A/N: It's been almost two months since I posted anything on FF, and there's a good reason for that. It's not just that my muse has abandoned me; it's also that I've been dealing with the move from Hell. This story is getting close to done, but I haven't had any time (or inclination) at all to work on it. But don't worry- every unfinished story that's up will be finished eventually. I'm still trying to work it all out. In the meantime, I appreciate the readers out there. You're the reason I haven't given up completely on my dreams of writing. So thank you. You have no idea how much it means to me that people like this story. Here's hoping I get it finished soon—but not too soon. ;)

A/N: I don't own the wrestlers! I do own Pixie and Betsy. As always, it's meant in fun.

The Mizard Of Odd

Chapter 81: Miz in Mourning

Miz was inconsolable. The next morning, he loaded his stuff into the truck and settled into the front passenger seat without a word. As the miles flew by, he started out his window, ignoring the chaos that came from shoving so many people into so small an area. Pixie frequently climbed into his lap and would bite or claw him until he petted her. They would stop and eat, Miz pointing mutely to the first thing on the menu and eating whatever was brought to him mechanically, whether he liked it or not. He'd ignore the shenanigans of the others during the meal. When they'd leave (or get kicked out), he would climb back into his seat and stare out the window until the next stop. Throughout it all, he didn't utter a word, although he did sniffle and have the occasional muffled sob.

"I'm really worried about Miz," Punk confided to HB on the second day of travel. They were stopped for lunch at a little park.

HB glanced at Miz, who was staring at a tree and mechanically eating French fries from McDonald's that Teh D had put on a napkin for him. As they watched, Miz picked up several blades of grass along with his fries and ingested them, his eyes never wavering from the tree. "I keep thinking he'll get over it," HB said. "But it's been two days. Maybe we should take him to the hospital or something?"

"He's depressed, is all," Jeff said, joining in their conversation. "Not much a hospital's going to do about it."

"It's bothersome," Punk said, brow furrowed. "I asked Dad to fix it, but He told me that Miz needs to grieve."

Miz didn't notice or care that the others were talking about him. He ignored Pixie when she stole the meat from his cheeseburger and hunched down next to him, enjoying her meal. "You're making this too easy," she told him, "and it's no fun when you won't even try to defend your food."

Not looking at her, Miz spoke for the first time in days. "Why does it matter? Everything tastes like lawn clippings, anyway."

"That's because you're eating grass," Pixie pointed out. Miz shrugged. "Mizbert wouldn't have wanted you to stop living."

"I don't want to do this anymore."

"Do what?" the cat asked. "Eat lawn clippings?"

"Any of it. The driving, the eating. The living."

"This is more serious than I thought." She padded away, leaving Miz alone.

Matt chased a butterfly past Miz. "Whee!"

Miz stopped chewing and lifted his gaze angrily toward Matt. When Matt ran past a second time, Miz extended his leg, sending the butterfly chaser sprawling.

Matt sniffled. "Why did you do that?"

"Murderer!" Miz shrieked. "Killer of innocent Mizmallows! May you roast over an open flame in Hell, getting all puffy and gooey until the devil eats you!"

Matt started to cry. "Well, that seemed a bit harsh," said Punk. "Jeff, I have gum."

"Gum?" Matt said, perking up and climbing to his feet.

"Yes, but you have to promise to leave Miz alone today, all right?" He glanced down at Pixie, who was clawing at his leg and meowing. "Sadly, I'm not sure even Holy Pepsi can work on this permanently, but you may be right."

"Gum?" Matt said hopefully.

"Stay away from Miz," Punk repeated. Matt nodded and Punk dropped a couple of pieces of gum into his waiting hands.

"Yay, gum!" Matt shrieked happily.

"Now about this Pepsi problem…" Punk said. He dug around in the cooler for a Pepsi. "Baptize him with it or put it in a cup over ice? I need a sign, Dad!"'

"I'm a waitress!" Mark announced.

"Good enough," said Punk. "A cup it is."

He poured the Pepsi into a bright red cup, added some ice, and handed it to Mark, who carried it over to Miz. "Here you go, sir," said Mark with a smile.

"I don't want it," Miz said.

"Well, I'm sorry but it's yours now." Mark held out the cup. "And it's rude not to take it."

Miz sighed. "Fine." He took the cup. "Happy now?"

"No sir," said Mark. "I believe you're forgetting something."

"Go away."

"I will," said Mark, "as soon as I get my tip."

"You brought me a drink I didn't want and now you want a tip?"

"It is customary. We waitresses live off our tips, you know. If you don't tip me, how am I supposed to support my three little babies and my plushie addiction?"

Miz finally looked up at the man. "You want a tip? Fine. Don't fall in love. Now go away!"

Mark sighed. "Why do I always get the comedians in my section? Listen, buster, I work very hard…" Miz dug a crumpled dollar out of his pocket and threw it at Mark. "Oh. Thank you for your generosity, sir. Have a nice day!"

"Whatever," Miz muttered, taking a sip of the Pepsi. "Just as long as everyone leaves me alone."

Mark came back to Punk. "He's a lousy tipper, that one. A dollar? Really?"

"It's pure profit for you, though," said Punk, his eyes shifting from Miz to Mark. "I mean, I'm not going to get any money from that Pepsi. But I do consider it a service that the world needs, so…."

It was then that Miz leapt up from where he'd been sitting as though stung. "Miz?" Jeff said.

Miz turned to Jeff. "What I'd like to know is, why is everyone so gloomy? Did someone die or something?"

"Um," Punk said, glancing at Jeff. Jeff shrugged. "At the risk of reminding you, yes. Mizbert?"

"Who?" said Miz blankly.

"A Mizmallow. Your fiancée?"

"I'm sorry," Miz said. "I have no idea who that is. Come to that, who are you, exactly?"