Alex Riley watches quietly as his mentor paces back and forth in the almost claustrophobic locker room that he's barely left the whole of Raw. Even with the small victory of Cena getting drafted to Smackdown in the first draft pick, tension remains in the WWE champion. When it comes to championship matches, draft picks don't count for much- titles can still be lost, taken to another brand where opportunities to get a title shot becomes thinner and thinner due to fresh competition, not to mention the divide between the two shows. Adding in that it's early in the evening and anyone can still be drafted away after each match, Alex doesn't blame Mike for being on edge. Not sure what happened with him and Morrison last week but having another of his opponents for this Sunday drafted only days away from the match wouldn't help him any, he thinks glumly, picking at his sleeve.
Last week, Miz had returned in time for their match, a thunderous look on his face. That anger had fueled him through a promo and tag match with Alex against Sin Cara and Cena, just for Riley to afford them a loss. Miz had been nearly apoplectic, ignoring his apologies and attempts at conversation all the way to the hotel. It was only when they were inside the hotel lobby and overheard a kid talking to his father excitedly about John Morrison that Mike looked at Alex, his eyes cold as ice. "Come on." The speed that he used to march over to the nearest elevator was nearly unbelievable, Alex blinking once just to find his NXT pro already half across the lobby.
After a tense, silent trip up to their room, Alex is relieved to drop their bags onto the biege carpeting and relax a bit as Miz storms into the bathroom, the door slamming behind him. Flustered, the younger man sighs heavily and watches the door as water starts to run, not covering up the sound of Mike's angry mutters at all. It only takes a few moments before the door reopens, the Vice President of Communications watching while Mike purposely doesn't look at him, his eyes locked on the floor as he grabs his bag and takes the whole thing with him. Alex swallows painfully and fists his eyes, feeling unexplainably tired all of a sudden.
When Miz finally comes out, his hair damp and changed into a plain grey t-shirt and sweats to sleep in, Alex almost doesn't say anything but before he's even sure where it's coming from, he finds himself speaking up anyway. "Are you ok?" He cringes, prepared to be ignored or ranted at, but neither happens.
Instead, Miz sits down quietly on the edge of his bed and picks at his nails, an inscrutable look on his tanned face. "No," he finally mumbles.
"Is there anything I can do?" Instinctively, Alex knows it's a stupid question but he can't help asking, willing to do almost anything to ease some of the burden on the man before him.
"Unless you can cancel the draft, then no," he sighs anxiously, raking his fingers through his hair. Flopping back against the bed, he closes his eyes and breathes quietly for a few minutes, surprising Alex when he begins to talk again. "No one would probably believe this," he mumbles, voice cutting in and out tiredly. "But I hate the draft as much as Morrison does, if not more. You have no control over what happens, either it's determined by matches held on television or by the general managers to be announced online... Everyone knows how much I love both the GMs and not being in control of my own career..." He turns to face Alex, a strange look on his face. "The whole turning on Morrison thing was a split second decision. I had little time to think; he had cost me that match against JTG, caused me to be drafted away from ECW... I wasn't even sure what I had done until I got to the back and people were staring at me like I had lost my mind- and maybe I had for a little bit, I don't know. After that... when Morrison got drafted to Raw last year, I never expected that it would lead me, us, here. You know?" he chuckles mirthlessly. "Now this whole thing with Truth... no wonder he's pissed," he mumbles, his eyes finally fluttering closed in the muted light as Alex obligingly turns off one of the lamps, leaving only the bathroom light on.
Mike's words echoing in his mind, Alex looks away and sighs softly. I wonder if either men noticed how different Miz's attack was to Truth's, though. Mike's was straight forward and over almost as soon as it began- Truth's was vicious and unending. But I guess that's another point- Morrison probably won't give Truth's a second thought in months to a year, whereas Mike's still effects him two years later, if their arguments and rivalry is any indication. He glances over with a slight smirk, observing how Mike brushes his hand over the title belt, taking off nonexistent dust. Even so, they're still willing to help each other out when they need to... such a complicated business we're in.
They both look up as one when Truth's long, drawn out rant against the audience and their being out of tune comes to an abrupt close when Morrison finally runs out and attacks, barely getting in five punches and kicks before the referees swarm out and put a stop to the fight, encouraging a derisive scoff from Mike. "Where were those idiots last week?" he mumbles, rolling his eyes. "Ineptitude from Raw brand officials, who would've guessed..." Alex nods in agreement, relieved when the pacing finally stops and Miz settles down on the bench, his eyes locked on the TV.
With each draft, the tension ebbs and flows, conversation minimal as Mike gets ready for his six man match during the main event. Being champion, he doesn't have to make an appearance at the room where all the superstars are at, watching the proceedings on a huge monitor set up just for tonight. Alex wonders briefly if, with all the clashing superstars and opposing brand members in one room, their tension is less than Miz's and his own. Doesn't seem possible for it to be stronger.
For the most part, Miz throws the tension away and embraces his usually cocky nature in time for the match, Alex holding his breath from the outside as it goes back and forth. With Smackdown taking Cena and Orton- no big loss, they can have them as long as Raw keeps Miz, he can't help thinking- CM Punk seems the most determined of the three to get the last draft pick for the red brand. Alberto Del Rio seems to only care for himself, and Miz has this Sunday and Cena to focus on. Just when it looks like Smackdown may win, Mark Henry of all people turns things around for his former brand by betraying Cena and Christian, leaving both men down and groaning. Taking the opportunity, Miz hits the Skull Crushing Finale and pins Cena. Afterwards, they all watch breathlessly, ignoring the buzzing fans surrounding them, as the draft spins through the Smackdown options teasingly- just to stop on Cena's image. Things go to hell then as Cena attacks them all, leaving an already shocked WWE champion laying in the middle of the ring as he celebrates his return to Raw.
Miz slowly sits up, slamming a fist on the mat as Alex joins him hesitantly. "Dammit!" he yells, knuckling his forehead. "So close to getting that idiot off of Raw completely," he mumbles. "I want to win, I lose. I should lose, I win. Ugh."
Alex opens his mouth to say something before falling silent, his lips pursing as he stares at his mentor. If he had lost, there would've been a chance he could've been drafted to Smackdown too. Would he feel any better then?
After quickly collecting their things and changing out of ring gear, the two return to the hotel room, eager to put the day behind them and just relax until the Supplemental draft in the morning. "When's your flight to Florida?" Miz mumbles, mindlessly flipping through TV channels as Alex sorts some things he had thrown carelessly into his bag earlier so he wouldn't keep the stressed out champion waiting for too long to leave.
"Uh, I'm not sure," he comments, looking up at the sudden silence. Finding Miz staring at him oddly, he flushes. "See, I was kind of waiting to see when the Supplemental draft is. I don't want to be on an airplane when the announcements are made. Just in case."
"Do you think you'll be drafted?" he asks blankly, looking over at the TV with the same kind of intensity he was just staring at A-Ri with moments earlier.
"I... don't know," he hedges, stumbling a little over his words as blind fear engulfs him. Some days he has all the courage in the world that he can make Miz proud in singles competition and sometimes it feels like NXT was just yesterday, all that he's learned slipping through his fingers like sand. "It's possible though, right?"
Mike grunts vaguely. "Do you want to be drafted?"
There's a weird edge to the quiet words and Alex feels unsettled, his eyes widening. One wrong word here and things could be made much worse, very fast. In the end, he decides to be truthful, as he has been from the beginning with his mentor. "Not really," he shakes his head. "If I am, I'd accept the opportunity but I can't complain about the role I have currently, learning from you."
"It wasn't that long ago you were saying at house shows that you'd be world champion soon," he recalls, his eyes flickering over towards Alex for a moment.
"I had just gotten fired," he mumbles, embarrassed. "I was saying whatever I could to stay around, to keep the Anon GM interested. I knew you had a plan, you told me yourself. I just wanted to give you time to make it work."
"Alright." And just like that, the topic is dropped, Mike returning to his inane channel flipping. "You should come to New York with me."
"Uh? What?"
"I'm going to Dancing with the Stars," he explains. "Jericho invited me and it's not like I was doing anything else this week." Sarcasm infuses his words for a moment. "My flight's early, we should arrive before the supplemental draft. I won't have to be at the DWTS set until evening, so we can keep an eye on the results from the hotel."
Alex sucks in a deep breath, honestly surprised and, truth be told, honored that Mike would even offer such a thing. The first half of the draft- his first draft ever- had been nerve wracking and he had been dreading the supplementals, knowing that there was a bigger chance one or both of their names could be called out of the average of twenty-plus superstars that get called at the supplementals versus the amount on TV. "Sure," he agrees. "But what if there isn't a seat left on the flight?"
"Leave it to me," Mike mumbles. "I'll call and check." He grabs his phone and walks out to what Alex had mockingly labeled the in-door "balcony", which is nothing more than a second floor hallway type path that juts out from each hotel room's back door, overlooking the hotel pool and lounging area. Another door across the room, of course, leads to the main hallway that takes wandering feet to vending machines, elevators, and the ice machine. Alex had seen a few weird hotels in his day, but none quite like this one.
Alex gets up and mutes the TV, fiddling with the remote absently as he waits for the verdict. His eyes wander to the door as he hears voices, realizing that Mike had left the door open a few inches so it wouldn't lock behind him. He shifts so he can see Mike's back, shifting further and catching sight of familiar, long brown hair- Morrison. He hesitantly pushes himself up off of his bed and steps behind the door, shamelessly listening in. Just in case Morrison tries something. Yeah, that's all. They are on a balcony, after all. Ok, maybe I've been watching too much TV lately...
"What are you doing out here?" Mike asks, his voice strained with tension. Alex thinks he can almost hear his cell phone cracking in his grip.
"Thinking," Morrison mumbles, taking a deep breath. "What about you?"
"Checking on flights for A-Ri."
"Funny, I thought it'd be the other way around."
"Haha." Shifting, Miz leans against the railing surrounding the hallway. "Never gets easier, does it?"
Alex holds his breath, waiting as more shuffling sounds reaches his ears. Collecting up his courage, he peeks around the edge of the door and blinks, watching as Morrison too rests against the railing only a few feet away from Miz, staring down at the lobby as people wander back and forth beneath them.
"Not really."
Awkward silence holds for awhile and Alex almost sneaks back to the beds just in case Mike should give up and come back inside but finally he clears his throat. "Saw that Julie fixed your ring gear."
Alex raises his eyebrows. What the hell?
"Yeah, it's pretty much unnoticeable now that she's worked her magic." Another pregnant pause before the two glance over at each other. "About last week-"
"I was thinking-"
They quickly look away, Mike shaking his head while John chuckles a little, slapping his palm against his forehead. "Go ahead."
"I was having a bad night," Morrison says, pressing his hands into fists as he stands up straighter. "Truth ran like a coward and there was no one else around who would even look at me. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."
"I didn't help much," the champ admits, glancing over at his former tag partner. "Used to be better at knowing when to just leave you alone." He shrugs again. "So... what do you say we forget last week and just head into Sunday with the usual amount of animosity between us, instead of R-Truth induced anger on top of it?"
"You always did have such a way with words," John snorts. "But it sounds like a plan."
Sensing the end of their conversation coming, Alex slips out from behind the door and quietly settles back onto his bed, trying to look innocent as he flips through the phone book, chuckling at some of the weird names in the area.
After a few minutes, Mike returns, looking a lot calmer than when he had left. "Plane ticket is set," he announces, putting his cell phone down on the dresser.
"Great," Alex comments, looking up briefly.
"And I told Morrison you said hi," he says with a little smirk, raising an eyebrow meaningfully as Alex pauses mid-paper turn.
"How the hell...?"
The next day, after a long flight spent in coach for A-Ri, they arrive at the hotel in New York. Miz sets up the laptop while Alex slumps down into a chair and dozes off, relieved to get away from the ringing in his ears caused by all the crying babies that were on the plane. Once everything's set up, Miz throws a pen at Alex. When he startles awake, he smirks over at him. "It's supplemental draft time."
"Ugh, ok," he groans as Mike shifts the laptop so he can see it easier without moving. "Anything interesting?"
"No." It doesn't take too long for them to grow bored, with updates only coming every fifteen minutes or so. "Man, between this and Dancing with the Stars later, this is definitely going to be the best day of my life."
"Tell me about it," Alex chuckles. "Should we venture into the live chat?"
"I guess so," Mike says reluctantly, clicking the link. They mock some of the comments made by fans for awhile, more relieved than anything to have a way to pass the time. Finally the draft starts winding down, with the chat hosts announcing that they're down to the final three picks. The two men exchange glances as all of the Zack Ryder fans start insisting anew that Ryder go to Smackdown. "Maybe I should start another web series," he comments dryly.
Alex is about to respond when the 27th draft pick is announced. He's unable to see the laptop right away, Mike's hand going slack and jostling it to the side. "Mike? What's wrong?" When his mentor doesn't respond, he stands up and looks over Mike's shoulder, staring blankly at the screen as the words blur before his eyes.
Alex Riley to Smackdown! Alex swallows, sinking down onto the bed bonelessly.
After a few minutes, Mike finally moves again, looking over at Alex with uncertainty in his eyes.
"Now what?" his protégé asks, feeling lost and a little sick at what this could mean for the both of them. For him.
"I don't know."