THIRTY-TWO: Too Damn Old

Charity McLeod was seated on her living room couch, the silence so oppressive that she could hear when the compressor on the fridge in the kitchen kicked on and off. She felt like she'd been sitting here for an eternity, glued to the spot with anxiety. She heard the door open and close, heard the clatter of his things on the kitchen counter and she knew he was doing his best to keep the family safe by stripping down to nothing. She hadn't asked him, hadn't really thought about it after their argument over Saudi Arabia – why was it that every strain lately had come into their lives because of that damned CCW?

She couldn't bring herself to call out for fear of waking their three-week-old twins. She had their infant son, Victor Angus, laying against her chest, while their infant daughter, Maggie Mo was sleeping in her swing. The slap-slap of his bare feet against the tiles and then hardwood receded and she waited for the white noise of the shower to give her an excuse to stay silent for a little while longer.

These past few days had been Charity's first time being alone with the babies, without the help of family, and to call it a little stressful was a hell of an understatement. Maybe that was why she'd gone digging after the seed that had been planted when her daughter Siobahn had expressly told her not to watch what she now knew had been Bruce's final match with CCW. She'd considered it a reward for survival, for making it through the worst of the night until the twins had finally settled.

It had been the worst mistake she could have ever made.

The blonde wasn't even sure how to describe it, other than Hell on Earth. If she hadn't seen Bruce a day or so after the match he'd been in, she'd have wondered if he'd even survived it. That had been on Saturday, in the wee hours of the morning. It had been more than forty-eight hours since and she was beyond exhausted. Her eyes were dry and burning but every time she closed them, she saw her husband broken, battered and unresponsive, laying in the middle of that cage. She saw his blood dripping from barbed wire. She saw his skin being torn open as if he was being mauled by wild dogs. It was the sort of thing usually found in nightmares, more haunting because it had actually happened.

It was plainly clear that she'd almost been made a widow. That was the thing that hurt the most in all of it. She understood why he hadn't wanted her to see it, but he should have at least told her how bad it had been. Sighing to herself, she gave baby Vic a little squeeze and held him close. Her gaze went over to Maggie Mo, who was still sleeping soundly. She loved these babies so much and the thought of having to raise them alone was terrifying.

When she heard the shower shut off, she finally broke the silence, calling out to her husband with a voice that was surprisingly steady, despite how shaky she felt inside. "Hey, we're in the living room." Their house had great acoustics and she didn't have to yell for him to hear her. Swallowing back the lump in her throat, she put a smile on her face and made sure their television's remote was within her reach. She placed a kiss on Vic's head and waited.

Bruce looked ragged and exhausted when he appeared in the doorway, dressed in an over-sized muscle shirt and a pair of workout shorts and she found herself scrutinizing him for visible injuries as he made his way across the living room. "Welcome home." Charity said, keeping her tone neutral and a smile on her face. In the back of her mind she couldn't help but wonder if he'd put his life in danger last night against Madman Szalinski in Warped. She hadn't watched the match. Between the few hours of Xanax-induced sleep and getting up early to see her doctor, she hadn't really thought about it. It took all her effort to swallow back the urge to grill him about it.

"Feels good t'be," he murmured, the rasp in his voice and that little bit of a slur between words telegraphing just how exhausted he truly was.

"I was surprised when you said you were coming back today. I thought-"

"I know." Bruce cut her off, "cost a pretty penny for the upgrade from standby. Seat was in the very back, right next tae the shitter." He shrugged, standing in the middle of the room as he watched her warily. A part of him had expected something more animated – weeping and wailing, perhaps. This eerie calm was far worse, leaving him feeling as though his back was against the wall. He felt a tickle of resentment that she hadn't asked him how the weekend had gone. That wicked voice in the back of his mind said that she didn't really care, that she'd never really wanted him to start doing this again. She would have been happy if he'd gone back to dallying with the MC, readying the little dive bar he owned in Henderson for the grand reopening – he didn't care about any of that. He'd hired someone to worry about that for him, after all.

Her voice cut through his dark musings, bringing him back to the present. "Why don't you grab Miss Maggie and come sit with us?" She grabbed the remote and looked at her husband. "I started watching something... thought you might find it interesting. I'd like to watch it with you, if that's okay?"

There was something off about her tone, about the way she said it, really. He was too damned tired to put a finger on what it was. Instead he did as he was told, grabbing his daughter from the swing, being careful not to jostle her too much and wake her up. "Hello, little one," he murmured, kissing the top of her head. He sat down with an audible groan, feeling the aches and pains from the two matches even as he tried to get comfortable, still cradling the infant. "Hope it's not a long one. May end up nodding off in the middle."

"It's not very long." Charity picked up the remote and went to the streaming app that had allowed her to watch the match before. She knew he hadn't watched it. He rarely reviewed any of the hardcore or deathmatch ones. It wasn't as though there was a technique that could be improved upon there, after all. 

"I'm glad you're home," she murmured, telling the truth. She was relieved, really, especially since he wasn't broken or bleeding. She'd seen the highlight reel of the rebirth of CGW, had seen Clarissa smirking with a chair in her hands. It didn't take a genius to put those pieces together and a quick scan of social media hadn't showed her any posts talking about a new champion. She knew how much her husband wanted to capture that gold, wanted to best Canadian Desperado on a personal level. She knew he wouldn't give up on any of this until he'd found that glory, that acknowledgement he'd been chasing for so long. 

Watching him for a moment, she felt her heart breaking all over again. The thought of losing him was so strong she felt like she was going to go insane and the anxiety medication the doctor had given her was doing nothing. She knew she needed to give it time, but she was really starting to feel like that was a luxury they wouldn't have. 

Bruce's eyes were closed, his lips pressed to the top of his daughter's head; he was utterly oblivious to what she was queuing up on the screen. She didn't say anything after it started to play. Instead, she bowed her head and rested her cheek against the top of her son's head. Even though she wasn't watching, the sounds were enough to make her eyes well with tears.

His head snapped up at the sound, the frenzied roar of that bloodthirsty crowd the worst part of it. It was like Mad Max at Thunderdome, the crazies calling for his head on a pike. He hadn't wanted to have anything more to do with it after seeing the look of horror on his daughter's face. Seeing it now, watching as he wielded the bat and went swinging at Kuntz like a madman, he felt sick. He closed his eyes, feeling the impact of that barbed wire with his face even as he heard it coming from the surround sound speakers. "Turn it off." he managed to force the words out between clenched teeth, "for the love of God, Cherry... they don't need tae hear this."

She was grateful he'd asked and she shut the whole thing down, letting the remote fall from her fingers once the TV went dark.

A heavy silence fell around them and he knew he had to be the one to break it. Bruce's eyes were still closed, the sound of that bat's impact still ringing in his ears, the remembrance of it reverberating in his head. When he finally spoke, he said something wholly unexpected. "Sam made me promise... never tae do somethin' like that again."

She bit back the sarcastic reply that was on the tip of her tongue. "Okay," she finally said, her tone flat, "and you both decided to keep this a secret. From me?"

He turned his head, looking at her and she could see the pain in his bloodshot gaze. He felt like he was back there in the aftermath, trying to find the pieces he'd lost. "Shouldn't've watched it." His voice came out hoarse and it was at least a blessing that all he could smell was the baby in his arms rather than blood and gore or he might not have been able to keep his voice level at all. "That's what we agreed on. You didn't need tae bear witness."

"And if you'd..." She couldn't bring herself to say the word. "Jesus Christ, Bruce... these babies could've grown up not knowing their da." Her voice shook with everything she was feeling. "We finally got our second chance and Kuntz could have killed you."

"Killed me. Blinded me." He nodded; his expression was grim. "Well aware of it, too. It's a small miracle he stopped when I didn't get up – not that I remember it. When I went down, when he hit me on the head..." he trailed off, shaking his head as that bitter smirk crossed his lips. "Don't remember much after that. Sam told me what happened. Made sure I knew exactly how bad it was. Already heard it from her... I dunno what yeh want me tae say here. Didn't know it was gonna be like tha'."

"You can't hide this stuff from me." Feeling the need to be closer to him, she carefully moved over on the couch. "Even if you didn't want me to watch, I still should've known what happened." With the baby still against her chest, her free hand rested on his shoulder. "We're a team. Supposed to be in this together, remember? No secrets, Bruce. No secrets and no lies."

He nodded, unable to bring himself to tell her the whole truth, to confess that he wasn't anywhere close to 100% and he wasn't sure if it was pride or a fear for her sanity that kept the words stuck in his throat. He felt her fingers running through his damp hair, felt the couch shift as she leaned in closer and pressed her lips to his temple.

"You scared me," it was a strained whisper, the barest hint of an accusation and he couldn't keep the bitter chuckle to himself.

"Scared me more, am sure." The words came spilling out, unleashed from that dark place, "yeh think that's what I want, hmm? Tae be cut down now, taken out by somethin' so goddamned foolish? Yeh think this is The Circuit all over again, hmm? The only reason I went there was because you... my goddamned family... was lost to me at the time. Had nothin' else tae live for-"

"I didn't even say-"

He turned his head, the look in his eyes making the words die on her lips. "Mebbe not in so many words, but was the context, no? Am nae daft. Know precisely what's at stake every bloody time I walk out tae that ring. That..." he gestured to the dark TV screen, shaking his head, "that was my own fuckin' hubris bitin' me right in the arse. Yeh wanna rub tha' in? Tell me am not capable of seein' the big picture. I get it, Cherry. Am too old for this shit. Am far past my prime an' every time I manage tae eke out a win, it's another thumbin' of the nose at Father Time. T'was a mistake. From Saudia Arabia onwards an' am willing tae admit my humanity there. Mistake was made, aye. Since been resolved. Am done with the whole sorry mess. Got a REAL future, workin' for Warped. Back in Canada, Chasin' Glory again. The other places, they're just filler... I'm just a body, takin' up space." 

Charity shook her head, sighing. 

"Don't give me tha'," Bruce snapped, "yeh think TWC is gonna push these old bones? Nae, love. That spotlight belongs tae Chrysalis an' the MadClan. Let the weans have their moment in the sun-" 

"You could-"

"Don't want it." He lifted his hand to his face, rubbing his eyes. They felt sticky, the eyelids heavy and he knew if he closed his eyes now, he could sleep for an eternity. 

"I don't understand," she began and he cut her off immediately with a sharp exhale. 

"They won't last. Once the tournament ends, it'll all fall apart. Brandon's a bloody knob-jockey with his head so far up his arse he's gotta fart tae whistle Dixie. An' if they don't last? Doesn't matter one lick. I got a real shot at something elsewhere. Twixt Edmonton an' the warehouse in Kansas there's hope of a real future in this business. Don't wanna muck up..."

She waited until he stopped to take a shaky breath, cutting in smoothly. "Bruce," Charity's eyes swam with emotion, in stark contrast to her gentle tone. "I never said any of that. I don't think you're too old. I don't think you're some pathetic has-been."

"Ah, Babylove. See, there's the rub." He shook his head, breaking eye contact as he muttered, "I do. That's the trouble. That's what've been tryin' tae outrun for the last year."