Paranoid Android [PW: 12/10/2014]

The words 'we need to talk' were never good by any stretch of the imagination so when Jackson had jerked awake from his restless, Xanax-induced sleep and dropped that particular bomb while they were thirty-thousand feet in the air, she'd panicked. She'd frozen and then asked him if it could wait until they were home. It was manipulation at its best— she knew how paranoid he was ever since TMZ had broken a story about his wrist being injured before he'd faced Legacy back in SCW. He'd let it drop for the time being and she'd done her best to keep her game face on.

That had been eight hours ago. Upon landing, he'd insisted on taking her out for dinner since they'd had to cancel the yearly tradition of the giant family dinner. She knew he'd been relieved to do that— over the last year he'd grown increasingly more anti-social and she accepted that as part of his healing process. She hadn't pushed, watching as the months ticked by and his website lay dormant. When he'd signed on with PWP for monthly, low-key appearances, she'd felt hopeful and when he'd gone hard at Stefan Raab, it had been like watching the man she'd fallen in love with all those years ago.

And then it had all fallen apart last night when she'd watched him freeze instead of breaking out of a simple small package driver.

Her hands were shaking as she reached up and unclasped the diamond choker she'd worn to dinner with her little black dress. "Oh shit," she muttered, shaking her head and then freezing herself when she heard Jackson laughing softly, wondering who he was talking to now. "Stupid," she chided herself when she realized it was coming through the baby monitor on the dresser behind her— she'd apparently left it on. With a shaking hand, she reached out to turn it up so that she could hear Jackson talking softly to their son— without fail he did it every night when he was home. Sometimes he sang songs. Sometimes he just told him stories that the toddler barely understood. Tonight she couldn't make out the words, but the sound of his voice was enough to make her feel worse somehow. When the silence came, she didn't really realize she was still standing there, frozen in place with her eyes squeezed shut against tears that she felt prickling. Subtly, the air in the room shifted and then she heard the floor creak— he'd done it for her benefit, she knew.

"Headache gotten worse?" She felt his breath against her neck as he unzipped the dress for her before kissing the nape of her neck.

"A little," she managed in a small voice.

"Well then let's call it an early night." He slid the silky material from her shoulders, letting the dress drop to the floor. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he held her tightly, resting his chin against her hair with a sigh. He knew she was lying when she'd claimed that was the reason for her silence over dinner. Watching her down two glasses of wine was enough of a clue to dispel that fantasy. Still, handing her the out was almost second nature. "Remember when I said I wanted to talk?"

"I..." She exhaled deeply and pulled away from him. On her way across the room, she grabbed one of his over-sized shirts that she usually wore to bed, tugging it on as if she wanted to impose that barrier between them. "Yeah... I do. I guess I was kinda hoping you forgot," she sank down on the bed and brought her hands up to her face; she buried it in them, thinking carefully about how best to apologize for what she'd done. Unable to think of a good way, she just blurted out the first words in her head, "if you don't want me to be there at ringside anymore, I'll understand—"

"What?" He stared at her for a good ten seconds, blinking in confusion, his brain stalling out over that simple statement. "What?" He repeated it before making his way over towards her.

"I guess I got to thinking too hard." It was true, she had and now she was anxious to the point of feeling nauseated.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhkay." He drew it out into a sigh, shaking his head. Right about now, he was feeling the first little itch, that little craving in the back of his head for a cigarette. "And if I ask you what you're thinking too hard about, am I going to regret it ten seconds later?"

Instead of answering his question, she looked up at him, eyes wide with worry and bright with unshed tears. "I failed you, Jackson." She rarely ever called him that these days and the way she said it made him take a step back.

"Lyv? Honey... I don't know what you're talking about." He felt like the bottom was dropping out and his mind was running through all the bullshit Ryann had done to him over the years. "Tell me what happened."

"I can't do that to you..." she mumbled, the words muffled by her hands again, "not now."

"Alyvia." He dropped to his knees in front of her, ignoring the flare of pain as he reached out and pried her hands away from her face. "What the hell are you even talking about right now?"

"I failed you in that match against Raike. You froze and—"

"I... what?" He dropped her hand as though it had burned him. "The fucker got lucky, babe... he caught me off guard—"

"You froze, Jackson." She repeated it, tears overflowing, "and I just stood there like a stupid little airhead and watched him pin you. I'm completely useless out there. I'm not even any good as eye candy—"

"Hey, hey... no." He rested one hand on her trembling knee while the other cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him. "You know what I wanted to talk to you about? You're gonna laugh, babe. Honest." He paused, wiping away her tears with his thumb. "I want to go for one last run with Deus Ex— Phoenix Wrestling is interested."

"No." The word came out on the heels of a shuddering breath.

"No?" The anger he felt was hot, almost overflowing and he pulled away from her stiffly before he could lash out. Stalking over to the dresser, he took off his watch and dropped it in the little dish there. "What the fuck do you mean 'no'?"

"I'm useless... how am I gonna be any good as a partner? I mucked up my career..." Getting to her feet, she walked over to her husband and cupped his face in her hands. "This is YOUR tour, Jax... I don't wanna taint it."

"And if MY tour involves me wanting to try and win some gold FOR you... WITH you... that's wrong? C'mon, babe. You were the Riot Champion until PCW closed its fuckin' doors. Losing to Harmony doesn't even count since that actually never saw the light of day beyond the couple hundred who happened to be in those seats— fuckin' retcon it and nobody will know the difference." His dark eyes bored into hers, the discoloration on his cheekbone from a lucky knee strike already inching dangerously close to a hell of a shiner. "This isn't like last time, okay?"



Every step he took down the hallway seemed loud, making her flinch as they echoed off the walls. The crowd was still cheering their heads off for the next match— the muted sound made her feel worse somehow. The elation she'd felt at beating Atreyu was short-lived. She'd fucked up royally.

Shoulders stooped, she followed her husband towards the locker room, knowing that his fuse was burning down so that he'd explode the second the door closed. Hanging back, she hesitated in the hall, looking back the way they'd come.

"Get the fuck in here," he snarled, making her shrink back even more.

Eyes lowered, she wrapped her arms around herself and shuffled into the room, already bracing herself for when he slammed the door. He didn't disappoint. Her ears were still ringing from the bang when she finally broke the silence. "I'm sorry," the words came out drenched with anxiety and sorrow.

"Don't," he snapped without turning around, standing in the middle of the room with his hands clenched at his sides. "I don't wanna hear it right now, Alyvia."

Visibly wincing at the use of her full name, her eyes stayed down; she was afraid to look up. "I'm just gonna start packing our stuff up. Then we can get out of here ahead of the crowds and go back to the hotel— avoid the press and the fans. Okay?" She was babbling and she knew it as she moved around, gathering up the rolls of tape he'd left on the bench earlier. "Maybe we can go somewhere for dinner— to that steakhouse you said you liked?"

He didn't answer her, watching her in silence. A small, semi-rational part of his brain kept reminding him that she hadn't gotten the match thrown out on purpose. She'd gotten confused because they'd cheated so hard during all of hers— the angry, lizard part of his brain kept screaming over it, one single word repeating over and over: sabotage. "What the fuck were you thinking?" The words came out clipped, the anger dripping from every last syllable.

She tensed as the question was thrown at her. "I was just trying to help," she felt like running into the bathroom and throwing up. "I know I messed up, Jax... I shouldn't have—"

"It wasn't Riot rules," he growled, turning his back on her as he started to peel the tape from his wrists. "Not like you could pull the blatant shit and get away with it. You were sloppy... fucking stupid and you handed that goddamn slant-eyed rookie dipshit a win he's never gonna let me live down. You think I wanna have a loss to Max motherfucking Sato on my list? Jesus Christ, Lyv—"

"I said I was sorry," she murmured. The casual racism was a clue as to how upset he truly was. His record in PCW was already tarnished two shows in and she knew that had to be tearing him apart. Her hands were shaking and she tried to keep them busy by folding her discarded ring gear. "I let you down out there and I'm sorry." There was nothing but sincerity in her voice coupled with misery. "It-it was just a mistake, Jax. I'll make it up to you."

He snorted in derision, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, you'll make it up to me." Tossing the wadded up ball of tape on the floor, he whirled around and glared at his wife, "how are you planning to do that, huh?"

Finally, she looked up at him and he could see just how bad she felt. "I don't know, but I will, Jax— I swear to God, I will." Dropping the folded items into her bag, she took a chance and walked over to him. Grabbing one of his hands, she held it in both of hers, pressing it over her heart. "Please don't be mad at me? I feel horrible I messed things up for you but I love you and I'd never do anything to hurt you on purpose. You know that. Please tell me that you know that?"

Jackson stared at her in silence and the longer he waited to reply, the worse she knew it was going to be. "Sure," he finally said, his tone full of false cheer, "I love you... you love me and it's all good because what the fuck does it matter? We lost two in a row— sorry, I did— and who gives a shit?"

"That's not what I'm saying," she shrunk back before his eyes and dropped his hand. "This loss is on me, not you. It was my fault out there." Bringing a hand up, she ran it through her hair, her shoulders slouching. "Tell me how to make this right— I'll do anything."

"Stop talking," he replied, his eyes narrowed as they bored into hers. "That's a solid start."

Her mouth snapped shut, her posture straightening. Not saying anything, Lyv stood there ready to take any anger he felt he needed to dish out at her. Maybe when he got it out of his system, they'd be okay again.

For a few seconds it felt like he was going to lift a hand to her— instead he turned away and stormed across the locker room, making a beeline for the bathroom. A few seconds later she heard water running inside.

Following behind him, she stood in the doorway, but didn't say anything. Instead, she just watched him, wanting more than anything to hug him. Giving in to the impulse, she did walk over and put her arms around him from behind as he was getting undressed. Placing a kiss on his bare back, she just held on. How could she have been so stupid to get him disqualified like that? What the hell was she thinking?

He stood there, frozen, trying like hell not to lash out at her. The adrenaline was still pumping, the urge to fight still there in his veins— she'd robbed him of that. He'd had a hell of a demise planned out for Sato and now it was flushed down the toilet. "Lyv," he said her name slowly, more a warning than anything before lapsing into silence again.

"I love you," she said softly. "I love you so much." She should have listened to the warning in his voice— but she didn't. Instead she was so focused on trying to make things right. "Please don't hate me, Jax. Please?" She sniffled, "you're my world."

He turned around, his hands coming up and closing around her arms as he shoved her into the wall hard enough to drive the air from her lungs. "Stop saying that," he snarled the words in her face, pinning her against the tiles with his sweaty body. "You think your stupid little sentiments can fix this? Huh? Is that what you think?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, not knowing what else to say. Her eyes had clenched shut, waiting for some kind of blow to hit her. She didn't try to push him off of her; she stood there ready to take whatever he needed to dish out. She deserved it— it was all her fault, just like everything had always been.

"Don't say you're sorry," his voice cracked, his forehead resting against hers. "Don't do that to me."

"Do something, please, so I can make this right." She was so desperate for him to forgive her for her mistake— she didn't care what it was. Her palms rested on the sides of her legs, her fingers digging in through the material of her jeans, bracing herself.

He closed his eyes, dragging in a breath. He wanted to hit her so badly— she'd take it without a word, he knew that just from her body language. He didn't want a damned punching bag. He wanted a FIGHT. "Goddamn it!" He pulled away from her, turning around and smashing his fist into the mirror above the sink. It wasn't enough. He pulled his arm back again, letting out a roar before hammering at the glass with both hands, not satisfied until it was demolished and the sink was full of shards.

"Jax, stop!" She shouted, the urge to keep him from hurting himself taking over as she shot out and grabbed at his arm. "Stop hurting yourself," she was doing her damnedest, hoping that it did the trick.

"Get off me!" He jerked his arm out of her grasp, catching her in the face in the process.

She had let go of him, her hands immediately covering her face. She was gasping for a few breaths, the shock of what happened not wearing off right away. "It's okay, I'm okay." She whispered this more to herself than him as she turned and walked out of the bathroom to tend to her face. It felt like it was on fire and she could feel blood from where her teeth had dug into the side of her mouth. Sitting down on the couch, she kept both hands on the side of her face, gently protecting it.

Clad in only his underwear and socks, he followed her out, feeling like the biggest asshole on the planet. "Lyv... I didn't mean for that to happen."

"I know," she said timidly, looking up at him with her eyes wide. "Just go shower and I'll f-finish packing up and t-then we can go back to the h-hotel." She tried to smile, the motion hurting her face even more. "I'm fine, baby, see?" She continued to smile up at him, silently praying whatever anger he felt had dissolved even a little bit.

"Babe..." he sighed, watching her for a few seconds before he shook his head and headed back into the bathroom. Apologizing was too damned trite— those words meaningless when the anger was still hot.

The smile disappearing, she stood up and went back to trying to get everything gathered up. Her face was starting to throb, but at least the bleeding in her mouth had seemed to stop. When she got back to their hotel, she would stick herself in the shower and it would help soothe the aches and pains she was starting to feel. It didn't take long for her to finish up and when she was, she set the bags down by the door and sat down on the couch, waiting for him to come out.

When he did, he was wrapped in a towel and he didn't say a word to her, instead going over to where his street clothes still hung inside their locker. He got dressed quickly, in silence, not even looking in her direction.

He was still angry with her and the whole thing made her heart sink into the pit of her stomach. Standing up, she went to grab her purse, feeling as if she just wanted to disappear. "I can take a cab back to the hotel, if you wanna go alone." She figured he would want his space and for that she couldn't blame him.

"You're gonna need to take me to the hospital," he said quietly, turning towards her and holding out his fist so that she could see the deep cut across the knuckles. The white of the bone shone through the blood that was still flowing. "Gonna need this stitched— can't do it myself."

"Oh shit," Lyv nodded, immediately going into autopilot mode. "Let's go," she reached down to pick up the bags, shifting gears without a thought. He was her first priority. "I'll drive. You just... grab a towel there. Wrap it up as best you can."



All she cared about was making him happy. "Baby, this is about you. This tour... everything we've been through since February... it's not about me. You know that, don't you?" Unable to stop herself, she went up on her tiptoes and kissed right where his bruise was showing up. "Just you."

He chuckled softly, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Okay, no. No it's not— we've established that already. This is about us because, like it or not, I'm a fucking adult now and I'm not in this alone. I want to try the team again, Lyv. Please, baby? Just one more time?"

She breathed a sigh of relief, holding onto him closely. "You know, if this' what you want, I'lll do it, Jax. I just don't wanna let you down."

He kissed the top of her head, trying to bite back the frustration he felt at her words— it was hard, even knowing that she was only being hard on herself because of the bullshit expectations he'd put on her back when they'd debuted the team. "I'm gonna let you in on a secret: you don't, okay? Even when you make mistakes... I'm still proud of you, baby."

"But I dropped the ball the other day and then last year when I screwed things up for you to lose..." She was looking for reasons that would make sense as to why she'd let him down again. "And we tried so hard to beat that Dos Equis tag team in SCW— I failed you there, too. I got pinned and... I just..."

"Lyv, take a breath, babe."

She was clinging to him now, burying her face against his chest. "What if I just don't got it? What if PCW was a fluke and I'm the worst?"

"Then at least you tried, okay?" He looked down at her, so much hope in his eyes that it broke her heart. "I know you don't really want to do it. I get that. But... I just..." he sighed, looking away, "Phoenix Wrestling, okay? They signed Larry and your stupid brother. It's a bit smaller pond than SCW and I think that's kinda what I want right now. That way if we fail... if..." he broke off, that familiar fear on his face again. "If I manage to get shelved again, it's not a big deal, right? Barely anyone will see... or care. And if we can make it work," he shrugged, "maybe we can have a match against Larry and Chauncy. You'd like that, right?"

"Jax, it doesn't matter what I'd love or hate. I just want this next round of matches to be everything you ever wanted." She kissed his lips gently, her eyes showing a glimmer of hope as she gazed up at him. "If doing this is what you really want, you know I'll go along with it— I'd follow you to the moon and back."

"I love you," Jackson replied, kissing her in return. "You're the best partner I've ever had," the double meaning was clear as he scooped her up into his arms, carrying her over to the bed.