Miz shifts. He likes his chair, he does, but it's been months by now, and he just... he wants to heal, he wants to be able to use his knee again, he wants to wrestle alongside John again, go after the tag belts, something. Anything. He drops his head back against the edge of the flimsy fabric backing of the chair and closes his eyes with a frustrated sigh.
Immediately, John stops the workout he's in the middle of and exhales, brushing his hands off on a nearby towel before approaching. "'Sup, Mike?" he asks, a little breathless and a lot sweaty. "Need to go somewhere?"
"No," Mike almost snaps. He's capable of pushing himself around just fine as long as he's not near a ramp, but sometimes Johns seems to forget that, his hands already hovering over the grips on the back of the chair. He observes the brief look of hurt on John's face as he drops his hands and feels bad, for a moment. "Sorry," he mumbles. "I'm just- I'm tired of this," he confesses. "I wanna be able to walk without worrying about completely ruining my knee. I wanna get back in the ring, and actually help you against Riddle, and whoever else, not just sit on the sidelines and shoot water at everyone. I wanna..." He huffs. "I want to do so many things, and I just... I can't right now." He keeps his eyes trained downwards and shrugs. "I thought... last week, I thought maybe you fucked your knee up too, thanks to Omos, and what could I do? Just sit here and hope for the best. It sucks! I want this to be over with, I want to be healed!"
John sighs softly, kneeling down in front of Mike and eyeing him. "I know, man," he says, trying to sooth. "I get it. Look, trainer says you're doing really well, right? Just have to give it a little more time?" He squeezes Mike's good knee and smirks a little. "For a man your age-"
"Oh my god," Mike huffs out a pathetic little laugh. "Shut up, John. You're just as old as I am."
John grins and stands up, patting Mike's arm. "C'mon, man, let's go get you something to eat before the show starts. You're not you when you're hungry."
"Ha-ha," he says dryly, but says nothing as John begins to push him out into the hallway. "Thanks, John." They're almost there when Mike spots AJ and Omos and gets an idea, reaching back and snagging John's jacket, dragging him in to hiss his idea to him, John's eyes widening as he nods now and again.
Another week, another period of sitting at ringside, tormenting Byron Saxton with the dripstick, and watching as John wrestles Riddle. He ultimately gets knocked onto his back in his wheelchair yet again thanks to that immature Riddle, watching angrily as he's mocked from above. John eventually gets the win this time, thanks to their earlier steps to get AJ and Omos onto their side- there's some justice in seeing Omos break Riddle's stupid scooter like it's made of paper- and he huffs out a laugh as John rolls out of the ring and smirks at him. "Always lovely when a plan comes together," he calls out to him and John nods enthusiastically.
"Hell yeah," he says, already walking up to push Mike towards the ramp. "C'mon, let's get outta here and celebrate."
Celebrate meaning, find some decent late night food, if they can, return to their hotel room, and call their wives, check in on the kids and the pets, and get some sleep. It's become their new post-show tradition, since Mike's injury, and it sounds pretty damn great to Mike, after everything else that's gone on today.