Still suffering the affects of his minor concussion following the loss of his horribly short Intercontinental title reign, Miz is granted the night off Wednesday, WWE opting to err on the side of caution instead of making him travel and commentate Main Event. This news coming early Tuesday morning, Morrison takes over and gets him on the first flight back to LA, the two men wishing quick farewells to Alex as he waits for his own flight to head back to Florida to recuperate before the grind begins anew. "I'll see you soon," he promises Mike, hugging him quickly. "You too, John," he adds in an undertone, clapping the former WWE Superstar on the back before hugging him too. "Take good care of him, ok?"
"I will. Don't worry about him," John nods, glancing over his shoulder at the listless Mike. "I'll make sure he's ok."
It sucks leaving Alex behind, and although the former NXT rookie had been tempted to go with his two friends, he'd had a few things to handle in Florida, so the three of them have no true choice as Morrison rests a steadying hand between Miz's shoulderblades, easing him through the airport towards their flight. He'd been very quiet since waking up, and the two men are worried about him, but they know pushing gets them nowhere. So John waits and watches, determined to be there for whenever Mike does want to talk.
Thankfully John is extremely patient, losing himself in meditation throughout the flight, during which Miz spends either deep asleep or staring blankly ahead. When a flight attendent passes by and asks if they want a drink or anything else, Mike shakes his head, the first bit of response he'd shown anyone in awhile. When she looks hesitantly at Morrison, visibly worried, he just shrugs at her and rests a hand on Mike's shoulder. "We're fine, thank you." Once she leaves, he leans closer to Mike and tries to catch his eye. "Hey..."
"What?" he asks dully, his voice quiet and so unlike Mike that it only reinforces John's worry.
He rubs his shoulder briskly and finally gives him a little shake, mindful of his concussion. "Listen, I know it sucks- I've been there, you're on top of the world and then it just comes crashing down around you when you least expect it. But Mike, this isn't good. You're worrying Alex, hell you're worrying me. I'm not going to force you to talk until you're ready but I just want you to know whenever you do feel like it, I'm here to listen. I'll always be here, you know that." Mike's silence is expected. The bitter tears that well up in his eyes, however, are not. John sighs and keeps his hand steady on his best friend's shoulder throughout the rest of the flight, relieved to see California out of the airplane window within the hour. "We're home."
Mike sniffs and swallows, refusing to look out at the tarmac that will precede them venturing out into the bright blue sky, getting sand in their shoes almost from minute one. John's face tightens all the more as he shakes his head and follows his friend out of the airplane, both men silent and solemn as they collect their bags and move for the exit. Mike says nothing the whole way to John's apartment, not even reacting when they drive past the turnoff that would take them to his house. John sighs quietly and stops outside of his building, turning in the driver's seat to look at him. "We're here."
Mike pushes the door open with tight, jerky movements and steps outside, standing by the trunk and waiting for Morrison to open it so he can get his things. Once done, he trudges inside, his former tag partner trailing behind him and relieved to see his balance at least is better compared to last night or even earlier as they walk up the stairs to his floor. "Go to the guest room," he says quietly as soon as he's unlocked his door. "Relax. I have a couple of things to check on, then we can decide what we want to do the rest of the day."
He doubts that Miz will be up for much more than sleep, his eyes still dull and listless as he brushes past him and obligingly heads for the room that John had set up for whenever he and/or Alex had time to waste in California, which didn't happen often enough in any of their opinions. Tapping his fingers against the mail that'd come in since he'd been gone doing those indy events, and checking what he's got in his fridge that hasn't mutated in his absense, he sighs and closes the door before venturing down the hallway to look in on Mike. The silence is unnerving him, his former partner never having issue in the past with entering a space, claiming it as his own, and immediately filling it with his voice or music or something. But when John looks in on him he's laying quietly across the bed, staring at the ceiling, and it hurts to watch him so silent, so still.
He knows the other man's been through a lot the past few months, between the whole messy drama with AJ and bad luck in his career, and he wishes he could've been a more constant presence. But considering he's not even in the company anymore, and how their lives had gone in separate paths since November 2011... He sighs and pushes the door open, trying to smile at Mike as he looks up grimly. "How are you feeling?" A shrug is his response and he enters the room fully, dropping down on the bed next to Miz on his stomach so he can face him. Despite knowing Mike better than most, he feels utterly lost here, not sure what to do for him, how to get him to open up. "I'm sorry."
"What for?" he asks after a few minutes, causing John to jerk in surprise. "None of this was your fault. I'm a failure, is all." Before Morrison can even attempt to argue against this, Mike continues speaking, his voice wavering and sounding like it probably would've if he had spoke on the flight, bitter and emotional. "Fixing things with AJ, helping you or Alex out, succeeding at winning and retaining the Intercontinental title. I'm just... worthless all around." He scrubs angrily at his face and releases a shuddering breath as John stares up at him, horrified and in shock at his hate-filled words. "Hell, I'm even a bad friend to Ricardo, I should've insisted he stay with me and Alex or- or something last week, then maybe that whole crutch thing wouldn't have happened, and..."
Having heard more than enough, John lunges forward and grips his arms, staring deep into his tear-filled eyes. "Stop it, Mike. Right now. God, man. What the hell? You're not worthless, far from it. The fact alone that you feel so strongly about all of this stuff proves how hard you try. You're always determined to make things better for others, for yourself. Sometimes things just don't work out the way we want. It doesn't mean it's pointless or you should give up. Mike, the reason that you feel so badly when things go wrong for us is why Alex, Ricardo and I hang around in the first place. You care about all of us, sometimes maybe too much and maybe to your own detriment."
"I didn't care when I turned my back on you after the draft," he refutes immediately. "I didn't care when I started charming AJ just to get you your job back. I didn't care when I threw Ricardo off of that ladder into the table below. I didn't care when I bet Alex's job and got him fired. I've done so much crap over the years, I don't know how any of you can stand to even look at me." He angrily rolls away and buries his face in the pillows, shoulders shaking.
John stares at the back of his head and scoots closer, a hand resting on his shoulder once more like he'd done during the tailend of the flight. "Man, all of that is water under the bridge. You know I forgave you about what you did after the draft a long time ago. I doubt Alex even remembers that that happened; you worked hard to get him his job back after that and he hasn't mentioned it since. And I can't speak for him, but I watched Ricardo on Sunday night. He holds no illwill against you for what you've done in the past either. AJ might take time to come around but what you've done to her is a whole hell of a lot more recent than anything you've done to Ricardo, Alex or I." His voice softens as he squeezes the still trembling muscles under his fingers. "You need to let this go, man. All of it, the guilt, the pain... We're all here for you, whenever you need us, and we always will be."
Mike lays there for a moment longer before twisting back around and gripping John tightly, now burying his face in his shoulder as more tears pour down his face. "I'm sorry. I'm just so damn sorry," he whispers, voice choked with emotions.
John holds him, shaking his head slowly. "Nothing to apologize for, Mike," he breathes, determined not to overreact and freak out. It's a number of things, he's sure- the concussion, the title loss, everything that's been going on in the road to Wrestlemania, and he thinks he's probably needed this for awhile now. "Just let go of it. It's ok. You're gonna be ok. Everything's going to be fine." It becomes his mantra, his fingers buried in Mike's hair as he waits it out, clinging to him as tightly as he dares.
Eventually the tears slow, stop, but Mike's worn out emotionally and physically so John says nothing as he slumps back against his pillows, face still wet and eyes red. He falls asleep quickly but Morrison remains on the bed next to him, listening to his breathing and thinking about everything that'd been said the last hour. He's glad that he'd stayed around 4 PM when Mike's cell phone goes off, John quickly scooping it up and taking it out into the hallway, answering without looking. He expects it to be Alex but the voice that he hears isn't the younger man, a surprised look crossing his face before he glances into the bedroom. "Huh," he mumbles once he hangs up.
Mike wakes up with a twitch, his eyes feeling gritty and glued together. As he scrubs at them, he feels tear tracks on his cheeks and swallows as the memories come back to him, completely breaking down on John and admitting what he'd been dwelling on since his Intercontinental title loss. He thinks he should feel embarrassed, or dread seeing what John will have to say from here, but Morrison had been so understanding and it's not like him to use these kinds of things against him anyway so he relaxes and merely enjoys being in an actual bed for the first time in he's not sure how long, used to rough and stiff hotel mattresses. John's is plush and comfortable and he almost can't stand just how good it feels to just lay, cocooned in the soft fabric of his sheets.
When the door creaks open he doesn't move, too relaxed to even open his eyes as his friend pads quietly over to him, resting something on the table next to the bed. He smells something sweet and familiar, almost tempted to open his eyes, but then John sits down on the bed facing him and brushes a damp cloth over his eyes, effectively waking him up fully and cleaning away the last bits of proof of his break down. "Mike," he whispers, smiling faintly as he blinks up at him. "I brought you some food. Up to eating?"
Now understanding what exactly he's smelling, he nods faintly and turns his head to look at the tray with two plates on it, lips twitching into the first smile he's had since the day before when he'd woke up, dizzy and a loser. "You brought me breakfast in bed," he teases vaguely as he realizes that it's french toast smothered in fresh fruit, potato wedges filling the rest of the plate. Unsurprised when John passes over coconut water to go with it, he sits up and stares down at it. "Thanks. John... about earlier-"
"No. C'mon Mike. Don't worry about it, we all have those moments, right? Just eat. We're fine." He squeezes his arm and smiles. "Are you feeling better at least? How's your headache?"
He hesitates, forkful of potatoes held in midair as he considers the question. He does feel better, and he says so, a small smile forming across his lips again. "Thanks, John." It's almost 6 PM and he feels almost like a little kid again as he eats breakfast for supper, enjoying John's silent company while they sit side by side and work through the delicious food. As soon as he's done, John takes his plate, disappearing into the kitchen as faint sounds of his cleaning up echo through the hall back to the guest room, Mike finally pulling himself out of the ridiculously comfortable bed to look out at the bright sunshine still pouring down onto the beach just visible from the windows on this side of the apartment.
"Wanna go out and get some sun?" John asks a few minutes later, Mike turning to find his friend leaning against the doorway, smiling faintly. "I hafta tell you something anyway."
He feels much better than he had even three hours earlier, his mind clearer and headache all but nonexistant, more than he'd thought was possible when he woke up to find his world turned on its axis only twenty hours earlier, and nods, wondering what exactly his best friend could have to say that has him looking solemn, almost hesitant, but he doesn't push the matter until they're both settled on the warm sand, sun pouring down on their bare shoulders and warming them both inside and out. "What is it?"
John reaches into the pocket of his shorts and hands over Mike's cell phone, the Awesome One blinking in surprise. He'd not even noticed it was missing until this moment. "WWE films called. Christmas Bounty production starts on Thursday. Mike, you have to leave for Canada tomorrow."
Mike stares at him, eyes dark and thoughtful. "Oh. I see." He thumbs through his phone, staring at the few tweet alerts he'd received in the last three hours. "Ok..." It's sudden. It's not how he'd expected this week to go. But it also means time away. Away from his failures, away from having to see AJ on new World Heavyweight champion Dolph Ziggler's arm, away from his guilt. Whereas the time before, leaving to film Marine 3, when he'd been so angry at the state that his career's in, now he thinks it might be a good thing.
John must realize it too because he runs his hand through Mike's hair, smiling slightly when his friend looks up at him. "It'll be a nice break for you, huh? Give you time to think, decide what you want to do from here."
"Yeah." He stares at his phone, still floored by everything, and releases a tight breath. "I need to call Alex." As John lays down, staring up at the sky, he hits speed dial 3 and stares out at the waves brushing against the golden sand, waiting for the one part of this he's dreading- an abrupt goodbye to Alex, who'd just come back from injury not that long ago, who was still trying to find his place in the business following that-
"Hello?"
He swallows. "Hey, kid."
"Mike! How are you?" Alex sounds quiet, worried, and Mike feels so bad for doing this to him, on top of everything else.
"I'm ok. Um, well... better. I guess. You know." He takes a breath, trying to figure out how to word what he needs to say. "Kid, do you remember when I told you I was cast into that movie, Christmas Bounty?" Upon Alex's confirmation, he smiles wanly and takes a breath. "They called a little bit ago. Production starts on Thursday. I, I leave for Canada tomorrow." He waits for Alex to say something, but when it doesn't come he sighs. "Are you still there?"
"Yeah, I- I mean, this is just sudden," Alex says, subdued.
"It is," Mike agrees, his lips twitching. "I don't know how long I'll be gone, but I guess... we're going to be keeping Skype's usage up for awhile again." He glances over at John, reflecting on how when he'd been isolated in Canada, dwelling on how south things had gone for him, talking to Alex and John and having three-way Skype sessions with them had been the best part of his time up there sometimes, the only thing to keep his mind off of what Laurinaitis had done. "Can you do me a favor?"
"Sure, what?" Alex asks immediately.
"Two favors, actually. The next time you see Ricardo, give him my cell phone number, alright? I won't be much help up in Canada, but just in case he wants to talk or something. I know he has Del Rio but the more friends the better, especially in this business, right?" He's babbling, feeling oddly uncomfortable with all of this, but Alex agrees smoothly and waits for the second favor. "Just... keep an eye out for him. I won't be there for awhile, and with both him and Del Rio injured right now... he needs all the help he can get. Alright?"
"Sure, Mike, I- I can do that." He hesitates a moment and then breathes, "I'm gonna miss you."
Mike feels like he's been slapped, his guilt growing once more as he realizes he's been babbling on about Ricardo and everything else, trying to get all that he's leaving behind so abruptly handled at once without considering how Alex is probably feeling, shaking his head at his own stupidity. "I'm gonna miss you too, Alex. Anytime you want to talk, just call or check Skype, alright? No matter what time, I'll answer."
He sounds moderately better when he speaks up again. "Thanks, Mike. Look, I know you probably have a million things to do to get ready, so I'll let you go, alright? We'll talk soon. And hey, break a leg up there."
Mike laughs. "Thanks. And we definitely will talk soon. Bye, Alex." As he hangs up the phone, he flops down next to John and groans, still feeling horrible about leaving Alex, Ricardo and John all behind so abruptly... and he hadn't even had the time to consider actually being completely away from AJ for the next few weeks, or more. "This sucks..."
John says nothing, just reaches over and squeezes his arm in support, somehow that alone enough to help Mike relax a little under the bright California sun.
That Monday, Alex wanders around the Raw arena, shaking his head. They'd be heading out to the European tour shortly, after Main Event and Smackdown, but despite all of the bustle and frantic looking people racing past him, the building seems quiet. Dull. It always does whenever he's here alone, Mike not nearby, filling the halls with his loud voice and exciteable antics. He sighs and looks up as the show starts, the crowd buzzing as Orton and Sheamus vs Big Show begins. Disinterested, he heads back to the locker rooms, coming to a stop upon finding Ricardo Rodriguez balancing precariously on his crutches as he looks at his phone. "Hey man," he greets him.
"Oh, hola, Alex." He looks up, then around, as if looking for something, Alex knowing immediately what has his attention.
"Mike's off in Canada filming Christian Bounty," he says slowly as Ricardo blinks in surprise. "It was abrupt. He just received the call last week. He doesn't know how long he's going to be gone." He stares down at the ring announcer's phone and smiles halfheartedly. "But he wants me to give you his phone number if you ever want to talk to him. He knows you're going through a lot and he doesn't want to leave you high and dry like this." Stepping closer, he pulls out his own phone and lets the younger man enter the information into his own contact's list.
"Gracias, Alex," he says quietly, saving it carefully. He looks up at the taller man and frowns, uncertainty flashing in his dark eyes. "Um, I'm heading to catering to get some food for El Patron once he finishes getting his knee examined and wrapped for tonight. Do you... do you want to join me?"
Every time they'd hung out had been because of Mike, Alex reflects, but the ring announcer had slowly grown on him, his quiet mannerisms and sheepish determination to be there for Del Rio no matter what leaving it hard to hate the man. "Sure," he finally agrees. After all, as Mike had said, more friends in this business isn't a bad thing. He follows slowly as Ricardo moves down the hall on his crutches, steadily growing more confident balancing on his bad ankle. It's good to see that he's recovering, the last few weeks being horrible for him and his employer.
Unfortunately the same can't be said for Del Rio, his steps little better than a hobble as he grips onto Ricardo to support his own balance when he goes out to address Ziggler later on. Alex watches with a grimace from gorilla as he challenges the Show Off to his rematch, hungry to get his title back. But it all goes wrong when Swagger interrupts, Colter babbling on about his agenda, and, with some distraction from Big E, eventually attacks Del Rio, putting more damage on his already weakened knee as Colter keeps Ricardo back. Ziggler and the others remain in the ring, just watching, and Alex gnaws at his bottom lip as Ricardo finally gets to join his employer, Alberto struggling and yelling as he grips his knee, ignoring the trainer and referees trying to examine it. Finally he grabs Ricardo's hand and allows them to do their jobs, the pain visible on his face as the screen fades to commercials.
Alex hangs around as the trainer examines his leg, Del Rio still determined to get out there and compete to win back his title. He knows it's impossible before the trainer even explains to him that he won't be cleared tonight, Ricardo's eyes dulling as he presses a hand to his employer's shoulder. Alberto grunts and shakes his head, lips held in a thin line. When the trainer leaves to check on other competitors, they watch as Teddy Long grants a chance at a title opportunity to Swagger, if he should beat Ziggler tonight. Alberto is incensed but tugs on Ricardo's arm, his eyes set on the screen with determination. "Help me up, amigo. I want to be there when this ends."
Ricardo doesn't question him, just walking awkwardly over to the side of the cot and easing his legs to hang off of the edge, before gripping him under the arm as if they've done this a million times in the past. Alex thinks they very well might've, pushing away from the wall to join them. This seems to be the first time that Del Rio has noticed he's still there, suspicious eyes locking on him as he approaches, watching the ring announcer help him to his feet. "Here, I can-" he's just started to offer when Alberto shakes his head briskly, pride still fueling him despite everything he'd gone through.
"No," he says simply, holding onto Ricardo. "We don't need your assistance."
The ring announcer nods, willing to go along with whatever his employer decides, even at his own detriment as he braces himself on one side with a crutch and clings to the Mexican aristocrat with the other. "We'll be fine, Alex. Gracias."
Alex knows pride, he knows stubbornness, and he knows that pushing matters will only make things worse. So he steps back and holds his hands up in concession. "Look, just let me follow you, alright? That way I'll be nearby if something does go wrong." Del Rio looks like he's about to argue further, but Riley speaks over him. "Your knee's busted, Ricardo's ankle is still healing, I just want to be nearby to help if you guys need it. You don't want to injure him further, right?" he asks pointedly, knowing immediately when it clicks with the older man, his grip on his best friend tightening a little.
"Fine," he mumbles, barely looking at him as they make their way to the gorilla. The match is ongoing, Del Rio scowling as he watches it intensely, still held upright by Ricardo's steadying grip on him. Finally it ends, Swagger defeating Ziggler, and the Mexican's unhappiness grows. "Come," he tells his ring announcer, slipping through the curtain and attacking the "True" American, leveling him and locking in the armbar against the edge of the ramp as Ricardo holds off Colter with his crutch, until referees force them to separate.
Del Rio's night only continues to get better as Booker T revises Teddy Long's decision, making the title match a triple threat since he finds- as most sane people would, really- that Alberto is still deserving of his title rematch. Ricardo grins as the former World Champion laughs aloud, his eyes gleaming once more. "Si, si, how it should be," he says, clapping the ring announcer on the shoulder.
Alex smiles faintly, betting that Mike would be glad as well to hear that perhaps at least this has a chance of being redeemed... although he also hopes that his friend hadn't been watching tonight, as the commentators couldn't be bothered to mention his name once, even during Barrett's match. It's like he'd been erased from the company and it makes the former NXT protege uneasy.