"So how was Morrison's improv show?" Alex asks, not looking up as he works on untangling his wrestling shoes, gleaming in the overhead light.
"Good," Mike responds, only half focused on the question itself as he takes in the younger man's pale skin and somewhat uncoordinated movements. "So how have you been?"
"Been fine," A-Ri sighs, straightening up. As soon as he's eye to eye with Mike, he blanches, his skin turning a light green.
"Seriously, this is fine to you?" he demands, half-grabbing him by the arm and half-tempted to step back and avoid any nausea. "The hell was in that mist?"
"I'm ok," he repeats, desperately clinging to Mike's sleeve. "I just... need to take a minute. Stood up too fast." Despite how clammy and ill he looks, Mike gives it a moment, frowning.
As soon as he's standing straight without a waver, Mike reluctantly releases him, rolling his eyes when Alex looks his way, all Told you so. "Idiot," he mutters. "You gonna be alright alone for a few minutes? Last thing I need is you cracking your skull open or something," he mocks.
"Yeah, I'll be fine," Alex mutters dispassionately. "What are you going to do?"
"You-" Before he can even finish talking, Laurinaitis comes rushing back, all desperation and stammering attempts at speak.
"Get to the ring, NOW!" he finally barks, gaining some control of himself as he leans against the doorway out of the locker room, inadvertantly blocking the exit for those inside.
No one really knows what's going on until they all finally get out of the room, Laurinaitis realizing a moment later he's holding them up and moving aside before Mark Henry makes him move. They're halfway to the ring when Mike catches up to and grabs Alex, stopping him. "Are you sure you're up for this?" he demands, noticing as the monitor behind them blares on with what appears to be Cena and Lesnar brawling, blood all over Cena's face. "Crap."
"I'm fine," Alex insists, not bothering to comment on the look on Mike's face. It's horrible timing, Alex obviously still feeling the effects of last week no matter what he says or does, but Mike can't very well stop him, especially when Laurinaitis is still hovering around, yelling at them to move faster.
Holding back Cena and Lesnar is impossible, despite the amount of men in the ring, and Mike is fighting to keep the two idiots away from killing each other, his focus still on Alex as he holds up despite everything.
Finally things break apart, leaving the ring full of men trying to catch their breath and relieved that none of them walked out of it looking like Cena had. Mike immediately grabs Alex by the arm and, ignoring his complaints and struggles, drops him by Laurinaitis' room. "Ok, stay here, I have one thing to do."
It's a fishing expedition and as soon as he learns he has no match tonight, he starts wheedling Laurinaitis, reminding him that without Mike, he'd be out of a job right now probably. This softens the lameduck General Host. "I want a favor," he says faintly. "I want Alex to have the night off too. He's beat up enough, he deserve a couple hours to relax."
Laurinaitis stares at him for along moment, as if waiting for proof that he's getting played, but none comes. "Alright, if that's all, Miz..."
"No, thank you, Mr. Laurinaits," he spits out, trying to ignore how horribly the term sounds rolling off of his tongue. "Good night."
Alex is still waiting obediently by the entrance to the GM's locker room, a deep frown on his face as Miz joins him. "Everything alright?"
"Yep. I have the night off," Mike explains. "Great thing is he wants you to have the night off too. So what do you say we go around the great city of Washington DC and you can show me around the place you grew up."
Alex's face lights up as he finally realizes what his friend means. "You're serious?"
"Of course I am. So, what do you say?"
"I say hell yeah," Alex grins, looking more like himself than he had since the attack had happened a week ago. "Let's go!"