How they survive, Miz isn't sure. He ends up leaving the hotel room quite a few times, marching through the halls of the hotel after ordering Mizdow to stay behind just to have a few minutes to himself. Sits by the ice machine sometimes, listening to it thrum and work at keeping the ice cool, though he doubts it'd take much in this weather. It's so cold, very few people bother coming to get ice and so he has more privacy here than he's had in ages, taking the time to call AJ.

"Hello, husband," she greets him softly.

"I hate this," he tells her simply and she laughs. "It's not funny."

"I know, mi carino." She sighs. "It really isn't, I was hoping to see you after Raw... I miss you. But as long as you refrain from killing Mizdow, it'll all be over soon and then we can spend a few days together after Raw."

"Count on it," he sighs, tapping his shoes against the ice machine.

"Where are you?" she wonders, probably hearing the buzzing in the background.

"By the ice machine." Her giggles make him sigh hard, the rustling sound in her ear making her cut herself off quickly.

"Sorry," she soothes him. "Poor Mike. Is it really that bad?"

"Worse," he mumbles, closing his eyes. "I don't think Mizdow's going to last as my stunt double much longer. To think for awhile I believed him when he said I was his best friend, but then he became like all of the other haters, taking away from me and acting like he's so much better... The camera thing was the beginning of the end." He sighs and stares up at the machine. "But he does have some uses... so perhaps I'll keep him on in some capacity... Will that be alright with you, sweetheart?"

She hesitates for a moment and he thinks for sure she's going to refuse, since she too had felt the loss of privacy after Mizdow confessed to filming them for the past six months. "If you think it's a good idea, Mike, I trust you," she finally says.

He sighs, overwhelmed by his adoration for her. "Thanks, sweetheart. Listen, I would love to sit here and talk for awhile longer, but I can't feel my toes so I'm going to go back to my room and turn the heater up... I'll see you soon, alright?"

"Looking forward to it, husband. Take good care of yourself, and when you're home, we'll go to Morrison's and sit on the beach and get you nice and warmed up."

"Now that I'll be looking forward to," he smiles. "Bye, sweetheart." Hanging up the phone, he buries his hands in his pockets and slouches back down the hall to their room, unlocking it and slumping down by the heater, fiddling with the settings. Mizdow thankfully remains quiet and stays on his side of the room, so Miz ignores him until he realizes, underneath the mindnumbing chill, that he's hungry. "Mizdow," he snaps. "Order some room service. Figure out what their soup is, and a steak with fries. I guess you should get yourself something too."

He zones out until the food comes, deciding that the next few days will be Mizdow's test to figure out how he best fits into Mike's world, because he is a good worker, when kept a close eye on, and he had been helpful at times with the tag titles. This, for now, will be his test as a personal assistant. Then, perhaps, a taste tester, and whatever else Mike can think of to keep him from hogging the spotlight...

He's still keeping an eye on him when Thursday finally comes around, freeing them from the hotel enough for them to go to the arena to hold Smackdown. They aren't booked in a match so Mike keeps himself- and Mizdow- as busy as possible, even ducking out of doing Jericho's podcast to talk to his manager which is really an excuse to have a lengthy conversation with AJ, allowing Mizdow to hold the fort while he does so. Once Mizdow finishes boring Jericho with whatever he's rambling on about, Mike reluctantly gets off of the phone and joins him, the two of them walking side by side through the halls until they spot a man from Wizard Wars doing magic tricks for a few of the wrestlers and divas scattered around. He allows him to demonstrate how a trick is done, though Mike knows exactly how it works, disbelieving that the others had fallen for it so easily. He's about to mock them all for it when an egg- not fake as he had assumed- is slammed against his forehead, the yolk sliming down his nose to his chin.

His colleagues laugh before scattering quickly, leaving Mizdow behind him. He turns sharply, staring angrily at the man who's turned away from him, still mirroring his actions. He bites his tongue and glares darkly at him, knowing that soon, soon it will all be over, he will decide where Mizdow belongs and take things from there.

His plans solidify over the weekend and by Monday, he's over it. The mirror technique, Mizdow's creepy stare, all of it. He's impatiently watching while Mizdow prepares his food, always getting the fruit count wrong. How hard is it to get the right amount of blueberries? For God's sake, he grouses, arms crossed over his chest as he stares a hole into Mizdow's back. It's only when a tech comes up, asking for Mizdow's autograph, that Mike fully snaps, Colorado's brisk weather doing nothing to warm him up. He misses AJ, he's tired of living out of hotel rooms, he just wants to go home and hold his wife, and this idiot in front of him is still doing everything possible wrong. So he grabs the freshly finished autograph and tears it into pieces, running off the tech before turning back to Mizdow. Nothing is so satisfying as laying the gauntlet down and firing him as his stunt double, Mizdow staring at him blankly as his new reality fails to have an impact on him.

When he continues trying to use the mirror technique, Miz almost feels sympathetic towards him, deciding then and there that, yes, he would be acceptable as a personal assistant. So he 're-hires' him as such, staring warningly at him. Three strikes and you're out, he thinks to himself after leaving Mizdow to finish preparing his meal. Whatever sympathy he might've felt disappears pretty quickly when he's coming out for his match against Sin Cara later just for Mizdow to run down and try to steal all of the focus away from him again... He yells at him to step back, concluding his entrance, but it's clear that Mizdow is still refusing to accept his new position, so he keeps an eye on him at his own detriment, Mizdow's nonsense eventually costing Mike the match. He gapes at the successful Sin Cara, glaring over at Mizdow who is purposely ignoring him as he yells at him in disbelief.

He storms backstage before gripping Mizdow by the collar, pulling his sunglasses off of him angrily. "You are not returning to California with me," he tells him coldly. "I am going home to be with my wife, and you can find your own way home. Capiche?" Abruptly rethinking his decision that Mizdow would continue to be useful after everything, he storms off and collects all of his things before driving off to the airport to wait until his flight in the early morning hours home, not wanting to risk running into Mizdow back at the hotel. He's not sure what he'd do if he sees the man again right now...

Landing in California feels so good that Mike comes close to collapsing outside of the airport and kissing the ground, almost tearing his clothes in his haste to get out of them now that they're not needed, the sun warm as it wraps around him in golden bliss. He looks up to find his wife waiting for him by the car, a fond smile on her face as she holds her arms out towards him. He stumbles to his feet and runs to her, lifting her up and spinning her around as she laughs and kisses his face, eyes gleaming. "I love you," he tells her.

"I love you too... No Mizdow," she observes, stroking his face.

His expression darkens for a moment before he rests her back on the ground. "No, and there probably never will be again," he tells her. "I tried to be kind and keep him on as my personal assistant and he still cost me my match... so lesson learned." He strokes her lips and shakes his head. "Enough about that, though. I've missed you too much to spend the time discussing him." She hums in agreement as Mike leans in and kisses her. "I think someone said something about sitting on a beach until I warm up... and we have some time until my episode of Sirens is on, so what do you say...?"

Her grip is tight on his hand as she drags him to the vehicle, so eager to do just that that she doesn't allow him to finish speaking.

By the time his episode of Sirens comes on, he's warm and more comfortable than he's felt in almost ten days, his hand gently pressed against her back as they settle into bed, Mike fumbling with the remote before he turns on USA Network to watch his episode. His role is a gym rat named Lance, injured in a most unfortunate way while trying to work out with a machine that's improperly calibrated. Mike can't help but laugh when AJ leans up and stares at him, an eyebrow quirked cutely after the opening scene had ended. "A torn groin, hmm, husband?"

"So it would seem, sweetheart," he tells her, blinking when she murmurs, pressing a kiss to his throat. "AJ, aren't you going to watch the rest of the episode?"

She doesn't answer for a moment, trailing her way under the sheets, his breath hitching as she kisses him, her lips wet and slick against his flesh. "Just, let me know if that gym rat shows up again... He looked ridiculous in that wifebeater."

"Even while down and out with a torn groin?" he asks, biting back a sighed groan. "You have strange fetishes, sweetheart." As she chuckles, he drops back against the pillows and stares blankly at the TV screen, registering very little of what's going on for the rest of the episode.