"I'm leaving."

"Hmm?"

Ali barely looked up from her laptop. She still had a another fifty or so pages of editing to go through, and judging from the slam of the door when Punk came in, he wasn't in a good mood. Again. He was rarely in anything but a bad mood these days, and she really didn't have time for one of his tirades right now. What she needed to do was finish her work in time for that evening's RAW.

It wasn't until she saw Punk from the corner of her eye with his bag on his shoulder and on his way to the door that she finally looked up.

"Hey. Where ya going?"

"Home."

A look of confusion crossed Ali's face. "Home? But the show hasn't started yet. Did you get hurt at the gym?"

"No." Punk said flatly. "I'm done."

That got her attention.

"What do you mean you're done?" she asked, slowly getting up. The ballet flats she had kicked off while working, missing, probably kicked into the corner of the room. "The show hasn't started yet."

"Fuck the show" Punk spat. "I'm done." He turned from her and headed towards the door again.

"Phil!" Ali called out.

With her heart pounding, she went to grab his arm and forced him to face her.

He looked at her, but remained silent.

"I don't understand." Her blue eyes filled with confusion, and her neck craned up at him.

"What's difficult to understand about this? I'm done."

"You're just walking out?" Her blue eyes wide. Shocked. Hurt. Angry. Still unbelieving.

His hazel eyes looked cold. Tired, but cold. "Yes."

"But... But what about-" she stammered.

**I'm all grown up noooow** The timing of the call couldn't have come at a worse time. Ali looked at her phone on the table, then at Punk, then at the phone again. That was her ringtone for her boss. Stephanie McMahon had always had bad timing. "Phil, don't leave. Wait! Just give me a sec..."

Punk shrugged his arm from her grip. "Go."

Ali hurriedly ran to the phone to grab her phone. "Steph, wait. Wait..."

When she looked back at where she left Punk, all she saw was his back, and the door slamming shut.

"PHIL!"

"Steph! Punk! He's leaving. I need to go stop him!" She breathed out on the phone. She pulled the door open, and looked wildly out the hallway. He wasn't there anymore. She didn't think twice about running to the west exit, her bare feet barely feeling the cold of the cement floor.

"No, Ali," she heard Stephani's voice say, her voice hard. "Punk's an ass. He talked to my dad. He said he was done. Done! The show is in a hour! Ali, we need to make changes to tonight's script!"

With her breath on her throat, Ali watched Punk step into t a cab, his lithe figure and his Best in the World shirt unmistakable. He didn't even glance back to the arena, didn't even give her a last look.

Her hand flew to her mouth, and her phone dropped with a small thud on the pavement as she watched Phil pull the door close. Stephanie was still on the phone, relaying to her the changes for show, oblivious to her distress.

The panic and pounding of her heart gave way to something more painful. The heavy sinking feeling in her tummy slowly clawing its way up to her heart. The ripping sensation of heartbreak stealing her breathe and sanity.

And as she watch the taxi drive off, all Ali could think about was "What about us?"