Almost four months to the day of R-Truth's initial attack against John Morrison, the Shaman of Sexy returns, his neck finally healed completely, and Miz can't resist smiling slightly as R Truth seems to lose his grip on reality even more, ranting for long minutes about this conspiracy and that. The audience's boos and jeers only seem to entice him all the further. Everyone fails at seeing just how far off the rails the past few months have taken him.
With Morrison back and Miz still pretending to be on the outs with Alex, it's an easy decision to resume traveling together and splitting hotel rooms. After that week's Raw, Mike watches with quiet amusement as John messes around with his new phone, trying to learn every inch of it. He's so lost in the device that he almost takes the wrong turn, Miz nudging him the only thing keeping him from wandering off and getting lost in the parking lot. He's about to say something mocking when he hears a car engine speeding up behind them, his thoughts derailing as he looks over his shoulder in time to see a dark red car speeding towards them.
There's no time to think, or yell, or do anything, as the dangerously fast vehicle comes barreling towards Morrison, the man still so intent on his new phone that he doesn't notice. Pure instinct takes over as Mike lunges forward, slams into John with enough force to push him out of the way and to safety.
John groans as he tries to figure out what just happened and why his elbow hurts, dizziness and confusion adding to his issues. "What the hell?" he mumbles, blinking rapidly. Just moments earlier he had been walking down the main parking lot lane, but now he finds himself pressed against a parked car's tire, shadows running over his face as he stares ahead blankly. "Mike?" he calls out, remembering that his former tag partner had only been a few steps away. No answer comes, just the ever present roar of a nearby car engine.
A niggling feeling presses against his chest, ridding him of breath, as he inches forward, peering out between the two cars he's fallen between. It takes a minute for him to register what exactly he's seeing... "MIKE!" Only a few feet away, Miz lays awkwardly, his face turned away from John. Bloody tears in his clothes are visible even from this distance and Morrison flinches, pressing a hand against the trunk of the nearest car as he gazes around and catches sight of the reason for the non-stop engine sounds. I know that car, he realizes, the niggling feeling evolving to full-on nausea.
He hesitates only a moment before rushing out- yes, in front of R-Truth's car- unable to do anything about the easy target he's just put on his own back. It takes only seconds, though it feels like hours, before he's by Miz's side, not even giving himself a moment to consider the possible injuries before he's behind him and has him under the arms, dragging him up and backwards to hide between another set of cars opposite of the ones Mike had pushed him between. I dare you, Truth, come out and find us, you coward, he thinks angrily as soon as he's collapsed to the ground, his back pressed to the rough brick wall, Mike's weight heavy and reassuring in his arms. You can't use your damn car to get us now, can you?
He presses his face against Mike's neck, his gel-roughened hair tickling John's forehead as he tries to focus on the sounds around them, one very obvious one now missing. "Hey..." he breathes, peeking up in surprise. "I think he's gone." He rests a hand on Mike's arm, shuddering slightly as he feels something- blood?- dripping through his fingers. "Did you hear me? Mike?" The lack of answer leaves him feeling worse than he did just after seeing Miz down on the ground, unmoving. "Ok... Ok. I think I dropped my phone when you tackled me," he comments, squeezing Mike's shoulder carefully. "What was that, anyway? Superman complex?" he laughs weakly, shaking his head. "That was Cena's thing, I thought." Sobering at the continued silence, he leans over. "Don't get the wrong idea, I'm just looking for your phone," he warns, patting Miz's jean pockets. "Good thing you changed before we left, if your latest suit got messed up, you would be pissed."
He huffs in relief as he finally feels the device in Mike's right sided pocket and pulls it out, holding his breath as he waits to see if it's going to work or not. As soon as its glow lights up the immediate area, he doesn't waste any time in dialing 911. He's just hanging up the phone, an ambulance on the way, when he hears footsteps walking towards them. His heart thumps madly as he sees red, imagining R Truth coming up to finish the job. "Ok, I'll be right back," he whispers, gingerly lifting Mike up enough that he can stand. "Hang on, you hear me?" After reluctantly laying him back down on the hard concrete, he stands up to his full height and peers over the car, holding his breath as the sounds come closer, the repetitive clanking of jingling keys adding to his tension. He's working out a plan of attack when the man gets close enough for him to recognize, his mouth dropping open slightly. "Riley?"
"Morrison? What the hell are you doing to my car?"
Rolling his eyes, he slips out from between the two cars and grabs Alex. "Shut up and listen. I need you to move your car, ok?" He waves off Alex's protests, gripping his arm roughly.
"Is that blood?" Alex squawks in horror as coppery flakes scatter across his pristine shirt. "I don't want involved, man-"
"Listen, Mike's hurt!" he snaps, effectively shutting the kid up as he gapes, his lips parting in disbelief. "R-Truth hit him with his car. I dragged him away before Truth got the idea to hit him again, he's between your car and that green thing. I need you to move your car, an ambulance is on the way."
"It's that bad?" he asks soberly, already walking towards his car.
"He's unconscious," John mumbles, following him. He lingers by the trunk, giving Alex a minute to look his former mentor over.
"Crap," Alex whispers, taking in the tears in the other man's clothes and how unresponsive he is. "John, stand by him and make sure I don't get too close. I'm gonna move the car..."
"Alright," he says distantly, sliding in between the two cars again and kneeling down by Mike. "Hey, you're going to be alright, you hear me? Alex's here now," he adds after a moment of strained, hypersensitive silence, trying to think of something- anything- to encourage the man to open his eyes. When it doesn't work, he lurches up and waves Alex on, his eyes tracking the tires as they glide backwards, far away from Miz's unconscious form. As soon as the shadow of the car is gone, John gets a good look at his friend, his breath stuttering in his throat at the sight. "Oh God," he all but groans, his hand fluttering uncertainly in front of Mike. "Why... the hell... A title belt is worth this?"
He's still sitting there, gazing blankly at his bloodied and bruised former tag partner, wondering why R-Truth had taken it this far over something that was just a spur of the moment stupid idea from months ago, when Alex hesitantly comes up behind him and rests a hand on his shoulder. "Ambulance is here," he says quietly, obviously troubled by Miz's appearance as well.
As if my own injury wasn't enough, now he's dragged Mike into it... he thinks, slowly stepping back to give the EMTs room to work.
Troubled dark eyes gaze down at the resting man in the hospital bed, a hand anxiously fluttering around his bearded face as he attempts to settle down in the uncomfortable plastic chair all hospitals seem to have the trademark on. It had happened so fast, the hit and run, that now time just seems to be inching along at a snail's pace as he waits for Mike to awaken, move, anything.
So much has happened in the WWE just in the years that he's been a regular competitor, but this is so random and unexpected that he can barely make sense of it. After all, it wasn't that long ago he couldn't stand being in the same room with Mike and Truth was one of his closest remaining friends in the WWE. Ultimately it was the anon GM who put them on a road where John and Mike would get over their issues slowly and Truth eased into madness after waiting for years for a true title opportunity, just to lose it due to Morrison's own desperation for a taste of the spotlight.
But, he supposes, that's how life goes. You can try to hold onto something with every ounce of strength you have but sometimes there's nothing you can do to stop the chain reaction. His mind working overtime in the late night semi-silence of the hospital, he can't help but dwell on how this whole situation could've been so much worse- the car could've been going a little faster, Mike's forward momentum might've taken him a little further into the car's path, Truth could've hit both of them and left so neither could've called for help...
Cursing himself for not taking Truth's descent into insanity more seriously, he rests a hand on Mike's forehead, idly mussing the slack strands of light brown hair that settles there whenever his hair gel is washed out. This was too close, he thinks numbly. I can't let it happen again. I won't.
Despite how bad it initially looked, many of Mike's injuries are minor- cuts, scrapes, bruises. Despite a few bruised and cracked ribs and a concussion, the doctors remain by their claim that he's a very lucky man. An APB is out for Truth and Morrison is waiting for any kind of news from WWE officials but everyone's been tight lipped and solemn over this situation. Considering visiting hours had ended a long time before the accident even occurred, John himself wouldn't be here except that Alex had smoothly taken over as nurses looked John over- explaining about his somewhat recent neck surgery and long term knee issues, not to mention the minor injuries he had sustained in the hit and run as well.
Alex's dialogue being punctuated by the nasty gash along his elbow nearly clean around his arm needing stitches, the nurse ends up debating it all over with the doctor, who takes one look at John's pale, exhausted face and agrees. He's pretty sure, after all of that, that it's not just coincidence that he ends up sharing a room with the still unconscious Mike but either way, he's relieved that Alex had the foresight to make all of this happen. Even when the nurse comes in around 4 AM and gives him an exasperated, partially amused look as she catches him still sitting by Miz's bed, as if she expected him to be there. "Mr. Morrison," she chides, multitasking by checking Mike's vitals while lecturing John. "You need your rest as well."
"He's not resting," he says slightly bitterly. "He's unconscious."
"His body is healing," she corrects, not unkindly. "Which is what you need too... How would Mr. Mizanin feel if you exhaust yourself watching over him and we end up keeping you a few more days while he gets to go home?"
John rolls his eyes and hesitates, his fingers still pressed against Mike's forehead. "He knocked me out of the way of an oncoming car... I just, I don't want him to wake up alone."
The nurse's eyes soften as she turns towards the empty, cold bed, only a few feet away. "See, you'll be laying right here. Even if you're asleep when he wakes, he'll be able to see you and will know he's not alone. Now I have to insist you at least lay down..." She waits by his side and shakes her head with an exasperated smile as he stubbornly pushes himself out of the chair, ignoring the stiffness and soreness even when his elbow shifts, pulling at the stitches.
The nurse obviously isn't going to leave until he's relaxing in the bed so he makes a show of crawling between the sheets and dropping back against the pillow, his eyes glinting in the faint light from the hallway as she stands over him, her lips twitching. "There you go," she says in a sing song as he pulls the sheets up to his chin, watching her closely. "I hope you're still in that bed by the time I return to check vitals again."
He sighs as she leaves, his head tilting so that he can see Mike. He has no intention of sleeping but the stresses of the day, mixed in with the soft, regular beeping of the machines, eases him into darkness within minutes.
It feels like only a brief time has passed before bright light gleams down upon his face, dragging him back to the surface reluctantly. Eyes fluttering against the sunshine, he stares blankly at the dull beige wall in front of him, a large white eraser board reflecting the sunlight even more. Names are listed there, Nurse Sandra... CRN Patti... and... It all rushes back to him and he sits up, almost falling back over as he leans on his elbow, pain immediately flaring up and causing him to gasp.
A hand rests on his upper arm, trying to calm him down and ease him back onto his side. "Breathe, John," he hears, looking up just to see Alex peering down at him, worried and a bit fretful. "You're fine, in the hospital, remember?"
He grimaces, the pain slowly disappearing as he's rested on his back, pressure off of his elbow. "Mike?" he asks sleepily, turning to look. He's disappointed to see that his former tag partner is still fast asleep but the repetitive, unceasing beep beep of the heart machine helps him to feel a bit better.
"He woke up a few hours ago," Alex explains. "I guess a nurse was passing by and he yelled at her... when she came in, he demanded what you were doing here. Once she told him you were fine, he fell back under. But at least he woke up- they say he should be in and out for a little bit, but there's no signs of any other worrisome brain injuries, just the concussion, which isn't severe and should clear up in a week or so."
"So he's lucid?"
"That's what the nurse said," Alex nods. He continues watching, jaw slackening a bit as Morrison tries once more to shift up. "What are you doing now?"
"I need... I need to get up," he mumbles, struggling against the blankets and sheets. Alex, torn, helps him by untangling his good arm and legs as he starts kicking to get free, pushing the offending bedding off to the edge of the bed. "Thanks." He's a bit more awake once the cool air brushes against his bare feet and arms, causing him to be steady on his feet as he makes his way back over to that horribly uncomfortable chair.
Alex hovers nearby, almost expecting a nurse to come in and yell at them at any moment, but the transition actually goes smoothly as John slowly drops down into the chair, his gaze raking over the machines, taking in the numbers and blips of the various monitors. "Idiot," he mumbles, his voice a little stronger as he shifts to stare at Mike's peacefully sleeping visage.
"What?"
"I didn't need him to protect me," he comments quietly. "Almost would've rather take the shot myself than... this. I've been fighting this thing against Truth for months now. I survived the neck injury- I would've survived this too. If Mike's injuries had been much worse, I... don't think..."
Alex shakes his head, fighting down the temptation to slap Morrison along the back of the head, reminding himself that they're all on edge at the moment and getting into a physical confrontation at the hospital- by Miz's bedside, for God's sake- wouldn't be wise at all. "Don't you think that's why he did it? Only a few months ago, you were out having neck surgery. Who knows what getting hit by a car right now would do to your progress? He probably didn't have time to think out what you would think about it, or anyone else," he adds bitterly, glancing from Mike to the back of John's head. "We can't change what happened, best we can do is move forward."
Morrison says nothing, his whole body tense as he thinks over Alex's words. He wants to believe them, but-
"Don't be stupid, you know he's right," Mike's tired, strained voice breaks through, causing him to jerk up and stare as Alex shifts closer. His hands twitch as his eyes slowly flicker open, a hazy look in their depths, perhaps from the pain, perhaps from just waking up. Probably from both.
Morrison sucks in a deep breath, leaning over the bed as he tries to figure out what to say or do next. "How do you feel?" he finally settles on, his lips abruptly so dry that it's hard to get a word out.
"Like I just woke up to the stupidest conversation ever," he mumbles, the bright sunshine reflecting through the windows into his eyes, causing him to squint. As Alex moves to handle the drapes, Mike shifts to glare at John, his gaze growing sharper once the sunlight is muted. "Alex is right. As much as this is a pain in the ass, I don't regret what I did so shut up and tell me what the doctor said."
"How can I tell you if I'm supposed to shut up?" John asks, exasperation and fondness warring in his tone and gaze.
"You shut up, and Alex will tell me," Mike suggests with a vague smirk as John huffs, crossing his arms over his chest before cringing as pain shoots through his elbow and straightening them out, resting his palms on his knees as Miz's now worried glance flickers over to him.
"You have a minor concussion," Alex starts off with. "A couple busted ribs... Bruises and cuts, especially on the side of the impact." He pauses, glancing over at John, who's picking at his sleeve that falls just past his stitches. "And John here, he got out very lucky thanks to you. Just needed stitches along his elbow. Isn't that right?" Morrison nods, his dark gaze still locked on the unimaginative blue bedding. Miz and Alex exchange a glance, both worried and confused at the man's uncharacteristic silence.
John doesn't even need to look up to know the two are having a silent conversation over his head, something that automatically bleeds over to day by day happenings if you tag team long enough, the other person figuring out what you want by mere glances, so he's not surprised when Alex clears his throat and steps back. "I'll be back in a little bit," he says. "Going to get something to drink."
Once he's gone, Miz reaches out and swats at John. He can't move much with various monitors still attached to him, barely manages to disrupt the air around John's face, but his hair following the motion attracts his attention and he reluctantly looks up. "Yeah?"
"Something wrong?"
"Who says there is?"
"Your face." Mike huffs and shakes his head. "I don't have anywhere to be, I can easily sit here and prod you until you tell me."
"I don't have to stay," John mumbles stiffly.
"Oh please, like you'd leave the guy who pushed you out of the way of a speeding vehicle alone," he scoffs dismissively, crossing his arms carefully and keeping an eye out for a reaction. Sure enough, Morrison flinches and looks down, his hair hiding his face. Mike's gaze softens at the slight show of discomfort. "Just... talk to me?"
"I understand now," he mumbles after a few minutes. Shifting, he stares up at Mike despite the hair still shielding him from any clear view in or out. "Why you got so pissed when I returned to WWE early and Truth took me out again..." There's no comparison between the two situations but Mike bites down the comment forming on his tongue, taking a deep breath as John struggles to reign himself in. "I don't like what you did, but I see why you did. I probably would've done the same thing, if circumstances were reversed."
Mike looks thoughtful for a moment before smirking. "Aw, John, you like me, you really like me!" he mocks dramatically, sobering as John glares at him. "Seriously, though, you don't need to tell me that you'd do the same thing. Despite everything from the past few years, I know you would."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Two years ago, Mike had made a split second decision and left Morrison laying on the mat, effectively ending their partnership. As Alex returns with sodas and passes one off to John, just to push a glass of water onto an eyerolling Mike at a nurse's order, he can't help but think that this split second decision has a much better resolution as they settle in to wait for an update from the doctor and Alex fiddles with the remote, trying and failing to find something to watch that all three of them agrees on.
Mike is released early Wednesday, his ribs causing teeth gritting pain with each jostle, the wheelchair they force him to ride in to the parking lot not helping anything, especially when the nurse pushes a little too far and nearly sends him over the curb. It does amuse him a little to see both John and Alex glowering at the nurse, who quickly apologizes and runs for the entrance, her eyes wide with fear.
"Doc said he might be cleared to compete by Monday," Mike overhears Morrison mumble to A-Ri as they enter the car, both ignoring him for the moment.
"Insane," Alex offers, his amazement obvious even though Miz can only see the side of his face. "With a concussion and... and everything?"
"Apparently so." Clearing his throat, Morrison peers up into the rearview mirror at Mike. "Looks like we're hanging out at your place for a few days, Miz. Any objections?" Not even giving him a second to respond, he immediately nods. "Good. Here we go."
Mike scowls at the back of his head.
By Friday, Mike's doing well- after sleeping a lot the first couple of days, he's mostly back to his usual abrasive, sarcastic, cranky self, just with the added bonus of a headache and sensitive ribs. Even so, leaving to go to weekend house shows wears on both Alex and John but they don't have a choice- with changes in management and many other things, everyone is a bit tense to prove themselves, hold their own. One wrong move and one's career could be seriously screwed up forever.
For this reason, Raw as a whole is awkward, the uncomfortable vibes greeting Morrison and A-Ri as soon as they enter the building. Even so, the good ol' rumor mill provides news immediately: Truth had been fighting the investigation against him all week, claiming that he was a good R-Truth, that the car accident had been just that, an accident, and he hadn't intended for anyone to get hurt, much less his old friend John Morrison. With it being his word against John's- Mike's memory of the whole thing sketchy due to the concussion-, and no security cameras in the area due to budget cuts, neither statement is helpful. The state they were in at the time of the crime not considering a hit and run a felony makes things all the more muddled.
John is conflicted- he'd love for the investigation to go in their favor and the insane man to be away from his life, his career, and everything else but the mere fact that he would be out there somewhere, with no one able to figure out where, leaves him unsettled. Thus he himself goes to talk to HHH.
Afterwards, as soon as he's somewhere quiet, he pulls his phone out and hits speed dial 2, listening impatiently to it ringing.
Ring... ring... click. "Hello?"
He releases a soft breath. "Hey, Mike."
"Hey. Couldn't go an hour without checking on me?" he mocks, having just gotten off the phone with Alex when they arrived at the arena.
"Something like that. Got some news."
"Oh?"
"Truth's not going to get fired," he says, to get the worst of the news out of the way first.
"What? Why?"
"Partially because I talked to HHH," he says softly, closing his eyes as Mike sucks in a loud, angry breath.
"Why would you do that?"
"This way we can keep an eye on him. Mike, if he was fired, he could be anywhere and we wouldn't know what to expect. It's not much different with him working here but at least I know where to find him. You know? Especially when I'm here and you're..." His voice trails off.
"I'll be fine, John," Mike mumbles, voice strained and tense. His pale eyes peer from place to place, abruptly paranoid as he gets up to check the locks on his doors and windows. "I'll be fine. I'll see you on Monday."
"Mike?"
"I said I'm fine, John. I meant it. I'll talk to you later."
"I'll call after the event."
"Sure. Bye, John."
"Bye." He pulls the phone away and stares at it, hating the fact that he can't do more. The tone of Mike's voice, calm and collected but with an obvious note of panic deep within haunts him for the rest of the weekend, even during the few times that he talks with Mike.
Monday is a relief- means that Raw is soon, and Mike will be back on the road with them where John and Alex both can keep an eye out for him, along with other members of the WWE locker room who had shown shock and horror at Truth's actions. Even with the knowledge that Truth will still be wandering the halls like nothing bad had happened, John feels almost optimistic about it all.
Except that it doesn't work out that way. By the time the opening pyros go off, Mike hasn't been seen by either Alex or John (or anyone else they'd asked) and they're both fretting. "Let's just go talk to HHH," Alex suggests finally. Neither really care for the man, the verdict still out on if he's better than either Vince or the Anon GM with some of his decisions and actions, but he is their boss and perhaps would have answers for them.
They walk together to the room labeled HHH's office and knocks, waiting impatiently for him to respond.
"Yeah?" he calls out, John pushing the door open at the first sound of his voice. "Oh. What do you two want? Did Truth do something else?"
"No, I... well, I don't think so. Have you heard from Miz? We haven't seen him," Morrison replies.
"Oh, he called in this morning. Said he still felt a little off from the concussion and the doctor urged him to take another week off, at least. I granted it." HHH fiddles with some papers before looking up, taking in the weird looks on Alex and John's faces as they linger uncertainly. "There was nothing suspicious about the call, he sounded fine... just tired. Trust me."
"Ok," Morrison finally speaks up, disbelief still in his dark eyes. Miz had never taken a night off- not when his knee was messed up, not a few months ago when he had another concussion... the man just didn't know how to stop, take it easy. "Thanks."
"Sure."
Alex doesn't speak until they're half down the hallway leading away from H's office, a pinched look on his young face. "Anything about this seem weird to you?"
"Where do I begin?" he mumbles, sighing. "Come on." They walk out to the parking lot and get into the rental car they'd shared, Alex twisting his frame around in the small passenger side seat to watch as Morrison pulls out his cell phone and hits speed #2, feeling even more nervous and sick inside than he had the past weekend after volleying for Truth to keep his job. He puts the phone on speed dial and they exchange glances as it rings in once and goes right to voicemail.
Mike is near obsessive with his phone, never has it shut off... John can't even remember the last time he'd heard his voicemail- perhaps in 2009 when all he wanted was an answer for why but Mike had ignored his calls- so as Mike's recorded voice drones on, they both know. "Something's not right," Alex speaks their thoughts aloud after a few tense moments, the phone beeping to encourage them to leave their message.
John shakes his head in agreement, clicking the phone shut with a shaking hand. "This is all my fault."
Days pass with nothing happening. Alex stays in Los Angeles with Morrison, trying to keep him from completely self-destructing or doing something that would ultimately make things worse- like finding R-Truth and playing their hand too early, losing their opportunity to get information on Mike's condition or whereabouts. For now, they decide that Truth must think that they think Miz is off somewhere in LA resting from the concussion, and that's how it has to stay. He hates it as much as John, impatient and twitchy the longer time passes that they don't know where his mentor is at, but there's nothing they can do without something more than "he said vs he said". They need honest to God proof that Truth had something to do with Miz's disappearance, more than an empty house and unanswered voicemail messages for the past five days. They want to go to the police but with the time from Miz's message to HHH not quite passed, they're sure in the end it'd just be a waste of time.
By Friday, it's bittersweet to get back on the road, the blurring rush of highway they pass as they drive to the airport a weak distraction for them both as they try not to think about where Mike is, what his condition is... how Truth might be treating him. Leaving LA to go back to work feels like a betrayal to them both as John takes the long way to the airport and they go past the turn off to Mike's house, both glancing that way surreptitiously. "This sucks," Alex mumbles unhappily.
"It does."
The main good thing is they somehow feel like they're doing something when they arrive at the first arena for the weekend house show cirquit and find R-Truth in the locker room, everyone else avoiding him as he continues on talking to thin air. John rolls his eyes as Alex looks over, the two carefully walking past him to the far side of the room. "I wanna say something so bad," Morrison mumbles as they drop their bags and begin to pull out wrestling gear for the night.
"You know we can't do that and clue him in that we know Mike's not just recuperating," he whispers. His eyes slip over to Truth's bag and he swallows. "I do have something else in mind, though..."
His plan doesn't happen on Friday, Morrison's match is followed by Alex's and by the time they're both free, Truth's long gone. Saturday fails too, Alex getting taken out by Alberto Del Rio's armbar. He's stuck in the trainer's office up until the show ends and there's no point in even looking for Truth. Morrison shrugs when Alex apologizes, still clutching his arm tightly in an attempt to ease the agony stabbing through it. "Not your fault. We'll deal with it tomorrow."
Fates allign the next day, thankfully, as Truth's match is first on the card. While Alex is keeping a look out, Morrison digs through his bag for anything suspicious. It's hidden way, way at the bottom, and he almost doesn't think twice about finding yet another wrestling shirt- that is, until he shifts the bag and the overhead light flashes just right inside, illuminating the clump of fabric in his hand. He freezes, staring down at the unusually white wrestling shirt- you could count on maybe two hands, pretty much, how many non-black WWE shirts there has been in the last ten years. Only two white ones have been made recently that he can recall- one is CM Punk's, and the other is Mike's. His heart pounding in his ears, he pulls it the rest of the way out and gapes at the shirt with the large 40 on the back.
"Dammit!"
"What's wrong?" he asks, running his fingers along his touchpad phone as he browses the Internet before they're too far into the parking garage and out of the arena's wifi zone.
"There's a hole in my shirt," Mike grouses, poking at it. "I hate those guys at ringside, they never take proper care of anything..."
"Well, quit messing with it, you'll just make it worse."
"Worse? It's already ruined, what does it matter!" he sputters.
John stares desperately at the finger-sized hole in the material and closes his eyes. "Dammit..."
HHH is more prone to listen this time, Alex and John both staring down at him as he examines the shirt dropped unceremoniously across his desk with a grimace. "I see." He looks up, obviously weighing his options. "Neither of you have heard from Miz since last weekend?"
"Right. We went to his house, it was deserted. The police wouldn't do anything since you had been told he was going to take the week off to rest, suggested he was on a vacation. Mike doesn't do vacations, you know this. He has a need to always be busy... We came here, we found that shirt in Truth's things. Now what are you going to do?" John demands, impatient and unwilling to beat around the bush any longer.
He stares at them, his eyes flashing warningly at Morrison's tone. After a strained few minutes, he reaches over to the phone and places a call. "Hey, one of my workers hasn't been seen for a few days. His house is abandoned and he hasn't been answering his phone. We need an officer down here, and a missing person's report filed."
As HHH handles this, Alex and John glance over at each other, somewhere between relieved and disgusted that it's taken this long to get this far. When the police come, they examine the shirt and go to find R-Truth. What follows is somewhere between a follow up from the car accident and a request to look in Truth's bag.
The paranoid man looks suspiciously from HHH to Morrison and Alex to the police, mumbling incomprehensibly to himself awhile before his fingers clench around his bag handle anew and he makes a break for it- the attempt fails when Morrison, somehow sensing he'd try to make a break for it, slams the door at the last second, Truth rushing facefirst into it and falling back into the waiting grip of the police. From there, they aren't as considerate, prying the bag from his hands and going through it, laying all of his clothes and things out on the ground.
Alex makes a thin choking sound as a cell phone is freed from the sea of dark jeans and shirts, his eyes wide. "That's Mike's too," he grounds out, glancing over at John who nods faintly, eyes locked on the thin, sleek device. "What did you do?" he snaps at Truth, who barely seems aware of what's going on around him. John drops a hand on his shoulder in warning, making sure he doesn't do anything while the cops are in view. Wrestlers or not, assault is assault, especially in front of police, and the last thing he needs is to have to bail out Alex.
The police talk quietly amongst themselves for a minute, Truth standing near his bag as Morrison remains by the doorway, glaring viciously at him. "Ok," one of the cops, who had introduced himself as Ash Williams from the start, finally speaks up. "We're going to take him in for questioning. The missing person's is up and we'll be keeping an eye out for any leads. We'll be in touch with any news."
"Thank you," HHH says, motioning to John and Alex, who reluctantly move away from the door to let the group pass, along with Truth's bag and Miz's things. They follow the cops out, watching from the arena doors as Truth is guided into a police car, mumbling absently to no one the whole way.
"If he gets off on insanity, I swear..." Alex mumbles, feeling like he's caught in a bad soap opera.
"That might not be a bad thing," Morrison says, his eyes locked on his former tag partner. "He's needed help for awhile. Maybe now he can get it... the important thing is we find Mike, though."
Alex's eyes widen. "If Truth's in police custody and no one else knows where Mike is, what does this mean for him?"
John looks pained at this thought as well, his lips twisting as he thinks. "I have an idea. You stay here so HHH doesn't get too suspicious, I'll be back soon."
"John-" But he's already slipped through the arena door, walking purposely towards the parking lot and their rental car. "Crap."
The police station is bustling as John makes his way inside twenty minutes later, his walk purposeful and calm. He doesn't want to raise suspicions himself, but Officer Williams is there and he catches John's eye, quickly making his way over to him. "Where's Truth?" he asks, not waiting for the man to say anything. "Ron, where is he?"
"He's getting processed," he responds. "I can't let you in to see him."
John shakes his head, biting his lip as he thinks. "Listen, it's my best friend, alright? He has him held up somewhere- who knows if Mike's safe, or healthy, or what? You've probably noticed, Truth's not exactly stable right now. Mike's alone somewhere and the only guy who knows where he is is getting processed for arrest right now. I need to talk to him... Just for a minute."
Williams still looks unrelenting, his dark green eyes sympathetic but unwavering. "There's protocol, I can't bend that for anyone or any reason- we'll question him and, all goes well, he'll tell us where your friend's at, then we'll handle it from there. That's all I can do, I'm sorry."
John growls, just barely holding his temper back as Williams raises an eyebrow. "Listen, I understand protocol. Alright? But Truth has issues, who knows- he might forget where he has Mike before you can even get close to an answer. Let me talk to him, just for a minute. We used to be friends, I might be able to get through to him." He looks, sounds so desperate but he doesn't care, willing to let the whole station see his every emotion if it meant being a step closer to finding Mike. "Please."
Williams wavers, glances over his shoulder at what's apparently his desk, various pictures of him with friends and family scattered around the surface. He thinks for a long, torturous moment before groaning, his shoulders slumping. "You get one minute," he says with a grimace, leading John back to the room they've set aside for Truth to stay in while he waits for the processing sequence to conclude.
Williams hovers outside as John enters the room, his eyes immediately landing on Truth, his gaze distant as he rocks back and forth, mumbling wildly to himself. He pauses, for once really seeing the broken, insane man for what he's become, and wonders how exactly they've gotten to this point. Remembers when Truth was normal, before John himself had let his ego take over, put title aspirations over their friendship just to take his long awaited title opportunity from him without a second thought. Pushing him carelessly into this madness, causing all of the pain for all of them the past few months. It's something that he hadn't allowed himself to think about often the past few months, still too angry and raw from the various attacks and surgeries caused by the man before him, but here, now, with Truth handcuffed and slumped in an uncomfortable steel chair, it all returns to Morrison like a tidal wave, nearly rocking him off of his feet.
"God," he breathes, just loud enough to attract his former friend's attention. Dark, wild eyes shoot up to meet brown, hesitant ones and the former tag partners gaze at each other for a moment. "I'm so sorry, Truth." He takes a step forward, abruptly stopping as Truth skitters away, the chair scraping against the floor slightly before coming to a stop, the chains on his cuffs pulled taut at the movement. "No, look, I'm not gonna move from here, ok? You're fine, just... I'm gonna talk, and you listen. Alright?" He plants his feet as the dark skinned man gazes up at him once more, looking helpless and fretful as he tugs at the handcuffs attached to the table before him.
There's so much he could say, feels like he needs to say, but something tells him he needs to hurry- Williams is still on the outside, holding off the process as long as he can, and the thought of Miz, alone somewhere, cold and abandoned, maybe hurt and hungry, is an ever-present buzzing in the back of his mind. "I need you to tell me where Mike is, Truth. Where did you put him?"
"He's, he's where he belongs," Truth mumbles distantly, his wild gaze skittering around the room. "Where you can't find him. He'll be fine." He jitters a bit, the steel digging into his flesh enough that John winces.
"No, no he won't be, Truth. He's alone where no one else can find him- you're the only one who knows where he's at, right? No one else knows to check on him?" Morrison prods, his heart skipping a beat as Truth nods reluctantly. "What's he going to do without food, something to drink? You might've left him things to hold him over during this tour, but after that? You really want him to die just because of me?" He's starting to tremble despite his best attempts at holding strong, his whole body betraying him as he realizes how possible it is that his words aren't going to be enough, that Truth will go to jail without confessing where Mike is... That even if the police do find something out, it might not be in time.
The rocking gets more severe, the chair rocking back and forth with Truth's wild movements, the handcuff links biting into his wrists more and more. "I'm the good R-Truth," he mumbles repetitively, his eyes downcast as the blood trickles down his fingers to drip against the ground. "Good R-Truth, good..."
"Then tell me!" Morrison all but begs, backing away as Truth's face shoots up once more, gaze locking onto his. "Please. Mike shouldn't suffer because I'm an impulsive, egotistical idiot..."
He tilts his head from one side to the other, looking at something John can't see, his lips moving quietly as he shifts his wrists around, the skin underneath already raw and angry looking due to all of his struggles. "Where's my stuff... I need my stuff..." His tone is getting more and more desperate, wild, and John can't take much more of being in this small room surrounded by his madness, the reality that the cause of all of it is his own carelessness. "Please, Johnny, get my stuff?" he beseeches, looking more like the old R-Truth as he peers up at his former friend, his gaze horrible and pleading, boring its way into John's subconscious.
That's the final straw as John fumbles behind him, his hands finally gripping the doorknob. "I'm so sorry," he chokes breathlessly, quickly escaping the room. Ignoring Williams, he marches through the hallway to the exit, not noticing or caring as the officer rushes in to check on Truth. He's almost past Williams' desk when he notes a bag of familiar items resting near the edge. He pauses, remembering the look on R-Truth's face as he spoke of his things, and reaches out. With a quick glance around, he grabs the bag and continues on to the exit, closing his eyes as he nears the doors. Please... please... Luck is with him as no one stops him, his escape smooth and easy. Before long, the bag is resting on the passenger seat of the rental car. "Hang in there, Mike," he mumbles. Hopefully there'll be something in here that'll tell me where you're at...
By the time he returns, Alex is fretful and a little wild looking, grabbing John by the arm as soon as he enters the locker room. "What did you find out?"
"I think we're heading to North Carolina," he says with a faint grimace, holding up a scribbled on business card with a phone number and Jones Storage printed on it. "This is in Charlotte, not far from where Truth lives."
Alex curses, scrubbing a hand over his face. "So he did have him this whole time. God..."
"Yeah, but we don't have a lot of time. Can we go? Is there- Either of us have a match?"
"No," the younger man refutes, shaking his head. "I never thought I'd be glad with HHH's decision to combine the rosters again..."
"Me neither," Morrison agrees. "Come on. We need to see if it'd be quicker to drive to North Carolina or fly. Depends on how the flights fall." John handles the calls as Alex looks online but both come to the same conclusion- all flights to North Carolina from Oklahoma are hours off, and neither are willing to sit around and do nothing. "Driving it is," John decides, grimacing for real this time. "You ready to go?"
Alex nods and hoists his bag up on his shoulder. "Let's go," he says, anxious to find his mentor.
After an excruciatingly long, tiresome drive, they arrive at North Carolina early the next morning and follow the GPS' directions from street to street, houses growing rarer and more run down looking as they near the downtown area. Thankfully the GPS doesn't lead them astray and John takes in a deep breath as he pulls the rental to a stop outside of Jones Storage, peering up at the lifeless looking building. "You have that card?"
"Yeah," Alex nods, holding it out to him. He quickly flips it over, trying to decripher Truth's scribbles. "It looked like 29..."
"It does," John agrees after a moment. "Keep the bag, there are some keys in there. Hopefully one of them will unlock it." Alex nods as they get out of the car, both twitching nervously a bit as their doors slam. Nothing happens, however, the sleepy area remaining unresponsive to their presence. "Ok, well, there aren't that many buildings... 15, 16..." He counts a bit mentally. "If we go this way, we'll probably find it."
Alex nods, content to follow him between a couple rows of the similar looking buildings, their anxiety racheting with each step taken. It takes about ten minutes, both men gazing carefully at each numbered sign as they pass it, not wanting to accidentally walk past where Miz is being held. The only sound is their breathing, birds chirping overhead and the soft roar of car engines as they pass, people carrying on with their lives like there's nothing wrong in the world, even though the world hasn't felt the same for the two men trolling around the storage yard since the hit and run barely a week previous.
"There," Alex finally breathes as John too comes to a stop, their eyes locking on the large, almost mockingly dark 29 that points them in the right direction at basically the same time. He quickly fumbles for the keys, mentally labeling them based on their design, words written on them, size... House, car, rental... A few smaller keys for lock boxes or whatever else and Alex is left with an untarnished, silver key that matches the lock before them. Its lack of use is obvious as it glints in the sun. "Here," he urges, pushing it into John's waiting hand. "This has to be it."
He nods, closing his eyes as he enters the key and twists, holding his breath as a soft click-click noise sounds, the lock giving way. John releases a heavy breath, quickly pushing the door open. "Thank God," he mumbles, entering the dark, windowless room hesitantly. "Alex, go get the flashlights out of the trunk, I can't see." As Alex leaves, he ventures inside, feeling stupid for not even thinking about that. He's only half through the room, looking behind the various things held within so as not to miss anything, when Alex returns with the flashlights. He quickly flicks his on and sweeps it across the room, only stopping as he hears a soft hiss of protest from across the room, his movement immediately ceasing. "Did you hear that?"
"No, what?" John repeats the movement, watching Alex as this time there's a plain groan. "Mike," he whispers almost reverantly. They forget being quiet or stealthy, quickly maneovering through the shelves and other items scattered around. Alex skids to a stop as John's flashlight illuminates the wall and, further down, his former mentor, his eyes widening in horror at the sight. John, too, slows down but keeps moving, by Mike's side in a moment.
"Damn, Mike," he breathes, resting a hand on the wide eyed man's shoulder, squeezing it through thick, coarse fabric. "It's good to see you," he offers carefully as dazed blue eyes drift from John to Alex and back, confused.
"J-John," he whispers, finally focusing on his former partner's face. "You're really here?"
"Yeah man, we're here." John works, and just succeeds, at keeping his voice level, holding the anger at bay as he looks Mike over. Truth had had his fun, obviously- a strait jacket is wrapped snugly around the former WWE champion, holding his arms pinned against him. He shakes his head, leaning over slightly in disgust. This is just further proof how insane he is, but dammit... I wanna go kick his ass right now...
"John," Alex whispers, snapping him out of these dark thoughts. "How do we get him out of that?"
Morrison's hand slips from Mike's shoulder down, down to his wrists- where he pauses, even further incensed. "Mike... are these?" He doesn't need to hear the choked admission from Miz to know- not only the straitjacket, but Truth had also put him in handcuffs, the unforgiving links obvious through the fabric. "Son of a bitch," he whispers, wanting to get up and pace angrily, maybe kick something. Go back to Oklahoma and find Truth, deal with him on his own terms, no matter what Officer Williams would do to him for it. "Come on, Mike," he mutters quietly, leaning forward. "Let's see what we can do to get you out of these, huh?" He supports a weary Miz as he pats at his back, finally finding the straps that hold the jacket together, undoing them quickly.
Alex watches quietly, swallowing convulsively as Mike barely responds, his head lowered to the point that his protege can't catch his eye, until finally Morrison finishes with the straps, pulling back as he fiddles with the front strap, not stopping until he succeeds at pulling the jacket over Miz's head, leaving him shirtless against the cool wall. "John, one of these keys-" he suggests, glancing at the various, smaller keys that he had passed off as nothing barely fifteen minutes prior.
"Pass them over," he orders in a tone that brokers no delay. As soon as the keys are in his grasp, he starts testing them against the handcuffs, finally, after what feels like a lifetime, the third one clicking just so, the handcuffs snapping open. He flinches as he gets a look at Mike's wrists, remembering how Truth's had looked with just minimal struggling at the police station. Blood is smeared across his wrists, more pouring out as they sit there. Obviously the man had fought long and hard to get free, just to fail each time. "Oh, Mike," he whispers, tugging him closer until he tilts over to rest against John's side. "You're ok now." He looks back at Alex, obviously close to losing it. "Get the rental car close to the door... and find him a shirt. You're driving."
Alex nods, a little surprised but too scattered to even think about it. Even on the long drive to North Carolina, Morrison hadn't let him drive... but there's no time to consider it, already half way to the car. As soon as the key's in the ignition, he's digging through his bag, looking for something comfortable for Mike to wear. His face lights up a bit as he finds something perfect and drags it out, leaving it on the passenger seat before he eases the car over to the entrance to the storage unit. He only waits a second before lunging out of the car, rushing to the doors. John has Mike there, easing him carefully towards the car, and nods appreciatively as Alex takes his free arm, easing it around his shoulders while taking care of the blood seeping down the vicious wounds caused by the handcuffs. "God," he whispers, Mike so out of it that he barely twitches.
It takes forever but they finally ease the poor man into the backseat and John runs to the other side, crawling in and pulling him the rest of the way inside, leaning him against his chest as he props himself against the side cardoor. "Did you get his shirt?" he asks, adjusting Mike slightly.
"Oh, yeah," Alex nods, handing over the shirt. He watches for a moment as John gapes at one of his own shirts, one Mike had thrown at Alex with the command to throw away after once of his many arguments with his former Dirt Sheet host; Alex had had the sense to stuff it deep inside of his own bag, where it had stayed until this moment, when it was needed the most.
"Seriously?" He sighs, his face softening slightly as he leans Mike forward a bit and pulls the shirt over his head, holding his breath as he pushes his arms gently through it. "Damn, he's freezing," he mumbles, rubbing slightly at his upper arms, careful not to be rough or go too close to his mangled wrists.
"Should we take him to the hospital?" Alex asks, gaze flickering from the street to the rearview window and back, just barely able to see the side of Morrison's face in the edge of the reflection.
This garners some attention as Miz shifts in John's grip, shaking his head desperately. "No," he groans out. "No hospitals... please..."
Alex looks like he's been punched in the stomach at this and John feels almost worse, immediately leaning closer to Mike's ear. "No man, it's ok, I think we can take care of you ourselves. Don't worry, you're not going to the hospital. Ok?" They exchange looks, both knowing, however, that if his injuries are worse than they suspect, they'll have no real choice.
He nods, his eyes slowly drifting shut as he finally gives in to being somewhere safe, his body's need for rest.
He remembers the results of the concussion the first few days, his balance a little off as he wanders around his apartment and does small things; even standing long enough to brush his teeth is a chore, his usual sure footing failing after awhile and nearly sending him face first into the bathroom sink. It took a few days but he had finally felt secure enough to go out for the first time since the hit and run.
He was wandering the sidewalk outside of his home, taking in the gorgeous late-August weather and letting the warm sun beat down on him, warming him fully for the first time since his stay in the hospital, when he heard it. Footsteps. Familiar, horrible footsteps. Despite the shoes hitting pavement instead of tile, he recognizes the slow, shuffling walk- would know it anywhere. He tries to turn, defend himself but something cold and metallic presses against his back, trailing dangerously over the fabric of his shirt.
"No stupid movements, Miz," Truth whispers, teasing him by pressing the sharp points of the crow bar between his shoulderblades, trailing it up towards his neck. "You know how little damage it took to get Morrison on the shelf for months? And you know what a car did to you, first hand... imagine what my new friend could do?"
Things move fast then and Mike hopes that someone's nearby to see what's going on, but the heat is so excessive- even for Las Angeles- that grown ups and kids alike are all holed up inside, no one around to witness as Truth directs him to his waiting car, the crow bar now held lazily in one hand, swinging it back and forth as if testing its weight.
The next thing he remembers, he's being pushed into the car's backseat, no consideration for his well-being taken as his head hits the side of the passenger's seat roughly, his ribs protesting the harsh treatment. Due to this, he's too dazed to even sit up, much less fight his way to freedom as Truth slips into the driver's seat. His last chance slips away as the doors lock shut with a horrifying click-whir sound that echoes loudly in Miz's sensitive ears.
What happens next, he's not sure, but his vision continues tunneling until finally he fades away completely, face smashed uncomfortably against the backseat of Truth's rental. When awareness returns slowly, he's alone in a mostly dark, lifeless building, full of random shapes and shadows. He has no idea where he is, or what time it is, all he knows is he's laying down, pressed against something hard, and can barely see anything around him. When he tries to lift his arms to push himself up into a sitting position, he hits something fabric and his heart skips a beat- he can't move!
He squirms and struggles, breathing deeply and coughing against the stagnant, dusty smell of the room he's stuck in. Finally he fights successfully against gravity and pulls himself up, his arms shifting uselessly against what's holding them down. His vision is slowly adjusting and he can see the dark shadow of a wall just a few feet away. He scoots that way, biting his lip as his ribs throb with each movement. It feels like it takes a really, really long time for him to reach his goal and he's breathless and sweaty when he finally does but he can't stop the feeling of accomplishment as he leans against the sturdy wall, feeling slightly better with something to support him.
It takes some time, his head still spinning from everything, but finally he pulls himself to his feet and leans over, planting his feet and groaning as his ribs grind painfully. "Damn..." He's not sure if there's an exit, barely able to see two feet in front of him, but he takes it at a walk, unable to brace himself with his hands as he bumps into the opposing wall. "Damn," he repeats, feeling his way across the wall with his body, searching for a doorknob or anything helpful. It's hot and dry and he begins to rethink his hatred for cooler climates when sweat trickles down his neck, trailing itchingly down the collar of the shirt he's wearing, annoying him further.
The sweat only gets worse the darker it gets, the air cooler and making his soaked clothes accomplices to his discomfort as he begins to shiver and shudder, unable to get warm once more. He can't sleep despite how bad he feels, his head and ribs competing to see which could throb the most.
It's easy to tell when the sun starts to rise, the temperature going with it. He staggers exhaustedly to his feet once more, hands still tight against his midsection, and makes his way uncoordinatedly back to the other side of the building, trying to avoid the direction the sun is rising at. He breathes heavily, his eyes slipping closed, his body finally taxed beyond discomfort and pain and lulling him into sleep. What seems like days pass with similiar results, though some days Truth is there with water and food and a sneer. Other days the waiting and silence gets too much and Mike rushes the opposing wall, trying time and again to gain someone's attention, find an exit... something... anything. Other times he remains slumped on the other side of the building, his hope to wake up to rescue slipping away bit by bit more.
He jerks and twitches, finally coming awake, the memories still fresh in his mind as he groans. He can feel hands on him, holding his wrists down and he struggles anew. His ears are buzzing and his eyes feel like they're weighted down, the only sense he can trust being touch. As he continues to fight, something curls around his jaw carefully. Truth has an accomplice? he thinks desperately, almost arching off of the strangely soft surface he can feel under him. The touch shifts, one hand against his chest and the other still around his jaw.
"MIKE!" he finally hears as the ringing fades away, his rapid, freaked out breaths catching in a ragged gasp.
"Alex?" he groans out in realization, the hands on him shifting once more.
"Yes," his former protege whispers in relief. "It's me... and John. We're here. We're patching you up, can you hang on a little longer?"
"No hospital," he remembers dazedly.
"That's right, no hospital," John answers, patting Mike on the chest before returning to his wrists. Mike flinches as gauze is wrapped snugly around his sensitive, raw skin, his former tag partner carefully laying his hand down on the bed once he's done. "There you go. How's it feel? Not too tight?"
He grimaces, shifting both wrists around carefully. He finally forces his eyes open, staring at John and Alex both in turn. "No," he manages tiredly. "It feels fine... Thank you." He's too wiped out to explain just how thankful he really feels to them both, remembering John holding him together in the storage unit and in the back of the car, talking soothingly until he drifted off, Alex keeping his wits together long enough to get them to safety. Not to mention what he knew both had done for him after the hit and run, despite his incomplete memory of the event itself. "Thank you..."
After enduring John and Alex both fussing over him once again for the rest of the week, he returns to WWE that following Monday, his wrists mostly healed and a new confidence fueling him as he takes in the new R-Truth-free Monday Night Raw, his lips twitching. There's no joking, even the air feels fresher with the knowledge that Truth is nowhere near the arena... Alex and John stand on either side of him, both men looking a lot more content as well. "Whatever will we do without Lil Jimmy?" he asks mockingly. His grin grows wider as he takes in being home after much too long away.