Morrison is picking at his pants, boredly scraping his fingernails against the sequins as he watches Raw. He has a match later in the evening but for now, he has nothing to do but wait. He's rolling his eyes at Sheamus on his throne when he senses more than hears Miz enter the locker room. Despite himself, he tenses up as footsteps come closer to him.

Mike says nothing, simply looks over his shoulder at the TV and Morrison reluctantly relaxes, his fingers now anxiously pulling at the sequins, loosening the strings and glue holding the intricate design to the fabric. After a few moments of stifling silence, his forced tag partner wanders off and John releases a soft breath, wondering why he hadn't said anything.

R Truth enters the room a few moments later and Morrison forgets the strange moment as they talk quietly about Sheamus and Morrison's opportunity later on, Truth rubbing his aching ribs in aggravation. Their discussion stalls as Miz is interviewed and says that he was thinking about the Summerslam team and that's why he didn't attempt to cash in for the world title that night.

"Ya think sometimes he's forgotten what the GM has ordered?" Truth asks with a huffed laugh, grimacing as his midsection protests.

"Only sometimes?" John asks, patting his friend on the back before getting up. "Gotta go get ready."

"Good luck," Truth calls after him and he waves, heading out of the room.

He's only a few steps past the door when Miz's voice startles him. "Notice Hart Dynasty isn't around tonight."

He stops short and clenches his fist at his side, trying to not react visibly. "So?"

"They're hiding from us," Miz says simply. "They know as soon as we go after the tag titles, it's over and done with. They won't win, couldn't possibly. As long as you don't screw up, that is."

John closes his eyes for a brief period before turning to face Miz, tension thrumming through him as he decides to drop the passive, "ignore it, it will go away" attitude he had been using since beating Miz to gain the dubious honor of being his tag partner weeks back. "If you want a chance at these titles, constantly putting me down won't help your cause any."

Miz's eyes flash. "Aw, is wittle Johnny's feelings hurt? Suck it up. This isn't daycare. I'm not catering to your needs. I'm only in this for the World title."

"And what am I in it for?" Morrison snaps back, unaffected by his words. "If the GM didn't threaten me with suspension, you'd be all on your own, Miz."

"It should be that way!" he exclaims, blue eyes almost gleaming with anger despite the gloom of the hallway as he stomps closer, glowering at John. "I don't want to be in a tag team, I'm beyond that now, but this GM's screwed with my plans royally so don't act like you're the only one who's being held down here. Besides it's not like you have any titles or future plans that are being delayed."

"Fine, it's your funeral," he says, frustration mounting. Rather than do something stupid- after all, the threat of suspension still hangs over his head if he doesn't handle this situation carefully- he gives up and pushes past Miz, heading for a quiet area to stretch before the match. Somewhere preferably where there isn't a monitor- he's seen enough of Miz for one night, he doesn't need to watch his match too.

He's barely able to focus as he walks down the ramp, lingering aggravation from his argument with Miz and tension from the last few weeks following him to the ring, so it's almost not a surprise a little later when he's staring up at the lights overhead, his back and neck throbbing from the RKO he was caught in moments earlier. As he struggles to sit up, he wonders how Evan Bourne shook off a similar RKO from a few weeks earlier, his hand rubbing futilely at his neck and upper spine.

The ref attempts to assist him to the back, trying to keep up as Morrison walks stubbornly towards the trainer's office, wanting only ice and some alone time which has been in short supply for him this evening.

He's almost to the door when he sees someone standing in front of it, arms crossed over his chest. What do I need to do to have one Miz-free hour tonight? he thinks despondently, raising an eyebrow at the man. "It's ok," he tells the hesitant referee who obviously feels the sudden tension in the air, based on the look on his face as he looks from wrestler to wrestler. "I can get inside on my own. Go do...whatever you have to do."

As the ref's footsteps fade away, the former tag champions stare at each other, Miz clutching his US title tightly as if afraid it'll run away from him. Morrison waits for a few moments but Mike doesn't even move so he shrugs. "Yeah," he mumbles, moving to brush past him into the trainer's room.

"Wait," Miz says finally, his fingers suddenly wrapping around Morrison's upper arm and stopping him. As John turns to face him, a snarky comment on his lips, Mike's fingers loosen slightly and he looks almost nervous, an emotion that generally is never visible on Miz at all. His words die away and he watches quietly as Miz shifts anxiously. "Listen. I was thinking..." He pauses, his eyes darting here and there- Morrison recognizes it as Miz's way of trying to decide how to word something he'd rather not say.

"Just spit it out," he says finally, perhaps a bit more brusquely than he intends to as his neck throbs anew at the awkward position he's standing in, caught midstep with Miz's hand still wrapped around his bicep, his head tilted towards his former friend.

"Thought about what you said," he says finally, looking up at Morrison. "If this is going to work, we at least need to be on the same page on something. Even if it's just getting this over with as soon as possible."

He hesitates, uncertain if he should believe in anything being said right now but something causes him to agree, however reluctantly. He knows they can't stay in this limbo of hatred and arguing forever, after all- not now. "Yeah, sure. What do you suggest?" he asks awkwardly when Miz's words die away.

"We should start traveling to shows together again."

John blinks. This is the first time they've really talked in a year and a half without anger suffusing every word, not to mention how strange it is for Miz to be touching him at all in a non-aggressive manner, and he's suggesting they travel together? He's tempted to slap his hand away and laugh in his face but that something once more makes an appearance and stops him. Despite the distance between them now, he can read Miz better than most still and there's a sort of sincerity behind his gaze, lurking beneath the annoyance and uncertainty that still remains. "Not share a hotel room," he says hesitantly, gauging his reaction.

"No, not that, just... riding to events together," he says simply, face twisting at the awkwardness of the whole situation.

Some tension fades from Morrison as he sighs, relieved that they're in agreement on the fact that at least traveling AND rooming together would be a bit too much. He supposes that's why he ultimately nods, Miz's hand slipping completely from his arm with his acceptance. "Fine. We'll try it for awhile. Ok?"

"Sure." Miz steps aside, allowing him into the trainer's room finally and he's got ice in sight when... "Maybe do something about the grizzly bear thing you've got going on... I can't be seen out and about with that..."

He groans, already regretting his decision.