John stretches methodically, preparing to go around the arena in one of his parkour frenzies, when even one wrong breath, thought or action could send him crashing into one of the many surfaces he used to propel himself further, higher. Perhaps his favorite part of it all is how his mind would clear and for a brief period of time, his body would take over as he automatically ran up and over chairs, crates, walls, anything he could.
During these runs, he could almost forget losing to R-Truth again last Thursday on Superstars, after feeling like he was finally getting on an even keel with the victory against him weeks back. Forget Miz's association with Truth, how it feels to see both of his former tag partners hanging out together, traveling together and having each other's backs like they used to have his. The weeks he had spent on the sidelines, twitchy and anxious to get back to it, to this, his neck and arm aching with a fierceness so bad that he could barely sleep for a couple hours at a time at first.
He comes to a skidding stop after running across a door, freaking out the techs inside who open it to peer outside. Upon realizing it's him, they duck back inside the room with an eyeroll and he grins. That never really gets old. He scrapes a hand through his sweaty hair and sucks in a deep breath, his brief good humor failing as he looks up to find Alex Riley watching him from a distance.
All they've ever had in common, really, was Miz and yeah, they get along alright now compared to in the past, but John doesn't want to go over the topic once more- Mike's attempt to keep Truth under control by being his partner still makes very little sense to Morrison and if anything, just annoys him further because it's obviously done out of guilt. I don't need Mike to babysit Truth because of me, he thinks grimly, heading for the locker room in the opposite direction of where Alex's standing. "I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy," he mumbles after a bit, pushing the door open.
"Talking to yourself?" Mike greets him, eyebrows raised. "Be careful, people might start thinking you've wrestled Truth so much, you're turning into him."
John freezes at his voice, hand clenched around the doorknob as he takes in Miz looking up at him from the bench, digging through his duffel bag. "What are you doing in here?"
"It's called getting ready for the show tonight," he says sarcastically, eyeing him. "You might want to try it sometime."
"Where's your new friend?" he asks after a minute, finally letting his hand slip from the doorknob as he enters the room fully, the door slipping shut behind him.
"Who knows, probably making sure he has enough Raid to hold him over until he's back in North Carolina..." Mike kicks the bag away and turns to watch as Morrison settles down on the opposing bench, wiping his face off with a white towel. "You alright?"
John freezes and peers up at him. "I'm great," he says blandly, looking away as Miz's gaze sharpens with worry. "Don't start... just keep your focus on your new tag partner," he spits, jerking to his feet and heading for the showers. "I can take care of myself." He doesn't even twitch when Mike mumbles something that sounds like "Sure you can."
By the time the show starts, Mike and Truth are who-knows-where, John now in the other locker room where Alex is watching the monitor curiously. "That doesn't look good," he comments as Alberto Del Rio and Ricardo Rodriguez go from person to person, convincing them to work over John Cena.
Morrison isn't really focused or interested but he glances up anyway, catching sight of a Punk vs Truth promo shot. "No, it doesn't." He returns his attention to his phone, disgusted and aggravated.
It's not until Miz accompanies Truth to the ring and starts to talk that he does pay attention, his face paling as Miz makes it known that they plan on going for the tag belts. Alex swallows heavily next to him and he glances over at the kid. "He's damn insane," he finally says when the shocked, strained silence becomes too much for either of them to bear. "More power to him. We saw how being in a tag team with Truth ended up for me." Unable to stand Mike's former protege's eyes on him, he stuffs his phone in his bag's side pocket and leaves the room quickly.
The time he had spent running circles around the arena earlier feels like years ago now, his brief peace long gone. "Damn you, Miz," he mumbles, trailing a hand along the cool paint coating the hallway wall. He's not sure how long he wanders around mindlessly that night but at some point he passes by a monitor and catches sight of all the men ADR had been talking to earlier converging on John Cena like a pack of coyotes. He hesitates, apathy warring with his general dislike of guys like ADR taking the coward's way out- like Truth had done on numerous occassions until Morrison's neck had given out.
Clenching his fist, decision made, he turns back around and returns to the gorilla position, making it in time to run out just behind Alex Riley and assist. He's not all that surprised when, once the others are neutralized and it's just him, Sheamus, A-Ri and Cena in the middle of the ring, Teddy Long comes out and announces an eight man match.
He doesn't have the best history with the men he's been thrown into this tag match with- Sheamus and his rivalry is still somewhat fresh in his mind, and he agrees with quite a bit of what Punk has to say about Cena. Alex is the only one who he gets along with, and he thinks they're in the same boat because when he needs a tag Riley lunges right for John, who quickly enters the ring against Dolph.
For a brief period of time he feels more like himself than he has in weeks, flying around the ring like he had the hallways hours earlier, but it's only fleeting as everything falls apart; Swagger gets a tag while Morrison is tangled up in Dolph's sleeperhold, trying not to fade, turning desperately to his corner in a worthless attempt to get over there for a tag of his own. His every attempt fails, fades away into pain as black inches along his vision; only stabbing pain up his leg leaves him clinging to awareness until the pressure along his throat disappears and he gasps, chokes and scrambles. The cloying pain along his ankle is still there and he can't do anything, no energy remaining to inch closer to the white ropes that are so, so close to him, taunting him. He closes his eyes, failure bleeding through him, as he taps and finally finds relief from the pain stabbing up his ankle to knee, rolling out of the ring and landing hard on the other side.
He grimaces on his way up the ramp, remembering that Alex has the rental car keys in his bags, beyond wiped out to even get into an argument with the younger man over digging through his things. He doesn't even get out of his ringwear, simply pulling a shirt over his head and picking fruitlessly at the wrist tape still clinging to him, before limping for the parking lot. Each step is fresh, white hot agony but he works through it, breathing in deeply as he reaches outdoors. The air is cool, September coming in with a vengeance as the central states all sharply cool down after months at being at near record temperatures.
He's not sure how long the eight man match will run but he's content to lean against the green rental car that he and Alex had come in on, listening to the nonstop hum of car engines in the distance heading this way and that on the streets surrounding the arena.
When footsteps venture his way, he looks up expecting it to be Alex, but his stance tenses up when he realizes it's instead Mike walking slowly towards him. "Twice in one day, ain't I lucky?" he drawls, raising an eyebrow as Mike pauses midstep, obviously weighing his options. "Come to poke me about getting eliminated before your NXT rookie?"
Miz rolls his eyes and settles next to him, staring at the side of his face. "John-"
"What do you want, Mike? Tell me losses like these can happen to anyone... or tell me your tag title aspirations with Truth mean nothing?" He laughs roughly, notices how Mike cringes out of the corner of his eye. "It's cute, really. He takes me out of competition for months and you reward him by propelling him into the tag title scene. Maybe I should make a tag team with Alex, how would you like that?"
Mike swallows, shakes his head. "It's not like that- it's not a reward-"
"I told you I didn't need you to keep Truth busy, I can handle him... I have up to now, haven't I?"
"You call being on the shelf, injured for weeks, still suffering the effects months later, HANDLING HIM?" Mike demands, his voice raising in disbelief as he twitches, wanting to push Morrison or something, anything to get him to pay attention to what he's actually saying. "John," he says quietly. "I know it sucks but I just... I need to do this. I do."
"No, you don't," he mumbles, eyes flashing angrily. "You really, really do not. Let Truth flounder- find something else to do- this isn't neccessary!"
"But it is," he argues with a shake of his head. "John... you may not see it, but I do. It's like... I look at you and it's just obvious, maybe not to you, but it is to me. Truth took something from you when he took you out. I don't know if it was the surgery or rehab or the re-injury but you're not the same guy you were last April, the guy I faced in that cage match. I see it, every time I look at you, and if the only way to keep him from taking more from you is to keep him busy with the tag titles, then I damn well am going to do it! If you have this much of a problem with it that- that what we've gone through the past year doesn't matter to you anymore, then fine, but it damn well matters to me and I'm not going to sit back and watch you bash your head against the wall again and again in an attempt to get your revenge against Truth. It's not worth it, not really." By the end of this speech, John is staring at the pavement beneath their feet and Miz is breathing heavily, his eyes on fire.
When he looks back up, he's alone. He's still staring ahead blankly when Alex finally shows up, his hair and shirt wet- obviously thrown on right after his shower- and bag slung haphazardly over his shoulder. "John? You ok?" he asks inanely as he unlocks the car door, expecting the usual snapped response of "I'm fine".
John blinks back to awareness and sucks in a deep breath, shaking his head. "No, I'm not." As Alex stares at him, his lips parting in shock, John releases a soundless laugh, his eyes drowning in pain and exhaustion. "He was right... I am different."
"What? Who?" Alex asks, his fingers slipping off of his bag handle as John pulls the car door open and hovers briefly outside, looking over Riley's shoulder at the faintly lit arena that looks so similar to many other buildings he's been to time and again.
"No one," he finally says, his lips twitching. "Let's just get out of here."