"Have you seen him?" Alex can't help but ask the instant he catches sight of Mike alone- at Smackdown's catering area. He can just vaguely see Truth off to the side, his dark eyes locked intently on the staff, making sure they do nothing harmful to his food as they prepare it. It's not ideal but with Truth stuck to Miz like glue nearly all of the time, he'll take any conversation he can get with his former mentor, especially right now.
"Not since Monday," Mike sighs around a mouthful of rice as Alex peers down curiously at his sweet'n'sour chicken currently bleeding over and turning the rice brown. "You still worried?"
Startled, the younger man looks up and releases a heavy breath of his own. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, he's just not been acting like himself lately... not that I know him as well as you do or anything, but it just seems... like something's off. You know?"
Mike nods grimly, remembering saying something like that to John himself not that long ago and how the conversation ended badly between them. "I know, but I don't think you should push it. If he wants to tell us, he will." He digs his fork angrily into his food once more, thinking about the conversation he had had with Morrison only four days previous.
He could've easily told Alex, sometimes even found himself thinking he should but it ultimately hadn't felt right, betraying the little bit of trust that Morrison had shown in him by fessing up to anyone, even Alex, about what John had said, and what Mike speculated it all meant, how ill it made him feel inside whenever he thought of it.
"I think you won't have to look around too much longer," he whispers after a bit, looking up as John himself enters and quickly crosses the room, avoiding R-Truth's piercing, angry stare. He does glance over for a moment at the obviously talking Alex and Mike before turning his gaze to the menu of foods offered this week tacked up to the wall.
Alex nods, grabbing his plate from the staff. Quickly thanking them and waving off the apology for the wait, he tracks Morrison's movements, following him over to a nearby table. "Hey, this seat taken?" he jokes, waiting anxiously as Morrison peers up at him.
"Since when do you ask?" he asks, his lips twitching upwards to show no malice behind his words. Alex shrugs and settles down across from him, spreading out his food. "Long wait, huh? Saw you talking to Mike."
"Yeah, looks like everyone wants to fill up now that that battle royal is done with." He picks at his taco salad before nudging his plate towards Morrison. "Want some? It's nuts over there, and Truth's not helping much with holding everyone up so you probably won't be able to get anything for awhile... he's scared they're going to poison him or something." He realizes belatedly what he's talking about and to who as John's eyes harden, flushing slightly at his own carelessness. "Um."
Thankfully Morrison waves it off, his expression relaxing slightly as he breaks off some of the hard shell bowl holding the salad in place. "How are your knees?"
Surprised, Alex blinks over at him. "Oh, they're fine," he says, remembering the hard hit he had taken almost an hour ago when Mike had eliminated him. "I really kinda thought Miz had that match." John glances over at him and he holds his breath, not sure what the look on his face means, if he had once more put his foot in his mouth.
"Yeah," he comments lowly, dipping a piece of the shell into the salad, scraping out some of the meat and lettuce within. "So did I, for a bit. But of course Orton wins, again." He sounds frustrated, Alex notes, filing it away with everything else he's been observing lately about his travel companion.
"You ok?" he asks after a few more moments of their silently sharing his salad, working around the shell and scraping up whatever bits of the filling gets past them with a fork and spoon. "I, uh, didn't see a lot of you Monday... and didn't hear from you at all this week, so..."
"Just clearing my head," Morrison says, his eyes locked on the food before them. "I'm fine."
Alex, mindful of Mike's advice- which, really, sounds familiar when he thinks about it- nods and doesn't push despite his lingering worry.
That Monday, his fretting grows as John quietly goes through his prematch rituals. Even his parkour runs look halfhearted and distracted. He itches to say something, figure out some way to fix everything for the other man. In the end, his uncertainty wins out and he lets the moment pass, feeling too young and new to even attempt to know what the best course of action would be. Especially with not knowing all of the facts.
He himself has no match this evening so he's content with settling down in the locker room, watching from the monitor as the six man tag match begins, Morrison teaming with Sheamus and Randy Orton. John has a rocky history with both men so it's almost not surprising to the rookie Superstar when they both eventually leave John in the lurch, his chest already battered from Henry stepping on him with his full body weight and the resulting bearhug before Sheamus rushes off after Christian.
"Dammit!" Alex hisses, finding it hard to watch as the manhandling continues, Mark sending John flying midair before grabbing him roughly and slamming him harshly down to the mat. He swears he hears something crack, his whole body freezing as he gapes at the screen, horrified, for a few moments longer. His sense of time finally returning to normal, he realizes that Morrison will not be just walking away from an attack of that magnitude and takes off for the gorilla position.
A couple referees are hanging around, talking lowly to each other as he rushes up to them. "Morrison, where is he?" he demands, hands clenched into fists as he tries to catch his breath.
They stare at him uncertainly before shrugging. "He refused our help," Charles Robinson explains blankly before turning back to Patton.
"Wait, you didn't insist? Didn't you see what happened to him just now?" Alex demands, incensed as the two men look back at him.
"So? We tried. After the last couple of months, don't you think we've learned our lesson when it comes to trying to help people who don't want it?"
Alex's jaw drops at the referees' callous attitude, closing his eyes. "Dammit, Mike," he breathes. "Can you at least tell me which way he went?" They point down the way Alex had come and he stares at them hard for a moment before backtracking, worry gnawing at his insides the further he goes without seeing any sign of Morrison.
He's almost to all the way to the exit when he hears it, a strained gasping noise coming from the side. He takes a few more steps and spots familiar, sparkly boots poking out from behind a trunk. He curses and dashes forward. "John!" Sure enough, the man is slumped down against the wall, obviously struggling to breathe. "Dammit, Morrison," he hisses, kneeling down in front of him.
Hands clenching his arms tightly, he waits with baited breath until John opens his eyes and looks at him, awareness slowly coming to him. "Alex," he groans, his breathing still harsh and uneven.
"Yeah," the younger man sighs, almost trembling with relief. "Hang on, ok?" He fishes his phone out, still keeping one hand on John to ground him as he hits speed dial 2. While it rings, he shifts his position so he's closer to John. "What are you doing here, man? Trainer's office is back that way a little."
John groans, shifts his head back and forth against the wall. "I... I was heading for the trainer's... But... I don't know, I think I got turned around..." His body twitches and he grimaces, biting his lip against the all-encompassing pain that follows. "Oh God."
Alex winces and moves once more to lean shoulder to shoulder with John against the wall, hoping that his warmth and presence would comfort the hurting man even a little. Dammit, Mike, come on.
"Hello?"
"Finally! Hey, I need you. We're by the exit, down from the trainer's office. It's bad, hurry up," he all but begs, glancing over at a still straining Morrison before hanging up the phone to give him his full attention. "Ribs?"
"Pretty sure," he cringes, arm wrapped around his midsection protectively as his breaths continue to come out in desperate pants. "Oh God, this sucks..."
Thankfully it's only a few minutes of listening to John's breathing, feeling how tense he is against Alex's side, before the sound of rushed footfalls head their way. Alex stands and almost melts against the wall as he catches sight of a frenzied looking Mike. "Here, Mike, he's here," he babbles, motioning down. He blinks and a second later the former champion is kneeling down in front of Morrison, his hands clenching John's shoulders.
"John?"
"Hey, Mike," the other man hisses, his eyes fluttering as he takes in the worry on their faces. "Help me up?"
Mike leans back on his heels as he takes in John's forced breathing, his lips twisting in a sympathetic wince. "Hang on a minute." He scoots forward once more, pressing his hands gently against John's rib cage. As the man curses and tries to jerk away from the touch, causing himself more pain, Miz pulls back. "Sorry, sorry. Just... checking."
"Check... yourself," he wheezes, trying to curl in on himself despite both Alex and Mike's hands holding him upright.
"What do you think?" A-Ri murmurs, looking from Mike to John and back nervously.
"I think the trainer wouldn't be the help he needs right now... ER might be our best bet, because... well..." He looks up briefly at the exit before turning back to John, his expression as serious as his tone. "You're not going to fight me on this, are you?"
John weakly shakes his head and Alex pulls out their rental keys. "Here," he says, pushing them into Mike's hands. "Our car is close to this exit. I'll stay with him."
Mike hesitates only a minute, waiting for John's acceptance of this idea, before returning to a standing position. "I will be right back," he promises them both before leaving.
"Just keep breathing," Alex urges awkwardly, brushing his hand through strands of John's unkempt hair sticking to his sweat-slick shoulder.
"I'm trying," he chokes out, reaching up to push down on Riley's hand, ceasing his nervous actions.
"Sorry." He twitches slightly, wanting to move and find something to occupy himself with while they wait for Mike to return with the car, but John's grip tightens around his fingers as he breathes heavier. "Ok, just squeeze my hand," he whispers as the pain obviously ebbs and flows through him, John's face reflecting each change.
The couple of minutes that passes while they wait for Mike seem to take a life time, Alex concentrating on John's uneven breathing. "Where-" John gasps out, his eyes scrunching up as the pain rachets up once more.
Before Alex can respond, the exit door slams open, the obvious rumble of the rental car audible all the way to where Alex and John are holed up. "Here," Mike gasps, rushing over to them. "Let's get you up and out of here, huh?"
Based on John's facial expression, he's looking as forward to it as Alex is but none of them say anything as Riley and Miz grip him under both arms and draw him up to a standing position, steadfastly ignoring the pained noises he makes as they support him towards the door. "Just a little longer," Mike mumbles comfortingly into his ear as they struggle together to pull the door open and not drop John at the same time.
How exactly they manage it, Alex isn't sure but finally Morrison is in the car, eyes closed and breathing ragged. "Are you coming?" he asks, feeling ridiculously young and stupid as Mike hesitates at the backseat door, peering in at a gasping, squirming John.
"I... I can't," he says regretfully. "I have a match against Punk soon, and Truth is going to get paranoid... well, even more paranoid, if I stay gone for too long." He rests a hand on Alex's shoulder and squeezes. "You can find the hospital from here, right?"
"Yea- yeah, sure, but Mike-"
"Alex, listen, I would give about anything to go with John but... I've been unemployed for the last few weeks; needless to say, it sucks. I'm not going to do anything to jeopardize my career right now. Besides, I trust you. He's going to be fine, and I'll come to the hospital as soon as I can."
Alex's lips thin as Mike waits, finally nodding reluctantly. "Fine, but you explain this to him."
In the end it's unneeded as Mike leans in to the back seat, taking in John's pale, shaking form. "Hey John-"
"Good luck against Punk," he groans out before anything else could be said, head pressed against the back of the seat. He peels an eye open and stares dully at his former tag partner. "See you later?"
"Yes, of course you will," Mike responds, slapping him on the arm lightly. Neither man says anything as he hesitates, his hand still pressed to John's clammy upper arm. "See you soon." He pulls himself out of the car, facing an uncertain, fretful looking Alex once more. "He's freezing. If you have anything that could help keep him warm, get it."
Alex nods dumbly as Mike peers back over his shoulder once more at the car before pushing past him to head for the arena, steps quick and precise like he's afraid if he walks too slow he'll end up turning back around and rejoining them. As he digs around for a blanket, John's strained breathing still echoing around him, A-Ri can't help but wish that he had.
It's after 11 PM and Raw has been long over with, Morrison sleeping fitfully, forced to sleep sitting up in the hospital bed assigned to him to make breathing less difficult for him with two broken ribs and severe shock, the main results of Mark Henry's actions. Alex tries to forget the glance he had gotten of the Prince of Parkour's midsection... how bruised John's chest and abdomen had been, visible imprints from Henry's shoes right over his ribs.
Despite it being a foreign place to them both, Alex had found the hospital easily enough and Morrison had been examined fairly quickly, his strained breathing making even passing nurses look over at him worriedly. Since then, however, Alex's patience had dwindled to near empty levels, his eyes gritty and exhausted as he alternated between watching John and the clock. There's been no sight of Mike despite his earlier claims and Alex is getting annoyed with his former mentor, steadily nearing pure anger. At Mike, the situation, everything from the last few months.
That is, until he returns from a fruitless coffee search around the nurse's desk, not wanting to go too far and get lost in the sizable ER. He pauses outside of the hospital room, peering inside as Mike hovers near John's bed, his lips moving slightly while he says something to the sleeping man. Resting a hand on the hospital room door, carefully inching it open, he watches, eyes softening as Mike brushes strands of brown hair off of John's forehead in a rare moment of gentleness.
"You're still cold," his voice trails out into the hallway, sounding displeased. "Nights do get kinda chilly here, don't they? Not to mention the heat in here sucks..." He sighs heavily and mumbles, "I really hope you sleep through this..." He pulls his jacket off and drapes it onto the nearby chair that Alex had only vacated ten minutes previously before leaning over Morrison and lifting him till he's sitting up. With a bit of maneuvering, he slides into the bed behind John and pulls him back with an arm awkwardly around his shoulders. "There we go, now maybe you'll stop shivering."
Alex is about to click the door shut once more when he hears faintly, "Mike?"
"Yeah... I'm here, John. Just relax... You shivering like you're in an igloo isn't going to help your ribs, man."
John half hisses, half chuckles, the sharp gasp of air following it proving what that did to his ribs. "Are you... cuddling me?"
Alex can almost hear Mike roll his eyes from across the room. "Shut up." There's absolutely no venom in the snapped command.
The former NXT rookie shakes his head with a smile before shutting the door quietly and slumping down in a nearby chair to wait for morning, and maybe, if lucky, grab some sleep himself. Whichever nurse goes in there next is going to be very surprised, he thinks before his eyes slip closed.