AJ meets them at the door as soon as Ricardo pulls up, pale and shaking. "Mike," she breathes out, grabbing for him. Mike exhales and sinks into her arms, squeezing her tightly. "I love you. Are you ok?" She pulls back slightly, examining him closely.
"No," he says quietly, resting his forehead against hers.
She sniffs and kisses him gently. "What happened?"
"I don't really remember," he admits. "I woke up to Ciampa standing over me. I don't even know what happened. I..." He whimpers, rubbing at his forehead. "I feel sick."
"Let's get you to bed," she says softly, guiding him through the house to their bedroom. She tucks the sheets back and pulls out some comfortable clothes. "Here, let's get you into these," she says, helping him out of his jeans and into the pajama pants. "Good?"
He nods. "Yeah, feels a lot better."
She smiles at him. "Lay down, get comfortable, I'll get you some water." She kisses him on the forehead, then on the nose, before heading out of the room.
"Is he ok?" Ciampa asks, examining her quietly.
"I don't think so," she sighs. "Thank you for bringing him here again." She walks up to him. "Tell me what you saw."
He stares at her. "You sure you want that?"
She nods, squaring her shoulders. "He's my husband, the father of my children. I need to know what's going on. How I can best help him. You're the only one who really knows."
Ciampa sighs. "Alright. Go get him that water, I'll tell you everything."
"Fine," she murmurs, going to do just that. Once Mike is settled, tucked in and close to nodding off already, she returns to the kitchen. "Now talk."
Ciampa nods grimly. "He was outside again, the arena this time. A fan spotted him and informed security. They found me and informed me. I was able to get him conscious and out of there, but ..."
"But what?" AJ asks, frowning down at her hands. She can't bring herself to look at him right now, uncomfortable by the expression on his face, how tense he's holding himself as he relays all of this to her.
She takes it in quietly, then nods stiffly. "Thank you," she tells Ciampa before getting to her feet and walking into the guest room. Mike is fast asleep, his lips parted as his brows furrow. She settles in next to him and cards her fingers through his hair, frowning as she examines him. "I'll figure this out," she murmurs to him. "You're going to be ok. I promise." She kisses his hand soberly. "He won't touch you again. Somehow, someway. I swear I'll keep you safe."
Trying to block out what Ciampa had described to her, she rests her head on his shoulder and breathes in deeply, relieved to feel him under her, steady, warm. Her sleep is disrupted by every noise and shift Mike makes, constantly checking on him and making sure he's ok.
By morning, she's even more determined to figure out a better way to keep her husband safe, taking advantage of his distraction with football's return to talk to Tamina and Ciampa, WWE officials, and everyone in between to try to make this work .