After the tense way that Raw ended the week prior with CM Punk's rant and subsequent suspension, Miz is alternatively curious and anxious to see what the locker room is like. During one of these anxious moments, he stays in his rental car for a few extra moments, peering up at the arena as if he can grade the prevailing emotion from this distance, is still in this position when his phone goes off. He grimaces, absentmindedly pulling it out of his pocket.
Text from: Alex
You going in or just going to sit and stare at the building all night? ... Things alright?
Flushing slightly at being caught, he looks around, finds his former protege across the way and a few lanes down, leaning against the trunk of his own car and peering towards Miz's direction.
Text from: Mike
Yeah, sure. Just thinking. Go inside. Things are fine.
He leans over, taking his time collecting a couple of things scattered around his car, and is relieved that Alex is almost at the building when he straightens up. Like us walking into the arena close together isn't suspicious enough, he thinks with a mirthless smile as he finally drags himself out of the car and reluctantly into the humid Nevada air. Time to get this show on the road.
Alex, for whatever reason, is still lurking around the hallway, near a board that is used for match announcements and other notes for the show. When Mike nears it, he looks up and motions discreetly, a strange look in his eyes. Mike continues walking calmly, glancing over at the notations made in bright red marker. He barely resists reacting as he takes in Miz vs Riley scrawled towards the top, closing his eyes only long enough to roll his eyes. Of course.
As he finally walks into the locker room and takes in the wary silence and uncomfortable glances of his fellow competitors, he tosses his bag over to the nearest empty bench before joining it. For a day meant to be about freedom and independence, he doesn't feel either of those things at this moment.
He's wrestled Alex one-on-one before, of course, a few weeks ago, but despite there not being much time between the two bouts, this one feels different. For one, he's tasted defeat at Alex's hands before- in tag matches and of course, more importantly, the pay per view match- and he doesn't want to go through that again, no matter how he wants to keep the Anon GM off of their backs by keeping this act going. Losing for any reason doesn't sit well with him, makes him want to be better, change things... or sometimes on really low days, leaves him wondering if it's really that worth it, if he's good enough to even bother continuing.
So when he loses to Alex this time, he snaps, his earlier words- which were just originally exaggerated ramblings designed to keep the Anon GM and anyone else from being suspicious- running through his head, everything from the past few weeks- the various attacks by Alex sending him into barricade walls and steels steps, across announcer tables and through the audience just to get away from the onslaught- reminding himself just how far Alex has gone to prove to the Anon GM that this was not pretend... He stops even being aware of what he's doing, small flashes of reality breaking through the anger as he attacks Alex after the match, slamming him into the same weapons. Walls, tables, steps, it doesn't matter, his earlier speech echoing over and over in his mind as he repeatedly reminds Alex "I made you!" each repetition growing louder and fiercer until finally he throws him over the announcer's table, into the office chairs on the other side.
His vision clearing abruptly, he flexes his fists and stares down at Alex, realizing just what he's done, how far he's taken it. "Oh God," he mumbles, not caring for the moment if the camera's on him or not as he peers between the table and chairs, watching as his former rookie struggles to move, trainers and referees pushing the frozen commentary team out of the way so they can assist him. Leaving Alex behind like that is one of the hardest things he's done in his career, close up there with handing over the WWE title upon losing it and having to make a decision between remaining friends with Morrison or making an impact after getting drafted to Raw in 2009, but like he's done for everything before and whatever may come after, he holds his head up high as he walks up the ramp and leaves without a backwards glance.
He doesn't wait around, changing his clothes and stuffing his wrestling gear into his bag before returning to his rental car. He only makes it a few blocks from the arena before realizing just how badly he's shaking, enough to rattle the steering wheel from side to side beneath his palms. Unsure how he's made it this far without getting pulled over for reckless driving due to his lack of focus, he pulls over to the side of the street and pulls the keys out, distantly registering when the engine clicks to a stop and silence prevails. Slamming the back of his head against the headrest, he looks out at the houses lining the street he's on and takes deep, shaky breaths. What happened back there?
In order for the event to be telecast at its normal time around the nation- holiday or not, fireworks or not, networks still had timeslots to be filled- the show had started here, in Nevada, at 6 PM so it's still light by the time Miz regains control of himself enough to return to the hotel. Not wanting to be holed up in his room with his disgusted, conflicted thoughts, he heads for the roof. Who knows, he thinks, settling down on the uneven surface, maybe I'll get lucky and see some fireworks.
The sun is almost completely gone, dusk settling in firmly, when the roof door slides open behind Mike and he stiffens, unhappy at his peace getting disrupted. He refuses to turn around enough to see who, in case some fan should jump him, begging for an autograph, or a fellow wrestler start giving him grief, keeps his eyes straight ahead on the faint orange horizon as whoever it is approaches him. Oh great.
"Can anyone join this party or is it just for former WWE champions?"
It takes a minute for his brain to catch up but when he does, he spins around and looks up, jaw sagging. "Alex?" he sputters, finally regaining control of his vocal cords. "What are you doing here?"
The younger man smiles slightly, settling down close to Mike with a shrug. "I tried texting you... then I tried calling you. When I got out of the trainer's office, you weren't in the locker room and your car was gone from the parking lot. I came here and saw your car, but I didn't want to risk everything by going to your room... so I thought maybe I'd try to see some fireworks. Go figure that you'd be here already."
"Great minds think alike," he mumbles, distracted. Mike can only see Alex's sillouette, his eyes reflecting the glow of nearby businesses and street lamps, so he can't tell what the damage is exactly. "Alex," he mumbles, his gaze falling to his hands. "I-"
"No, Mike. Don't- really, I'm fine. Some bruises and may be sore for a few days, but it's nothing serious. It's nothing that we haven't already done to each other the past few weeks, right?"
"I, I guess," he sighs. "I just... I dunno what happened. I was fine and then I just fell into this angry haze and it felt like I was doing things instinctively without any real thought behind them. When I could think again, you were down on the ground and I had no idea what all I just did."
Alex's smile falters a bit, dims completely as Mike looks over at him, searching for an answer even in the near-darkness. "I thought it felt a little different- more intense this go around, but..."
"All I could think about was how much I've lost since Cena took my title," he manages to spit out, his gaze turning distant, inward. "How much is beyond my control, thanks to the Anon GM. To the point where I look forward to golf just to have a break from thinking about it all. I guess since you were nearby, I took some of it out on you. I'm sorry."
A-Ri's teeth gleam as he grins, shaking his head thoughtfully. "No need to apologize- some of the beatdowns I provided you with over the past few weeks was stress relief for me too. If this, today, kept you from completely exploding or whatever, then I'll give you a pass this go-around. Just don't make it a regular occurrence, ok?"
Mike smirks, nudging Alex slightly. Well, I had 50/50 luck with my NXT rookies... but yeah, this was totally worth taking a chance on signing up for it again after that horrible season one. They're still sitting in comfortable silence a few minutes later when the first loud bang of fireworks echo up through the streets, bright gold and red blasts of light, followed by green and blue, spreading through out the night's sky, calling everyone's attention to that spot.
As the last of the fireworks rampage across the dark sky, the finale drifting away into almost eerie silence, Mike's thoughts turn to Morrison, across the sea in China and unable to celebrate their nation's birthday in a way he's accustomed to. It's the price one pays as a WWE superstar, trips at inopportune times, they've all done it time and time again- but he still feels a bit bad for the man.
Alex seems in no hurry to move, content to stay on the roof next to him as the residential houses around them light off more fireworks- probably completely illegal, but using the one night of the year that police will more likely than not turn a blind eye to the shenanigans as long as it doesn't get too out of hand to their advantages. "So when is Morrison returning to LA?" he breaks the easy silence a few minutes later, not even blinking an eye when Mike jerks and looks over at him, eyes wide in surprise as he wonders if Alex has mastered the ability to read his mind.
"Tomorrow, at some point. Why?"
"I think I have an idea," he says with a smile.
After the flight from China back to LA, John Morrison is exhausted and only really wants to drop his bag somewhere and sleep for a week. But these plans are wiped from his mind almost the instance he heads towards the taxi zone, skidding to a stop as he almost runs into a man waiting patiently against the sign near the exit, smirking gleefully as their eyes lock. "You have got to be friggin kidding me," he mumbles, wondering if his jetlag has caused hallucinations.
"Hello to you too, John," Mike says sarcastically, straightening up from the sign. "How was your flight?"
"Long."
For a moment, Miz looks empathetic but it passes as he shrugs, taking John's bag from him. "Follow me."
"What the hell? Where are we going?" he asks, turning back towards the airport. "Melina-"
"Don't worry about her, a taxi's waiting already to take her to the apartment," he comments, pushing John away from the line of yellow cars. "You've been attached at the hip for the past couple weeks, I'm sure you wouldn't mind a skittles break."
John rolls his eyes, wondering when exactly he's forgotten Miz's more impulsive moments and plans- like this one. "Will you at least give me a hint what we're doing?"
He shrugs, his lips curving slightly. "Fine, I don't see the harm in that, I suppose. What's the date?"
"July 5th... I think. Right?" Morrison looks over at an American flag fluttering from outside the airport, cluing in to what Mike might have planned. "Oh." He leans against the side of Mike's car as he drops John's bag into the trunk, his red rimmed eyes tracking his every move. "I'm exhausted, man. I won't be good company- I'll probably fall asleep on you before we even get out of the parking lot."
"Please, we've all been there," he says dismissively, pulling his car door open and waiting for Morrison to follow suit on the other side. "Get in. It's a bit of a drive anyway, I'll wake you up when we get there." He still hesitates, grip slack against the handle as Mike watches him. "Get in," he repeats a little more forcibly.
"Pushy," he mumbles before slumping into the seat. The soft drone of the engine along with the faint whisper of the radio eases across him as he marvels at not being in an airplane any longer, the vast differences of LA from China. His earlier warning is proved true as his thoughts drift, mesh together and fade away completely, the man falling fast asleep before they're even half of the way out of the parking lot.
He's not sure how much time has passed, groggy and disoriented as something shakes him awake. Squinting against the bright sunlight, he sits up and peers out of the car window, confused. "What...?"
"'Morning, sleepy head," Mike greets him with an amused smile as his head whips around.
"It's morning?" he asks groggily, slumping back against the seat.
"No, it's barely 8 PM. Remember, I picked you up from the airport?" he prompts, watching as awareness returns, flickers across John's face.
"Oh, yeah." He scrubs at his face before returning to peering out the car window. "Where are we?"
"The beach. Well, a cove."
"And what are we doing here?"
Mike's grin turns boastful, almost childish with giddiness as he gets out of the car and leans over to peer in at a reluctant, confused John. "Get out and let's see."
Despite the gorgeous weather, the beach is all but abandoned, their footsteps the only out of the way sound distracting from the waves cresting against the soft sand at their feet. "Oh," Mike says, coming to a stop. "I almost forgot." He thrusts a plastic bag at John and smirks as his former tag partner just barely grabs it with both hands in time to stop it from dropping to the ground. "There you go. Come join us when you're done."
John watches on in surprise as Mike brushes past him with no further explanation. "What the-... Mike!" He rolls his eyes when he's ignored, running a hand through his hair as he drops the bag on the ground, exasperated. "I'm too tired for this crap." He plops onto the warm sand, breathing in the ocean and warmth until his curiosity overwhelms him. Sighing, he pulls the bag closer and digs into it. "You have got to be kidding me," he mumbles.
A few minutes later, he watches as Mike nudges Alex, the younger man turning from the portable grill to peer at him briefly. He rolls his eyes, dropping his bag of airport wear at their feet before tapping a toe against them, eyebrow raised as he takes their gazes full of amused pride in. "And how long have you two been planning this?"
"Uh, what, Alex? Twenty four hours?"
"Something like that," Riley nods, poking at the meat sizzling over the flickering flame with a large pronged fork.
"You have got to be kidding me," John repeats while rolling his eyes, kicking the bag of clothes over to some chairs set up a few feet away. Picking at the loose shirt now covering his upper body, he struggles not to smile too as the slowly cooling air brushes against his bare skin, the shorts and sandals also a nice change after the hours he's just spent in the same clothes holed up on that airplane.
"And that's not all, either," Miz comments after a few moments. "Show him, A-Ri."
Abandoning the food briefly, he obediently drags a box out from behind the chairs and plops it down at Morrison's feet, scattering sand along his toes as if to prove just how heavy the cargo inside is. He looks almost giddy as he tears the flaps open, revealing many different kinds of fireworks- all of which, for the most part, are illegal in the state of California.
"Where the hell did you get those?" John mumbles, half-impressed, half-dreading prison.
"I know people," Alex and Mike say at the same time.
"Now I know how people felt when we did that," he comments, rolling his eyes. "But aren't these completely illegal?"
"What, did you think we were going to just stop at fountains and sparklers? I thought you knew me better than that, John," Mike says with a sneering kind of grin. "Besides, no one's around, no one's going to be around, and I figure since you didn't get to see any fireworks yesterday, this can kind of make up for that."
All of John's protests die away as he absorbs this moment, the hopeful look on both Mike and Alex's faces, the warmth of the sun on his shoulders and the sand under his toes, the smell of meat permeating the air and the promise of the explosives at his feet. "Oh, fine," he sighs. "What do we do first?"
"Eat!" Alex exclaims, turning his attention back to the steaks and corn on the cob just in time.
"Just think of it as partially a welcome back to America party," Mike suggests as he digs around in the cooler for potato salad and dip for the potato chips that John can see on a small table not far away. "And perhaps since we're all so busy, it'll count as a celebration for your return to the ring too... it can't be long now, right?"
Swallowing heavily, John forces himself to nod at this. "Yeah, can't be long now." He flexes the fingers of his right hand slightly and hides the tremble that follows the motion as he takes a beer with his other hand.