A/N: Morrison free chapter, my apologies. I can only do so much with him off of TV and this was an Alex Riley-centric chapter so I couldn't think of a feasible way to work him in. I'll include him next week, promise!
It's been a long week for one Alex Riley. Phone call after phone call to Teddy Long, none of which are returned. He fumes as he stares at his phone, an unhappy grimace on his pale face. Sure, the one appearance he had made on Smackdown since being drafted wasn't that fabulous- he had been in the ring all of two seconds before wandering right into an RKO that had made his neck hurt all weekend. Even so, he had been drafted to Smackdown and with Miz "firing" him, he had no other obligations keeping him from the blue brand. Except, that is, the inability of Teddy to answer or respond to any of his attempts at communication. At least with the Raw GM, there was no way to contact him so getting ignored wasn't that big of a surprise. After everything he had heard about Teddy- mostly fair unless pushed too far, friendly to most of his superstars, and generally an all around decent guy- the total silence was nothing short of infuriating.
Early Friday morning, the reason for his lack of answers becomes clear. He's fast asleep when his phone goes off, Miz's entrance echoing out of the small device. Jerking awake at the sound of his mentor's "AWESOME!", he almost falls out of bed in his attempt to shut it up, half hanging out of bed as he squints at the unknown number boring into his eyes. Still uncoordinated and half asleep, he fumbles for a bit before finally hitting the green "TALK" button. "Hello?" he mumbles, flopping back onto his bed unceremoniously.
"Is this Alex Riley?" an equally strange voice asks, breaking through his mind's fog briefly.
"Yeah?"
"I'm calling on account of the Anonymous Raw GM. He wants you to know that as of this moment, he has rehired you to the Raw brand. The terms of your contract will be discussed at a later date. Have a good day."
Before Alex can say one of the many things stuck on the tip of his tongue, like But I'm on Smackdown! and Is this why Teddy Long wouldn't answer my calls? the call clicks off, the slight static of background noise dying away to nothingness. He drops his cell phone uselessly against his chest and stares at the shadowy ceiling, the room mostly still dark as the sun struggles to rise at the unGodly time of (He groans upon checking the clock, knowing that sleep will be avoiding him for the rest of the day) 5:30 AM. "I'm in so much trouble."
He waits for a more decent time to make some calls, mindlessly wandering around the apartment he's moved in since selling his old place in Florida, doing bits of unpacking here and there as the clock ticks slowly behind him. Being on the road so often, he's not had a lot of time to unpack but he finds focusing on even that simplistic task is difficult, his mind going in circles as he works over what the Raw GM could possibly want from him badly enough to make such a power play that he keeps him off of Smackdown. His feeling of sick dread only grows since he reluctantly can only think of one thing: to use him against Miz. Maybe we acted it out a little too well, last week, he thinks, elbow deep in boxes and different trinkets. "Dammit!" he cries, upending one of the boxes and not caring as his things scatter across the floor, each crash and scrape grating across his already taut nerves.
Finally around 8 AM, he tentatively collects his cell phone from where it's laid on his bed since the end of the earlier phone call, cradling it in his hand for a moment. He examines the silver case of the phone before sighing, his eyes lowering. It's muscle memory as his fingers go through the menus to reach his text screen.
Text to: Mike
Are you awake?
He sends it off after a bit of thought, hoping that if he was asleep, he didn't have his ringtone on, freshly aware of how startling it can be to be woke up out of a sound sleep by one's ringtone. However, Mike's response comes too quickly for him to be asleep, or very busy, so as soon as Alex glances at the "Yeah, what's going on?" message lighting up his screen, he hits "TALK", immediately calling his mentor.
"Alex?" Mike answers on the first ring. "What's wrong?"
He takes a deep breath, his eyes closed. "I, uh, some associate of the Raw GM called me this morning." He braces himself for an explosion that never comes.
Miz pauses for a moment, the only proof he's still on the phone being his soft breathing on the other end. "Ok," he replies finally, abruptly sounding tired. "What'd he want?"
"He- he wanted me to know that I've been re-signed to Raw." He clings to the phone, paying it no mind as it creaks between his fingers, picturing Miz's face while he waits- how beneath the tan, he probably looks pale, his blue eyes wide and unseeing, frowning deeply as he stares ahead blankly. "Mike?" he asks after a few moments, pulling his phone away long enough to see if the connection has died. As the seconds continue ticking away on the screen, he returns the phone to his ear. "Miz? You ok?" The gusty sigh that follows almost blows Alex's ears out but he doesn't care, waiting for Mike to say something. Anything.
"Dammit," he mumbles finally. "Why is it he's always two steps ahead of me?"
"I guess I was a little too convincing last week," Alex mumbles guiltily. "I'm sorry-"
"Don't apologize," Mike bites out furiously. "I should've seen this coming."
"What do we do now?"
"I'll think about it," the former champion says after a moment. "We'll figure something out, don't worry."
And in the end, Alex trusts Miz so he doesn't.
"You have got to be kidding me," he mumbles upon hearing the announcement that Cole is going to demand an apology from him later that evening. Not exactly the first thing I was planning on hearing when I arrived here, he thinks, walking towards the locker room and ignoring all of the interested glances he receives on his way. Cena, of all people, had seemed to be attempting to be friendly to him- How fake could one person be, it was only a week ago he would've rather sent me through the announcers' desk than say one word to me?- meaning that now everyone in the locker room against Miz was acting nicer to him, which does nothing but adds to his discomfort.
Later that evening, he's waiting by the titantron for his cue to go talk to Cole when his phone buzzes.
Text from: Mike
Just go with it. Let's put on a show.
Considering how the last "show" they put on ended up, Alex is almost tempted to refuse, his discomfort growing the closer his interview comes. You better know what you're doing, Mike, he thinks, holding his head up high as he listens to his new theme music and swallows. Cole hasn't really changed, talking a lot and saying very little, so Alex tunes him out until he calls him a bastard. That seems as good a time as any to make his move so he lunges for Cole and proceeds to push him down, half-heartedly attacking him until the crowd reacts to something going on behind him. Bingo.
Sure enough, it's Mike and they go at it for awhile, Mike keeping the upperhand shortly before Alex reclaims it, going through the motions automatically. He forces himself not to think as he slams Mike into the barricade and over the top of the announce desk. Mike skids over the uneven surface before landing hard on the mat below. Before Alex can reach him, he's off, lunging over the barricade wall and dashing through the audience to safety. Relieved that it's over, he looks out through the sea of audience members, an annoyed grimace on his face.
The walk back to the locker room is almost worse than earlier, even more eyes on him this go around as he makes his way through the hallway. He ignores them all, his gaze locked straight ahead as he walks purposely towards the door, wanting nothing more than to just grab his things and go before Cena or someone could stop him and congratulate him.
Despite the anxious, squirmy feeling that he just can't shake, the time it takes for him to collect his things, change clothes (He smiles mirthlessly at thinking how annoyed Mike must be by now that his custom tailored suits keep getting trashed in their confrontations) and make his way to the rental car waiting for him goes by quickly. He sighs quietly, sinking into the welcoming driver's seat. I don't know how Morrison and he managed it when their tag team dissolved- and that wasn't an act, he thinks in awe, wrapping his fingers around the steering wheel in an attempt to ground himself as he sucks in a deep breath. Finally he reaches down and plucks his cell phone out of his pants pocket. Before he can even decide whether to text or call, his phone goes off, causing him to jerk once more as "AWESOME!" blares through the small interior of the car. Guess I have to change that before people get suspicious, he thinks, quickly answering. "Hello?"
"Hey." Mike sounds a bit breathless still, but all in all, ok.
Even so, "You alright?" he asks quietly, leaning his neck against the headrest.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
The silence that follows is awkward as Alex wonders where Miz is at that he feels safe enough to call but he can't bring himself to move, look around in case Mike's rental car is nearby. "How long will we have to do this?" he asks quietly, staring up at the beige interior of the car.
"I'm not sure," his former NXT pro murmurs. "Until the Raw GM loses interest, I guess."
"That could be awhile," Alex comments, thinking about the months Mike spent just trying to get the chance to cash in his briefcase.
"Yeah." Taking a deep breath, Mike continues more assuredly, "But I know you can handle it."
Caught in a sea of warring self-doubt and warmth at Miz's belief in him, Alex grimaces. "I hope so."
"I'm never wrong, you'll see."