Mike flies out on Thursday, focused on Royal Rumble. On walking out World Champion. But first he has to host MizTV with Dean Ambrose and Kevin Owens as guests. He's sure it's going to end badly for someone- and he's determined to make sure that someone isn't himself. He waits until his cue and then walks to the ring, starting the show off by trying to explain the stipulation of a Last Man Standing match when Ambrose comes out, Mike stewing while he talks.
Mike tries to get him to shut up and Dean threatens to punch him so Mike leaves him to host the show himself, sitting in the corner and watching boredly as Dean discusses what he plans on doing to Owens this Sunday. Finally he gets distracted from this when Owens comes out himself, allowing Mike the opportunity to take out his building frustration on Dean, attacking him from behind and kicking him into the mat. Lips twisted angrily, he turns towards the ramp and motions at Owens, wondering why he has to do everything himself, resuming his offense against the downed man until the former intercontinental champion enters the ring.
He expects Kevin's help, mayba a quick little double team of Dean, when he's kicked in the gut and receives a Pop Up Powerbomb for his troubles. Mike crumbles as Dean fights off Owens, just to turn and hit Dirty Deeds on Miz afterwards. He groans, stumbling backstage with the referee's assistance and leans against the wall, digging his fingers into his pounding forehead, when a soft touch grazes along his arm.
"It's me, it's just me," Alicia's voice soothes him. "Come on, let's get you out of here, huh?" Without Paige there, still taking it easy due to her concussion, Alicia picks up the slack, helps him to the locker room, packs up his things while he showers and dresses. She's still staying with Brie, and Alberto is staying with the League of Nations, so Mike's alone when he arrives at the hotel that night, leaning against the cool pane of glass that shows off the highway and surrounding establishments.
He sighs and thumbs his eyes, shaking his head, when there's a knock at the door. He grunts and pulls away, peering out of the peephole before answering. "Got the wrong room, Del Rio?" he wonders tiredly.
"No," he says, pushing past Mike and dropping his bag at the bottom of the unoccuppied bed. "Sheamus and Barrett were being annoying drunks, so I need a room to stay in."
Mike stares at him hard. "Alicia talked to you, did she?"
"I've no idea what you're talking about, Miz," he says, dropping onto the mattress and grabbing the remote, turning the TV on.
It's abrupt, and Alberto would ordinarily be Mike's last choice for company, but he can't find it in himself to complain. At least he's not suffering through this headache while waiting for the pain medicine to kick in alone anymore. "Thanks," he mutters as he walks over to his bed and lays down, some of the restlessness easing out of him now.
Alberto mumbles something in Spanish that Mike doesn't catch, already half asleep.
The next day, they go their separate ways, Alberto heading off home, since the Rumble is within driving distance of his house, while Mike goes back to the arena for Superstars. He wrestles Ziggler to a loss and then heads to Florida himself, still stewing over how poorly the last couple of days have gone. I'll turn it around, he thinks. I definitely will.
The group of them are staying at Alberto's house once more, for convenience sake, and it's never been prettier a sight than when Mike arrives and Sofia greets him at the door with a hug, examining him and clicking over how exhausted he looks. She guides him to his guest room and oversees him putting his bags up. "AJ is doing well?" she wonders, leading him back to the kitchen for a plate that she'd made for him.
"Great," he nods. "I called her on the way from the airport. She would be here, too, but we've used up all of our good will with the OB GYN. She's due in a couple of weeks and we've traveled a lot already this past month, so the doctor kind of put her foot down. Which I understand, AJ's kind of starting to... nest, I guess, so I think it'll be soon. So I'm glad she's surrounded by familiar people and places." He hesitates over his spoonful of peas and looks up at Sofia. "Damn, I'm going to be a dad in a few weeks. I'm not sure I'm ready."
Sofia laughs softly, leaning over to kiss the top of his head. "You're going to be fine," she tells him. "These jitters, they are normal, si? You have the nursery ready, there are so many people here to support you and AJ, everything's going to be fine." She rubs circles in his knuckles. "Don't worry about anything. It will all work out, I promise you."
He chews on some steak before looking over at her. "You're too good to all of us, Sofia. I don't know how you stand all of us dramatic, rude wrestlers."
She laughs. "You're all perfect just the way you are, I wouldn't change a thing. It definitely makes my life interesting." She winks at him and stands up, getting him a slice of peach pie and some milk. "Eat this and go to bed, you have a long weekend ahead of you."
"Si, madre," he says with only a vague teasing lilt to his tone. She smiles as she walks past him, putting his plate in the sink and rinsing it off.
Rumble weekend is always busy with events, fan meet and greets, and then of course the event itself. Mike stands backstage and watches as the World Heavyweight Championship rumble begins, Reigns coming to the ring. Most of the locker room is lingering around the curtain, waiting for their turn, and he fights to breathe. He's number 25, he has a good chance at winning. He just has to be smart about it so, after what feels like a lifetime, he hears his cue and makes his way to ringside. But instead of getting in the ring, he stays at the commentary table and he talks through the next few minutes of the match.
Del Rio is number 26 and Mike smirks as he enters the ring, still clearly angry after losing his US title to Kalisto- again. Brock Lesnar eventually gets eliminated and Mike sees his shot, enters the ring and goes after Ziggler. Pays for it by getting eliminated by a returning Roman Reigns, Alberto next. They stare at each other, Alberto cursing angrily as they make their way up the ramp side by side. "Ay dios mio," he rages, kicking a few trunks in the hall.
Mike's never been happier that Alberto's house is so big that he can let out his anger without bothering any of his houseguests. He hopes, anyway. Mike's not thrilled either, but he's more tired than anything, wanting nothing more than to go sleep and ignore how easily his brilliant strategy had gotten picked apart.
Raw is about as bad, Mike borrowing one of Alberto's limos for a showy entrance and making the camera crew outside wait, guessing what VIP had come in such an impressive vehicle. When he finally decides to show himself, his moment is ruined by The Rock arriving in a horrible looking truck and, even worse than all of that, Rock pushes his keys off on Mike, as if Mike isn't a movie star himself. Mike glares at Rock before storming off, clutching the keys in his hands.
He's so pissed that he barely sees Alberto standing off to the side, watching with a sneer. "Nice limo, Miz, where did you get it, hm?"
Mike rolls his eyes and throws his arms up. "Don't start with me, ok? Yes I borrowed it from your garage, it's fine, it's perfect, see? I'm not your valet either." He's about to storm off, tempted to kick Rock's truck on his way past, when Alberto grabs his arm. "What?!"
"You have the keys? Wanna have some fun at The Rock's expense?"
Mike turns and stares at the smirk on Alberto's face, quickly understanding what he means. "Yes!"
"While we do that, I can give you tips for your match against that little masked perrito, Kalisto, later on," Del Rio says, dropping an arm around Mike's shoulders.
Between the two of them, they leave Rock's car a mangled wreck on a side street, standing behind some bushes and watching as it gets towed away. Mike smirks proudly, clapping Alberto on the shoulder. "That was great. Let's go back to the arena." Their matches, once more back to back, are soon, and Mike quickly changes into his gear. He fights, taking whatever's left of his anger out on Kalisto, trying to pay Alberto back for tonight by humiliating the luchadore in his stead, but he fails. Loses the match and has to trudge back, face Alberto, who doesn't seem that surprised. "I tried," he grumbles.
Alberto shrugs. "Just as well, means I can finish him off myself some other time." He leaves with the other members of League of Nations to watch Sheamus and Rusev take on Roman and Dean, but that ends poorly too. They meet up with Paige and Alicia afterwards and head back to Alberto's, the two divas separated since things are still tense between them after the last couple matches.
Once they arrive with no bloodshed, Mike goes outside to breathe in the late night air and listen to the faint sounds of nature. He's not out there for too long when the door opens and Alberto slips outside, sitting on the patio a few feet away from where Mike's buried in the grass. He doubts that Alberto even knows he's here so he tests it after a few moments of silence, watching Alberto as he speaks up. "So, I've been wondering." When Alberto leaps out of his chair, nearly knocking the spindly table over, everything Mike's ever done becomes worth it and he laughs uproariously.
"I hate you, Miz," Alberto snaps, correcting the table and scooting his chair back up to it. "What the hell are you doing laying in my grass? I thought everyone was sleeping."
"Just wanted some time to myself, same as you by the looks of it," Mike says.
They fall quiet for awhile, Alberto smoking distractedly at his cigar, the red glow at its tip the only light in the vicinity. "What were you wondering?" he finally demands gruffly.
Mike ponders how to word it, finally just spitting it out. "So you have all of us over, but as far as I know, you don't invite the League of Nations to stay at your house. Why is that?"
Alberto doesn't answer for a moment, the only sign of his presence being that red glow as he taps it against an ashtray. "Rusev has Lana," he says. "Barrett already lives in Florida. And I would never invite Sheamus to my house. We have something of a truce now, but I will never trust him around anything or anyone important to me. Ricardo perhaps is safe in India right now, but I cannot look Sofia in the eye if I allow that man in this house. She remembers all too well what he did to Ricardo, what he did to me. I would never do that to her." He takes another deep pull from his cigar and blows the smoke out towards where Mike's laying. "Anything else?"
"Nope. I think that's all I needed to know," he says softly. He listens as Alberto shifts in the chair, stumping the cigar out once he's done with it. "Guess we've both done some growing lately, huh?"
"Si," Alberto mumbles. "I suppose so." He peers over at Mike. "I received what I needed from Colter- a way into the business, and I was able to defeat Swagger as well, prove that he is meaningless next to me. Now I wait and watch for an opportunity to make Sheamus learn the same lesson. It is subtle but assisting him in losing the WWE world title was a first step. I am not done."
"You mean you've been sabotaging him this entire time?" Mike demands, laughing slightly. "I never would've guessed, man. Kudos."
"Gracias," Alberto says. They sit in silence for awhile, taking in the peace of late night, until Alberto gets up and heads inside for bed.
After watching the stars for a few moments longer, imagining doing this very thing with his daughter when she's old enough, Mike follows his lead, desperately tired.