Rewatching Suite Life of Zack and Cody, about to rewatch Suite Life on Deck, had this fic idea:
Suite Life Reunions
“Enjoy your stay at the Tipton,” said Moseby with the smile he perfected after fifteen years in the business. The man barely acknowledged him, yanking the key from his hand without so much as a thank you. But guests simply choosing to stay at the Tipton was all the thanks Marion Moseby needed–that was what he told himself, at least. He tapped the bell and, Gerald, the lanky pimple-faced bellboy emerged in all his apathetic glory to carry the man’s bag. His smile faded the moment Gerald and their guest turned toward the elevators. And his cell phone zizzed from the inside of his jacket pocket:
‘You OK?’ asked his wife via text message.
He squinted at his phone. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he mumbled as he typed, then looked up to discover everyone seemed glued to their phones and speaking in hushed whispers. His silver flip phone prevented him from accessing news in an instant like smartphone users could. Call him old fashioned, but he reminisced the days when news traveled slowly and by newspaper rather than fast and through wifi. He never felt “hip” with the fads, not even in his youth–and it only got worse after having children.
“Mr. Ramírez, what… what is going on?” he asked when his assistant manager emerged from his office.
Estaban with a panicked expression showed him what had everyone in such a frenzy on his phone:
Boston Billionaire, Wilfred Tipton, Dead at 60
A blurred image of Mr. Tipton accompanied the headline with the main focus being the many bodyguards surrounding him. Fitting for the man whose existence always lingered despite rarely being present. Moseby himself encountered the man a limited number of times and–at the risk of sounding too harsh–London only a few moments more. Moseby’s heart sank. London must be a wreck.
The phone call came almost the instant he started dialing. “Lond–oh, um, Ms. Tipton…” He waved for Estaban to take over as he made his way into his office to discuss business… for the first time in her life, probably.
---
“Have the carpets been vacuumed?”
“Check.”
“The lobby floors waxed?”
“Check,” said Estaban, and Gerald the bellboy slipped behind them as he entered the lobby. They walked past him, oblivious.
Moseby checked it off his list. “Very good, Mr. Ramírez. I want this hotel to sparkle when Lon”–he cleared his throat–“I mean… Ms. Tipton arrives with her fiance, Mr. Arnault.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Moseby. This hotel will shine brighter than the diamond Ms. Tipton is sure to be wearing around her neck.”
Moseby nodded his approval before Estaban went on his merry way. He moved toward his office. London’s helicopter was due to arrive–he checked his watch–in one hour! Goodness, was it really so soon? Have the fresh flowers even been sent up to their room yet? Have the towels been ironed? He quickened his pace.
“Marion!” came a familiar but very out of place voice in the distance. He stopped and turned to see his wife and two children entering the lobby.
“Emma–what… what are you doing here?” he said a little bit more harshly than he intended as he made his way over to them. The expression on his wife’s face told him to backtrack. “I mean–it is very nice to see you,” he assured with a quick kiss and gentle pats on both his kids' heads, “but London’s due here in an hour and”–finally he noticed Gerald groaning on the ground near him–“and Gerald’s on the floor! Will someone please help him up?”
The doorman assisted the boy to his feet.
“Oh, well, I thought maybe we could grab lunch,” said Emma. “I got a buy-one-get-one coupon for The Cluck Bucket.”
“I would if I could,” he said sincerely, “but I am much too busy here. I’ve only got an hour to make this place shine!”
And London, to his shock, entered the lobby in all her glory and glow, wearing a bright red dress with her usual unaware smile. “It’s little me, visiting from Paris!”
Moseby let out a brief blood-curdling shriek before greeting her with his best customer service smile: “Ms. Tipton, welcome! We weren’t expecting you for another hour.”
“We took Sacha’s jet,” she explained. “His is much faster.”
“Of course,” agreed Moseby. And Sacha, her beau, entered soon after. “Ah, bienvenue au Tipton, Monsieur Arnault! It is so very good to see you again.” But the billionaire business man’s phone rang. He answered it without so much as a glance at London and began babbling in angry French while making his way to the opening elevator. Managing to ignore the anger bubbling inside him, Moseby motioned for Gerald to quickly grab their luggage and follow him up.
London’s mood remained unchanged. “Hugs!” she said, embracing him; he accepted her warmth with ease, but felt concerned about her cheerful, upbeat attitude. She moved on before he could comment on it. “Rosa!” she greeted–Rosaline, their daughter, the oldest by nearly twelve minutes, who looked the most like Moseby with her oval face and darker complexion. “Raymie!” Raymond–their son, who took after his mother: lighter skinned and hints of red in his curly dark hair. She pulled them close. She moved to Emma with open arms, “Ms. Tutweiller!”
“I’ve been Mrs. Moseby for the past eleven years, London,” said Emma. London stared blankly at her. “You were at our wedding…”
“You paid for it!” reminded Moseby.
“Oh yeah,” she said. “I’m honestly surprised you’re still together. I didn’t think crazy cat ladies were Moseby’s type.”
Emma smiled through the pain. “It’s so good to see you!”
London, oblivious, took her words as a compliment. Moseby directed the attention back on himself: “Funeral arrangements have mostly been sorted,” he began. He removed a notepad from the inside of his jacket pocket. “The funeral director is wondering what flowers you would like for the ceremony.”
“Whatever flowers you think are right.”
He shifted. “And there is the matter of your speech.” An awkward pause loomed around them. “Which I will be happy to write for you, of course… I just need to know what you would like to say.”
London shrugged. “I don’t know. Write whatever people say at these things.”
He hesitated, “Well, I… I suppose I can–”
“Great!” she said, putting her arms around both Rosaline and Raymond, squeezing them tightly so their faces were smushed. “While you’re doing that, we’ll be at the mall!”
“Ah, we didn’t agree to that,” said Emma meekly, but the three were already out the door. “I’ll… just go make sure she doesn’t leave them there.” Moseby nodded, anxiety settling in his stomach. She quickly followed them out.
—
Side note: here are stock images of what I think Moseby/tutweiller kids look like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
