Chapter Text
ONE YEAR LATER
The man beneath him crumbled to the floor, eyes rolling up in his head. A trail of blood seeped from the welt already growing on his head.
Shawn Michaels watched until he fell unconscious.
He wiped the butt of the knife he used to hit him clean on his target's pant leg then tucked it in his pocket. He hopped over to the mirror in the corner of the room, fixed his hair, and then picked up his boots and the case of the diamond necklace he was after before escaping out the balcony.
Shawn yawned as soon as he entered his apartment. He kicked off his shoes and jacket, and buried his hand in his pocket until he fished out his phone.
He texted out a quick mission-over to his client, and tossed the diamond necklace and his phone down on his kitchen island. He stretched, pushed his hair out of his face, and then shuffled his way to faceplant on his couch.
Across from him, a view of Manhattan was laid out for his view. The loft apartment was paid by Vince, of course, as a severance gift and a reminder that Shawn owed him a favor or two. It was lavish, but nothing compared to the house Shawn had had in Connecticut when he was with the company. But he had chosen this over that, and he had left the company knowing that he was going back to freelance — with no back-up, no protection aside from his own caution and skill. He missed Hunter and Chyna and Kev, even though he met new people and became fast friends with them, and he always had his old friends that were still underground. It was just... Hard.
He took a deep breath in and shut his eyes.
He could say he chose New York because he knew the city was brimming with opportunities for a thief, or that he wanted to still try his hand at acting, but it was useless to lie, at least to himself. He moved for sentimental reasons; he moved for soft reasons. He moved for the Hitman.
But it'd been seven months and he still had seen neither hide nor hair of him. He had heard whispers that meant the Hitman was still operating on the East, but he hadn't seen anything aside from missing person cases and mysterious deaths to support it.
While at first it seemed like a long shot, it now seemed fruitless. Shawn had given up on his dreams of bumping into Bret Hart with no plan in advance, meeting him, saying 'see, this is real, we can be real.' Now, he stayed because there was nowhere else to go. He was saving, enough to really cover him for the rest of his life, and eventually, he'd go to school and move back down South and buy his ranch. Maybe he'd fall in love, maybe he wouldn't.
There was a brief moment in time, a single, suspended minute, where Shawn was excited about his future. Where it seemed genuinely enticing.
The moment had passed now, and the only memory of it was the folded napkin that Shawn kept tucked into his pocket.
“Yeah, Hunt, I know, Hunt,” Shawn placated. “Yes, of course, I set up cameras! What? No, I'm not going to let you keep an eye on the footage! I know, but...”
Keeping his phone between his ear and his shoulder, Shawn opened the familiar diner door. It was busy, as it usually was at this time of day. Shawn only came to Another Plate once a month, but at the same time of the week that the waitress recognized him. The regular, he would say, and she would deliver a burger, extra pickles, no sides, and he drank it with a coffee of all things.
He smiled at her when he came in, and she rolled her eyes before leading him to his usual table, which was empty specifically for him.
“I know,” he answered. “Mhm. Yeah. Of course. I know. Right. Mhm— Yes, I'm listening to you, I'm just trying to eat lunch, alright?”
He set up his laptop and scrolled through some potential clients. Boring, boring, boring, sketchy, boring, underpaid, boring—
“Yep, Hunt,” he said. “Talk to you later, sweets. Bye.”
He was still scrolling through the items on the screen, phone abandoned in his lap when he felt a gaze on him.
That was a common happenstance, given that he looked like and was Shawn Michaels, so he just ignored it.
It got harder when he still felt the stare two minutes later.
Pressing his lips together, he casually looked around in a stretch, taking in the people around him, trying to parse out his admirer. It took him less than a second to find the figure in a leather jacket.
His lips parted.
Bret Hart leaned against the wall near the diner door. He had the circular shades on, his usual leather jacket, and tight jeans. He looked like his usual mixture of danger and security, enticing and safe. His hair was down, tucked behind his ears, looking incredibly soft, and his lips weren't smiling but Shawn could tell something about him was content and Shawn—
Shawn stood.
He couldn't see them, but he would bet a lot of money that Bret rolled his eyes.
Rather than allow Shawn to make a scene, Bret waded his way through the crowd to the table. Shawn watched him, as rapt as a predator watched prey.
Bret stopped behind the chair opposite Shawn. “This seat taken?”
Shawn shook his head.
“Speechless,” remarked Bret. “Why do I have the feeling it won't last long?”
“What are you doing here?” blurted Shawn. Bret's expression twisted a bit, some uncertainty bleeding through, and Shawn quickly amended, “I mean, this is— Seriously, this is the best possible thing that could happen, I definitely didn't expect this when I woke up this morning, but B— Hitman, what are you doing here?”
“Bret is fine,” Bret murmured, sitting down. Shawn felt his chest hopelessly fill with warmth as he followed. “I'm here to get a grilled cheese.”
Shawn took a moment to swallow that down. “I wouldn't recommend the fries,” he eventually said.
“Wise words.”
Shawn shut his laptop down and tucked it into the bag by his feet. “Did you already order?” he questioned.
“Yeah,” said Bret. “Waitress was gonna lead me to some other table but I said I was gonna try my hand at the blonde's.” He slid his glasses off, and his eyes looked— soft, amused, and anxious. “She didn't seem too confident in my chances.”
Shawn's lips twitched. “Well, she's seen me reject a lot of people.”
Bret's ears reddened a bit. It was entirely too charming as it was the first time he'd done it in front of Shawn.
“How'd you know I'd be here?” asked Shawn, leaning in on his elbows.
Bret's ears reddened even more until the flush spread to his cheeks. “Honest?”
Shawn nodded, overeager.
It took a hot second until Bret muttered, “I've been tracking you.”
He looked like he was bracing for a lecture or maybe a swing, but he instead only received Shawn's bright eyes. “Really?” Shawn breathed out.
Bret's eyebrows furrowed. “Yes? Off and on, for the past three months. I lost you a couple of times because you're very sneaky, and I still don't know where you live, but whenever I had the time, I tried to follow you.”
Shawn's lips spread into a grin. “You spent time following me?”
Bret stared at him.
And then he laughed.
It was a genuine sound, a huff from his chest into a soft sound, and Shawn gazed at him from across the table.
“Only you,” Bret snuck out between laughs as he was sobering up.
The waitress came over with their meals and eyed them as Bret bit his bottom lip to control his smile, and Shawn beamed at him like a loony.
“I can't believe I'm asking this,” she said. “But is this guy giving you trouble?” She was speaking to Bret, sending critical glances to Shawn.
Bret's grin broke free. “No more than he ever has.”
Shawn erupted into laughter at that, just pure, surprised, and gleeful laughter. Bret's gaze snapped over to him and his own laughs began to slip out again. The waitress loudly sighed and threw her hands up in the air as she walked away.
Their laughs petered off, and they looked at their respective meals with no small measure of entertainment. Bret looked back up at Shawn. “What're you doing here, Shawn?”
His name on Bret's lips sent a thrill through Shawn that he had to concentratedly ignore. “I come here every month,” Shawn said, then took a bite to avoid continuing.
Bret narrowed his eyes at him. “What are you doing in New York for so long?”
Shawn lost some humor. “You haven't heard?”
Bret watched him.
“I kind of... Resigned from the company,” he said. “The boss and I left on good terms, but y'know. I've just been adapting to being a solo act again.”
“That's dangerous,” Bret pointed out, his eyebrows furrowed since the admission left Shawn's mouth.
“Yeah, well.”
The air wasn't awkward, then, so much as it was tense. They ate in the quiet, eyes meeting every once in a while.
“What about you?” Shawn eventually blurted.
Bret glanced up at him, questioning.
Shawn tilted his head. “The Foundation?”
Bret's mouth made an 'O' shape, eyebrows raising up and down once. “Uh... No, no,” he said. “We split up again. For good, this time.” At Shawn's frown, Bret smiled ruefully. “They have families. And I'm always welcome to come around. It's alright this way.”
“Solo act,” said Shawn, before biting his burger. “Dangerous,” he added, after swallowing.
Bret's lips twitched. “Yeah, well.”
Shawn couldn't be sure if it was that soft smile, or those open eyes, or the months since he last saw this man in which he prayed and dreamed of the next time, but suddenly, he couldn't quite do it anymore.
He set his burger down. “Bret,” he exhaled. “I think about you every single day. And sometimes I feel ridiculous because we only really spoke a handful of times, but it was enough to make me— to make me want you more than I've ever wanted anyone or anything and I know that's ridiculous to say but it's true and I feel like— I feel like you understand.” He closed his eyes. “I hope that you understand.”
It was a long moment. He eventually had to open his eyes, even though he dreaded to see Bret's face with his own miserable expression layered on.
But instead, he met desperate eyes. He met... Vulnerability.
Bret cleared his throat, but his voice still came out uneven. “I did my first hit at seventeen. I left home at eighteen. I was solo and got most of my scars by the time I was twenty-three. The Foundation got together and lasted until I was about thirty.
“For the last six years,” he whispered, gaze flickering away, beyond Shawn. “I've been completely alone. And it wasn't— It wasn't that there weren't options. I got tricked into love at twenty, but I've met countless of people afterwards that were more genuine. But I just... I couldn't. It never seemed worth it, baring my soul to them. If they knew who I was or didn't, it just always seemed like too much work. Too much out of me that I had never, ever wanted to give.”
Then his brown eyes flew back to Shawn, and Shawn was— mesmerized. Enchanted.
“Then I met you. And it was... easy. Talking. It was confusing, for sure, but I didn't— I didn't hate the idea of it. I didn't recoil away. It seemed— fun. Exciting.” Bret swallowed. “Even right now. It's gut-wrenching, and frustrating because I can't seem to say what I want, but I'm doing it.”
Shawn's lips parted when the Hitman reached over and grasped his hands.
“And I've found out,” said Bret, gazing into him, “that it's because you're worth it.”
“Bret.”
Bret shook his head, continuing. “I don't care if you leave right now, if you call me insane— it's hard to say that I'd even care if I found out that this was all just a game, if I found out that I was just a mission again. Because I think about you every day, too, and it drives me crazy but you're worth that crazy. I crave that crazy. And I'm sorry it took me so long to get here but I'm here now. I want you. Please.”
“You don't have to ask,” Shawn whispered, hands squeezing onto Bret's own like it was a life force. “I— I want you, too. I'm so sorry. Bret.”
And then they were moving, Shawn barely remembering to pick up his bag, Bret throwing some bills on the table, and then the cool spring air was hitting their faces and they were rushing to the alleyway between Another Plate and the next building over and then they were wrapped up in one another, lips colliding and it was—
Glorious, was the only thought in Shawn's mind as they pressed against one another. He felt his back hit the wall and Bret was in his space entirely, filling his vision, his mouth, his thoughts, his everything— it was too much and not enough, and he wanted more, more from this man who he never knew he had always wanted.
“Shawn,” Bret exhaled, tone wonderous, and Shawn shut his eyes and laughed, happy and free, and felt Bret's own lips smile against his, and it was everything, everything, everything.
THREE YEARS LATER
The Hitman opened the door to his apartment and groaned as soon as it shut behind him. He trudged forward to set the bags of food he picked up down before he dropped his helmet down on the side table and roughed a hand through his hair, toeing off his shoes.
He slid his phone from his back pocket and checked the screen. A text from Owen:
Received
Barbeque? What, on your NYC balcony? How are Nash AND Taker supposed to fit on there???
Recieved
Oh wait. Oh wait oh wait oh wait.
Recieved
Did you guys buy the ranch house???
Bret grinned at his screen, fingers flying across it.
Sent
Come to the address. You won't regret it.
He trudged into the living room, gaze flying around. It landed on the couch, where he couldn't see anything but a pair of socked feet hanging off of one side.
He walked over and leaned over the back of the couch.
A blonde man laid dead-asleep across the cushions, in boxers and a sweatshirt of Bret's favorite Calgary hockey team, hair spread out underneath him, his reading glasses skewed on his nose. In front of him on the coffee table laid his laptop, an open and highlighted textbook, and a few notebooks.
Bret bit back his smile and brought his hand down to poke at the other man's nose.
The Heartbreak Kid woke up by kicking his legs up to wrap around Bret's head, but Bret was prepared and heaved himself over the back of the couch so he landed squarely between the HBK's open legs.
Shawn looked down at him, eyes bleary, and took off his glasses. Then he groaned.
“Ugh, sorry,” he moaned, throwing his head back on the arm of the couch. “Everytime you find me like this, we end up in this position.”
“Really, I don't mind,” commented Bret, idly brushing his fingers along Shawn's calves.
Shawn looked down at that, a smile easing its way to his lips. The skin next to his eyes wrinkled attractively. “Oh, really?”
“Really,” confirmed Bret. “But. I'm hungry and have to finish my own project.”
Shawn perked up at that, legs coming down to Bret's shoulders and pressing Bret to the cushion. Bret 'oof'ed.
“I smell Chinese,” Shawn cheered, and easily abandoned Bret.
Bret rolled over to his feet. “Do not take my egg rolls.”
“No promises!”
Bret rolled his eyes, wandering back over to Shawn who was carrying the bags to the table. “Whatcha working on?”
“Studying,” he said, his nose wrinkling up as he opened each carton. “Exams coming up.”
Bret pressed against his back and kissed the back of his neck. “You're gonna do awesome. Tell me if you need help studying.”
“Cute,” said Shawn, twisting in his arms to press a kiss to his mouth. “But you're usually a bigger distraction.”
Bret sheepishly smiled. “Oops.”
Shawn laughed. “You're adorable. While we set up, tell me about your day.”
“Nothing too crazy,” sighed Bret, sitting down and helping out with dividing the food. “Met up with the publisher, and discussed the graphic novel idea.” He scratched the back of his head. “Really... I never thought I'd see a paper copy. Thought it'd only ever remain a webcomic.”
Shawn rolled his eyes, sitting across from him. “That's because you doubt your own ridiculous talent. Always knew there was more in you than sharpshooting.”
Bret huffed out a laugh. “Tell that to Stu.”
“Helen and I agree,” sniffed Shawn. “That's enough for me.”
“It's always what's enough for the Heartbreak Kid,” teased Bret.
Shawn smirked at him, reaching over to snatch an egg roll. “Oh, don't worry, Hitman,” he said, biting into his stolen good. “I'm sure you can keep up.”