One Dark Night


Jeff Hardy was sulking in the cocktail area of the Marriot where he was staying that night. After a few hours of waiting around in the hospital Terri had convinced him to leave...get some rest. Shit, did she really believe that he would be able to rest after what he had done!? He hadn't meant to hit Matt that hard. Dammit, he had been trying to go easy on his older brother, but Jeff knew that he had let the desire to fight get the most of him. That was why Matt was in the hospital now...a fuckin' broken nose and cheekbone. The doctors said they weren't sure if he would be able to wrestle for awhile. Dammit...

He motioned for the bartender to bring him another shot glass.

Terri was pissed. Of that much Jeff was certain. She had lectured him continuously while he had sat in the waiting room hoping to hear information on his brother’s condition. Why had he insisted on fighting Matt? Why hadn't he refused to follow Triple H and Stephanie's orders? Inside, he knew that she was right. The best thing that Jeff could have done would have been to tell Hunter to fuck a pole and left the room refusing to do as he had asked.

Apparently, though, Terri didn't know Matt as well as she thought she did. Matt wouldn't have let him forfeit his job just because he didn't want to fight. This was a profession. It wasn't simply a sport, and like any type of work there were times where a boss had to force his or her employees to do something no matter how much they didn't want to. Jeff had two choices...either play the game and gamble his relationships or quit the game and lose his only financial support.

Choosing to play the game seemed rather stupid now. After all, not only had he lost his brother but without Matt he couldn’t progress in the World Wrestling Federation. They were a tag team. TEAM. Now there was no team. There was only him, Jeff Hardy, and in the single wrestler realm there were plenty of huge monsters waiting to devour him whole and put him out of action. He had already decided not to give Triple H and Stephanie the satisfaction of seeing him go on hiatus until Matt recovered, but how long would that take? Could Jeff really hold out as a single wrestler for that long?

Screw the McMahon-Helmsly Era. Screw DX.

Screw Jeff Hardy.

...How many shots had he consumed this past hour?

Matt would always tell him that if he started agonizing over negligible things that he was drunk. Was he tormenting himself over nothing? His brother couldn’t be that seriously hurt, could he? Time would fly by until Matt would be ready to return to the ring, and after that it would only be a matter of time until they attained the golden tag team championship belts once again.

...But what if Matt hated him after this? They couldn’t function as a team if Matt held a grudge against him for his injuries. These broken bones were all Jeff’s fault. If only he had been more careful...and shit, now Matt must definitely hate him! He’d refuse to be partners with him once his ailments healed. Dammit, he’d probably go join up with Edge or someone like that. They sure seemed to work well together. Shit.

Were there nine shot glasses in front of him or ten? One of them was a bit fuzzy so he couldn’t tell... He motioned to the bartender for one last one before beginning to dig through the pockets of his loose black jeans for his wallet. Money...that was the fuckin’ reason he was in this mess. It had been a choice between money and his brother. What kind of a sibling would choose money!? Apparently Jeff Hardy had. What a great younger brother. Too bad, Matt. Go screw yourself. I love my job more than you. Have fun in the hospital.

He downed his final shot without even feeling the fiery liquid run down his throat before handing the bartender what he believed to be the right amount of money for the ten...or was that eleven...shots that he had consumed that night. Hmmmm...and the three beers... He was barely aware of the person behind the counter handing him his change. Matt would have loved this. With their tight working schedule they hadn’t gotten a chance to go out and drink for awhile.

Maybe they never would again.

Placing the few bills he had received into his leather wallet, Jeff slid off the bar stool where he had been situated for at least an hour if not more and walked...stumbled, it appeared to some of the other people in the cocktail area...out of the bar room and into the hotel lobby. Damn, it was so bright in here. "Jeff..."

The younger Hardy turned at the sound of the impartial greeting. "Christian?" Seeing the former lightweight champion nod, a small smile appeared on Jeff’s face. "Shit, I didn’t know you were staying at this hotel. Where’s Edge?"

"With Elana," Christian responded, his voice noncommittal yet soft. At least, Jeff noticed, he was in a good mood. Then again, he hadn’t sent his brother to the hospital after that "great" match Triple H and Stephanie had booked. "How’s Matt?"

<Loves to hit the nail right on the head, doesn’t he?> "Still in the hospital...the doctors say he has a broken nose and cheekbone. Matt’ll be out of the ring for awhile." Jeff didn’t know if he was thankful for Christian’s presence or if he wanted to beat the shit out of his friend. After all, Edge’s younger brother had been his tag team partner in the match today...the match where he had ruined his relationship with his brother.

"Elana, huh?" Jeff ran a hand through his dyed blond hair with a sigh. "He really does love that girl, doesn’t he?" Christian offered no verbal answer...just a nod. How characteristic. Jeff snorted to himself. "So..." This was fun.

It was at this point that Jeff realized most of his conversations with Christian had been through Edge. The younger brother never really spoke, but the talkative nature of Edge, himself, and Matt had been enough for all four of them. "So...um...what are you planning on doing now?"

"You’ve been drinking." Jeff blinked. Gee, Christian liked going straight to the point, didn’t he? How the hell did he know anyway? The younger Hardy didn’t think he was slurring...

Shaking his head, Jeff turned and started towards the elevator that would take him to his hotel room. A parent was not what Jeff wanted right now. He wanted to be alone...to turn on the TV...maybe they had those small bottles of wine in the hotel rooms. "G’night, Christian."

He entered the elevator with very little grace. One might have said that he had fallen in, but shit, he was still standing so it didn’t matter. Pushing the fourth floor button, Jeff closed his eyes as the cubicle began to ascend. He felt so tired all of a sudden...Suddenly, a noise made its way into his fuzzed brain. The tapping of a foot. Opening one eye, Jeff groaned. When the hell had Christian gotten into the elevator? "All right, all right, you wanna play mommy to me?" The younger Hardy questioned, bored voice showing that he didn’t really want Christian to answer nor did he care if he ended up doing so or not. "Fine...just let me be once I get to my hotel room."

Not waiting for Christian’s response, Jeff got off on the fourth floor and made his way down to room 412. There it was...now where the hell had he put that key? It took him about five minutes to find the damn thing that resembled a credit card and stick it into the impossibly small slot on the door. The lock flashed green, and Jeff pushed the door open, flicking on a light switch after entering.

He had checked out the room before going to the bar. The ceiling was so high that if one talked loud enough the sound would echo for about five seconds. A queen-sized bed sat in the middle of the room while a deep blue love seat couch and two matching chairs were propped at its far end next to the back window. A television sat in front of the bed, and...yes...one of the little refrigerators that always had wine in it rested against the wall next to the bathroom. Jeff found himself wondering if they put the fridge there for a reason. Damn hotel staff must be clever. His thoughts halted momentarily. Why the hell hadn’t he ever wondered that before? What was usually referred to as drunken wonder Jeff Hardy now called unusually sharp perception.

Jeff plopped down on his bed before peeling off his tight forest greet shirt. Maybe a shower would make him feel better. Feel better. Dammit, the only things that were going to make him feel better now were a phone call from Terri letting him know that Matt was going to be released from the hospital or more alcohol. He began moving towards the small refrigerator by the bathroom. "Don’t you think you’ve had enough?"

"Holy shit!" Jeff shouted in alarm, turning towards the door. Christian was leaning against the wooden barrier, and one could actually notice a glimmer of concern in his eyes. Hands trembling, the younger Hardy backed away. "Dammit, Christian, you scared the shit outta me! I told you to let me be after I got to my hotel room!"

He watched as Christian began to approach him. Slow steps...as if timed...and Jeff wondered why he suddenly felt so afraid. This was Christian! They respected each other! Hell, they were friends! "Christian..."

"Drowning your emotions isn’t going to heal your brother."

Ok, now THAT was going too fucking far...first he was a parent and now he was a therapist!? "What the hell do you know!? He’s not going to be able to wrestle now, and it’s MY fault! I can’t even blame that jackass Triple H or his little bitch Stephanie! It was all me! I did exactly what those two assholes wanted me to!"

Christian was still advancing on him, and his facial expression was one that Jeff couldn’t have even begun to describe. It seemed to be a blend of amusement, worry, and something else...something that intimidated the younger Hardy though he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. Jeff continued to move away from Christian until the back of his knees banged against the bed and, coordination off after drinking so much, he was unable to keep his balance and fell back onto the mattress. His eyes widened. It took only a second for Christian to appear, hovering over him. "Do you think Matt wants this?"

"What?" Jeff could freely admit that Christian was starting to freak him out. Actually, ‘starting to freak him’ out was an understatement. Alcohol couldn’t get you THIS hyped up, could it?

"For you to do this to yourself...do you think Matt wants this? He doesn’t want you to beat yourself up over something that the McMahon-Helmsly Era caused," Christian muttered in a soft voice.

The younger Hardy took obvious offense to this. "What the fuck do you know!? He’s not your brother! Do you think I didn’t notice that he was pissed at me before he was taken to the hospital!? He wouldn’t speak to me! He wouldn’t even answer me when I asked if he was all right, but he would talk to Edge. Hell, Edge is his adopted brother now. I guess you’re screwed too, Christian, because it’s going to be Edge ‘n Matt all the way. Back to single competition...maybe Gangrel’ll take you ba--"

"Shut up, Jeff." This simple cutoff was enough to end the former tag team champion’s rant, and he gazed up with confusion into Christian’s eyes. They were blazing with obvious anger. Shit, he had gone too far. Jeff flinched with shock when he felt Christian’s strong hands on his shoulders, pinning him to the bed. "Just shut the hell up. If you’re so eager to agonize over something you didn’t even do then fine, be my guest, but if Matt were here I think I know how he’d be feeling. Fuckin’ disgusted, because you’re a damn mess right now. Why the hell do you need to sulk whenever you think you’ve done something wrong!? You can’t right it that way. If Matt were here now, he’d probably..."

The rest of Christian’s lecture was lost to Jeff who was too busy staring at the former member of the Brood through widened eyes. It was apparent now what had seemed so off about Christian since the time that he had entered his hotel room...the strange look in his eyes that had made Jeff feel sudden nervousness. That gleam...the exact same look would appear in Matt’s eyes whenever he was pissed off at him.

The rant he was victim to now...he wasn’t hearing it from Christian. Shit, he was hearing it from Matt, and it was the same thing he had heard many times before. Why did he have to get drunk and mope around about everything that he did wrong? He looked like a mess...those were Matt’s words. Those were Matt’s fucking words! "Stop..."

Christian halted in mid sentence and looked down at the younger Hardy, wincing slightly as he noticed the glimmer of unshed tears in Jeff’s eyes. Shit, the former Brood member had forgotten that he was drunk...he was emotionally torturing himself anyway, and all the alcohol did was amplify his emotions. Damn... "Jeff, I--"

"Stop talking like him. Please, stop talking like Matt. I don’t want to think about what I did to him anymore. He’s...shit, he’s going to hate me, Christian. Matt’s never going to want to fight with me again. He’s--"

"That’s bullshit, and you know it," Christian muttered, cutting off all protests with a shake of his head. "He’s your brother, and Matt hates the McMahon-Helmsly Era as much as the rest of us do. This is THEIR fault. Not yours. Listen," he began, knowing that he wasn’t getting through to Jeff yet. "I saw Matt from the corner of my eye take advantage of you by choking you when the referee wasn’t looking. Do you blame him for that?"

Jeff shook his head slowly in response. "He was just getting into the spirit of the match..."

"What about by fighting altogether. He’s your older brother...the one that should look out for your well-being. Do you blame him for agreeing to participate in the match?"

"No," Jeff answered confidently. "He would have lost his job if he had refused."

Christian shrugged in response to this. "Well, if you don’t blame Matt for anything he did today then why should Matt blame you for anything you did today?"

"I..." Jeff was speechless, and while he tried about five times to continue is sentence he was unable to. Damn Christian. He just always had to be right, didn’t he? Shit... "Christian, I’m..." Jeff took a wavering breath. "I’m sorry for getting in your face." Dammit, he felt like crying again.

"I don’t blame people for saying dumb things when they’re drunk." Realizing that Jeff’s shoulders were becoming red from the heavy pressure of his palms, Christian released his hold on the former tag team champion and opted to sit on the mattress next to him instead. "He’ll be ok, Jeff. I swear that he will be." The younger Hardy seemed completely unresponsive to his statement, and Christian sighed to himself. He wasn’t making this situation any better.

That was when he heard a soft whimper from the man lying on the bed. Christian cursed under his breath as he saw a tear appear from Jeff’s right eye, the droplet moistening his long dark lashes. This one was quickly followed by another...and another. Shit. Crossing off psychologist from the list of careers he could embark on if ever he were forced to leave the World Wrestling Federation, Christian sighed and did the only thing he could think of. He pulled Jeff into his embrace, gently rubbing the younger Hardy’s back and allowing him to rest his head against his shoulder. "Jeff...what’s wrong?"

"It’s always him..." The whispered reply sounded so helpless...so hollow. Christian had never heard this tone of voice from the normally cheerful and adventurous Hardy Boy that he had come to know. "It’s always Matt...every single time. He’s always the one in the hospital getting surgery or getting bones set. I-in high school he was out of school once for almost two months after missing a move and badly injuring his neck. The...the doctors thought that he...that he might not make it through those months. They only let me in to see him on Saturdays, but he was almost never awake. Always...he was always doped up with some shit or another, and whenever I came to visit he was sleeping or had lapsed into unconsciousness again."

The warm tears of Jeff Hardy burned Christian’s shoulder like fire. The former lightweight champion did not want to be here for this. The last thing he wanted was to be holding an emotionally unstable man in his arms...a man that he could offer nothing of consolation to. Then again, if he hadn’t been prepared for this then why, Christian asked himself, had he even bothered Jeff in the first place? Christian had known deep down that those shots he had watched Jeff gulp down thoughtlessly from a dark corner of the hotel cocktail area mixed with the guilt he had inside after watching his brother get taken away by an ambulance would end in the young wrestler having an emotional breakdown. Why was he even here? Wouldn’t Jeff be better on his own?

No, he told himself firmly, he wouldn’t be better on his own, and Christian was damn well prepared for this. He wouldn’t have followed Jeff if he hadn’t been ready to help him in this state...if he hadn’t wanted to help. If he hadn’t wanted...what the hell did he want in exchange for being here anyway? Jeff Hardy was drunk, depressed, extremely vulnerable...he quickly pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind.

"Christian, you probably think I’m such a stupid moron," The former pupil of Gangrel heard Jeff mutter with self-depreciation. "Here I am crying like a fuckin’ baby just because my brother is going to be out of the ring for awhile. I’m such an idiot. A normal person would be optimistic, but I have to be so fuckin’--"

Jeff’s words immediately died on his lips. No, it was more a matter of him being unable to continue speaking because at that moment full, luscious lips captured his for a kiss. It was hard, not gentle. The action demanded silence...obedience, and portrayed frustration. Christian pulled back first, his harsh eyes trained on Jeff who looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. "Don’t you dare put words in my mouth, Jeff."

"Christian..." Edge’s younger brother didn’t give Jeff a chance to continue.

"If I thought you were stupid or a moron I would have damn well said so already. Shit, if I thought you were an idiot I wouldn’t be here right now, would I?" There was a small voice in the back of Christian’s mind intent on telling him over and over and over again that he had just kissed Jeff Hardy...he had just kissed a quite drunk and distraught Jeff Hardy, but right now he was too pissed off to even care.

Amazingly enough, Jeff’s thoughts were also far from what had just happened between himself and Christian. Though he wasn’t as far gone as Christian believed (or would have liked to believe) right now he was unable to concentrate on more than one thing at a time...and his mind was currently focused on the look of fury covering Christian’s face. What was even more frightening was the voice of the former lightweight champion. He never yelled, as quiet and mysterious a person as he was, but instead Christian’s tone had become darker...harsher. Jeff would have almost rather had Christian screaming at him for all he was worth.

"You. Are. Not. Stupid. Get that through your head, Jeff. One mistake does not make you stupid. Caring about your brother does not make you stupid. Crying does not make you stupid. I’ve made plenty of mistakes, whenever Edge hurts himself I care about him, and I’ve cried plenty of times in my life, but if you ever call me stupid or an idiot I’ll beat the shit out of you. Got it?"

A small nod followed by a meek, "I’m sorry, Christian," was all that Edge’s younger brother received in return, but it was enough to satisfy him. What happened next, though, was a complete shock, and Christian’s eyes widened with obvious surprise when he found the younger Hardy’s face just inches away from his. "I really am sorry," Jeff breathed softly before covering Christian’s lips with his own.

The second kiss was not as awkward as the first, and Christian tightened the arm that he had snaked around Jeff’s back, pulling the younger man closer until he could feel Jeff’s warm bare skin against his clothed chest. It was no secret that in the back of his mind Christian had wanted this tonight...he had wanted this for awhile, but the fact that it was actually happening...that he was exploring Jeff’s sweet mouth with his tongue...was almost too much to believe...too good to be true.

Running a hand through Jeff’s long blond tresses, Christian moved from his mouth to his neck, dabbing his tongue experimentally on the pale flesh before kissing it greedily which caused a groan to emit from the younger Hardy who was trying, with much annoyance, to remove Christian’s shirt. Finally he succeeded, and Christian gasped as he felt Jeff’s cool hands run across his chest for the very first time, playing with his nipples as he did so. This was not happening...this was not fuckin’ happening.

Jeff was drunk.

That realization stopped Christian right in his tracks, and he pulled away from the younger Hardy despite his disappointed grunt. "Christian..."

"You should get some sleep," Edge’s younger brother muttered, immediately cursing himself for sounding so corny.

Jeff apparently picked up on this. "Get some sleep? You do that to me...and then say to get some sleep?" He shook his head slowly. "I really don’t give a fuck if I’m not good enough for you, Christian, but don’t cover that fact up with some shitty excuse like ‘You should get some sleep.’"

A deep frown appearing on his face, Christian growled at the former tag team champion who was pulling off his black jeans, eyes concentrated on the floor instead of him. "What about ‘you’re drunk’? How’s that for an excuse?"

"Screw that! I’m not drunk!" Seeing Christian’s dubious expression, Jeff threw his hands up in the air with exasperation. "Shit, I may be a little tipsy, but I’m not fuckin’ drunk! Besides, if you thought I was then you shouldn’t have started it!"

"Getting together with someone is not like a wrestling match, Jeff. It doesn’t matter who starts it...both people have to be consensual," Christian argued, turning away since Jeff was now only in his boxers. Shit, he could feel himself getting hard. Thank god he was in loose black pants and not in the spandex that he usually wore in the ring.

"Do I look unwilling to you!?" Christian closed his eyes at the enraged question. Did Jeff appear to be unwilling? No. Did he look damn good? Yes, but he was absolutely sure that this was the alcohol talking, not the real Jeff Hardy, and he would never forgive himself if he woke up the next morning and found the former tag team champion glaring at him with disdain.

Sighing, Christian turned around and started towards the door, making sure to pick up his discarded shirt as he did so. "Good night." He realized after a few seconds that he was walking slower than he normally did...hoping that Jeff would call him back. Hoping that he wouldn’t. There was a rustling of bed sheets behind him, and Christian forced himself to hide disappointment from his face. This was in Jeff’s best interest after all...

"Christian..." Turning around, the former lightweight champion let his eyes fall on Jeff who had crawled under the sheets of the queen-sized bed. His eyes were saddened, and a small pout had formed on his lips. He appeared even younger...even more vulnerable than he had any other time that night, and Christian found himself fighting for control of his body. It was just too tempting to return to Jeff’s side, crawl into bed with him, and taste more of his honey-like skin.

No. NO. Drunk. Jeff was drunk. He had to leave, but that look in Jeff’s eyes...just Jeff in and of himself...wouldn’t let him leave. Just hearing his name uttered in that voice...that voice that Christian found himself unable to resist had been enough to erase his will to leave. Before he knew it he had kicked off his black boots and joined Jeff’s side. "I want to stay with you."

"I want you to stay--" Jeff responded, a small grin appearing on his face, but he was unable to say anything more before Christian intervened.

"I want to stay with you, but I can’t let myself sleep with you. If you wake up tomorrow morning to find someone you didn’t want..." Christian’s sentence died on his lips, and Jeff was forced to fill the gap with his own words of comfort.

"I’ve never told anyone this," He began, voice quavering slightly as if afraid of what Christian’s response would be to the story he was about to tell. "Matt and I were only kids at the time...I think I was nine or so, and I kept having this recurring nightmare that someone who thought I was a prick..." He considered his words. "Um, I guess I didn’t know the word prick then, but that’s essentially what this guy thought of me. He kept chasing me with a knife through endless dark streets all the while telling me that I would never reach any of my goals because he would kill me before I could.

"Since Matt was older, he would always tell me that he’d be there for me no matter what kind of problems I got in or whoever got pissed off at me. I was nine, you know, so I thought that Matt could save me from this guy in my nightmares." A sheepish smile appeared on the face of the younger Hardy. "Kinda corny, but I was a kid. One night Matt agreed to stay with me in my bed...he told me that he’d chase the guy away for me, and that night he did because I never saw that asshole in my dreams ever again." He glanced at Christian with a worried expression on his face. "Was that...wrong of me? To ask Matt to sleep with me for one night to solve my problems?"

Not exactly sure where he was going with this, Christian offered the only answer that he could give in response to this question. "No, that wasn’t wrong. You thought a lot of your brother...and still do."

Jeff turned away from Christian, though Edge’s younger brother didn’t miss the guilty expression that had appeared on his face. "I was asking because, well...I was hoping you would do the same thing for me tonight....that you would sleep with me." Extremely humiliated by what he had just said, Jeff searched for words that would make him appear better in Christian’s view again. "If you...if you don’t want to that’s ok. It’s a really stupid thing of me to ask of you, so you can go to your own room if you want to. I won’t mind at all..."

Any other apologies that Jeff had been prepared to offer died on his lips, and he smiled slightly as he felt Christian, who had just pulled off his jeans and crawled under the covers with him, wrap a gentle arm around his waist and draw him closer. "You aren’t stupid, Jeff. Don’t make me tell you a third time."

"Sorry..." Jeff murmured, and as he felt Christian’s lips brush gently across his forehead the former tag team champion placed a hand on Christian’s chest, closing his eyes with sudden comfort as he felt the heartbeat of his fellow wrestler against his palm. He listened to Christian breathe for a few minutes before finally allowing himself to give into his physical and emotional weariness and drift off to sleep.

***

He couldn’t stay. Jeff had looked so beautiful in his sleep...so innocent. Christian refused to be the one to take away that innocence from him. Besides, he had been frightened. What if Jeff hadn’t been as alert Monday night as he had seemed? What if he woke up and was repulsed by Christian’s presence? He couldn’t take that chance. No, he had refused to.

Now it was Thursday night Smackdown, and he, along with most of the WWF superstars, and gone along with the "new" Stephanie McMahon-Helmsly’s assigned fights. His opponents weren’t anyone he was worried about. Kaientai. Christian was fairly confident that he could beat them himself. It was his partner that he was worried about.

As if on cue, the music of the Hardy Boyz began, and Christian watched as Jeff walked out...in a black TIGHT and TRANSPARENT shirt. Oh boy... Jeff smiled slightly as he approached the ring with Terri Runnels, and Christian watched him climb the ropes, offering the crowd his usual energy-filled greeting which earned a loud cheer from the thousands in attendance that night. Christian swallowed hard. Maybe he should have made a point to meet with Jeff before this match. At least he wouldn’t have been as nervous as he was right now.

Christian remained silent as Jeff walked over to him. They should just go back to the way they were. Nothing happened two nights ago. Absolutely nothing. It would be better that way. Did the former tag team champion not want to fight with him? Was he doing this only because he was looking forward to getting his hands on Triple H later that night?

"I heard from some people in the back that the Mean Street Posse have been trying to give Kaientai advice for this fight," Jeff muttered, and Christian breathed out a sigh of relief. He didn’t seem upset. Maybe he didn’t remember anything...and if he did he wasn’t going to bring it up. "Sure, those guys are a bunch of morons that have never won a fight, but just in case we need to be a bit more serious about this fight than we were planning to be."

"I got it," Christian told him, but he quickly shut up when he saw the younger Hardy wink. Wait a minute...wink?

As the entrance theme of the Mean Street Posse came on Jeff leaned closer to Christian until their noses were almost touching. He checked to make sure Terri wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying before smiling mischievously at his tag team partner. "Think I forgot, Christian? I remember...everything...I guess I wasn’t as drunk as you thought I was. Matt is going to be back in the ring soon, I get a chance at an easy tag team win, I finally having the opportunity to beat up Triple H...there are only a few things I can think of that could be the final touch of this great day... Let’s at least talk after the show tonight, all right?"

Christian was in shock. He had been prepared for Jeff to forget about that night. He had been prepared for the younger Hardy to hate him. Jeff accepted him, though...that was something he had NOT been prepared for, and all of a sudden the former lightweight champion felt a new wave of inspiration wash over him. They WOULD win this match...and it would only lead to greater things. "All right. We’ll talk later, but first...Kaientai."

The match went down with barely any mistakes. After knocking down both members of Kaientai Jeff faintly heard Micheal Cole exclaim, "This team of Christian and Jeff...impressive!" Personally, he had to agree. Retracting that thought, he grinned inwardly. Tonight would be the true test of how strong this new alignment truly was. Jeff couldn’t wait.

=-=-=-=-=

The End

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