Life Experiences

Things have gotten so chaotic lately, Heath feels like he doesn't know up from down anymore. This particular tour has been rough as hell. Attendance was poor, the crowds were lukewarm at best and the local guys Heath has been facing in tag matches with Justin have been absolutely awful. It was like they'd all been told to aim for his ribs or something.

That coupled with a lot of travel delays on account of crappy weather and a massive bout of food poisoning that affected a good chunk of the locker room... no it had not been a good week. About the only thing that Heath can't complain about is the return of Chris Jericho. Though they've only faced each other a handful of times, Heath always enjoyed it. Just being in the ring with someone as talented and experienced as Jericho was a learning experience. He came away from each match having picked up something new.

Heath sits in the bar, idly glancing at the empty stage. The bar is surprisingly empty for this time of night. Heath glances over at the bartender, gesturing at the only instrument on stage. The woman gives him a half smile and Heath returns it, heading on to the stage. The redhead gives another quick glance around, making sure none of his coworkers are around before taking a seat at the piano.

It's not that he's embarrassed about playing the piano, but he knows he'll get a solid bit of razzing for it. The One Man Rock Band tickling the ivories would seem a little silly, after all. Satisfied that nobody's around, he starts to play. He's hardly the best in the world or anything, but he does enjoy it.

Chris could never stay away from the ring too long. He always found himself needing to go back, to go home, after he spent time away. The time away always did him good, though. He had found over the years that it was wise for him to take the time away to recharge his batteries, pour his creativity into other venues, and let his wrestling take a back seat from time to time. It helped to keep him fresh, not just physically and mentally, but in the minds of his fans and audiences. His breaks made sure that his character didn't get worn out, or dull. Chris's last hiatus from the sports entertainment that he loved had been very needed. He'd needed very badly to leave and straighten his head out, to get back on track, and to get away from a few faces that had successfully distracted his concentration away from his ring work and into a relationship that lead to nothing but distress and a horrible breakup.

Well, no more.

Now that he was back, there would be no distractions. It aggravated him how much he'd let Show get to him--how much his ring work had suffered. He took pride in what he did in the squared circle, at being the best in the world at it, and this time he wouldn't let anyone play with his heart. It was completely off limits.

As Heath had suspected, the bar slowly starts to fill with people, most of them appearing to be professionals who are either on the road or taking some time off work. Heath's not the shy type; he's never minded being the center of attention, so he carries on playing. Doing something as simple as playing the piano and having people appreciate it is surprisingly calming. It's reassuring to know that he doesn't have to risk his neck for adulation.

He takes a pause, closing his eyes, laughing when the bartender sets up a tip jar and blushing a bit when a couple of bills go into it almost immediately. Good lord, now he'd really get it from his coworkers. But it's not enough to stop him from playing some more, flipping through the list, even taking a request from someone in the crowd. Heath is a simple guy; he likes to entertain, and if this is how he's going to do it tonight, then so be it. Might as well go all out. "Any requests?" He calls out, grinning, flicking his hair out of his eyes.

Chris headed towards the hotel bar, and drifted in with the other patrons. He ordered a bottle of Grey Goose, his favorite, and made himself comfortable on a bar stool. He usually liked someplace that was a little more energetic, but this would do. The piano was pretty good, but he usually preferred his music to be loud, metal through and through. He poured some Grey Goose into a glass and sipped, letting the familiar liquid slide warmly down his throat. The piano player had some beautiful red hair, but from where Chris was setting he couldn't really see the players face. It wasn't until the musician called out, asking for requests, that the familiar voice triggered a clearer picture in Chris's mind. Wasn't that one of the newbies...the one that Cena was constantly referring to as 'The Girl From Wendy's'? His name was Heath. Was that Heath, really? Interesting. He didn't know the kid had any musical inclinations.

"Requests?" Chris called out, smirking slightly. "Yeah, can I get a Frosty to go?"

The words tug at Heath's temper. He purses his lips, biting back a few colorful comebacks. The writers thought the line was hilarious, the fans got a great laugh and Heath would have been fine with the segment had that been the end of it. He has no problem being the butt of the joke, but the boys had taken it to the extreme. Heath can laugh at himself louder than anyone, but that one was starting to get under his skin. But he also knows that if he shows that it bugs him, then the damn name will stick, so grinning and bearing it will have to do.

The voice is familiar, but he can't quite place it. He mock scowls. "Sorry," he calls out. "Can't play those." He flips through the list some more, grinning when he spots a good song. He licks his lips, then starts playing Wheel in the Sky. The bartender catches his eye for a moment, tapping her watch and Heath nods his understanding. This had been a fun way to spend the night. Maybe he'll use his tips to get a good movie from the Pay Per View service. Or hell, maybe he'll try and hook up with a roving band of wrestlers. He shakes those thoughts aside, focusing on the music.

Heath must be getting used to the ribbing. He didn't seem to let the comment get to him too much. That was good, he might be okay in the business then. Chris continued to deplete his bottle of Grey Goose, enjoying the song as it came to a close. Heath was really good at this. He moved a little closer to get a better look at Heath as he played, noting the enjoyment on his face. It was the kind of look a musician got when they became lost in their music. It was a great feeling, Chris knew it very well. That feeling was one of the reasons he loved entertaining, whether it was through his music or his muscle. He loved getting lost in his passions, letting them consume him and take him amazing places. It good to get to that level. Some people never do, and that's sad. That's the difference between someone who has the potential to be great, and someone who will always fall short: the passion.

Chris and a few other bar patrons clapped as the song concluded.

Heath feels a faint heating up his face as he takes in the applause. One of the good things about working as a heel was that his damn complexion didn't work against him when it came to the adulation of the audience. Hell, he had more fun being booed. It was easier to tell people to stuff it than to deal with constant proclamations of love.

Still, why not bask in it for a second longer? He stands up, then bows deeply. He heads off stage, making sure to snag the tip jar before he goes, surprised to find nearly eighty dollars in it. Not bad for an hour's work. Shaking his head, he pockets the extra cash and starts for the door, ready to plan out what to do with the rest of his evening. As he scans for the exit, he spots Jericho. Whether it's the thrill of the performance or just his own go-getter nature, Heath's not sure, but he walks over to the blond boldly and smiles. "I hate to borrow a line, but is this seat taken?"

Chris ran a hand over his gelled hair, looking at the empty seat across from him, and then up at Heath, the 'One Man Rock Band'.

"Hm...no, it's not. Didn't know you could tickle the ivories. Not too bad, you seemed like you were having a good time." He refiled his empty glass and pushed it towards Heath. "Drink? This is the best shit."

Heath's smile widens and he drops into the seat. "Thanks, man," he knocks it back with a grunt, his eyes slipping half closed as the alcohol burns its way down his throat, spreading the warmth all through him. He nudges the glass back over between them. "Thanks for the drink." He shakes his head. "As for the piano," he shrugs one shoulder, suddenly feeling modest again. "Piano ain't nothing special, just kinda tooling around, naw mean? Just don't tell Wade, I'll never hear the end of it." He laughs softly. The back-and-forth banter between he and Barrett was often the only thing that livened up a long car trip, but he didn't want to give the Brit any extra ammo.

He leans in on his forearms. "So, how does it feel to be back?"

Chris poured himself another drink, and swirled the alcohol around in his glass.

"Feels great to be back. It's like coming home, in a way. I just needed to get my head back in the game. It's no good to linger around if you can't concentrate on your ring work. If you're tired--physically or mentally, that's when you start hurting yourself or others. Don't need any of that. I'm the best in the world at what I do, Heath. But now that I'm back, I'm going to be even better."

"Man, you're Chris Jericho, you're already pretty damn awesome in my eyes, at least for what that's worth." He's quiet for a while, taking in everything that Jericho said, letting it bounce around in his head for a while. Sure Heath isn't always the best at thinking before he speaks, but once in a while, he can pull it off. "I'm at a stage right now where I can't imagine not bein' in the ring. I've been on the main roster a little more than a year, but right now I can't picture myself doing anything else."

Heath sits back, rubbing the back of his neck. Usually he's the guy who's talking nonstop, filling the air with all manner of words, but tonight he's feeling quiet. Thoughts of going out and partying are kind of fading. It seems like a good night to stay in and just chill. Maybe it's the company he's keeping.

"That's a good attitude to have, Heath. A year's not that long, at least, it's not long enough to get burned out. But if you go nonstop you will eventually. The rings a rough place and it can burn you out, or sometimes...it's the people." Chris scowled a little, and downed his last drink in one go. "Don't let people in this business get to you. They'll chew you up and spit them out if you let them. Don't. And while I'm at it, I should also tell you...don't get involved with coworkers. Romantically, I mean. It's not a good idea. Take my word for it."

"Yeah," Heath coughs a couple of times, then shakes his head. "Sometimes that last bit of advice is hard to follow. I'm tryin' but it's not always that easy."

Hell, being on the road with the same people all the time, seeing the same faces, feeling the same thrills in the ring, the same exhilaration, sometimes it was too easy to get swept up in it all. So far, Heath hasn't gotten into anything long term. He and Wade made better friends than lovers and he'd never gone further than a couple of sloppy, drunken make out sessions with Justin. "To be honest," he shrugs. "I've been so damn focused on work that everything else has kinda fallen by the wayside."

He laughs softly once again, shaking his head. "Sorry, dunno where that all came from."

Chris nodded, almost solemnly.

"That's good, Heath. That's great. Focus on your job and don't let any assclown distract you."

He slouched back a little, making himself more comfortable. His lively blue eyes took in Heath's beautiful hair, his bright eyes, his perfect fair skin...

"You're a very attractive young man, I'm sure you have plenty of distractions lurking around." Chris added, and then wondered why. He hadn't meant to say that part aloud. Sometimes having a big mouth was more trouble than it was worth.

Heath laughs softly, flicking his hair again. He can't help it; whenever he has nothing to do with his hands, he fusses with his hair. "Hey now, you ain't so bad yourself." He looks down at the glass on the table, licking his lips. Jericho was one of the top guys in the company, one of the most revered men in the sport today and here Heath was, hitting on him like some clumsy high school kid. What in the hell was he thinking? He clears his throat, then licks his lips again. "I, well, what I meant to say was--"

The redhead trails off awkwardly. Here Chris was giving him advice on not getting distracted and now his stupid brain is conjuring up all kinds of distracting mental images. He signals the waitress to bring him a beer.

"You're giving me those eyes." Chris said, his expression going serious, the glimmer in his eyes growing harder. "Don't bother, Heath. I can understand why you would desire a man such as myself, I am the best in the world at what I do. I'm good looking, more intelligent than all those baboons backstage put together, and I have more talent in my little toe than the entire company. But don't give me those eyes, Heath. Don't look at me that way, with those thoughts behind your dreamers eyes, because that is a fantasy that will stay only that--a fantasy. I don't plan to get involved with anyone in this company, not for a night, not for a minute. None of you gelatinous worms are near good enough for me anyway. I did it once, but you can't fool Chris Jericho twice."

Chris pushed his chair back, and tossed a few bills on the table to cover the Grey Goose.

"Nice chat with you, Heath. Keep your head...and your heart...in the game. Nowhere else."

Chris walked away from the table, heading back to his room, alone.

For a few moments, all Heath can do is sit there in shock. The whole conversation had just done a complete 180. He stares down at the empty glass, then shakes his head dumbly. Had he really been giving those kinds of signals? He certainly hadn't meant to. Aww hell, he'd just offended one of the best guys in the business. Not only was that bad politically, but he hadn't even meant to make Jericho feel awkward.

Well, he's got two options, stay here and forget it ever happened or man up and apologize. For a guy like Heath, there is only one option. He puts down a few bills to cover untouched beer, then bolts out of the bar. "Hey, hey, wait up!" He knows better than to shout someone's name down the hall. You never knew when an ambitious fan would be lurking. Still, he's just able to spot Jericho as he rounds a corner.

The redhead puts on a burst of speed, managing to stop in front of Chris, breathing a little hard. His proper southern manners take over, his accent even getting a little thicker as he speaks more formally. "Mr. Jericho," he pauses, licking his lips. Backstage, it was either first or last name. Either Heath or Slater, using Mister just feels weird. Still, he's apologizing so he might as well do this right. "I just wanted to apologize for any misunderstandin' back there. I didn't mean to make eyes at you or anything and I'm sorry if that's how you saw it."

Heath smiles a little shyly, holding out his hand.

Chris looked at the hand extended to him with a scowl on his face, as if the palm and fingers offered disgusted him. It was anything but disgusting. In fact, Heath's hands--much like Heath in general--looked like they'd be nice to touch. He was annoyed with himself for thinking such things. He'd determined to be so focused when back, and he was already being tempted by this redheaded vixen, and Heath probably didn't even know that he was a vixen. In fact, the expression on his face was anything but one that was intentionally tantalizing. If anything, it was a shy smile that played on his lips and a tentative glimmer to his eyes, beneath delicate lashes. With a sigh, Chris shook Heath's hand.

"Look...you don't have to call me Mr. anything. Chris is just fine."

His smile widens and he's pleased that they're able to put this behind them. Still, he makes a mental note to be on his very best behaviour around Chris from now on. "Well all right then, you have yourself a great night!" Not wanting to continue bothering the blonde, Heath makes his way back to his room. Any half formed plans of going out are quashed the second he sees his bed. It looks too damned inviting to ignore.

--

The next morning, the only thing that saves Heath is that he had the alarm clock on his cellphone plugged in. Apparently, the hotel's automated alarm system failed and it's leaving Heath and many of the others scrambling. So instead of the nice, hot complimentary breakfast Heath had allotted himself time for, it's a mad dash to his rental car for a quick, cheap, only semi-decent fast food breakfast. As he reaches for his bills, he glances in the rear view mirror and notices that none other than Chris Jericho is in the car behind him. Figuring he can make up for last night's misstep, Heath pays for Jericho's breakfast as well.

He manages to arrive with just enough time to spare, breezing through security and getting to his window seat. Usually he prefers the aisle, but the flight is surprisingly packed, so he won't get to move. With a shrug, he gets settled in and dozes off almost immediately.

Chris settled into his seat on the plane, wondering why Heath had paid for his breakfast. He'd noticed that's who had been in the car in front of him at the drive thru this morning, when Heath had leaned out to grab his bag of fast food. It was a nice gesture, but he didn't really understand it. Was Heath sucking up to him? Did he want something? Was he just being kind for no reason? It was confusing, that's what it was. Chris shrugged, put his earbuds in with some Iron Maiden, and sat back for the flight.

One does not easily dose off to Iron Maiden, but Chris had. When he woke up the plane had landed, and people were beginning to file out. He grabbed his bags and quickly shoved past people, trying to catch up to Heath before he got completely lost in the shuffle of the airport. Of course, he'd see Heath later anyway, but he would rather ask him when he wasn't surrounded by nosey co-workers.

Chris caught up to Heath before he'd gotten too far.

"Heath, hey man, wait up. That was you this morning, right? In the drive thru? Thanks for paying, but why'd you do that? You didn't have to."

Heath switches his gear bag to the other shoulder, then shrugs. "Yeah, it was me," he says, licking his lips. He looks into Chris' eyes. "I just wanted to make sure there were no hard feelings after what happened the other night. I really didn't mean to be flirting or anything and I'm sorry if you took it that way." He flashes him a bright smile, then his watch beeps and he curses. "Aw hell, I'm running late."

He goes over to the car rental booth and starts talking. To anyone watching, Heath's angry gestures and the man at the counter's dull indifference would be obvious.

"What do you mean you gave my car away? I put the deposit down. I was like two minutes late. What the hell?!"

"Sir," the man rolls his eyes. "You were late and we gave your car away. I'm afraid it was the last one in service. We can provide you with a free shuttle to wherever you need to go, but it'll be at least forty-five minutes."

Heath's jaw clenches and he looks about ready to give the man the telling off of a lifetime. "Man, this sucks," he grits out, storming away. He goes over to a kiosk of public pay phones and starts looking through them for a cab. This tour was not starting off on a good foot. Eh, maybe he'll get lucky, have the cabbie recognize him and get a deal.

"Uh, sure...no hard feelings." Chris said, a little perplexed by Heath's actions, even though the red-head had just explained them. It just didn't seem like the normal kind of thing to do, but it was nice of him. Chris ran a hand through his short gelled hair and watched Heath move to the rental booth. He wasn't close enough to hear anything, but he could see from the gestures that something was wrong. He made his way over, needing to pick up his own rental anyway. He spoke to another attendant behind the counter, and motioned over to Heath and the other attendant.

"What's that all about?"

"I'm afraid that man was a couple minutes late to pick up his car, and it was given away. These things sometimes happen." The attendant handed Chris a set of keys. He moved over to Heath, and dangled the keys on the fob with the rental companies name on it.

"Heath, come on, I'll give you a ride." He turned to the attendant who was leaning over the desk at Heath. "You're an gelatinous tapeworm for giving this mans car away--no wait, you're gelatinous tape worm excrement. He was only a couple minutes late, and besides, he has amazing hair. Not as amazing as mine, but it's damn good hair. He should get his car just for that alone, assclown!" Chris nudged Heath. "Come on, let's go."

For the second time in as many days, he's left dumbstruck by Chris Jericho. And when it occurs to him that he really ought to keep up, he stops for only a second, glaring at the attendant. "Yeah!" He exclaims, before turning on his heel, following Chris at a quick walk until he catches up to the man. "Thanks," he murmurs. The least he can do is take their bags and put them in the trunk.

Once he's seated in the passenger's side, Heath pushes the seat all the way back, stretching his legs out, causing the denim to shift and conform snugly to his thighs. He looks over at Chris with a wry smile. "So," he stretches the word out, as if he's about to ask a deep and meaningful question. "You think I'll ever get my hair as nice as yours?"

"No." Chris said, seriously. "You wont." He pulled the visor down and looked over his gelled, blond tipped hair. Satisfied that it was still as perfect as ever, he flipped it back up, and backed out of the parking spot to take them towards their destination. He flipped on the radio and tuned it to a heavy metal station, but kept the volume low enough as not to bother Heath if it wasn't his thing.

Heath lightly bobs along to the music, causing thick red strands to fall against his cheek, lightly clinging to his sweat-dampened skin. He wouldn't mind turning it up, but he doesn't want to offend again. Some people got so damn touchy about their radios and he figures Jericho might be one of them.

He falls quiet, glancing at Jericho every so often, trying not to stare. It was weird how they kept hanging out together, but he's determined not to think anything of it. Just a coincidence, that was all. He smiles. "Thanks for the ride," he drawls.