Disclaimer: Jolly Gosh, it's time again, isn't it? All right. Here goes: This is a non profit fanfiction. I do not own anything associated with the trademark WWE and am purely writing this fic out of fan-appreciation and respect for the hard work all those people put into giving us a great show each week. In other words: Please don't sue!

Author's note: Ready to embark on the next journey with me? UntilNeverDawns, so glad to have you along for the ride my friend! I hope you alll will have fun reading and if that's the case, let me know. I appreciate each and every bit of feedback I can get. Always great hearing from you!

He held the 20 dollar note under the nose of the clerk without saying a word. The paper was folded between his index finger and his middle finger and he had his sunglasses on. He reckoned those kind of transactions didn't need any words or body language to help them along. How hard was it really to misunderstand any of this? He just wanted to pay for a cup of coffee.

How wrong he was about that! The gum chewing imbecile on the other side of the counter really seemed to feel the need to ask the following question: "Any change?"

Stuart Bennett's face settled into a scowl. Well, he was always sort of scowling, but now he was making a conscious effort to display that particular facial expression and succeed right away. No wonder, now that he was staring stupidity right in the face. It pained him greatly, who are we kidding, actually it didn't, but couldn't just let that slide.

He pulled off his sunglasses. "Let's rethink that question, shall we? Would I try to hand you a 20 dollar note if I had any change on me?" He gave the masticating imbecile a stare which was met with a blank, sort of vacant look. Nobody home. Stuart sighed. "Apparently not. By the way, I'm was not being overly eccentric or trying to brag with my riches like most of your customers probably do," you can insert a sneer at will here, because that was what Stuart was doing as he looked around the LaGuardia airport Starbucks, "I was just trying to pay for a bloody cup of bloody cappuccino..."

The imbecile swallowed visibly, because that's what you do when a tall muscular man gets agitated right in front of you, and snatched the 20 dollars from Stuart's fingers without a word.

When Stuart exited the Starbucks a couple of minutes later sipping from his cardboard cup, a self-satisfied grin was tugging at the left corner of his mouth. Today was a shitty day. He hated travel days, but a cup of coffee made everything better. He made his way over to his waiting friends, Drew and Stephen, who were determined to have a lay down at the hotel and catch up on some sleep rather sooner than later and had therefore renounced the pleasure of consuming caffeinated hot beverages.

Like them he was looking forward to a nice comfy bed after having spent the better part of the day on the road and only a taxi ride separated him from aforementioned bed, so his spirits were slightly lifted at the prospect.

"What happened? Did they make ya grind the feckin' coffe beans yerself, Stu?" Stephen Farrelly welcomed him back, which had Drew Galloway snigger next to him.

"Or did they have some trouble brewing you that double skinny non-fat latte your usually having?" the Scotsman decided to add after his sniggering had abated somewhat.

"Hilarious," Stuart gave both of them a mocking grin. "Find a cab yet?" he asked as he casually took another drink from his coffee, not wanting to waste any energy on thinking up with a retort to his friends inane comments. He could feel a slight headache coming on. He really needed to have a bit of a nap.

"Yeah, sunshine, as a matter of fact we have," Steve replied and the three men made their way outside to the waiting taxi. It was already late at night, so nobody paid them any attention as they weaved through the crowd of people at the airport, which was just fine because Stuart didn't feel like dealing with fans now. Mind you, now with his Bad News Barrett persona, it was much easier. People found it charming when he was rude. It made them laugh and he didn't have to waste any energy on politeness when he didn't feel like it. And today he certainly didn't feel like it at all.

Soon they hopped on the cab and gave the driver the address of one of those hotels the company had booked for them. The decision that Stuart would be on the show tonight had been made sort of last minute. On a whim. But it was just fine with him. Despite his gruff mood today, he enjoyed spending time with his mates. It reminded him of the good old days back in Europe. Back then everything had been simpler, but also kind of depressing, now that he thought about it. No money and busting your arse wasn't a nice lifestyle. Now they were still busting their arses, but the pay was slightly better and there were certain other benefits. Like sleeping at a nice hotel like this one for instance.

They got out of the cab. Everything was a routine right up to the check-in. They were pros at that. The hotel personnel that manned the reception looked kind of interchangeable everywhere. They always had some pretty girl with slicked back hair and a pleasant voice standing there. This time was no exception. Interchangeable pretty reception lady smiled at Steve and then Drew as she handed them their key cards. Stuart was next.

"You should have a reservation under Bennett as well," he said in a bored tone. Routine procedure, you remember, right?

Pretty reception lady typed his name into the system and was apparently displeased with the results, because she frowned. "I'm sorry, sir, but for some reason we don't have a reservation booked under that name."

Now he leaned on the counter with his elbow. "Alright, so are there any vacancies then?"

Pretty reception lady consulted her computer again and gave him a professional, but nevertheless sincerely regretful smile. "I'm sorry, sir, but apart from the honeymoon suite we are completely booked. There's a conference in town, you see and we've got lots of business men staying here..."

Behind him Steve and Drew grew impatient. He threw him a look over his shoulder. "No need to hang around. I don't need any babysitters to sort this...," he told them.

"Today's one of those days, ey?" Galloway remarked shrewdly, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, with his hands in his pockets, as he could see in his peripheral vision.

Stuart narrowed his eyes. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Ya've got Post-travel-syndrome again," Farrelly informed him.

Stuart was just about to bark a question at his friend to find out what that twice damned "Post-travel-syndrome" was supposed to be when pretty reception lady decided to clear her pretty little throat behind him trying to claim his attention again. "If I might make a suggestion sir..."

He directed his gaze at her. It wasn't a very friendly one. His arms were crossed over his chest too, the international sign for I'm not up for a conversation. She continued to talk as if he wasn't glaring at her like she was an ant under a magnifying glass he was trying to light on fire.

"... maybe it would be advisable if you stayed with one of those two gentlemen, until we can get this situation sorted. I assure you, I will do everything to get you suitable accommodations come tomorrow morning." She looked at him expectantly after she had finished talking.

"He's not bunking with me. His feet stink like bad eggs," Galloway proclaimed behind him with a certain glee in his voice. The glee probably stemmed from being able to embarrass him in public.

"Don't cha look at me, Haggis! Apart from the smelly feet the fella snores like a chainsaw... I don't have any earplugs with me. So he's certainly not stayin' at me room."

Stuart smirked his best sardonic smirk at pretty reception lady. His eyes wandered to her name sign. It was exhausting calling her pretty reception lady in his head all the time. Natalie York. All right. He'd try to remember her name in case he felt like filing a complaint form later.

"I don't mean to be rude," that was a big fat lie actually, he meant to be rude, "but clearly one of your guys must have screwed up..." He was curious to see how she was going to deal with that. People at reception needed to be sycophants to do their job properly. It would be hard trying to suck up to him while dealing with that accusation.

"Sir," if he wasn't mistaken the way she said 'sir' now had a rather derisive ring to it, "I can guarantee you that I will investigate into the matter, since there has clearly been some sort of mistake or miscommunication, seeing as the other gentlemen's rooms have been booked and yours hasn't. At present, however, it seems advisable that we should concern ourselves with solving the problem at hand instead of assigning blame given the lateness of the hour." Her vocabulary was impressive. It also was impressive how it allowed her to tell him off without sounding actually rude, because to make it short what she was saying sans the posh words was something like "Suck it up and stop whining!"

"We should solve the problem? I think it's you who should solve the problem. I'm just the dissatisfied customer..." he told her gruffly.

"That's very unfortunate, sir. I was saying we because I was going to present you with a couple of options to choose from to help solve this problem, but if you're not willing to work with me, perhaps you should try to find a room elsewhere, however regretful we would be about that."

Regretful, huh? He bet his arse Miss York wasn't the least bit regretful to have him out of her hair.

Behind him, Galloway and Farrelly were sniggering again. He was glad he could provide the entertainment for tonight. Those two were so easily entertained.

"Get lost, you bloody tossers," he growled over his shoulder.

Years of dealing with the disgruntled Englishman didn't let the two men take offense at his words. The merely marked his behaviour down under "that's good old Stu for you". After trading some more joking insults with him they were off.

Prim and proper Miss York raised her delicate eyebrows when the words "wanker" and "feck" were uttered in an amicable exchange, but occupied herself with her computer, determined to sort the booking problem.

He was impatient for that situation to be resolved as well, so he focused his attention on her again. "Alright, so will you kindly tell me what my options are or do I have to beg?" he said in an annoyed tone of voice.

She smiled at him politely, again he had the odd feeling that that smile was laced with irony. Come to think about it, the whole exchange between them reminded him oddly of "Jeeves and Wooster", whereas he had the bloody part of Wooster assigned to him and Miss York had the good fortune of being cast as the suave butler Jeeves.

Miss Jeeves-York was still smiling when she answered, that smile wavering between politeness and irony. "Gladly so, sir. I'd suggest booking you for the honeymoon suite for tonight at the price of a regular room and tomorrow we will move you to another room, provided that suggestion meets your approval..."

"You said options...," he pointed out wanting to hear her other suggestions as well.

"The other option would be to provide one of your companies with some foot deodorant and ear plugs..." She had delivered that line with a completely straight face and that had him slightly impressed despite the circumstances.

"Are you trying to be funny...," he made a point out of staring at her name sign, "Miss York? I think in that case I would like to talk to the manager of this fine establishment..."

Her professional smile slipped for a moment and turned positively malicious. She pointed her index finger at the tiny golden name sign pinned to her chest. He squinted his eyes. Executive Manager. Blast!

"I'm sorry if my attempt at humour has had an adverse effect. I'd be happy to get my superior for you, only that today is his day off... At any rate I was merely trying to lighten the atmosphere by making a joke. Apparently I misjudged the situation. I apologize. This is very serious, of course." The last sentence was delivered with a smug grin that implied she didn't think that at all. Perhaps she dealt with more severe problems on a daily basis but there was really no need to give him any attitude. It was past midnight for crying out loud. He really didn't have a nerve for this. He wanted this conversation to be over with.

"Alright! Just give me the bloody honeymoon suite already," he growled in defeat.

"Very well, sir," she accompanied her words with a little nod and a victorious grin.

The second that pompous British bastard stepped away from the desk and was out of hearing range Natalie blew out a breath she had been holding for the entirety of the conversation. It wasn't the first time the WWE had booked their entire roster into their hotel and she dimly remembered having had to deal with some of those people before, but those dealings had never been that... She hesitated in her head trying to put a label on the experience... that interesting? Interestingly unpleasant? Instructive? Whatever the word was there had been some difficulty involved and it had been somewhat challenging. Not that she shied away from challenges. If she did, she wouldn't be in the position she was now. Thirty and executive manager of this hotel. Not too bad.

Natalie looked down at her manicured nails. Once again she had managed to ruin them. She wasn't the type for manicured nails, but it came with the job. She had started out, like most people in the hotel industry, at the very bottom of the food chain, working for housekeeping and since those humble beginnings she had never lost her very hands-on approach to the job. Sometimes she got down on her knees to scrub the occasional tub in one of those suites if she wasn't satisfied with the job the cleaning personnel had done. And on occasion, though very rarely, she would even help out at the hotel bar if there was an emergency.

At any rate she was a perfectionist and wanted to do her job the best she could. Customer satisfaction was a must to her. It annoyed her that someone had screwed up with Mr Bennett's room. Despite having said that she would, she didn't attempt to find out whose fault it had been. It was bordering on impossible finding the culprit and that was why she didn't even move a finger to investigate into the matter. What she did want to find out however, was who her somewhat rude and disgruntled guest was, so she hit Google a few seconds after the elevator doors had closed behind the ill-humoured Englishman.

The next morning Stuart breezed into the hotel lobby with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He was on his way to the gym. He was earlier than usual, so no one would pester him with small talk. But first he had to get past her.

By 'her' he meant the smug lady behind the check-in counter. He assumed she would still be there. It was only 7 am, so there was a chance she wouldn't be off duty yet. It turned out he was right, because he spotted her right away. There she was again with her polite smiles and her slicked back, long brown hair. Her smile seemed to be a bit on the tired side now, however, but it was still bright enough to be irritating.

"Good morning, Mr Bennett, I trust you have slept well..." Now she sounded like someone out of one of those dreadful Jane Austen novels middle-aged lady like to gibber on about.

"Yes, well enough. Thank you," he said, his voice all clipped. He wanted to be gone and not waste any time with this conversation.

"Well, regarding your room, I've got some bad news...," he raised his eyebrows at her. Did she really want to go down that road? Perhaps it was just a slip of tongue. She didn't look like she was interested in wrestling, let alone know anything about his gimmick or his in-ring character.

Still, those words almost made him slip into kayfabe. Damn this job to hell! Apparently he had been doing it too long. He rolled his eyes and stayed silent.

"But stay calm, this doesn't have to turn into an all-out bare-knuckled fight...," she grinned apparently thinking herself pretty clever for making those stupid remarks, which she obviously made to please him, but unfortunately they had a totally adverse effect on him. He was fuming internally, but he let her continue, "Since you're only spending one more night, I think it would be justifiable if you stayed in the honeymoon suite until your departure."

"Are you going to charge the normal rate or the same price you'd charge for a single room?" It was a practical question. Very much to the point and purpose orientated. Though he wasn't a nice man by anybody's standard, except his mum's maybe, she still seemed to think he was a good boy, it wasn't acceptable to yell at the hotel manager for no apparent reason other than finding her extremely annoying. But apparently his facial expression and his tone of voice gave away that he was less than thrilled with the conversation.

She sobered somewhat. It was clear she had been trying to get his approval and smooth the waves. His gruffness was only making her try harder.

"It wouldn't be right to charge you more than you would have paid, had the booking been done correctly..."

"Fine," he replied and followed that up with a brief nod of his head. For a second they established eye contact. He had a very austere sort of face with his crooked nose and his dark beard. His eyes had a hard look to them, like everything about him they slightly unsettled her. Mercifully he averted his gaze. It seemed like their conversation had reached its expiration date. "Thank you. Goodbye," he added in his clipped tones.

"Have a nice day, Mr Bennett and good luck tonight with the show."

"Yeah, thanks."

And with that he was gone. Every exchange with him left her with a bitter after-taste, like she had done something wrong and wasn't even aware of it. It made her re-trace her steps, re-evaluate the words she had uttered and made her feel insecure. It was a novelty, because she didn't get to do the job she did because she was insecure. She had slowly worked herself to the top and the path there hadn't been made out of rose pedals. It had been very difficult getting there. So difficult that in fact it had seemed impossible at times. But she had prevailed without losing herself and without giving all those bastards who were determined to make her life hell the satisfaction of breaking her.

Her shift ended. Paul Desoto, her best friend and colleague took over.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Fine."

Paul's eyes narrowed. "You don't look all right."

"I'm fine. I just had to take care of a little problem with a dissatisfied costumer. It's all settled now."

"Just like I knew you would," he praised her.

"Thanks." She accepted his praise with a grateful little smile. After having had to deal with that rude Brit, it felt good getting a compliment.

"Okay, Nat, you get yourself home and have a good long nap." Paul pointed his finger at her admonishingly, so it was a pretty safe bet he meant what he was saying.

Natalie nodded dutifully. "Cross my heart..."

She gave him a tired little nod and padded him on the shoulder before she walked away from reception. Her head was already filled with fantasy of a lazy afternoon spend stretched out on the couch. Maybe some ice cream and her favourite TV show... Only one short trip to the staff room and she would be off. Her predecessor, the guy had a heart attack in his mid-forties, had warned her not to take a room at the hotel, so she had followed his advice and rented an apartment a couple of blocks away. She could wait to get home now.

She pushed the door to the staff room open. It was empty. She reached inside the inner pocket of her blazer and took out her cell phone. Something strange happened. Just when she was looking down at its little screen, it started to flash while the phone was ringing. She almost let it drop in surprise. The number on the display was unknown to her and for a second she contemplated whether she should take the call at all. Eventually, after a couple of more rings, she did.

At that point of time she didn't have any idea yet, but the look of those digits on her screen and the strange atmosphere of the empty staff room would forever be edged into her memory.

There was a male voice on the other side of the line. It was a New York hospital calling. The man asked her if she was Mr Philip York's daughter. He already sounded apologetic and uncomfortable when he asked that question. He sounded even more apologetic and uncomfortable when several seconds later he told her that her father had died. The words didn't register at first. They were surreal. It couldn't be true. Almost mechanically she asked what had happened. A stroke. A stroke? A stroke. The word continued to echo in her mind even when the man talked on.

"But I just talked to him on Monday. And he was okay. Are you sure this isn't some sort of mix-up?"

It wasn't. The man explained calmly how with the stress her father put himself through it was only a matter of time until it had repercussions on his health. He was working as a real estate broker... had been working, actually. She stumbled over the tenses in her head and the gradual realisation of what had happened started to seep into her consciousness.

"Miss York?"

Yes, she was still there. She tried to get herself together. It wasn't so hard to have a simple conversation on the phone, was it? She had a thousand talks over the phone during her work week, but none of those like this one. But she could do this and then she'd do the next thing.

Did she want to come and see him? For a couple of seconds, after that question had been asked, the line went complete silent. So silent in fact that her interlocutor felt the need to verify whether she was still there.

"I'm here."

"So?"

This was too much at once. Sure, she did want to see her dad one last time...

"I...," her voice failed her.

"Do you have anyone?" It was implied that she needed to share her pain with someone now. But her mother had died years ago. Car accident. Her dad was her only family left. Paul was her best friend, but he was currently working and she didn't feel like walking out there and starting to cry in the middle of the hotel lobby. Because she couldn't tell him without breaking down. She would break down. And she couldn't right now. She couldn't.

"Yes," she replied. It wasn't a lie. Not strictly speaking. She didn't have anyone right now, but in general she had people she could turn to.

The thoughts in her head were all muddled up. She started at the linoleum floor for a second. Why had she never noticed it was not only grey, but also had something like texture. There were dark lines on it. She squinted her eyes. Dread was washing over her. It was like a ice cold hand gripping her spine. The hospital. She needed to get there. It was expected of her. She expected herself to go. But for some reason it felt like climbing Mount Everest.

"I'll be there in about 30 minutes," she finally said in a voice that sounded mechanical and exhausted. Its sound didn't change when only a few seconds later she called herself a cab to get her from the hotel.

She didn't bother to take off the business uniform she wore for the job: the plain white blouse, dark pants, high heels, understated jewellery. Nothing mattered except getting to where her dad was. The rest of the world seemed to exist on the other side of the veil. The colours, sights, sounds and smells were muted. It was like a film sequence that felt distorted and alien. A different perspective, not the right one. A very bizarre one, slightly off. Like a parallel universe.

Things got real again soon enough. They got real when she saw him. When she touched his hand and it was cold. When she cried her first tears and some kind nurse hugged her and patted her back.

"Do you have someone?" they asked her again. And again she told her little half-lie.

"Would you like to talk to our counselor or a priest?"

She shook her head. "Not right now. No."

"I understand. Things like this need time. Maybe you want to go home now. Call a friend..."

Home? No, she didn't want to go home. She couldn't stand the idea of an empty apartment. It sounded dreadful now. She would be alone with her thoughts there and she wasn't sure she wanted to be, so she did something crazy. She went back to the hotel.

She sneaked in through the back entrance, got on the service elevator and rode up to some random floor where she send home some of the responsible personnel from housekeeping, because today, she announced with a stony face, she would do their job. She assigned a couple of rooms to herself, grabbed the necessary utensils and went to work.

Scrubbing things clean, making beds and airing rooms had something therapeutic. She knew from experience that those sorts of activities managed to calm her when she was upset. But today she was not only upset. It was worse... So part of her tried to focus on the still familiar sequence of work steps that had been drilled into her head and for a while it worked, but at some point, after what her hands were doing had become too much of a routine, her thoughts started to wander. The inevitable happened. Right after she was done with the next-to-last room she broke down crying. Finally the realization of what had happened swept over her. Her father had died.

After his work-out Stuart was in no better spirits than earlier. From the moment he had gotten up he had had the pleasure of being bothered by something like a migraine, which wouldn't even disappear after lifting weights and doing an hour of cardio. He stepped off the lift, walked past a door labelled 'staff', he only registered in the periphery of his vision, because there were strange sounds like sobs coming out of it. Apparently working for this hotel was just as depressing as staying in it. He walked on and after fiddling around with his key card for a couple of seconds, he opened the door to his suite rather energetically.

The bed was unmade. He popped his head into the bathroom. Just as he had suspected. Everything looked like he had left it this morning, so obviously housekeeping had failed to do his room. That wouldn't have been much of a problem if there hadn't been yesterday's incident already. That, coupled together with his gradually intensifying migraine, was enough to propel him towards the door and rip it open.

He had heard a sound coming from that door next to the lift, so somebody had to be in there. He knocked at the door, muttering curses under his breath as he waited for a reaction. Then, after a couple of seconds, the doorknob was twisted and the door opened. He looked into a pair of sad eyes, under which an unattractive amount of mascara had gathered. As a matter of fact, probably thanks to all the crying the woman had undoubtedly been doing, there were also tiny little black splotches on her blouse.

Only at a second glance he recognized the woman as that pesky creature from behind the desk in the lobby. He snapped his mouth shut. His hand was still raised as if he wanted to knock some more at the already open door. He lowered it, looking down at the pitiful sight in front of him.

"Did you want something?" she asked, her voice quivery and shaky, while her eyes were shining brightly.

Christ! He didn't want to be dealing with a crying woman. For a second he wavered indecisively between his two options: yes and no, but finally decided to go with 'yes'.

"I think housekeeping has forgotten me," he informed her matter-of-factly.

For some reason his remark seemed to have a humorous effect on her. Well, at least initially. She laughed and then suddenly she wasn't laughing anymore. She was wailing again.

It triggered his flight impulse. Automatically he started looking around uncomfortable. Wasn't there somebody around better suited for dealing with crying women than him? No Stephen? No Drew? He had issues with those sorts of things. He wasn't the consoling type. He didn't mollycoddle people and hug them and say nonsensical things like 'there, there'. Crap! Crap! Crap!

"I'm sorry...," she snivelled, trying to wipe her tears away. "I'm being unprofessional. It's... Well... You see, my dad..." Her eyes glazed over again. Her voice broke. He would probably have to hug her now. He settled for something he felt less uncomfortable about. He patted her shoulder awkwardly.

What had happened to her dad? Surely nothing good. Probably died by the looks of it. Crap. He couldn't walk away now without looking like a completely heartless fucking bastard.