A/N: In July 2010, Miz won Money in the Bank. This idea was born from it, and even though initially it was only supposed to continue on until Miz cashed in his briefcase, I grew more and more attached to the story in the nineteen weeks that I spent on it. So when readers suggested I continue it past that point, I was an easy sell. It's now on its 26th chapter and, in honor of the upcoming chapter 30, I've decided it was finally time to upload the story to FFN. I will be posting a chapter a day (Today you get three because I'm a little behind) until February 9th, then there'll be a chapter a week. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this story.
It was barely twenty four hours ago. His head is still swimming with the fact that the red briefcase which his hands are clutching is all his.
As much as he enjoys being US champion, the briefcase opens up new possibilities- with a world title at the end of it all. Something he has been working harder at since Sheamus came out of nowhere and won the WWE title- a fellow competitor who had gained notice on ECW and quickly moved to Raw and the main event, a fact that makes Miz sick. He's been derailed by many things on the way but now he's determined to make it to that brass ring that has always seemed so far away from him.
It seems a good time to let this be known when Sheamus is in the ring going on about his truce with the Nexus so it's almost a relief when "AWESOME" blares through the arena, interrupting the thick Scottish brogue that Miz generally has to force himself to focus on just to understand a single word coming out of the man's mouth. After he mocks his accent a bit and even quotes Police lyrics- which probably goes over a lot of the audience's heads, not to mention Sheamus'- he's finally face to face with the enraged world champion. "I can hold any title I want, be it the US title, Unified tag titles, the world title, anytime I want because I'm the Miz and I'm... awesome!" He's just finished talking when the lights flicker and that obnoxious GM email sounder echoes through the arena, followed by buzz from the audience.
"If I could have your attention, please!" Michael Cole calls, quickly walking over to the stand the laptop resides on.
Miz huffs, as if this couldn't get more annoying, and alternates between watching Sheamus and Cole as he reads off the email. "Our anonymous GM says, Miz, if you want a chance to cash in your Money in the Bank, you better get ready- you have a match next!"
Miz scoffs in disbelief as Sheamus laughs at him, hiking up the WWE title higher on his shoulder before heading to the back, not even bothering to hang around and watch.
Miz turns and watches as Cole talks seriously with Justin Roberts for a few moments, obviously explaining the match to him. The longer the explanation takes, the more dread Miz feels. When Cole looks over at him, he looks almost sympathetic- considering he's been pro-Miz since the whole Daniel Bryanson nonsense, this only makes Miz worry all the more about what the Email GM has in store for him.
When Justin joins Miz in the ring, Mike storms up to him. "What's the match?" he demands, voice low and dangerous. "What is it?"
Justin coughs awkwardly but shakes his head. "I have to announce it to the audience, Miz, I can't tell you. I'm sorry."
Mike's lip curls in disgust as he scoffs at the ring announcer. As Justin begins to talk, he paces from one turnbuckle to the other, kicking at the mat randomly as he goes.
"The next match is a gauntlet match!" Justin says, stopping Miz in his tracks as he goes for a second trip around the ring.
"WHAT?" he demands, eyes bugging out. "No!"
Justin looks uncomfortable at his outburst but continues talking anyway, each word making it all the worse for Miz. "By order of the General Manager, if The Miz loses to any of his competitors tonight, the match ends and he must compete with the victor for the Unified tag team titles. Refusal of these terms means he will be unable to cash in the Money in the Bank briefcase. However if he defeats all three opponents, the briefcase is once more his to do with as he sees fit."
Mike gapes at him in disbelief. "WHAT?" He's sore from the match last night and now this... "Fine!" He's not really ready to compete, physically or emotionally, but he does what he can to prepare with only moments to spare, his distraction evident as he looks up at the ramp before handing over the briefcase, barely watching as his greatest achievement thus far in the WWE is put safely behind where the timekeeper sits.
He looks a little more confident as Break the Walls Down begins to play. Jericho was also in Money in the Bank, not to mention the #1 contendership match earlier in the evening, and must be just as- if not more- sore as he feels right this moment. The match starts off slow, Miz reluctant to get too close too soon and Jericho obviously taking his time with deciding how best to go after Miz. A few loose holds, some power struggles, and it's almost obvious when Chris grows tired of stalling- attacks with a perfect enziguiri that Miz almost envies before he's ducking to avoid getting his head taken off and follows up by sweeping Jericho's feet from under him.
Once he's down, Miz slips behind him, working on wrenching his head back and digging his fingers of one hand in anywhere he could grab, his legs wrapping around Chris' torso. He uses his free hand to focus the bulk of his attention on stretching and wrenching the arm that Jericho was being careful of during his earlier match. He tires of that after awhile and kicks the older man a time or two in the ribs, knowing that every man he beat last night has to be feeling it there especially. He's about to pull Jericho up when something shifts- the next thing he knows, he's down on the mat and Jericho is on top of him, punching and yelling hoarsely. A moment later, he's left laying there, somewhat dazed by how fast it all happened, when something blocks out the bright lights overhead before crashing down on his chest, all of the air rushing out of him at once.
He gasps and sputters, rolling onto his side but it's not enough as Jericho grips his arm roughly and returns him to his back, quickly grabbing his legs and putting him into the Walls of Jericho. Pain spasms through his lower back as Chris tweaks it, lifting his legs high above where his head is resting on the mat. He's still trying to catch his breath despite the uncomfortable position he's now in, gasping and clawing at the canvas, the same thought echoing through his mind. No more distractions... no more distractions... His fingers inch and inch and inch and oh the bottom rope is just a fingertip away, he can almost feel it but Jericho's found his second wind apparently because he pulls Miz back out into the middle of the ring and reapplies the hold, shouting at the ref all the while. "ASK HIM!"
The ref is saying something but everything seems faded, inconsequential behind the fact that he can't breathe normally and his back feels like Big Show is jumping up and down on it repeatedly. His eyes flutter and he realizes in the process of moving him, Jericho has twisted him so he's staring at the announcer's table and, and, and the timekeeper's area. Where his briefcase waits for him to reclaim it, use it to win the Heavyweight title, something he's worked for since before he first arrived in Tough Enough years back. He sputters around a breath, his awareness returning in one fell swoop, and he wills his body to do what he needs it to do. He forces himself up on his elbows, alleviating some of the agony to his back and one quick twist of his hips later, Jericho's hands slip as he's thrown off. He's free.
He scrambles away as Chris stands, a look of annoyance on his face, and the two men stare at each other for a minute. The unified tag team championships holds a lot of bad memories for them both- between Miz losing his big Wrestlemania moment a few years back to the Colons of all things, and all of the drama for them both with Big Show, then their own failed attempt at winning the tag titles. He thinks the general manager is a demented person, putting them both in this situation, and he dreads seeing who his other two opponents will be, though he has some idea.
But for now he has to beat Jericho and get one step closer to reclaiming his briefcase with no strings attached. Forcing himself back to his feet feels like fresh torture but he manages it just as Jericho lunges forward, obviously gearing up for a codebreaker to end it. Mike is nowhere near full strength so he's never sure afterward how he finds the energy to keep his face from being driven into Jericho's knees and, after a few seconds of scrambling to hold on, slam Jericho down hard on the mat. He's in enough of a daze that the pin that follows feels more like a dream, only comes to when he rolls off of Jericho and the referee raises his hand in victory. How am I going to get through two more of these? he thinks with a pang of dread, catching his breath as quick as he can as another referee runs down to help an unbalanced Chris to the back so the second match can begin.
The sounds of Radio filling the arena makes his eyes slip closed. He's wrestled against and with Zack Ryder a time or two- kid's not a lightweight but his second match could've been someone much worse. He thinks about who his third opponent will probably be and grits his teeth, determined not to dwell on it until he has to. As Zack poses on the top rope, holding his hands out in the LI shape towards the audience, he takes a minute to think. Would it be smarter to throw it now? Zack and I make an ok tag team, I guess... but I really don't want to take that step backwards. I need to be focusing on the world title. He watches on, eyebrows drawn down as Zack jumps down onto the mat and grins cockily at him. Ugh. Decision made, he waits in a defensive position as Zack rids himself of his headband.
When they lock up, it's obvious that Zack has a lot more energy- he didn't have a match last night, after all. Miz scrabbles for control, already sweating anew as Ryder pushes back. Ok, I have to finish this quickly, he thinks desperately, breathing heavily out of his nose. After a few moments of being at a standstill, Ryder gains control and clotheslines him to the mat, smirking as Miz grabs at his still tender back. "Woo, woo, woo!" he yells from overhead.
Why do I always get the loud, obnoxious guys? Miz thinks ironically, forcing his eyes open as Zack pulls him to his feet and slams him into the turnbuckle, drawing more breath from him. He tries to move but is a bit too slow as Zack grabs him by the shoulders and drags him back to the middle of the ring, going for a Rough Ryder. Propelled a bit by Ryder's forward motion, he manages to turn things around and reverse the move into a Skull Crushing Finale.
He remembers this pin, as each breath he chokes down while holding Ryder's shoulders to the mat feels like a new possibility. He barely manages to roll away from Ryder when his relief at getting this far is hindered by remembering... his third opponent has yet to appear. Struggling to his feet, fighting to once again catch his breath- and Oh God, his ribs, his back, his everything is starting to throb, which will make NXT tomorrow a real delight, but that's not important at the moment, he'll think about this later- he leans against the turnbuckle and sucks in deep breaths, waiting with his eyes locked on the titantron.
He's known as soon as the gauntlet was announced who at least one of his opponents would be, only fate could be so annoyingly cruel a mere twenty four hours after being so rewarding. And of course it would've been the third and final. As Ain't No Make Believe begins and the audience reacts as they always do, he drops all signs of weakness as best as he can, standing up straight and trying to even out his breathing as John Morrison heads to the ring, stopping only long enough to give a kid his sunglasses.
It doesn't surprise him that Morrison doesn't look thrilled either as he enters the ring but a long buried part of Miz wonders briefly if it's because of the possibility of them tagging together once more... or because Miz is so trashed from the first two matches and Money in the Bank that it's far from a fair fight... or maybe a bit of both. As soon as the bell rings, he forces all thoughts from his mind and focuses on his opponent, who doesn't seem in any hurry to lock up or do anything, just standing across the ring from him, a vaguely uncomfortable look on his face.
All this does is annoy Miz, who wants this over with as soon as possible, so he motions angrily to Morrison. "What are you waiting for, huh?" he yells, leering as the goody-two-shoes shakes his head, a stoic look returning to his face. Morrison inches closer as Miz keeps a sharp eye on him, almost worried that if he tries to move too much too fast, his legs would give out on him and where would he be then? He finally risks a step and walks right into a kick from Morrison that slams into his shoulder and he coughs, almost collapsing right then and there. None of this is fair, by any stretch of the imagination, and Miz thinks it's only his anger at the whole situation that's keeping him on his feet as he takes an almost blind swing at John, hitting thin air. "Dammit!" he yells hoarsely, once more almost falling down.
Morrison grabs him, stopping his downward momentum, and for a minute he's confused, thinking his former tag partner is actually trying to help him. His betraying thoughts are quieted, however, as John pushes him back into the turnbuckle and presses him into the hard steel back there a minute before slinging him forward. His legs give out before he's even half way across the ring, though, and he slams into the mat, his arms and legs taking the brunt of the damage, a sick stinging across his flesh that feels a bit like a very bad rug burn. He feels moisture dripping around his eyes and tries convincing himself that it's just sweat but he's not sure anymore what a lot of things are.
Morrison returns into his vision, his arms wrapping around Miz's shoulders and he groans as he's lifted up and supported briefly, his many injuries stretched and pulled on. He wearily opens his eyes and blinks at Morrison, who's staring at him with an odd look on his face, before something impacts with his upper torso and drills him back into the mat. His eyes are open just enough to watch as Morrison climbs the top rope and he swallows a sigh, his eyes fluttering closed. He barely feels Starship Pain or the pin that follows, but somehow senses that they have. The bell ringing a moment later followed by conflicted noise from the audience collaborates his thoughts and he rolls his head to the side, eyes reluctantly reopening.
Morrison is standing a few feet away, obviously uncertain on what to do now. His fist clenches as he wants to get up and punch John in the face for ruining what should be the most fulfilling period of time in his life. Sad fact is he just can't move, his whole body aching and tired from his head to his toes. When Morrison kneels down by him, he glares viciously at him for a long moment. "What are you doing?" All he can think is why why why...
"Trust me, I didn't want this either," John says after a few moments of staring down at him, that conflicted, almost uncomfortable look back on his face. "We were all told if we didn't comply we would be suspended without pay. We didn't have a choice."
Miz finds the energy to slam his fist on the mat. "Join the club," he spits, trying to sit up. When hands reach out to attempt to aid him, he freaks out and almost knocks himself back onto the mat as he fights them off. "I don't WANT YOUR HELP!" he all but screams, uncertain if it's the ref or Morrison or both that he's just knocked away. It takes an embarrassing amount of time but he finally gains his footing and swallows as dizziness overtakes him. When his vision clears he focuses on the referee lingering in front of him. Spotting his briefcase in the man's grip, he grabs it and holds it close to him, huffing out desperate breaths as his injured torso struggles against the pain.
He finally gets himself under control and makes his way out of the ring, ignoring the referee as he holds the ropes open for him. He clings to the briefcase, using it like a lifeline, as he makes his way to the trainer's room. He doesn't bother waiting for Morrison.
He's not sure how much time goes by as he sits in a locker room, holding a bag of ice to his ribs and using the wall he's sitting against to press another to his back. The trainer's checked him over and let him go, with the command to ice everything that hurts (which... is everything) and come back to him if anything feels off. People are in and out but mostly they avoid him so it's not hard to figure out who it is when someone walks over and sits next to him. He doesn't even bother to look over, simply says, "I hate you."
"I know," Morrison responds almost instantly, sounding unsurprised.
"You're so fake," he mutters, pressing the ice into his abdomen so hard it makes the pain flare up anew. "Becoming friendly with everyone we used to mock, getting in good with the audience. It makes me sick."
"It's not like I'm the only one- we used to mock Jericho and Show and you teamed with them both."
He sniffs angrily. "That has nothing to do with anything. They were a means to an end. Look where I'm at now. What has you being friends with everyone done for you? Stuck on Raw, watching as I gather all the glory. I told you over and over it would be this way. If not for this General Manager crap, I would be world champion right now."
Morrison's face is still blank but Miz can tell his words are digging in deep as his once-former tag partner stands up. "Catch you later" is all he says before leaving the locker room tensely.
Somehow this just makes him feel worse.
