He loses. After waiting for another all-clear from the trainer on his follow up evaluation and trying his hardest to rest on Tuesday to be at the top of his game by Wednesday night, the Intercontinental title is pulled from his grasp by Kofi Kingston. It feels like a loss in the family, as stupid as it may seem. He thinks he may drown in the devastation as he wanders blankly through the halls, his shoulder feeling so naked without the title belt that had been with him for the past three months.
When Josh Mathews corners him for one of his worthless interviews, Mike can't keep the pain from his eyes or voice as he goes on about how it's akin to losing a lung or other vital organ. Even though it's only been a short period of time, it's already an itch to get the title back that he just can't quite scratch, making it known that he wants his rematch ASAP, to erase this night from his memory and replace it with his reclaiming what's rightfully his. Once Mathews leaves, the door slips open yet again and he doesn't need to look up to recognize who's standing before him now.
She sits down next to him and kicks her legs back and forth like she's swinging on a playground instead of sitting on a bench in a locker room where various WWE superstars are milling back and forth. "I'm sorry you lost," she tells him quietly. He doesn't say anything and she reaches over, undisturbed by his still clammy skin, pressing a hand to his (bare) shoulder. "Mike?" When he finally looks over at her, eyes still welling with pain and confusion, she smiles wanly at him. "I've talked to the board again."
He watches her as she talks, taking it all in quietly. When she finishes, he nods vacantly, that look still in his eyes. She sighs and rests an arm around his shoulders, pulling him towards her. They sit like that for long moments, Mike barely able to do much more than breathe and stare at the wall as the time ticks past.
As soon as he's away from her, his steps slow and methodical, he pulls his cell phone out, resting it against his forehead as the cool casing soothes his aching forehead some. Pressing 3, he dials in and listens as Alex answers, sounding careful and sympathetic in his greeting. "She can't do it," he chokes out, unable to vocalize it completely. He knows that A-Ri will understand.
"Oh, Mike," he mumbles, sounding as disappointed as Mike is feeling. "At least you tried? That's the important thing?"
He keeps quiet for long moments, staring blankly at the wall, Alex's attempts at consoling him falling on deaf ears. "Don't tell anyone about this," he finally says, voice cracking mid-sentence. "Keep it between us. I don't... don't want him finding out I failed."
"You know I won't, but Mike, I don't think he'd be mad- I think that, you know, he'd be... glad that you would go to all of this trouble for him."
Mike shakes his head, sighing loudly. "John deserves better. And if I can't get him that, then he doesn't need to know that the board is uninterested in rehiring him at this time. So please, Alex, don't say anything."
"Ok, man. I promise."
Mike had been promised a lot the last few days, none of which came true, but he knows that Alex will hold true to his word. "Thank you."
Thursday he spends in a haze, staring blankly at his phone, which has a picture of him, John and Alex from his birthday. He has the Intercontinental title across his lap and all three of them are grinning into the camera, and he wonders if he'll ever be that happy again. It's not just the title loss eating at him, though it's killing him on a professional level. Hearing that dreaded no from AJ regarding Morrison's employment hits him on a level he hadn't foreseen, makes him want to rage and rage and never stop. He had had such high hopes, that he could get John his job back, and have his best friend back where he'd belonged but it all slipped through his fingers like water.
He leans forward and scrubs his hands through his hair, trying to breathe. "What do I do now?" Sometimes his blind focus is shattered by phone calls- Alex, and AJ and... yeah, John too. He stares at the various names flashing across his screen and breathes deeply. In. Out. When the phone goes dark once more, he rocks forward and peers at the picture that resumes filling the small space, his focus on the easy-going look on John's face. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Even when he was at his lowest, unable to even get a foothold in gaining his fellow wrestlers' respect enough to earn a peaceful spot in the locker room, he'd never like this much of a loser.
The next day he forces himself to function like a normal human being. He sleeps a few hours, he eats a hasty breakfast before going to the arena, and he waits for Smackdown to start. Eve is nearby, telling Slater, McIntyre and Mahal about the West Virginian's match against Brodus Clay before turning her attention to Miz. She smiles professionally at him, her eyes bleeding contempt as she walks over, adjusting her glasses. "Mike," she greets him formally. "Booker T wanted me to let you know he's decided to start the show off with another edition of Miz TV. Your guests will be Team Hell No."
He shrugs listlessly and one of her rigid eyebrows raise curiously but she says nothing, walking primly off to continue handling her business. "Just what I needed," he mumbles, stalking off to prepare for the talk show. The only worthwhile moment is when he announces that he's challenging Kofi for his rematch at Hell in a Cell before Team Hell No interrupts him. Of course it devolves, Kane and Daniel constantly arguing, until Big Show, Dolph and Vickie make their way to the ring, all of them arguing as he stands aside and throws his hands up in disbelief and disgust when Booker finally shows himself. He mocks the GM, pointing out how blatantly predictable the man is in his match making skills- just for Booker to throw him in a solo match against Orton, the other four into a tag match.
The general focus isn't even on his match, the titantron taken over by the view inside of Alberto Del Rio's skybox that he's overseeing the match from, Ricardo Rodriguez by his side as they talk lowly about the match, looking for weaknesses in Orton's offense or defense in preparation for the match they're to have at Hell in a Cell. He tries to fuel his anger into achieving a victory but nothing comes of it, Orton quickly taking him out of the game with one of his sudden RKOs. He rolls out of the ring afterwards and listens listlessly as Orton tries to get Del Rio to come to the ring, the Mexican aristocrat refusing and claiming that their confrontation will happen when he decides it to.
He laughs, remembers when he used to have that kind of control over his career, way back when he was the WWE champion. Back before people like Booker T decided when he'd do what, and how, and where and... Slapping his fist against the padding covering the concrete floor, he stumbles to his feet and to the back, ignoring everything around him. The only good thing about it being Smackdown is that AJ isn't here, and he won't have to endure her solemn, guilty stare. He knows she had tried to help him, feeling the failure possibly as much as he had, and that he shouldn't take it out on her... but it still stings. Even worse than that is the simple fact that he has no way to release all of his pent up anger.
Alex is still off in Florida, rehabbing from the surgeries, and John... He closes his eyes and shakes his head, knowing that he should at least call the man. He even makes it as far as pulling out his phone, staring down at the screen. At the picture that's still his wallpaper, of the three of them. Running his thumb thoughtfully over the image, he closes his eyes and hits 2 before he can second guess it. He listens blankly as it rings... rings... rings. He's about to hang up, deducing that John's out somewhere, or fast asleep, when finally it clicks. "Hello?"
He stutters and sucks in another deep breath. "Um, hey, man." He snorts at how awkward he sounds, trying to shake it off.
"Mike? What's up?" John wonders, quickly cluing into his awkwardness and proceeding carefully.
"Oh, uh, I just needed a distraction after Smackdown... so I thought you'd be more likely to not be doing much of anything between you and Alex." It's a lie, really, he just couldn't think of anything else, his mouth once more working quicker than his brain.
To John's credit, he knows his best friend well and only laughs it off, Mike picturing him shaking his head in exasperated fondness. "Oh, thanks," he mumbles through a chuckle. "What's been going on?" He barely gives Miz a second to answer before taking in a deep breath. "I, um, heard about your title loss. I'm sorry, man. I know how much that belt meant to you."
Mike hums slightly. "Yeah, it sucks... but you know, now I get the prestige of beating Kofi down for it and taking it back at Hell in a Cell." He releases a breath of his own before smirking balefully, wishing not for the first time that he could see his best friend. "Thanks, though."
"Is there anything else going on? You've been acting... oddly for awhile," he ventures carefully. "Alex noticed it too, but he dropped it after awhile so I thought maybe things were leveling off for you... but after how you were acting the last few times I've seen you, well." His voice lowering, he seems to not be sure where to go from here. "I just want to make sure you're doing alright."
Just that question chokes Mike up and he shakes his head, hating himself- AJ- the situation- WWE's board- for not being willing or able to do more to get John back where he belonged. "I'm sorry," he finally mumbles.
"What? Sorry for what?" He sounds even more worried now and Mike groans, knowing that he's just placed himself in a really horrible place. He can't tell John, but keeping it to himself is killing him when all he wants to do is scream at the top of his voice, go on a rampage in the Connecticut offices, and... "Mike. Talk to me or else," John warns him, "the next time I see you I'll beat it out of you."
He half-laughs, half-sniffs and rests his phone against his forehead, unable to stop thinking about that night that he had wrestled John for his last match in the WWE- he had been in denial even then, refusing to accept that John was leaving, it only smacking him upside the head when he'd been deemed the winner and John had been helped out of the arena. He had known, on some level, that this thing with AJ would more likely than not fail, but... he had wanted it so bad, believing that he could achieve it, get John his job back, have their little trio back, force his life to return to normalcy- when he was relevant as WWE champion, Alex and John both by his side and not scattered on either side of the country. He can hear John's muffled voice coming from his phone so he reluctantly returns to the conversation, understanding that he can't just leave him hanging without him starting to place phone calls to anyone willing to check on Miz. The last thing I need is Zack Ryder on my ass or something, he thinks before finally spitting out, "I failed. I am so, so sorry."
"Failed at what? Mike, you're starting to scare me," John says, his voice so low, so soft, like he's afraid one wrong word would shatter whatever remains of his former tag partner. And hell, for all Mike knows, he might be right.
And so he talks. He tells him how the wheels had slowly begun turning when he'd returned from filming Marine: Homefront, how he'd won the Intercontinental title, and AJ had been put in as General Manager and Mike's innate ability to manipulate situations had come to the forefront yet again, his charming the girl for weeks encouraging her to go to the board and push for John to get his job back. To his credit, Morrison remains quiet through all of the story, though he does make a funny noise deep in his throat when Mike confesses his end goal had been to make the board of directors rehire him. By the time words are failing him, his brain as numb as his body feels, he falls silent and waits. Expects John to blow up at any time, but it never comes.
"You did all of that for me," he finally mutters, sounding awed and a little conflicted.
"Not that it did any good for either of us," he replies, feeling tired soul deep. He wonders if he sounds as bad as he feels, knows that it probably doesn't matter- John had always been able to read him impressively well, no matter how much bravado he tries to use. "They ended up being uninterested and I lost the Intercontinental title." He drops back against the wall, feeling the cool surface solid against his bare neck. "I hoped for too long. I..."
"You did the best you could," John says, sounding a little more himself as seconds tick by. "Mike..."
"Yeah?" he sighs, knowing that this will probably be the moment when John lays into him, lets him have it for interfering on something he might not have wanted to begin with.
"... Thank you," he says warmly, and even though the words surprise Mike, he can just imagine the look on John's face, how his eyes must be gleaming with emotions similar to the ones in his voice right now. "That you would do all of this, just to get me back in the business, well... I'm kind of floored, to be honest."
"You're my best friend," he finally mumbles, kind of floored himself. He had not expected this kind of reaction from the prideful man, certain that he'd be in big trouble for even considering such ridiculous measures. "What's the point of having a best friend if they're not by your side to torment at any time?" He smiles slightly, picking at the bench. "Or to be there for you when things go to hell."
There's a long pause and he wants to slap himself, take back the words that sound way more accusatory than he'd ever intended. "You know if you ever really needed me, all you'd have to do is ask and I'd be there as quickly as possible, right?" Morrison finally says, a small smile flitting across Mike's face.
"Yeah, Johnny. I know. And vice versa, yeah?"
"Yeah, Mikey. I know too."
By Monday, Mike is a little more collected. Hell in a Cell is inching closer, the vibe in the backstage area reflecting it as everyone carries on with their duties, most looking unsettled or even more tense than usual. He has his eye on the prize for this Sunday but, of course, WWE has one of their little polls running about who should face Ryback and- lucky, lucky him- he wins the honor, unable to wiggle out of it no matter how hard he tries, claiming he's also trying to help Ryback out before his match this Sunday, and all it gets him is that Ryback comes out then and the match begins.
It seems go by in the blink of an eye and afterwards he's left aching, his whole body protesting the rough treatment he'd suffered during that match. He now understands how exactly his poor couches had felt, eyes closed as he sits in the locker room awhile later and half listens to the commentators going on and on about how AJ's just arrived with Vince McMahon. Glancing up, he catches sight of her face and thinks he knows what she's going to say. She looks devastated and reluctant as Vince helps her from the limo and leads her out to the ring.
Sure enough, after waxing sentimental on her humble beginnings in this very state, she admits that allegations had been made to the board that she was fraternizing with a superstar. His mouth goes very dry as she explains that, due to this, she has resigned as GM. Eyes growing cold and selfish, he glowers at the TV, wondering if the superstar the reports had been about were him. And what that could do to his career, his title match this Sunday. Getting up, he walks to the gorilla to wait for her.
With Heyman and Vickie out there taunting and belittling her, it takes awhile for her to come, his glower fixed first on Punk's associate and the new managering director of Raw as they storm past him, equally angry and disheveled. Finally she makes her way through the curtain and comes to a dead stop upon catching sight of him waiting for her. "Mike," she greets him, once more adjusting her tie anxiously.
He pushes away from the wall and circles around her, eyes hooded and thoughtful. "So fraternizing with a superstar... anyone I know?" he sneers, anger starting to boil over that they'd maybe been caught.
She waits, her fingers digging into her palm, until he's face to face with her once more. "It wasn't you, if that's what you're getting at."
He hesitates, somehow only feeling worse at this. "Oh really? How many guys have you been fraternizing with then?"
Her eyes flash as she looks up at him, not losing her nerve even a little. He's almost impressed, even as she struggles to breathe normally. "Not that it's any of your business, but I had a working dinner with Cena." He looks even more angry at this, but she ignores the twitch in his jaw, choosing to explain herself in full just once so she doesn't have to think about it again and again. "He'd just had surgery and I wanted to make sure he knew that I'd do what I could when he seemed unhappy with 's claims that he'd be back in two to three weeks, so he wouldn't feel railroaded to rush a return and risk injuring himself further. After these claims, I chose to resign to try to keep his name out of it. Nothing more, nothing less."
He shrugs, still not seeming too thrilled with the prospect even though he knows now that she was only trying to be a good boss. "So I see." They stare at each other, the tension fading off into awkwardness, and he sighs. "I have to go." Giving her a once over as she tries again to adjust her clothing, he mumbles, "Sorry things played out like this for you. I'm sure you'll bounce back though, you're resilient."
She nods, looking incredibly young in the moment, her lips parting as he turns and walks away. "Mike?" she calls out. When he pauses, she slumps in on herself a little bit. "I didn't just resign for Cena." He stops and turns back around, brows knitting in confusion as she hugs herself, shuddering slightly. "I really did want to help you rehire Morrison." She licks her lips, eyes dropping to the side. "I wanted to make you happy. And when the board told me in no uncertain terms that they weren't interested, no matter how hard I'd tried to sell it to them over the last few months, I just knew... I knew they saw me as nothing more than a little girl who had no good ideas of her own."
Pieces of the puzzle fall into place all of a sudden and Mike swallows. "You resigned partially because of... because of me?"
She slowly shakes her head, eyes shining with tears. "Because I failed you," she explains faintly. "I'm so sorry I couldn't make them listen to me. I really did try." She finally breaks down, covering her face with her hands, and he groans, always weak to her misery.
"Hey, hey," he says quietly, walking back up to her. "C'mon, shhh. It's ... it's not the end of the world, huh?" He wraps his arms around her and strokes her hair, relieved that now they could do this and he wouldn't have to worry as much about who saw. "It's fine. I, I talked with John. I told him what I was trying to do, what the board said." He sighs, eyes crinkling with disappointment. "He seemed ok with it, I think he was more surprised than anything that I went to those lengths to try to get him back here." Her face pressed into his chest, listening as he talks, her sobs slowly fading into hitched breaths, he smiles faintly against her hair. "Everything- this whole situation with Cena, the board, all of it, it'll soon seem like just a bad dream. You'll see."
"I hope so," she says, voice muffled as she leans closer in an attempt to absorb his warmth.
"It will," he nods confidentally, tightening his hold on her. When he finally lets her go to talk to Cena, he does feel a good deal lighter. Even though it still hurts that the Morrison thing'd fallen apart on him almost from the get-go, at least now he has a definite answer. It's like a great weight off of his shoulders, leaving him clear to focus on this Sunday and regaining his Intercontinental title. Hope you're ready, Kofi, he thinks viciously, reaching up to touch the stitches along his brow, reminding himself of what the West African native had done to him. When it comes around, this little cut will seem like child's play when I'm through with you.