Back to Basics

by corneroffandom

The road a wrestler takes is never easy, even if you're a must-see A-lister superstar like The Miz.

31. Against the Grain

This is set whenever during Miz's world title reign but before TLC. It's obviously set in Back to Basic's universe, but it doesn't completely connect to anything storyline wise over there. Yes, this is my AU of an AU. lol I wrote this to celebrate hitting chapter thirty. I am not a doctor, nor am I a psychiatrist. So I hope it's not too far beyond the realm of believability.

Miz shifts the WWE title against his shoulder and smirks as Alex Riley follows him through the hallways. Sometimes he likes to just walk with it out in the open, absorbing the annoyed glances that jealous co-competitors shoot his way as he walks past them. He's just ahead of the gorilla position when he realizes that Alex isn't following him any longer. He turns to find his NXT rookie lingering by the titantron, gaping out at the ring along with a growing crowd of people. "What's going on?" he demands, a little put out that even his apprentice's attention has been dragged away from him. The evening's house show is still hours away from starting so whatever it is can't be that amazing, he thinks grumpily, before elbowing his way into a position where he can see down the ramp and into the ring perfectly. What he sees takes a minute to register but when it does, his jaw drops- pausing only momentarily before he instinctively goes into action, grabbing Alex by the collar of his "My Name is Awesome" shirt. "Get a chair, now," he orders, pushing his title belt into the hands of a nearby crew member before dashing after him to find something to defend himself with.

He passes by R Truth a few feet away and it's a split second decision, his hand snaking out and grabbing his arm. Before he can swing a punch at the man waylaying him, Miz pushes him back. "There's no time for this, grab a chair or some kind of weapon and follow me! NOW!"

If anything, it's the desperation in the WWE champion's voice that's rarely ever heard that causes Truth to listen to him, quickly grabbing the nearest chair. As soon as they've all found chairs, they meet up at the gorilla position. Truth only looks for a second before the meaning of all of this madness comes to him. He's running down the ramp before Miz can even say anything else.

"Dammit," Miz grumbles before nodding briskly at Alex. They quickly rush down, Alex sliding into the ring too as Miz stays on the outside, watching with wary eyes as Husky Harris and Michael McGullicutty are taken down first. Otunga, attracted by the sound, turns just to get a face full of steel from both men as they do an impromptu and unplanned conchairto, downing him immediately. Slater and Gabriel are now all that stands between the two and Wade Barrett, who is ignoring everything around him while punching and kicking John Morrison relentlessly.

Alex moves first, taking a wild swing and missing as Heath ducks under and goes for Truth. Miz rolls his eyes as Gabriel manages a drop toehold, sending Alex facefirst into his own steel chair. Mike takes the moment of distraction his apprentice's bumble causes and slams his chair into Heath from the outside after Truth pulls a partial split, his own forward motion sending the redheaded Nexus member into the ropes nearest the WWE champion. As Gabriel goes after Truth, the speedy wrestler slings his chair up and slams it right into Justin's skull, downing him.

As soon as the path is clear, Miz slides into the ring and dashes past the various downed Nexus members, a wobbly Alex- who's barely regained his footing- and R Truth watching over them all with chairs at the ready, just waiting for any movement.

Wade is still pinning Morrison in the corner, his hands now wrapped viciously around the thinner man's throat. Even though Mike only manages glimpses now and again of John, he can see from where he's standing how the man's lips are slowly turning blue, his struggles growing weaker as more time passes. "HEY!" he yells, moving to swing his chair straight at Barrett's head. He's not surprised when Wade quickly retreats, releasing Morrison- who slumps bonelessly against the turnbuckle before slipping down to the mat- and slides under the bottom rope to recollect Nexus.

The instant Barrett is gone, Miz abandons his weapon and drops down in front of John, grabbing the limp man by his shoulders. "You better be breathing, you idiot," he mumbles softly, dragging him closer so he's half leaning against Miz's shoulder. He relaxes slightly when he feels his chest rise and fall against his arm. "John? Johnny?" It feels like they sit there forever, Miz's focus on every twitch and labored breath coming from the man.

"Mike?" John mutters hoarsely after a few moments, his hand weakly reaching up to grip Miz's sleeve.

"Finally," he sighs, pushing back a bit so he can get a better look at Morrison. Finger shaped bruises are already forming around his throat and Mike cringes as he sees the damage. However, his lips are steadily returning to a normal shade so Miz doesn't say anything, tugging John back against him once more as he tries not to think about how bad things could've been if he and Alex hadn't walked by the gorilla position at that moment. "You're ok," he mumbles. It's only a matter of moments before relief turns to anger though, as he wonders why exactly Nexus would choose now to go after Morrison, when they've stopped randomly attacking people for the most part, the bulk of their aggression aimed on Cena in recent weeks. Maybe they've grown tired of him, which I can't say I blame them but... why go after Morrison?

"Is he alright?" Truth asks, squatting down to get a good look at his former tag partner.

"I'm fine," Morrison whispers, still leaning against Miz as he struggles to breathe normally once more, his throat tender.

"You don't sound it," Truth comments, pressing a hand against John's shoulder. "Think the trainer should look you over, man."

Morrison groans at this prospect but says nothing as Miz nudges him, easing him against the turnbuckle once more before standing up. "For once, I agree with Truth," he says with an overexaggerated painful look on his face.

"Yeah, yeah, if you did more often, maybe you wouldn't have half the problems you do," the rapper snaps, grinning down at Morrison as he shakes his head at his former tag partners' argument.

"If you two could stop bickering, I'd like to get this over with," he forces out, a trembling hand going to his throat barely halfway through the sentence. It's this show of discomfort more than anything that gets the show on the road, as they ease him out of the ring, to his feet and help him to the back. Alex follows slowly behind, steel chair at the ready in case Nexus comes back for round two.

The trip to the trainer's office goes easily, however, as Nexus is nowhere to be found and every wrestler in the building seems prepared to defend themselves, steel chairs and other weapons held at the ready as they watch Miz and Truth help Morrison to the small room set aside for the trainer to do his business in. Yeah, sure, they have no problem preparing now but could they help John at all earlier? Of course not... bunch of mindless children, they're only mimicking my actions. They'd all be nothing without me, Miz thinks angrily, focusing once more on John's uneven breathing to distract himself from the emotions building up within him.

"Just a little further," Truth says, Miz glancing over at him briefly. Worry is visible in his dark eyes as well as he secures Morrison's grip around his shoulder, ignoring the intense shaking that they both can feel.

This sucks, he thinks, wanting to glance back at Alex but not willing to let go of John as they continue hesitantly down the hallway. They finally reach the trainer's room, all three of them releasing a sigh almost simultaneously as they settle Morrison down on the couch to be looked over.

Truth wanders over to tell the trainer what exactly happened as Miz pats John on the shoulder briskly. "I'll be back in a little bit," he comments slowly, marching purposely to the door.

"Miz-" Alex says, confusion bleeding into his tone.

"Let him go," Miz overhears Morrison before the door slips closed, his voice still raw and painful.

He swallows as soon as he's out of sight of the people within the trainer's office, resting his head against the cool wall. He's fairly defenseless right now, Alex's chair still inside the room and the other chairs left in the ring in their rush to get Morrison checked out. Hell, he realizes with a mirthless chuckle, I don't even know where my title belt's at... Some champion I am. He begins pacing back and forth in front of the trainer's door, mumbling to himself as he tries not to think of the examination going on inside. He'll be fine, he'll be fine. He was breathing, talking. It'll take more than Barrett's weak grip to do real damage... right? He anxiously reaches out for the door, as if his very touch will reveal to him what's going on behind the walls, but he steps back a few seconds later, unwilling to enter. I'm stressed out and when I'm stressed out, I get hyper. He needs to stay calm right now, so I'm better staying out here. Let R Truth handle it... Did I really just think that?

He's still standing out there, staring blankly ahead when Alex comes out to find him, despite Morrison's earlier comment. "I don't know what to do," he confesses. "Even pacing back and forth doesn't feel right... you know? I want to do something but there's very little I can do. And by the way, never ever google search strangulation. Every article goes right to the worst case scenario." He frowns down at the phone held tightly in his right hand and shakes his head, dropping it into his pocket to keep from smashing it in his grip. "Has the trainer said anything yet?"

"He wants Morrison to get checked out at the ER," Alex says slowly, waiting for Miz to react before continuing. As soon as he nods, the rookie takes in a deep breath and proceeds. "He wants to make sure there's nothing he's missed but he thinks he'll be alright. He said, um... since Morrison is breathing alright on his own and the hospital's only a few minutes away, he could either be driven in or an ambulance could be called-"

It only takes Miz a split second to decide- ambulance would take too long, who knows where Nexus is hiding- and Alex looks unsurprised at the words that flow from his downturned lips as he looks around, obviously weighing his decision and possible fall out from it even as he speaks. "We'll take him."

R Truth looks up as they enter and nods briefly before turning his attention back to John, who's still holding onto his throat. "I'll check in with you after my match tonight. Do you need help getting him to the car?" This is directed to Miz but before he can answer, Morrison shakes his head.

"I can walk," he mumbles, the return of that familiar stubborn pride making them all feel a little better.

"Yeah, we'll be fine," Miz agrees, relieved to be rid of Truth for right now. Sure, I'm the one who dragged him into this, but Riley and I are quite capable of getting Morrison to the ER on our own...

After they tell the trainer no ambulance and listen to his warnings of what to watch for despite the hospital's proximity to the arena, the walk from the trainer's office to the parking lot is slow, somber, as Miz hovers near Morrison, taking in every grimace and strained breath he releases and comparing it to what the trainer had said. Alex stays a bit behind them, eyes darting back and forth, over his shoulder and to the path in front of Miz and Morrison in case Nexus should try another ambush.

The instant they walk outside, the chilly December air that greets them freezes a path down Morrison's already abused throat, causing him to cough hoarsely. He groans and grips at his raw throat, trying to catch a deep breath despite the pure agony each causes. Miz grabs him by the arm instinctively, keeps him upright as they pause a moment, his breathing echoing around the immediate area. "Take it easy, John. Just breathe slowly." It's a testament to how crappy the prideful Morrison is feeling that he doesn't shake his grip off immediately, and just makes Mike mentally go over everything the trainer said again as they wait to make sure he hasn't missed anything.

Alex stands between them and the door, trying not to make a face at the horrible wheezing sounds coming from Morrison as he struggles to follow Miz's commands. He distracts himself by keeping an eye on the surrounding area, mentally begging Nexus to stay away as he shifts his grip on the steel chair that he's not let out of his sight since the initial attack against Morrison. It's a relief when Morrison forces out a strained, "I'm fine. Let's go" and Miz accepts it, despite the disbelief flickering on his face.

When they finally arrive at the car, they all release sighs of relief. "Here," Miz mumbles, for once not paying attention to the cold steel keys biting into his gloveless hands, quickly unlocking the car doors so Morrison can get in. Before Alex can say or do anything, Mike flips the keys towards him. "You drive," he says once his apprentice has a steady grip on them. He prods Morrison with a brusque "Move over" before joining him in the back seat.

It's a side of Miz Alex hasn't seen a lot of- sure, he's always present, badgering Alex to admit when he feels like crap after a match or harrassing the trainer about what's wrong- but to actually take all the responsibility upon himself... I wonder if he'd go to this much trouble if it was me, he thinks, feeling guilty and uncomfortable almost immediately at the thought. He shakes his head and forces himself to stop watching through the back window as Miz frowns at a motionless Morrison, who is leaning back against the seat with his eyes closed, and slips into the driver's seat. He vaguely remembers seeing the hospital on the way to the arena earlier so he pulls out of the parking lot silently, leaving Miz to focus on Morrison's breathing and keeping him awake.

As soon as they arrive at the hospital, Alex hesitates while Miz taps Morrison on the arm until he peeks over with an unhappy glower. "We're at the ER," he says simply. "Stop being lazy." Despite his bland tone, his face is pinched worriedly as he slips back out of the car, leaning over to watch as Morrison awkwardly pulls himself towards the door. As soon as Morrison is standing safely on the pavement, Miz nods briskly at Alex. "Go park the car, I'll get him inside."

"Alright," Alex mumbles, only pausing for a minute to watch as they awkwardly make their way through the ER doors before pulling away from the entrance to search the parking lot for a free space.

Miz leads Morrison over to the front desk, keeping an eye on him as they wait for the rapidly typing nurse to pay them attention. Finally he clears his throat and the dark haired woman looks up with a raised eyebrow. "Yes? May I help you?" she asks, sounding a bit put out.

He ignores her, tugging John closer so she can get a good look at him. "My friend here was attacked and strangled, maybe he should be checked out some time tonight?" he suggests, biting sarcasm overwhelming her own reaction ten fold, at least.

She glances over at Morrison, taking in the finger shaped marks along his throat, and immediately snaps her mouth shut on the equally caustic response. "I see. Take him back to that room," she comments, pointing to a small room off to the side. "A nurse will be in shortly to get information. Then we'll get him into an ER room ASAP to be looked at by a doctor."

"Ok," Miz mumbles, nudging John towards the room indicated. He's just settled against the wall across from where Morrison sits to wait with him when he happens to glance out the window into the waiting room just visible past the desk, catching sight of a worried looking Alex. He rolls his eyes and presses a thumb to the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. "Hey, I'll be back in a second," he says reluctantly. After Morrison nods slightly, he pulls away from the wall and joins Alex as he shifts his weight anxiously from leg to leg. "What is it?"

"One of the techs called me just after I parked the car," he says, fretting his lip. "People are freaking out because you're not there-"

"Of course they are," he mumbles, automatically falling back on cockiness while only half listening to Alex, mind running through the possibilities of what Morrison's condition could actually be, why Nexus did what they did, and what it all could mean for the upcoming weeks. As if I needed more stress tacked onto my championship reign, he thinks before refocusing on A-Ri, who appears to be waiting for some sort of reaction. "What?"

"They want us back at the arena, or else," Alex repeats himself, taking an instinctive step back from Miz as the news sinks in.

His eyes dart to the side, where he can just see Morrison through the window, tentatively rubbing the area around his throat. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, trying not to dwell on how easy it is for him to just breathe when John could barely gasp not even half an hour ago, due to Wade Barrett. "Fine," he grumbles. "Let me talk to Morrison for a minute and we'll go."

"Alright," Alex nods, eyes lit in quiet sympathy for his conflicted mentor as he reenters the room. He watches through the window as Miz rolls the only other chair in the small room over to sit next to John, his frown widening as he talks softly to the exhausted looking man. John nods blankly and Alex wonders how much of Miz's speech he's grasped when the champion stands up, reaching out towards him. Morrison tenses up, the sudden cornered look on his face visible even through the streaked glass separating Alex from his mentor, and Miz pauses immediately, lips parting worriedly.

In the end he shakes it off, walking towards the door. "We'll... be back a little later, Morrison," he calls over his shoulder, glaring at the floor a moment before grabbing Alex by the sleeve and pushing him towards the door. "Let's get this over with."

The match is some nothing tag match, held at the end of the card and Alex watches as Miz paces around for at least half an hour before their turn to enter the ring. "I'm sure he's fine," the rookie offers hesitantly before their cue.

"Of course he will," Miz brushes off his comment like it's nothing. His eyes are always a big give away though, no matter what he may be saying, and Alex feels better when he sees a glimmer of appreciation lingering there as they fall into their positions for the match.

Their team loses but it doesn't seem to matter very much to Miz as he nudges Alex and heads up the ramp, an angry glower on his face. There's a meeting afterwards to go over the traveling schedule the upcoming week and hotels booked for the superstars, boring things like that, when Mike clears his throat, interrupting the road agent's speech. He looks annoyed before sighing, putting his clipboard down. "Yes?"

"As you might've heard, Nexus attacked Morrison earlier, before the event began." When the agent looks unsurprised, he continues, struggling to keep his tone level as his co-competitors whisper amongst each other. "He's in the ER right now."

"Any word on how bad it is?" the agent asks, scribbling something down on his clipboard.

"I had to come back here before I could find out. Doubt he'll be around for Raw tomorrow night, though," he says with determination, raising an eyebrow at the man as he continues writing on his sheet of paper.

"Fine. That's all for this meeting."

"Finally," Miz grumbles, motioning to Alex as he hurriedly walks back to his locker room, Alex keeping a close eye out for the Nexus members as he follows him.

Packing their things, remembering at the last moment to also grab Morrison's bag that was left behind after the attack earlier, and the trip back to the ER goes by in a blur, as Miz drives fast even for him. Alex wisely says nothing, simply making sure his belt is clasped securely as they rush towards the hospital.

Miz doesn't even wait for Alex as he's out of the car as soon as it's stopped, roughly pulling the keys from the ignition. "Come on," he urges, already walking towards the hospital as Alex slams the car door shut, the small chirping noise from the keychain locking the doors automatically following the sound almost immediately.

Almost two hours have passed since they left the ER to go back to the arena but shifts haven't changed yet, as the nurse recognizes them. "John Morrison, right?" she asks with a calm smile as they shift anxiously in front of her.

"Yeah, can we see him?" Miz asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Of course, follow me." As she makes her way around the desk, they follow her back to an ER room where the lights are dimmed, a plastic blue sheet stretching from floor to ceiling from hooks blocking the bed from view. "He's been sleeping," she explains softly as she pushes the door open and slips past the sheet. "I thought some privacy would be warranted so some fan wouldn't recognize him and come barging in on him or something."

"Good idea," Miz mumbles as he takes in his sleeping former tag partner, curled up on his side with his hand tangled up in the thin white sheet covering him. "How's his breathing?"

"Better," the nurse offered. "We have him on a pulse oximetry." She smiles and points to one of the monitors near his bed. "See that percentage? 96%. That's how much oxygen he's getting. We don't have him on any oxygen so this is his natural level. As long as it's over 90%, we're comfortable with it." She then whispers, "The doctor will be in shortly to talk to you more. I'll be back a little later to check in on him."

"Ok. Thanks," Miz whispers back before pulling a chair next to Morrison's bed. "You're really great at getting yourself into some deep crap, huh, Johnny?" he mumbles, sitting down quietly as Alex settles down in the only other chair in the room, not bothering to move it from its place near the counter across from the bed. From this angle, even in the dim lighting, he can see how the finger shaped bruises have darkened around his throat. He remembers how John had frozen when Miz reached out to touch him earlier and looks away, hands clenching around the chair arm angrily. If I had gotten there sooner... If the guys content to just sit around and watch from the gorilla positon had spines... maybe it wouldn't have been this bad? "I'm sorry."

The silence that follows Miz's quiet apology is broken after a moment when the door opens to admit a doctor. As soon as he sees that Morrison is asleep, he murmurs, "In the hall?" At Miz's nod, he and Alex follow the tall, dark haired man out of the room.

"How is he?" Miz asks once the door click shuts behind them, not bothering to wait for introductions, the need for silence fading away as soon as he knows that they don't risk waking Morrison up.

"He's doing well," the doctor begins by saying, smiling as Miz releases a breath. "We ran a few tests and scans of his throat, just to make sure, but there looks to be no permanent damage. In fact, as soon as he wakes up enough to sign discharge papers, which will be brought in shortly, he can leave. As long as someone will be with him, to keep an eye on his breathing."

"He'll be with us," Mike says immediately, not even needing a minute to consider it.

"Alright, I'll tell the nurse to bring the papers in ASAP," the doctor nods, holding his hand out to shake Miz's. "By the way, I'm Dr. Gold. If you have any questions or concerns, please ask for me."

"Alright, thanks, Doc." As soon as the social pleasantries are handled and the doctor turns on his heel to presumably check on his other patients, Mike reenters the ER room, unsurprised to find Morrison stirring slightly as he and Alex wordlessly return to their seats.

Miz waits, quietly picking at his fingernails, unsurprised as John calms, remains asleep. He looks up and smirks at a frowning Alex. "You don't have plans, do you?"

"What?"

"Might be here awhile, is all," he mumbles, attempting to settle in a little more comfortably in the hard-backed chair. "He can be a heavy sleeper sometimes..."

"Oh. No, I've got nothing," A-Ri replies, blinking. It's relatively early on a Sunday night, he could find something but leaving Miz alone in some strange hospital while Nexus is still out to do... who knows what doesn't sit too well with him. Tonight feels weird, he decides, shifting to the side as he glances out into the quiet hallway, watching the nurses hovering around the front desk that's just in view of Morrison's temporary room. Probably just paranoia though. That attack was... He sighs, a muted little sound, as his hand twitches into a fist around the chair's armrest.

"Brutal," Miz says a few moments later, eyebrow raising as Alex's head jerks up, a shocked look on his face. "The chairs," he explains with a distracted flutter of his hand as he looks back over at John, who's shifting once more in his sleep. The muted glow from the strip of lighting over the hospital bed is just enough to cast a shadow beneath his face, making the dull bruises along his throat look even darker. Miz forces himself to look away, unable to stare for long at signs of the abuse he had endured while others were content to stand around and watch without wanting to explode or punch something. Or both.

"Yeah," Alex mumbles, unsure what to say. Morrison sighs softly, his eyes fluttering restlessly, when the plastic sheet blocking Morrison's bed from the main hallway's view is pushed aside and the nurse enters, the release forms held securely in one hand.

She smiles, bemused, at finding him still asleep and locks eyes with Miz, who shrugs as if to say What can ya do? "The ER's not really busy so we don't need his bed right now," she whispers, quietly handling the clipboard to him. "He can sleep a little longer, looks like he needs it. Just make sure he signs that before he goes."

"Will do," Mike nods, relieved that he won't have to deal with getting a groggy, persumably grumpy Morrison to sign forms and then walk to the car right away. Once she leaves with a small smile, he falls quiet once more, eyes drifting from the bland beige tiles over to the different machines still monitoring John's vitals back to the floor.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out what he's thinking about- the Nexus attack is weighing heavily on both of them. Alex has no idea why they attacked now, what the purpose of it was. Something about it makes him uncomfortable though, and if his mentor's facial expression is any indication, he feels much the same.

Their thoughts are interrupted when, almost fifteen minutes later with no warning, Morrison wakes up coughing harshly, his hand immediately going to his still tender throat. His eyes widen as he looks around in groggy confusion, the heart monitor's beeps speeding up as he fails to recognize his surroundings right away. Before Alex can even attempt to think of what to do or say, Miz leans forward and rests a hand on John's shoulder. "Hey, John. It's alright. You're in the ER, remember?"

His dark eyes settle on Mike as he sucks in a deep breath, shaking his head. "Mike?" His voice is still rough, thick with sleep. It makes Alex cringe almost as much as the heart monitor's repetitive beeps just seconds ago did.

"Yep." He watches as John looks at the different equipment still connected to him and smiles slightly, patting him on the arm before leaning back in his chair. Feigned nonchalance bleeds off of him, mostly to calm Morrison down more. His heart rate slows a little and Alex sighs, looking away. "You're going to be fine, by the by. Nurse was in a little bit ago with some forms for you to sign- then we can get out of here."

Miz's calm speech seems to do the job as the heart monitor's rapid beeping eases down to a more normal level just during that sentence. Alex can't help but wonder just how many times over the years they've gone through something similar as Morrison takes the forms from Mike and skims them, mumbling tiredly to himself before quickly signing next to the bright yellow X's the nurse had thoughtfully placed on the forms.

"Now that that's done... ready to get out of here?" Mike asks, pushing the chair back as he stands up. At Morrison's nod, he tugs the clipboard out of his hands. "I'll take this to the nurse's desk, be back in a second."

The awkward silence that follows his departing footsteps is nothing short of incredible as John and Alex look everywhere but at each other. The two don't really care for the other but a sort of silent agreement had been made between the two back when Miz and Morrison started getting along better, mostly because of the tension already surrounding Miz due to the Email GM and the issues dogging his first title run. It's just easier for Alex to ignore Morrison and vice versa, especially when around Mike.

So the wait for Miz to return seems to take forever, A-Ri releasing a soft sigh of relief when his mentor finally returns, a nurse in tow. "Well, good morning," she says cheerfully, smiling at the still sleepy-looking John Morrison. "I hear you're ready to get out of here." With expert fingers, she carefully unclasps the different monitors connected to him and, digging around inside a closet, pulls out a bag. "Here are your things."

"Thanks," he murmurs, tugging out his shirt and pulling it automatically over the scrubs top they had him change into before the tests. As soon as he stands up, Miz shifts slightly so he's standing within arm's reach of him.

"Ready?"

"Yes," John says quietly, nodding at the nurse as he follows Mike out of the room. Alex stays a bit behind and simply observes as the two men quietly walk through the hallways towards the exit.

Once they arrive outside, he moves ahead of the other two, leading the way to the car. He mindlessly rattles the keychain back and forth, his thoughts and worries clearing briefly as he breathes in the cool November air. Something tells me we're far from done with all of this, he thinks as he unlocks the car and slips into the driver's seat, unsurprised as Morrison slides into the back seat and Miz follows him, obviously taking his job of keeping an eye on John and his breathing very seriously.

The drive to the hotel is silent, Alex not even bothering to turn the radio on during the relatively short ride. Morrison doesn't talk, content to lean back and half-doze as they drive, still worn out and in pain from the attack. The bruises spanning his throat look even worse in the pale gleam from streetlights and Miz alternates between not wanting to see and unable to look away.

Miz and Alex exchange a glance as soon as they arrive at the hotel, both knowing: As glad as they'll be to get inside and settled, Nexus will more likely than not be registered to the same hotel, which opens them all up to a whole other possible set of problems. "Park the car," Miz says tersely before Alex can stop at the front door to drop them off. "We'll all go in together."

The relief that Alex feels at these simple words is almost staggering and keeps him from parking very straight but Miz doesn't complain, already distracted as he tries to nudge John back to complete consciousness. "Come on, Johnny. We're at the hotel. Time to go inside."

He groans and scrubs at his face but slowly comes to, looking around. "Ok," he mumbles, hand immediately going to his throat. He starts patting his pockets, face relaxing vaguely as he pulls out a hotel key. "Room 239," he mumbles, squinting at it in the half light as Miz reaches over Morrison and opens the car door.

"No, John, you're not going back to your room tonight," he says, rolling his eyes at how that sounds. "Alex, can you...?" Before he can finish the sentence, Alex gets out of the car and pulls the door open the rest of the way, waiting as Morrison pulls himself out of the car gingerly. He's barely on his feet when Miz joins them, looking around the quiet parking lot pensively. "Come on, let's get our bags."

Alex hisses through his teeth, shaking his head as he realizes how close he's come to forgetting about the three duffels waiting patiently in the trunk. Yeah, forgetting your gear in the trunk of some nondescript rental is just asking for trouble, he rebukes himself. In the end, he carries Morrison's and his own while Miz takes care of his own, which is a first in their mentor-pro relationship.

"Let's get moving." It's somewhat slow going, with John too sleepy and sore to go very fast, so Miz and Alex keep a close eye on the surrounding areas, some of the tension leaving them as soon as they get inside the hotel. "I think Nexus is staying here so keep an eye out," Mike mutters to Riley, who nods quietly, glancing around. "If we weren't all wiped out, I'd suggest we change hotels but who knows if we could find anywhere good to stay at this hour. When we go to Raw tomorrow, we can scope out a better hotel then."

"Alright," Alex agrees, relaxing even more as they enter the elevator. He's normally not the paranoid type but with the way this evening's going, it feels very good to be locked in these four walls, away from stares and whispers, even for the short time it takes to go to floor three. He goes first, leaving Miz to keep an eye on an amenably exhausted Morrison, peering down the hallway- left and right and once more for good measure before ducking back into the elevator. "Coast is clear," he says, feeling like some top secret spy or something equally cool.

Miz nods, relief flashing across his intense blue eyes. "Good. Let's go, Morrison." He reaches out for him, faltering as he remembers the reaction his sudden movement earlier in the hospital room caused. However, this time John barely reacts, yawning with a grimace as he makes his way out of the elevator. Miz sighs and shrugs, face heating up slightly as he looks everywhere but at Alex. "This way, John," he mumbles, walking to the left. Morrison follows, looking around blearily as Alex trails along after them.

Thankfully the hallway is quiet as they hover outside of their door, Alex patting his different jeans pockets upon putting the duffels down safely. "Come on," he mumbles, it being his turn to blush slightly as Miz stares tensely at him. "Aha!" He grins as he finally finds the keycard. "Here we go." He sticks it inside the key slot, closing his eyes in relief as the lock clicks open. Thank God.

"Go on," Miz mumbles, hoisting his own bag up higher as Alex turns to pick his and John's up. Morrison leads the way inside, immediately sinking into the nearest chair. Miz keeps quiet as he walks past him, dropping his bag under the window across from the beds. As Alex drops the other bags near his, Mike straightens up and faces Morrison, raising an eyebrow at the man. "Up."

"What?" he rasps, grimacing at that simple word.

"Take one of the beds," he says slowly, prodding Morrison's boot with the toe of his own when he doesn't respond immediately. "Move it."

John looks like he wants to argue but the instant he opens his mouth, the lines of pain across his face grow more pronounced. He presses his lips together tightly and releases a shaky breath, slowly struggling out of the chair. Halfway to the bed, he turns back towards Mike, who shakes his head wordlessly. Giving up, John huffs faintly and collapses onto the mattress, not even caring that the sheets are starched almost to the point of being able to stand up on their own.

Appeased, Miz enters the bathroom. He pokes his head back out a second later and looks back and forth from Morrison to Alex, who's still standing near the bags, uncertain what to do next. "Keep an eye on him," Mike orders before ducking back into the bathroom and closing the door behind him with an echoing click.

Alex glances over at John, who's since melted fully into the bed, the bruises along his throat moving in time with each of his shallow breaths. Probably fell asleep soon as he laid down, the rookie thinks, lips twisting awkwardly as he realizes what exactly he's feeling as he stares at him- sympathy. He sighs and sits on the edge of the bed to wait for Mike, eyeing the chair that Morrison had been forced to vacate. After tonight, even that looks comfortable, he thinks tiredly, eager to just sink into anything and sleep. He's so exhausted, he thinks he could even sleep standing up.

The clicking of the bathroom doorknob catches his attention and he's half off of the bed when Mike finally reappears, scrubbing his hands through the damp hair that's plastered across his forehead. "Don't bother," he says, waving at him to stay where he's at. "I don't plan on sleeping right now."

"Wha-?" Alex is halfway through asking when Mike manhandles the chair over to between the two beds, sitting down heavily in it and turning to examine Morrison. Oh. "He's been fine," he finally says once he's found his voice again, the awkward sensation that he's intruding on a private moment between the two easing away slightly as Mike glances over at him, nodding.

"Thanks, A-Ri," he mumbles, tilting his head as he looks back at John once more. The nickname relaxes Alex further and he settles in against his own pillows, head still turned towards Miz and Morrison's side of the room as he falls asleep as well, Miz picking at his nails as he leans closer to check John's breathing once more the last thing he sees.

Darkness. All he sees. His thoughts are muddled, breathing rapid as he presses down on something, his fingers curled tightly around whatever it is. He thinks fleetingly if his nails were any longer, he'd be tearing straight through it as something smacks into his shoulder, distracting him briefly. If anything, the strangely muted sensation of getting hit does nothing but encourage him, his grip tightening.

He senses more than feels as the last bits of fight leaves the thing he's holding onto, something heavy slumping over onto him as his grip slips, instinctively holds the slumping form up. His eyes finally open, reality imposing itself on the darkness that had invaded his mind as he gapes at what- who - he's holding onto. John Morrison's pale, lifeless form is propped up by his hands, finger marks- his finger marks- branded into his skin.

Alex jerks awake with a gasp as something hits him in the forehead, pulling him out of his warm sheet cocoon. He groans and feels around, finding a box of kleenex on the bed next to him. Before he can yell at whichever of the two he's currently sharing a room with is responsible, he hears a muted groan and sits up immediately, recognizing the sound.

Miz mumbles quietly as Alex and John both glance at each other in the faint light coming from the window. Morrison moves first, leaning out of bed reluctantly. By the time he reaches him, he's shifting restlessly, his lips twisted unhappily. "Mike, hey," Morrison mumbles softly, gripping his shoulder to wake him up from the nightmare he's caught in.

"Stop!" Mike gasps, jerking forward. He would've fallen out of the chair and faceplanted on the floor if not for John's hand on his arm. He blinks away the sleep and stares up at Morrison, lips parting in shock.

"Mi-" Alex starts to speak but his voice dies away as his mentor lunges up, knocking the chair against the table, which in turn crashes against the wall, and walks quickly to the balcony door, exiting before either man can say or do anything. "Uh."

"Awesome," Morrison says drily, cringing. Alex shifts, working at untangling himself from the clingy sheets but Morrison waves him off. "Give him a minute," he says hoarsely, the most he's said at once since the ER.

Alex huffs but stays where he's at, glancing over at the balcony door quietly as Morrison fumbles in the semi dark, reaching out to the bedside table where the bottle of water has tipped over since Miz's freak out. Thankfully the lid is on it but it's rolled to the other side, just out of John's reach. The rookie sighs in exasperation before pushing it towards him. They barely glance at each other as John grabs it and takes a slow, tentative sip. Somehow his throat feels worse than it did earlier, just after leaving the ER.

Alex slides back down into his bed, looking at the ceiling as he waits for something, anything to happen. He's unsurprised when, a few minutes later, Morrison sighs and puts the bottle down, awkwardly dragging himself out of his own nest of sheets and pillows and pads quietly across the room, walking carefully due to the aches and pains from earlier. This more than anything keeps Riley from speaking up as he pushes the doors open a bit and slips outside.

He shivers immediately as soon as he steps outside, realizing a little too late that he's left his shoes in the room but he doesn't feel like making a further spectacle by backtracking just to return a moment later. "Miz?" he asks quietly, not having to look far to find his former tag partner since the balcony is relatively small. He waits, watching as Miz breathes evenly, his back to him.

Mist streaming from his lips proving just how cold it is outside, Morrison rubs his hands up and down his pant legs, wishing for gloves or warmer clothes or all of the above. Miz isn't dressed much better for late-November early morning weather. I wonder how long he would've stayed out here alone, he thinks, taking his silence as neither an acceptance or dismissal. Steeling himself, he settles awkwardly down on the cold, hard floor, grimacing as the chill seaps through the jeans he's been wearing since the attack.

The silence holds as the two competitors gaze out at the nightlife, taking in the muted 3 AM bustle of the city in front of them. "What do you want, John?" Mike finally speaks, startling Morrison. "I'm fine," he adds as John struggles to think of something to say.

"I can tell," he mumbles, picking idly at his cuticles. "What happened inside, Mike?"

The silence that follows is tense and combustible and John can't help but think if it wasn't already freezing outside that the air around them would drop another ten degrees, despite Miz having not moved an inch since Morrison joined him. "I just needed some air," he finally growls, his voice cracking slightly.

"You hate this weather," the words tumble out of John's mouth before he can think or stop himself, give Mike a minute. Take it easy, Morrison. This is why you stopped Riley from coming out... pushing too much won't help matters, he reminds himself.

Miz says nothing, leans over so his forehead is resting against the cold, metal railing.

Is he... shaking? Morrison frowns, having had enough of the silence. He's on his feet and by Mike's side within seconds, gingerly reaching out.

Before he can even get close to touching him, Mike stiffens and brushes past him. "Don't, just don't," he mutters, huffing slightly as he turns back to the doors that lead into the hotel room.

"Mike," John attempts one more time, annoyed that, despite only having said ten words at most the whole time he's been out here, the cold air and previous injury to his throat are working against him and it feels like knives through his vocal cords just to get that one word past his dry lips. "Please." That said, he gives up, his throat hurting too much to continue trying to get Mike to open up. I can't force him to talk. This sucks. I just want to sleep, forget this crappy day... but something's wrong, I know it is. Something other than the attack earlier. But what?

Mike stops at the doors, fingers hovering just over the knob before his hands clench into fists. "It was a nightmare," he mumbles, keeping his eyes locked on the plain white curtains covering the inside of the balcony doors. He sighs and glances out of the corner of his eye when Morrison says nothing, almost statue still as he waits for more. "I don't even really know... I just, I couldn't see but I felt my hands around something and when I finally opened my eyes, you were there and you weren't moving and..."

John clears his throat, cutting off Miz's anxious ramblings. "So you took Barrett's place."

"Basically," he mutters miserably. "What if it's my subconscious telling me something?" His voice is almost as shaky as the hand that Morrison can see pressed against the glass door. "Our past isn't exactly drama-free, after all. There have been some insanely tense moments between us. One wrong step and that dream could become reality."

The biting cold and throbbing pain that feels like his throat just wants to explode and be done with it at every word spoken is forgotten as he stares at Miz's back, taking in how tense he is standing. As if he's afraid to move, to look at Morrison. "We went through almost two years of being pissed at each other after the draft," he points out, swallowing as his voice cracks and comes close to failing once more. "Neither of us tried to kill the other then. The subconscious is just a weird thing, Mike. It doesn't mean anything."

Miz shakes his head, not willing to believe Morrison's words, however logical they may seem. "Can't take the chance," he mumbles so quietly that John barely hears it over the wind.

Annoyed at being ignored, John rocks forward on his feet and glares. "Look at me," he commands. "Mike." His voice is strained, obviously close to giving out completely. It's this more than anything that makes Miz turn to face him, his eyes skittering everywhere but on John. "Lo- Look at me." Finally, their eyes lock, John's intense, dark gaze a sharp contrast to Miz's wide eyed, freaked out look, and the seconds tick away tensely, the city noises dying away as if also holding its breath to see how this would be resolved. "I know we both said a lot of crap after the draft. But, even when we basically hated each other," he forces out, "did you ever want to really kill me? End my career? Anything like that?"

Mike hisses and scrubs his hands through his hair, looking away again.

"Did you?" Morrison demands, his throat all but forgotten as he glowers over at Miz, unwilling to let this topic drop. "Mike-"

"No! Happy now? Of course I didn't, but, dammit, John-" His voice dies away as John holds a hand up, stopping him.

"No. That's all I needed to hear. Dreams are weird, Mike. Just random mixtures of whatever we're thinking about on any given day; most times, there are no meanings behind them, despite what people say." By now his voice is cracking and just plain giving out almost every other word so Miz simply nods, deciding to believe him- for now.

"Fine, fine. Can we go inside now? It's freakin' freezing out here," he adds, knowing that his moaning about the weather would encourage Morrison to believe he's returning to normal quicker than anything else.

"Took you long enough," he breathes, following Miz back into the delightfully warm hotel room.

Alex is sitting on the edge of his bed, unabashed at being caught peering through the sheer drapes out onto the balcony, turning to glance at Miz. His mentor looks a lot calmer and put together now so he glances thankfully at John before quietly handing over the bottle of water, lips twitching upwards as Morrison sighs in relief at the soothing liquid washing over his painfully dry throat.

Miz grimaces, pulling on a sweater from his duffel bag. The conversation on the balcony had only distracted him briefly but now that he's back inside, all he can focus on is how cold he feels. He wishes for California warmth, pressing his hands as close to the heater running fruitlessly in the corner as possible and sighs, shaking his head.

Morrison settles quietly on the bed, pain and general exhaustion making him sink further into the sheets, relieved to be out of the cold. He may not hate it as much as Miz does but when he aches like this, the last thing he wants to do is stand around in the harsh winds and feel even worse. But, he supposes, it was worth it because Miz now looks much more at ease as he turns back to the chair he'd been settled in barely fifteen minutes beforehand.

He's about to sit down when Morrison clears his throat and shakes his head, staring at Mike. "What?" the world champion asks in exasperation, pausing mid-movement, unnerved by Morrison's intense stare.

He opens his mouth briefly before cringing, his throat still feeling like it's on fire. "Y-you were out on the balcony longer than I was," he manages on the second attempt, voice a little stronger thanks to a quick sip of the water. "I'm fine, Mike. Get some sleep."

He looks petulant almost, crossing his arms over his chest as he stands up straight once more, twisting his lips unhappily as he stares at John.

Alex wonders if he's missed something when Miz grumbles, moves away from the chair. "Budge over," he mumbles, purposely not looking up when Morrison shifts to the other side of the bed and he settles down on the mattress, blatantly uncomfortable with the situation. It doesn't stop him from settling under the sheets with a bit of a shiver, still cold despite the extra layers he had pulled on before trying to return to the chair.

John settles quietly back, his arms crossed under his head as he stares at the ceiling, relieved that the beds are fairly large as Miz tugs at the pillows, adjusting them just so. "No title belt tonight?" he mocks in a croak.

"Shut up," he mumbles, shifting once more before rolling onto his side with a vague, exhausted sigh. He's floating in a half-asleep haze when something almost soft drapes across his frame, waking him up just enough to realize it's a blanket, his hand curling around the edge of it as he finally gives in to his body's need for rest.

"Night," Morrison's whisper is the last thing he hears.

The rest of the night goes quietly enough, despite Miz waking up a couple of times and instinctively peeking over at Morrison, who's so deeply asleep that he doesn't even twitch when Miz shifts. As soon as he sees that his breathing is still regular and deep, he falls back asleep.

When he wakes up again, something feels off but he can't place it, peering tiredly at Alex's empty bed in the pale sunlight streaming through the drapes. He instinctively grabs his phone from where it's resting on the table between the two beds and peers at the time, yawning blearily as he registers the time. 8 AM, he thinks, relieved that it's a rare media-free morning. His mindset is far from one of a world champion due to everything that's happened with John. Crap, Morrison, he remembers a second later, sitting up.

The room appears empty, except for the light gleaming under the bathroom door, and Miz pales as he struggles to free himself from the blankets, uncoordinated and still half-asleep. That feeling of wrongness continues as he finally frees himself and stands up. "John? Alex!" Before he can take a step, the bathroom door opens and Alex peeks out, toothbrush in one hand. He's blurry eyed and seems about as alert as Miz but it doesn't stop the champion from walking quickly towards him. "Where's Morrison?"

"Uh," he sighs, hesitating. "I- I woke up in time to see him leave," he manages, instinctively cringing away from Mike's now-wide awake glower.

"You let him leave?" His voice is low, frightening in a way that he doesn't often use on Alex.

"I- I couldn't stop him," he says, knowing instantly it's a mistake. "He-"

"You couldn't stop him," Miz says, laughing mirthlessly. "What about Nexus is in the building do neither of you understand? I'm surrounded by idiots," he mutters, blinking down at his phone as if just remembering it's still in his grip. He turns back to Alex and locks eyes with him. "You, stay here. If Morrison comes back before I do, call me. Can you manage that?"

"Of course," he mumbles, still frozen in place as Miz angrily storms out of the hotel room. He had received the brunt of Miz's anger once or twice before about things to do with their careers but this time, it felt... personal. I really screwed up. With a tired sigh, he returns to the bathroom to finish up.

Miz stays by the elevator for perhaps two seconds before his jitters become too much and he gives up, storming over to the stairs. Adrenaline and anger makes running down the three floors go by quickly, while giving him the sense that he's at least doing something, unlike waiting around for the elevator to reach its destination. When he reaches the lobby, he doesn't even stop to catch his breath, already on his way to the front desk to ask if anyone's seen his wayward coworker.

Halfway there, he stops, his tired eyes resting on familiar, disgustingly perfect brown hair visible over the top of a plush couch facing the windows and away from the elevator. No frickin way, he thinks angrily, his fists clenching at his sides. He pauses uncertainly, wanting so badly just to march over there and slap Morrison upside the head for freaking him out but just enough relief is mixed in with his anger that he takes a couple deep breaths, forcing his fists to relax before he walks rigidly over to the couch and sits down next to Morrison.

The tense silence remains unbroken as both men stare out the window at the city life trickling by slowly in the mid-morning hour, such a contrast to how it looked out of the balcony merely five hours beforehand. He takes the time to focus on breathing- his, and Morrison's- until he feels less likely to explode the instant he opens his mouth. "What were you thinking?" he finally asks, each word spoken slowly, an even amount of time between every syllable, as if highlighting just how much anger is hidden beneath the seemingly bland statement. Before Morrison can answer, he turns to face John and nudges him on the shoulder with two fingers, keeping his eyes off of the nasty bruises along his throat and spreading towards his collarbone. "I made it clear yesterday that the Nexus were probably in this hotel so why did you do this? Why take the first chance you get and run off alone somewhere? Might as well have just taped a target to your back, begging the Nexus to come after you again."

Morrison looks annoyed as he glances down at the fingers still pressed against his shoulder, shrugging the touch off after a minute. "I was thinking that I knew this hotel pretty well and they give out ok breakfast food, and that I was going to be in a lobby full of people."

Miz frowns, not seeing much to argue about with that logic, before glancing over at the bag resting on the coffee table in front of John. He releases a deep breath, softening slightly as he leans away from Morrison. "That breakfast?"

"Yeah," he mumbles. "Nothing special. Donuts and stuff."

"Donuts? Hell, why didn't you say so?" Miz asks, lips turning up slightly as Morrison glances at him out of the corner of his eye, relaxing a bit in response. "Come on, man. Let's go back to the room. I gotta get ready to go to Raw."

"Wait a minute," he says, not moving. When Miz turns to look at him, he shifts anxiously. "I have something to tell you."

"Oh?" Uncomfortable with the look on John's face, he sits back down and faces him. "What?"

"I remembered something... Something Wade said last night. He, uh, said that they came after me to get to you, that he still wants the WWE title, no matter how distracted he's been by Cena lately. And he said... he thinks Riley would make a good member of Nexus." Morrison presses his lips tightly together as he turns to look at Mike. "I'm only telling you this so you'll be careful. Nexus is... well, Nexus. Who knows what they'll do next."

Miz listens solemnly, his eyes narrowing as Morrison finishes. It doesn't really surprise him that they've resorted to using people against him, to make it easier to go after his title belt. Has been kind of expecting something like this for awhile now, despite being too distracted by drama with the GM Email and Orton to really give it much attention. After some thought, he sighs and stands. "Come on, let's go eat breakfast; we'll worry about this other stuff later." This time he's content to take the elevator, while trying to get the bag of donuts away from Morrison as they wait.

The trip up to the third floor goes peacefully, Miz relieved to find the hallway deserted as they venture back to the room. As soon as they enter, Alex meets them anxiously, glancing back and forth, taking in the calmer looks on their faces. "Everything ok?" he asks, looking away as Miz stops in front of him after finally tugging the bag out of Morrison's grip and handing it over to Riley.

"Leave me a few, huh?" is all he says, patting Alex on the shoulder before brushing past him towards the bathroom.

John chuckles faintly, shaking his head. He always did suck at apologies, he thinks, but Riley looks a good deal more relaxed none-the-less as he sits back down on the bed, digging through the bag full of various pastries and donuts.

When Miz finally emerges from the bathroom, showered and ready for the day, the bag of donuts are back with Morrison, who quietly hands them over when Mike grabs for them. "Morrison," he mumbles a few minutes later, mouth full of the glazed treats. After swallowing, he continues. "I told the road agents what happened to you. They've given you tonight off." He watches as John stiffens, obviously unhappy with the news. "Look, I know you don't like it but you look like crap, man. And what if Nexus goes after you again? Just... hang out here today, Alex or I'll come back with food when we can."

John looks disgruntled at the notion of staying away because of Nexus but, after a lengthy silence where he just sits there, fiddling with the bag of donuts, "Fine," he finally relents, wincing. If at the pain of speaking or saying that damning word, or both, Miz is uncertain.

"Ok," he says lowly, leaning over to grab his duffel. Alex echoes his motions across the room, double checking to make sure the briefcase is secure in his own bag before heading for the door. "See you later, Morrison."

"Bye," he mumbles disgruntledly, scraping his fingernails against the bedding.

Mike pauses at the doorway and sighs, turning back around. "John?"

"What?" After a moment of silence, he looks up and their eyes lock, Miz's dark and somehow compassionate in comparison to his dull, exhausted gaze.

Whatever he's about to say dies in his throat and he hesitates for a long moment before remembering that Alex is waiting for him. "I... you're going to stay here today, right? No random donut runs the instant my back is turned?"

John sighs heavily before nodding, his eyes shadowed in the faint light.

Miz swallows before continuing to speak, somehow feeling like a real heel (no pun intended) despite knowing he's only doing what's best for the beaten, weary man before him. "Why don't you get some sleep? We'll be back in a few hours."

"Uh huh," he mumbles as Mike finally slips out of the door, closing it securely behind him.

Despite Miz being too busy to get away, the day seems to drag anyway, filled with media events promoting this and that to do with the WWE, which are hard to focus on as he can't help but be nervous- with Alex hanging around on the sidelines and Morrison alone in the hotel room, Nexus prowling who knows where...

He's unable to get away so it's left to Alex to go check on John and drop food off at the hotel so he doesn't get tempted to leave the room or order room service, anything that would open him up to another Nexus attack. Miz isn't thrilled with letting Alex out of his sight for very long either, but there's nothing to be done for it- Nexus seems to have other plans for Riley, and Morrison is injured and a bit more vulnerable in the long run. It doesn't stop him from fussing, however.

Despite Alex's safe return and confirmation that Morrison's fine, if a bit cranky, Miz remains tense and a bit distracted until finally Raw begins- things start to move a little faster then and he can keep a closer eye on Nexus as they make multiple appearances on the show any given week. By 11 PM, they're finally able to leave and, after a quick stop at a nearby restaurant that's actually still open, he probably drives a little faster than neccessary on the way back to the hotel but Alex says nothing, just holds onto his seat belt with one hand and armrest with the other until they come to a stop in the hotel parking lot.

Miz only pauses a second to look over at him before pulling himself out of the car and grabbing his bag from the trunk, Alex right behind him. He snuggles deeper into his coat as they make their way through the parking lot, looking around just in case. Paranoid on a good night, especially with the gold belt weighing down his duffel bag, Miz can't help but feel like they're being watched as he pushes the hotel door open and enters the lobby with a sigh. "Got the key, Alex?" he asks, jitters easing a little as they enter the elevator and he feels a little more secure within the four walls.

"Yep," his protege says, digging around in his pockets for the small keycard with his free hand, the other busy holding onto the bag containing their food. "Here ya go." Handing it over to Miz, he grabs his duffel off the floor and slings it over his shoulder, both men looking relieved as the elevator finally dings to a stop on the third floor.

308 isn't that far from the elevator so Mike's at the door almost before Alex makes his way into the hallway, unlocking and pushing it open with a flourish. The room inside is dark and he glares inside it uncertainly, not liking that he can't see everything. He holds his fingers to his lip in a shhh-ing motion to Alex, before resting his duffel bag outside the door and venturing in. Alex shifts anxiously, his own duffel digging into his shoulder uncomfortably as he waits for some sign, fighting the urge to go in and back-up Mike just in case. He's about to give up on waiting and go in anyway when he hears Mike chuckle.

His eyebrows raise as his mentor finally emerges from the inky darkness, his lips twitching as he grabs his duffel. "It's ok," he whispers. "John's asleep, just go on in but be quiet." He slips back into the room and Alex hears the faint sound as he feels around the wall, until finally finding the light switch and flicking it, the whole room seeming less menacing now that they can see. On the other side of the room, Morrison is stretched across the bed, the light not effecting his sleep in the slightest.

Alex shakes his head, relieved to drop his bag next to Miz's before dropping on the free bed, sorting through the bag of food while half-listening to Mike rustling around in his own duffel. "Here," he says after a minute, holding out John and Mike's food to the world champion as he walks past, his fingers twitching to dig into his own cheeseburger and onion rings. He hadn't had a lot to do that day in comparison to Mike but he's still starving.

Miz stops just long enough to grab the food with a nod of appreciation before settling down on the bed next to a still out Morrison.

"Does he always sleep this heavily?" Alex asks after swallowing down some fries, frowning as he looks over at the other bed.

"Yeah, you'd be surprised," Mike chuckles, dropping the food containers on the bed. "Hey, John." He nudges him slightly, relieved that the sheets are up high enough to hide the bruising along his throat for now. "Morrison. Get up and eat." He pushes on his shoulder with a little more force, rolling his eyes as John simply turns away from Mike. "Oh, no, you are so not ignoring me." He opens one of the containers and smirks mischeviously. "Hey, where's a straw?" he asks a curiously watching Alex, who finds and tosses the unopened utensil his way. "Mmm," he mumbles, dipping it into the vanilla milkshake in hand and leaning over John's shoulder, brushing the milkshake-coated straw along his moustache. Halfway through, Morrison wakes up with a gasp and takes an uncoordinated swing, which Mike just barely avoids as he ducks away with the milkshake safely.

"What the hell?" John groans, scrubbing sleepily at his face and blinking in confusion at the cold slush coating his hand. His eyes narrow as he spots Miz peeking up from the edge, after diving off of the bed just to avoid Morrison's wrath. "You...!"

"Milkshake?" Mike asks, lips twitching as he hands over the relidded vanilla milkshake, trying and failing to look innocent. "It'll help your throat," he adds, sobering up a bit as he catches a glance once more of the discolored skin along Morrison's collarbone and throat.

He glares down at him but takes the offering, blinking rapidly as if staying awake is a struggle. He finally yawns and sits up, looking slightly more conscious as the sheets drop away and leave him to the slightly cooler air of the hotel room. "What time is it?" he mumbles, brushing matter out of his eyes.

"Around 11:30," Mike comments, watching him with a frown.

"Damn, seriously? I last remember it being 5," he mumbles, looking distastefully at the straw that Miz had handed him with the milkshake.

Once Miz feels it's safe to get off the floor a minute or two later, he returns to the bed and pushes one of the containers over to Morrison and watches as he examines the chicken wrap and mashed potatoes within.

"Thanks," he says after a few moments, glancing at Mike before sipping at the milkshake, after pointedly tossing the straw in the trash.

They all eat in silence for a few minutes, Miz content to dip his fries in his own milkshake between bites of his cheeseburger as Morrison alternates between ignoring him and grimacing at the habit that's been one of the banes of his existance since they first began tag teaming. Once Morrison is mostly through with his food, Mike nudges him in the knee. "We have an early flight out to LA in the morning. Talked with the road agents again, they'll be in contact with your doctor about you being allowed back on the house shows this weekend."

John looks far from pleased but nods anyway, his lips pale and thin, as Mike looks solemnly at him.

"Hopefully you'll be able to sleep after your long nap," he adds with a bit of a smirk as he tries to break the tension, eating the last bit of his cheeseburger with a flourish. Without another word spoken to his two companions, he gets up and, after tossing his garbage, grabs his things and holes up in the bathroom for a minute, clenching his fists around the edge of the sink as he takes deep breaths. He would never admit it to anyone but he's reluctant to leave- almost hesitant to split up from both Alex and John right now, with Nexus planning to do who knows what. They're not always safe outside of WWE arenas, which has been proven by various attacks in hotels, personal homes and even grocery stores over the years. Sometimes animosity becomes so personal that even risking jail time isn't a hinderance to wrestlers- if they want to attack someone, they will, consequences be damned.

Admittedly, Morrison wouldn't be that far away but with the suddenness one can be attacked, if he was needed, five minutes might as well be an hour. And Alex lives across the country, in Florida. He slams his hand against the sink and shakes his head, trying desperately to clear it of these worries. "Dammit," he mumbles, shaking out his fingers. "Dammit, dammit, dammit." With nothing to be done about it, he turns and begins preparing for bed.

The flight to LA the next morning goes alright, considering Miz is a big ball of tension most of the time. He's relieved that he was able to get them seats next to each other this last minute as he keeps a close eye on Morrison, not sure what, if anything, the changes in pressure as they climb higher in the sky might do to his already tender throat.

Miz somehow has gotten a couple days off of media appearances before the weekend house shows, so he enjoys LA to the best of his ability, relieved to be away from the wintery states that they had been touring the past few weeks.

Tuesday, he stays busy by taking care of some errands that have been needed done for a long time and then hitting some clubs in the evening. The instant he returns home, however, and settles in to catch up on some much needed sleep, he automatically pulls out his phone and checks it. The lack of the Missed Messages screen taunts him as he stares at the wallpaper of himself holding the title belt up over his head, taken when he first won the title. He glares at it tiredly, shaking his head. "Dammit," he mumbles, scrubbing a hand through his hair. The silence from Morrison is almost as weird as how bothered he is by not hearing from his former tag partner.

He huffs and rolls over. Could go weeks without hearing from him before... and now not even a few hours? He scrunches his hand around his pillow before burying his face into it. Damn Nexus...

Wednesday passes much the same, Miz wasting time driving around LA and reacquainting himself with the city he doesn't get to spend a lot of time in, despite living there. He's about to give up and go home around 10 PM, catch up on some TV, when his phone goes off. He plugs it into his hands free set and answers after stopping at a red light, not even bothering to check to see who's calling first. "Hello?"

He hears nothing but silence for a moment, comes this close to hanging up, when finally the person on the other end speaks. "Mike?"

He blinks. "John?"

"Yeah. Hey." Morrison sounds painfully awkward, though his voice seems somewhat stronger than it did just yesterday morning.

"You alright?" Mike's already peering around, trying to find the closest exit that would lead to Morrison's apartment, his mind working overtime at the worst case scenario of what this call could mean. Dammit, he begins chanting once more, traffic going slow as it always does in downtown LA. This has to happen the one time I go to one of the more congested places, he thinks angrily.

"Yeah, I'm fine," John responds, easing a little of Miz's apprehension. "I... dunno, I guess I... was just wondering if you wanted to come over?" Despite sounding "fine", the more he talks, the tireder he sounds.

Mike freezes and stares ahead, knuckles gripping the steering wheel tightly. He calls for the first time in maybe a year and a half and he invites me to come over? "Why?" Paranoia worms through him and he wonders if maybe it's a trap, if Nexus is forcing him to make Miz come over. If he would give in to such demands... But would you really want him to be stubborn and get hurt worse just to protect you? his annoying conscious grates at him, as he leans over and presses his forehead against the steering wheel, once more remembering just how bad things looked after the initial attack on Sunday.

John sighs into the receiver, causing Miz to wince at the burst of sound that assaults his ears, but he keeps quiet, not wanting to miss anything. "It's Nexus," he admits, Miz's blood pulsing in his ears as he considers getting out of the car and just running the rest of the way. It'd take forever but with the unmoving traffic around him, there probably wouldn't be much difference. "It- It's stupid but I can't stop thinking about it," he mutters, embarassment tinging his words. "The attack, I mean."

Mike sighs quietly as finally the traffic begins to inch along again, the exit he's now trying to get on coming into sight.

"If you don't want to, that's fine," Morrison starts to say, his voice a little strained.

"No," Mike cuts him off emphatically. "I'm heading your way now, traffic's just been a joke. Give me about ten minutes, alright?"

"Ok." He pauses for a second. "Thanks, Mike."

"See you in a bit," he responds before hanging up, a little surprised by how much he doesn't want or need John's thanks for this.

When he arrives, Morrison is sitting on the front steps of his apartment building, staring up at the dark sky overhead. He joins him after a few moments, tilting his head upwards as well. One of the few things he misses about Ohio is being able to see stars almost nightly, depending on the weather. LA is so bright, the stars just can't compete. "What are you doing out here?" he finally asks once the silence becomes unbearable.

"Apartment was getting stuffy," he mumbles, finally looking over at Mike. "Needed some fresh air. And at least out here..." He stops, his lips thinning as he looks down at the sidewalk.

"Out here what?" he asks quietly, nudging Morrison with his leg when no answer comes. "Come on, John. Who'm I going to tell?"

"Out here I can see what's going on around me," he finally finishes. The No one can sneak up on me out here remains unspoken, but Miz still knows that's what he's thinking.

It's a weak argument and they both know it but somehow Miz understands it anyway- like the hotel lobby, a sidewalk full of passerbys seems safer to Morrison.

They're still sitting there ten minutes later, Miz this close to asking if they can just go inside already, passing people's curious glances their way grating at him, when John finally speaks. "Saw my doctor today."

Immediately he forgets the trivial annoyance of sitting out here and shifts on the step to face Morrison. "What'd he say?" It's too dark and shadowy to get a good look but his gaze falls to Morrison's throat anyway while he waits for John to respond.

"He cleared me to wrestle by the house show Friday. Said it'll take a couple weeks for the bruises to clear but all in all, I was lucky."

"There's nothing lucky about getting attacked by Nexus," Miz says, his voice steel-edged as John glances at him, a little surprised by the reaction.

"That's not what he meant. I was lucky because..." He awkwardly clears his throat, his fingers fiddling with some invisible lint on his dark jacket as Miz stares at him. "Because despite everything, there were people willing to run down and stop what was happening. So tha-"

"No," Mike grumbles. "No. Don't thank me. I didn't do anything, John." He stands up, agitated, and starts pacing back and forth despite the stairs not being that wide to begin with. "I stayed on the outside of the ring and just watched until Truth and Alex took care of everyone in the ring. I did what I always do- I stayed on the sidelines until it was safe and in the meantime, Wade was choking you! If I had stopped and thought for a minute, I could've snuck up on him while the others were distracted, maybe you wouldn't have needed to visit the ER, wouldn't have those damn bruises on your frickin throat right now..."

Mid-rant, Morrison stands up and, by the end, he steps in, effectively stopping the other man's pacing just to grab Mike by the shoulders roughly, staring at him. "You stayed on the sidelines?" he says with a harsh laugh, shaking his head. "Sure, maybe you should've done things differently in hindsight but at least you brought Truth and Riley out to help- what did everyone else do? Stood by the gorilla position and watched like it was some show put on for their entertainment?" His voice softens as he shakes Miz slightly. "And besides, if Truth and Riley had gotten in over their heads and I was still getting beat up in the corner, what would you have done?"

He starts to answer, then pauses, uncertainty in his blue eyes, as Morrison stares at him. "I don't know."

"Yes you do. What would you've done?"

He takes a deep breath and leans forward, close enough that he thinks he can see the marks along Morrison's throat despite the poor lighting. The answer comes to him and he doesn't even second guess it, just speaks it, calmly and matter-of-factly. "If Truth and A-Ri couldn't have managed it, I'd have gone in myself and used whatever necessary- chair, briefcase, steel steps, my title itself if I had to- to stop those idiots. To help you."

John smirks a bit, releasing his grip on Miz and stepping back. "Told you," is all he says.

"I hate you," Mike mumbles, even as his lips twitch upwards. John just laughs.

After his conversation with Morrison, Mike feels a good deal better about things, actually relieved to be back on the road. He still has to worry about Nexus, but Morrison seems to be in a good place. And the doctor's releasing him means things can go back to normal for the three of them. Or so he thinks, anyway.

That is, until Alex catches up with him in the middle of Friday's houseshow, a worried look on his face. "Mike, we have a problem," he spits out before Miz can even ask what's up with him.

"What?" he asks.

"It's John," Alex manages before they both turn, watching as the man himself storms down the hallway. The look on his face is almost indescribable, unlike anything Mike's seen before. He doesn't even look at them when he goes past, his eyes locked on the floor as he brushes past various staff and wrestlers alike, simply desperate to get away.

As soon as he's gone, Mike rounds on Alex, already regretting that he didn't take the time to just watch Morrison's first match back since the attack by Nexus. "What. The. Hell. Just. Happened?" he demands, glaring up at his protege.

"He was wrestling DiBiase," Alex explains, continuing to talk even as Miz grabs him by the arm and leads him to a quieter area where there wasn't a bunch of people whispering and gossiping about Morrison's rush through the arena. "It was going ok but then... I don't know, the angle was a little off, I couldn't see everything, but it looked like DiBiase tried putting him in a sleeper and Morrison just... froze as soon as he locked his arms around his throat, he didn't struggle or anything. So he lost and when the ref finally got him to come to, he just freaked out, started fighting off the referee. That's when I came to find you. Do you... do you think it's because of the Nexus attack?"

Miz nods grimly, looking down the hallway. "Listen, I'm going to look for him. Don't worry, I'll be back before my match. On the off-chance I'm not... text me or something." He walks off before stopping a few feet away. "Alex?"

"Yeah?" his apprentice says, turning around.

"Thanks." That said, he continues along his way, mind racing with what could possibly be the cause of Morrison's reaction to the sleeper hold. If it's what I think it might be, this could be bad, he thinks reluctantly.

"Hey, John, we need to leave for a little bit. Remember the house show tonight?" He waits patiently until John nods, a tired, blank look in his eyes but it's enough of a response for Miz, who continues. "I have some business to handle afterwards too, but we'll be back as soon as possible. You'll be alright, just relax, ok?" He hates leaving, especially with Morrison looking so tired and defenseless, but even he can't just skip responsibilities at the drop of a hat. Besides, John is fine, he's breathing and in a hospital with a so-far diligent staff. "See you later, man," he whispers, leaning over to squeeze John's shoulder. As soon as he stretches his arm out, John tenses up, staring up at Mike with wide, fearful eyes. Miz aches at the foreign look on Morrison's face, his lips parting slightly as he pauses mid-movement, time stopping as the two former tag champions stare at each other.

Finally he sucks in a deep breath and stands up straight, turning towards the door as a feeling of failure and pain assaults him. What's wrong with him? What did I do? "We'll... be back a little later, Morrison," he calls, unable to think of anything else to say or do as he tries to get away from the fragile-looking man as quickly as possible.

"DAMMIT!" he cries, slamming his palm against the nearest wall so hard that his whole hand stings. "I should've known then, in that moment. I'm so stupid." Shaking his hand out, he takes a deep breath and scrubs at his face. Pull yourself together, Mizanin. Greedy bastard, this isn't the time to dwell on yourself, Morrison needs help and you screwed this up from the get go so it's your chance to really fix things for once. Come on!He glares around before picking a hallway at random and wandering down it. He hears footsteps ahead and speeds up, hoping to come across Morrison... but quickly deflates upon catching sight of a tech as she walks past him, busily talking into the headset she's wearing. He sighs, walking off. He stops midstep a couple moments later, realizing something. "Hey, wait a sec!" He turns and dashes off after her.

She freezes and faces him, an eyebrow raising as she takes the headset off so she can hear him easier. "Yes?"

He takes a deep breath, already knowing how weird this is going to sound before the words are even formed in his mind but not exactly caring. All he cares about is finding Morrison. "Do you know of any locker rooms that aren't being used tonight?"

Sure enough, she shoots a funny look at him but ultimately checks the clipboard in her hand, where a layout of the building is just visible. "There are, actually, a block of rooms down the hallway from the trainer's office. May I ask why...?"

He takes off like a shot, however, as soon as she says "trainer's", too anxious and worried to fuss over trivial things like manners or explaining himself. You better be there, Morrison, he thinks anxiously. He ignores everyone he passes, concentrating only on the path he's taking as he rushes down different hallways. As soon as he spots the Trainer sticker on one of the doors, he skids to a stop and looks around.

The rooms behind him are occupied, the voices and lights coming from them obvious despite how far away he's standing. Refocusing on the four doors leading past the trainer's office to the exit at the end of the hallway, he walks slowly towards each one, uncertain how to figure out which one Morrison's hiding in, if any of them.

The closer he gets, however, the easier it is to tell: only one of the rooms' doors are cracked open a few inches; the other three are shut tight. He tries peeking inside but the light is off, and the dim gleam in the hallway isn't enough to cut through the darkness within. Not wanting to rush in and make Morrison angrier or shut down more, he takes a deep breath and settles down on the floor, his back pressed against the doorframe. After a few strained moments, he wraps an arm around his now-bent knee, getting as comfortable as he could on the hard tiled floor for a potentially long wait.

Ten minutes or so pass, torturous and unbearably quiet, when he hears shifting from inside. He holds his breath as the sounds grow closer to the door, half-expecting John to just shut it the rest of the way on him. He wants to say something so bad, his lips parting as finally the movement stops. The door remains open slightly. He peeks in and just barely spots Morrison's form in the shadows, leaning against the opposing section of door frame, now close enough that Miz could reach out and touch him if he wanted to. The silence remains unbroken.

He's not sure how much time passes, his gaze ping-ponging from the nondescript hallway before him to glancing over at Morrison and back, until finally... "What the hell do I do now?"

The words are spoken quietly, in an almost defeated tone. Miz cringes, wanting desperately to turn to look at his friend but not wanting to stop him from talking. "What do you mean?" he asks hesitantly after a few strained moments.

"Didn't Riley tell you what happened?" he asks bitterly. Without waiting for Miz to think up an answer, he plows on. "I just... stopped out there. I've never froze like that before but... DiBiase's arms were around my throat and all I could remember was Barrett and... I can't compete like that, it's... it..." His words failing him, Morrison punches the floor and Miz winces at the sound of flesh against tile that echoes out of the door. "I can't..."

"John." Mike, tired of talking to him like this, finally turns to face him. Even though he can't really see him that well, it still makes him feel better. "That attack last week... it would mess anyone up, man. It... it isn't something that'll be permanent, ok? We'll figure it out."

"How? If this happens again... if it gets worse... It's... too obvious a weakness, the entire locker room's probably already aware of it. Before you suggest it, I can't go to a psychiatrist or something to figure this out, it'll take too long... I just... Raw is only two days away..." He knocks his head against the doorframe and sighs, turning his head to look at Mike. Despite the bad lighting, Mike can still see the hopelessness in his eyes. "We both know anyone thought to be a liability or unable to hold their own are usually let go like that." He snaps his fingers derisively. "I can't take that chance, Mike." They all have their issues with the business, the politics and grueling schedule and expectations get to all of them at one time or another, but in the end most of them honestly love it too, the rush of the crowds and actual competition.

Before he can think through anything, he's talking, words trailing from his lips with an unknown origin; the certainty behind them startling even him. "We'll figure it out. Ok? It'll be fine. Just give me some time to work on it. Don't worry, John. Just... leave it to me."

John shifts, sighs. "It's kinda crazy," he mumbles after a few moments, picking at the grooves in the tiles. "But I can't help but believe you'll find something."

"Of course I will," Mike says with a confident smirk, forced though it is, to put John at ease a bit. "You know me, I'm obstinate like that." He feels a twinge of success when Morrison huffs a slight laugh.

"That's a big word for ya, Mike."

"Yeah, yeah. Are you going to make me talk to you through this door all night or are we getting out of here? I feel ridiculous," he makes sure to add in a mumble, though what other people who might see him talking to John like this are thinking is the furthest thing from his mind.

"Fine... fine." When John finally starts to move, Mike stands up and crosses his arms as Morrison pushes the door open, the two eyeing each other. "I..." he starts, his hands clenching and unclenching. "I'm ok," he says vaguely, stepping into the hallway.

"You will be." Mike claps him on the shoulder, taking in how he only flinches slightly at the movement, before leading him back towards the main locker rooms, his mind already racing with possible ways to help.

Alex wakes up the next morning, squinting through the early morning sunshine, before his mind catches up with his other senses: a loud buzzing sound coming from the table between his bed and Mike is the cause of his abrupt wakefulness. Fumbling for the phone, he quickly shuts it off and groans, flopping back into bed. "Mike?" he mumbles, dropping an arm over his face. He wants to sleep but something tells him that's going to be impossible. "Mike?" He sighs and rolls over, looking at his mentor's bed.

Mike is propped up on a bunch of pillows against the headboard, his hands pressed against his laptop's keyboard even as he sleeps.

Torn between letting Mike sleep and curious at why he was up late on the laptop and what the alarm was set for, he reluctantly pulls himself out of bed and pries the computer away, carefully placing it on the table, next to Mike's phone. "Mike?" he asks softly, turning back to the world champion. When he receives no response and Miz barely moves, he sighs and pats him on the shoulder, pushing slightly with each pat. "Miz. Wake up."

His wrestling name always cuts it as he jerks awake and looks around blearily, confused and a little panicked at the loss of his laptop. Did I knock it off the bed? he can't help but think, gazing around the dimly lit hotel room wildly.

"Calm down, Mike. Your laptop's fine," Alex says, settling down on the floor with his elbows pressed against the edge of Mike's bed as he watches his mentor calm down and wake up bit by bit. "Your alarm clock went off a few minutes ago. Why do we need to be up this early? I don't think I forgot any media events..."

"Crap," he mumbles, sitting up and feeling around for the cell phone. "What time is it?"

"A little after 6 AM. Mike, what's going on? You fall asleep with your laptop on after setting your alarm clock for 6?"

Mike sighs and kicks the sheets away, yawning as he stands up. "Morrison needs us," is all he says with a faint frown before walking into the bathroom.

Alex's jaw drops slightly as he watches his mentor's exit. "Of... course he does," he mumbles, abruptly feeling extremely tired. He sighs and sits down on the bed he only vacated a little bit ago to wait for his mentor's reappearance, reluctant but yet curious to see what exactly Mike thinks they can do for Morrison after yesterday's tense end to his match. After Morrison had stormed through the halls and Miz went after him, John hadn't been seen for the rest of the evening, which hadn't helped the locker room gossip in the least.

When Mike finally emerges from the bathroom, looking a bit more awake and aware, he settles in across from Alex and grabs for his laptop, tapping the touchpad until it slowly cycles back to life. "Read this," he says blandly, turning the machine towards Alex.

"...Exposure therapy... behavioral treatment... targets behaviors that people in engage in in response to situations..." Alex mumbles to himself as he reads the article, before peering up at Miz. His eyes are wide and a little worried. "Mike... I get that you're trying to help Morrison, but, I mean, it's not like either of us are knowledgeable in this sort of thing. What if trying this behavioral therapy thing back fires and makes it all worse?"

Mike leans forward, eyes burrowing into Alex as he points a finger at the computer screen. "Imagine if you were in Morrison's shoes, and some damn cowardly gang jumped you, could've killed you... and left you frozen in that moment, unable to wrestle normally to the point where you couldn't defend yourself during a chokehold. Wouldn't you want to do anything possible to try to get back to normal?"

Their eyes still locked, Alex slowly nods, unable to argue Miz's passionate logic. As always. "Ok," he sighs. "What do you need me to do?"

"Go talk to Santino and Kozlov," Miz says with a grimace, as if it pains him to even speak the words aloud.

"WHAT?"

A little later, a grumbling Alex wanders through the halls of the hotel, picking at the edge of the paper with the room number of Santino and Kozlov written on it that the girl at the front desk had given him after some convincing and a little charm.

"Be careful," Miz's voice echoes in his mind. "Nexus could be anywhere in the hotel. If this didn't need to be done and fast, I'd suggest we go together but we're running out of time."

"Dammit," he mumbles, catching sight of their room number just down the hall in gleaming gold letters.

Steeling himself, he crumples the paper in hand and knocks sharply, two, three times before letting his arm fall back to his side.

"Kozlov, who is-a that at the door?" the unmistakeable voice of Santino yells from inside.

"Secretariat?" the thick Russian voice suggests a moment later, Alex groaning out loud as he wonders how much Mike would hate him if he aborted this mission right now.

"That's it, I'm not allowing you to watch that Craig Fergusoneses ever again!" Santino yells over his shoulder as he answers the door, coming to an abrupt stop as he comes face to face with Alex Riley. "Oh. What do you want?" He puffs up with false bravado as Kozlov joins them at the doorway, glowering down at the rookie.

Trying to hide his discomfort at being this close to the easily angered Russian, Alex rolls his eyes. "I need to talk to you both."

"Yes, well," Santino huffs, affronted. "We are both very busy men, tag team champions, you know. Bother us at the arena." He's about to shut the door, muttering something to Kozlov about turning "I Dream of Jeanie" back on when Alex throws a hand out, not willing to give up after all the BS he's already gone through just to get this far.

"It's about John Morrison."

The door stops before it even hits his hand and slowly re-opens, Santino staring solemnly at him. "What about him?"

Twenty minutes later, they arrive at a nondescript gym, pausing outside to wait. "Think this will work?" Riley asks quietly after a minute, squinting over at his mentor while shielding his eyes from the early morning sunshine.

"It has to," he mumbles, ignoring as his rookie's worried gaze tracks his progress to the gym doors. He peers inside briefly, only just catching sight of Morrison, when Alex nudges him. "What?" Turning around, he watches quietly as a simple red, rental car pulls up and parks. He grimaces as R Truth gets out and walks towards them. "Where the hell are Santino and Kozlov?"

"He inside?" the rapper asks, burying his hands in his pockets in an attempt to protect them from the early morning chill.

"Yeah," Miz mumbles, wanting to talk to Truth as little as possible. "Just waiting on Marella and Kozlov."

Truth smirks with a bit of an eyeroll, peering into the gym. "Great."

"Yeah." They wait around for almost ten more minutes when finally another car pulls up, the obvious form of Kozlov visible through the passenger window, an annoyed grimace on his intense face. When he exits the car, he immediately turns and barks something in Russian to the other man. Miz groans in aggravation as Santino snaps back in Italian.

"They seriously argue like that?" Alex mumbles, alternating between intrigue and just being too cold to care. "How the hell do they understand what they're fighting about...?"

Miz waits until they get closer, his hands clenching into fists as he stands up at his tallest height, still falling short next to Kozlov. It doesn't matter. "SHUT UP!" he finally roars when the tag team champions near them, startling both men into blessed silence. His voice drops to a dangerously low level, as he points into the gym with a vicious glower on his face. "John is in there and if you two idiots keep bickering like children, this thing isn't going to happen. So. Shut. Up. Now."

The four men surrounding him all look a little uneasy after his tirade, his exhaustion, helplessness and just plain anger fueling every word out of his pale lips.

"Sorry," Santino and Kozlov mumble together, looking away in shame.

"Good," Mike all but snarls. "Now, let's go." He gazes warningly at all four of them, only stopping briefly on Alex before peering harshly at Truth, Santino and Kozlov in turn. They better get along... or else. I hate this too but desperate times, desperate measures. Morrison needs people he mostly trusts or at least seems to like to do this thing. Pausing only long enough to rub his hands anxiously against his pant legs, Mike grabs hold of the gym door and pulls it open, hoping he looks more confident than he feels.

It's not hard to locate Morrison once they're inside- he's near the dumb bells, and Miz rolls his eyes as Alex opens his mouth to say something. "Don't bother," he interrupts his rookie. "Do you know how tired those jokes are by now? Focus."

"Fine, sorry." The others wisely keep their comments to themselves, Mike turning on his heel and walking towards John.

"Well, well, look who it is," he says calmly, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

John pauses and looks up, carefully putting one of the dumb bells down. "What are you doing here, Mike? I appreciate the concern but I really don't need-"

"Who's to say I'm not here to train?" he asks, struggling not to look over Morrison's shoulder for very long at the other four, who are talking quietly to the gym manager across the room.

"We haven't used the same gym in years," he responds, frowning curiously at Mike. "So why-?"

"What, you mean it's a crime now if I decide to come here? Possessive much, John? Geez, it's just a gym, relax," he says mockingly, only just catching as Alex motions to him with a slight nod. Great, he thinks as the four are led into a back room by the manager. Now how do I get John to go back there too? "How are... things this morning?" he asks awkwardly, mind still working double time trying to figure out a way.

"If by things you mean, have I frozen up? Not so far, but no one's tried to strangle me yet," he says dryly, leaning over to pick up the dumb bells once more.

Mike pauses, trying to figure out the best way broach the subject. Ah screw it, he decides, pushing John's hands away from the work out equipment. "I have an idea."

"What are you doing, Mike? I just-"

"Want to work out, I know, trust me. I remember how you get if you don't get to work out but... I think I have a way to help you so what happened last night never happens again. Are you willing to try?"

Alex, the tag team champions and R Truth wait in one of the back rooms, looking around anxiously. "He is not coming," Kozlov speaks up after awhile, his slow, stilted English a chore to listen to for everyone but Santino.

"Give Mike some time to convince him," Alex grumbles, suffering a bit of a headache after listening to more of Santino and Kozlov's strange conversation in Italian and Russian. "He'll be here."

"I am a-bored," Santino offers after another few minutes, crossing his arms against his chest petulantly.

"Hey," Truth says, the only one content to sit quietly and wait. "Morrison needs us, and that's the truth. How many times has he had your back this year alone, Santino? You can wait five minutes, yeah?"

"Oh, fine," the Italian superstar mumbles, settling back down with a huff to wait a little longer.

They all relax when finally the door opens and Miz enters, Morrison reluctantly following behind him. "What are you-?" he's asking when he catches sight of the others. "Uh. What are you all doing here?"

"We're all here to help you out, dawg," Truth says, finally standing up.

"And how are you going to do that?" he asks skeptically, his gaze wandering around the room before it stops on the gym's ring mostly used by boxers. "Oh."

"Hear us out?" Miz asks, a bit of uncertainty niggling at him as he takes in the blank look on Morrison's face. As John nods, he takes a deep breath. "Ok. Well, I figured since you would be at the gym today that it'd be a way to use the gym's ring, so no one else could see what we're doing. We, hmm, rented the ring for the day, and the manager agrees to keep people from using it until we're done."

"I don't see what the point is-"

"Have you heard of exposure therapy?" At John's reluctant nod, Miz sighs. "I think we should try something like that. If it doesn't help, we'll stop when you say so... but if you really want to be back on your game before Raw tomorrow night, then I think it's our best bet."

The six men stand around tensely until finally Morrison takes a deep breath, his gaze falling to the worn brown carpet underneath their feet. "Fine, let's try it."

As Morrison enters the ring and prepares for his first opponent, Miz bites his lip for a moment, examining the four other men. After some pondering, he points to Santino. "Go."

The easily excited Milan Miracle salutes Kozlov, who frowns at him in confusion, before rushing towards the ring just to trip over his own feet, his resulting forward motion somehow enough to roll through the second and third rope, sprawling awkwardly in front of Morrison.

"For God's sake," Miz mumbles, slapping a hand to his forehead as John leans over to help him up, his lips twitching.

The match starts off normally enough, both men feeling each other out with a few of Santino's surprisingly agile feats mixed in. Miz only half watches until Morrison misses a punch and Santino takes the opening, spinning around and wrapping a forearm around his throat, clinging tightly. The results are staggering and immediate, makes Mike feel a little sick- John immediately stops moving, his face paling as he drops limply to the mat, Santino's jaw dropping in response to the lack of fight from the man.

Mike regains control of himself after staring for he's not sure how long and rushes to Santino's path of vision, holding three fingers up. Following the rules he himself had placed on this before they had begun the match, he folds each finger under his thumb until he's simply holding a fist upright. At this, Santino releases the hold as Miz rolls into the ring, grabbing John by the shoulders. "Dammit. Dammit. Morrison, are you ok?"

His eyes are a bit glazed over but he nods, hands instinctively going to his throat.

"I'm sorry, sorry," Santino is babbling as Truth and Kozlov join them, Truth leaning over Morrison as Kozlov pats his tag partner awkwardly on the back.

"It's my fault," Miz grumbles, feeling stupid and thoughtless. "This was too damn soon-"

"No," John breaks into his self-recriminations, eyes clearing and flashing dangerously as he looks up. "I agreed to this. And we're not quitting. I refuse..." He clears his throat, wincing slightly. "I refuse to let Nexus win. Please, Mike. I think... think this could work."

He sighs heavily and shakes his head at Morrison's stubbornness. "Fine. Once more. But I want you to tell me if it gets to be too much." Miz looks back and forth from Truth to Alex- far from ready to throw Kozlov in there just yet- and finally points at Alex. "Your turn, A-Ri."

Morrison seems to let his body go on autopilot, as Alex only manages a couple of hits early on. When his first chance comes, Miz hesitates for only a second before lunging through the ropes and grabbing John's leg, tripping him up just enough for Alex to scrabble for his opponent and lock in a sleeper hold, exactly like what DiBiase had done barely twelve hours previously. Morrison's still off balanced from Miz's actions and Alex's weight just makes it worse as he trips forward, running into the opposing turnbuckle and knocking Alex into the metal post on the outside, effectively dislodging his hold.

For a moment, Miz is thrilled, until he takes a closer look at Morrison's disappointed face. "It was a fluke," he mumbles, slapping a hand against the mat. "If you hadn't grabbed my leg, I would've just frozen like I did with Santino."

"It's ok," Mike mutters, frowning. "Do you want... to try again?"

An hour passes with limited results- sometimes Morrison handles chokeholds, sleeper holds, any kind of move involving the throat better than others, but for the most part, nothing changes. In a stroke of desperation, Miz's eyes lock on the as-of-yet unused Kozlov and he nods, pointing to him. "Go."

"Are you sure, Miz?" Truth asks uncertainly, glancing over at Morrison.

"Yes," he says, peering into the ring as he too second guesses this decision.

Kozlov glares over at Morrison, an almost sadistic smile on his face as he waits for his opponent to get close enough for him to grab. Not one to shy away from a fight, Morrison lunges forward and they struggle for the upperhand until Kozlov headbutts him in the sternum, sending him into the turnbuckle. John huffs and rubs at his chest as he pushes his way back out, just to get met with another headbutt. Before he can even attempt to recover, Kozlov rushes forward and grabs him around the throat, leaning heavily against Morrison.

"Hey!" Miz yells, about to rush into the ring to break this up and lay into Kozlov. One thing they had discussed at length was no open chokes, no matter what.

"Wait, wait!" Santino cries, both him and Truth grabbing Miz. They all watch, jaw dropping as Morrison finally fights back, elbowing Kozlov in the side of the head until his hold slacks, opening him up to a kick. "Holy crap," the four men watching all mutter as Kozlov staggers back and Morrison stands tall, a little worn, but proud nonetheless. "He did it."

Miz pushes Truth and Santino off, once more rolling into the ring. "What the hell, John? How-?"

Morrison stares at him, looking just as surprised, before shrugging. "Would you believe if I said... I heard you yell and it... distracted me from the memories, I guess? All I could see was that flashback of Barrett choking me out, and then I heard you yelling and it dragged me back... I could see it was Kozlov, and you all standing around watching, and the rest just came naturally."

His mind works furiously and he groans, slapping a hand against his forehead. "I'm an idiot." At Morrison's quizzical glance, he explains: "While looking this all up, I saw something about grounding a person whenever they suffered flashbacks... it's so obvious, I should've thought of it sooner."

Morrison's lips twitch a little as he shrugs. "No big deal, we figured it out."

Miz scoffs. "Yeah..."

"So," Morrison says quietly as they turn to look at the four other wrestlers still hanging outside of the ring, "can I say it now?"

They glance at each other, Mike the one fighting a smile now. "If you must," he says smugly, eyes soft despite his tone.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

They stand there for awhile longer, content with watching as Santino and Kozlov carry on with their antics, arguing about who knows what as Truth watches on with an amused look on his face. Alex, however, looks like he's swallowed a lemon.

"You really know how to attract 'em, huh?" Miz can't help but ask, glancing around at the eclectic group, a lot more at ease now that things appear to be back on the right track.

John looks around for a bit before smiling. "I guess misfits are just drawn to me." Before the words are completely out of his mouth, he realizes what he's said and shakes his head, glancing over as Miz starts to speak. "Don't. Just don't."

Mike's rare, honest laughter becomes contagious as John joins in. From the floor, Alex looks up and smiles slightly. Now maybe things can return to normal, he thinks, sighing in relief.

Weeks pass. Nexus' attention returns to Cena once he is re-hired. Morrison's issues become simple memories in time and Miz returns his focus to Orton and defending his title. Not long after Cena takes out all of Nexus, rumors begin to circulate that Barrett might be off of Raw after tonight and this news alone makes Miz happy- he won't miss the Brit at all.

He's wandering the hallways, humming quietly as he holds onto his title belt. For now, things feel good. Orton's still sniffing around, sure, but- He comes to an abrupt stop as he hears a familiar accent, peeking around the wall to see what's going on. His breath catches in his throat as he realizes what's going on.

"You think just because Cena's been distracting me, that I forgot about your friend, the Miz?" Barrett asks, pressing Morrison against the wall, his arm pressed tightly against his throat in an eery reenactment of the attack weeks earlier. "I haven't. That title will be mine. Very, very soon..."

Mike is about to rush forward and help when Morrison opens his eyes, slamming his elbow into Wade's face again and again, until finally his tight hold slackens. John takes the opprotunity and kicks him in the back of the head, sending him staggering to the side.

Miz grins a little, relieved, until Wade glares while rubbing his skull gingerly, obviously about to attack again. The sound of steel against concrete stops the possibly-former Nexus leader when Alex appears behind him, briefcase in one hand and steel chair in the other. Mike then joins them, taking the chair from his apprentice. "Problem here, boys?"

Wade glowers at them all before huffing out a tense "No" and marching off, his very walk the one of a man heading towards the gallows. He's exiled from Nexus only a half an hour later, Miz's relief only second to Morrison's.