That Wednesday, Mike is preparing for another episode of Main Event requiring his commentary when there's a subtle tap on his shoulder, his whole body tensing as he considers the past week, the Wyatts' actions, on top of Kane's, leaving him jumpy and more than a little unsettled. He turns, bracing himself for a fight, but quickly relaxes as he realizes that it's nothing to worry about- the Los Locales tag team are standing before him, Uno anxiously adjusting his gloves as he waits for Mike to say something. "Well, look at you two. Sorry, kids, I don't have any candy right now. Try again tomorrow."
Dos huffs slightly but Uno laughs anyway, his tension immediately easing off. "I'll keep that in mind, Mike," he says with a small smirk of his own as Miz stacks his papers on a nearby table before stepping closer to the two. "Though considering you'll be using the candy Alex and I bought tomorrow, it kind of cheapens the offer, don't you say?"
"It's the thought that counts, yeah?" Mike chuckles, able to tell that the man's rolling his eyes under his mask. Before he can say anything else, however, he notices Josh Mathews off to the side, watching them, and he quickly clears his throat, trying to seem professional as he reclaims his notes and backs away from the two. "Eh, si, gracias," he says loudly, relieved when Ricardo's lips- his only facial feature not covered by the mask- part in abrupt understanding and he grabs Tyson, pulling him away to get ready for their match later on. "Good luck, guys," he mutters before joining his broadcast colleague.
"Talking with Los Locales, huh? Did they say anything interesting?"
Mike shrugs, trying not to smirk. If you only knew... "I didn't catch half of what they did say," he lies. "They spoke in only Spanish."
"I thought you took four years of it in high school."
"Exactly," he laughs, remembering with a faint pang of guilt how much grief he'd given Ricardo over the summer during that failed commentary team thing. Pretty much the only thing Del Rio had done all year that made sense to Mike was having the ring announcer removed from that mess; he's just relieved that their friendship had recovered in time for him to be there for the younger man when everything else fell apart around him.
Los Locales lose, mostly thanks to El Torito's influence, Mike unable to do anything but watch as the bull attacks Uno right in front of the table, then jumping on top of it to show off to the crowd, Miz holding his hands up when El Torito looks at him sideways. Once the show ends and the cameras are shut off, he gets to his feet and peeks over the table, frowning as Ricardo struggles to stand, a hand gripping the table. "You alright?" he mutters to him, finally giving up all pretenses and helping him the rest of the way to his feet.
"Si," he groans. "Idiota Torito."
Mike squeezes his arm before Dos arrives, also off-balanced after that match. "I'll see you back at the apartment," he mutters, relieved that Josh Mathews isn't close enough to hear him over the crowd as they slowly disperse.
"Mm hmm," he responds lowly, the tag team slowly making their way backstage for the standard post-match examination by the trainer.
The next night, Mike's sitting in the living room of Alex and Ricardo's apartment, staring at the various decorations around. There's a particularly strange pumpkin leering at him from a nearby shelf, and he suspects that he's not going to win this stare-off when the doorbell rings. "Ugh?" he mutters, staring at the clock to find it's barely 4 PM. "What the-? Trick or treaters this early?" Suspecting that, perhaps, it's a little kid out early, he finds the bowl of candy in the kitchen and heads to the door, vowing to go put his costume on after this so he feels a little more in the holiday spirit.
But he stops thinking about such things when he opens the door to find that it's no child on the porch, his eyes pausing at waist level just to trail up higher and higher until he realizes... "Morrison?!" he hisses, blinking away the shock finally as he locks eyes with his former tag partner.
The man laughs at his reaction. "Trick or treat," he offers with a smug smirk.
Mike shakes his head, lips twitching. "Aren't you a little old for that?"
"Never too old for candy, Mike!" he volleys back. "What are you supposed to be anyway, an unimaginative slacker?" He eyes Mike's long sleeved shirt and jeans, laughing when his response is a solid punch to the chest. "Ow."
"So I guess that would make you an uninvited jerk," he snaps back with no heat, not surprised when John brushes past him, grabbing a handful of candy as he goes.
"Oh, I was invited," he says simply, popping some chocolate in his mouth. "By Alex. I suppose they wanted to surprise you."
"I suppose so," Mike mutters, putting the candy down and approaching the other man. They stare at each other for a minute before he smiles, impulsively hugging him. "It's good to see you, man. So much has happened, it... kinda feels like it's been forever."
"Yeah, I know," he mumbles, squeezing him back. "You alright? Those Wyatts didn't traumatize you for life, did they?"
"No," he mutters, sighing. "I think my main problem now is going to be Kane anyway. I have no idea what's going on with him."
"Does anyone ever really know what's going on with him though?"
"I guess not, no," he concedes with a faint smile as they separate and sit down on the couch, Mike idly flipping through channels to find something- anything- halfway interesting to watch while they wait for the others to return from doing whatever it is they're doing with their costumes. He rolls his head against the back of the couch and looks at John with a fond smirk. "Happy Halloween, man."
John grins back at him. "Happy Halloween, Mike."
After an entertaining evening spent sitting around in costumes- Mike spending a good twenty minutes making faces, trying not to laugh out loud at Alex, who's dressed up as the same thing he's dressed up as every year since Miz met him back in NXT (Alex nudging him whenever he sees that look on his face)- and passing out candy to the kids in the neighborhood while watching horror movies that only seem to get worse the later in the evening it gets, Friday brings with it a sharp return to reality, John needing to return to California while Mike, AJ and Tamina drive a few hours to Smackdown that evening.
The group walk out to the cars together, Morrison grinning at his best friend as he glances teasingly at his and AJ's interlaced hands. Not responding to Mike's subtle dare to say something, anything, he snags Mike up in another hug, remembering when they used to see each other almost every day, when he'd been in the WWE. Now they're lucky to see each other once or twice a month. He sighs, unable to ignore the still fresh pang of longing when he thinks about his wrestling career. Not that he's bored, what with all he has on his plate with OOYM fitness, movies and of course the stand-up thing he still does from time to time, but he still misses the rush of the WWE sometimes, when he allows himself to think about it. "Be careful tonight, yeah?"
"God knows I'll try," Mike nods, pulling away after a few minutes.
"And hey, we're going to have a viewing party for Christmas Bounty at the end of the month, right? Consider this my RSVP."
Blue eyes lighting up at the mention of his second movie, his former tag partner nods vigorously. "Hell yeah, man. Just need to figure out the details. This'll be the best Thanksgiving ever."
"You think any Thanksgiving that has a table full of food is the best Thanksgiving ever," John teases him, laughing when Mike huffs and glowers at him. "And, hey, our numbers have doubled this year. That's something to be thankful for," he says, glancing around at AJ, Ricardo and Tamina.
Mike's anger fades away as he nods, tugging AJ closer to him with a grin. "True. It definitely is." His grin slips however when he glances over at the others and spots a look of wistfulness on Ricardo's face, realizing sharply that it'll be his first holiday season spent without Alberto and Sofia. He purses his lips and looks down, kissing AJ on top of her head distractedly as he vows to make Thanksgiving and Christmas as good as he possibly can for them all, remembering how bad the year prior had been, watching AJ with Dolph and what Cena had done to them on New Years, which AJ had blamed on him for what felt like forever.
These thoughts still at the forefront of his mind as he tries to think up ways to make it special, knowing that the weeks leading up to both Thanksgiving and Christmas will go by like that, especially since they're all on the road so much, he barely blinks when he's told that Shawn Michaels will be his guest on an edition of MizTV. Sick of hearing about what's best for business, he's almost relieved when he's told, at the last minute, that the man had up and left the building, despite the disrespect eating at Miz and sending him into another diatribe when he makes it to the ring, just starting to talk about Shawn's involvement in the WWE title match decision when Orton's music hits.
Eyes darkening as he watches the man who'd beat him down so mercilessly not that long ago, he listens as Orton explains that HBK had left in such a manner because Mike is irrelevant, saying that if he had his way, he'd have Mike fired just like Big Show. His hand is so tense around the microphone that he almost expects it to shatter in his hand, but before he can say anything when asked what he thinks about Show being banned for life from the WWE, Orton snags him and RKOs him right then and there, leaving him laying on the floor of his own show yet again, staring up at the lights when he slowly comes to, not even needing to wonder what had just happened. "Dammit," he hisses, slamming his fist against the mat as referees come to assist him backstage.
AJ is waiting there, Alicia Fox and Tamina nearby, her match next. As soon as she spots him, her face falls slightly and she joins him, cupping his face. "I'm sorry, Mike," she breathes, stroking his face as he stares down at her with dull eyes. "Look, as soon as the trainer's done with you, go back to my locker room and rest for awhile, alright? I'll be there as soon as this match ends. It's gonna be alright." Standing on her tippy-toes, she kisses him gently and smiles sadly at him. "I love you."
"Love you too," he mutters before allowing himself to be dragged off to the trainer's office.
She watches him go before sighing wistfully, sharply turning to stare at her tag partners. "Let's get this show on the road, girls. We have some divas to destroy."
Mike watches dully from the divas champion's locker room, his lips twisted in displeasure, as their bad night continues; AJ taps to Natalya's sharpshooter, Tamina having to carry her out of the arena once more, Alicia stumbling after them. He grimaces and shuts the monitor off, relieved to sit in semi-darkness and hear nothing but his own thoughts. As soon as Tamina pushes the door open and settles the girl down on the floor, Mike stands and greets them, cupping AJ's face gently. Her dull brown eyes locking with his, he knows immediately what he wants to do for Thanksgiving, hoping that Main Event somehow won't mess it up, but willing to work around it if the others can also do so. "After the final Raw of this month, let's get John and come back here, to Florida, and spend the rest of the week with Alex and Ricardo. We'll watch Christmas Bounty together, do whatever we want on Wednesday, and then have Thanksgiving, all of us together. What do you say?"
Her lips curve into a smile as some of the disappointment and aggravation she's still feeling from the loss fades away. "I'd like that, Mike. I'm in."
He smiles and kisses her. "Good, I'm glad. This is going to be great, AJ." And better than that, it'll be just the break that they'll all need... especially if things continue going as they have been lately.
After a long morning spent going from one media event to the next, Mike travels to the arena for Raw and stares up at the building, wondering what this week's Raw will bring... He takes a deep breath and gets out of the car slowly, walking inside after shouldering a bag. "Well, here we go," he mutters, pulling the door open and venturing inside. Following AJ's instructions sent via text, he quickly finds her locker room and greets her with a kiss. "Hey."
"Hey," she breathes, resting a hand on his chest. "I checked the board, they don't have a match listed for you..." Her voice trails away as he takes a deep breath of his own, dark blue eyes focused on her. "But," she murmurs, tracing circles in his skin soothingly, "there was a WWE Universe poll listed to see who they want to see against Orton- you, Ziggler, or Big E."
His gaze grows distant as he considers another opportunity at getting revenge against Orton for all of the pain he'd caused him in his home town weeks back- not to mention everything since then- nodding grimly. The worry on her face finally registers with him a few minutes later and he cups her face, gently kissing her nose. "It'll be alright, sweetheart."
But he doesn't even come close. The poll is revealed awhile later in the evening, and Miz watches on in painful disbelief- Big E wins with a decisive 75% of the votes. He swallows and stares tiredly at the screen, reflecting on all of the interviews, autographs and meet'n'greets he's done over the past few months, how none of it seems to matter. He starts to suspect he could bleed himself dry for these people and it still wouldn't be enough, his exhaustion wearing on him. A utility player, Stephanie McMahon's words echo in his mind again and again as he stares viciously at the monitor.
AJ has a match, sitting next to him and pulling her boots on, lacing them up securely, before putting the finishing touches on her wrestling gear. "Mike?" she asks, once she's ready and it's almost time for her and Tamina to go, meet up with Aksana, begin this match. When he doesn't respond, she frowns, growing more and more worried at just how long he hadn't said a word, something very out of the ordinary for him but growing more commonplace the less he's used on TV. She swallows and cups his jaw, tilting his face towards her. "Hey," she whispers, leaning against him. "Are you ok?"
He's just opened his mouth to speak, lie as always, but instead... he clanks his teeth together and shakes his head. "No, no I'm not." He stands, her hand falling limply to her side as she looks up at him, floored. "I need some air." All she can do is watch as he leaves the room, glancing over at Tamina once the door slips shut behind him.
He wanders. Trails a hand along the wall as he goes, just trying to remember how to breathe, how not to think. He passes a monitor some time later and hears Alberto Del Rio on commentary with Zeb Colter, the two men going back and forth between insulting each other and discussing why they hate John Cena- a lot of perros and gringos getting slung around the table- and he sneers, rolling his eyes as he quickly walks away, Del Rio's voice just annoying him all the further as he thinks about Ricardo, once more back in Florida, trying to move past what the Mexican had done to him so he could find his footing as a competitor... He wonders what Tyson Kidd's official unmasked return will mean for the Los Locales, shaking his head at possibly yet another person leaving the younger man in the lurch...
He finds himself at the exit, pacing back and forth as he runs his fingers through his hair. It's too cold to go out, his lifelong issues with the chill of fall and winter making him even grumpier as he misses the bright, warm sun of summer... He's still standing there when he hears vicious mutters in Spanish behind him, the familiarity of that voice causing him to freeze in the middle of the hallway. He turns slowly to find, sure enough, Alberto Del Rio standing there with his bags tightly in hand, staring at him with no lack of contempt. He sneers and rolls his eyes skyward, wondering if this evening could possibly get any worse.
"Out of my way, perro," the Mexican aristocrat snaps, trying to push past Mike... but that's the final straw for the man, his vision bleeding red as he clasps his hand around Alberto's forearm and forces him back around until they're eye to eye, so familiar to the night they'd come upon each other outside the bar, so soon after the initial attack against Ricardo... when Mike had punched Alberto and left him battered and bruised for the PPV. He had made sure to avoid the man since then, not wanting to risk getting himself in anymore trouble with The so-called Authority.
"I don't think so," he mutters. "Still stuck on perros and gringos, huh? So imaginative that that's the only insults you can think of for anyone?" He laughs as the anger grows in Alberto's eyes. "Oh, wait, I forgot. Peasants. Yeah, that's a good one. I'd almost think it's because of your still limited grasp of English, but I know enough Spanish to know that your insults there aren't much better."
"You have no room to talk, Miz," he spits out, wrenching his arm loose once more and moving for the door, an odd kind of tension thrumming through his body. He's just touched the door when Mike catches him once more, anger and frustration building- due to the poll loss, and now Del Rio all but brushing him aside, he somehow uses the adrenaline it provides him to sling the taller man into the wall, pinning him there with an arm against his throat and his knee pressing a little too calculatingly close to the scar from the surgery he'd had a couple of years ago, Alberto's breath seizing in his throat as he snarls down at him, thrown by how quickly Mike had trapped him. "Let me go, perro-"
"Nope," Miz mutters, applying even more pressure. "See, I was trying to give you the benefit of the doubt after what you did to Ricardo in August. Tried piecing it all together- you leaving the bowtie behind for him, the look on your face when he returned with RVD, the minimal damage done to him from the armbar after Vickie forced you two to compete, even what you said to him after he and RVD attacked you with the steel chair." Del Rio's eyes turn dull even as his face flushes, and Mike sneers, thinking he's on the right track with this. "But then RVD left and he beat you in that match and you brutalized him again. That's the one thing that makes no sense to me. I can understand if you said too much, if you didn't want him to know that everything you said initially was true..."
Del Rio shuts his eyes, shaking his head against the cool concrete of the wall behind him. "It wasn't. I was delirious, speaking-"
"But see, the thing about delirium is it tends to bring out the truth," Mike tells him, thinking too quickly to let him finish a sentence, risk getting away from this long-needed confrontation. "I've had concussions and a number of other injuries. I know all too well. You're not that special, Del Rio." He digs his forearm into the other man's throat again, watching with some pleasure as he grunts and turns a ruddy kind of grey. "Nor are you strong enough to completely hide how you're feeling when your best friend, the man who's been alongside you loyally for years is looking you in the eye, needing the truth. And I think you gave it to him that night and then regretted it." Pieces beginning to click into place while Miz speaks, he watches as Alberto all but shrinks into himself, breathing sharply through his nose. It all making a sick sort of sense now, he releases his grip on the other man slightly. "That's what happened, isn't it? That's why you attacked him again?"
Del Rio grunts, trying again to fight free and failing. "What does it matter, perro?!" he snaps, his eyes looking suspiciously wet. "Let me go!"
Mike ignores him however, staring him in the eye. "You know, when Morrison's contract with WWE was coming to an end, he came to me. He wanted me to be his last match, he wanted me to give his time here a proper finish. As much as it killed him to have to leave, I'm pretty sure it killed me more to have to be the one to do it. I didn't want him to go... I didn't want any of it. But I did what he wanted, because he was my best friend." He licks his lips and sighs, staring at Alberto's troubled gaze. "But he asked me to do it. You decided for Ricardo what was best for him...? And you thought it had any possibility of ending well?" He sighs and loosens his grip finally, letting Alberto stand by himself as he leans against the wall next to him, free to do what he wants. When the older man doesn't leave, Mike tilts his head and glances over at him. "You know you destroyed everything that was secure in his life in one fell swoop, right? His home, his employment, his relationship with you and Sofia both... If Alex and I hadn't been there to help pick up the pieces..."
Alberto shudders out a breath, staring at his shoes. "I am aware." He groans, digging his fingers into his eyes painfully. "It is all I have been thinking about the past three months."
"You should tell him," Mike mutters. "It might be too late to repair all of the damage done, but... it might help him at least a little... to trust again." Alberto looks over at him, confusion blatant in his dark eyes, and he shrugs. "Alex tells me he hasn't even unpacked that much in their apartment. Like he's scared to get settled, in case it all happens again or something."
Alberto's face falls as he buries it in his hands, shaking his head once more. "Ay... Mi amigo," he forces out, voice trembling. Miz suspects he's crying but says not a word as he watches him, waiting for some sort of activity. When he finally shows his face once more, he looks like he'd spent the time putting himself back together, though his words aren't what Mike had hoped to hear. "You can't tell him any of this," he bites out, eyes dark and lifeless. "None of it. It will derail his progress."
"Progress?!" Miz splutters in utter disbelief of what he's hearing. "You broke him so thoroughly emotionally and physically and you can't even guess how bad it was because it fell on me and Alex to help him try to rebuild! It's been months, just explain to him why-"
"I can't do that, can't you see?!" Alberto finally snaps back, some of his fire returning as he rounds on Mike. "He spent almost three years dedicating his every waking moment to me and my career. I began this all so he could concentrate on himself for once! If I go to him and tell him that everything I've done the last few months was so he'd focus on himself, he'd start to care again, and I can't risk all of it being for nothing. He deserves the opportunity-"
"And he can have it, without thinking you hate him!" Mike yells back, eyes flashing as he stares at Del Rio. "The two things aren't mutually exclusive! I'm aware you don't have much knowledge on how actual friendships work but many people juggle them and careers separately quite well! There are these things called phones, and the internet, and a number of other communication devices now-a-days." He quiets as Alberto once more slumps in on himself, releasing a shuddering breath. Shaking his head, Mike tries to ease back on the anger, surprised by just how lonely the Mexican aristocrat seems when he actually looks at him.
The guy had pushed his best friend away, just to lose his title a couple months later, and dammit all, Mike almost sympathizes with him. Yeah, he has AJ by his side now, and she's great, he loves what she's brought to his life, but it hadn't- and couldn't- repair the last two years worth of emptiness that he still feels the impact of when he thinks about how long it'd been since he'd actually seen John last- the clock at three days now-, or had some setback or success and wanted to run and find him, just to realize that he can't because John's still in California, forced to relay it through a rushed phone call or Skype session. He shakes his head, feeling sorrier over the matter the longer they stand there at this impasse. It's obvious that Del Rio had painted himself into a corner with this situation and can't find the way out... and Mike doesn't know or like him well enough to know how to talk him through it. It's up to Alberto himself to work this all out.
Which, considering how stubborn he is, means it might never be resolved. He closes his eyes, also understanding that one as well. When John had been working to try to get them tag title opportunities so Mike could cash in the briefcase back when the General Manager was making everything much more complicated than it logically needed to be, Miz had done his level best to push the man away, not wanting to fall back into that cycle especially when he could taste the WWE title within his grasp. But John had been stubborn as well, more so, and Mike had eventually given in. Just in time too, so that they wouldn't have to go their separate ways with hatred or anger between them.
Unfortunately things are probably still too fresh for Ricardo, too raw. The situation is a fair deal different than his with John, and he's pretty sure outside forces won't be working to throw them together like his and Morrison being made to tag team together. Finally he finds his voice and tries again. "I understand that you have his best interests at heart, but there were so many other things you could've done if you'd wanted to, to fire him. I mean, God-"
"It wouldn't have worked," Alberto reiterates, voice dark with pain and growing aggravation. "He was too loyal... He needed to hate me... and I accomplished it."
"And was it worth it?" Mike demands, staring at him with frustration at how Del Rio refuses to see sense about the matter. "Truly?" Before Alberto can answer, they both freeze at hearing approaching footsteps, looking up to find AJ and Tamina walking towards the exit, neither looking very pleased. He glances at Del Rio before facing his girlfriend, taking her bag from her, and his from Tamina. "What happened?"
AJ glances discreetly at the enforcer next to her before releasing a tired sigh. "We lost," she finally concedes. "Can we leave now? Please?"
"Sure," Mike mutters, leaning down to kiss her. "Let's go." As he leads her out, he glances over at the still motionless Del Rio, hoping that he had given him enough to think about, that perhaps this whole sad situation will come to a head soon, and Ricardo would finally have the answers he deserves so he can properly move on. But considering how their conversation went, he kind of doubts it, and it makes him feel even worse as the three of them walk through the chill to the rental.