Mordecai / Dante versus Tombstone

[Kas]

###MARK###

What an absolute shitstorm of a fucking day. I mean, I knew that it wasn’t going to be fucking easy staying back in Edinburgh with Lindsay. Was no fucking way that I was talking her out of watching the show, flashbacks or no flashbacks. And trying to keep her focused on the fucking here and the fucking now was no cake walk. But I did it. Cut her arm to fucking ribbons tapping out that damn passphrase of hers, but kept her safe.

At least until that cocksucking bitch appeared on screen. 

Lindsay went under so fucking fast it caught me by surprise. Barely caught her before she slid off the couch, and took a fist to the jaw as she lashed out. Must have thought that I was the queen bitch herself. Wouldn’t object to peeling that bitch’s skin off and making a throw rug out of it, but wearing it? A man’s gotta draw the line somewhere, no matter how much I want to make balloon animals out of her entrails.

Vanilla Fucking Skyy, the Bitchiest Bitch ever to Bitch from Barrow. 

Couldn’t she just stay in the fucking reject bin where she fucking belonged? 

And I was five hundred miles from showing her how much I hated her guts. 

I had to sedate Lindsay. Fucking bitch of the PTSD was kicking her ass, and there wasn’t a damn thing that I could do by myself to drag her back. And didn’t that just sting like unlubricated buggery? Lindsay is the fucking centre of my universe, and I couldn’t do this one simple fucking thing for her. 

Fuck Vanilla Skyy sideways with a rusty pitchfork.

Lindsay is still dead to the fucking world, and it’s that time of the night where time doesn’t seem to move. My phone says that its two fucking thirty, but it feels like it could be three, or four. There’s going to be no fucking sleep for me but it wouldn’t be the first time that I’ve gone without sleep.

The phone vibrates. Caller ID tells me that it’s John, but this is one phone call that I don’t want to take. How do you tell the boss that you’ve fucked up so much? For all I rag on my brothers, and tease the absolute shit out of them, they’re still my brothers. And there isn’t anyone worse to disappoint than fucking family.

But there’s no getting out of this.

“John,” 

“Mark. What happened?”

How the fuck does he know? Fucking psychic. “Bad fucking flashback. No getting her out of it, no matter what I fucking tried. Had to sedate her before she injured herself. Fucking Skyy”

John sighs heavily. “Fucking Skyy,” he agrees, and that throws me for a loop. That’s not like John, Mr Watch-Your-Language. 

“Say the fuck again?” 

John huffs a dry laugh. “You heard.”

“Don't believe my fucking ears, more like.  Don't tell me you're coming round to my idea of garotting the bitch?”

“For maybe thirty seconds,” he teases, and hell, that’s thirty more fucking seconds than he’s ever entertained the idea before. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“How’s the hard as nails fucker doing?”

“Bleeding,” John says laconically. “Head wounds, you know.”

“He’ll get over it,” I dismiss. “Putting Mya through table, and breaking Lilith on the fucking cage? Vanilla Fucking Skyy tapping him on the head isn’t going to stop him. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll garotte the bitch for us.”

“Don’t give him idea,” John warns, but I know my brother, I can hear that fucking amusement a mile off. “Do you need us to come back sooner than planned, help you with Lindsay?”

How to fucking answer that? I take a deep breath and hold it, feeling my lungs burning as I look over to where Lindsay lies on the couch. She looks so peaceful at the moment, about as far from her demons as she could be. 

“I think I’ve got this, J.” I tell him. “Stick to your schedule. Just don’t miss the fucking flight, or Lindsay’ll be looking to strangle you.”

“Take care of her Mark.”

“Always.”

###JOHN###

It hurts, knowing that she needs us, and that we’re not there for her. I knew that it would happen someday, to be split between my daughter and Lindsay. I suppose that maybe I should just be grateful that I didn’t have my GCW obligations to contend with as well. Last time I checked, I wasn’t capable of splitting into three people.

I trust Mark, though. Even if he does have a sewer mouth, and worse temper, he won’t hurt Lindsay. He’ll look after her. And there’s someone else who needs my help right now. Gwen is wandering around as happy as a clam after her performance in the ring. Chris is egging her on, but I know that my brother is considering just who in GCW has a grudge against him. Enough to be sending threatening letters and lurking at any rate.

Right now, it’s Mordecai who needs my help. We’ve come a long way from the time when we wouldn’t have pissed on him if he was on fire. 

With this most recent event at the PPV, and all the events leading up to it, something seems to have shaken loose in him. Ever since he joined us, he’s been silent. We’ve guessed at how he’s been feeling by his body language, but we’ve been groping in the dark. But now...

After receiving the letter written in blood over in GCW,  Chris and I are a bit wary of missives pushed under hotel room doors. However, the one that I received was written on hotel stationary, in simple black biro, in spiky capitals. It was an address, and a simple word. ‘Please.’

Only one person it could have come from. And when our newest brother needs our help, we give it.

Which is the reason that I'm standing outside of an iron wrought gate in the drizzling rain. Down the road I can hear the engine of our taxi still idling, while Chris makes sure that the driver doesn’t decide to up and leave us. Mordecai has already stepped through the gate into the churchyard beyond, threading a path through the gravestones, and never once looking towards the old church that squats along the fence line. 

He’s been here before. He’s walked this path many times before. Lindsay will not be happy to have missed this, another piece in the puzzle of her mystery, but I take in as much as I can, to tell her when we meet again.

Gwen steps up beside me, clutching a white plastic bag to her chest, her eyes narrowed as she tries to watch Mordecai through the curtain of rain. She’s been carrying this bag since we left London, and not once has she let us know what the contents are. But by the way that her eyes have not left Mordecai, I assume that it’s something for him. 

The hairs on the back of my neck prickle, and I have the strongest sense that we’re being watched by unfriendly eyes. Beside me, Gwen shivers as she feels it to, and casts a brief look around, searching for bodies to match the gaze.

“Easy,” I tell her quietly. “Let them be.”

Her grey eyes, so like mine, are startled as she looks sideways at me.

“Would have thought you’d advocate for the direct approach,” she notes, sidling a step or two closer. Probably to try and use me as a rain shield.

“Only if there’s bodies to be direct against. Eyes can’t touch you.”

“Point,” she acknowledges, and again looks forward to check where Mordecai is. He’s barely visible through the cloud of rain, but he has stopped, standing still, with his head tilted down as he stares at something. 

“Speaking of points,” I take this chance to speak. It’s probably the last chance that we have for some modicum of privacy. “If you can, stay out of Skyy’s sightlines.”

She nods her head, absorbing my words, and she doesn’t ask for an explanation. I’m only her father, I can’t tell her what to do, or who to see. But she knows that I wouldn’t ask something like this lightly. And she knows enough of our peculiar family.

From what I know of Skyy, it isn’t her way to take it out on the innocents on her way to the target. She’s a single focused missile of pain and anger, and she’s heading square for Mordecai in retaliation for what he did to her. And fair play to her. We all knew that this was a possibility. After all, we took our pound of flesh on behalf of Chris. 

But I won’t risk my daughter on intel I can’t be sure about. And Gwen, deep in the hearts of all of us, is at risk in a way that none of the rest of us are. And if Gwen gets hurt because of something she had no part in....

I’d burn the world for her.

Mordecai raises his head, and his arm, beckoning us to come further into the churchyard. The gate squeaks, and the grass slides against my boots, releasing the damp green smell. Gwen slides in front of me, walking the same path as Mordecai did, her feet sure and steady as she still clutches the bag to her chest. The smile that he gives her as she stands beside her would outshine the sun, and it’s such a shocking contract to his usual expression that it catches me right in the ribs.

You learn the strangest things as a Minion to Shadowcat. Purple hyacinth for regret, and white roses for purity and innocence. The flowers that Gwen lift out of the bag are nearly luminescent in the silver rain, and Mordecai accepts them as gently as if Gwen just handed him her heart. 

He lays them just as gently at one of the gravestones, and his expression of grief hits me in the heart again. Gwen slips backwards to stand beside me and give Mordecai peace as he kneels in the wet grass and lowers his head.

The feeling of being watched intensifies, and out of the corner of my eye I spot movement in the foliage that is too sharp to be natural. Slowly, I slide into parade rest, my hands interlocking at the small of my back, just above the hilt of my concealed knife. 

No one will disturb our brother.

###JOSH###

Being the chauffeur of the family is awesome. I get to go on advanced driving courses, learning stuff that comes straight out of the movies. Not that I’ve ever had a chance to use it, thank the Goddess, but it’s nice to know that if the shit hits the fan, then I’ve got it covered. And I don’t have to wear a suit. It’s not that I mind suits, but with these shoulders? Nothing off the rack fits, and that means having to fork out for a tailor, or at least someone to do adjustments. I’ll stick to my denim, thank you very much.

Plus, I get to drive all the cars. All. The. Cars.

But if I touch John’s bike, I lose my fingers. 

And then you get days like today, where I’m playing bodyguard as well. So’s Mordecai, but John insisted that Lindsay use me as well. And he used that tone of voice that suggested that he’d be incredibly disappointed if Lindsay found some way to ditch us and play hooky.

So I’m parked up outside Sabrina Bello’s building while Lindsay goes and plays the charmer. Mordecai went with her, both to make sure that she was okay, and also because he hasn’t left her side since we got back to Toronto. As she’s still suffering from the effects of pretty much the last month, none of us are complaining that Mordecai is dogging her heels.

Lindsay can only have been gone ten minutes or less, before Mordecai slouches out of the door by himself, and heads straight for the car. I take a break from people watching, unlock the doors, and offer a sympathetic smile as he climbs in, and sags. 

None of us know what’s going on in his head at the moment, but ever since that match against Lilith and Mya, and being beaned on the head by Skyy, Mordecai has turned a bit more communicative. He’s still not talking, but he’s writing things down, and his face is turning out to be pretty expressive.

“Sabrina nix you going in?” I ask him, and he nods his head, shrugging his shoulders.

“Pay her no mind,” I advise. “Cos you have to remember, you are v, v imposing by anyone’s standards. And there was that whole Skyy/Darko thing that you were involved in. Daddy Darko has probably filled her brain with all sorts of poison. Let Lindsay leech some of it out. You know that she won’t stand for you being badmouthed.”

He frowns, and taps his hand against his knee four times. I rewind my sentences in my head.

“Daddy Darko? Nah, not her actual Dad, at least, not to our knowledge, but you have to admit, he acts a bit like it.”

He grins.

“Anyway, if Sabrina is angling to have the boss look after her, she’ll just have to get used to you being here. You’re not going anywhere.”

He looks a bit startled at the vehemence in my voice, but then the radio play starts, and our conversation pretty much goes out of the window until Lindsay comes back, and we have to move onto the next appointment.

Dante, on screen or in person is a very imposing figure, and pretty much stands out wherever he is. Neither he or the boss wanted to meet on their home grounds, which I suppose makes sense, and so this coffee shop seemed to be the best, as neither wanted to freeze their unmentionables off in a park.

The other patrons of the coffee shop are kind enough to pretend that we don’t exist, which is a bit of an achievement as you have me and Mordecai, radiating menace (hey, it’s fun!), and  flanking Lindsay, cold eyed and striking. And we’re heading straight for Dante, the biggest man in the room. 

“Lindsay,” he greets. “Mordecai,” and his eyes pass over me.

Lindsay rolls her eyes. “My boys are being...pushy,” she tells him with a click of her tongue. “Josh was the compromise that we could all live with.”

“Stop falling out of bed then,” I tell her. “And nearly falling down the stairs. And...”

Dante’s laugh interrupts me before I can get going, because, seriously, she needs to stop.

“He has a point,” he notes mildly. “But I’m sure that you didn’t ask me to meet you here to discuss your home life. Shall we get to the point?”

Lindsay nods, and slides onto the stool next to Dante. Mordecai steps in closer, as if to take part in the conversation (although he still isn’t talking), but his eyes meet mine, and there’s the faintest grin on his lips. He’ll stop Lindsay falling off the stool. I turn my back to the trio, and stare over the heads of the other patrons, keeping my face blank.

May as well start rumours, right?

They keep their voices quiet, but I know what they’re talking about. Lindsay is gently admonishing Dante for not telling her sooner about his desire to leave, and Dante will be pointing out that he had no obligation to do so. Lindsay will express her regret, and try to change his mind, and I’d say that Dante will politely tell her to take a hike. 

And then they’ll get to talking strategy about the match against Tombstone, both at the next show and in the Elimination Chamber. Which reminds me, we need to buy a hell of a lot more bandages and surgical supplies. Better start a mental inventory while the pair behind me talk, plot and plan. 

###CHRIS###

So, it’s been a whirlwind of a few weeks. I’m getting sick of aeroplanes, and the funky air. Just glad that my immune system is holding up and I’ve not come down with some form of nasty bug. 

But I’m starting to feel settled in my own skin again. GCW...it was an interesting experiment, and one that I’m happy to carry on with, even if it looks like someone is gunning for me. No change in things there then. 

I thought that it would be hard to go to EMERGE, to stand on the sidelines and cheer Gwen on, but it’s actually easy. I don’t know about anyone else in the audience, but I’m aware of the looming shadow of the SCW. Not hard when I’ve still got a crush a mile wide on a couple of their superstars, but hey, that’s me. 

Problem is, even if I’m happy to stand on the sidelines, my past isn’t.

It’s absolutely freezing in the barn on our property, but it’s the best place to come if you want somewhere quiet to think. With everyone fussing over Lindsay and rightly so, I’ve snuck down here to try and have a think about things, so that I can go back to being entertaining.

There is still blood on the floor that we never cleaned up after beating the shit out of Mordecai that first time. That was for me, that was my revenge for what he and Ms R did to me. And I was the one who had it easy, spending most of my time in their tender care under the influence of narcotics. Vee and Mya got it much worse.

And now it looks like Vee is coming back to get her pound of flesh. Or two hundred and fifty pounds of flesh. The Bitch from Barrow is not known for taking the easy route. 

Vee was my friend. Doubt she is now, considering my associations, but....I knew that could be the fallout.

Mordecai is my friend, stoic and silent as he is. But....to stop her calling in her marker makes me one hell of a hypocrite. 

“And then there’s Tombstone,” I change from thinking to speaking. “Trouble, trouble and more trouble.”

For a big man, Mordecai can move silently, and so when he chuckles, he nearly takes me out of my skin. He looks brightly amused at my discomfort, which is such a change from his usual blank demeanor. I think I like this new Mordecai. 

“Didn’t expect to see you down here,” I tell him. “Considering the way that you’ve been hovering.”

He shrugs, and drops down to sit beside me on the wooden floor, reaching out to trace a finger around the bloodstain. 

I can’t help but laugh at the motion.

“You’re very lucky,” I tell him honestly. “By the time these folks get through with you, it’s a toss up if you’ll even make it to the Elimination Chamber in one piece. Tombstone this time, someone else next time, and Vee walking around looking to turn you into a corpse...You’ll be lucky to have a pint left in your skin.”

He shrugs in a loose open motion, hands adding extra emphasis. He doesn’t need words to tell me that he doesn’t care. Vee is penance, Tombstone is work, and Mordecai will just do what he has to.

“Good job we love you,” I grin.