Author's Note: There are some things you have to know before starting this. First, it's set in 2006. Why? Because I started writing it in 2005. I'm a slow writer. So most of the storylines mentioned in this are from early to mid-2006. For instance, Jeff isn't back with the WWE yet. Secondly, I'm messing with medical facts. I'm aware that a lot of the medical things mentioned in this fic are implausible at best, but it's fiction and any messing about that I've done was done to help the story along. Thirdly, the entire fic is from the present-tense, first person point of view of Matt Hardy. I know that bothers some people, but that's just how I roll. Fourthly... ENJOY! Feedback is love.

Hands… hands on me, large familiar hands. Pain blossoms through me, but not the physical type. This kind of pain goes much deeper, makes my heart feel like its being squeezed in a fist of iron. One word escapes my lips, just before the ground dissolves from beneath me like quicksand, one single word choked out from the depths of my stomach.

“Why?”

I can’t even manage a scream as the hands shove me, those familiar hands now slicked with sweat. All that comes out of me is a gasp as I go careening down into the blackness, into the unknown below me. The last image in my head is that of my family, the ones I love the most.

“Oh God… I’m going to die….”

There is a great expanse of white above me. When my eyes open, this is the only thing I see. Surprisingly, despite the feeling of fuzziness in my head and body, my vision is quite sharp and clear. I can even make out the dark speckles that dot the white haphazardly, too numerous to count. My sense of smell returns to me next, and my stomach churns as a familiar medicinal scent assaults me. I must be in a hospital, but my mind can’t seem to put together why and when I arrived. I am aware that something is wrong with me, but I can’t make out just what it is. I ache all over, but I have a feeling that this isn’t the reason for my being here. My breathing quickens as I imagine the possibilities. Was I in a car accident? Did something happen to me in the ring? These questions are the first of many to pop into my head and the more I think about it, the more frightened I become. I hear the sound of something beeping, the sound becoming louder and faster, and I wish I could move to make it stop.

With this thought it occurs to me that I should try to move, but my first attempts are a failure. My body does not want to cooperate with my mind. Oddly, it feels as though I haven’t moved in a long time, like I’ve been sleeping for decades. I give a mental scoff, telling myself not to be stupid as I channel all of my efforts into moving my head. I manage to turn my head to the left but even as I do I begin to regret it. My head hurts, and it hurts bad. It’s the kind of headache that borders on a migraine. I close my eyes again briefly and struggle against it for a moment, trying to focus on the task at hand.

When I open my eyes again, the whiteness of the room only serves to make it worse. I wonder what kind of a hospital this is, irritated that I haven’t been looked at yet. Where is everyone? For the first time I notice that I have no family nearby, no friends either. I feel a pang in my heart, the kind that brings tears to my eyes with the hurt. I know I’ve been here awhile, just how long, I’m not sure. Someone must know I’m here, someone must know that I’m waiting. Why isn’t my father here, or my brother? I let out a sob, surprising myself at how easily it comes, and slowly lift my arm. This hospital is no different from any other I’ve been in, and I quickly find the ever-present call button. I hit it several times with the last of my strength, panting as I let my arm drop. This weakness and the ache in my bones frighten me. I’ve never experienced this before, and the unknown baffles me. I close my eyes again, trying to recover from the small amount of motion I have made.

It’s the sound of items dropping to the floor that alerts me to the fact that someone has finally come. I open my eyes and find myself looking at a younger nurse, maybe in her twenties. She looks absolutely shocked, her big blue eyes staring at me as though I were a ghost. It only frightens me more, and I find I can’t speak in the wake of terror. She bustles to my side, taking my hand. She examines the machines next to me and then finally leans over my body. I stare up at her, becoming annoyed now as she tentatively asks, “Mr. Hardy?” I clear my throat and hoarsely say, “What happened?” The sound of my voice startles me, my eyes widening briefly as I hear it. I sound like a rusty gate, soft and brittle. Another wave of panic washes over me, making the machines beep faster again.

“Um… I’ll have the doctor explain everything. How do you feel?” I blink at the question, wondering why she doesn’t know this herself. If I was in an accident, shouldn’t she know how I should be feeling? I hesitate a moment, taking stock of my body, and then slowly answer, “My head hurts. ‘s sore.” She nods and questions, “Your head is sore?” I make a negative noise and clarify, “No… whole body.” She nods and says, “That’s to be expected.” I want to ask her what she means by this, but just as I manage to gather my thoughts she turns away from me and briskly says something about getting a doctor. I now become irritated with myself. My mind is sluggish, as is my body. I think back, trying to remember what happened to me. At first, all I can recall is some fuzzy darkness; in fact, it’s hard to remember what my family looks like, or my home.

It takes some time for the doctor to come, and in that time I work out as much as I can on my own. With much effort, I put together what happened recently. I know I am working with the WWE and that my brother just quit to work on his music. I know that I’m on my own now, with my own gimmick and my own storyline. I remember the pride I felt at the thought, but also the sadness of missing the old days. Then I remember the match, that fateful match. I frown, remembering it had been at No Mercy, a Pay Per View. I can’t remember who it was against, but I remember my opponent had me worried. I remember the cheering of the crowd as I pulled out all the stops. My entire career has been about the fans, and I remember feeling that on that night, I finally made my mark on my own. But then something happened.

I gasp as I recall the feeling of being thrown from the cage, landing with my head bouncing viciously off the mat. I remember thinking that it hadn’t been scheduled; I remember the fear of losing a few moments to confusion and dizziness. But even as I remember that night, a sense of acceptance washes over me. That must be what happened. I fell; I was hurt during a match. I sigh in relief, though I wonder if I am alright. The worry that something might have been permanently damaged doesn’t occur to me until the doctor finally graces me with his presence. It bothers me that everything seems to be taking so long. I was injured in a match; I fell a pretty long way and may have hurt myself, so why is it taking so long to see someone about it?

“Well, Mr. Hardy. It’s good to see you awake.” The doctor says, a huge smile on his face. He’s acting as though he’s known me for a long time, as if we had met before, and I can only stare up at him in confusion and wariness. I lick my dry, chapped lips and hoarsely say, “I was in a match.” He pulls out a pen at my words, jotting something down on a pad of paper, murmuring something under his breath. I frown in irritation and repeat, “I was in a match. I fell. What’s happened to me?”

I had no idea that bringing the doctor into the room would initiate such a long, tedious line of questioning. He starts asking me the most ridiculous questions and the more time that passes, the more I want to get up and walk out on him. He ignores all the questions I pose to him, rather annoyingly saying, “All in due course, Mr. Hardy.” I fight the urge to tell him to go to hell, becoming more and more upset as our encounter continues. As he jots down something on that paper, my mind begins to create the most upsetting of scenarios: brain damage, spinal damage; anything and everything that might be wrong with me immediately springs to my head and I find myself losing the battle to keep from panicking.

“What year is it?” he asks me. I think for a moment, my mind still not completely up to par just yet. I am more confused than when I just woke up and I begin to wish that I hadn’t. I look back at him after a moment and almost tentatively say, “2003?” He looks at me for a moment, his eyebrows raised, and I search my mind once more just to be certain. I nod decisively after a moment of further reflection and repeat, “Yeah… January 2003.” He writes something down again and says, “And you think you were in a match, you said?” This statement alarms me… shouldn’t he already know that? Frustrated now, I can’t help myself from saying, “That’s it… I want to know what’s going on right now!” He sets down the notepad finally and takes a seat in the empty chair placed next to my bed. His eyes become a little kinder now as he gently says, “There isn’t an easy way to tell you this Mr. Hardy, so I am going to just lay it out as clearly as possible for you.”

I brace myself, but something tells me that whatever he says next will be a blow that I will not be able to handle. He gives me a brief smile before saying, “About two years ago, you were found at the bottom of the stairs in an arena in Kentucky. You had sustained a very serious blow to the head and multiple injuries conducive to a fall. You were brought to a local hospital, St. Patrick’s, I believe, where you were diagnosed as having massive head trauma. You later slipped into a coma.” I stare at him in horror, my mouth opening and then closing as I struggle to comprehend what he’s saying to me. I let out a shaky breath and barely whisper, “Please continue.” He searches my eyes before pressing on, “You were transferred here at the request of your family about three months after you entered the coma, and you have been my patient since then. Mr. Hardy… you’ve been in a coma for two years. It’s 2006.”

I let out a whimper as he says this, dangerously close to tears as I feel something inside of me snap. The room spins crazily as his words echo though my head over and over. It doesn’t seem possible, like the entire situation is out of some sort of nightmare. At first, I tell myself that I must have hit my head harder than I thought during the match, that maybe I’m sleeping and dreaming this entire thing. My mind grasps at any possibility at all, the sluggishness I felt earlier wearing off all at once. Shock numbs the rest of my body from the ache. I try to sit up but the doctor presses a hand to my chest, saying something to me. All I hear is a far away mumbling, my panic stripping me of my hearing. A few minutes later, I feel a strange sensation burning through my system and then all I want to do is sleep. My mind becomes fuzzy again and just before I lose myself I realize that they’ve injected me with some sort of sedative. I whimper raggedly, sleeping being the last thing I want to do right now. What if I don’t wake up?

The last thing I hear before I succumb to the darkness that frightens me is the doctor saying to the nurse, “We had better call his family. Start with the husband.” Just as I fall asleep once more I think to myself, ‘What husband?’

Pulling myself out of the darkness is much easier the second time around. In fact, I feel a bit more rested and less sluggish than before. Even so, it takes me some time to become aware of my surroundings again. My eyes flutter open after a few moments and I jump a bit when I hear a gasp coming from my left. I turn my head in time to see my brother rush towards me, his face registering a euphoria I couldn’t even imagine before now. I give a weak chuckle as he forcibly lifts me from the hospital bed to hug me properly, burying his face in the crook of my neck. I hug him back as best as I can, my body still feeling sore and stiff. At first, I have to wonder why he’s suddenly become so overcome at seeing me, but the conversation with the doctor returns to me before long and I find myself stewing in a bitter silence.

He pulls back to look at me, cupping my face in his hands. I cover them with mine, almost sheepishly saying, “Hi.” He bursts into wild laughter, his tears coming even faster now, and he hugs me again, choking out, “Hi.” I notice my father for the first time, standing by the doorway. He has never been one for gestures of affection, and I hardly expect to see him become emotional. But when he moves towards me, I notice that he too has tears in his eyes. I let out a choked cry when he joins in on the hug, stunning me to the core. I know better than to question it, and instead squeeze both of them back as best as I can.

They finally release me and I lie back down with a wince, the aches making themselves painfully known. Jeff leans over me, questioning, “How do you feel?” I let out a groan and answer, “Like hell.” I touch my temple and say, “I have one dozy of a headache.” Jeff instantly starts fretting, saying, “I’ll get the doctor.” He turns to Dad and says, “I should get the doctor, shouldn’t I? Right?” I can’t help but grin when my Dad shakes his head, his face exasperated, and I know exactly what he’s thinking without even having to ask. He sighs heavily and says, “Don’t Jeffrey.” He blinks at Dad and then looks back at me. He opens his mouth to say something and in perfect unison both Dad and I firmly say, “No, Jeff.” My little brother holds up his hands and almost petulantly grumbles, “Fine, fine. Jeez.” He sits down in the chair and then gazes at me hard, as if trying to figure something out. I am just about to snap at him for staring when he quietly says, “I heard from the doctor that you were a little confused when you woke up.”

I clear my throat, earnestly wishing that he hadn’t brought that up just yet. With a heavy sigh and an unhappy expression I mumble, “I don’t remember.” My brother and father exchange a glance and then Dad leans over to question, “Remember what, son? The fall?” I nod and then softly add, “And other things.” They are worried now, I can feel it, and so I quickly say, “It isn’t as bad as all that, really.” Dad gives me one of his no-nonsense expressions and I quickly continue, “When I first woke up, I was very disoriented and confused. Um… I couldn’t remember what you guys looked like, or what my home looked like.” Jeff reaches for my hand again and I smile at him shakily as he squeezes it reassuringly.

“He was asking me all these questions and it was okay for awhile until he asked me the year. An’… I got it wrong, and I still don’t see how….” I bring my free hand up to my temple again, wincing as my headache seems to get even worse. My father puts a hand on my shoulder and after a long pause he says, “The doctor wants to do some tests later today.” His words seem to put a weight on my shoulders, but I hide it by glibly saying, “Bring it on.” They chuckle half-heartedly before falling into silence again. The joy at seeing me awake has not gone away, but now the harsh hand of reality has all three of us in its grip.

Just as they had promised, the doctor comes in to take me downstairs for the tests in no time. Jeff insists on staying with me while Dad waits in my room, and though I put up a bit of a fight, I really appreciate it. I don’t want to be alone anymore, especially for this. All the machines and questions exhaust me, and by the end of it all I just want to sleep. But Jeff rallies me, mustering up enough energy to make it. For the first time, it really does feel like I’ve missed out on a lot more than I had thought. The more I look at Jeff, the older he seems to me. It’s as if he’s aged overnight. I know some of that aging was my fault, and I feel guilty for causing it.

It’s almost two hours later by the time I get back to my room. The doctor comes in with us, the results of most of the tests having been finished already. I wryly wonder how much of my money made that possible as he reads through a manila folder, making us all tense with worry. Finally, he announces that I seem to be fine medically speaking. The soreness in my body will go away with time and, as I had suspected, stems from the length of time in which I have not been using my muscles. All of this just confuses me more, until I finally have to ask, “Then why can’t I remember?”

There is a pause before he says, “Sometimes these things are of a more psychological manner than medical. The mind just reacts in strange ways sometimes, and in cases like this it isn’t at all strange that something like this would occur.” I sigh heavily and then downheartedly ask, “So what? I’m just never going to get those memories back? I’m just never going to get that year of my life back?” I am becoming upset, a strange feeling of desperation rising up in my chest. This can’t be permanent, it just can’t. Jeff rubs my shoulder gently, seeing how upset I’ve become, and asks, “So what is this? Amnesia?” I gasp when he says this, having never thought that could be possible. The doctor looks at me with compassion and gently says, “The best I can offer is to say that nothing is certain. This may be permanent, it may not be. But you must know that you will not be alone. I’m going to contact a psychiatrist, who will help you understand your condition and you can build from there.”

“I don’t want to see a shrink.” I say flatly, pursing my lips tightly. Jeff shoots me a look and I snap, “What? I’m not crazy.” The doctor immediately shakes his head and tells me, “Nobody thinks you’re crazy, Mr. Hardy. This is something that is not rooted in the body; therefore it is rooted in the mind. If you want to regain those memories, then you will need to see the proper doctor.” I sigh deeply, feeling like I’ve been branded even though they say I haven’t. After a moment I ask, “When can I get out of here?” I am dismayed when he says he wants to keep me for a few more days for observation and the like. I feel antsy and just want to go home.

The doctor leaves not too much longer after that, leaving me with more worries than before. I make a feeble joke that I had hoped singling out the problem would have made things easier, but it isn’t funny at all. I curl up into a ball on the bed; feeling as though someone’s taken a knife and plunged it into my heart. Everything is so strange and overwhelming that taking it all in is wearing me down faster than anything else. So much can happen in a year, and now that I find myself missing one, I feel the pain all that more deeply.

It’s only a few minutes later that I hear a great commotion coming from the hallway. I hear the sound of sneakers squeaking against linoleum and the sound of someone shouting. My father goes to see what the noise is, and then suddenly it is his voice that is shouting. I sit up in alarm, Jeff telling me to lie down even as his eyes are glued to the door. I catch a glimpse of his face as I struggle against the hand he has pressed against my chest and have to bite back a cry of surprise when I see the expression he has on his features. He looks angry, closer to furious. It is an expression that I rarely see on my affable brother’s face and to see it now, directed at a mere sound in a hallway, makes me very nervous.

“What’s happening?” I demand, grunting when he shoves me back down against the pillows, “What’s going on?!” Jeff glances at me and says, “It’s nothing.” The fact that he says this through tightly clenched teeth negates his words completely. I shove at his hand and snap, “It’s not ‘nothing’! Fucking get off of me Jeff, I mean it!” My struggles end quickly as Jeff finally moves away from the bed, heading for the door as if on a mission. My eyes widen as he rolls up his sleeves, the gesture screaming malicious intent. I want to get up to see what is happening, but my body just won’t cooperate. I can only sit here helplessly as the shouting in the hallway continues. I easily pick out my father’s voice as well as my brothers, but there is another, deeper voice that captures my attention. It strikes a chord in me, making me wonder where I’ve heard it before. Whoever it is sounds angry, and I am naturally inclined to hope that this man isn’t involved with me or my family in any way.

“Get the hell out of my way! I have a right to see him just as much as you do!” the voice hollers, ignoring the nurses’ pleas for peace. My brother’s voice sounds almost foreign to me as he shouts back, “You had rights, now you don’t. He doesn’t want to see you.” The stranger gives a hideous laugh and retorts, “That’s a fucking lie.” There is another commotion out in the hallway and then suddenly I find myself staring at the last person I ever expected to see. I blink in surprise, at a loss for words as he slowly enters the room, almost absently shutting the door behind him. He looks as though he’s under some kind of spell, as if he is completely unaware of anything but me. The intense look on his face makes me more nervous than I could say especially considering whom it is that is giving me that look.

“You’re awake.” He says, his voice barely a whisper. I continue to stare at him, scared to death and yet at the same time curious. I don’t understand why he’s here, and why he is acting like this. The closer he comes to my bedside, the more nervousness takes over, and when he reaches out to touch my face, I jerk back with a yelp. His face now registers bewilderment, and I have to wonder who it is that is more confused here. Jeff chooses this moment to burst into the room, fury contorting his features. He glares at the man standing next to my bed and snarls, “Get out.”

“No,” is the angry reply, “not until….” He turns back to me, smiling widely even as tears come to his eyes. This stuns me more than any other gesture he’s made yet, as I have never once seen anything but coldness and cruelty on his countenance. He reaches for me again, but freezes in mid-motion when I look past him to Jeff, waveringly asking, “What’s going on?” The room is suddenly deathly quiet as my eyes dart from Jeff to the man standing over me. I’m becoming more frightened now, and I begin to tremble slightly. I swallow thickly and then look up at the virtual stranger who smiles at me in such a familiar way.

“What do you want?” I demand, casting a wary eye on the hand that is still in mid-air. His eyes flare wide at my question, and he turns to look at Jeff who simply smirks at him. I want to tell Jeff he’s being a jerk, but my mind can’t put together the pieces of what is happening here. I pull the covers up to my chin and press, “Why are you here?” He stares down at me, his face now displaying a crushing devastation, and he seems to be just as lost as I am. His mouth opens and closes several times before he whispers, “I… I’m your husband.”

I jerk back with a cry as if he had physically attacked me, shaking my head firmly. Jeff moves towards us, grabbing for his arm, but his attention shifts to me when I whimper, “No… you’re lying.” That feeling of desperation returns and I find myself having trouble breathing properly as his words repeat in my mind over and over again. I can’t even begin to take in his words, the absurdity and incredulity overwhelming me. I can’t even look at him after that, instead focusing my attention on anything else I can. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears, merging with the roar that has suddenly appeared as well. I feel hands on my face and when I realize it is not my brother’s, it is the last straw.

I practically throw myself away from him, shrieking, “Don’t touch me!” He holds his hands up in a gesture of submission and I dissolve into tears. My emotions are crazed and completely out of control, and all I can think is, ‘It can’t be true. I would never marry Batista, of all people.’ He finally backs away from the bed, looking beyond crushed now, and I reach for my brother, whimpering, “Jeff… Jeff it isn’t true, is it? Tell me it isn’t true.” My mind recalls all the times I’ve witnessed his acts as a member of Evolution, how he’s hurt people, some of them being close friends of mine. I stare into Jeff’s eyes hoping that he’ll tell me Batista is lying… because how could I possibly marry someone who has done such horrible things? What kind of a person would that make me?

“Matt, calm down, okay?” he says gently instead of answering me, which scares me even more. He turns to Batista, who is staring at me still and hisses, “Get out… can’t you see you’re scaring him?” Batista looks up at him as if snapping out of a dream and shakes his head, mumbling, “I won’t leave him. I’m his husband; I need to be here for him.” Jeff huffs in irritation and snarls, “You’re only making it worse.” Batista shakes his head, pointing at me and shouting, “I’m not leaving here without him!”

I look between the two men who are now glaring at each other as if trying to bore holes into each other’s skulls and sigh heavily. My tears slow now, and I struggle to get a grip on myself before things get even uglier. I pull out of Jeff’s arms, distracting him and hoarsely say, “Someone please explain to me what is happening.” I scrub at my eyes as silence takes over, and then loudly say, “I want to know what’s going on! Someone tell me right now!” There is another hesitation and I am just about to lose it when Batista speaks. His voice is a bit calmer now, though the pain lingers in every syllable he utters. He cautiously comes back towards the bed and softly says, “You and I were married two years ago. Just a few days before… before your accident.” I draw in a breath, but struggle to maintain my composure as I state, “I don’t remember.”

“He has amnesia.” Jeff says, a note of triumph in his voice. Batista and I both glare at him before looking back at each other. He shoves my brother out of the way, making me smile faintly at his squawk, and then takes my hands into his. Even though it scares me, I let him do it, feeling like I owe him something for hurting him as badly as I have. He looks incredibly exhausted as he leans over me, licking his lips before saying, “Amnesia?” I nod, shifting uncomfortably, and he gently says, “I’m here for you, okay? I’ve been waiting two years for you to come back to me, I’m not about to abandon you now.” One look into his eyes confirms the truth and I let out a sigh, inexplicably relieved.

“I love you.” He murmurs, making me gasp. I have waited all my life to hear those words spoken to me with true feeling. It seems like such a cruel joke that it has finally happened and I can’t even remember.