THURSDAY

'I'm still seeing nothing,' the doctor said as he pored over Kevin's brain scan. Kevin frowned. He'd gone through another scan, waited half-an-hour for the result to come up, and gotten... nothing. The same answer. Great, just great.

'Are you sure?' Shifting in his chair, Benjamin York sat with his right leg up on the opposite knee. 'I could have sworn Kevin had had a brain at some point.'

Kevin, sitting to York's left, wasn't amused. 'The thing is... I've been getting a lot of headaches lately.'

'In a wrestling career?' The doctor hazarded a laugh. 'I'm not surprised.'

'I mean... not normal headaches.'

The doctor shook his head. 'I don't follow.'

York sighed. 'Jesus, are you going to tell him about the hallu-- '

'--Hallelujah?!' Immediately, Kevin wished he hadn't said it. Both York and the doctor stared at him strangely. It was the first word that Kevin could think of. There aren't many words that cound like 'hallucination'. 'Yeah. Church. I've gone to church to pray -- ' He gave York a knowing glare ' -- that I can stop having these headaches.' He huffed, hoping he could get York to dorp the subject.

'...Really? Because I've hung out with you a lot and you don't seem to go to church that often.' If Kevin could have slapped his forehead (whether that turned out to be his own or York's) without the doctor knowing, he would have.

'No matter,' the doctor started, 'As for physical defects, your brain is fine. Unless there's something else you're having trouble with...' He was leading, looking for an answer. Kevin glanced over at York. York looked as though he was halfway to spilling all of Kevin's secrets when he caught Kevin's eye. York was debating about it, too; Kevin could see the gears working behind York's eyes. Finally, York's mouth closed. Kevin sighed silently. The doctor continued, '...then, I guess you're free to go, Mr. Heat. Have a good day.'

---

'What was that all about?' The doors to the hospital's lobby opened before them. Summer sunlight blasted them in the face; Kevin grabbed the sunglasses hanging from his T-shirt's collar while York averted his eyes with a down-facing palm. They started across the parking lot, heading for the nearest intersection to cross. 'Why didn't you just tell him you were seeing things? That you ended up in an alley at 2 in the morning?'

'One: I don't want some doctor making assumptions about why I ended up where I did in the middle of the night.' York rolled his eyes. 'Two: He didn't find anything wrong. I don't need to give him a reason to suggest that I can't wrestle. His job's done. Three... I don't want Arena finding out about this. Something tells me if they see any medical bill with the word 'psychic' on it -- '

'I think you mean 'psychiatric'.'

' -- would mean some uncomfortable questions that I don't feel like answering.'

Slightly impressed, 'You've really thought about this, haven't you?'

'I've had two months. It comes up.'

As they reached the streetside, they paused and waited for the crosswalk to open up. It didn't take long; in a minute, they were headed down the block. 'So what do we do?'

'How the hell should I know? I thought that was your job.'

'Okay, that's it.' York stopped, cutting off Kevin's path. 'I am getting sick and tired of all this blaming bullshit. My job is not to be your little errand boy that you can blame every time something doesn't go your way. You keep forgetting, Kev, I wanted this job. I wanted to work for you. And every time you find a reason to put me down makes me wonder whether or not I made the right decision.'

'Yeah? Then what was that 'no brain' crack in there, huh?'

'It... It was a joke. I thought we were friends by now.'

The statement stops Kevin for a moment. He hadn't really thought about it that much, but it must have been there if it occured to York. Surprisingly, Kevin smirked to himself. 'We are. I guess.' York was his friend. Hmm. Weird. The smirk faded quickly. 'But that's not important. Remember: wrestling match, Monday. We're running out of time, York.'

York sighed. 'I know it's getting old by now... but the hypnotherapy is always an option.' Kevin closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. Personally, a lobotomy was starting to sound like a more viable option than having some spiritualist sneak into his head while he fell asleep. Still...

'...We'd never have time to book an appointment.'

York smirked. 'Which is why I thought ahead. I called them on Monday to book for Friday.'

'But I hadn't said 'yes' yet.'

'I would have talked you into it Tuesday... if you hadn't blown up at me.'

Kevin sighed, shaking his head. 'You bastard.'

York shrugged. 'It's why I'm your manager.' Though willing to snark about doing things without Kevin's permission, Kevin smiled.

'You're still a bastard.' Kevin started walking again, brushing past York and heading for the nearby down-escalator into the Metro station. York turned and kept up in stride.

'I can live with that.'

As they reached the escalator, 'Oh, there's one thing I forgot.' Kevin reared back and punched York square in the arm. The force almost took York off his feet, but he managed to stay afloat.

Holding his arm gingerly, 'What the hell was that for?!'

'If I've told you once, I must have told you a hundred times: Don't call me 'Kev'.'

---

In the great scheme of things, defeating Specter and Drake Munday is no great feat. I've climbed molehills that were more terrifying than the two of them put together. I've heard obtuse languages from third world countries that were a thousand times more complex than a thought the two of them could string together. In not so many words, I have nothing to prove when they are concerned.

No, my big hurdle is proving to management that I still have the same fight, the same tenacity that I showed back when I was a rookie eight years ago. Back then, with stars in my eyes, I had no doubt in my mind that I would rise to the top of every industry that I attached myself to. Since then, I've added a few more scars, a few blows to the head and more than a couple matches where I had to be wheeled out of the ring. I've learned a lot in that time, but the goal remains the same.

I am the best that this industry has to offer, whether anybody else believes it or not. It's there; it's inherent. Kevin Heat is here to win. If my tag partner can keep up, all the better for me.

Kicking a few anthills over, namely Specter, Drake Munday... It's just business as usual.

---

FRIDAY

Bzzt. Bzzt. York looked up, his foot half-in, half-out of his sneaker. His phone vibrated to life on the bedside table in his hotel room. Deciding first to finish putting his shoes on, he picked up his phone and answered.

'Benjamin. How are you?' Even through the phone, the fake grin of Sylvester Li shined brightly. York held back the snarky comment in his throat. 'Listen: there's been a change of plans.'

'Change of plans?'

'We took the liberty of moving your flight out to Vancouver up to this afternoon.'

York shook his head. 'What?' In the scale of bold moves, he would have marked this at least a 6 out of 10.

'Yeah. It turns out if Kevin can get there by tomorrow morning, there's an event he can attend at the convention center. We know how much Kevin loves extra exposure.' As true as the statement was, York could already feel that this wasn't the only reason Sylvester was calling.

Keeping his cool, 'And representing your company, of course. But its a little short notice.'

'Why? Did Kevin have something else planned?' And there went the other half of why Sylvester was calling: reconnissance. Should have known.

'Nope.' Not even a split second of thought about the lie. 'We'll be there.'

'Great. Thank you.' Click. Well, this presented a slight problem.

A few minutes later, there was a knock at York's door. It was Kevin and he already looked unsure. 'Is it too late to cancel this hypno-thing?'

'Do you want to go to LaLa Land in the middle of your tag match?'

Kevin nodded. 'Good point.' York walked out of his room, closing the door behind him, and headed for the elevator down the hall.

'By the way, Kevin, you've got enough money to cover two plane tickets, right?'

'Definitely. Why?'

'No reason.'

---

Dr. Michelle Croft had received several commendations from Harvard, NYU and Johns Hopkins University -- they were all over the walls of her waiting room -- but Kevin hadn't seen any medical degrees past undergraduate. Granted, he didn't even have that but it didn't help his skepticism. Then, when he saw the frizzy-haired redhead with thick-rimmed glasses in the flower-patterned dress greet him (surprisingly, she looked like she was under thirty; Kevin didn't believe any psychiatrists existed under that age), he had less-and-less reason to think this wasn't some kind of scam.

They walked through a door, down a short hallway, and into a moderate-sized office with a pair of chairs facing each other in the center. Three bookshelves stood along the far wall, a desk by the window and the faint scent of burning incense covering the room. York stayed in the waiting room; Kevin was going to fight this battle alone. They sat down in the centered chairs. She smiled.

'You're not a real doctor, are you?'

Her smile fell almost before it began. '...I'm sorry?'

'You say you are, but you're not, right?'

She shook her head, trying to remove the confusion. The attack caught her off-guard, but she took a calming breath and faced it head-on. 'I am... a specialist. I may not practice conventional medicine, but I assure you that I'm one of the most highly -- '

Leaning back in his chair, Kevin snorted. 'Yeah, yeah... You're not a doctor.'

She frowned, eyes narrowing. 'May I ask why exactly you're here today, Mr. Heat?'

'Shouldn't you already know that? Aren't you supposed to read my mind or tea leaves or something?'

'What you're thinking of is a 'psychic', Mr. Heat, a grifter who cons someone out of money in exchange for a bogus service.'

'Same difference.'

Dr. Croft stood from her chair. 'It was nice meeting you, Mr. Heat. You'll find the door behind you.' And without another glance his way, she stepped over to the desk and sat behind it. For a moment, Kevin was stunned. Did she just blow him off? What the hell?!

He stood from his chair, walking over to her desk and leaning heavily over her. 'Excuse me -- '

'No, excuse me.' She didn't even look up. 'I wish I could help you find the way out, but I'm way too busy not giving a shit.' All while writing notes in the corners of previously written notes.

'Hey! Who the hell do you think you are?! Do you have any idea who I am?'

Looking up, 'No, but I'm starting to get the idea. You came here thinking I'm some kind of idiot who you could talk down to just because I don't have a proper degree in medicine when you can't even tell the difference between two words that sound the same.' Kevin's fists gripped the edge of her desk tightly, knuckles white. 'Well, I don't. I've got an honorary degree. I've also got a method that has a higher percentage of recovery and lasting improvement than any pill or diagonosis a doctor can give you. But I guess that doesn't mean anything to you, does it?' Huffing and puffing, Kevin was ready to toss her desk out of the way and see how brave she was. Thankfully, cooler heads prevailed: he needed her a lot more than she wanted to help him. 'Again: the door is behind you.' She looked back down to her notes, once again ignoring that Kevin was in the room.

'Look, I... We got off on the wrong foot.' Kevin's teeth were so gritted, he could have spit rocksalt. 'I haven't had a great past two months.'

'With your attitude, I'm not surprised.'

Let it slide, Kevin. He didn't need the police report on his back. Just let it slide. 'I need help. And I'd be willing to start over, if you would let me.'

She looked up again, staring at his face. She didn't look happy. It took her a few moments of silent contemplation, but she stood from her desk and walked back over to her seat. Kevin sighed, letting his head sag. Without another word, he too returned to his seat.

Dr. Croft cleared her throat, took a deep breath and said, 'Why are you here today, Mr. Heat?'

Kevin swallowed hard. 'I've been having headaches. Bad ones. And I've been seeing things.'

'Seeing things?'

'People who aren't there. The last time it happened, I blacked out and found myself halfway across town.'

'Really? Hmm.' Against her anger's wishes, she leaned forward. 'Head trauma?'

Kevin smirked. 'I'm a wrestler. Hitting my head's kind of part of my job. But it all started a few months ago.'

She nodded, eyes still narrowed, but intrigued. 'Alright, Mr. Heat. You can stay.' He smiled. 'But I need full co-operation. Hypnotherapy only works if I have a map to guide with. And no more of this I'm better than you bullshit. This room isn't a wrestling ring, it's treatment. Can I guarentee that much from you?' She held out an out-stretched palm, looking for a handshake. Kevin stared at it a moment. Is this what he really wanted? Who knew. But it was his only choice. He took her hand and shook it softly.

'Good. Okay, Mr. Heat. When did this all start? From the beginning...'