"Mr. Mizanin?"
"Yes?" he asks blankly, blinking tiredly at the wall while trying to remember why the number that had flashed on his phone at this obnoxious hour of 5 AM seems slightly familiar.
"I'm calling back about Marine: Homefront..."
Everything clicks back into place, the words immediately waking him up like he'd been splashed with freezing water. "Oh. Yes?"
"We want you for the main role..."
As soon as he'd gotten off the phone, he is gone, making arrangements and preparing to be busy with filming this movie in Vancouver. Despite being well aware he wasn't the first choice to do this role- in fact it wouldn't surprise him if Orton's meaningless RKO to him a couple weeks back had been because he had heard first that Miz was being considered for the role his own spotty past had gotten him eliminated from- he decides to leave those thoughts to some other time: he was the choice right now and he would dominate this movie like he had everything else thrown his way over the last few years. It even seems like perfect timing with Laurinaitis not properly utilizing him as a wrestler. Even if Laurinaitis won't see me as an asset, at least the board of directors appear to realize my talent and monetary worth, he thinks grimly.
"Either way," he mutters, lifting up a rifle to begin weapons training so he looks natural handling them when filming begins on June 11th, "karma's a bitch, since Orton went and got himself suspended the very next day anyway."
After a long day of pre-filming obligations and confering with various members of the staff, he returns to the hotel room and sinks down onto the bed, yawning sluggishly. It had been a long, fun day with him constantly on the move since he had landed in Canada, but it sure beats sitting around bored in LA or doing endless media events for the WWE, which almost always revolves around his lack of being utilized the last few months. He's about to doze off when his phone beeps in his pocket, causing him to stir long enough to grab it.
Heard you're not coming with us to Spain because you were called in to begin preparing for Marine: Homefront, the text covering his screen reads. Congrats. He scrolls up to find who exactly sent it and starts when he realizes it's from Alex, the first communication of any kind he'd sent him since their argument a few weeks ago.
Thanks, he tweets back. Good luck in Spain. It seems weak, but he honestly can't think of anything else to say to the younger man that wouldn't, possibly, make things worse between them. Before Alex can respond, he mutes the volume on his phone, rolls over, and lets sleep claim him.
He awakes to find no further texts had been sent. He sighs, scrubbing at his face. Taking a minute to catch up on WWE news, he finds Alex tagged on a Superstars taping, clicking the results link. Alex Riley loses to Jinder Mahal. He makes a face. No wonder he didn't reply to me, who would want to talk after losing to that guy? He glances at his watch, unable to lurk around his hotel room any longer. Day two of preparing for the movie filming, here we go.
That Sunday, he gets a few hours to himself and takes to wandering Vancouver, absorbing what Canada has to offer. He's sitting in a Tim Horton's, waiting for his coffee order, when something in his emails catches his eyes. "Wait, what?" he mutters aloud, scrolling down to it.
From: peoplepower .com
Subject line: Regarding Monday Night Raw
He grimaces, almost afraid to open it. Thankfully his order arrives then, distracting him from clicking on it. "Thank you," he mumbles to the waitress, taking a quick sip of the warm liquid within, needing the caffeine reinforcements before biting the bullet and reading whatever the permanent General Manager of Raw and Smackdown and blahblahblah people power yada yadahas to tell him that's so important that it requires an email and couldn't just wait until he flew off to Connecticut for Raw midday tomorrow, after spending the morning filming.
Mr. Mizanin,
He scoffs at the overly formal heading, pressing a finger to the bridge of his nose. Seriously? I can just imagine what Morrison, or hell Alex too, would say to that. Taking another sip of his coffee, he scrolls down and continues reading, feeling more and more nauseous the further down he gets. No. No way.
I would like to extend congratulations to you on earning the lead role in Marine: Homefront. Only a superstar of your calibur is deserving of such an opportunity-
He stops reading once more, gaining a headache from the lip service being issued in this one small email alone. Yeah, except that it was Orton's first. He shakes his head, rubbing his eyes before returning once more to it.
so this email is to notify you that I've granted you the night off for Monday Night Raw (6/11/12). We look forward to having you back competing with us shortly but the movie deserves your undivided attention.
Sincerely,
John Laurinaitis
He scowls at the email, almost stabbing his fingers straight through the glass screen of his phone. "That jackass," he seethes. "I spend weeks just trying to get five minutes on TV, I win him his damn power, and this... this is how he repays me?" He ignores the various other patrons' eyes that are staring at him, leaving his mostly untouched coffee behind as he storms out into the streets once more. Choosing to walk the few blocks back to his hotel instead of going elsewhere, he stuffs his hands into his pockets and kicks aimlessly at rocks scattered here and there on the sidewalk.
"It's not like I've done double duty before," he grumbles. "Media events, flying out to other countries, just to return in time for Raw that week... I live off of being exhausted... This idiot." His fists clench, his nails biting into the soft skin of his palms, as he glowers down at his feet. "I wanted to be there to witness for myself when Vince fired him. Dammit."
Even when he arrives at his hotel, he feels listless and far from reality, unable to think of anything to do as time ticks past him. He doesn't receive any texts or phone calls this whole time and he feels more alone than he has in even longer, especially since he's stuck off in Canada while everyone else prepares for the big three hour Raw that'll be held in... Glancing at his cell phone, he's surprised to find it's almost 8 PM already... in under twenty four hours.
He gasps, sitting up. Wait, wasn't that... CASHEW thing happening tonight? He stares at his phone with a frown, shaking his head. "Damn. Where's my head at?" He hesitantly flicks through his contact list, hesitating on Morrison's name. "C'mon, it won't kill you. Alex texted you the other day, you can do this. Continue the chain, dammit." Selecting Morrison's name, he takes a lifetime trying to decide what to say before keeping it simple. Hey, just wanted to say good luck tonight. Not sure when your match is, hopefully this isn't belated.
Not completely expecting a response, he tosses the phone onto the bed next to him and drops facedown against the pillows, his heartbeat racing in his ears as he sighs against the twilight overtaking his room. Despite needing to get up to turn a lamp on so he won't trip over things later on, he feels heavy and lazy, unwilling to move. He'll need to go to bed soon enough for the early morning call at the studio and wonders if the filming times will be extended now that he doesn't have to fly out to Raw at all. Well, if anything it means the movie will get done that much faster... and I can return to touring with WWE just to sit around in the locker rooms and stare at the walls for a few more hours each week. Yaaaaay...
He's about to doze off, his breathing evening out and eyes fluttering closed, when something pricks at his consciousness, a strange noise nearby. That's my phone, he realizes blankly, painfully dragging himself back to awakeness. As he reaches out blindly for it, finally grasping and dragging it to his eye level, it lights up once more. One missed text, it tells him. Feeling a bit of hope, he opens his text folder, almost expecting it to be something random from Twitter. His eyes widen when he realizes that no, it is from Morrison.
Fumbling a bit, he finally opens it and reads it. Thanks, man. Nah, it's not for a little bit yet. You're just in time. Heard you're going to be in a movie. You finally hit the big times, huh? :P ... Big things rumored for Raw tomorrow, huh? Wonder if Vince will do the right thing.
He presses his forehead against the phone, breathing out in amazement. Despite the tension between them the last time they'd been around each other, Morrison almost sounds like he's moving past it, at least enough to sound normal. Though texts are far from being face to face, it gives him hope. Still, he stalls at replying, deciding to be tactful for once and not complain about being kicked off of Raw the following night. Crap like that is what partially got us into trouble in the first place, he thinks.
You're the one doing stuff with Jessica Biel, heh. I hope he does, it'd make things a lot easier for a lot of people. BTW, what kind of name is CASHEW?
Oh come on, you know you wish you had the chance to be CASHEW champion. Laurinaitis was bad enough when I was still in WWE, I can't even imagine how bad it is now since all that nonsense with Cena. How is Alex, anyway? He's not really after Eve, is he?
Can't tell you, Mike responds after a minute of thought. Things have been kind of... bad all around lately. I think I blew something out of proportion with him.
You? Blow something out of proportion? Paleeze. He can almost hear Morrison laughing at him, but it doesn't even make him angry. He deserves it.
I thought he was betting against me with Punk. It sounds even more ludicrous to read aloud and no response is sent back for a few minutes.
You have problems. That's more my style, not Alex's.
I know. It all pours out of him in a flood then, and multiple texts are needed to send what he types out, but he doesn't care. He hasn't had anyone to talk to in a long time and this is the most comfortable he's felt confiding in anyone in weeks, just to relieved that Morrison actually seems open to conversing with him once more, even if it's just through texts. Baby steps, he tells himself, finally finishing with his multitude of texts.
I guess it's just everything hitting all at once, Laurinaitis not using me most weeks and how crappy I've been feeling about how far I've fallen since... since you left. Not that I'm blaming you or anything, it's just nothing's felt right since then really, and I couldn't keep the momentum going. Which makes me feel even worse because I know you were trying to help me when you wanted me to be your last opponent, so now I kind of feel like I've wasted what you tried to do too. My losing the beat the clock challenge was, I guess, the last straw and I took it out on Alex by acting paranoid and petty and I know that's not right either but... I guess I felt like maybe he'd be better off away from me at the time. Now I'm stuck in Canada filming this movie and yeah it's great, but WWE is my life more than some movie, and I don't even know if apologizing to Alex right now is the right thing to do because it should be face to face, so... I just don't know what to do anymore.
He lays back down, his arm covering his eyes. Minutes pass without an answer and he wonders if he's finally drained Morrison of his temporarily lapse of judgment by responding at all to the prior texts, but before long his phone is going off once more, alerting him to another text. He almost dreads reading it but holds it in front of his eyes, staring blankly at the words covering the screen.
You're a mess. Seriously, Mike. Don't feel bad for how things ended up- I'm more accepting about how things are right now, and remember: Never say never in this business. Who knows how things will end up in the future. It was just a bad shake that things ended up the way they did, and it's not your fault that my attempt to help you out failed. As for Alex, do you still have your laptop? Maybe Skyping would be the best way, since you're going to be up in Canada for awhile. Unless you want to encourage him to punch you by doing it face to face.
He stares at the words for a moment before sighing. That's not a bad idea, I guess. It's not fair on him to let it fester any longer than it already has.
Yeah, man. My match is about to start so I have to go soon... but hey, Mike?
Yeah?
While we're on the subject, I'm sorry about being so pissy over Wrestlemania. I shouldn't have held that against you. Deep down I was glad that at least one of us had a match that night, it was just hard to not be annoyed over the whole situation.
His hand trembles against the phone as he takes in a deep breath, almost overwhelmed by the relief that floods him at these words. It's ok, I would've been mad too. I'm just glad you finally came to your senses :P ... but I never blamed you for feeling that way anyway. I'm sorry if I did anything to make it worse for you, it wasn't my intention. He rarely apologizes for anything so he knows that Morrison will probably be shocked, and he hopes that sending him such a text this close to his match won't shatter his focus and cause him yet another thing he's strived for in his life. Biting his lip at how horrible an irony that would be, he sends another quick text. Anyway, don't wanna make you late for that match. Kick some ass, man.
Thanks. Break a leg (but not literally) with that movie. Now go talk to Alex!
He glances over at the laptop sitting innocently on his desk, pursing his lips thoughtfully. He's about to stand up and grab it when he spots the time on his cell phone. "Almost 10 PM?" he yelps, remembering the on-set time of 5 AM. "Crap." Unfortunately, the second reunion, of a sense, will just have to wait as he starts getting ready for bed. Where would we all be without technology? he wonders with a faint smile.
The first day of taping is exhausting and long; he wakes up at 4 and he's on-set by 4:30, out to make a good impression to the people scattered around the set. If nothing else, impressing people here will mean if things with WWE go to the wayside like they did for Morrison, he'll have somewhere else he can hopefully turn to. Not that he likes to think like that but the business is obviously in flux, the future for a good number of them unfortunately uncertain. He broods for a bit before the filming begins, relieved to lose himself for awhile in the role. Since he wouldn't be leaving for Raw later, he had told the crew that his schedule had opened up, and they had quickly switched things around so they could do a couple more takes of different scenes they had planned on doing the next day, once he had returned.
When filming is finished and he digs himself out, it's nearly 5 PM and he's tired, his mind a little fuzzy and his stomach protesting the hours that had passed with only a sandwich or two that he had taken a minute to force down to tide himself over before returning behind the camera. It's a different experience compared to competing in a wrestling ring or shooting off a quick promo, a little tricky to adjust to, but he finds it rejuvenating in its freshness anyway.
Upon arriving back at his hotel, he wanders into the restaurant on the first floor, relieved to sink into a nearby bench to wait to order. He's not even sure what's on the menu but he's too tired to care, feeling like anything more complicated than a burger and fries would send him into a deep sleep right on this table. Desperate to stay awake while he waits for the waitress to come take his order, he begins reading through tweets from his phone, shaking his head at the flood of misspelled, misinformed messages from his fans. One from hours earlier catches his eye and he barks a laugh, unable to stop himself from responding. Well, hopefully, they'll get the name of the movie right when they actually want to watch it, he thinks with a small eyeroll.
When the food finally comes, he picks at it, overwhelmed by the size of the food. "Geez," he mutters, rubbing his eyes. He had been so used to running himself ragged over the last couple of years, doing media and other things for WWE, that he had crashed hard once he had been aware this stay in Canada would last awhile, getting more sleep in one week than he had in a good month. Disgusted that his body is back to craving more regular amounts of sleep, he waves over the waitress with an apologetic grin. "Can I have this in a to-go box?" Aware that he'd be there awhile, he'd been ridiculously relieved to find his hotel room adorned with a mini-fridge and microwave. Small things like that always made long-term things like this a little easier to deal with, he had found a long time ago.
"Of course, sir," she says with a quiet smile, leaving to get the box and his bill. Her return surprises him, shaking the fog out of his mind as he signs the receipt and stuffs a credit card into the fold, before handing it back to her. As she leaves once more, he works at fitting the uneaten cheeseburger and fries in the styrofoam, resting his chin in his palm once he's done. "Here is your card back, sir. Thank you," she says, startling him again when she finds him staring mindlessly ahead.
"Oh, thanks," he mumbles to her back, quickly stuffing the card back in his wallet and leaving with the box in hand. He barely remembers the walk back to the elevator or getting into his room. He does, however, remember falling onto his bed after stuffing the leftovers into his fridge and staring dully at his laptop as sleep itches at him insistently. Morrison's words from the night before float before his eyes as he turns the laptop on and watches it boot up, remembering the look on John and Alex's faces when he'd received it as a birthday gift the October before, and they'd had their first webcam chat while he was fired. They hadn't had many more opportunities to do that before everything had gone south between all three of them following Morrison's firing, unfortunately.
He loads Skype as soon as the computer's on and he's connected to the hotel's wifi, tilting his head. Alex's name is dark, showing that he's not online at the moment. Probably preparing for Raw, he thinks grimly, still a little in disbelief that he had been so thoughtlessly brushed aside and told to remain in Canada- although after the last few months, that shouldn't be a surprise. Instead of waiting to watch Raw, he leaves Skype on and, not even giving his sleep-addled mind time to rethink it, shoots off an invitation to Alex for a chat once he should come online.
He's fast asleep when there's a soft chime from his laptop, the strange sound breaking into the relative quiet of his hotel room. He groans, stirring and slaps a hand against the keyboard as if he thinks it's an alarm clock, startling himself fully awake as he realizes he'd just hit something too large to be an alarm clock. Pulling himself blurrily to a sitting position, he stares at the computer and realizes that a screen is flashing, telling him that Alex is now online and has accepted his invitation.
"Uh, Mike?"
He jumps, almost falling clean off of the bed. Once he's regained his balance, cursing, he fumbles around with the laptop, finally switching screens until he's found Alex's, opening it up. The younger man's face appears on his monitor, looking conflicted between worried and amused. "Don't laugh," he warns him, voice weighed down with sleep. "I swear, don't friggin laugh at that."
"I woke you up, huh?" he finally asks once he's certain he won't laugh. "Sorry, I just saw the invitation in my inbox, had no idea you'd be asleep."
"It's fine," he waves off the apology. "Hang on a second, I haven't ate much today."
"Alright."
Mike stands up, wavering sleepily over to the fridge, relieved that Alex couldn't see that near-drunken like walk too, already granted enough teasing material for one night. As soon as he opens the fridge, the cool blast of air that greets him wakes him up some and, after wrapping the food up in a paper towel and microwaving it, his walk back to the bed is much more sturdy, the food container in his hands a welcome thing to focus on as he tries to decide how to word what he has to say.
"Cheeseburger?" Alex asks, smiling slightly at the familiarity as Mike looks up at him.
"Yep. I was too tired to be original earlier."
"Nothing wrong with that."
Mike nods, glancing up briefly as they both fall into uncomfortable silence while he digs into his food. Once he's swallowed down almost half of it, he feels better and puts the container down, knowing that he'll only be able to eat in peace once he's said what he needs to say. "I talked to Morrison- briefly- yesterday via texts," he says, leaning closer to the computer. As Alex looks back at him, he wonders- not for the first, or the last- how exactly he had let things get this bad. With his career, with Morrison, with Alex... with himself.
"Oh yeah? How is he?" It's so obvious that Alex is hurting even just sitting with a computer screen and thousands of miles between them, his eyes losing that spark of energy and drive that had gained Mike's notice way back when they first met in NXT 2, that energy that had reminded him so much of himself.
"He's ok." Mike licks his lips, taking a deep breath to steel himself for what he has to say to get that look off of his friend's face. "We worked through some things... I think things are going to be better now." Hopefully for all of us.
Alex looks even more wretched at this and Mike curses himself, unable to say anything before Alex takes a breath of his own. "I'm happy for you both, really. I could tell even when you basically hated each other that it wouldn't take much to resolve things. You just would need to sit down and really talk. Friendship like yours, it doesn't come along every day." He looks up, away from the computer, and Mike wonders what's going on, who he's with. "Hey, Mike, Zack wants to do something. I have to go-"
"No, no, wait!" he all but yells, gripping the side of the laptop screen as if that'd keep Alex with him. "I didn't- I didn't invite you to this chat to discuss me and John. Really, I didn't. I just- I'm an idiot, Alex." This stops him and Mike shakes his head, relieved. "I don't know why I laid into you like that," he says faintly. "I know you wouldn't bet against me with Punk. I just... Each week, getting excluded from Raw or just flat out losing has been eating at me for awhile. I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I am so sorry."
Even through the webcam screen, Mike's sincerity bleeds through and Alex looks up. "Hey, Zack, go without me. I'll catch up with you later." Once the Long Island Iced Z is gone, Alex adjusts the cords surrounding his laptop, getting into a more comfortable position. "I know you're going through a lot," he admits. "I wasn't really mad after all of that. I just figured, if anything, we all needed a little bit of time and space. And hey, I guess it worked. Look at us now, you and John are talking again, and now us."
"Yeah." Mike smiles a little, reaching out for what remains of his hamburger. "So we're good, right?"
"Yeah, Mike, we're good." He grins. "So tell me about this movie, huh? You began filming today? And still had time to torture fangirls on Twitter?" He grins as Mike groans, burying his face in his hands a moment.
"What can I say? It's a gift. Fine, but when I'm done, you have to tell me about Raw. I'm going to guess Laurinaitis is still around?"
"Oh, that was a mess and a half." Alex grimaces, shaking his head.
"I can just imagine." As they settle in for yet another of their lengthy conversations, Mike feels more like himself for the first time in a long time. It is... to put it simply... awesome.