"Are you going to get the US title back?" Alex asks almost hesitantly, watching as Miz glares at Sheamus' back as he passes by. He had asked a similar question last week but that was then, this was now. The first lesson you learn in the WWE is that things can change ridiculously quickly, and to just go with it.
Miz hoists the WWE title higher up on his shoulder and shakes his head. "No," he mumbles. "I have enough to concentrate on right now. When I want my belt back, I can get it at any time."
Alex nods, relieved to hear some bravado in the champion's voice despite everything that's gone on the past few weeks. "I know you will."
"So you know what to do later?" Mike asks after a period of silence once they return to the relative quiet of his locker room, thoughtfully tapping his fingers against the title belt spread out in front of him. He tries to focus on the here and now instead of Daniel Bryan challenging Sheamus for what still feels like his title belt.
"Yeah." He runs his new job title around in his mind, trying once more to memorize it. Googling it earlier had been a mistake and left him dazed, a bit confused and a lot worried.
Their segment- where Miz will unveil his revised title belt- is at the very end of the show, which makes the WWE champion happy.
"Good," he comments, poking at the non-spinning spinner belt with a pleased gleam in his eyes. "This title should've always been like this. It just looks better. Doesn't it?"
"Of course it does, Miz." Alex is only half listening but knows none-the-less what his mentor wants to hear, his mind still on his title. As far as he knows, it's just for show- he'll still do what he did in the past for Miz: protect him when he can, distract opponents when warranted, and learn from the very best at all times.
However, nothing goes exactly like they plan. Yes, they reveal Miz's "new" M belt- which was a pain in the ass to flip, considering how bent the plate was after years of being used as a weapon- and Alex gets through the whole announcement about his new title without one interruption from the Email GM, but then Cena cuts in, and reveals that he's actually at the arena.
Things go downhill quickly from there, Miz just barely getting away, but Cena then turns his attention fully on Alex and all he feels is his leg bending in a way it shouldn't bend and his neck screaming in protest as the STF is locked in again... and again... and again.
Finally the trainer and referees get Cena to release him and he rolls away, groaning. He's not sure where to touch first, his throbbing neck or his knee. He had watched in the haze of pain as Miz hesitated on the ramp, not sure what to do, before slipping back past the curtain. He doesn't blame him and he's not surprised when Cena finally leaves that Miz picks that time to reappear- frazzled and angry, but there. "He wasn't supposed to be here!" he hisses, waving off one of the referees and taking over on helping Alex the rest of the way up the ramp to the back. "Idiot, always ruining my plans. Are you alright?"
"Yeah," Alex mumbles even as he steps wrong and cringes, fresh pain stabbing up his knee.
"Don't be stupid," Miz mutters back, readjusting his grip around his protege's mid-section. "The hell do you have to be taller than me for?"
Alex huffs a laugh before hissing once more, his neck protesting the twitchy movement this time. "Damn."
Miz is about to wonder how referees manage this week in and week out with guys almost double their size and height when he spots Morrison out of the corner of his eye, leaning against a wall talking with Trish Stratus. "Wait," he says, stopping midstep. Once Alex's forward motion stops too, he pulls away and turns. "Hey, Morrison!" Ignoring Trish's startled look, he waits until John faces him.
"If this is about Vickie pinning me, Miz, I really don't-"
"Make yourself useful," he snaps, not in the mood at the moment to tease Morrison about something caused by another lame decision by their amazing anonymous GM. "Help me get Alex to the trainer's office."
Morrison looks like he's about to argue but takes one look at the rookie's pale, sweaty face and how he can barely put weight on one leg- something Morrison's gone through time and again in the last few months-, his resistence draining from him in one fell swoop. "I'll catch up with you later," he tells Trish, who nods, her eyes wide with surprise as John joins them and quietly loops Alex's other arm around his shoulder. "You owe me, Miz," he mutters as they start to walk again.
"Yeah, yeah," he huffs, not believing it for a second.
Alex wants to say that he doesn't need both of them to escort him, that the beat down from Cena wasn't that debillitating, but before he can say or do anything, his focus slowly slips as the exhaustion from the past few weeks weighs him down, the repetitive sounds of their steps lulling him further into a half-doze.
He's disoriented and confused when he finally surfaces, reality re-imposing itself as a somewhat familiar hotel room. Something icy is pressed against his knee, disrupting the warm emptiness he had been floating in previously. "What the hell?" he manages, his voice thick with sleep.
"You slept all through the trainer's office," Morrison's voice breaks into the remaining fog. "He says you'll be fine, with some rest and ice... my favorite line." He huffs a thin chuckle, leaning back in the cushions of the chair. "Getting you back here was a bitch, by the way."
"Miz?" is all he can think to ask, still a bit out of it.
"Check the other bed," Morrison orders, standing up.
Alex does so, finding Miz fast asleep across the room, one hand curled around the strap of his title belt. Alex chuckles, closing his eyes. Some things never change.
Morrison leans over to collect his coat from the dresser next to him before turning back towards Riley, an eyebrow raised as they stare at each other awkwardly for a few moments. "Now, as comfortable as this chair is, I'm going to find an actual bed."
John's half out of the room when Alex clears his throat, staring at the ceiling. "Thanks, Morrison."
He pauses but doesn't turn around again, shrugging slightly. "You're welcome." Without waiting for the moment to get weirder or Alex to think of anything else to say, he closes the door with a resounding click.
The new "Vice President" sighs, shifting his leg slightly as he moves the icepack a little. Despite the various aches, he can't help it. It's good to be back.