Despite John's reassurances, Mike can't help but feel disgusted. Disgusted with himself for not managing to hold his weight in their team. For risking so much, leaving his family on the other side of the country, just to fly to Florida and lose. After everything John did at Wrestlemania to hold onto their titles. Mike stares at the ceiling and drowns in his self-recriminations until John hovers in his line of sight and thwops his nearest a foot a good one, making him jump up in shock. "Hey!"
"Hey, yourself," John tells him. "It's getting late, get up."
Mike hates this. Hates everything. But he knows he owes John something huge so he listens, gets to his feet and follows his partner out of the hotel. They amble through quiet streets, past trees and empty buildings until they arrive at the Performance Center. Flashing their IDs at the staff manning the doors to make sure unauthorized people can't just access the building, they head to the back and John exhales as he settles in, stretching out and half-watching as Mike eases down to mimic his pose. "What are we doing?" he mumbles.
"Working out," John says. "Our minds, our muscles. You know the gimmick by now."
He half-smiles, remembering moments similar to this scattered through out the many years of their friendship. "Yeah, I guess I do," he sighs, trying to focus on his breathing, echoing John's deep inhales and steady exhales. By the time John stands, Mike's mind is a little more clearer, and he follows him over to the equipment to get in a quick work out. "Thanks," he says, slowly regaining composure as they do sets of weights and whatever else John finds feasible for a day such as today.
"Any time, Mike. You know this," John tells him simply.
It becomes routine, leaving the hotel, heading to the PC, doing what they can to remain limber and strong. Mike wonders what their chances are at regaining the tag belts, especially now with Forgotten Sons on Smackdown and everything else going on. He's not sure, but he's determined to try. "I won't let this be for nothing," he promises AJ over the phone, and she's oddly quiet for a moment.
"Mike, you're being too hard on yourself," she chastises him. "This was a decision I agreed with when you made it. I support you. Just... do what you need to, and come back to us, healthy and safe, as soon as you can, ok?"
Her words are fresh on his mind when Smackdown rolls around, starting off with the various tag teams in the ring, airing their greviances about various things to do with the tag division before it ends in a brawl, Mike glaring up at Lince Durado and Gran Metalik. He's somewhat disappointed that they're stuck competing against the Lucha House Party instead of doing something more worthwhile to reclaim their tag belts, but a match is a match, so he keeps his thoughts to himself and squares his shoulders, side by side with John, determined to see this through, hold his own. Which absolutely is the plan except that he's still doubting himself, stray thoughts distracting him from what's going on in front of him, leaving him just enough off of his game that Lince gets the upperhand, and the ultimate pin, leaving Mike and John both gaping in disbelief as LHP celebrate their unexpected victory.
John is oddly quiet as they walk backstage and Mike has no idea what to say. Finally John drops his hand down on Mike's shoulder and squeezes tightly. "Look at me, Mike," he says.
Mike grits his teeth and does so, expecting anger and disappointment in his best friend's eyes. Instead, he finds understanding and worry in their dark depths, and exhales shudderingly. "I'm so damn sorry. I don't know why I'm screwing everything up so badly-"
"Hey, we're a team. I could be doing more to help too," John tells him, nails biting into his bare flesh. "Don't take all of this on yourself. We'll figure it out, ok? Somehow. I promise. We will."
Mike closes his eyes and focuses on the sting of John's grip, trying to let it ground him in something other than his desperate thoughts and overwhelming feelings. "I hope so," he breathes out. "I really, really do."