Mike feels listless. The arena is boring, devoid of something. He wanders the halls, hiding behind his sunglasses as he ignores everyone he walks by. He's not sure when it dawns on him but eventually, it does. He'd felt like this before, the week after Morrison had left and a vital part of his personal life was suddenly just gone. This feels a lot like that, being here and knowing that Ricardo isn't around. Yes, he's in town, still, helping Alberto after his injury and not wanting to leave just yet, but still... it's not the same. It'll never be the same again. And he can only imagine how Del Rio must be feeling. His eyes narrow as he reconsiders that, wondering where exactly the Mexican aristocrat may be, considering he hadn't seen him all day, despite his name being on the board in a match that had struck Mike's interest immediately- against Dolph Ziggler...
He squares his shoulders and enters the main locker room, determined to find him. Del Rio's not hard to find, never has been, lurking in a corner with a dark look on his face as he watches the monitor, glowering at anyone who dares walk between him and it, blocking his view. Mike sucks in a deep breath, recognizing the look in his eyes- that of someone who's lost their best friend, or close to it, and he knows his idea is right. "Hey, Del Rio," he says, tipping his sunglasses down his nose so he can look Alberto in the eye.
"What do you want, Miz?" he asks tensely, careful not to look away from the opening moments of Smackdown. It's clear without Ricardo that he is only just holding himself back from rampaging on everything around him and Mike understands that as well.
"I have a suggestion, and you can do whatever you want with it, I don't even need a yes or no answer. It's up to you." Alberto still doesn't say or do anything, his eyes still locked on Swagger vs Cesaro, his hands curled into fists at his side, and Mike releases a soft breath. "AJ and I don't need two locker rooms, it's just ridiculous, and I know how much you love sharing locker rooms with people so... if you ever feel the need to just get away, my Intercontinental champion locker room is open to you. I mostly stay in AJ's locker room, so absolutely no one will be in there with you." He hesitates. "Just try not to trash the place too much, alright? If there are too many complaints, they might stop providing it."
He doesn't receive a response to this either, he doesn't need it. Adjusts his title, returns his sunglasses over his eyes and leaves, relieved that he had at least made the suggestion without getting kicked or punched or needlessly insulted. In fact, Del Rio had seemed pretty subdued through the entire conversation. Not that he blames him. Even if your best friend lives just down the street from you, not working alongside him abruptly can be harder than any punch to the gut since most wrestlers spend the majority of their lives on the road, and certain wrestlers can become like family... He sighs and wanders into AJ's locker room, watching her get ready for her match against Rosa Mendes. She's brushing out her hair in a chair settled in front of the full length mirror, wearing her jean shorts and one of his Haters Wanted shirts, not yet changed fully. He wanders up behind her and rests his hands on her sides, brushing up underthe soft, well-worn fabric, and sighs as she shivers against his touch, leaning her head back against his shoulder. "How did that go?" she wonders, the movement of her lips captivating him in the half-light.
He shakes his head, shrugs his shoulders grimly, and traces his hand under her throat, feeling her swallow. "You know Del Rio... hard to garner how his moods will play out." She nods, about to say something, when he leans in and kisses her, dipping her chair back even further as she gasps and squeals into his mouth, trying to grip his arm as gravity plays with her, leaving her feeling like she's about to freefall even though he has her securely. His fingers tracing against her hip distracts her as she moans lowly, trusting him not to drop her. "I love you, sweetheart."
"I love you too," she whispers back, eyes fluttering as his hand splays against her stomach, stroking her ab muscles lightly. When a tech comes knocking to notify her that her match is next, she releases a faint groan/growl mix that makes him laugh. "Dammit," she sighs, pulling away from him. "I'll finish this as quickly as I can and come back." He nods, opening his mouth to say something, when- She storms up to him, digging her nails into his jaw as she stands up on her tippytoes, kissing him slowly. "Wish me luck."
"No- but, wait, whoa, hang on a second," Mike exclaims, coming back to himself just before she skips out of the door, and he snags her, arms snaking under her shirt once more.
"Mike, look, I'd love to but this match-" She quiets as he pulls his merch shirt up over her head and, grabbing the cut up shirt that she ordinarily wears from a nearby chair, carefully tugs it into place as she gapes up at him, flushing slightly as she realizes how close she'd come to going out in one of his shirts. "What would I do without you?" she wonders as soon as she finds her voice again, leaning up to kiss him. "I'll reward you for that one later." She winks at him and turns, for real skipping out of the room this time.
He merely smiles and shakes his head, settling on the couch to watch her match. It's over before it begins, really. Rosa screams a bit about wanting a divas title shot, AJ attacks and within fifteen seconds, the match is over, Rosa tapping out desperately to her Black Widow submission hold. He smiles, anticipating his reward as she stares down at her title from the entrance ramp, when there's a flash of color and Paige attacks, throws AJ off of the ramp and directly into a low-hanging camera. "No!" he whispers, eyes wide when he realizes his wife isn't moving through Paige's mocking calls of their still being friends, doctors and trainers examining her and trying to revive her. "No, no, no." His feet feel leaden, nothing matters as he makes his way slowly to the gorilla. Paige is just walking through and he stares at her coldly before the stretcher with his wife appears, the neckbrace on her looking so drawfing. He lunges forward and snags her hand, kisses her knuckles, and trembles as he takes in how pale and limp she is. "AJ, my sweetheart, I'm right here. Can you hear me?"
"Miz, we need to get her through," a trainer tells him simply, not thwarted when Mike looks up at him.
"Then get her through," he says coldly, remaining by her side as they push the stretcher through the halls, Paige's voice still echoing around to take good care of her best friend. This finally breaks him, he releases a shaky breath and releases his wife's hand, turning on the woman. It doesn't matter to him that she's involved with Ricardo, that she's a woman, nothing matters, he could honestly punch her right here, right now, and feel like it's the best thing he's done all month, but he's barely inches from her when he's snagged from behind, held back.
"Basta, basta!" The rough Spanish takes a bit to register with him and when it does, he sinks back in surprise, looking over his shoulder to find Alberto glaring at him, holding Mike away from the diva, who slinks away quietly. "The trainers have taken AJ back, she is awake and asking for you. Get your act together and go see her. And when you are through," he adds tensely, the words looking painful to spit out. "Come to ringside and commentate my match against Ziggler."
Mike swallows, so thrown by this suggestion that he can do little more than nod, pulling away from Alberto and shifting anxiously before he enters the trainer's office, finding him still examining AJ carefully. He takes his place by her side, kisses her forehead gently, and sits there, waiting for the verdict. Which isn't great, when it comes, the man hesitating over a determination that her whiplash from a couple of weeks before had been re-aggravated, worsened, and the chance she has a head injury is more pausible this go around. When he suggests admitting her to a hospital for a more thorough overnight evaluation, Miz hesitates and leans into her, nuzzling against her cheek. "Sweetheart?"
"Hmm?" she breathes, eyes fluttering open as he squeezes her hand.
"They may admit you to a local hospital," he explains wearily. "I need... I... I'm gonna be by your side every step of the way, but Alberto's invited me out to commentate his match against Ziggler and I think, considering, I should be out there. If you say no, I'm not going to take a step away from you, but... it's whatever you feel comfortable with, alright?"
She nods, resting her hand on his face. "It's alright, Mike, do... do whatever you need to do, I'll be ok. And I'll be waiting right here when you come back."
It's so hard, leaving her behind, and he thanks everything listening once more for having his sunglasses to hide behind as he sits at ringside, argues with Cole, and watches Del Rio and Ziggler go back and forth, his mind backstage, with his wife, as she's prepared for transport. He does notice, however, when Dolph is thisclose to winning, standing up on the table and staring towards Dolph as he once more goes back to his acceptance speech, hoping that AJ is listening and enjoying hearing the end of it, which he hadn't been able to say the week prior thanks to Bo Dallas. He thanks Dolph for allowing him to beat him, repeating his appreciation again and again until Ziggler moves out of the ring to attack him, but Mike escapes through the crowd and watches with a sneer as Alberto wins with the armbar not long afterwards.
He goes through the motions again of adjusting his clothes, placing his sunglasses on his face, and he walks back around the ring, catching Alberto's eye as he goes. It was almost a year ago to the day that he had commentated another of the man's matches, numb and empty inside as he'd watched him brutalize his best friend with a bucket upon losing. That night so long ago, he would've rather killed Alberto than ever assist him in actually winning a match. My, how times change... He sighs and smiles wanly, continues on his way up the ramp. As soon as he's backstage, he drops all pretenses and takes it at a run, finding his way to the entrance where the ambulances wait in case of emergencies, unsurprised to find AJ's stretcher there, her face relaxing into a soft smile as he appears in her eyesight, her fingers tangling around his. "I'm here, sweetheart. I'm here, you're gonna be just fine."
"I know," she whispers, eyes closing as he follows her into the ambulance, settling down by her side and squeezing her fingers, gently stroking her knuckles. "I'm always ok as long as you hold my hand like that." He nods desperately, leaning in to kiss her fingers. "Don't let go."
"I won't, sweetheart, you're stuck with me, forever and ever," he whispers to her, brushing her hair out of her eyes as she sighs, falling asleep with those comforting words blanketing her.
"So another one bites the dust, huh?" John asks quietly, breathing heavily because of a workout he'd just finished before Miz had called.
"Yeah," he mumbles, staring blankly at the wall. "Can you do me a favor?"
"Sure, what?"
"Call Ricardo, just... be there to listen if he needs it. I can't really give him advice right now, but you've been through this, you know what it's like, and how best to get through to the other side. Besides, you two are pretty similar, with your meditation and everything. I think it would help."
John releases a soft breath. "Sure, Mike, I'll call him, but you know, it's different for everyone. What worked for me might not work for him, but he's a good guy by what I've seen; stronger than most of us probably realize. I have no doubt between that, and everyone pulling for him, that he'll be just fine."
Mike nods shortly. "I know... I'm sure he will too, I just want to... help the process along anyway I can. Not leave him floundering out there on the indy scene with no support. I remember how it is, it's not very pretty. So I just thought maybe if he had you to talk to..."
"Yeah," John says, voice warm and fond. "I get it, Mike. I'll call him as soon as we hang up here." His voice darkens a bit. "But how are you? And how's AJ? I saw what Paige did to her, it didn't look good."
Mike swallows and looks over at where his wife is sleeping, her brow furrowed in pain. As soon as the hospital released her, he had them on the first flight back to California, where he had carried her to bed and brought her milk, rubbed her temples and her neck until she had dozed off in his arms. She wants to travel out this week for the events, but he is determined not to allow that, even if it means he has to call Tamina to lay into her for not properly taking care of herself. The thought of her being at an arena where Paige is lurking, waiting to strike, leaves him feeling ill, especially without Ricardo around to attempt to reign the girl in.
When he needs to leave for Raw, he hovers over her and kisses her awake, smiling down at her as she makes a faint sound deep in her throat, reaching out for him. "Sweetheart," he breathes against her lips as she tangles herself around him more insistently, Mike abruptly understanding why her submission holds are always so affective. He chuckles softly and presses her into the pillows, reluctant to let go as well. "I have to leave."
"No," she keens, digging her heels into his hips. "Stay." Somehow, while still clinging to him with one hand, she uses the other to unbutton his shirt and he sighs, burying his face in her neck and pressing open mouthed kisses against her throat and collar. "Mike, please-"
"You're just trying to make me miss my flight," he chides her with absolutely no heat in his voice as he obliges, toying with the hem of yet another of his merch shirts that she had taken possession of not that long ago. She shivers as the warmth of his fingers against her skin counteracts the coolness of the fan that's whirring lazily across the room, arching up on a sigh as his hand moves higher and his lips move lower. When he finally pulls himself out of the bedroom, she's asleep again, her expression more relaxed, smiling slightly, and he hates leaving her so abruptly, but she understands the travel schedule better than he does sometimes, so with one last soft kiss to her parted lips, he whispers his affection for her into her ear and then grips his bags, heading for the front door. Tapping the doorframe, he peers back, listening just in case and, finding the house still quiet and calm, shuts the door gently behind him and leaves after locking it securely.
AJ's locker room never feels right without her so Miz stays in his locker room, unsurprised to find Del Rio stewing in there after losing to Ambrose following a lengthy, fifteen minute match that had been something of a record for a Beat the Clock challenge. They don't talk to each other, though Mike notices every time he goes to his phone coincides with a tweet that Ricardo sends out regarding the Man U game going on currently, a small smile playing across his face whenever he sees his best friend's twitter handle.
Mike ends up on commentary again, witnessing Ziggler defeating Cesaro. He heads for the ring afterwards but when Ziggler goes to attack his face, he ducks aside and rolls out, glowering up at him. He's back in his locker room with Del Rio when Paige appears on the screen, announcing how badly she misses AJ and wishes her a speedy recovery. His jaw tense, he's glaring at the screen like it's responsible for the diva's actions. He turns just in time to see Alberto rolling his eyes at him, and this does it. "What the hell are you rolling your eyes over?"
"Let it go, Miz. Surely AJ can defend herself without you doing whatever the hell it is you think you're doing. I'm surprised you're not afraid Paige would slap you or scratch your eyes out, mar that precious Money Maker of yours."
All sympathy Mike had been feeling towards Alberto goes by the wayside as he storms over to him and grips him by the collar, blue eyes blazing. "I've taken you before, Del Rio, and I won't be against doing it again. Maybe it can become a yearly tradition between us. Every August, I teach you to keep your mouth shut, how's that sound?" His lips tighten into a vicious sneer as he stares into Alberto's eyes as a rumor he'd overheard returns to him, leaves him even angrier. "Especially if you're going to start doing Spanish interviews where you insult Ricardo. Really? Really? What the hell? If he had heard that..."
Del Rio shakes his head. "He wouldn't have, he told me himself-"
"So that makes it alright?!"
"Of course not, you idiota! Let me go!" Alberto slams his hands away and grimaces, adjusting the collar of his shirt. "Ay dios mio, I didn't intend on saying those things, I definitely didn't mean them, it's just... it's..."
"It's what?" Mike snarls, still fighting the urge just to lay the Mexican aristocrat out once more, right here, right now. "Spit it out, for God's sake!"
Alberto is struggling with something, finally reaching into the pocket of his shirt and pulling out a piece of paper. He stares at it solemnly for a moment before handing it over to Mike, stepping aside while he examines it.
It's in Spanish, so it's not easy for Mike to understand, but he had always read Spanish better than he had spoke it, so he thinks he understands the gist of it. Even so, he hesitates, not wanting to be wrong. "What does it say?"
"When Ricardo asked to be freed from his contract, one of the things he insisted upon was that I take over his interview duties." Alberto releases a deep breath. "That note is him telling me that he knows I must be angry and displeased with this situation, and it's not healthy to keep it inside, and that this would be my last time to play up our supposed animosity, so to say whatever I wish regarding the sudden change in hosts, that he would not be watching."
"So you choose to say those things? The most hurtful possible?" Mike laughs in disbelief, shaking his head. "You make absolutely no sense, El Patron," he says derisively, crumpling Ricardo's note up and throwing it at Alberto, where it bounces flimsily against his face and hits the floor. He crosses his arms over his chest and watches as Alberto slowly leans over and collects the note, gingerly smoothing it out and placing it back in his pocket.
"You have no right to judge," Alberto snaps once this is done. "If I recall, you seemed to take great pleasure in insulting Morrison after he left. What was that, your way of showing affection to your former tag partner?"
Mike closes his eyes, disgusted that he's right. "This is it, though, right? You won't insult him anymore beyond this?"
"No," Del Rio mumbles, patting the note as if to make sure it's still safe. "It's out of my system."
"Good," Miz sighs, returning to his corner, eager to leave, go back to the hotel. He's planning on catching a flight back to AJ, make sure she's resting and taking care of herself, isn't harboring more ideas to come to Main Event or Smackdown.
It seems like a feasible plan, at any rate, until he's woke up in the early morning gloom of a sun fighting to show itself, soft kisses pressing against his back and shoulderblades, hair tickling along his neck. He's laying on his stomach, face pressed into the stiff hotel pillows, and he's sure he's dreaming, but no... there's a soft giggle against his ear, teeth nipping softly at his flesh, and he knows, rolling over quickly and gripping his wife by the arms. "AJ!"
"Hi, Mike," she whispers, moving to pay his throat and pecs the same attention.
He closes his eyes, allowing it to continue for a moment, before gripping her and gently pulling her back up until they're eye to eye. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be at home resting-"
"WWE trainer cleared me to be here for Main Event, so here I am," she tells him quietly. "I promise you, I'm fine. I just wanted to compete on Main Event, not lose too much momentum, especially with my match against Paige official now." She strokes the worried lines spanning his face and sighs. "I'll be ok, Mike. Please don't worry so much about me. Everything's ok."
He stares up at her. "I'm going with you, you know. You're not doing this alone, and if Paige even thinks about touching you..."
"She wouldn't dare," AJ whispers, resting against his shoulder and looking up at him adoringly. "And if she tries, I'll take care of it, don't worry, my love."
He sighs and grimaces, stroking her hair. "Well, as much as I enjoy this kind of wake up call..." He shifts to roll back onto his stomach to go back to sleep, and she gasps as she hits the bed.
"Hey!" The pout on her lips is audible in her voice and he smirks, giving it a minute before he moves once more, pulling her back on top of him and drawing her down to rest against him. "You dirty liar," she whispers through a giggle as he kisses her, eyes glinting in the pale light coming through the drapes.
That night, Alberto is on the show again and Mike nods tensely at him before venturing back into the divas' locker room, stroking AJ's hair out of her eyes as she hums and continues performing the stretches the trainer had recommended to help with the after-affects of her whiplash from the last couple of weeks. "How are you feeling?" he asks, pressing lingering kisses against the tattoo on her neck.
"Good," she says. "Ready to defeat Summer Rae, that's for sure." Mike's lips twitch into a smile against her neck as she leans back into him, her hand resting lazily on his leg. "How about you?" He takes the title belt from her and lays it down on the nearest table, teasing her with soft, subtle touches and warm, wet kisses as she groans faintly, his support quickly becoming the only thing keeping her upright as she trembles against him. "Mike... I guess you're good then..."
He chuckles warmly, his eyelashes tickling her throat as he blinks between kisses. "Better than good, sweetheart."
"This... is true," she nods, gripping his face with her hand and turning him towards her, allowing her to kiss him deeply. "I love you."
"I love you too, sweetheart."
The match against Summer goes ok, Mike worries through most of it, but AJ successfully gets the win thanks to her submission, and he's about to sink back in relief when Paige comes out. Claims she loves AJ, and welcomes her back, and many other insincere things that rankles at both the diva and intercontinental champions, Mike's eyes as alit with anger as AJ's is when she returns to her locker room afterwards. "I hate her," she says simply, sinking into his arms as he strokes his hand up her back, freeing her from the chopped up shirt.
"I do too," he murmurs, staring down at her. "She is deluded, claiming that you two are still friends and thinking that you're buying it... I'm not sure how a guy like Ricardo could see anything in her, but..."
AJ shrugs, clearly disinterested in talking about Paige or Ricardo. "Nonetheless, I believe I still owed you a reward from last Friday... Right? Something very special...?"
He swallows, having almost forgotten everything that had happened before she'd been ragdolled into the camera so viciously. "Ah, yeah, now that you mention it... I do remember something about that..."
She smirks and takes his hand, drawing him over to the door. "Well, let's go find something to do about that, let me make it up to you..."