After Raw ends, Miz wanders around the back for awhile, trying to ease the dull backache that a trainer had examined quickly and effeciently, urging the usual- ice and rest, blahblah. Considering he's heading back to LA early in the morning, he doesn't really have much time for either but he does hold some ice against the shirt he's slipped back on in the meantime. Alex had made himself scarce for some reason and it bothers the former world champion. John's firing had been hard on both of them, obviously, but he hadn't made a lot of time for Alex since their flight to Japan, too busy psyching himself up for the week ahead to do much else. All that had been on his mind since Morrison's release had been honoring the opportunity his friend had left for him. Now that he had done all he could to achieve this goal, he couldn't help but feel guilty at leaving A-Ri to take care of himself for the past few days.
Finally he peeks into one of the alternate locker rooms and pauses, finding Alex inside, his back to the door. Mike knows him well enough that he can tell even from this distance that he's slumped over, fingertips pressed against his lips as he peers at the wall before him. His usual pose for when he's lost in thought so deep that it almost takes a crowbar to wedge him back out into the world of the living. For once, Mike chooses against the abrasive needling and sits down next to him quietly instead, not even breathing heavily as he, too, drifts, focusing on the prior week and what all had happened.
After a few minutes, Alex releases a deep breath and nudges Mike, not bothering to move away from this shoulder-to-shoulder position even when they're both staring at each other. "I guess this is the new norm, huh?" he asks lowly, lips twitching unhappily.
"Seems so." He licks his lips and looks away. "I'm sorry I haven't been very... present this week. My focus was..."
"It's ok, you don't have to explain, Mike. I get it." His eyes soften a little as he takes in the uncertain guilt still visible in his mentor's eyes. "You wanted to honor John, and it takes a lot to get ones' mindset right for the title hunt in this kind of environment. I definitely understand." There's a long, weighty silence and Alex releases a sigh. "It's probably even harder than it was when all we had to worry about was the Anon GM, huh?"
"You know, I think the Anon GM, annoying bastard that he was, only accomplished in making me fight even harder to prove him wrong. I wanted to be better than what he thought I was, I wanted to overcome everything he threw at me. Neither he or I realized that Morrison would be the deciding factor in that, I think." He pauses, takes a deep breath. "Now I'm in it all on my own and, really, I'm just tired of all the crap. I don't think I allowed myself to think about it for real until a couple weeks ago, when Truth got himself suspended. It was easy to fall into the whole conspiracy thing, to see possible truths in his words, especially after we were fired and then arrested. Do I think people had it out for us? Yeah, probably. But which came first, Truth's paranoia or the conspiracy against us?"
"Chicken or the egg type thing, huh?" the younger man asks, picking at his nails. "But really, Mike, I might not be your protege anymore, but I'm still here. You're not completely alone."
An honest smile flits across Mike's face and he nods. "I know, Alex. Thanks." They sit in silence for a little while longer, both thinking heavily.
"What do you think John's doing?"
Mike shakes his head, reaching into his pants pocket and pulling out his phone, fiddling with it for a minute. No new alerts. "No idea. The last I heard from him, all he really said was he wasn't gonna watch Raw tonight."
Alex nods soberly. "Can't say I blame him. Besides," and here his eyes twinkle as Mike glowers at him, knowing immediately what he's about to bring up, "I bet it's a relief to you; wouldn't want Punk to have ruined your big date idea, right?"
It's only due to his awareness about his nagging hip injury that Miz only slightly pushes the younger man, not enough to knock him off of the bench completely, but send him flailing a bit before regaining his balance with a huff. As he mutters curse words and swats at Mike, he grins, a thought smacking him at the same time that Alex does. "Soooo what are your plans for Christmas next week?" he says, eyes lighting up.
After some more media and other responsibilities, he returns to LA for the first time since the week of the Japan tour. It's a slow week for WWE leading up to the Tribute to the Troops so he has a limited amount of free time. Mid-morning on Thursday, he finds himself lurking around a by-now familiar hallway. Not wanting to push his luck, he actually knocks like a normal person and waits, mind running a mile a minute when nothing happens. Mike begins shifting his fingers through the various keys in his pants pocket, frown growing with each second. "What the hell?" he hisses, reaching for the door when it finally cracks open, a bleary eyed Morrison greeting him with a suspicious glance.
"Morning, Sleeping Beauty, It's after 10 AM," Mike grumbles, eyebrows rising in surprise. John's usually the early riser, with Mike taking awhile to get going after the nights he does get more than a few hours of sleep.
Morrison rolls his eyes and smothers a yawn as he pushes the door open, motioning him inside. "What're you doing here?" he wonders faintly, his footsteps quieter than usual, padded by the thick socks he's currently wearing.
"Came to bitch at you for the weather," Miz teases. "Seriously, what the hell is this? I leave Florida, where it's nice and sunny, and it's friggin 40 degrees over here? Last week, Santa Ana winds and now this?" He looks very displeased, somewhat exaggerated, just to get the reaction he wants: A chuckle from the still half-asleep Morrison. "I may as well go back to Ohio."
"What can I say, even the weather hates that I've been released." It's beyond awkward, leaves Mike frozen for a moment as for once he doesn't know how to respond, further the joke or just move on, but Morrison himself rescues the moment. "So seriously, what are you doing here? I haven't missed a holiday, have I?"
"No, unless I have too," Mike mumbles, a smile tugging at his lips. He keeps quiet as they settle in Morrison's living room, Mike's gaze locked on the limp John's still sporting as he makes his way over to the couch. "How's the leg?" he asks bluntly.
John rolls his eyes, shifting around until he's a little more comfortable. "It hasn't fallen off yet," he snarks, dropping his head against the back of the couch so he can't see as Mike bristles in annoyance.
"You said it wasn't that bad," he comments accusatorily. "Still limping over a week later doesn't seem that great to me." He pauses, takes a deep breath to calm down. "John, please."
There's a vague groan from where Morrison's sitting and he slowly shifts into a proper sitting position, looking across at Mike. "I'm going through rehab right now. For my neck, mostly, but I'm gonna have further tests on my ankle soon to see if anything needs to be done. There probably won't be much, if anything, Mike, so don't start looking guilty and crap. I'm gonna be fine, and I was gonna be doing rehab anyway, so what's the harm in doubling the fun?"
He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest angrily. The only reason he doesn't snap back a bitter response is John's tense position, not even needing to look over to know that he's grimacing. "Whatever." The awkward silence that follows then is aggravating and chokes him but he waits it out, knowing that eventually one or both of them will crack- silence never lasts very long when they're in the same room.
Sure enough, John shifts forward, looking much more awake. "Hey, since you're here, mind helping me with something?"
Interest piqued, Mike shrugs. "Sure, what?"
Fifteen minutes later, the former world champion is following John carefully along some rocks along the beach, looking highly unhappy. "I cannot believe I let you talk me into this," he grouses, shivering in the chilly breeze so uncharacteristic for California. "Ugh, man," he grumbles, trying to scrub his eyes to make them stop watering in the wind.
"Just a few minutes, I promise," John urges, finally finding the spot he wants.
"We can't film this inside? Where it's warm and dry and not... windy?" he mumbles, scrubbing at his face which already feels rubbed raw from the elements.
John looks somewhere between amused and sympathetic as he grabs his camera from Mike, allowing the other man to tighten the scarf around his neck. "Look, I've been stuck inside almost nonstop since I came back home. Been wanting to do this for awhile, but not alone." He hesitates, looking almost vulnerable in this moment, and Mike's breath catches in his chest, not having seen that look since their final match. "If you really don't want to be out here, we can go back to my apartment..."
Rolling his eyes, Mike adjusts his warm clothing a bit more snugly before reaching out for the camera. "How do I use this damn thing?" John's face immediately lights up, Miz's lips tugging up into a smile as well as he listens to John's instructions for filming.
The video is short, not even a minute long, but it gets the point across that John isn't finished with wrestling, he just needs a break to heal and regroup before he decides his next move, and even though it's obviously aimed at soothing Morrison's many fans, it also comforts Mike as well. The thought of the business without Morrison permanently had just been too much to even consider, tickling at the back of his mind for the past ten days like an itch he couldn't get to. As soon as he taps his hand against the rock he's kneeling on- their pre-decided signal that John was done talking-, Mike clicks the camera off and puts it back in its protective case, watching as John peers out at the dull grey horizon, the choppy water crashing against rocks below where they're settled.
After a few moments of nothing but shivering as John takes in the nature around them, finally he comes back to life and stands, holding a hand out for Miz. It seems ludicrous, John helping Mike up when his ankle is still off, but he accepts the hand anyway, pulling himself slowly to his feet, taking care not to unbalance the other man. His legs are frozen from the wind and cold, despite John looking almost like he's in his element in the chilly air, and Mike envies him the ability to not turn into a slug at the slightest chill. "You ready to go?"
"Yeah." John only glances back once before leading the way off of the rocks and across the beach. "I have hot chocolate back at the apartment."
"Oh thank God," Mike groans, walking a bit faster as John chuckles.
The few days off, some of which he spends hanging out with Morrison, goes by ridiculously quickly and he's back at it before he can believe it, doing media for Tribute to the Troops before Raw. He's unsurprised and unimpressed by the tag match he's thrown into with Alberto Del Rio against Punk and Orton. In a repeat of the week prior, Wade sneaks his way into the match, taking Orton out on the outside so Punk has no partner to tag in, leaving him vulnerable to the Skull Crushing Finale. Ricardo Rodriguez helps push a ladder in for them and the beat down that follows is satisfying to Miz, even as Punk fights back despite being tangled around a ladder, his arm twisted up in ADR's armbar. Each hit and kick he lands on Mike only serves to make the man that much angrier and determined to walk out the coming Sunday a winner, and he makes that fact well known before dropping the mic tauntingly before the current World Champion's face.
His anger fades slightly as he returns to the back, Alberto and Ricardo trailing behind him as they mutter to each other in Spanish. Letting out some of the pent up aggression he's been feeling since before Morrison's firing helps but it doesn't stop the backstage area from feeling empty, almost lifeless, each time he steps back there.
The next night, Tribute to the Troops goes by in a blur of autograph signings and meeting servicemen and women who give of themselves for America day in and day out and he's able to forget all of the stress he's under for a brief while, forcing it out of his mind long enough to show respect to them for all they do. Despite the tag team he's yet again thrown into with Mark Henry and Alberto Del Rio this time coming up short to CM Punk, Cena and Big Show, it doesn't make him doubt this Sunday. He will walk in to that match, do what he has to do, and walk out champion. There's no other option. He refuses to let himself- and Morrison- down with any other outcome.