Following that week's Raw, there's a long series of events leading up to New Years, the touring ridiculous and a bit grating on them all. Truth continues with the random run ins any time Miz shows his face, adding to the other man's paranoia and distraction when it actually comes time for him to compete.
"Are you ok?" A-Ri asks the night before they're heading back to their individual states, looking just as tired if not more. He had gone from one live event to where his Superstars match against JTG had been held to the next live event, frazzled and looking so forward to going home in the morning. Miz frowns down at the duffel bag between his feet and shrugs listlessly. "Your shoulder-"
"Is fine," he dismisses blandly. It's far from it, actually, the trainer seemingly having forgotten about it after the first couple nights of changing the dressing for him. After another run in from R-Truth followed by a cage match with Punk, however, to yet another failed attempt at getting the WWE title back, his whole body throbs. He's too exhausted to care, just wanting to finish packing and collapse into bed for a few hours of sleep before the early flight back to LA. "How's yours?" Despite Alex avoiding it, he had watched his match against JTG and seen how his shoulder had been rammed into the turnbuckle post.
"Fine, it was just sore for a little bit." He watches him for a bit, hesitating, but eventually accepts his earlier claim, nodding grimly. "Alright, if you're sure." Miz nods tensely and they both fall silent, the only sounds the rasp of fabric and zippers being pulled into place as they wrap up packing at basically the same time. They exchange glances, both smiling slightly. Neither can complain too much about the time off that's ahead, even if it is only a couple days before the next Raw show.
Pain. He gasps through it, eyes fluttering desperately. Someone looms over him and he thinks for a wild moment that it has to be Truth, the only thing that makes sense. But the knee pressing into his wind pipe shifts just enough that he can see now and if he hadn't already been breathless before, he'd definitely be so now. It's not R-Truth. "J-John," he struggles, looking up at his former tag partner. "Wha..." The knee presses harder and he scrabbles, claws at the rough denim covering it.
"Why didn't you try to talk me out of that final match?" he hisses, eyes flashing dark and angry in the faint light. "I never wanted this... You should've done more for me! I did everything for you!" He reaches down and grasps Miz by the chin, drawing him closer and adding even more pressure to his windpipe. "Why, Mike? Why?"
"NO!" he yells, jerking up right as hands rest on his upper arms, trying to hold him down. He's still half-asleep, hypersensitive and not even slightly aware. "I'm sorry, stop, please-"
"Mike!" Alex gasps, just barely avoiding a solid punch to the face as his former mentor thrashes against his hold. "Mike, it's me, it's Alex. Relax, man."
"Alex?" Awareness floods into him and he blinks sheepishly, slowly releasing his tight hold on Alex's wrists in a faulty attempt at holding him back. "Ugh... Sorry, Alex. I... bad dream, I guess." He frowns, scrubbing at his eyes. "What time is it?"
"Still a few hours before our flights. Do you... do you want to talk about it?" He had distinctly heard the other man mumbling something about John at one point, but doesn't want to push it.
"No, I don't." The former world champion sucks in a deep, grumbling breath before leaning back against the pillow. As soon as his shoulder brushes against the surface, he winces.
"That's it, I want to look at your shoulder. Don't argue with me, Mike." Alex frowns at him. "I know you can't change the dressing yourself; I promise I won't comment or fuss too much, I just want to look. It's still hurting you so please... just let me?"
Mike groans, nodding slightly. "Whatever..."
Alex lights up like it's Christmas all over again, quickly getting up to the bathroom. What he's looking for in there, Mike isn't sure, but he only half listens to the younger man rummaging around before tugging his shirt off with a tight grimace, the old bandage tugging on his skin gratingly, before rolling over onto his stomach. Alex pauses as he re-enters the room, taking in Mike's back and shoulder with a grimace. There's slight welts across his back from the steel cage visible even at this distance and he shakes his head, walking closer.
Bruising from the shoulder injury is still obvious around the once white gauze and he grimaces, carefully peeling it away from Mike's skin. The tape is easy to remove, having been on there so long, but it doesn't keep Mike's breath from stuttering as his skin tries to follow the bandage. "Sorry," he mumbles a couple of times until finally the wound is revealed, still mostly raw and oozing anew from the removal of the bandage. He shakes his head, rolling his eyes upwards. They were all busy but the trainer's thoughtless ignoring of the wound grates at him. I wonder how much of that has to do with Mike and Truth's rampage a few months ago? Referees and other backstage techs tend to act professionally around Mike now, but some hold grudges for longer than others.
"How is it, doc?" he asks sarcastically, face half pressed against the pillow as Alex carefully presses an anti-bacterial cream covered finger against it, covering it in the cold medicine.
"I think we should let it breathe for awhile, it's never gonna heal at this rate. Mind sleeping on your stomach for a little while?" He's so comfortable, though a little cold with his shirt off, that he barely manages an answer before drifting back off to sleep, his shoulder already feeling a bit better. "I'll take that as a yes," Alex chuckles softly, before sprawling out next to Mike.
His own bed is just a few feet away but he's not all that tired at the moment, heart still racing after that rude wake up call to Miz's flailing around in his sleep, calling out fretfully. There's only a couple of hours until their flights, he's fine right here, keeping an eye out for any further nightmares. It will also help him keep Mike from rolling over in his sleep and making his shoulder hurt worse. He smiles fondly down at his former NXT pro and sighs. "It'll get better, Mike. You'll see..." He's not sure how much worse it could get, after all.
-
Mike's shoulder feels a little better on New Years Eve, so he does the expected party thing while wearing crazy glasses and ridiculous hats to ring in 2012, somehow keeping his act up the whole time- no weakness is shown, and when people ask about Truth, he brushes them off, acting like he'd never even heard of the other man. He stays for about another hour after the new year is rang in before sneaking out of the building, taking in deep breaths of the warm LA air. Even though he enjoys partying as much as the next person, he'd had a long week of touring for WWE and silence is especially golden right now.
Despite feeling tired and worn, his house is really the last place he wants to be at the moment so he drives around for awhile before stopping by his favorite beach, drawn by the soft waves lapping against the sand, the stars twinkling overhead peacefully. He's not alone, a few others lingering around, probably after the state organized fireworks or something, but none of them bother him so he trails the wet sand barefooted, his dress shoes in hand, content to just breathe in the salty air.
His peace is briefly disrupted when his phone vibrates in his pocket. Frowning, he tugs it out and makes a face, looking to the right. "Really?" he asks blandly, rolling his eyes as he wanders back up the beach and drops down next to John Morrison, whose arms are crossed over his knees as he stares up at the sky, an amused glint in his eyes. "What are you doing here?"
"The party I was at kinda got stifling. I was on my way home when I just wanted to... listen to the ocean for a little bit. So... here I am. What's your excuse?"
Mike grimaces at him before nudging him in the shoulder. "Great minds, I guess. When did you leave the house?"
John's face tightens for a split second, his friend only catching sight of it for a second before he turns stoic once more. "It felt wrong being there alone so I didn't hang around for too long."
Mike sighs, scribbling in the sand with his finger. He had hated himself for having to run out and leave John alone to go to Smackdown, but there hadn't been much he could've done about it. Even though the trip had been all but wasted, due to Teddy Long's ineptitude. "I'm sorry."
"Hey, not your fault, right? I don't blame you, at least one of us still has a chance at getting what we want in the WWE." Silence follows this and John looks over, sensing yet another downward change in Mike's mood. "...Right?"
"You're still not watching, right?" he asks softly, his eyes fluttering shut as the soft night wind grows a little stronger, fluttering through their clothes.
"No... I hear things sometimes but for the most part... why?"
"Truth's back." He watches out of the corner of his eye as John's whole body stiffens, remembering the man who'd cost him so many months at the tail end of his time in the WWE, had possibly even been the cause of his downward spiral that eventually gave Laurinaitis the perfect excuse to release him. "He's out for revenge, and I just don't know what to do. I get the feeling Laurinaitis will be absolutely no help but... I have to try to do something." He presses a hand to his mouth, tugging at his bottom lip fretfully. "I just... have a bad feeling about this."
"Do you think Laurinaitis is allowing all of this because of me, for some reason?" Morrison asks after a few moments of strained silence, his eyes locked on the sand beneath them. "Because he knows we were... friends...?"
"I don't see how it should matter to him, but who knows what goes through that idiot's head. Y'know I arrived at Smackdown last Friday and Teddy didn't even know I was coming? Who the hell doesn't know when the Miz is going to be on their show!" His eyes flash, only cooling when John laughs slightly. "Oh, find that funny, do you?" He's only fake angry though, breaking down into a smile of his own after a few moments of glaring at the man next to him. "I'm sorry about Christmas. If I had known everything was so screwed up, I would've hung out a little longer with you."
"Hey, it's fine, really. No point in you being unemployed too, right?" There's a bitterness in his tone that makes Mike pauses, his eyes widening, but John's face softens when he looks over. "We're ok, Mike. Really. Don't worry about it. Crap happens, yeah?"
"Yeah..." They sit in silence for awhile before Mike nudges John once more. "Hey, Happy New Years, man."
He nudges him back, chuckling. "Happy New Years, Mike."
2012 is uncertain for them, WWE in a very strange, tense place at the moment for Mike, and John still trying to figure out what he wants to do now, but both men can only hope that it will end on a better note than 2011.
Sure enough, Laurinaitis does absolutely nothing, in fact leaving Miz open to yet another attack from Truth as he places him in a match against Sheamus. To him, it explains Smackdown the week before perfectly, proving that all of that madness had been Laurinaitis' doing. He's seeing red and Alex is dogging him to the titantron after he gets away from the Bellas, his lips turned downwards into a vicious snarl. His placating words wash over Mike like white noise and he barely even looks back before he attacks Sheamus prior to the bell even rings, trying to finish this early. Except all he manages to do is anger the Irishman, his chest nearly collapsing as the large, pale man slings forearm after forearm into him, drawing the breath from him with each go.
How he gets away, he's not sure afterwards, his chest stinging and throbbing as he runs back into the crowd to get away. But the escape is faulty, Truth behind him and mocking him as he quickly speeds back to the ring- right to the still waiting Sheamus. The last thing he sees is the black edges of Sheamus' boot before he hits the ground, slumping against the barricade wall. His shoulder and chest throb anew at the abuse, consciousness slipping away from him as Truth's voice rambles on overhead. A moment later something wet and cold slams into him, plastic crinkling against his face as water drenches him, brings him back to long enough to register the horrible pain from his cheek, jaw, shoulder and chest.
Finally he slips fully into unconsciousness, the last thing he sees being Truth standing over him, a maddened grin on his face.