to look at the guy. With his eyes closed, he could pretend he wasn't being judged for every tic, every little movement and nuance of his voice. "So what're you gonna ask me next? If I ever tried to off myself?"

"Is that something you feel like we need to discuss?"

 "Nope." He bit his lip, wishing he could just keep his mouth shut and run out the clock.

"Fair enough. Since we were talking about Hannah, maybe you should tell me a bit more about the statutory rape charge that was filed against you when you were seventeen–"

His eyes snapped open, his head turning so fast that he felt a twinge in his neck and then he was on his feet, fingers digging into the doctor's shoulders before slamming him back against the chair. "The fuck did you just say?" His eyes were as black as night, boring into the doctor's.

To his credit, Bennett didn't tense up; he didn't even flinch as his eyes fixed on Lex's. "I take it you had no idea?"

"W-what the fuck're you..?" He released the doctor and took a few steps back towards the door as horror washed over his features, the pallor apparent under the stubble that covered his cheeks and chin, "no...." His hand came up, covering his mouth as he blinked a few times, shaking his head, "no... no way. I never did nothin' like that an' she woulda never..."



"I'm not a good person. Not really."

He shakes his head.

"Experience is a curse, knowledge a burden – follow along, okay? Tryin' my best to make sense here. I have a past. No secret there. Done things I'm not proud – sometimes not even aware – of. I'm not unique there, not at all. We all got skeletons buried in the closet 'cause that's all part of the human experience. I know. So, hey... let's be honest, alright? No pussyfootin' to be had tonight. I don't know you at all. We've never interacted outside that random little scuffle an' now I'm thrown into another goddamned defense for this belt against you? Another one. Another one. Every week it's the same thing ad nauseum an' I just… can't we have some middle ground? Can't this guy catch a fuckin' break already? I'm tired. I just wanna have an easy opponent for a change. Don't get me wrong, okay. I'm not about to pal up with Erik Black and his dipshit brigade, head full of chemicals/gut full of liquid courage like another 'don't try this at home' cliché. Be all about the glory an' none of the effort that goes with it. Not what I'm gettin' at, okay? Fought my fuckin' heart out in Dublin. Came back with more hardware, another raison d'être an' now… what do I get? Respect? A pat on the back? Nope. More wolves at the door. I'd settle for a fruit basket, a greeting card… whatever, y'know? Underwhelming. But we can't all be winners all the time, right?"

Flexing his hands, the sound of the joints creaking is caught by the sensitive microphone sitting beside him.

"I don't wanna be their hero. Don't wanna be yours or your enemy, neither. You seem like you got it all figured out, D. You don't let the endless deluge of shit soil you in any way – still haven't got a handle on that but I'm tryin' my best. Tryin' to get a leg up on the pile as best I can. Not get eaten in the process, y'know? Lofty goals in this day an' age."

There's a soft little chuckle that trails off with a deep inhalation.

"Yet, I'm the guy who always seems to have blood on my hands. Sometimes it's my own. Sometimes I'm not sure who it belongs to – whether it's innocent or not. That's the nature of this business. We're all monsters to varying degrees. Do you ever look at your hands an' see blood? Do you ever look in the mirror an' wonder where the bruises came from? Punches to the face. Elbows to the gut. All for you, man. Orchestrated by you, to you – signed, sealed, delivered FROM you. Semantics, right? You do it to yourself, like that Radiohead song. That's what really hurts."

He shakes his head slowly.

"Pride's the worst sin you can commit in these parts, 'specially when it's unearned. Let's keep the honesty ball rollin' since I already pushed it off the top of the hill.  Pickin' up steam, right?  Pride's funny, y'know?  An' one time my brother-in-law Jax told me it's a 'fickle catalyst' or somesuchshit 'cause it can drive you to achieve greatness or it can bring 'bout your doom.  Guess that's fair to say for anythin' though, really.  I mean... depends how you roll with the punches... or I guess... don't?  Think he said that stupid shit right after I nailed him in the face with a knee – no history lessons today, man. Just me pukin' up words 'cause the well's pretty dry. Can't sleep. Spendin' too many hours in the gym. Why?  'Cause I gotta get this right. I can't let you come in an' piss all over my moment in the spotlight – wouldn't be sporting of me. Gotta rage. Gotta make sure the Bricks're ready to throw. Gotta be on point 'cause the whole world is watchin' my every move."

He pauses, a halfway-there for a second smirk on his lips.

"Sorry's prob'ly the shittiest thing I can say right now, but it's the word on my tongue the most an' I get it, alright?  I'm human. I'm flesh an' blood an' I ain't anywhere close to perfect so an apology ain't really warranted. I did my best. It's rarely good enough – again not lamentation by any means. Just proven fact. Patterns are meant to be broken, though. You can reprogram your brain if you put in enough effort. You can silence the voices. Stars are already dead by the time we can even see them – burn out an' ready for a fall. I never aspired to be a star, used up before my time. Never chased glory. Never wanted it. I wanted to fight, to purge all the poison inside me – wanted to survive. You ever felt the weight inside you, pullin' away inside your skin? I do. All the damn time. Somethin' has to give. You gotta pay the piper. You gotta give your tribute to the ferryman, pay that toll to cross over. Nobody gets a pass, no free rides given in this meat grinder business. You pay in blood. In sanity. In heart. In soul. In goddamned integrity, even. Whatever you got left in you to give 'til the well goes dry."

His fingers drum against the face plate of the belt across his lap. He pauses for a beat before lifting his head. His eyes are cold, dead black.

"This isn't the end of my story, D. It's the beginning. You're welcome to interpret that one however you wish."

He lets that thought hang for a few seconds before leaning forward to cut the camera. The last thing seen are the weeping scabs on his knuckles, those self-inflicted wounds that tell a far deeper story than words ever could.