Back to Basics

by corneroffandom

The road a wrestler takes is never easy, even if you're a must-see A-lister superstar like The Miz.

95. Be the Change

A/N: This is a standalone story. It has no connection with the rest of the story, I just wanted to write a bonus story because we're now on chapter 90, and the first bonus story I wrote was posted with chapter 30. I hope it's enjoyable. ;)

Also, there are six different point of views here because I wanted to A: try something different and B: tell stories of different people from their individual perspectives. "Scene change markers" will be used to mark when we go from one person to another.

I shouldn't feel like this. I know it, deep down inside, but I just can't help it. I'm brash and cocky to the point of annoying people until they all start avoiding me. Only some can still stand me, ones who are as vocal and ostracized for it as I am.

Mostly because I've gone from being kicked around at the bottom of the pile to slowly and steadily working my way up, proving myself more and more competant with each passing day. And even though I feel much more secure in my position with the company now, it's not enough.

And I think, and I ponder, and I determine who all the blame lays with- the fellow wrestlers who could've brought about change, real change, if they had just stuck to their guns months ago and not trickled back in like puppies desperate for a treat at the smallest hint of things being different- not better, far from it, but just a shift from one bad to another.

HHH, obviously. He's one whose ego wasn't like anyone else's, is just... different because dammit, the one in charge shouldn't think he's better than everyone else, taking away large chunks of TV time, and I know in this business it sounds weird because all general managers or authority figures eventually fall into the ego trap but even they only take it so far, their focus still on the bottom line, keeping the board members happy. HHH never seemed to care about anything but his own stock, and it was ultimately his downfall.

Laurinaitis, well. He's such a patsy even when he's trying not to be that it's difficult to consider him capable of being worthwhile enough to have something pinned on him, but without him, the state of WWE wouldn't be what it is right now. I'd be world champion, more likely than not, without all of these variables. Maybe even US champion still too.

But for now, all I can do is inspire a little change of my own... in the form of revenge. Whoever said it's a dish best served cold had obviously never met me.

XXXXXXX

No one thinks that much of it, at first. It starts the Monday night after Wrestlemania, when Raw is just beginning, a commotion coming from the exit that somehow distracts from the redhot crowd whose noise is vibrating all the way back here. Alex Riley is only standing a few feet in front of me and we exchange glances, mine curious and his a bit worried, before heading in that direction. Raw is known for random crimes- some of which people have gotten away with in the past without their roles in it being justified or identities revealed in the slightest. This appears to be the beginning of another of those mysteries, a crowd of people growing as we watch on.

Mason Ryan, of all people, is trying to force himself to his feet away from the cool, ruthless concrete and not getting very far. Despite it all, his pride enforces all and he shakes off the referees roughly, not allowing them to assist him even in the slightest. Even with blood pouring down his face, possibly from the steel chair laying a few feet away, bent almost in half from repeated blows, he wants to stand on his own power but it isn't possible as he strains and struggles, growling and moaning every time his battered form loses its strength and hits the floor once more.

Finally there's a barked command over my shoulder and I glance that way to find CM Punk standing at the door, anger in his dark eyes. So much had happened in the past nine months, I come this close to forgetting that once upon a time Punk and Mason were friendly when New Nexus were still relevant. Whatever Punk had commanded, it causes the younger man to comply, reluctantly allowing the referees to help him to his feet and away from all of the prying eyes scattered around the parking lot.

As they leave slowly, I overhear one of the referees ask, "Did you see who attacked you?"

Mason shakes his head, muttering, "No."

I purse my lips, grimacing. Agendas can be a dime a dozen in the WWE, some as paper thin as the NXT guys' developmental contracts, but it doesn't mean they can't be worrisome. Whatever, whoever, could fell a big guy like Ryan, well...

XXXXXXX

I don't notice it at first. Or, well, maybe I do observe the little strange moments here and there. When he can't look me in the eye, oddly silent. When he disappears at random times not to be seen for hours at a time. I start to wonder if he's dating someone he knows I would disapprove of or find detrimental to his career, but that doesn't feel right. Over the years there has been this girl and that that makes me cringe when I hear of it but I never go out of my way to lord over his decisions. I handle the business, he handles his personal life, and we get along well. He's young and charming, handsome, so it's no wonder various girls fall over themselves to spend time with him.

I lean back in my chair and listen blankly as the TV drones on behind me, some inane midday reality show that only really serves as back ground noise to keep me from feeling completely alone as I work through some scheduling snafus, shaking my head over the insane travel that he goes through week by week. How he keeps his head above water, I'm unsure. My own travel schedule is very quiet compared to his and still, I get sick of airports and hotel rooms.

It'd be enough to break some people, I think.

XXXXXXX

My first inkling that something's off comes by chance. Since my release, I don't watch WWE all that often but I just happen to be bored and desperate for something other than my own thoughts to focus on, so I find myself turning to USA Network. Cody Rhodes vs Santino is just wrapping up when the commentators get their serious voices going and the cameramen start rushing around, trying to get into position.

At first all that's visible is a large group of referees and trainers clustered around a prone form, but when the camera gets even closer, it's obvious that it's Sheamus leaning against a wall, unconscious- there can be no confusing the skin tone of the large arm visible in the melee. A dented steel pipe is found nearby, the area obviously the scene of an intense struggle and I bet that the other guy didn't get off so easy either.

The Irishman's body is limp, his eyes not even flickering as the referees call his name and carefully pat his face, briskly going about their jobs despite knowing if he comes to with them manhandling him like that, the first thing he'd do is send them scattering like bowling pins. But more time passes and the ginger doesn't even shift once, the referees immediately growing more worried as the trainers start taking over, barking orders to move him for examination.

I wait until Raw ends, grimacing as the show fades to black without one glimpse of Miz or A-Ri, which means at the least that Mike was probably on earlier, before I'd turned to USA. Saw a bit of Raw earlier- what's going on with the random beat downs? I text Mike a little later, trying to give him time for the post-event cool down that he's always done for as long as I can remember. There had been another, the commentators had explained after Sheamus had been put on a stretcher, still unresponsive. Mason Ryan had been taken out earlier but his injuries had seemed slight in comparison to Sheamus', Jerry claimed soberly.

My wait is short, as I'd begun flipping through channels just a minute earlier when my phone lights up once more, Miz's name flashing on the screen. I press the neccessary buttons to access the text and read it with a curious quirk of my eyebrow. You know as much as I do, no one's seen who's behind it. Seems random. Which is obvious- I've been gone for nearly six months by this point but even I know at first glance that the two men targetted have nothing in common.

XXXXXXX

A week has passed since the two attacks. Tensions are running high with each passing day, everyone dwelling on when or if the mysterious attacker would strike again. No one knows who's next, or why, or by whose hand. It's insane and with guys like Mason Ryan and Sheamus both taken out of the equation, everyone's realized no one's safe. It's a sobering thought; even in a business like this, you expect most of the crap to happen in the ring. Or at least for the assailant to show their face so people know what to expect, where it'll be coming from. But instead we have some madman running around with his target set on who knows next. Old paranoia from months past tick back to life within me and I can't help but wonder if maybe, possibly, Kane is behind all of this.

When news moves through the locker room that Sheamus is still unconscious in a hospital near his Florida home, the mood turns from sober to hypervigilant, no one willing to go to suspiciously quiet parts of the arena alone. Even the most distrustful heels begin going in groups or, in moments of desperation, joining a nearby face to go to this place or that. Allegiences or hatred seems to matter very little as the the majority of the roster groups together to keep something like Sheamus from happening again.

I'm wandering around with my former friend, Curt Hawkins, well aware that if the mysterious attacker should come out of nowhere, it'd be me or Curt and, no matter what my reaction would be, Curt would duck and run at first chance, leave me behind to lose another chunk of my career to injury and who-knows-what else. However we pass through unharmed and stand by catering, watching as groups of people go here and there. "You know, this is one way to determine who might be behind everything." Curt looks at me, surprised, as I had made it a point to not talk the whole time we walked together. I shrug slightly and push on, the idea warming on me as I explain my thoughts. "Depending on who exactly it is, the guy who attacked those guys won't feel the need to constantly be walking around with someone. He might follow along with it for awhile, but eventually he'll slip up and it'll be obvious who's behind it."

"True," he mutters, looking about as surprised as he sounds that I've suggested such a thing. I ignore him, quickly leaving his side once we enter the catering hall, trying not to show the niggle of offense I take to his amazement that I'd actually thought it through so thoroughly.

We're still there and even exchange looks when Santino Marella rushes in, Trent Barreta by his side. They both look frantic and desperate, Santino dramatically grabbing onto the nearest superstar to the entrance, who happens to be Mark Henry, just to get slapped off. He spins around a bit before Trent steadies him, quickly holding a hand up. "The mysterious attacker has struck again!" he declares loudly, looking around to ensure he's achieved everyone's attention. "Big Show," he just manages to get out before the whole room erupts, everyone looking unsettled at this. The only thing more worrisome would've been if this mystery person had gotten the drop on, say, Kane or Undertaker. With how things are going, who knows what'll happen next.

XXXXXXX

Mike grimaces next to me as we trudge through the hallways, glancing around at any noise in the halls surrounding us. Everyone is jittery, uncertain of what to do. The person attacking people is smart, has yet to be spotted by any of his victims. Even Big Show, who had regained consciousness faster than the ones prior, hasn't been able to say who he thinks was the attacker. Sheamus remains unresponsive, with doctors tightlipped and worried about his recovery.

We ordinarily would've stayed in the locker room until Mike's cue, but tension's at an all time high with the nervousness, everyone watching everyone else for some hint, clue of who's behind all of this. All I really know is it's not me or Mike. Anyone else is kind of fair game. Friendships in this business are generally fly by night, with everyone out for the next big break, or title match. It's sad, but true.

Shaking my head of these thoughts, I turn back to him, nudging his arm slightly. When his attention is back on me, I smile a bit. "So what do you think the motivation is? Why attack these guys? Why not more? Others?"

Mike looks thoughtful, shrugging. "I'm not sure. You think there's a pattern?"

I flush slightly, realizing how goofy it all sounds once the words have left my mouth fully. "I know, it might be a little silly but I can't help wondering. There has to be a reason, right?"

"There usually is," he comments, taking it easy on me. "We'll probably find out eventually. Don't worry, everything'll be fine."

I'm not worried about myself, to be honest... It appears the person is going for big buzz, heightened stress in the locker rooms. It's obvious he's making a statement by targetting the biggest, toughest guys in the business. I'm far from being in the range of Big Show or Sheamus so I figure I'm going to be fine. Hope so, anyway. "I know," I say calmly, not noticing the strange look Mike gives me.

XXXXXXX

It pisses me off when I look at the downward trend of my own career in comparison to some of the others', a lot of whom don't deserve it as much as I do. Politics and favoritism leaves a lot of us floundering. CM Punk claimed he was working on change last July but all I see now is the same tired old reteric with some remixes here and there.

The champions may be different, but the story remains the same with Cena and Rock, HHH and Undertaker taking the bulk of the attention at Wrestlemania. I want things to be better, I want what I feel I'm deserved. Being stuck here, like this, it disgusts me.

It won't last. I can't allow it, for my own sanity.

XXXXXXX

Three attacks in a week's span. Of course things were more chaotic and strange when Nexus was at its prime, whole rings full of competitors falling to their practiced anarchy, but this is different. No one knows who's behind it, the victims aren't found until the culprit is long gone, and tension rises with each passing day. It doesn't help much that Sheamus, Royal Rumble winner and World Champion is still unconscious, recuperating slowly from the head wound caused by the mysterious person.

The whole situation is weird, strange thoughts keep spinning around in my mind, only fueled by a ridiculously active imagination, and for a wild moment I feel like I'm back to partnering with R-Truth, paranoid and twitchy at any strange noise nearby.

Alex sits down close to me and I gaze over at him, raising an eyebrow. My suspicions grow louder as he continues on with his pre-show rituals, seemingly unaffected by the tension in the room. How that's possible, I have no clue.

We're still sitting there, distracted by our own issues and thoughts, when someone slams into the locker room door, pushing it open hurriedly. Everyone's eyes lift to find Trent Baretta leaning against the frame, gasping for breath, an eerie repeat of yesterday's house show. "There's been another attack," he chokes out, pale and a little shaky.

Like people curious after a car accident, over half of the locker room clears out as most go on out to see who's been the unlucky one this time around.

I watch, unimpressed and continuing to pick at my boot laces, trying to tighten them properly, when Alex stands next to me. "Are you coming?"

I look up and over, thoughtful. How long had he been gone earlier...? I don't want to think like this, but Alex's comments, his recent attitude, makes me wonder. "No," I refuse, shaking my head slowly.

He almost trips mid-step at my refusal and if I wasn't so conflicted, I'd have found it funny. He looks confused and worried as he turns to stare at me. "Are you ok, Mike?"

I try to look more relaxed, less tense, but I don't know if it works as he hesitates. "Go on ahead, Alex. I'm fine." I guess this works because he slowly turns on his heel and leaves, my shoulders sinking as soon as I'm alone in the room. It can't possibly be, not him...

I know his career is low right now, so is mine. So are a lot of people's, but whoever's doing this has to be a special level of crazy. I don't want to believe that he's capable of such things.

But this business can bring out the worst in people... never say never, right?

XXXXXXX

"Do you think there's a pattern?" William Regal's accented voice echoes through the hallway, somehow easing my nerves as I pass by clusters of superstars, whispering amongst themselves.

The fourth attack is discovered a little later that night, so soon after Big Show's attack. Randy Orton is the one found this time leaning against the wall near an elevator, where he had struggled away from his attacker. No one can tell what the weapon this time was, Orton keeping his back to most of the crowd whispering and gaping at him.

"What are you looking at?" he screams, shaking off the referees as they try to ease him down to a nearby trunk for a quick examination while waiting for the trainer. This is enough to make us all disperse, none wanting to anger the unstable man any further.

My boys are off who knows where so I wander alone for awhile, pensive and worried. So far none of the attacks were against women but we feel the tension just as much as the guys, if not more. I stop by catering long enough to grab a bottle of water before walking back off, carefully looking around before I continue on. Even though time has passed, things are still subdued. I'm still alone.

I've been here long enough to see almost every kind of emotion in the locker room, but nothing like this. The uncertainty, the fear of who's next. My trained eye tracks the superstars wandering around, taking in how stressed and overworked they all are, Wrestlemania season just now starting to wind down. It's not a stretch that the attacks could be caused by any one of them, but there's something just avoiding me, something I think I know or have pieced together but my subconscious is keeping just out of reach.

It annoys me.

XXXXXXX

I still can't bring myself to watch WWE full time- the current management grates at me, not to mention witnessing my former dream going on without me leaves me cold even after all of these months. So, curious after all of the attacks, I turn to the Internet for further news. Places like Twitter aren't great places to get news because fans either get frantic or make disturbing comments around times like these, but it's the quickest way considering I don't want to bug Mike for updates about things like this all the time.

I'm thinking about this, swiping my finger over my phone to control the mobile browser when it flashes that I'm receiving a call. Making a slight face at my interrupted newsgathering mission, I answer. "Hello?"

"I need your help," Mike says quietly.

I sit straighter, frowning ahead. That one sentence, the tone behind it, tells me a lot. "What's wrong?"

"I think it's Alex. I think he's in trouble."

"What do you mean?"

"I think he's behind the attacks."

Time stops as I stare blankly ahead at the beige wall of my apartment, unable to wrap my mind around the prospect.

XXXXXXX

It's selfish but I can't help but be relieved I haven't been targetted yet. After months of being sidelined because of drama that really had nothing to do with me, the last thing I need is more time off. I fully intend to take my career back, regain my lost momentum from late last year. I have to, there's no other way. I refuse to go back to being overlooked, underutilized, all of the depressing things that led me into taking control of my career as best as I could to make some changes in the first place.

Still thinking about what I have to do next, I'm barely watching as I turn the corner and immediately gets barreled into. I fall back into the wall, still a little off-balance as my back spasms slightly in protest to the rough hit. "Watch where you're going, bro!" I chide, looking up to find myself eye to eye with Dolph Ziggler.

We avoid each other somewhat now-a-days, our old friendship shattered past all fixing after my eyes fell hungrily on his title belt months ago, but worry still wells up within me. Something feels wrong about this, the look on his face unnatural in the overhead lights. "Are you ok?" It slips out automatically and his response is about as immediate, his lips tightening as he glares at me.

"I'm fine," he snarls, pushing past me. "Next time, don't get in my way."

I'm not fussed by his tone, his attitude or anything else. We've been enemies for long enough that it'd seem almost normal, if not for the glimpse of his face I'd seen before he caught himself. Something's wrong here, obviously, but it's not my place anymore so hopefully Vickie or someone can do something to fix things before they get worse.

XXXXXXX

Ever since Randy Orton's attack, Mike's attitude has changed around me. He seems almost hesitant to talk to me, fretful and worried after each word uttered. I want to ask what's going on, why things have changed so suddenly, but nothing's really been the same since Morrison left. We spend as much time together, if not more, but neither of our careers are fantastic right now and a lot of it is spent in silence.

Wrestlemania excluding Miz until the very last minute didn't help with the tension at all and I drop my chin down on my fist as I consider the past couple of shows, the attacks, their aftermaths, the strange way Mike's been acting recently. For a moment I ponder if he'd have any reason to attack those taken out, but immediately chuckle. Yeah, right. It makes no sense- Mike isn't the same man he was when partnering with R-Truth.

I have no idea who could possibly do it, but things around the WWE have been tough for many people with the various changes in management and the bar being risen higher on a nearly weekly basis for title opportunities or match time. I just hope whoever it is-

... My thoughts stutter to a stop, breath seizing in my throat as I hear a loud crashing noise from down the hallway I'm currently standing in. I frown and look around uncertaintly, seeing only a few tech people lurking around. The show is still hours off so things are quiet, the calm before the storm.

Curiosity always killed the cat so it's with some hesitant footsteps that I inch forward, hand to the cool wall as I make my way through the shadowy expanse, holding my breath the closer I get to the sound. It's quiet but anyone knows that that doesn't necessarily mean anything.

I'm about to turn the corner when I hear a soft thud and murmured warnings, whispers and hisses, some soft and some loud enough I could hear them all the way back at where I started. I peek at first, then, unable to believe what I'm witnessing, I fully turn the corner to get a better glimpse of what's going on.

I try to backtrack once I fully take the scene before me all in, get out of there but it takes too long, I'm too jittery all of a sudden. My shoes squeak against the tiles and the jig is up. There's a hissed curse behind me and the next thing I hear is running footsteps, no time for me to decide where to go or how to get there before the person behind the attacks stands before me, his maddened eyes flickering this way and that. I'm backing up, for once intimidated by the situation I find myself in but I stumble and hit a trunk hard, sitting down on it with a startled gasp as my old hip flexxor injury makes itself known once more.

His grin is cocky and self-assured as he walks closer to me, a steel chair in hand. "Well, well." He breathes loudly through his nose a time or two before the light glints against the swinging weapon. I feel a sudden, sharp pain by my temple and everything goes dark.

XXXXXXX

I think it's gone too far. It wasn't supposed to be like this. I want to stop, I do. But I'm so far in, I don't think I can. Alex Riley is sprawled out on the floor before me, his eyes fluttering slowly, and I just can't wrap my head around it. I can't stop staring at the small drips of blood that splattered across the floor as I struggled to get the large man into this building. At the beginning, it was so simple- just a few beat downs, get my point across, stop the incessant thoughts. Clear my head enough to get some sleep, get in the ring and try again... and again... and again to get what I deserve. I want so much from this business, I hunger and desire it all, but it keeps avoiding me.

Now I worry I may never see it because somewhere deep inside I know I've gone too far- probably from the moment I stalked Mason Ryan down that shadowy hallway last week. Looking back on it, I'm not sure what I was thinking. It all might not have gone to hell if this kid had just minded his own damn business, hadn't gone snooping and saw me raise a chair against the already semi-conscious CM Punk, preparing to add another serious injury to what had already happened to him this week.

But what's done is done, I'm here and he's here and neither of us are going anywhere for a long while. We both have appearances, should be at the arena for Raw, but I can't risk it. Let them wonder where we're at, they'll never find us. I'm still capable of at least assuring that much, at least...

I get jittery as more time passes and the kid doesn't move, my hands tangling in the folds of my hoodie. It's chilly here, the spring weather as uneven as my moods, my teeth worrying my lips as I wait and listen. I try to convince myself that this place is secure, abandoned, no one will look here, but no matter what management does, this kid is liked by quite a few people. It'll be noticed when he's missing, especially by his former NXT pro. If anyone would agree with and maybe help my cause, I would imagine it'd be Mike the Miz Mizanin, at least until I had had no choice but to keep Alex Riley quiet. There are very few lines that Miz would consider uncrossable, and this would definitely be one.

I pace back and forth in front of him, watching as he twitches and struggles, barely conscious and unable to understand the thick ropes knotted around his wrists whenever he gains a moment of clarity. In one of these moments, he gazes up at me and I recognize the look in his eyes of dawning confusion and horror as he whimpers and strains against the binds, lips peeling apart, painfully dry. I consider briefly getting him something to drink, the thoughts slipping through my fingers as he speaks for the first time since I dropped him here. "You," he gasps, tracking my movements with his eyes. "Why?"

He's becoming too aware- awareness will lead to fighting, will lead to the risk of escape, will lead to my identity being revealed. I can't have that, not now, not ever. It's with no small amount of uncertainty and regret that I lift the steel chair once more and aim it at his midsection. There's already deep welts along his back and arms from where I'd hit him earlier and one on his neck where I hit a little high by accident in moments of desperation to keep him quiet, so I know it won't take much. One solid strike across the ribs and he gasps, wheezing. I'm glad I'd decided not to tape his mouth up as he struggles to breathe through the agony, choking and whining slightly. Our eyes lock once more as the pain overwhelms him and he drops to the ground, out once more.

I slip to the floor and stare at him, regretting that I had had to do it. It's too quiet here, my thoughts are too loud. I finger my cell phone, considering once more calling someone. The impulse passes and I drop the device to the floor, kicking it away from Alex just in case.

XXXXXXX

I take my suspicions and cell phone outside. Not only has Alex been acting a little odd lately, but now he's just plainly missing. I'd asked around, been to the usual places- locker rooms, catering, I even checked in with the seamstresses, since he goes to them sometimes for suggestions on his shoes, or a new jacket, or just anything that strikes his fancy. No one had seen him for the past hour, so now I head outside. I call him once but lose my nerve, hanging up quickly. The next call I make is to John Morrison. He had basically laughed in my face the last time I suggested Alex was behind the latest dramas in WWE, but I need someone who knows Alex to listen and he's the only one whose opinion I trust that fits the bill.

"Hello?" he sounds breathless and I glance at my watch. His latest tweet had said he was doing more things for his fitness DVD sets, so I feel briefly bad for interrupting him, but it doesn't last long because if Alex is in the middle of all of this in one way or another, some things are just more important.

"I need your honest opinion without you laughing at me for once," I tell him, not even bothering with niceties.

He sighs and I listen as he drinks quickly from a bottle of water, waiting impatiently. "Fine, what now?"

"Alex-" I cut myself off as he groans, the crackling static raising my ire. "Stop it! Just friggin listen," I snap at him. Not even waiting for him to say or do anything else, I plow forward. "Alex is missing. I went all around the arena, and still nothing. You know as well as I do this isn't like him."

John pauses, then sighs. "You're right but I'm not sure what you want to do about it. Do you think he's off attacking someone right now?" He sounds honestly doubtful of it and I kind of hate him for not being suspicious of my former protege as well. Or maybe I hate myself for doubting the kid, I don't even know anymore. The general emotion around the locker room's been so tense and paranoid lately that it's easy to fall into that trap, and I wonder if maybe I'm looking in the wrong place too, if maybe Alex's comments have been innocent and just easy to misinterpet.

"I don't know," I shrug. "He doesn't just disappear, man. That was never his thing." It comes off sounding a little more bitter than I intend and we both pause awkwardly, the quiet continuing on as we both wait for the other to say something. "Listen, I just want some suggestions. You're not directly involved, maybe you can point out something I've been missing."

He sighs. "I guess I can try. Who all's been attacked again?"

I think for a moment, frowning. "Hmm, Mason Ryan. Big Show, then Sheamus. Randy Orton was the latest-"

Morrison makes a soft humming noise, weighing the details he does know, when I hear a sound by the arena exit, a sense of deja vu as I recall the first attack. I look up quickly, breathing a soft breath as Alicia Fox and Tamina come out of the building, talking softly amongst themselves as they wander towards the parking lot. Morrison's saying something but I'm too focused on them, to be precise their conversation as it grows louder upon them leaving the building's shadow.

"I can't believe someone dared to attack CM Punk," she's saying as the other diva nods next to her. "At least it wasn't too bad..."

"Yeah," Tamina responds as she gets into the car. "The way he was talking, it sounds like the attack was interrupted. I wonder by who, though..."

I choke, unable to shake the feeling that something's wrong. "Morrison," I finally bite off, breaking into his nonstop questions. "Stay on the line. I gotta check something." I don't even wait for him to agree, just holding the phone tightly as I take off at a rush for the arena. It's not hard to locate Punk- and what fresh hell is this that I actually want to talk with him?- because there are so many people surrounding him, the buzz ridiculous. He looks fine, if a little groggy and I suppose with after the attention he had required the week prior after Chris Jericho's attack that it makes sense why the trainers and EMT surrounding him look so worried. I shoulder my way past all of them and press speaker phone so John can hear as well. "Punk," I greet him brusquely.

"What do you want?" he snaps, squinting up at me in agony.

"Did you see who did this?" He doesn't vocalize his answer, just shakes his head. "How about who interrupted it?"

He hesitates, pressing a palm to his forehead. "I didn't see, no. But... I remember hearing... someone mutter Riley." He looks up at me, an eyebrow raised silently as if to ask Isn't that yours?

My mouth goes dry immediately and I'm turning on my heel before I can even think through it. I don't even bother shutting off speaker phone as I hold the phone up. "John, did you hear that?" I demand, running back the way I'd come to the exit. I have no idea where Alex might be at, where I should go, what I should be looking for.

"Yeah, I heard it," he confirms, sounding as troubled as I feel. "Mike..."

"I'm gonna find him, John. Whatever's going on..." My mind's working overdrive trying to think this all through. Alex is a big guy, it'd take a lot for someone to drag him away unseen, or without raising some kind of red flag in someone. Where Punk had been found was a relatively busy part of the arena, right outside of the main hallway, so there's just no way. I'm outside now and I turn in circles, wishing desperately that we were close enough to California that Morrison could come help me but for now phones would have to suffice. There are two possibilities right now and I don't like either one. "I need you to do something."

"Sure, what?"

I rattle off a quick hospital name, relieved that I had remembered that much. "This is the hospital Sheamus is at currently. Find the number, call it. Tell them you're with WWE, and need some information on his condition." I don't even give him a minute to ask the million questions I just know are cycling through his brain, immediately plowing on. "I need to know what to look for here, and he's the only one who may actually know. His attack was a lot vicious than the others were, there has to be a reason, right?"

John sighs. "I'm on it," he says finally.

I hang up before his words have stopped echoing in my ears. "Alright, Alex, hang on. I'm coming," I mumble into the night air. If I'd been wrong this whole time and Alex wasn't behind it...

XXXXXXX

I happen to be nearby when Punk's discovered and even though I can't care less about the Straight Edge Superstar, I hang around. There's a crowd here and crowds are good, less likely for there to be another attack and me to get caught up in it. Not that the attacker has targetted women, far from it, but I still can't help feeling vulnerable and scared whenever I'm alone in the hallways. Punk's uncoordinated and weak, his intense eyes darting here and there before they stop on me, a strange look on his face as he takes me in. I feel skittish, unsettled by his intense stare.

I hear footsteps running and quickly step back, just avoiding The Miz running into me at full speed. He rushes right up to Punk, quickly talking with him, a cell phone in hand, and everyone stands by awkwardly, uncertain about what these two would have to discuss. Whatever it is, Punk looks annoyed and in pain and Miz looks determined and worried. By the end of it, he rushes off, looking even worse than he did when he arrived.

The crowd slowly disperses and Punk stands with some help from the trainers and lingering EMTs. I'm about to leave as well when he's helped past me. There's a squeech of rubber soles on tile as he digs in, bringing the forward motion to a halt, his gaze once more on me. I ring my hands, missing my boys all of a sudden, when he leans in closer to me. "Tell your little loser that this is far from done." His skin turns ashen and I slip backwards, a little afraid he's going to collapse or throw up on me, but the trainer's hand is sturdy against his back, soon getting him standing back up straight and pulling him away, to the trainer's office.

I shake my head, shuddering. It can't be, it cannot be... I refuse to believe that either Dolph or Jack would be capable of such pointlessness, unable to face that either of my boys could do such malicious things, would be so willing to throw their careers away. It just all seems so pointless, I can't bring myself to take Punk's words at face value.

XXXXXXX

Leave it to Mike to make me commit fraud, of a sort. I can't even claim that I did it because I'm a colleague of Sheamus and wanted information- I haven't worked with WWE for months now, and before that, he and I never got along anyway. But I'm worried about Alex too, so I place the call. Anyone who's ruthless enough to put Sheamus in the hospital with a head injury bad enough to leave him unconscious for a week definitely needs to be dealt with.

The nurse I talk to is very forthcoming, in fact surprisingly so. I don't even get to the fraud part, I just ask about Sheamus O'Shaunessy- God, what a mouthful, no wonder he doesn't go by it in WWE. I've seen his first name alone get butchered a million times over all around the Internet, imagine what people would do with his full name- and she immediately tells me he's been awake for a few hours and just been moved out of ICU to a private room, before forwarding my call right on. I stare at the phone in surprise at just how easy that was.

"Hello?" the familiarly accented voice greets me and I gape again, surprised at just hearing it. By the reports I'd read online and things Miz had told me, the Irishman was down for the count and probably would be for a very long time. "Anyone there?"

I swallow, shaking my head at the things being friends with Mike makes me do, but it's for Alex, so I finally speak. "Er, yeah. This is John Morrison," I say awkwardly. I haven't spoken to anyone other than Mike, Alex, and a select few others since Laurinaitis fired me, so this is strange. The last person I thought I'd ever talk to again was definitely Sheamus.

"Oh," he sounds surprised too. "What's crackin', fella?"

I almost want to laugh, he sounds so normal, and I decide it must be the head injury that's making him not just hang up on me from the start. "Well, um. I've been talking with The Miz." I hesitate, wondering if he's following me alright- I really don't know how bad his injuries are and I'd rather not muddle things up by talking too quickly or confusing him somehow.

"Yeah?" He sounds like he's understanding alright so I continue, painstakingly explaining the situation. As soon as I get to the part of what's happened to Punk and Alex, he cuts in. "Ha, Punk. Best I could guess, he knows as well as I do what's going on here."

I press the phone against my forehead, breathing thoroughly. I do not miss the drama and childish politics of the WWE. "Oh, do you now?"

"Sure, fella. Neither of us would want to fess up and let someone else get revenge, right?" It makes sense in that sick, WWE-type personality where only revenge, title belts, or pure unbridled anger fuels everyone's motivations. "But ya say he's got Alex Riley held up somewhere... I guess if you leave some for me after I get out of here, I don't mind telling you so Miz can get the kid out of there."

"Sure, whatever you want," I say, so relieved that I'd agree to almost anything. "Who is it?"

XXXXXXX

Being champion is like a drug. You get a small taste, a brief period of time where the weight of that gold on your shoulder or across your waist becomes as commonplace as breathing. It's a weird feeling, to know that you've finally reached this goal. From this point on, no matter what you do, your name will be in the record books- some of which go on for longer than most guys currently wrestling have been alive- and you'll never be forgotten, in one way or another. People will go through the list of names, see yours and be like, Oh I remember that guy. Not always a good thing, depending on the kind of champion you end up being, but it's the way of things.

So sometimes I think I can understand the people who let the power get to their heads, who become all about the gold and slowly lose the fun factor of this business. There are some who are just naturally that way, and then there are some who vow to never get warped by their own success, but it happens anyway, time and loss leaving them cold and bitter towards whatever may remain. I had gold briefly and lost it, but I was too injured for weeks afterwards to really dwell on it. Other stuff had fallen through the cracks with me a long time ago, though. I was so busy with what ended up being a painfully pointless flirtation with Eve and equally as pointless friendship with Cena that I had forgotten all about before. When I was struggling just to get five minutes on Superstars on a regular basis, much less to appear on TV. The ECW days, when it was more about having fun and learning more about my craft than just getting notice and success and... everything.

Back when I had friends also in my position, trying and failing to get over in this business. Not that I've lost all of them, no, but the road to my goals had definitely taken some away from me, bitterness and childish insults leaving us unable to even be in the same room for five minutes without wanting to punch each other in the mouth.

I miss those days, the before days, when it wasn't all so complicated and bitterness didn't overwhelm everything else. When I could just hang out with guys and not drag our careers into every little thing. Not that I regret the brief taste of success I had found, far from it, but I do at times wonder if the price I had to pay, considering the aftermath and how fleeting it all ended up being in the end, was even worth it.

XXXXXXX

I'm writhing around, trying to get off of the hard floor, desperate to find something warm and comforting, anything to take the pain and fear smothering me away. My ribs throb, my back and arm feel raw somehow. There's no traction no matter how hard I try to stand and I realize my shoes are gone, my socks slipping and sliding across the slick tiles.

"Sorry," a somewhat familiar voice says over my head. "I didn't want to take your shoes, but you kept trying to kick me. I had no choice. I had no choice in any of this, to be honest."

It's dark and I can't really see but that voice keeps eating at me, I'm struggling to remember where I've heard it before and oh God it sounds so familiar but I just can't place it. I want, need, Mike, Morrison, someone to come help me. My head feels like it's been put through a grinder, bits and pieces of memory here and there but nothing substantial enough to actually break through for longer than a few moments.

"Sorry," the voice continues. "No one's going to come help you." I stiffen, realizing I'm talking aloud. "Don't worry about it, this won't last forever." It's weird, he- whoever it is- sounds sympathetic, almost compassionate.

"Let me go," I groan. "Please..." A hand rests on my hair, pulling my face up off of the floor. It's too dark to see, even when I squint I fail at recognizing my captor. Not that it'd do me any good either way, my being too weak to even hold my head up off of the ground for more than a few seconds. "Please."

"I can't do that, not yet." He continues talking as I breathe heavily. "You shouldn't have turned the corner, you know? If you had just stayed in the main hallway, none of this would've happened... I would've stopped, my need for revenge sated, and you would've gone back to Mike and everything would be good right now. But nope, you had to be curious and nosy and... here we are."

His bitter, horrified words jostle something within me. A split second glance of the last thing I'd seen before I passed out earlier returns to me, my breath hitching as my questions fade away, suddenly unimportant as I think up brand new ones. I stare up through the shadows and murmur incredulously, "Why? What'd those guys do to you?"

He shifts, leaning forward, and I peer up at his bright blond hair, feeling nauseous. "They were weak," he explains, sounding surprisingly calm. "Do you remember the walkout? Could you imagine where we could be right now if they had just... held on a little longer? Maybe tried other things, instead of just dropping it all at once? There might've been real change... after all of CM Punk's blathering about creating change, he couldn't even show up? Cena couldn't show up, or anyone that could've actually raised some eyebrows?"

My dizziness fades slightly and I lean back, trying to get away from him. "That was months ago, why now?" I can't help but ask, oddly obsessed with the way his hair gleams even in the overwhelming darkness.

"Because I'm sick of not being noticed!" he cries out, voice echoing in the room. It's so loud and repetitive that I start feeling even worse, the room spinning before me. "I work so hard so much and it gets me nowhere! I deserve titles and accolades and..." He kicks the wall and I wince again, the sudden sound hurting me even more.

I lick my lips, about to take a chance here. "Of course you do, but even if this did get you notice and you received all of that, would you feel good about it..." I pause, unable to decide if this is a good idea or not. "Dolph?"

His whole body grows rigid, his hands tightening at his sides. As he turns to look at me, no longer standing in the shadows since it's clear I know now, I see it in his face: he's scared, possibly shocked himself with what he's done. "I had hoped you'd forgotten that," he says quietly, a small, demented smile flickering across his tanned face.

I start to wonder if I'll ever get out of here in one piece.

XXXXXXX

Now that I know he knows, I see no point in being as careful. I begin to pace near where Riley is sprawled out, mumbling to myself. None of this is going according to plan. Not that there was much of a plan, to be honest. I just wanted payback, I guess. A little revenge towards the roster that had so blatantly failed at getting one simple thing accomplished that could've helped the whole business, instead of just individual players in it.

There had been a brief period where I thought, even after losing the US title, that it wouldn't matter. That no matter who was in charge or how things were being run, my ability would get me over better than anything else and I would get what I deserved. But more time passed and less things happened that were deserved or made sense, and I grew more bitter and less interested in simply being the show off people were used to to get what I wanted. Lists had been made, I recalled things in the past that I had allowed to slip through my fingers, I began waiting and tracking and patiently, oh so patiently, keeping an eye on the results that followed each attack. Management didn't do anything, of course, because they didn't know who to look at.

But that changed with Sheamus- it wasn't supposed to go that far, I just wanted to knock him out, like I had the others, but he gained the upperhand long enough to tear the hoodie clear from my head enough to reveal my telltale hair. The fear that my mission was ended before it'd really begun was choking and all oppressing, so I did the only thing I could think of. I didn't expect him to be unconscious for so long but in the end, it worked out in my favor. Management took notice then, for sure, but I didn't let up just yet, taking pleasure in felling Randy Orton. I would've gotten Punk too, if not for the former NXT rookie still squirming around at my feet, looking wide eyed and miserable as I pause to stare at him coldly.

He watches me, his breathing speeding up as I swipe at his foot, kicking it out of my way. He sucks in a whistling breath and shakes his head. "What are you going to do now?"

I don't even bother hiding the smirk on my face as I kneel down so we're face to face. "I haven't decided yet."

XXXXXXX

Morrison calls awhile later and simply breathes on the other end of the line as I ramble on, telling him about my conversation with Punk after I'd gotten off of the phone with him. I know I should shut up and listen to what he has to tell me but talking has always calmed me down and dammit I've been backwards and forwards through this place a thousand times already so I need to do something. It's when I finally reach the end of my verbal rope that Morrison clears his throat, something he used to do a lot when we were originally tag partners to gain my attention whenever I needed to shut up so he could speak for a moment. I click my mouth shut and wait for him to speak.

"I talked with Sheamus," he finally says. "He saw who did it, probably why he was beaten up worse than the others. He didn't tell anyone because he wanted to get some payback of his own, but when I told him what was going on with Alex, he agreed to let us have first crack at it, as long as he gets an opportunity later." I make no promises but wisely keep my mouth shut so Morrison won't stop talking, leaving me in suspense as to who the attacker is. "Mike, it was Dolph Ziggler."

Whatever else Morrison says from there, I tune out as I realize that a man I'd walked by a thousand times over the past few weeks is currently holding Alex who knows where, doing who knows what to him. It had always been a subconscious niggling in the back of my mind since I hit that last Skull Crushing Finale on John months and months back but this is the first time I have to say it, as I turn in a circle, trying to think. "I wish you were here to help me," I say into the phone and whatever Morrison was saying quickly gets cut off.

"I wish I were too," he says sincerely as I close my eyes, pressing the phone against my forehead. "But listen, we can figure this out even over the phone. You just need to find a couple people."

I know what he's going to say before he's going to say it but my mind is working in circles so... "Who?"

"Vickie Guerrero. If anyone knows Dolph, it's her. Go to her, ask what she thinks."

"She won't want to help me, she'll just be out to defend him and his actions."

"Listen, no matter what I think about Vickie, she's always had Dolph's best interests at heart. He's basically the teacher's pet in that whole scenario. What he's doing now, you and I both know, it's tantamount to career suicide. She'll know it too, and will do anything she can to stop it. Go to her, Mike. Explain everything, she might know where he's keeping Alex."

I nod rapidly. "Alright... alright. I will. John?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

XXXXXXX

I haven't seen Dolph all day today. It worries me. Jack has been around, as he always is, determined to regain his US title belt, come hell or high water, but without Dolph, things seem empty. Bleak. I have a strange feeling, one that's been dogging me for awhile now. I'd managed to ignore it everytime I looked at Dolph, taking in his focused, calm visage, but I have no idea where he is and that, more than anything else, is worrying me. Punk's words are rolling around in my mind, making everything ten thousand times worse, and God I'd give anything not to believe them, it is Punk we're talking about after all. You learn in this business to trust next to no one, but there's just something about it sticking with me...

My thoughts are finally derailed when The Miz skids to a stop in front of me, panting and looking completely wild, his piercing blue eyes locking onto mine. I step back when he corners me, still trying to catch his breath. I consider putting him in contact with my trainer when he finally starts to talk. "I need your help," he gasps, obviously having run a fair distance just to locate me.

"Mine? Why?" I ask, startled. Only Dolph and Jack ever pay any attention to me, my voice enough to startle everyone else away for the most part.

"Your precious Ziggler's been the one attacking everyone," he forces out, frowning down at me.

I laugh uproariously, unable- or unwilling- to take the prospect seriously. Even as I laugh myself out, that weird niggling feeling returns once more, leaving me almost nauseous. Both Miz and Punk coming up to me and trying to make me doubt Dolph. We've been through a lot the last few years, something like this won't work on me. "Of course he has! And Jack's going to bring back the Swagger Soaring Eagle. What else have you heard on the dirt sheets, Miz?"

"I'm not lying!" he snaps, suddenly nose to nose with me. My laughter dies away as he glares at me, more serious than I think I've ever seen him, even during the middle of his scrambling to get a Wrestlemania match. "Ziggler has Alex Riley, ok? He tried attacking Punk, Alex saw it happening, and now he's gone!"

"What proof do you have?" I ask, although I can tell. Call it woman's intuition if you wish, but I just know. He's telling the truth.

"Sheamus woke up, said he saw Dolph and that was why Dolph attacked him more brutally than the others. Punk probably recognized him too, since Alex interrupted the attack. This is all falling around your boy, Vickie. Are you just going to sit here and let it pass or are you going to help me so you can help him?"

I stare at him, slowly accepting his words, as bitter as they taste going down. "What do you think I can do?"

"You more than anyone would know where he would go to hide out, feel safe. Where is that place here?" He motions around the building, obviously indicating the town, and I swallow.

"If you're going to get Riley out safely, we're going to need some help." I hate what I'm thinking but Swagger's distracted with this Santino nightmare and there's only one other guy I can maybe think of that would be easy enough to convince to help out, for one reason or another.

XXXXXXX

I tap my fingers against the table, waiting and listening intently. The TV is muted, the screen showing some random mess of a Cena scene, looking like one of the thousand other Cena segments everyone has seen over the last five years or so. My eyes keep flicking back and forth from the TV to my phone and if I dare to look away for longer than a couple seconds, I'm compelled to lean forward and check to make sure I haven't missed any calls, no matter how ludicrous that thought is. Not for the first time since last November, I wish I was on the road, with the guys I had come to know as friends, something close to family, helping out like in the old days when these random crisises happened.

But instead I'm stuck in my half lit apartment, sitting anxiously on my only somewhat comfortable couch, biting my lip till it bleeds. I'm about to say screw it all and run out to my car when my phone goes off, the loud ringtone (My old WWE theme, Ain't No Make Believe. Couldn't quite bring myself to change it, even after all this time...) shocking and abrasive after the silence I've been subjecting myself to for the past hour or more. I frown at the offending device and answer it, not even waiting to check who exactly was on the other end. "Hello?" There's a pause and I think if it ends up being a telemarketer or some scam at this hour, I'd probably throw the phone out the window.

"John?" someone finally says and the voice doesn't register for a long moment. "Uh, are you there, bro?"

That's all it takes for it to click. Zack. "Hey, man, sorry, was expecting someone else," I say, taking a deep breath as I pinch my nose. "What's up?"

XXXXXXX

I can't stop glancing back and forth, my eyes darting from Vickie to Miz uncertainly. Why exactly they've come to me, of all people, for help, I'm not sure. After the past few months, I can't help but feel suspicious. "Miz is here," I say into the phone, Mike's phone, trying to ignore how tense everything feels as I turn away from their piercing gazes. "He says... well, he says that Alex is missing, bro. And that Dolph's behind it?" The words feel wrong as they slip past my tongue- despite our more recent falling out, I knew Dolph better than I knew pretty much anyone else in the WWE. Something bad has to have happened for Dolph to go this path, something we all missed. Considering how possessive Vickie is of her boys, I just can't guess what exactly that is but a niggling feeling deep in my gut keeps reminding me of the circumstances around Dolph losing the US belt to me, how that could've been a harbinger to all that had come since- like this, his attacking other superstars for some unknown reason. If so, I had unknowingly become the catalyst to a lot of pain, similar to how John Cena had been the cause of Kane targetting me for weeks on end. The very thought makes me sick.

"Yeah," John says into my ear, and despite his usual laid back California attitude, there's a fair amount of tension in his voice as well. "It took awhile for us to figure it out but basically Sheamus woke up and confirmed it all- he spotted Dolph mid-attack and that's why Dolph laid into him bad enough to keep him unconscious for so long."

I shake my head- it still all sounds so wrong, but Morrison, with the various disagreements he and I have had, mostly over my father's hero worship of him, hasn't really ever lied to me, and despite the questionable farewell I'd given him on Z!TLIS due to his firing from WWE, we had moved past it enough for him to make a couple of other appearances on Z!TLIS, making it more funny than bitter to think back on. "Alright, I just... wanted to hear it from someone I trust," I say slowly, still barely able to wrap my mind around the thought that one of my previous best friends could ever manage something like this.

"Sure man. Hey, Zack?"

"Yeah?"

"Watch out for Mike, alright? With Alex missing and me here, you're the only guy he'll have to depend on and if Dolph is as unhinged as it seems, well. I just don't want him to do something stupid and get hurt while trying to get Alex out of whatever situation he may be in."

I glance over at the former world champion and nod, wondering wistfully about how Mike and John had gone from being best friends to bitter enemies back to being close enough to care about each other's well being to this extent. "Sure, bro. I've got his back," I say softly, smiling slightly. There's another pause and I look down. "I'll make sure he calls you when we're all squared away and this is done," I announce.

He sighs. "Thanks, man. You take care too, alright?"

"Will do, bro. Bye." I offer the phone back to Mike and he takes it.

"Do you believe us now?" Vickie asks with her hands on her hips, looking like she would slap me if I refused or delayed the rescue attempt even a minute longer.

"Yes," I quickly say, holding my hands up to avoid both of their impending bitch fits. "What do we do first?" As they begin discussing ways to figure out where exactly Dolph may be holding Alex, I keep quiet for once, thinking. If Mike and John can rediscover their friendship despite everything that's gone on between them, well... who's to say? Either way, I'm gonna help you out, Dolph.

XXXXXXX

I don't know how long I've been here, or if my being missing has even been noticed yet. I think Mike would've noticed by now, especially with his mother henning habits mostly focused on me since Morrison's release, but he's been so distant and bitter since the whole Wrestlemania debaucle that I'm not sure how well I should depend on that. I trust him, of course I do, but there had been times over the last few weeks where I would give him his space to let him get over whatever was going on in his head before venturing a conversation with him. Hopefully those habits wouldn't cause my absense now to go overlooked, or I may be in huge trouble. I'm not sure what Dolph plans on doing, especially if the show ends before this gets resolved, if he would just leave me alone here and go on to the next town. I just want out of this dark, deserted building.

Unfortunately he's smart and takes nothing by chance- he keeps his cell phone with him everywhere, even if it's only a couple of steps from his original position, he makes sure I'm far away from the windows, no matter how tall, dirty or miniscule they are. He even takes great pains to whisper when he talks just to make sure no one should overhear, which makes me think we're still in a fairly populated area. But, based on how sore I already am, and the condition of the last few guys he'd beat down on, I really don't want to take any chances and raise his ire more. I would like to get out of here in mostly one piece and preferably even semi-conscious, if can be.

So I bide my time and I watch and I wait. Mostly I hope, trying to drown out the discomfort and pain I feel with thoughts of what I want to do when I get out of here. ... wrestle a long match and hopefully win, have another July 4th party on the beach with Mike and John, eat a huge steak... My thoughts are derailed when Dolph mumbles something viciously. He glowers over at me like I've done something even though I was just sitting in a corner, lost in my own, quiet thoughts. I shift uncomfortably as he rushes over to me, steel rod in hand.

"What did you do?" he hisses at me, grabbing me by my hair and pulling my face towards his so we're almost nose to nose. I hiss, my hair too short for this, my neck twisting at an almost impossible angle as he glares down into my eyes. "Why is this happening?" He slams the back of my head into the wall with such force that all I can hear is ringing in my ears, stars in front of my eyes for what feels like hours upon hours afterwards. When I finally gain some awareness once more, he's pacing before me, steel rod scraping against the hard cement floors with a hideous squeeching sound. "...Why is she with them? Everyone's turning against me... Why is this happening?"

My last thought as blackness takes over is He sounds beyond desperate. Even in my addled state, I know this isn't good for me but as I lose consciousness, there's absolutely nothing I can do about it.

XXXXXXX

I can just see them from one of the corner windows, three shadowy forms just visible beneath the overhead street light. No matter how far away they are or what the lighting's like, I will always be able to recognize two of them, at least. One, the woman responsible for resurrecting my singles' career after a spree of bad luck and being overlooked. The other, my former best friend who ended up being a title stealing betrayer. Vickie Guerrero and Zack Ryder, standing together in the parking lot outside of the arena with The Miz, of all people. It's perhaps the oddest threesome I've ever seen and as disturbing as it is, the ramifications of what I've got going on in this building, I'm almost intrigued at why exactly they're together.

I'm not that far away from the arena, obviously, hiding out in an abandoned storage shed just off of the main building. Hiding in plain sight, you know? I hadn't had the time to find a good hiding place, and Riley is a big enough guy that dragging him anywhere while unconscious wouldn't go unnoticed for too long. I'm still not sure how I got him past the arena security in the first place, but luck had been on my side for each of the previous attacks so I guess it's good that it's still holding out so far for this one as well. But I can feel it coming to an end now as those three stand around, talking. Vickie, of course, is always on my side- without me, she loses a sizeable portion of her paycheck, after all- and I used to think I could trust Zack but I've never spent much time with Mike, our circle of friends different for the most part.

For this reason, I pace in front of the window, gaze skittering from Alex to his former NXT pro and back. I want advance notice when- if- they begin to make their move. I won't be caught off guard, not again. And I won't lose my career without a fight. My brooding gaze falls on Alex once more and I shake my head, feeling almost bad for the unaware younger man. "No offense," I mumble at him, wondering how I'd gone so quickly from shooting off rapid-fire promos on Z!TLIS and at live events to holding someone hostage because some questionable scheme for payback went south on me.

XXXXXXX

Zack is looking thoughtful, which is good because it keeps him quiet for once. I turn my attention to Vickie. "So where do you think he might be hiding out at?" Her lips are pursed, eyes flicking this way and that as she takes in the surrounding buildings. "What, do you see something?"

She finally turns her attention back to me and makes a soft hmmm-ing noise, surprisingly much quieter than the persona she puts on for the audience. "There are abandoned buildings around here, right?"

How I'm supposed to know that, I'm not sure but I shrug anyway. "I'd imagine so. Why?"

"If I know Dolph, and trust me, I do-" Something tells me that sentence has hidden meanings no one wants to know about without washing their brain out with some serious bleach afterwards so I wisely keep quiet, allowing her to speak on- "He would hide Alex somewhere nearby, just because the kid is kind of hard to miss. If he tried getting him out of the arena grounds completely, people would probably notice, right?"

I nod, quickly glancing around at the surrounding area. "Alright, any ideas?" She's still looking around and I track her movements, aware that there are a number of buildings scattered around the arena that aren't used; unneeded storage sheds or whatever.

"I guess we should split up and look from building to building." She licks her lips, turning to Ryder with a derisive glance, baring her teeth in a sneer. "Think you can handle that?"

He glares back at her, the old bitterness behind his US title feud with Ziggler leaving them both angry and on the edge around each other.

"No time for this," I snap at them, pushing between them, almost knocking Zack onto his ass as he struggles to regain his balance. "I'd rather find Alex in one piece than stand around and watch you two fight like a couple of toddlers. Now come on."

They're still glaring at each other as they separate, Vickie going to the right and Zack going to the left. I go straight, vowing to go in a circle, even planning on retracing the other two's steps just to make sure nothing's overlooked as Vickie is probably working her own agenda and I have my doubts of how observant Zack will truly end up in this whole situation- I only want to find Alex, I don't really care about what's going on with Ziggler, but Vickie as his manager would only want to find and protect her investment in Dolph.

Zack's in an interesting position, I guess, my mind wandering as I walk around the arena, looking for any outside buildings along the way. He's friends with Alex and former best friends, off and on rivals with Dolph Ziggler. I'm not sure where exactly that leaves him but, no matter how much of a question mark I put around his mental falculties after that whole Kane/Eve/Cena mess, I doubt Morrison would urge me to trust him if there's a huge chance he'd leave us hanging for whatever reason.

I sigh, standing on my tiptoes and peering through another set of windows in another visibly empty building. I'm not sure how obvious it'll be if someone is hiding in one of these buildings but I can tell by looking in most of them that they've been empty for quite awhile, covered in spider webs and dust. Too quiet and still to be holding someone for any period of time recently. I shake my head, turning to one that has no windows and my heart skips a beat, a hand coming to rest on the doorknob. I know before turning- it's locked- and I close my eyes, focusing on the cool metal beneath my fingers. Are you in there, Alex?

"What are you doing?" a voice asks behind me and I pale, turning slowly. A security guard is standing a few feet away, staring at me oddly, hand on his radio as he more than likely weighs calling for back up.

I swallow nervously. "Well, ya see..."

XXXXXXX

Relieved to get away from both Miz and Ryder, I walk purposely, glancing from building to building as I go. There are a surprising amount of storage sheds and other buildings dotting the grounds, their closed doors mocking me as my hands twitch at my sides. I want, need to find Dolph. We've been together for years, as close as a manager can be to one of the highest rising superstars in the WWE. I gaze out into the distance, counting the buildings I can spot from here to the fence cutting off the sidewalk and street from the arena. There are seven and I square my shoulders, moving to the nearest one. There are windows and I thank God again for my high heels- a joke to walk in, especially outside, but working sufficiently at getting me high enough to see inside. I take a breath, hoping beyond hope that I'll find him in here and that he'll be fine, just letting some aggression out after a rocky few weeks, something I can make disappear easily.

My eyes slip open and I peer inside, frowning. The building is empty. Oh Dolph, where are you? I think, quickly moving away from the grimy windowsill. Shaking my head, I move to the next one. Don't give up, Vickie. You'll find him. He started off as just a project for me, I saw plenty of potential in him from the moment I first saw him, yes and knew he just needed a nudge or two to get noticed by others as well, let his true nature shine through, but I now consider him a friend and I refuse to let him down. This whole situation feels so wrong, I just have a feeling he needs me and that it's more serious than just a bad spree of luck.

I glance up at the dark night sky, shaking my head as the stars twinkle overhead, their natural beauty continuing on infinitely despite the various sufferings on the earth below them. Just hold on, Dolph. I'm coming... Turning my gaze back to my surroundings, I walk to the next building and prepare myself for another possible disappointment.

XXXXXXX

Waiting sucks. I've done all I can to help find Alex from my apartment, fingers twitching around the blank phone as I replay my various conversations over the past few hours- with Miz, and Zack, and... I sigh, leaning back against the couch cushions. Dammit, I think. My time in WWE ended pretty badly but Alex and Mike would probably always be two of my closest friends, and even if they aren't, I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to either man. Sitting here, gnawing at my knuckle, I've never felt so helpless.

My glare turns to the phone in my hand and I sigh. "Can't you just light up already?" I grumble at it, rolling my eyes when I realize I've become so desperate that I'm now talking to technology. Huffing, I stand and grab my keys, double checking to make sure that the phone is set to ring and vibrate so I won't miss it alerting me to anything. Long strides take me all the way to the beach and I stand in the evening twilight, taking in the waves crashing against the rocks as the wind rushes around me, whipping my ponytailed hair and baggy shirt and shorts all over the place. Even though weather like this would ordinarily calm me, humble me in the face of pure nature's power, I can't stop thinking about what's happening states away. "Find him soon, guys," I mumble, peering up at the overcast sky.

XXXXXXX

The search is slow. I've already looked through almost half a dozen buildings and I wonder if Miz or Vickie's having any luck, but since I haven't heard any commotion nearby, I'd guess not. One thing with the three of us working together, kinda, is we're all generally loud people so if one of us finds something, the whole city will probably know it soon. I chuckle drily to myself before peering in yet another building, frowning as it too ends up quiet and empty. "Dammit, Dolph, where are you?"

Before my success with Z!TLIS had led me down a path to where we began feuding for the US title, Dolph and I had been close friends, he even regularly made appearances on my show before things became seriously bad between us, our friendship fracturing just because of the gold. Considering how very little an amount of time I actually held the thing, I doubt it was really worth losing that connection over, but on the other hand, Dolph gave up the friendship easily over a title belt too so... maybe we weren't as close friends as I thought we were.

Either way, he was a broski, and Alex is a broski and they both need help now so as the night sky begins blanketing everything, street lights coming to life here and there just enough to light my way, I continue my search. It doesn't take long for me to end up back where we'd split up, gazing around. One building left, I realize, looking over my shoulder at the very building Vickie had been gazing curiously at earlier. I'm not sure if either of them had checked it, we were all in a hurry to get away from each other to avoid bickering further and distracting ourselves from actually getting anywhere in the search that I wouldn't be surprised if none of us had thought right off hand to backtrack and check this one small building.

The hairs on the back of my neck immediately stand up and I just sense it more than actually realize it- this is it. A sharp thrill trails up my spine as I inch towards the window, moving slowly in case someone is inside. Peering inside is hard, there's even less light now that it's mostly dark outside, but as my eyes adjust more, I can see something- a form shifting around inside. I look down and there's another movement, separate from the first. It has to be Alex. For once in my life, I keep quiet by slapping my hand over my mouth. FOUND THEM, I text to Mike, relieved that he'd reluctantly given me his number as soon as I'd agreed to help look for Alex. Where we split up from. Can't miss it, bro. As soon as I send it and realize I'd called Mike Bro, I cringe, expecting a snarky reply, but nothing comes. Within minutes, running footsteps come my way and I stuff my phone in my pocket, looking up to find Vickie and Mike coming to a stop only a few feet away. Oddly enough, a security guard is lurking behind them, his hand pressed to a radio on his belt.

"Here?" she demands in a half squeech, half whisper that still makes me and Mike cringe.

"Shhhh," he scolds her, eyes narrowed in warning as she opens her mouth to yell at him further. "Are you sure?" he asks me uncertainly.

"I saw people moving around in there," I explain, making a concentrated effort to not call either of them bro. "It has to be, right?"

The security guard frowns at the building, shaking his head. "How? That thing's been abandoned for months, no one used it after brand new storage areas were opened up in the arena. No one has a reason to be in there."

I nod rapidly. Told you, I think, my grin lighting up the area better than the street lights. I found them!

"Do you have a key?" Mike hisses at him, almost vibrating with anxiety to get inside and collect Alex. The security guard hesitantly shakes his head and we all glare at him as if it's his fault we can't resolve this issue.

"What do you want from me?" he exclaims. "The building hasn't been used for months, only the arena manager might have a key."

"Ok, we don't have time for this. New plan," Miz says solemnly, motioning me and Vickie closer to listen to his instructions.

XXXXXXX

It's so dark, I can barely see in front of my face. The only thing that tells me I'm not alone is I still hear Dolph shifting around nearby, muttering angrily to himself now and again. Early April evenings currently are a little bit chilly, even though the afternoons are ridiculously warm, and since I'm sitting on the floor, it's seeping straight through me. I don't want to imagine sleeping here, like this, but Dolph doesn't seem interested in releasing me. Mike, haven't you noticed I'm not around yet? I think desperately, trembling despite my best efforts not to. He has me tied up so tightly that even the slightest movement causes the ropes to dig deeper into my skin, making the pain just that much more unbearable.

I'm struggling to keep my breathing even and calm when I hear something softly thudding against glass. I instantly look up at the nearest window and see a shadow falling through the soft light that's streaming from outside, someone peering inside. I can't make out their face from this angle but Dolph obviously can because he hesitantly stands up, shifting closer to the window with his back to the wall.

"Vickie?" he calls out once he's close enough to look outside- apparently whatever he's checking for isn't there if he's actually admitting his presence and addressing his manager.

"Dolph!" she cries through the window, and even though she's still unbearably loud even at this distance, I can hear the worry in her voice. "Are you ok?"

He inches closer, pressing a hand to the dirt-streaked panel. "Yeah, yeah, Vickie, I'm ok." He seems to relax a bit as her hand appears against the glass on the other side, his face leaning against the ledge of the window as he peers out at her. "Are you?"

Their relationship is weird to at least half of the roster, beyond any kind of comprehension, but as I watch them, I can't help but think that somehow they ground each other, make everything just a little bit better for the other.

"Yes, Dolph, I'm fine, but listen, we have to get you away from here. Alex Riley is missing, and Dolph, Miz thinks you're behind it." She sounds even more upset now but my heart soars- Mike knows, and he's on the right track, if Vickie is this worried. "He's been trying to get me to help him... I won't do it, but we have to go." I see him glance through the shadows towards me, hesitating, and she tries again. "Please, Dolph, if not for yourself, then for me!"

He shakes his head, removing his hand from the glass and pressing it to his temple like he's got a headache. "This is all so screwed up, Vickie... I don't know."

"Dolph," she beseeches him. "Please. Do you trust me?"

His head shoots up and he stares out through the glass once more at her. "You know I do."

"Then please," she begs, her voice wavering. "Please... come out. I'll get you to safety, they won't find you. We'll come back when this all dies down. Please, Dolph!"

Even he winces as her voice grows in pitch, finally nodding. "Alright, Vickie. I'll... I'm coming out." He doesn't glance in my direction again, quickly walking towards the locked door. Obviously his interest in me has passed; all I can hope is that Mike does have his suspicions about who had me and where and will find me soon. As I listen to the locks being unlatched one at a time is that, I realize that, as bad company as Dolph really was, it was better than being in this cold, dark room all alone.

XXXXXXX

I feel like freedom is within my grasp, Vickie only feet away as I unlock one, two, three locks. I wonder what paranoid soul set this door up, before shrugging the pointless thought away. It had helped my cause, after all, gave me some peace of mind while I tried to think through what I'd do next with everything slowly falling apart around me. I had known since seeing Vickie with Miz and Zack that time was slipping through my fingers, though the fact that my plans weren't going to end the way I would've wanted had been becoming more and more obvious since Sheamus had seen my face. There had been too many mistakes and I had no doubt that Punk knew it was me, as well.

Now, with Vickie coming to collect me, the need to think things through was taken from me, my trust in her regained. I know she'll keep me safe, get me out of this mess I'd caused. Finally the door clicks open and I leave the abandoned storage building, breathing in the cool evening air as I step out onto the hard concrete.

She's waiting for me, her dark eyes gleaming in the street lights. Her arms reach out for me as I turn and walk towards her, lips tugging upwards as I wait to be embraced by the only real friend and confidante I have in this messed up, warped business. "Vickie," I breathe out, only a few steps away from her when her face tightens, her hands dropping a few inches. I barely have a second to comprehend this sudden change when I register a presence behind me, muscular arms wrapping around my neck and throat, restraining me. I struggle, reaching out for my manager. "V- Vickie," I choke, trying to break out of the hold. "Vickie!"

She looks at me sadly, shaking her head as she takes a step back reluctantly. "I'm sorry, Dolph."

XXXXXXX

I'm standing nearby with the security guard as we wait and listen. The plan is fairly simple, not even Zack Ryder able to mess it up. I peek out as Dolph sneaks out of the building, reaching out for Vickie, unaware as Zack sneaks up behind him, smoothly locking in a sleep hold. My gaze shifts to the door yawning open and I nudge the guard, quickly pushing away from our hiding spot behind the fence's gate, dashing over to where Alex has been held for the last few hours. I have no idea what I'm about to find, considering the condition of the last few guys, but it doesn't matter. A-Ri needs me, and that's enough.

The guard is behind me as I rush into the storage unit, waiting impatiently as my vision adjusts to the dark interior. I concentrate with my other senses as the other man pats the walls, looking for a working light switch. Why didn't we bring flashlights? I think, feeling ridiculously unprepared and stupid. "Alex, if you can hear me," I call out into the darkness. "I'm here, Dolph's being dealt with. You're safe. Can you say something?" I hear ragged breathing but I'm not sure if it's Alex or the somewhat out of shape security guard. Shaking my head, I hold my breath and focus on the sound. "Alex, please..."

"Mi- Mike," I finally catch the soft whisper. "Mike, he-help..." My eyes stinging with restrained emotions, I quickly sweep my hands out in front of me, trying to feel my way forward. There are various items of different shapes and sizes scattered around and the last thing I need is to get injured to the point that I can't be help to Alex from this point on, so I take great care not to trip over anything.

I'm still brushing various items away with my shoes when there's a click, exaggeratedly loud from lack of use, and light floods the room, the security guard and I both gasping as our eyes immediately start watering in response. "Crap," I grimace, rubbing my face with the hem of my shirt. When I can finally see again without the lights hurting my vision, I glance around hesitantly.

Alex is only a few feet away from where I'm standing, his own bloodshot eyes locked on me as he struggles to focus as well. My jaw dropping, I scramble towards him and grip his face, staring at him. "Are you ok?" I demand, looking the rest of him over. He looks dirty and tired, his arms trembling as he reaches up to tangle his fingers around my jacket. I realize he's sitting on a cold cement floor and frown, not spotting anything he can sit on until we can move him somewhere more comfortable and warm.

"I, I am now," he grimaces, his voice sounding rough. I wouldn't be surprised if he comes out of this with the worst cold possible. I stroke my fingers through his hair, smiling as he leans into my touch, his eyes fluttering shut. "Mike..."

I sigh, my hand falling to squeeze his. "You're gonna be fine," I promise softly, gently freeing his hand from my jacket. As he groans at the lack of contact, I shrug out of the extra layers and drape it across his shoulders, rubbing his arms briskly through the fabric. "Can you tell me what happened?"

XXXXXXX

"Don't hurt him!" I cry out, my voice not sounding like my own as Dolph's eyes begin losing their focus, his hand wavering as he still struggles to reach out for me.

"I'm not," Zack grunts. "He's just fighting really hard..." He shifts, his face now covered in Dolph's platinum hair at this new angle. "Just let go, Dolph. We're trying to save you from yourself here..." He tightens his hold once more and continues murmuring against his neck. "Come on, Bro. If we were ever friends..."

I'm not sure what gets through to him, if anything, but Dolph's struggles begin to slow only a few seconds later, his breathing stuttering as sleep overcomes him. His arm drops slowly, inches down to rest at his side and Zack eases down with him as he falls to his knees, the Long Island Loudmouth bracing him so he doesn't hurt himself while sinking into the hard concrete. I'm by their side within seconds, cupping Dolph's face as Zack drags him back to rest against his chest, waiting to drop the hold until he's sure he's completely unconscious. "I've got you," I whisper, rubbing gentle circles along both sides of his face. "I promise, you're going to be fine..."

XXXXXXX

I'm still sitting on the beach when my phone goes off, vibrating inside my pocket. I reach for it and blink, Mike's name flashing up at me. "Damn," I whisper, quickly answering it. "Hello?"

Heavy breathing blasts my eardrums for a moment and I'm about to hang up, disappointed at the blind dial that appears to have happened, when there's a faint "John?" on the other end that stops me short.

"Alex?"

"Yeah," the younger man says, sounding exhausted and in pain. "It's me."

I gape at the phone before putting it back against my ear. "Where are you? Are you- are you alright?" I want to ask more, so much more, but he's still breathing heavily and I decide to let him talk while he can.

"I'm... I think I'm somewhere near the arena," he struggles to explain. "Mike's here with me. I'm ok." He sounds anything but ok, my eyes rolling slightly at his old habit of acting fine to counteract Miz and my own ridiculous amount of drama over the past couple of years that we've all known each other.

"That's good," I say softly. "Can I talk with Mike for a second?"

"Sure."

There's a shuffling sound and I can tell instinctively when I have Mike. "Are you ok?"

"Not really," he mutters. "John, thank you. I don't think I would've gotten this far without Vickie and Ryder's help."

I press my fingers to the bridge of my nose, feeling worthless and lame at not being to help them directly. "How- I mean, what happened?"

As he goes into explaining quickly how he, Zack and Vickie all began working together to plan how to distract Dolph long enough to get Alex to safety, I stand and head for my apartment, an idea forming as I listen.

XXXXXXX

Dolph is still pressed against my chest, Vickie pacing in front of us with her hand fluttering against her mouth. For once the three of us are completely silent. She looks shattered, Dolph is still mostly out of it from the sleeper hold I had to ironically lock in on him, and I... I don't know what I am, it just doesn't seem like a good time to talk although my thoughts are running a million miles an hour.

What started this really? Was it my going after the US title that sent him down this path, or something else that none of us could've foreseen? My thoughts are finally, thankfully derailed as Dolph groans faintly, his hair tickling my collarbone as he shifts, eyes fluttering. Vickie immediately drops down next to him, cupping his face once more. "Dolph? Dolph, can you hear me?" she asks, pointedly keeping her voice low and soothing for once. "Can you open your eyes?"

He squirms and finally sighs, looking up at her. "Vickie? What..."

Her fingers tighten against his jaw as she sniffs loudly. "Dolph, what were you thinking?"

He looks dazed and confused as she cries over him, finally sensing my presence enough to look over his shoulder. "Zack?" For a brief moment he sounds more like my former friend than the #heel he had become in recent months.

"Yeah, bro, I'm here."

He shakes his head, growing even more confused. "Why though?"

I'm about to answer when Vickie shakes her head warningly at me so I clamp my mouth shut, choosing for once to just listen. "What do you remember, Dolph?" she asks softly, rocking back on her heels to stare down at him despite not releasing her grip on his face, as if scared to let go of him.

He takes a shuddering breath, frowning up at her. "I think..." He peers around and catches sight of the building just off to the side. "Wait, I... Alex Riley-"

"Miz has him," I offer helpfully, ignoring the warning glare Vickie shoots my way. "He's gonna be fine, bro." I haven't seen him, but I hear Mike murmuring through the door a few feet away so I assume that everything's as alright as it can be on that front, which is a relief for a number of reasons.

He nods distantly, focusing back on Vickie's question. "I remember... wanting change." He sucks in a deep breath. "I, that's all I wanted. I wanted to fix what went wrong."

"What do you mean?" she asks carefully, her eyes welling up with tears once more as he looks wearily ahead, seeming so unlike himself that it leaves a weird, gnawing ache in my chest as well.

"Do you ever think about what could've happened if the walkout hadn't been abandoned so quickly?" he asks out of the blue, startling both of us. "If more people had been involved, had actually stuck around and not just returned to their positions as soon as Laurinaitis was named acting General Manager? He's no better than HHH, if anything things are worse under his command."

"That's why you've been attacking people?" Vickie asks, hands dropping from Dolph's face to flutter against her lips as she pieces the puzzle together. "Sheamus, Orton... Mason Ryan... Dolph, God... They were all people not at the walkout, right?"

He smiles at her, his eyes twinkling under the dark night sky. "Of course you would get it, Vickie. When no one else would..."

The conversation comes to an abrupt halt as there's a commotion behind us, Mike and the security guard slowly helping Alex walk from the building. They all freeze upon realizing that Dolph is awake and staring right at them, Alex paling even further as Miz shifts his grip, making sure the younger man is steady on his feet. "You better have him," he snaps at me, glaring distrustfully down at all of us.

XXXXXXX

My head lulls back as I relax, so so glad to be back home in Florida, the warm evening air brushing against my skin and slowly drawing me back to reality and warming me up after the time I'd spent in that abandoned building in Washington DC.

Mike is driving my car, glancing over at me worriedly every now and again. I can feel his eyes on me, but I'm too languid and stuck in the moment to respond or ease his fussing in the slightest.

The night before and this early morning is stuck in my mind, playing on a loop, despite how out of it I had been for parts of it.

After Zack had confirmed having Dolph, Mike had moved quickly away from him, drawing me along with him. He pushed me towards an uncomfortable stone square beneath a street lamp, urging me quietly to sit. As I followed his command, he began examining me, tsking over the few visible bruises along my face from the couple of times Dolph had taken the steel pipe to me.

There's a bump just barely hidden by my hair, probably from when I had been knocked out, and he winced sympathetically when he'd found it, my eyes squeezed shut as soon as his fingers brushed against it. "Sorry, sorry," he whispered, rocking back on his heels.

He insisted we go to the ER, and I go, mostly to keep him calm, and they confirm what I already knew. Thankfully mild concussion, cuts and bruises, cracked ribs, and small abrasions on my skull from when I impacted the wall. They give me a mild painkiller for the headache and send me on my way with some instructions to Mike on what to look for overnight.

Neither of us liked staying in DC longer than we needed to, considering, but we didn't have many options by the time we'd gotten out of the hospital. I figured Miz was pleased anyway because it meant he could keep an eye on me in the quiet privacy of a hotel room instead of on a redeye or in an airport. Even so, we barely ended up sleeping a few hours before Mike's alarm clock started echoing through the room, waking him up immediately. I was quick to follow as he carefully shook me awake to explain that the first flight to Florida would be leaving soon.

After we packed and he fussed over my injuries once more, testing my awareness like we see in TV shows a lot- "You're holding up two fingers, Mike. Yes I'm sure, can we go now?"- we finally left, Mike refusing to allow me to carry my things just down the hall to the elevators. To keep the peace, I let him do whatever he had to to ensure we made it to the airport without causing more of a scene.

So now we're here, and I'm already relaxing a little bit, but even though it's home, the same old streets I drive every time I come back from a tour or media event aren't as comforting as they usually are. I'm still tense and watchful, despite Mike's steadying presence next to me. I'm so lost in my thoughts I barely even realize he's staring at me until he asks, "Are you alright?"

Snapping out of it briefly, I blink at him. "Oh. Yes, I'm fine," I say quietly, peering back out of the windshield. "Just... thinking."

"About anything in particular?"

I shake my head for a minute, before realizing that I'd never kept anything serious from Mike before. The disappointed look on his face leaves me uncomfortable and I swallow. "It's just... I... why me? Why those other guys? Why now?" My memories from the night before are scattered; I remember something about the walk out from last October, but none of it really makes sense in the morning light. I need answers.

The car starts to slow and I think for a minute that maybe Mike is pulling over so we can talk but I realize that, no, we're pulling into my driveway, the car idling as he brakes close to the garage and fiddles with the keychain, making it click against the wheel obnoxiously. We're finally really home.

My questions go unanswered as we slowly drag ourselves from the car and collect our things, Mike still unwilling to let me carry much of anything. I frown at his back as I follow him to the door, sighing in exasperation as he puts everything down on the steps and pulls out my keys from his pocket. So he has those too, and probably my wallet as well. I grimace at not having my things on me but shrug it off as he unlocks the door, stepping aside so I can go in first.

Paranoia has kicked in since everything last night so I notice little things- like, a line of sneakers I leave by the door are out of order. The scent of something having been cooked recently is wafting out into the hallway, and a light's on. I can see its glow from the living room. I start to worry that someone's here to finish the job- maybe Vickie and Zack lost track of Dolph, or Swagger was in on it from the start, or... My thoughts are halted when Mike walks up behind me, resting his hands on my shoulders. "Alex," he says tightly. "Breathe, dammit. Breathe. You're fine." I wonder when my focus is ever going to return to me as I notice that I'm all but hyperventilating, my hands clenched at my sides. "Look at me," he orders, cupping my jaw as he shifts around till he's standing in front of me. "Look at me." When our eyes finally lock, he smiles hesitantly. "I'm sorry, ok? I should've told you, I thought it'd be a good surprise. I wasn't thinking, obviously. Listen, John's here. I explained where you hide your spare key at so he could get in, since he insisted on coming. I think he got on a flight before we even contacted him to say we had you and you were safe."

I'm surprised- Mike and I have been friends a long while, almost two years, and John and I get along fine, especially in the last six months or so, but for him to actually take time from his own life just to come across the country and see for his own eyes I'm alright? It's humbling and soothing all at once, to know that people care this much about me. Especially in such a cut throat business we're all in.

Mike squeezes my shoulders once my breathing has returned to normal and slips past into the hallway, looking around at the quiet, dark house. "JOHN! Where are you? God, did you get kidnapped or something?" He looks over his shoulder at me, freezing as soon as the words slip loose, but I just smile, used to and unaffected by his usual speaking-before-thinking tendencies.

"Classy as ever, Miz," Morrison groans a minute later as he leans against the doorway to the living room, looking groggy and uncharacteristically unkempt. We've shared rooms in the past, so I should be used to that as well, but I still end up amused by either of them when their hair's not quite perfect. His gaze sharpens, his stance more straight as soon as he spots me. "Alex, hey man. You alright?"

"Yeah," I nod, licking my lips anxiously. Despite my profession, I hate being the center of attention like this and just want to go sleep for a few hundred hours, forget the attack, and being held in that dark, dank room for so long... But with how Mike's still fussing, I doubt it'll happen for awhile. Until, that is, I notice the former Dirt Sheet hosts exchanging glances, holding some kind of silent argument that only friends or rivals or, in this case, both could maintain with any kind of accuracy. When they both turn to stare at me, I fidget, nervous. "What?"

John smiles as Mike sighs. "Look, we're all wiped out. How about you go get some sleep, John and I will do the same, and we'll figure things out after that, alright?" When I hesitate further, Mike's eyes soften. "We'll just be down the hall, Alex. You'll be fine, we'll hear anything that happens. In fact, you should probably sleep with a light on, if you think that'll help."

"He's right," Morrison agrees. "You need sleep, A-Ri. No offense but you look like crap."

I roll my eyes at him. "Fine, fine. I don't know what I have foodwise around here but you're welcome to whatever you want and there's menus for nearby places that deliver if-"

"Alex!" both men interrupt me in exasperation, glancing at each other for a moment before turning to face me. "Stop playing host!" Mike orders as John follows up with a much calmer, "Go to bed already, Alex. We'll be fine."

I shrug, too wiped out to argue, and follow their commands, immediately sinking into a deep sleep the moment my head hits my pillows.

When I wake up again, it's dark and I panic momentarily, thinking maybe everything before had been a dream, that I had woke up back in that abandoned storage shed that Ziggler had held me in, but before I can really do or say anything, I freeze as the sound of a door clicking open echoes in the room. "Damn, it's dark in here," Morrison's whisper eases my tension.

"Didn't I tell him to turn a light on?" Miz's equally soft, annoyed, mutter makes me smile a little, comforted even further as I realize it wasn't a dream. There's another click and I can see a soft, yellow glow beneath my closed eyelids as the two men walk further into my room quietly.

"He was probably too worn out to do anything but collapse," John surmises, speaking a little louder now, probably because they're closer to where I'm laying.

"I guess." Mike reaches out and gently brushes his fingers through my hair, hesitating near where Dolph had slammed my head into the wall. "Hey, Alex, you awake?"

I make a face, unsurprised that Mike knows me too well to think I'd ever sleep through all of that, and squints an eye open at them. "What?"

He chuckles, looking at Morrison knowingly. "Told you." He drops down onto my bed, shifting backwards until I scoot over to make more room for him. "We have some stuff to tell you."

"About Dolph?" I ask lowly as John sits crosslegged on the edge of the bed, looking like the smallest movement from either Mike or I would send him toppling onto the floor.

"Yes," he says quietly, Mike nodding.

"I'm not sure how aware you were when we were getting you out of there," Mike takes back over, "but Zack Ryder and Vickie Guerrero had a hand in us even finding you."

"I think I remembering seeing them," I hedge, sitting up a little. "Um. What happened with Dolph anyway?"

"We talked with Zack, Vickie, and both Laurinaitis and HHH," Morrison speaks up. "They all confirmed- Dolph basically snapped, Vickie pushed for it and H and Laurinaitis agreed; he's been admitted to a psych hospital, they're gonna examine him for a few days, and take it from there... but I don't think you'll have anything to worry about for awhile."

I take a deep breath, digesting all of this. Shaking my head, I rub my fingers along my temples, trying to ease the headache that's growing once more. The bed shifts as both men get up, Mike towards the bedside table and John out of the room. "Here, Alex," he whispers when he returns a couple minutes later, holding a bottle of water out to me. Mike holds out a painkiller to me as soon as I have a hold on it and they linger nearby as I take the medicine, sinking back against the pillows to wait for it to work.

"Why though?" I finally ask, keeping my eyes closed so I can ignore the pain easier. "Why did he do all of this? What made him snap?" I can tell without looking that they're exchanging a glance, both reluctant to explain. "Come on, someone tell me or I'll call Zack or Vickie myself."

Mike sighs helplessly before explaining slowly, his voice little more than a monotone. "Dolph's talked... a little... about it all. By what Vickie's gotten out of him, he felt that at least part of his career's slump since losing the US title could be blamed on the failed walk out last fall, that if people had held out a little longer, things wouldn't be like they are right now."

As Mike's voice drifts off, I think quickly, going through the guys who'd been attacked. "The people he attacked... they all weren't at the walkout," I realize with shock.

"Right," John says softly. "So he blamed them. His plan started to fall apart though, when Sheamus managed to fight back and recognized him. Dolph couldn't risk him telling anyone so he took him out..."

"Then when you interrupted his beat down of Punk, it was basically the final straw. What little grip on reality he had left failed, and, well, you know what he did then."

I nod somberly. "Yes. I do." I tense slightly, trying not to dwell on the memories, when the bed squeaks, Mike leaning forward enough to rest his hand on mine and squeezing in a rare show of affection. "But I'm gonna be alright," I say slowly, forcing my eyes open once more to rest on the two closest friends I've gained in this business since first starting on NXT almost two years ago.

"Damn straight," Mike nods fiercely. "We'll make sure of that, Dolph won't dare to get within five feet of you."

"Vickie will probably make sure of that too, to ensure her investment," Morrison agrees with a small, pained smirk. "Zack will probably want to keep an eye out on you too, since I can't do a lot from LA."

Mike looks like he's been punched as John's words register with him, blanching guiltily as he turns to look at his former tag partner. "Sorry, I forgot for a minute-"

"It happens, man. I forget sometimes still too," he says easily, brushing it off despite the tension in his shoulders. "Don't worry about it."

"So," I finally say a few minutes later, relieved that I can now move around a little more without feeling like my head's about to fall off. "How long are you going to make me stay here, Mike?" I motion around my bedroom with a slight grin which grows as Miz rolls his eyes, glowering at me.

"He must be feeling better if he's giving you grief, Mother-hen Mike," Morrison comments, grinning too.

"Bah, you two would be lost without me," the former world champion huffs, glaring at us both with his arms crossed over his chest.

We exchange a glance, both unable and disinterested in arguing the point. "True enough."

When he stops looking like he wants to kick us both out of my house, John ducks out quickly to find something we'd all agree on to order for food since I have literally no groceries that sound at all appetizing around, and Mike scoots up to sit next to me while we wait, leaning against the pillows. "How are you really feeling?"

"The painkillers help," I say honestly, shrugging. "I'm a little rough around the edges, I guess, but I'll be alright in a day or two." I take a deep breath, relaxing as Mike's arm brushes against mine every time he breathes in, the contact helping ground me even more. "Knowing Dolph is nowhere nearby and won't be for quite awhile helps a lot."

He nods slowly. "Yeah, I bet. Look, I... I have something to tell you."

I watch as he nervously brushes his fingers across his arms as if he's cold. "What, Mike?"

He turns to look at me, his eyes tired and a little... guilty? "Look, I really hate myself for this now but for a little bit... I don't know why, exactly, but I suspected maybe you did this. I know it's stupid, but... I don't know, it's hard to know who to trust sometimes, there's been quite a few times in the business where people think they can trust someone just to live to regret it. I... If I hadn't been stupid, I could've started looking for you sooner." He sighs before continuing on, eyes stubbornly locked on the bedding. "I'm sorry it took me so long to find you, I just... wasn't sure where to look for awhile, but once Sheamus woke up, it all came together..."

"Sheamus woke up? That's good," I say honestly, trying to wrap my mind around his other words. I would like to say his suspicions of me didn't hurt, but it does. I hadn't doubted for a second that Mike wasn't involved in this. Even so, I let him off the hook. He had found me in the end, and that's the important thing. "Don't worry about it, Mike, really," I tell him. "I think everyone was doubting everyone this past week, and with the year you've been having, I don't blame you for wondering." Letting it drop, I ponder everything else he had said. Even though most of us don't really know or like each other well, I can't help but feel sympathetic towards the others who have also been attacked by Dolph. "What about Punk?"

Mike's face darkens and he shakes his head. "Oh, yeah, that jackass will be just fine." He stares at me moodily as I raise an eyebrow at him, not understanding his anger. "He knew, ok? He knew who attacked him, who took you, but he kept quiet at first because he wanted to get his shots in on Ziggler himself. If it had been up to him, well... I might not have found you at all."

"Mike, you can't think like that," I finally find my voice, unable to wrap my head around some of the warped mindsets we work with. "It worked out, Sheamus woke up, told you what you needed to know, and here I am. I'm fine, I'm safe, and that's the important part. You didn't give up on finding me, and that means a lot, Mike."

He doesn't say anything for a long while and I start to worry, wondering how HHH and Vince and the rest would react if another of their top stars would have a mental break right now, but finally he nods, licking his lips. "I know you're right. It's just a lot to take in at once, and I wasn't even the one locked in that room for hours with a demented freak."

The tension in the room is finally broken when Morrison returns with three plates, each with a different sized plastic container on top. "Who's hungry?" He smirks as we both light up, hurrying to hand out our portions before we take them from him by force. I have meatloaf and mashed potatoes, while Miz has a cheeseburger and fries. I can't really see John's from this position but it looks- and smells- like a grilled chicken sandwich surrounded by mixed vegetables.

I pause while eating to look at the other two, eyes softening as I once again feel so thankful for being here, for having friends who would go so far to find me, and travel cross-country to see for himself that I'm alright. "Guys? Thanks," I say sincerely once they're looking at me, knowing that nothing I do or say, no matter how many times or ways I try, will ever reveal just how much it all has meant to me. "For everything."

"You're welcome," they say together, smiling at me. I may be delusional but as we slowly return to eating our meals, I can't help but think they have some idea of how I'm feeling after all.