After another MizTV spent trying to seem like a husband should to Maryse and exchanging barbs with AJ Styles to start off Smackdown, Mike's never felt so exhausted in his entire career. Unable to find it in himself to go to his locker room, he escapes down a dark hallway and sprawls out over a crate, his full lengthed jacket with a hoodie helping to cover his form from nosy eyes. He wants to fall asleep but now he has a match later on in the night against the very man who'd wrecked his beautiful teeth a few weeks back.
Licking said teeth anxiously, he stares up at the shadows and thinks about his daughter. His wife. Grits his teeth against the throbbing ache in his chest as he remembers how cool, detached AJ had sounded the last time they talked. He hates himself for doing this to them, hates himself for every moment that he's away from them. Hates himself for everything.
Only minutes seem to have passed before Maryse finds him, resting a cool hand on his leg. "Your match is next," she says, her accent thick through the darkness.
He sits up and brushes her hand off. "Don't touch me," he snaps, faltering when he sees hurt and anger flash through her dark eyes. "Sorry," he whispers. "I just... I was thinking about all of the pain I'm causing AJ. I shouldn't have taken it out on you. It's not your fault."
She scoffs and says something in French before stepping closer and hugging him. "I owe you so much, Mike, and I promise... as soon as we can quit this charade, I will do all that I can to help you smooth things over with AJ."
He awkwardly pats her back before stumbling towards the locker room, willing feeling back into his appendages after laying awkwardly for so long. She follows quietly and stands at ringside like the dutiful wife she's pretending to be, watching him as he fights- and ultimately loses- partially thanks to Karl Anderson and Luke Gallows waiting on the outside, blocking his escape when all he wanted was to lose by countout, spare his teeth a little more damage thanks to that lunatic and his ridiculous kicks. Afterwards, he's seething, demanding an investigation, something to be done about AJ Styles and his cronies...
Just for Shane McMahon's music to hit, stopping him short mid-rant. He gapes and watches as Shane dances around before remembering what he's here for, demanding answers, restitution. He pokes Shane, getting in his face, and repeating his demands, when Shane throws a punch. And another and another, sending Mike against the ropes before flying back and elbowing him in the face, then depositing him unceremonously out of the ring. Mike scrambles up the ramp, Maryse quickly joining him, and he asks her to check his teeth. "You're fine, you're good," she promises him, helping him up and handing him his title.
He glares incredulously at Shane before making his way up the ramp and escaping the jeers of the London crowd. "I can't wait to go back to the States," he grunts, still leaning on her more than he'd like to admit. The match with Styles and then that pathetic display by Shane McMahon has left him aching and his mind racing in every which direction.
"Soon," Maryse promises him, her arm tightening around him. For a moment, he closes his eyes and pretends that it's AJ's hair tickling his bare skin, that it's her fingers soothing his sore face. That it's her breathing he falls asleep to that night.
The weekend passes slowly, filled with traveling from one airport to the next until they finally make it to Connecticut for Raw, Mike dead on his feet as he collapses face first into his hotel bed du jour. Maryse hands him his phone before escaping into the bathroom to give him some privacy as he dials home. It rings a few times before AJ answers, sounding sleepy and not with it. "Hello, sweetheart."
Immediately her voice grows colder. "Hello."
"How are you?" he asks softly, knowing as soon as the words escape him that they're wrong. Everything's wrong, why not this too?
"We're fine," she says. "Here's your daughter."
It breaks his heart that AJ won't bring herself to talk to him for a minute, even if it's just to tell him what's been going on while he was across the sea and unable to get in touch with them easily due to the timezones and everything else. But listening to Sara's general, two month old babbling, warms his soul and leaves him crying pathetically as he struggles to keep his voice steady while he talks to her, tells her about England and all that he's seen the last couple of weeks. He wonders later if maybe AJ is listening to all of this, maybe has the phone on speaker, or something, but it doesn't matter. On some level, he wants her to hear how wrecked he is, how bad the guilt is, how much he hates all of this.
He's a little more composed, though he sounds congested and weak, when AJ speaks again. "She's asleep now. Are you coming home Tuesday?"
"Yes," he says. "First thing. Sweetheart-"
"Good night, Mike," she says, hanging up abruptly.
He stares at his dark phone for a few moments before putting the phone down, rolling over and closing his eyes as more tears drip down his face. When Maryse returns, he doesn't respond, just waits until she's in bed and the lights are off to bury his face into the pillows and grit his teeth against the anguished sobs wanting to pour out of his trembling lips.
Raw itself isn't much better, he talks a lot. Maryse talks a lot. They laugh and flirt and he feels itchy and disgusting, hoping AJ isn't watching, when finally, thankfully, Cesaro interrupts. For the first time since Cesaro returned and was named #1 contender for Mike's belt, Mike's glad to see him. Even when it ends with him down on the mat, groaning and too out of it to move, but feeling Maryse's warm body against him, shielding him from Cesaro's attempt at swinging him around.
He holds her, reflecting on how warm she feels against him, but quickly snapping out of it when he remembers that, now that this is over, he can go to the hotel. Try to get some sleep before his flight back to LA, where he will try once more to comfort AJ, make her see that this is nothing. That his true dedication will always be to her, to Sara Louisa. He closes his eyes and breathes through his nose, not that surprised that, when he calls AJ's phone this time, it goes straight to voicemail. She had either declined his call or had her phone off. Either way... He swallows and breathes out, "I love you, AJ. Forever. No matter what. Never forget that."
This time, he lays flat on his back, staring up at the hotel ceiling as Maryse finishes in the bathroom and settles in next to him. To keep up the charade, they have to book one bed rooms, which means the beds are thankfully large, but sharing a bed with someone who is not his wife makes Mike feel like the scummiest man ever. If he moves his hand just so, he'd be able to feel Maryse's back, trail his fingers down her spine, watch her arch in response and breathe out his name like might have happened in years gone by, to a different version of themselves, to ones not weighed down by financial problems and obligations to family and career.
The thought passing as quickly as it'd come, he closes his eyes and releases a breath, falling asleep with AJ's pained gaze and Sara Louisa's innocent babbling haunting him.