His head is still throbbing as he wanders through the hallways, a deep pain spreading from neck to temple to mid-down his back. He groans, instinctively stepping to the side and almost crashing into the wall as someone walks into his path, steadies him with a careful grip on his upper arm. He looks blankly out through a curtain of dark brown hair, not entirely caring who's before him as muffled, distorted words echo around him.
"Ok, I'm taking you to the trainer's." That he hears clear as day, his eyes rolling up to lock on a worried Alex Riley.
"No, you're not," he all but snaps, wrenching his arm free from the younger man's grip. Floundering briefly, he leans against the wall for support and takes a few deep breaths, willing his body to cooperate this go-around. For a brief moment, he had thought maybe it was Mike- hates himself for even indulging that thought, hates Mike for doing this to him... again, and just plainly hates the situation. "I'm fine."
"Of course you are," Alex mumbles disbelievingly, sounding so much like Mike that it makes John's anger well up anew and he thinks if he could look straight without wavering, he'd punch him. "Is there... anything I can do...?"
The answers to that could be endless but the main thing John wants right now is very simple, straight forward. "Just leave me alone," he mumbles, pushing away from the wall and attempting once more to make it down the hallway to where his things wait for him in a locker room.
Alex is like a dog with a bone, however, and follows him, his footsteps echoing off of the walls and taunting Morrison even though he remains a few steps behind. They're halfway to the locker room when Alex tries again. "Do you need a ride? Anything?"
John comes to a stop, his shoulders tensing up as he slowly, painstakingly turns to face the rookie once more. He glowers at him, about to yell again, when he stops, takes in how Riley doesn't even wince away from the anger emanating from him. Only a few people understand how it is being alligned with Miz for the long term, how difficult it can be. This kid is one of them. His anger dying away slowly, he takes another deep breath and lowers his eyes to the ugly beige tile between them. "I need a ride to the hotel," he admits blandly. "Mik- Miz has the rental car."
Alex nods, keeping his face impassive as he hesitantly takes another couple steps towards the man. "Sure, no big deal. Do you have a place to stay tonight?"
"I'll figure something out when I get there."
"Don't worry about it, you can stay with me." The offer surprises Morrison as much as Alex and they peer at each other for a moment, a quiet kind of understanding passing between them.
"If it's no problem," he says uncomfortably, too tired to even argue or get the energy up to figure out who exactly he could try to room with when most guys would be leaving for home the next day.
"Course not. C'mon." They only stay long enough to grab their stuff, change clothes, and Alex to push some pain killers John's way before they leave the arena. It's so... uncomplicated compared to the ruckus Miz would've made that it almost makes John's head spin more, if that's even possible.
The trip to the hotel is quiet, Morrison caught up in his scattered, aggravated thoughts as Alex hums along to the radio, thoughtfully giving him his space. He looks around the lobby quietly, relieved when he doesn't see Miz or any of their other co-workers lurking around. The elevator ride is short, only to the second floor- Our room is- was on the fifth floor, he thinks with a grimace- but the trek down the hallway takes forever, their room nearly at the opposite side of the building from the elevator.
"We have room 274," Alex explains as they pass by door after door. Room 275 is the last room on the floor and John shakes his head, a mirthless smirk on his lips. "Doing ok?"
"Yeah," he responds quietly, adjusting his duffel against his shoulder. His head still stings- Who knew a water bottle could hurt that much?- but the painkillers are doing their job, slowly easing his pain. Now he's just tired, counting the steps until he can lay down and not move for a few hours. Not think about his two former tag partners taking pleasure in laying him out...
Finally they arrive and Alex quickly unlocks the door, Morrison sighing in relief as the panel shines green, clicking open to allow them inside. Alex settles on the couch across from the TV and watches out of his peripheral vision as his temporary roommate drops his bag on the floor and kicks it to the edge of the free bed, only toeing off his shoes before he collapses onto the mattress.
After a few minutes of silence, he shifts over onto his side and buries his face into the pillow.
"Hey, John?"
"What?"
"Will the TV bug you?"
"No," he mumbles sleepily, already half-dozing.
"Ok." Alex quietly flicks the set on and looks for something to watch, glancing now and again over at the sleeping man. Settling on some sitcom that he never paid much attention to when it was originally on TV almost fifteen years ago, he grabs his phone.
A few floors above, Mike is slumped down on the carpet, staring ahead at the ugly brown wallpaper, barely paying attention to anything when his phone goes off from his pocket, his theme jerking him back to reality.
Text from: Alex
Morrison is with me. You alright?
He stares blankly at it for a minute before taking a deep, shuddery breath, glancing around the room.
Text from: Mike
Fine. What room? He left some stuff here...
Text from: Alex
274. Be quiet, he's sleeping.
Alex is still sitting in front of the TV, only half concentrating on the dialogue from the show when there's a soft tapping noise at the door about ten minutes later. Grabbing his keycard, the former NXT rookie heads to the door and, peeking back over at a still motionless Morrison, he slips out of the room, coming face to face with Mike. "Hey."
"Hey." He drops a bag at Alex's feet and shifts uncomfortably, his eyes downcast. "What'd he say?"
"Nothing, really. He fell asleep as soon as we got here, and said little in the car. I had to dig just to get him to accept this much help."
"Sounds about right," Mike mumbles, glancing up uncertainly.
"Mike, what was that? Why did you attack him like that?"
"I don't know," he breathes out, shaking his head. The attack itself is still little more than a blur in his memories, his motivations and thoughts as hard to clasp onto as his actions were in that moment. "I just... it's so damn hard sometimes." He scuffs his shoes against the carpeting, lips twisting. "Since losing the WWE title, I haven't... haven't felt like I can control anything, you know? Not that anything's ever really been in my control- Anon GM made that obvious early on- but I felt like I had a little better clasp on stuff before. Now... I'm just... unable to do anything but sit back and watch as the crap keeps piling up. Losing the title, Morrison getting injured, your being drafted to Smackdown and actually wanting to go getting so messed up by the Anon GM because of me..." He takes a deep breath and rolls his eyes. "Morrison denying he still has health issues and wrestling like nothing's wrong, in front of me no less, despite my constant warnings... I guess it was just the final straw..."
Alex stares at him sympathetically, wanting to know just the right thing to say, do, to fix this for his mentor but falling short. "I'm sorry," he finally says. "If it helps at all, I'm happy where I'm at right now. Smackdown and I might not have been a good fit after all, I'm glad to be on Raw." He smiles a little, runs a hand through his hair. "I'm thinking about challenging Dolph for the US title."
Mike's eyebrows raise as he thinks fondly of his first major singles' title win after splitting from Morrison, lips twitching a bit. "That would be a good step for your career," he manages, ignoring the brief wave of envy towards Alex being able to go after titles for the first time, rising through the ranks and the pure excitement infusing each new situation.
"You don't mind, do you?" he asks thoughtfully, frowning. "I know you loved that belt..."
"No, I don't mind. Do what you have to, Alex." Wanting to distract himself and change the topic, he peers over the other man's shoulder, staring at the hotel room door, and sighs. "He was ok?"
"He refused to go to the trainer but I think so, yeah. He fell asleep as soon as we got inside pretty much."
"Stubborn idiot," Mike mumbles in exasperation before looking over at Alex, exhaustion and guilt bleeding out from his gaze so much that it unsettles his former protege. "You watch out for him?"
"As much as I can, sure, but Mike... he'll get over this, what happened tonight, you'll see."
"Maybe. Maybe not. If he doesn't, well... Can't say I blame him." Forcing an blatantly fake smirk, Mike nudges the bag between them with a toe. "This is some of the stuff from his trip to Canada that he didn't need tonight, and left at my room. Make sure he doesn't leave it behind."
"Sure."
Sharply nodding, Mike takes a deep breath, his eyes wandering over to the door once more.
"Do you... want to come in?" Alex offers awkwardly, feeling bad for the man hesitating before him.
"No," he says after a few uncertain moments spent weighing his options. "It would probably make things worse. I'll see you later, Alex."
"Ok," the younger man says with a faint sigh. "See you." He watches helplessly as Mike returns to the elevators, his walk stiff and this-side of desperate to get away. As soon as the doors ding closed, he picks the bag up and re-enters the hotel room, dropping it next to Morrison's other bag. He takes a minute to peer down at the still sleeping man, a frown on his face, before turning to shut the TV off, totally uninterested in the inane programming still flashing across the screen now.
After a weird, dull week spent glad that Miz is in Vancouver filming Psych and at the TCAs, instead of at the weekend house shows, John peers up at the arena as he pushes open the door. It's normal and bustling inside, as always, and he relaxes slightly, relieved that the drama he was expecting to be waiting for him seems to be overshadowed by how busy everyone else is. In fact, upon entering the locker room, only Alex is inside, glancing up as soon as Morrison settles down nearby to prepare. "Hey."
"Hey." Riley peers at him briefly before turning his attention back to carefully applying his wrist tape. "Truth tonight, huh?"
"Yeah," John nods distractedly, trying to decide how he feels about that. As welcome as the opportunity to get revenge will be, his anger isn't all for Truth anymore and he's not sure what to do about that. Mike already has a match for the evening and John has to focus on his own match, so allowing himself to get distracted by something else right now- especially something that's been back and forth for over two years now- just seems overly pathetic.
"Good luck," Alex offers after a few strained moments, tilting his head as Morrison snaps his head up to stare at him, pulled out of his thoughts.
"Thanks," he murmurs.
Not long afterwards, Alex leaves to deal with his US title aspirations and Morrison half watches, shaking his head in amusement as Vickie gets herself involved and costs Dolph the match by DQ. His match is up next so as Vickie and Dolph argue, he takes a few deep breaths and heads for the gorilla position.
Not even halfway down the main hallway, that branches off to the gorilla position, he spots Miz for the first time since the attack last week, walking his way with a weird look on his overly expressive face. Feeling awkward and a little strangled, time seems to slow briefly until they're passing by each other. Mike even pauses for a moment, his lips parting like he's about to say something. John shakes his head, eyes narrowing warningly. "Not now, Miz." He then speeds up a bit, relieved when he reaches the curtain and peers out at Truth's entrance, that pissed look still on his face as he makes his way to the ring.
He's not sure later if it was just an off night or he had allowed Miz to get under his skin but he loses again, and takes a beating on top of that, the vicious landing on the barricade wall upper back first sending pain shooting through his skull clear to the roots of his teeth. Still sore from the last few matches he's had on both Smackdown and Raw the past few weeks, it's almost all he can do to walk to the back while holding onto his neck like if he moves his hand the littlest bit, it may just fall off.
He does go to the trainer's this time, lets the man do all the checking he wants to do with little complaint, too tired and aggravated to even roll his eyes at the fuss. He doesn't respond, absorbing an ice pack, when the door opens and closes quietly. He doesn't move or check to see who it is until someone says, "So how is he?"
His eyes shoot open then, peering over at a hovering Alex in surprise. "You again?"
Alex chuckles, unoffended. "Yeah, me again. You think after last week, I'm gonna let you try to knock yourself out walking through the hallways again?"
John thinks he knows what's going on now and sits a little straighter, frowning at Riley even as his neck protests the movement. "Did Miz talk you into keeping an eye on me?" The slight hesitation is all the answer that John needs and he rolls his eyes. "I don't need a babysitter. Especially one who's only here because someone else is feeling guilty," he adds derisively.
"That's not the only reason I'm here," Alex counters, undisturbed by John's tone or attitude. "Mike did ask me to keep an eye out for you, yeah, but... well. I've known him for over a year now, between being his rookie and his protege. It's nothing to the amount of time you've spent teaming with him, hating him, and everything in between, but it's enough to know how hard it can be to accept Mike for who he is, who he can be, and what he'll be reduced to in times of stress or anger. So think what you want about me being here, but I understand in a way most of the guys around here can't about what's going on with you two."
John sighs, shifting the ice pack a little more before leaning back against the couch, his eyes slipping closed. "Guess you have a point," he mumbles, quieter and more accepting now as Alex moves to sit next to him, his hands folded between his knees as he waits for Morrison to say anything else. "Sucks, sometimes, you know?"
"It does," he concedes with a grimace. "But I know, if the Anon GM wasn't so damn stupid, he would've done everything in his power to get me to Smackdown if that was still what I wanted. He's stubborn and easily angered, it makes it easy to forget his good characteristics sometimes..." He worries his lip briefly before turning back to John, a hopeful look in his eyes. "Will you at least think about talking to him? Not tonight, but soon?"
Glancing over at A-Ri, Morrison sighs, reluctantly allowing himself to remember everything Mike took time out of his busy schedule to do while he was injured- the July fifth barbecue on the cove, the various visits and all of the phone calls, text messages and other things obviously designed to keep him at least partially in the loop while out of commission. "I'll think about it," he murmurs.
"Ok," Alex says, deciding to change the topic. "Well then..." He claps his hands together, smiling slightly. "Do you like soup?" The look on Morrison's face alone makes asking this random question worth it.