"There is a crack in everything." (Tag Titles RP#1)

[bloodiedfox]

January 1st

Jack had often wondered how he would feel in the presence of an atrocity. His psychopathy had left him indifferent any time he had witnessed death in singular form but perhaps multiplying it might stir something inside, he had thought. As he walked through the smouldering ashes of what mere hours before had been a busy Tokyo neighbourhood, he realised that it did not. Maybe Stalin had been right when he said that one death was a tragedy but a million was just a statistic.

Or maybe Jack was just fucking broken.

His ruminations stopped as he heard a voice singing quietly.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?

It drew him like a siren. He stepped through the charred arc of a door frame that now stood without walls and looked at the burned skeleton of a bar. The Bar, in fact, as he recalled it was named. Leaning against the scorched but seemingly still sturdy bar top, an open bottle of whiskey in his hand, was Brendan Harding.

For auld lang syne, my jo,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

Somehow sensing he had an audience now, Brendan’s voice trailed off. He managed a thin smile and offered the bottle towards Jack. Having walked over to him, Jack took it in hand and looked at it. It was half empty.

Little early in the day to be hitting the bottle, isn’t it?

Brendan shrugged.

I haven’t slept yet. Besides, it just hit midnight in the UK.

That explains the singing.

Unable or unwilling to counter his friend’s logic, Jack took a slug from the bottle.

Not bad.

A yakuza front bar was always going to have good whiskey.

True.

Jack passed the bottle back. Brendan took a deep swig.

I’m sorry. I know you liked this place.

Yeah. That’s why I came here next after finding out my apartment had burned down.

Jack nodded.

I noticed. Mine too.

Sorry.

It’s fine. I didn’t have much stuff anyway. Besides, given the authorities are blaming JROK for this we probably want to make ourselves scarce for a while.

Brendan made a non-committal noise and drank more whiskey.

Fucking Dylan and that pyromaniac fuck Dar; wiping out half a city in a hissy fit because Rob Arnold showed them up. We’re seriously going to have to beat those fucks down for this.

Brendan said nothing. Jack blinked.

Okay, that was not the response I was expecting.

What response?

Exactly. EVE basically do a war crime and you aren’t up and screaming about how we should hang them by their entrails? That’s not you, Brendan.

I suppose not, yet here we are.

Brendan went for another swallow of whiskey, only for Jack to snatch the bottle from his hand and throw it across the street to smash into a different ruin. Brendan simply looked at him.

Was that supposed to make me angry with you?

Yes!

Jack clenched his fists, staring at his tag partner in cold fury.

As long as I have known you, you have given a shit! About people, about causes, about doing the right thing! Now we’re standing in the ashes of fuck knows how many dead innocent people and you’re just being some apathetic lump getting pissed on admittedly very nice whiskey! That isn’t you!

Brendan looked into Jack’s eyes. For the first time in so very long, Jack felt a shiver of fear run down his spine.

How long am I supposed to keep caring when everything I care about leaves?

The eyes were flat and dull, like a corpse.

Roza is gone. The Bar is gone. My half-brothers are gone. My husband, after taking away my biggest moment, is gone. I can’t do this anymore.

Jack shook his head, as though the gesture could erase everything he heard.

I know it’s shit, Brendan, I know it is, but we have to keep going.

Why?

Silence reigned. Jack’s mouth moved, trying to create an answer from thin air.

What are we fighting for? What’s the point? I have suffered, and now this city has suffered, and nothing will change that. No pinfall’s going to save my marriage. Nothing I do to Dylan Black or his cronies will resurrect the people who died tonight. I can’t care because there’s nothing to care for.

Brendan placed both his hands on Jack’s shoulders.

I’m sorry I brought you here, Jack. You can stay if you want, but I’m going home.

Brendan gave a little nod, as though confirming to himself his surety. Then he steeped around Jack and walked away. Jack wanted to reach out and stop him, to shake him until he fought back, to scream in his face that he couldn’t just give up. But he didn’t. He just stood there and watched him leave.

---

January 16th

Mr Gaines?

Jack was not expecting to be addressed by name, especially not in English. He looked up from his phone, chewing on a mouthful of his HiruMac Teriyaki Chicken Filet-O, to see a courier holding out an A4 envelope to him. He raised a querying eyebrow, but nodded and took the envelope. The courier left before he could even swallow and ask what was going on. Probably JROK business. The company was paying for his hotel room here in Hokkaido while he looked for somewhere to live, and since his daily routine consisted entirely of working out at the gym, eating lunch here at the McDonalds opposite said gym, and then brooding in his hotel room it wouldn’t be hard for them to send him paperwork.

Probably want me to sign my release so I’ll fuck off…

His muttering to himself was incorrect. It was paperwork to be signed, but it was not JROK. The top sheet was stamped with the XHF logo and the words ‘XHF Tag Team Championship Match Contract’. Jack flicked through the pages, confirming that it was exactly what it proclaimed itself to be. The question was why it had been sent to him. He hadn’t requested a title shot, though he knew Black Knife Cabal was eligible. He hadn’t heard from Brendan since the year began in Tokyo, and neither had anyone else, so it didn’t seem likely he’d done it.

Jack pondered things for a minute, eating a couple of fries. On a whim he stuck a hand back in the envelope. It came back out with a post it note, on which were written two words in handwriting he knew only in passing.

For love…

---

January 18th

This is a pretty nice hou…

Jack’s compliment was cut short by Brendan’s palm strike to his jaw.

Fuck!

You forged my fucking signature on that contract!

“Oh hi Jack, nice to see you. Sorry I didn’t call after I went off and left you standing alone in the ashes of Tokyo.”

Brendan’s facial expression made it clear he had no interest in humour. Jack rolled his eyes.

Yes, I forged your signature. Figured it made things easier. And to forestall your next question, no I didn’t request the contract.

He slapped something into Brendan’s palm and then squeezed past him into the house. Brendan looked down at the post it note in his hand. His eyes narrowed.

Fuck’s sake Peter…

He scrunched it up in his fist and turned back into his home to see Sir Borkington happily yapping and bouncing up at an amused Jack.

Well hey you. Heard you killed that weirdo who ate a cat last year. Good work.

Brendan slammed the door shut behind him to get Jack’s attention.

Okay, fine, so it wasn’t your idea. That doesn’t change the fact I’m not prepared to do this.

Jack sat down on the couch, immediately getting a corgi in his lap.

Oh you’re prepared, you just don’t want to.

And the point of that little semantic game is…?

Hope.

"Hope."

Brendan sighed and sat on the other end of the couch.

What makes you think fighting Top of the Class would make me hopeful?

Jack smiled and shook his head.

Never said it was your hope. At least not initially.

So whose?

JROK’s. Tokyo’s. Mine. People are hurting, Brendan. Death toll keeps going up from the start of the month. Looks like it’s going to hit 100,000. The whole company’s carrying the blame for a lot of deaths they weren’t responsible for, and the ones who are responsible look like they might get away with it. People know you’re a good man. You come back, you keep fighting, it gives them something to believe in.

And your hope?

That I won’t be alone.

Jesus Jack…

Just shut up and listen, okay? You brought me into all this, after years of us not speaking, because you said you needed help. Like it or not, I am your responsibility. Now I can fight any battle in that ring. I can take any punishment they throw at my body, but my heart…

The smile faltered as he tapped his chest.

I’m broken, Brendan, we both know that. However much I want to care, I can’t. I stood in the ashes of buildings and people that morning and I felt nothing. I need you, Brendan, because without you there I’m just some psychopath. I can want to help as much as I like but I can’t. And I know you’re hurting, that you’ve lost so much, but I will help you carry that weight. Together, we can do this.

Brendan smiled sadly and shook his head.

Do what? We’re wrestlers, Jack. What the fuck can we do?

Jack looked into Brendan’s eyes. For the first time in so very long, Brendan felt a jolt of electricity run through him.

We can do something…

The eyes were alive and aflame, like someone in the throes of inspired madness.

…cause fuck knows that’s better than doing nothing.

Brendan found his smile filling with warmth.

Yeah, I guess it is.