Rating: PG to R
Characters: CM Punk, Teddy Hart, small appearance by Jack Evans, mention of various others.
Summary: A Fingertips salute to the Punk/Teddy series I could have written had I found the brainpower. ^^;
WHEN PUNK MET TEDDY
1. [the scramblecage incident]
It was to be a miracle dive, a brightly burning torch to light the way for the future. In his and Jack's defeat in the match, Teddy had seen it as a sign, a chance to leave a dramatic impression of his rising star. He's taken the open laid before him and climbed to the top of the chainlink cage, intent on beginning a revolution. He was the savior of professional wrestling. He was about to take his first step toward fulfilling his destiny.
What he didn't realize in the brief moment he balanced atop the cage was that he was seconds away from becoming the focus of a monumental, industry-spanning backlash.
2. [the rant heard 'round the world]
The fury racing through his veins was unlike anything he'd ever felt. He wasn't sure how long the post added up to page-wise, but it was the longest thing he'd written for his journal to date. There was no saying that the internerd community would pay him and his ranting any attention. It would be enough for Punk, though, just to have it out of his system, if only in part.
He didn't even stop to skim over what he'd written, thinking it was better to leave the scathing heat of his words untouched.
Punk growled and punched the update button, releasing his wrath for public consumption, hoping every single word of it reached the ears of that retarded little douchebag.
3. [throwing down the gauntlet]
Teddy hated shit-talking. Hated it. Especially when it was aimed at him. Even more so when it was aimed at him by talentless hacks that cared more about eating greasy cheeseburgers than staying in tremendous shape, like himself. He was here to use this internet radio show, a forum that Puke and his geek squad would undoubtedly take note of, to his advantage.
First, he would tell his side - the truth - about everything that had happened. Second, he would verbally rip Puke, Corino, and all the others that had badmouthed him to a shred so fine that it would be like nothing was left of them. Then, finally, he would throw down the gauntlet and issue a challenge to Puke and Corino, the worst offenders, that would leave them trembling in their boots. He would even offer to pay for their transportation to the Dungeon, showing his honor more real than either of theirs.
He pulled on his most congenial face and waited for his introduction. This was to be the beginning of the end for his unsuspecting enemies.
4. [stand and deliver]
The challenge was ludicrous. He'd first been directed to the interview a couple weeks ago by just about everyone he knew and it hadn't stopped being the most absurd thing he'd heard to date. Punk almost couldn't decide whether he or Teddy was supposed to be the villain, considering the continued victim mentality Teddy used to spew out a rewrite of history.
Having done a few radio interviews himself since, Punk had willing accepted the challenge and had watched the word spread where every interested soul could see it. So had Corino. Neither one of them had heard anything from Teddy's camp - not that his world revolved around this or anything.
"Come on, you sorry little fuck," Punk muttered as he surfed through the news sites, looking for any indication that Teddy had the courage to back up his boasting. "Don't disappoint me."
5. [fistfight at the whitetrash cafe]
The air was crisp, chilled by the forces of winter, but not overwhelmingly so this day. A light breeze made the tingle walk across Teddy's skin a bit sharper, just short of stinging at times. He'd chosen a fine time to leave his coat behind. Luckily, it was only a short distance from the fairgrounds to the cafe. At his side was his ever-faithful puppy, Jack Evans, a lanky figure draped in a pristine white track suit. Together, they were seeking a hot meal and maybe a quick puff or two off a joint behind the building afterwards.
As they neared the cafe, though, Teddy thought he saw something through the glass window front. He lowered his habitually worn sunglasses a bit down the slope of his nose to get a better look. A quick halt had a less-than-attentive Jack bumping into him.
"Yo! S'up, Ted? What you stop like that for?"
Teddy didn't know whether to frown, sneer, or throw a tantrum, so instead he pasted on a slick smile and started forward again. He nodded toward the cafe. "Look."
"Aw shit," Jack whined on seeing the unmistakable CM Punk heading for the door from inside the little cafe. "You gonna kick his ass?"
"Why would I want to do that?" Teddy asked, voice schooled into serenity. He sped up his walk, wanting to meet Punk at the door. The reason why was beyond him, but he could feel the divine at work in this moment. A confrontation with Punk was the last thing he wanted right now, but it was quickly seeming to be out of his hands as the two of them were suddenly nose to nose in the open door.
Teddy had never known Punk's eyes were that color. He only noticed their greenish hazel now because he watched them narrow as Punk realized who he was blocking his way. Opening his mouth to say...something, Teddy also slid his right hand forward, not sure what he was looking to have happen.
"You fucking piece of shit," Punk cut him off, anger visibly burning, laying a swift palm across his cheek.
The resounding smack was more of a surprise than an actual hurting blow. And humiliating. Teddy couldn't forget that. His shades lay on the ground, broken. With a growl, Teddy swung his face back to Punk and a string of scathing words flowed back and forth between them until Teddy could take it now more. He pounced and the fight was on.
6. [they don't know it, but they need me]
It was all over the place. Teddy Hart had bought a ticket to sit front row at the show, his reasoning being that he would be there even if they didn't want him. Then the reckless troll had announced it all over the internet for the world to see just how loose his cannon was. Punk was not pleased with the developments that had come from this, either.
To counteract Teddy's possible interference, management had caved and placed him on the card. It was the only thing they could have done, Punk knew, other than to deny him entrance to the venue without reason and risk who knew what in reprisal. However, this move left the entire locker room open to the smug condescension that would follow Teddy in off the street like a choking and lethal fog.
The fact that Punk had been advised to hold his tongue unless Teddy really got out of hand, though, was by far the most infuriating slap in the face. Punk didn't know whether to hope for a hassle-free night or pray to the non-existent man in the sky that Teddy slipped up.
7. [h2 go down da hoooooooooooooooooooole]
He couldn't believe everyone was blaming the downfall of that stupid little upstart on him. The proof wasn't there, no matter how hard the idiots on the internet tried to pin it to his chest with a chopping knife.
The death of H2 before it even started was not going to be laid on his shoulders for no reason other than he dared to speak out against the filth that filled the top tiers of ROH. It was certainly not his fault that Court had seen his words as damning and used them as a cowardly reason to pull out of the deal at almost the last second.
It was certainly his place as a good Christian to make sure he denounced the actions of the filth, to let him and his cronies know that God hated evil. His place was to let them all know that God was punishing ROH for allowing scum like Feinstein to be in charge of anything.
Of course, it didn't hurt that he got another chance to let the world know he hadn't forgotten the six hour stint alone in a parking lot, or Samoa Joe browbeating him for something that didn't happen, or Puke running down his name without ever having met him.
They would know his name, his glory, his righteousness. Teddy Hart was only just getting started.
8. [oh, the hilarity...]
Punk wouldn't have believed all the reports that were circulating about the Hart grandson had he not taken the full brunt of Teddy's insanity himself. Teddy didn't just dig himself into a deeper hole each time he opened his mouth, he excavated a trench wherever he went. He flapped his gums and spat out a stream of idiocy the likes of which Punk had never seen before, though he heard from mutual friends that Teddy wasn't always such a moron. Still, Punk thought that if he stood in one spot long enough while spewing out his nonsense that Teddy would eventually tunnel right through the Earth.
However, there was one thing that irked Punk. Every chance Teddy got, he threw out another insult Punk's way. Not just an insult, but an attempt to fully and completely get under his skin. After all the time that had passed, Punk would have thought that even someone as tedious and uppity as Teddy would have managed to move on to something else.
Sitting down in front of his computer, Punk brought up AIM and signed on, not even having time to breathe before he was assailed by messages from friends. Colt, Corino, Doe, Hero, Alli, everyone. All with the same message, more or less, as well.
"Have I seen it?" he repeated aloud, clicking through the mass of IM windows. Punk frowned and started replying, talking to the empty air while he did so. "Seen what?"
9. [it's a real injury, i swear!]
Teddy had easily made it to the semi-finals of the 2004 Jeff Peterson Cup. Honestly, there was no doubt that he would make it that far, at least. However, as they'd let him know that his match in that round would be against the fat slob Chris Hero, his knee had twinged and continued to twinge without remorse. He had valiantly smiled it away during the rundown of the night's show. It wasn't much overall, but it wasn't stopping and he'd felt it before on more than one occasion.
To give his aching knee a chance to calm and perhaps ease enough past the pain to let him work later that night, Teddy decided to call off all his previous plans and head to the beach. The surf and sun were sure to soak into the bones and ligaments, burning away whatever caused him this pain at such an alarming frequency.
With Jill at his side and Jack trailing along like a proper puppy should, Teddy whiled away the hours with his toes curling through a fine sift of pale amber sand. They built sandcastles and shared iced lemonades, watched the kites and hid from the sun when it started to burn tender skin. By then, though, it was time to go so it didn't matter so much. Jack was ready, so was Jill.
Teddy, however, was falling prey to an older pain than the one in his knee, one that resided deep in his most hidden heart. He wouldn't be wrestling that night. He had already mentioned his knee. It was a good enough excuse.
10. [get a job, get a life, get something that doesn't involve me]
It had gotten to the point that Punk couldn't take it anymore. Teddy was running his mouth off at a pace that was intolerable. To combat it, Punk cut off any and all mention of him, not even allowing himself the smartass remarks that were something of a trademark. When Teddy had gone on a shot about what cowards he and Corino were, Punk had said nothing. When Teddy had gone on another spiel about being the savior of wrestling, a loose cannon with Judgement Day on his mind, Punk had refrained from comment. When Teddy had badmouthed CZW, Punk had held his tongue.
Then Teddy landed a spot with JAPW and things seemed to change. It wasn't quick, nor was it slow. It just was. The fans had always popped for Teddy's acrobatics, even Punk wouldn't deny that. Here, though, by all reports, it seemed Teddy was making an effort to keep a job.
There were no more potshots at him or anyone else - Teddy actually appeared focused on the company rather than himself for once.
11. [yes, we are...not?]
The shock to his system on seeing Punk's name on the card was enough to make him wonder if his heart had stopped. Punk was willing to work on a show with his archnemesis? Teddy restrained the urge to peek out the window and look for a hail of fire and brimstone.
Instead, he looked up from the fax and finally listened to the guy from the JAPW office on the other end of the line. Tracing a fingertip over the unexpected name, Teddy leaned his head to the side, trapping the cell between cheek and shoulder.
"Is this the final card?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound weird.
"Well, no, there's been a cancellation since I faxed it over." Frank sounded disappointed. "We'll be updating it on the site in a bit."
Teddy frowned a little. He was sure he knew who the cancellation was and he was surprised to find he was ready to be disappointed, as well, upon confirmation. "Oh? Who was it?"
12. [the phone call]
It was supposed to have been a private matter between just the two of them, but Punk didn't get bent out of shape when he learned Teddy had spilled during an interview. While they hadn't gotten into any sort of sordid talk that might have set the wrestling world on its ear, he and Teddy had certainly spent several hours on the phone.
Reading the transcript of the interview, Punk chuckled. He might not think Teddy was any more sane than before, but he didn't hate him anymore. The shock of that sinking into Teddy's head was apparent even in written form - was the CM Punk/Teddy Hart feud really over?
13. [is he here yet?]
He walked into the locker room, Jack right behind him, and kept his face schooled in nonchalance. It would be better for him to appear as if nothing was out of the ordinary tonight. Sure, there were plenty of things that were weird, what with it being the night before Halloween, but that wasn't the big unusual he was worried about - that was something else entirely.
Teddy looked around casually, but didn't see him. CM Punk was somewhere in the room, he knew because he'd asked before stepping inside, and a quivering wariness fluttered around his innards. It wasn't near his heart because that would be really gay of him and he was only gay with Jack, but not really because Jill was there, too. It was more like down toward his gut and maybe his spleen. It wasn't even a million little butterflies of a flutter. This was the flutter of one massive, Mothra-sized butterfly flapping away inside him.
People had called him a coward in the past, unable to stand up to anyone when a real fight was brought his way. He didn't call it cowardice. Besides, he took it to Punk back in Nashville the one time. If Punk tried to get on him, he'd just beat him black and blue all over again.
The moment Teddy allowed himself to be distracted by Low Ki was the moment Punk chose to put in an appearance. Teddy stood still, muscles coiling tight and ready to spring into action at the first sign of danger.
However, Punk simply smiled - a touch nervously, Teddy thought - and held out his hand. "Hey, Ted. It's good to see you."
14. [the world tilts]
A string bean. Some moron in an office with the belly girth of an elephant had called Punk a string bean. Maybe compared to Mr. Elephant. Of course, Mr. Elephant wasn't exactly made of firm stuff under his corporate casual, but there was an underlying message. "Shape up, kid. Get rid of the flab and put on some real muscle. Maybe we'll consider you."
While he resented being told that he had no shape, no structure, Punk knew that was what the man liked. If someone wanted into Vince's company, they were going to have to look the part.
However, it didn't do a whole lot to squash the rising doubt. Dreams often fell prey to doubt. He'd fought it off several times before, but Punk didn't know if he was made of the stern stuff needed now that his biggest dreams were being teased under his nose.
Turning away from the table and the half-opened pile of mail, he stood and headed for the bedroom. He was tired. He needed to talk to someone. He wanted to hate the world.
Passing the kitchen, Punk glanced at the refrigerator. Stuck to the freezer door with a frilly heart-shaped magnet of unknown origins was the piece of paper with Teddy's number scrawled across it. He paused, considered briefly, then grabbed it and headed for his bed again. If nothing else, it was someone to talk to until he fell asleep. He didn't know if he wanted to find a reason to hate Teddy again or not to fulfill all three circumstances.
15. [shaping up]
He always told Punk that he was too soft and fleshy, too lacking in the muscle department, to ever be considered by the WWE. It had turned out to be half right. Punk was being considered, but not seriously. Over the phone, he and Punk had talked long into the night about the term "string bean" and how it related to Punk's physique. Teddy had nearly killed himself biting his tongue on a smug I-told-you-so. Hard as it may have been for some to believe, Teddy did have a little self-restraint. Just a little.
It had it felt strangely good to while away the hours like a teenage girl, the talk between himself and Punk ranging from light amusement to soul-searching deep. Teddy had known the whole time that this sort of call would normally have gone to someone like Daniels. He only knew this because he'd asked.
Now, though, things had progressed in a somewhat strange manner. Teddy and Punk had traded email addresses. An innocent thing at first, it had started with them writing each other about diet and bodybuilding tips. Next had come the pictures detailing how far along Punk had come in his quest and responding pictures from Teddy of what it should really look like. However, over the past week or so, a new edge had entered the arena.
Teddy swallowed hard, glanced around to see that he was alone in the room. He hadn't expected to see anyone and didn't, but he was nervous. Jack was in the house, so was Harry. Trying to keep the hurry out of his steps, Teddy slunk across the room and closed the door. Thankful there was a lock on it, Teddy put it to use, and moved over to the windows to close the drapes. He paused and turned to look at the empty chair in front of the computer. He found himself unable to ignore the way his heart pounded and the way his breath was already coming in hard little puffs. Even more difficult to ignore was the tenting in his pants.
There was no way he was going to walk away from this, though. He returned to the computer desk and sank low in the chair. Sliding a hand across his abdomen, Teddy rested his fingertips against his fly, the black denim of his jeans soft from repeated washings. He licked his lips, then shifted his grip on the mouse and clicked on the link for the new email, eager to a degree that almost frightened him to open the attached images.
16. [not all the miles and sleepless nights]
The somber news was splashed across every news site and nearly every wrestling related site beyond those. Chris Candido was no longer of this mortal world.
And Punk was broken again, shattered into pieces too small for anyone to pick up this time. He'd spilled his rage and raw pain into a short journal entry, then walked away from the computer. It hadn't been long before his phone had started ringing. The Fallen Angel had tried like he always did to ease Punk's heart, but was unsuccessful this time. This night, CM Punk was inconsolable and no one was going to change that.
He refused all communication after the call from Daniels. Not Joe or Spanky or even those close friends of his from his youngest years were going to get his attention. This night was for wallowing alone in the depths of a despair that shouldn't have even existed. He was a young child with all his dreams crushed in one swift blow.
When a sharp trill signaled an incoming text message, Punk numbly realized that he'd forgotten to turn his Sidekick off. He sighed and stretched across the breach between rumpled old couch and scratched up old coffee table for the device. Shifting into a decidedly unhappy sprawl on his back, head propped against the armrest, Punk lay with his thumb wavering over the power button. He didn't want to read the message. He didn't want to have anything to do with the outside world right now. However, something urged him to check this message.
It was from Teddy.
17. [look at me!]
Punk had gotten chance after chance to impress the big wigs as the E had dragged shows across the northeast. Now they were in Canada again and it was Teddy's turn. It had been years since the company had booted him from the farm system. He wasn't proud of having lost a developmental contract. Still he had been young and out of control - too cocky, too full of himself, too much of a showboater. Things were different now and he'd show them that. He was ready.
He'd worked a dark match the night before. When word came to him that he was going to be put on TV, even as a jobber on Velocity, Teddy had felt a moment of triumph. It wasn't much, but it was more of a chance than he'd ever been given by the big leagues. A second chance, really.
Phone in hand, he'd found a vacant hallway and practically vibrated as he waited for Punk to pick up on the other end. It was weird. Once upon a time, the call would have gone to Harry or TJ, Jack or Jill, or, hell, his parents! Not this time, though.
"Come on, asshole," he muttered fondly. "Answer alread-"
"Hello?" His voice was scratchy. He must of have been sleeping, Teddy figured, thinking perhaps he'd like to hear more of that soon.
"Phil, you never gonna believe this," he jumped in with a grin.
18. [sick? no flying for you!]
Had Teddy not called him from the airport sounding like the frog in his throat was taking singing lessons and hacking like a lifelong smoker, Punk would have doubted the veracity of the reports that some official types had stopped him from flying out of Toronto. It was nothing more than a deep chest cold, but flight restrictions since the appearance of SARS had made even a small cough a no-fly offense. They probably would have stopped him at the border, too, had he made the attempt to drive down to Jersey.
For the very fact that it had taken a confirming call from Teddy for Punk to believe it said a lot. For all that he and Teddy had discovered a flower blossoming between them, there was still a good deal of bad blood. They argued just as much as they flirted. This time, however, something new had made a place for itself - concern.
His match would be up soon, a tag with Colt against McGuiness and Collyer. And then, it would be over and Punk knew he would shower, grab his gear, and head for his car. It wasn't much more than half an hour's drive to Teddy's from here.
19. [sign your life away right here, mr. brooks]
Teddy watched Punk fidget through the papers for what had to be the millionth time in the past two hours. He sighed and shook his head. It was difficult not to be jealous. There was a contract not only for WWE, but also TNA laying on the small kitchen table in front of his companion. Nothing of the sort was going to come his way any time soon, no matter how much he wanted to boast about being the best. In the hidden away places where he normally avoided, he knew this and it hurt. "They're not going to change on you, Phil. They're the same as they were when you first got them no matter how many times you look at them."
Punk sighed and looked over at him, still hunched forward over the contracts. "I know, but what if I missed something?"
"...do you want me to go over them with you?" Teddy felt weird offering, a kind of cold and dead sensation wrapping around his heart. "I mean, if you're that paranoid-"
"I'm not paranoid."
"Then pick the one we both know you're going to go with and sign it, already." Setting his feet on the edge of Punk's chair, Teddy slumped down comfortably, denying his inner sadness. "We've got reservations for dinner, remember? I don't want to be late."
"No, never late. Maybe not show up, but not late," Punk snorted and smiled quietly in amusement as he picked up his pen.
20. [foolish things]
Boasting and making outrageous claims were what Teddy did best. Punk had come to terms with this many moons ago, but it didn't stop him from wishing Teddy would stop making such a fool of himself. It was nothing horrible this time, just another round of his riding the coattails of his more famous family and their notable students. That and declarations that it wouldn't be long before a fat McWrestling contract rivaling Hogan's was stuffed into his mailbox.
Punk had no doubt that Teddy could achieve things like that if he really wanted to. That was the problem, though. For all his claims, Teddy didn't seem to want any of it.
In the time they had been spending together, Punk had learned the secret of how to get beneath the layers of bravado and guile. It was this real, hidden, and vulnerable core of Teddy that kept him interested. There was an actual caring, but lonely person under the insane exterior.
He'd heard all the excuses for the crazy behavior, of course. The one that stuck out most, like a neon pink flower in a field of grass, was Teddy's professed desire to die for the fans. Each time he heard it, it struck Punk like the discovery of a ticking timebomb. He knew the emotional trauma in Teddy's past and the words stuck in his craw so hard it hurt. When Teddy showed up on his doorstep this evening as planned, Punk was going to push Teddy for some real answers.
21. [sharp dressed man]
The surprise Punk asked him to come along and help him with some clothes shopping was nothing. Not when compared to his utter shock when Punk tugged him out of the car and toward a shop that specialized in suits. Casual, formal, and everywhere in between, but suits, the home of the anti-Punk. As they walked inside, though, the shock mutated into something closer to a giddy bliss. Was he really going to see CM Punk go corporate? Teddy could only hope he was about to see such a thing.
"Okay, I'm probably going to regret this," Punk started as he lead the way through the rows of unaltered suits, "but where would you start?"
And, with that one sentence, Teddy's bout of giddy bliss was suddenly transformed into a fit of righteous glee.
22. [can't you just learn to shut your mouth, already?!]
"You what?" Punk asked in disbelief. He looked around him, frowned at the crowd of wrestlers and crew bustling around him, then made for a vacant corridor. "Okay, tell me again."
"I'm stuck at the fucking border," Teddy said through the receiver. "They're saying it's because I was belligerent. Gave me some bullshit about using my mouth too aggressively."
Punk paused, reined in his brain from any number of deviant comments, then sighed. "So what does this mean? You're not going to make it to the show?"
"Not unless they let me through in the next few minutes," Teddy answered, sounding resigned.
Scratching at his head, Punk made a face when he pulled his hand away and found a couple of purple hairs clinging to his fingers. He hated shedding. "Shit. This was supposed to be the big blowout, Ted. It was gonna be the end of all things Punk versus Teddy."
The reply was mousy and withdrawn, reluctant to be voiced. "...I know."
23. [some things are more important]
It was such an easy decision once he reached the turnoff ramp. Not even the thought that he'd leave Jack without a partner on the night of a tag match with their straps on the line made a dent in the logic his mind had concocted. Rahway, New Jersey, was not in this future tonight. He was headed for something more important in Connecticut. Something, someone, that had taken the time to learn who he was, to dig past the layers of self-deceit and insecurity.
Jack would understand. Jack would take care of things. Even with a badly injured hand, Jack was better than the vast majority of the JAPW roster. He wouldn't hold this against Teddy. He'd take it as a moment to shine. Teddy just couldn't do it. His heart was leading him elsewhere and one thing he'd learned was that he was always better off when he followed his heart.
His one hope right now was that he made it there in time to find a good shadow to linger in during the match. This would only work if he remained unnoticed.
24. [feed me]
It was getting to the point that Punk wondered if he'd make it through the hell that was losing his pudge again. He liked his pudge. It was part of him. Literally. He was so hungry he was ready to start eating the furniture. "Hey, Ted, which do you think tastes better? Oak or plywood?"
Teddy poked his head around the corner from the kitchen and leveled him with a look of pure ew. "Are you really that hungry?"
"YES!" Punk whined, tinkering his fingers across the keyboard. It left a long line of gibberish in his open IM window. He sent it. AJ would think he'd lost his mind, but he'd thought that for years so it wasn't much of a change. "I normally eat like a fucking horse or hadn't you noticed?"
A smirk spread across Teddy's face as he stepped into the room. His hand landed on his crotch and hefted the goods. "If you're that hungry, why don't you eat my dick?"
25. [world domination, timetable slightly derailed]
"Well, they must have some reason for pulling it off the show," Teddy countered, hands wrapped around a steaming mug of cheap coffee. "Did you not say yourself that it wasn't the sort of match you'd hoped for?"
Punk sighed and sipped his own coffee, the look in his eyes one of disappointment. "Yeah, I did, but it still kinda stings, y'know?"
"An inauspicious start can be the first steps of a champion, Phil." Teddy poured a little more of the prepackaged creamer into his drink, stirring it with a spoon taken from Punk's plate. "Would it surprise you to know I'm jealous? I mean, I saw pictures of that entrance with Alexis..."
A little boy grin stretched across Punk's lips and he bowed his head forward to hide behind his darkened hair. "No, I'm not surprised."
"I don't like feeling jealous," Teddy said, the words quiet. His meaning was deeper than just the reference to Alexis. Punk was sharp. He would realize that without needing a stronger hint. "Not where you're concerned."
Punk gazed across the diner table at him through the hanging fringe of his bangs. His voice was soft and understanding in a way most people didn't know Punk could accomplish when he spoke. "I know."