Another week, another set of rehab appointments that puts Mike on edge. He understands they're helping, at least he hopes so, but it's so frustrating after years of being healthy to still have this hanging over him. He's older, his body isn't responding as quickly as he was hoping, and it's just... it's eating at him more than he wants to admit. So he puts on a brave face for in-ring time with John, hosts MizTV while seated the entire time, sits at ringside and cheers on his friend, doing his best to help him win- even uses his wheelchair to block Ricochet's return to the ring so John wins by countout.
It works, it's just annoying. A major let down after he'd hoped to have another try at Money in the Bank, maybe redeem himself a little after his failure at having a lengthy title reign earlier in the year. But, he tries to console himself, this is John's year. John's opportunity. And god knows, John Morrison deserves it, after all of the nonsense he's been put through in his various years with the WWE.
Mike flinches as he ghosts his hand over yet another broken Dripstick, sighing under his breath. It's stupid, but he can't even protect one of these damn things, so what chance does he really have in helping John when it matters? Oh sure, he'll try, but he can't do anything with ladders right now, and he won't be able to get into the ring, and John really won't need a distraction during the match, so... what? Sit backstage with everyone else and not even be able to pace while he waits for his friend to lose, win, or worse?
Yeah, John is amazing, and he's flexible, and he's a fast problem solver, and a million other positive things Mike could spend all night thinking about, but Mike had thought he was indestructible too. Until he couldn't put weight on his leg anymore, until words like tear and surgery were echoing over his head. He grimaces and pinches his nose, squinting down at himself. Neither of them are getting any younger, and if something happened to John because Mike was unable to help him...
His thoughts are derailed by a hand on his shoulder, and he looks up to find John smiling down at him, eyes dark with worry. "Hey, man, called your name a couple times. You ready to get outta here?"
His hair's wet, he's gotten dressed in the time Mike's been lost in thought, and he really wonders how much time he's just lost right now. "Oh, yeah," he says, giving himself a loose shake. "Let's get the hell outta here."
John grins, grips Mike's wheelchair loosely, and turns it to push him towards the exit. He stops, however, just past the locker room door and glances down at Mike. "Hey, man, you sure you're ok?"
Mike exhales. He hasn't felt ok for ages, in all honesty, but John doesn't need to know that. "Yeah, Johnny," he says quietly. "Just tired, I guess."
John hums, pats his back. "Well, then, let's get you outta here and get some food, then we can go just sack out in our room and not doing anything until our flight tomorrow."
Mike nods, turning to smile at his friend. "That sounds amazing," he agrees.
He turns back to face forward to see what's ahead of him and absolutely misses the deep-rooted worry that crosses John's face as he looks down at him, pushing carefully through the obstacle course that is a standard WWE hallway.