Father Figure [PW: 01/23/2015]

She knew Jackson was angry— it had filled that little house they were renting until it felt like there was a storm contained within those walls. She'd had to get out of there before something terrible happened. She'd been huddled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket when she'd heard that serpentine hiss of Cobra's voice, telling her secrets to the world. Everyone knew that she'd been attacked in her own home and now it had become a joke around the WWA. The last thing she'd ever wanted when they'd gotten back together was to jeopardize his career by bringing outside drama into his life.

It was freezing. The sun was setting, and Ryann Hardy was shivering. She sat alone on a park bench in the gathering gloom, eyes fastened on the snow-covered ground. She'd wished now that she'd at least grabbed a jacket, but the thought hadn't hit her until well after she'd run far enough down the road that she didn't really feel the cold anymore. The anger at Jackson's thoughtless outburst had faded away, leaving her feeling sick and violated. She was beginning to hate herself— that much seemed to be par for the course these days.

She couldn't stand the presence of other people.

She didn't want to be alone.

It was growing darker by the second, making her huddle up on the bench as her eyes darted around the shadows. She flinched, gasping softy when a beam of setting sunlight washed over her as it broke free from the cloud cover. She sighed and thought about going home, but decided she'd rather just sit here, cold and wet. Maybe she'd die of exposure.

She couldn't deal with the look on his face when he'd tried to touch her, and she'd pulled away. She couldn't stand the tone of his voice when he told her how easily she could be replaced. She knew he meant it— he'd always had that wandering eye. Now that she'd been violated, she knew that she'd never be up on that pedestal again. She couldn't bear to let him touch her. She was nothing. Disgusting and foul— not an object of desire. He'd said he loved her so many times since it happened that the words had completely lost ALL meaning to her ears. Objectively, she was starting to question the sincerity of those words any time they'd ever passed his lips, past or present. He said them easily enough— he always had.

She smelled the cigarette smoke before she saw him approaching out of the gathering gloom, dismissing it as an olfactory hallucination. The lights flickered to life along the path, hiding her in shadows as the sun finally sank below the horizon. "Hey." The single word came out loud in the silence, making her instinctively flinch even though he barely whispered it. He stood behind the bench, his eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses.

Her eyes slowly blinked as she continued looking around in front of her. Swallowing hard, she managed to mumble out something almost coherent, "how'd you find me?"

He said nothing, flicking his cigarette away, watching it bounce across the snowy landscape.

She sighed and looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers slowly as her palms turned a mottled red and white from the chill. Shaking, she blew out a breath and saw it spread and disappear in front of her, "why'd you come after me?"

She heard the jingle of metal on metal behind her, assuming it was him fidgeting with his keys. A moment later his heavy leather motorcycle jacket fell over her shoulders. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the bench and clasping his hands. His knuckles were bloody, still trickling sluggishly to curve around his palms and wrists like some sort of twisted tribal decoration. He sighed, closing his eyes for a second as he tried to reign in his irritation. "Does it matter? I fuckin' came. Found you..." he said finally, his voice hoarse. "Seems like that's all I do these days, doesn't it?"

"I..." she swallowed hard, feeling ashamed, "I'm sorry."

"Yeah." He grunted, "me too. Fuckin' prick's gonna get what's coming to him once we get in that ring. It was about the title... this whole time... then he had to go and drag you into it."

She felt a little swell of happiness at the thought that he might stick up for her. Pulling his jacket around herself, she looked over at his knuckles and sighed. "Did you break anything?"

"We'll get the security deposit back," he replied, "if that's what you're worried about—"

"No." Hunching down, she surrounded herself with the calming scent that was pure him. Her eyes traveled up his arms and settled on his face. Instead of carrying on the past argument, she changed tracks so fast he was left in the dust. "Brad... can I ask you something?"

His lips curved into a wry smile, there and gone as he shook his head. Women. "Ask."

"What do you really think about children?"

He shrugged, "kids are okay, I guess." Peering at her warily, he shook his head, "get the feeling that's not all you wanted to ask."

"Would you..." she paused for a second, her voice dropping to a pained whisper, "would you ever want to have ones of your own?"

He didn't see her crestfallen expression but he could hear it in her tone. Her dreams of a house filled with laughter and the pitter-patter of little feet had never really been lost on him. He'd just hoped after all these years that she'd understand him well enough to know that wasn't something he'd ever wanted. He had wrestling and the road— that was enough.

"Brad?" Her voice shook as she said his name. "I just wanna..."

"Fuck," the expletive slipped out before he could check that urge, "Ry... it's not something I want, need... or could handle. Look at me, Ryann... don't be stupid. Do I fuckin' look like the portrait for Father of the Year?" He lifted his mangled hands, and pulled up the edge of his shirt, showing her the bruises that decorated his torso.

She licked her lips and turned her head away, "I don't think what you do for a living has anything to do with how good you'd be," she muttered, not thinking he'd hear it. He let the silence stretch out again, forcing her to confront her worst fears as the snow began to fall harder.

"Ryann," the wood creaked as he rested his hip against it, turning his back to her as he stared off into the darkness, watching the snowflakes fall, "I'm married to the road. This is what I do. Next week I'll be in Toronto... then Paris. I've got the World Title defense against Cobra. I'm the best goddamn wrestler in AWF... in the whole fuckin' WWA... I dunno what you want me to tell you."

She shrugged, knowing what she needed to do was going to be the hardest thing she'd ever done, "don't worry about it... was just a simple question..."




He'd been at this for two hours now, steeped in silence besides the loud music that flooded the room from the hidden speakers. To him it was white noise as he pushed the weights towards the ceiling, feeling the burn as his arms shook. Sweat pooled beneath his back, dripping over the sides of the bench to soak into the carpet— he didn't notice, nor did he care. This was the part of professional wrestling that he knew the best— the build towards the payoff. This one was important and he needed to be ready to capitalize. He needed to be at his best from the second his music hit to the moment that last body sailed over the ropes bringing it down to two. There wouldn't be a repeat of the half-assed shit that had happened in that Battle Dome match over in the UK. This was serious which called for the careful plan he always enacted to a tee, driving his body onwards to the pinnacle of perfection.

His hair was so sodden it looked black, sweat dripping down and stinging his eyes, despite the blast of cool air coming from the vents. He was working himself hard, like he always did. Breathing like a bellows, snorting and spraying sweat like a lathered horse, he forced himself to push the bar up one last time. The music reached a frenzied crescendo, accompanied by the guttural growl that burst from between his clenched teeth as he let the bar fall with a clang of finality. Silence fell heavily as laid there for a moment longer with his eyes closed, trying to remember how to breathe. He was aware of her presence before she said a word. Although he'd never barred her from being in here, she usually stayed away when he was going this hard the night before an event— the loud music was usually his way of putting that DO NOT DISTURB sign on the doorknob without being quite as crass.

Turning his head, he looked at her through slitted eyes, the sweat burning as he tried to blink it away. His voice was a harsh rasp when he spoke, "been standing there long?"

"No, but I was admiring the view." Lyv offered him a loving smile. She was already dressed down for the evening in a black and white pajama shorts and a matching spaghetti strap tank top. She had showered and her hair hung down in wet strands, resting against her back and shoulders. "Think you could take a break for the rest of the night?"

He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly through his mouth before replying. "I'm done. Got the playlist programmed for exactly two hours and thirteen minutes," he said that as though the number was significant in some way— she was starting to get used to the quirks he had about numbers. "Go any longer and I'll be gelatinous goo tomorrow."

Walking over, Lyv took a seat on the edge of the bench between his legs. "I could give you a rub down and draw you a bath." Looking down into that face she loved more than anything, she was already slipping into happy homemaker mode.

"Maybe in a bit," he said with a soft groan, "right now I'm cool just... breathing."

Leaning over, she kissed his lips gently as she rested her hand against his chest. She could feel his heart beating hard— reassuring her that this wasn't a dream. She needed to talk to him badly, but was so nervous about it. The conversation she wanted to have with him went against what they'd talked about that first week they'd been dating. Closing her eyes, she paused before asking, "can we talk?"

"What do you wanna talk about? Change your mind about taking a breather from SVW?"

"Actually no," she said with a shake of her head. "Before I say what I want to say, I need you to promise that you're going to listen before you say anything." She bit down on her lower lip, making her look a little vulnerable. "Can you promise that?"

He sat up slowly, reaching for the towel that was draped over the rack of weights. Taking his sweet time, he rubbed the sweat from his face before letting it drop to his lap. "You know when you preface a conversation like that, I get this feeling like I'm not gonna enjoy it too much." Pulling off the wet muscle shirt, he tossed both it and the towel across the room— perfect shot into the hamper there. "Yeah, I'll listen, babe. What?"

"Okay..." the word came out mixed with an exhale. Her arms dropped in front of her and she clasped her hands together. "I've been doing some thinking lately and..." she paused before continuing, "I want us to try for a baby." She let out another breath, the next words coming out fast. "I just... you were so good with Val's new baby and Charity's son... all these people have made you a godfather and I have to think that's for a reason, yanno? Do you... do you think we could try?" She studied his face, waiting for a reply.

He frowned, completely unaware that he was clenching his teeth as tightly as he could until his jaw started to ache. Finally, he broke the silence, the tone of his voice less than impressed. "I don't think I heard you correctly," he cleared his throat. "Because I just heard you tell me that you..." he trailed off, shaking his head, unable to even bring himself to repeat her words, "on what level of reality am I good with kids, Lyv? You're basing this on the fact that I spoil kids that aren't my own? That I've got four god-kids running around? Or what? Is this because I was willing to fill up a bank account for the gutter spawn that slut tried to pretend were mine? That last one was pure guilt— nothing more."

Her hands went to his shoulders, rubbing them. "Like I said, you were so good with Val's baby and I think seeing you with him a few months ago was what got me thinking." A hopeful smile crossed her face as she thought about their hypothetical kid. "It really could work; I'm gonna take time off and now would be a good time to do it." Her hands slid behind him, letting her arms wrap his neck so they were close. "We'd be good parents, Jax, I know we would."

"I'd be shit," he replied without much thought, "working my ass off right now." The anger was building and he was having a hell of a time squashing it, remembering that goddamn Twitter conversation he'd had with Ryann just a few weeks ago about how every woman instinctively wanted a baby. He'd insisted that Lyv was different and now he was eating crow over those words. "This is a stupid conversation... we're on the road more than we're here. If you want something to love, we'll get a fuckin' cat or something."

"It's not about just having something to love... I wanna create something with you— someone that's ours." This was a conversation that she shouldn't have been having and she knew it deep in her guts. She also knew that if she didn't push through now, it wouldn't happen. He had so many ways to shut her down. "Please don't say no," her eyes were pleading with him. "Just think about it."

He said nothing while his mind cast back to the last time he'd been in the doctor's office, just a few months ago for his yearly physical. He'd been informed by his doctor that his sperm count was very low. "So you lied to me," he couldn't hide the anger any longer, "you told me that kids didn't matter and like a goddamn idiot, I believed you."

"No, that's not it..." her eyes widened as she shook her head, "I didn't lie to you, I just... I love you so much and I want this with you." It was easy to see how cautious she felt now, "you understand that— right?"

He pulled away from her, getting up and taking a few stiff steps away from the bench. "Right. You changed your mind— shoulda known this was going to happen. I put a ring on your finger, Lyv. I'm not going anywhere so you don't need to play this little fucking game to trap me, okay?"

"Trap you?" She was in disbelief, "do you honestly think I have it in me to do that?" Pushing herself up from the bench, Lyv just stared at him. "No secrets, remember? That's why I'm trying to talk to you about this, because I want to be honest."

"What do you want me to say, Lyv? You..." he exhaled sharply, trying to pull back the anger that she didn't deserve to be the brunt of. "You have no idea what you're saying right now. This is a life-altering event. It's not like that fuckin' dog you bought... you can't take a baby back to the pound if it doesn't work out."

"I know it's a life-changing thing and I have thought about it! I want us to have this— something we made. I know it's not like the dog, but I want your baby, Jax. I love you," she looked up at him, keeping her eyes locked on his. "You don't wanna..." the words came out softly as she struggled to hold back tears, "do it with me."

"And I love you. But this..." he sighed, shaking his head. "No. This is not a conversation I want to have less than twenty-four hours before I'm getting into the ring with at least twenty other assholes who want the same thing as me. What the fuck's the matter with you?"

"I just wanted to get it out and let you know how I was feeling," she shrugged her shoulders. "I'm sorry," she didn't have it in her to fight with him. Even though she felt some anger, the disappointment and sadness outweighed it. "Guess I'm a brain-dead bimbo like they all think." She accompanied the comment with a flat laugh, "you're right. I wasn't thinking."

"Fuck that noise," he turned and glared at her, "don't parrot those motherfuckers."

"Well—"

"I don't want to fuck this up, Lyv, do you understand? Finally got my life back on track and this right here... this works for me. I don't need a house full of screaming, shitting babies to feel complete."

"And what I want? What about that? Think about it, I could give you a son— a beautiful little boy. I wouldn't ask you to put your career on hold and I would be the perfect wife and mother. It wouldn't impact your career at all. I wouldn't dream of taking that away from you." She tried to stay positive, hoping he'd catch what she was feeling. "Jax, please..."

"You are the perfect wife," he murmured, watching the smile on her face. He couldn't help but feel that tugging at his heart when he saw that hope in her eyes. "Lyv... seriously... we can talk about this some other time, can't we?"

The smile on her face faded as she nodded. "Yeah, okay," she flashed him a tight-lipped smile. "Whenever you want, just say the word." Her lips were starting to quiver from smiling so hard.

"I'm gonna go shower up," he said firmly, "and when I get out, we're not going to talk about this again, okay?"

"The subject's closed then?" she asked, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might pound right out of her chest.

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, turning back to look at her. "It's closed," he snapped, not bothering to spare her feelings, "I do not want you to have my baby, Alyvia. Get that through your fuckin' head, okay?"

"My feelings don't matter?" Her voice was cracking and she was on the verge of tears.

"Pretty obvious mine don't," he fired back, "so how's it feel, sweetheart? You knew how I felt about this going in— FUCK!" He turned his back on her, stomping up the stairs. "I'm fuckin' leaving—"

She didn't even try to stop him, because she knew it wouldn't do any good. He'd come home when he was good and ready. By then, she would have hopefully come up with some way to smooth things over between them.



Ellie Peyton was sweating bullets despite the frigid air as she walked through the back door of Paradox, accompanied by her fiancé. Her hands were in the pockets of her jeans and her gaze kept shifting to the floor. She'd asked Jax to help her find her birth parents so that she had time to reconnect with them before her wedding and he'd agreed— since then he'd been avoiding her like the plague. She'd even texted him a few times only to get nothing back. Finally, he'd responded to her the night before, telling her that he'd meet her at the club after closing.

As she reached the employee area of the club, she stood in the doorway of Jax's office and saw him seated at his desk. Giving him that warm smile that she had a tendency to do, she brought her fist up and knocked on the doorframe. "Hey, Jax." Had she done something wrong, pissed him off? It was hard not to feel scared as she stood there.

He looked up at her, the easy smile he usually had for her curiously absent. "Hey, kiddo." Jackson's gaze slid from her to the empty doorway behind her, "is Devon still out there?"

Nodding, "yeah, I'm not sure what he's doing though." Stepping into the room, her hand came up and was rubbing the back of her neck. "So what's going on?"

"Close the door," he said softly, "and then you might want to sit down."

"Did I do something wrong?" The question had come out quickly as she walked in and shut the door. The smile had gone from her face and she looked ridiculously nervous.

"What?" He looked at her in confusion, "what the hell... why would you even ask that? I wrestled the other day... I've just been busy. That's all."

She had taken a seat in the chair in front of his desk and was staring down at her lap, embarrassed. "I'm sorry... I just thought you were avoiding me and then you wanted me to meet you here instead of at the house so I just..." she trailed off, fidgeting.

"Here was easier," he shrugged, "and I figured maybe neutral ground was as good a place as any— more private, after all."

"I guess I just jumped right to worst case scenario, huh?"

"Worst case scenario," he snorted a caustic laugh, shaking his head; "yeah... it's something like that." His fingers tapped a plain folder sitting in the middle of his desk. "It's in here— don't ask how I got it, since these records are supposed to be sealed."

Leaning forward, she picked up the folder with shaking hands. "So, this is it then? My parents?" All her life, or at least for as long as she could remember, she'd wanted to know who she belonged to— she'd always felt that void of the question that needed to be answered about her place in this world. Now she possibly had it right in her hands. "You think maybe you could help me get in touch with them? I'd love to invite them to the wedding—"

"Yeah," his voice was hoarse as he looked away from her, pushing up out of his chair. He walked over to the fish tank on the wall, watching the clownfish frolic as he lit a cigarette. "Your mom's dead," he said after a long pause, "she died a few days after you were born— OD'd. Got the reports on that too, if you want them. That's how you ended up in foster care."

"She overdosed?" The folder was held tightly in her hands, but she didn't open it. "So, she kinda killed herself. Didn't really want me?" The smile that crossed her face was so sarcastic and so was the laugh that came with it. "Always kinda hoped my parents gave me up because they loved me so much, they wanted to give me the best life possible. Maybe they couldn't give it to me... guess I was off-base—"

"Can't speak for her," he cut her off, keeping his back to her as he took another long drag off his cigarette, "since I barely knew her."

Her head snapped up as she stared at him, "barely knew her? Wait... you knew my mom?"

"Yeah," he sighed, "just look at the file, kiddo. Then we'll talk, okay?"

"Okay..." her answer was quiet as she did what she was told. Opening up the file, she looked over the paperwork that was neatly organized. "My birth certificate," her tone was surprised— she'd never actually seen it before. Honestly, she wasn't sure if it had really existed. "Chloe Peyton..." The name sounded funny coming from her lips— the name of the woman who'd given birth to her. As her eyes scanned over to the next part of the certificate, her eyes widened. The name listed there as her father had to be a joke, a trick— something. "Bradley Jackson?"

He turned around slowly, raking a hand through his hair, "yeah, it's a pretty common name—" the laugh the came out was bitter, "but I knew her. First year of university... we used to party together. We met over spring break at this kegger on the beach— she was something else."

"What are you saying, Jax?" Her posture had stiffened as she gripped the folder tight enough that her knuckles had gone white.

"I'm sayin' that name right there threw me as much as it's doing to you," he watched her mangling the folder, "so—"

"That's your name on there, isn't it?" That had to be it, which would explain why he was acting so strange.

"Timing adds up," he replied hesitantly, "did the math a thousand and one times— it works out. I don't know what you want me to say, Ellie. I didn't know."

Her eyes had gone back down to the folder, trying to process what she'd just been told. "I just need..." she set the folder down in the chair next to hers, "I think I need a minute."

He nodded, "I'll go make you a drink. What do you want?"

"Just a bottle." She didn't really care what, "any bottle. Whatever." As long as it made her feel fuzzy, it would be great.

He moved towards the door, hesitating before slipping out of the room. "If I'd known..." he didn't bother to finish the statement, instead leaving her alone with her thoughts. A few moments later she could hear the sound of his voice carrying down the hall as he spoke to her fiancé before even that was silenced by the door swinging shut again.

There were no feelings of hatred or anger towards him; ever since she'd met him almost two years before, he'd been like a father to her. The way he was acting though, it made it clear that he didn't want this.

There was a soft knock on the door before it opened again. "Hey," Dev's voice startled her from her reverie, "everything alright? Jax kinda looked like you kicked him in the nuts or something."

"He's my dad," she said a little flatly. "He didn't know and my mom overdosed a few days after I was born." The words came spilling out like verbal diarrhea.

"What?" He stared at her in confusion, "that's gotta be a mistake... that's too fuckin' weird to be anything but."

Shaking her head, she moved to her feet, "I... I gotta get outta here, Dev. I can't even... c'mon," she grabbed his hand and pulled him from the room, moving down the hall towards the back door that led to the employee parking lot.

When Jackson walked into the office with a bottle of marshmallow-flavored vodka in hand, it was empty and the folder was there on the chair, staring at him accusingly. The anger was hot in the face of that rejection and a second later the bottle smashed against the wall as he let out a pent-up roar. Of course she was disappointed to find out he was her father. Why wouldn't she be?

Picking up his phone, he dialled Lyv's number, waiting for her voice to come on the line. "Hey," he said when she answered, his voice coming out strangled against the emotion he was trying to hold back. "I told her."

There was silence for a few seconds before she let out a sigh, "she didn't take it well, did she? If you want, I'll call her—"

"Let it go," he said softly, shaking his head as he sank into the chair she'd been sitting in. "Just let it go, Lyv. I'm not going to push it... I saw the disappointment in her eyes. And you know, I guess I'm not really surprised. I'd feel the same way—"

"Jax," her voice was gentle, cutting right through him, "I'm sorry."

"Yeah." He closed his eyes, "I've got to close down the registers and make the deposit. I'll be home soon, okay?" He hung up the phone before she could reply, letting it fall to the floor in front of him. He might as well face it now; he was never going to be father of the year, no matter how hard he tried...