It's not been a great week. Mike's knee is still bungled. People around the neighborhood keep setting off fireworks and keeping Sara and George awake well past their bedtimes, which means cranky kids in the morning. Worst yet, he's realizing Money in the Bank is just weeks away and there's just no way for him to compete in it. Not with his knee still so unstable. Rehab is helping, but it's slow.
He sighs and thuds his head back against the wall as Morrison uses random things in their general vicinity to exercise, working on limbering up even more- if it's possible- before the show begins. "You doin' alright, Mike?" he calls over and Miz winces, wishing his friend hadn't heard that.
"Yeah, I'm fine, John," he calls back, fiddling with the Drip Stick holder next to him. Still, it's only a few moments before John wanders over and stands by him, toweling his hair dry. Mike grimaces at him. "Really, I'm ok. Just thinking."
John hums. Stretches his leg out and does this weird stretching twist that always makes Mike's ribcage hurt to watch him. "Taya and I are looking forward to Wednesday," he says. "Party at Zack Ryder's house? Should be fun."
"Yeah," Mike exhales. "Dunno if I'm going yet. I..." He looks away. "Probably won't be good company."
John watches him for a long, quiet moment. "You know, I get it. I won't push, just we'll miss you if you're not. You know, we can- well. I'll help you swim, if you want. And I'm sure if you're not there, Zack'll do something stupid like photoshop you into pictures or something."
Mike does grin at this, shaking his head as he thinks about what might happen without his supervision. "I'll think about it," he finally decides. "For now, though, let's focus on you and tonight, yeah?"
John's night ends in getting crossbodied from the ring off of the barricade wall and onto the hard floor below. It ends in double countouts and Mike staring anxiously at him from over the black expanse keeping them separated, unable to do anything to help his hurting best friend. "John!" he calls anxiously, doing his level best to ignore the referee who hops over the wall like it's nothing. "Are you ok? Speak to me!"
John groans and gingerly sits up with the referee's support and offers Mike a vague, weak sort of a nod. "'m ok," he grunts out after a moment, rubbing his forehead. "Just gimme a minute." They give him more than that, very patient as they follow him around the barricade wall and Mike immediately rolls over to him, gingerly standing. "Mike-"
"Shush," he commands, watching John closely as he reaches out, grips his jaw and searches his face. "Are you ok?" It had been similar- hovering precariously on the barricade wall, his legs hanging over the edge, getting tackled off of it- too similar to when the zombies had grabbed John, had dragged him down. Mike's still not sure what came of that, just that John's been very jumpy ever since, clinging to garlic and then the Drip Stick, and... yeah.
John stares back at him and, after a moment, his face softens. "Yeah, Mike," he breathes out. "I'm ok. Come on, sit down, you're not supposed to put weight on that." He eases him down, but doesn't move to push the wheelchair, which is fine, Mike quite capable to follow his best friend backstage, thoughts churning as he watches him go, led by trainers and referees.
He's fine, he's gotta be fine, he's up and walking, bossing Mike around, acting like he usually does. But still, Mike can't help but wonder if that's as tenuous as his knee's stability.