Alex is deeply asleep when Mike returns to the hotel room hours after Raw that night, too wiped out and sluggish to actually say or do anything other than stir slightly as the older man pokes around the hotel room, considerate enough to stay quiet as he gets ready for bed. A-Ri's eyes flutter briefly before he drifts back asleep, comforted by the soft sounds of Mike's shuffling across the room.
When morning hits, the unrelenting sun gleaming down across the beds, Alex sits up groggily, rubbing his face. He's about to turn to Mike's side of the room and say something when he realizes that the other bed is empty. Mike's things are gone. He stares, uncomprehending, before standing. "Mike?" He looks in the bathroom, even checks out in the hall. Both are empty. He ducks back into the room and stands in the middle of the floor, uncertain what to do next. Yes, early flights are commonplace in the business, they all work themselves ragged and deal with outrageous travel schedules, especially during Mania season, but no matter what was going on, Mike's never just ditched him before. Of course they live on opposite coasts so sometimes they barely see each other between events, but yet...
He sighs, closing his eyes. Of course Mike's lack of a Wrestlemania match was eating at him, and understandably so, but this is very unlike his former mentor. He frets, picking up and thumbing through his phone. Random tweets overnight from coworkers and friends, a couple texts that he had left unread while at Raw the night before, but nothing from Mike. He grimaces, clicking the phone shut. "Ok... ok. He just had an early flight and didn't want to wake me. Things are fine." Speaking it aloud doesn't help his tension. "Dammit, dammit..."
By that Monday, Alex's still not heard anything from his friend. His anxiety is growing as Raw comes closer and closer and he still hasn't seen Mike. "Crap, what's going on with him?" he asks thin air, scrubbing his hands through his short hair.
"You talking to yourself?"
He jerks at the sudden voice, turning to the laptop set up on the hotel bed before him, surprised to see that the Skype connection screen had finally stopped cycling through, gaining permission to connect. "Oh. Uh, hey, John."
Morrison smirks, tipping his ever present sunglasses down as he peers at the younger man. Based on what little he can see, Alex thinks he's currently at something to do with his improv comedy aspirations, grateful that even after all this time, John will still drop his own responsibilities to deal with his and Mike's dramas. Which in the end is almost always Mike's drama, but that's neither here nor there right now. "Well, you look like crap. I'll ignore the Lil' Jimmy moment I just came in on for now, what's going on?"
Riley rolls his eyes, adjusting his position on the bed so he can see John better. "I haven't heard from Mike since last week."
Morrison freezes, turning to look fully into the screen as he loses interest in whatever he's doing off to the side. "Wait, really? I thought he was just dodging me, and that's nothing new, but you too?"
"You've tried calling him?"
John shrugs. "Yeah, I texted him, called a couple times. I know he's busy with media, especially around this time of year, but I was a little surprised he hadn't gotten back to me."
"Especially considering he had no problem tweeting a crapload while he was in Russia..." Alex sighs, picking at the frayed hotel bedspread. "I just dunno what to do, John. He's not talking to anyone, and the more time passes that he doesn't get a match, he's distancing himself more and more."
John sighs, looking troubled as he pulls his sunglasses off fully and settles down before the laptop. "I'm not sure there's a lot we can do to help him, hell he might not want us to try to help at this point in time. I mean, the only thing that probably would help would be a Wrestlemania match and neither of us are in the position to do anything about that."
"I know, I just feel like crap that he's struggling and all I can do is sit back and watch, if that." He shifts and then freezes, hearing a keycard in the door. "Uh, John, I think Mike's-" His voice dies away as the former world champion enters the hotel room, dropping his bag on the floor and kicking it towards the spare bed closest to the door. "Here," he finishes lamely, looking over the laptop at his friend. "Hey, Mike."
Mike stares at him strangely before dropping onto his bed, crossing his arms under his head and staring at the ceiling. "Hey." Raw is in a few hours so they have a little bit of time to get settled before venturing out to the arena, but this is the latest that Alex has ever seen his friend arrive for a show.
Alex looks worriedly at the computer screen, but Morrison simply shakes his head. Not now, he mouths, holding his hand up in a quick wave. Giving up, the younger man clicks the laptop shut, killing the webcam feed. He turns to look at Mike, his lips tightening. He wants to ask so much, figure out a way to help the visibly miserable man before him, but there's nothing he can do or say or think that will fix this. Both of their careers had gone into nonstop freefall once the whole power shift between Laurinaitis and HHH happened, the only slight plus being that they actually still had careers unlike Morrison, but whereas Alex's loss of momentum had only taken him out of sight of his US title aspirations, Mike had fallen straight from the top and never fully recovered, shaken all the way to the core of his once untouchable self-confidence.
The strangled silence continues until they leave for the arena, Alex surprised when Mike allows him to drive, his expression remaining stoic even as he throws the keys over to the younger man. When they arrive, Mike grabs his things from the trunk and heads for the arena without waiting around like he usually does with the stance of someone just wanting to get this over with. Alex has to hurry to catch up with him, wanting desperately to finally talk to his former NXT pro, but when he finally manages it, the older man is standing frozen in the middle of the hallway, staring blankly at the night's agendas. There are various scribbles with segments that the talent wanted to be shown that night, mostly having to do with Rock and Cena, or Shawn Michael's appearance- of course, Alex thinks with an annoyed grimace- but it doesn't take long to realize why Mike is looking like he's just been kicked in the head. The Miz vs Big Show is scrawled across the bottom, leaving no question that there's still nothing decided for Mike regarding Wrestlemania.
Miz doesn't even look over at Alex before shouldering his bag and storming down the hallway to look for a locker room to change in. Alex hesitates, unsure whether following him right now would be the best idea. Based on the board, he has nothing to do tonight- not that that's anything new- so he simply drags his own bag into the room Mike's just entered, quietly plopping down on the bench across from him. Nothing is said as Mike roughly pulls on his new t-shirt, barely bothering to adjust it so it settles properly across his shoulders before kicking his bag away and getting to work on his shoulder pads and wrist tape.
"Mike-"
"No. Don't," the aggravated man snaps, quickly tying his boots up. "Just don't." He's gone, storming through the locker room door with enough force to almost knock it off of its hinges, almost pushing an entering Curt Hawkins off balance, before Alex can snap his teeth closed again, wide eyed and a little horrified at the reaction just saying one word had caused.
"Watch where the hell you're going," Curt snaps, lifting his cane warningly. Why exactly he still brings that with him everywhere he goes, Alex isn't sure, but as Mike slaps it away and glowers at Curt, Alex wonders if it might suddenly have use, should Miz snap here. But as quickly as the tension appears, it dies away and Mike storms off, purposely shoulder checking the other man out of the doorway so he can get through unhindered.
"Dammit," he grimaces, unable to sit still. He leaves the arena, breathing in the crisp March air as darkness descends across Boston. He wanders around the parking lot for awhile, wishing that Morrison was still employed by the WWE. He tries, he really does, but his and Mike's relationship is different enough that he doesn't know how to help, what to say or do to ease some of the burden or if he even should. Whereas Morrison and Miz had been basically equals up to their original tag team split, Alex and Mike's had always had a bit of a mentor/protege undercurrent to it, leaving him uncertain how to proceed in some circumstances. John had apparently been there since the early days, when other people would barely look twice at Mike or even allow him into the locker rooms, leaving him to prepare for matches in the hallways. He would have a much better idea how to handle this situation, but Alex has no clue. He feels like a horrible friend.
He's not sure how long he's stayed outside, leeching off of the arena's wifi, reading and responding to emails he's backlogged on, when his phone vibrates in his hand. Morrison's name flashes across the screen. Mike's match is on. Prepare yourself. He reads it with a slight frown before heading inside the arena to see for himself what the Shaman of Sexy could possibly mean. By the time he makes it to a monitor, the match is over, Mike still sprawled out after the aftermath of one of Big Show's punches. He winces. "Oh great..."
He decides to give Mike some time alone following the match, trying not to worry even as he goes the rest of the night without seeing him. Once Raw ends, he quietly collects his things and heads for the rental car, wondering if he's going to have to wait for his erstwhile traveling partner or if Mike's been the one waiting for awhile, his temper growing with each passing second. Maybe that, if nothing else, will make him talk to me, even if it's just to bitch me out, he thinks.
All expectations aren't met, however, as he makes it to where the car had been parked and freezes. It's gone. The parking spot is empty. He gapes at it for a long moment, shaking his head. What the... He's about to go yell at security to demand what happened, though he already has his suspicions, when he hears someone walking towards him, each step followed by a rasping thud of something hitting against concrete. He turns to find Zack Ryder heading his way, a slight smile on his still flushed face, probably replaying earlier with Eve. Alex tries not to dwell too much on it, too deep in his own drama and issues to get involved in Zack's romantic woes right now. "Hey, man."
"Hey, bro." Zack seems to become more aware of his surroundings as he stands next to Alex, peering down at the empty spot where the rental car had once been. "I found this note on my stuff, thought maybe you'd know what was up?" He pulls out a hastily torn sheet of paper from his jeans pocket, holding it out so Alex could read.
The younger man pales, pinching his nose as he skims it. "Damn," he mumbles. Mike's messy handwriting fills the sheet of paper, ordering Zack to give him a lift back to the hotel. Alex isn't sure how to take the note, that Mike couldn't come to him to just tell him that he wants to leave, but could actually bother to think of someone he'd be willing to take a ride from and leave them instructions to not leave him behind. He sighs, shaking his head as he looks up at the Woo Woo Woo Kid. "Well, then. I guess I'm tagging along with you." He looks uncertainly down at the cane Zack's using for support and hesitates. "You sure you're ok to drive?"
"Sure, bro. I got myself here ok, don't worry. Unless you want to drive?"
He considers it for a brief moment but shakes his head, anxious to get out of the parking lot and away from his overwhelming thoughts. "Nah, I believe you. C'mon man, let's get out of here."
Zack's grin is quick and blinding in the overhead lights. "You know it, bro."
Alex chuckles slightly as he follows him, only slightly distracted from his worry over Mike. There has to be a way to make him feel better about the situation... I just don't know what, or how.