A/N: Thank you, Candycane, for the review!
Tuesday, September 14th, 5:52 PM
Morrison frowns as he looks around his apartment. Despite his call to Teddy Long the night before, he's not heard from the man. The usual excuses that he's busy with Smackdown and dealing with the board of directors is starting to wear a little thin. He can't help but wonder if perhaps Miz is correct after all, that Teddy has no intention of helping them. He shakes his head, thoughtlessly thumping his hand against a table before going to train, desperate for a distraction.
Wednesday, September 15th, 2:17 PM
Miz yawns slightly as he gets into the taxi as soon as his bags are secured in the trunk. His head hurts a bit and all he wants is to sleep off the media events he's been busy with since the end of Raw. His eyes flutter closed before a thought strikes him, causing him to sit forward in the taxi as he ponders asking the driver to take him to Morrison's apartment, to see if Teddy's contacted him yet. Before he can vocalize the question, he shakes his head- I don't even know if he's home. His cell phone starts mocking him from where it's held in his jacket pocket but again, something stops him. He sighs as his home appears, welcoming and warm looking in the mid-afternoon LA sun. All thoughts of contacting John slip from his to-do list as he envisions his bed waiting inside.
Thursday, September 16th, 11:29 AM
The beach is mostly abandoned at this time of day, only a few older couples and young children with their parents playing or walking sedately along as Morrison quietly focuses on his breathing, letting the sounds of the birds and water lapping against the sand wash over him, easing the tension that's been following him around since Teddy began ignoring his calls. After awhile, his eyes blink open and he watches the landscape for awhile, hands making shapes in the sand at his feet. I should probably call Miz, he thinks. But... I have nothing to tell him, anyway. So what's the point? He sighs.
Friday, September 17th, 7:39 PM
Miz is sitting at a bar, slowly sipping at a beer. He'd normally go for something a little stronger but with Night of Champions inching closer, better safe than sorry, he figures. His phone is sitting a few inches from his hand where he can see it if it should vibrate, because the music and people talking loudly around him makes it impossible to hear it ring. He's about to pay for his beer and leave when it does start vibrating, clinking against his glass as he watches it. After a moment, he answers. "Hello?"
"Miz?" Alex Riley greets him, sounding a little weird. "Where are you? Can you turn on Smackdown?"
His lips downturned, he motions to the bartender. "Hey, can you turn one of these to My Network?" He motions distastefully to the multiple TVs streaming various sports channels, football and golf and other things that no one appears to be paying very much attention to. When the bartender looks reluctant, he pulls out a $50 and slips it to him, his curiosity piqued as Alex waits on the other end, his breathing loud in Miz's ear.
It takes the bartender an embarrassing amount of time to even find My Network and Miz rolls his eyes, ignoring the fact that he doesn't know the channel number for MNT either, tempted to clap mockingly at the man when he finally finds it- just in time for Miz to see Drew McIntyre and Cody Rhodes facing off against the Hart Dynasty. His face pales as he watches it, eyes glinting in anger. "A-Ri? Yeah, I'll call you later." He doesn't wait for a response, snapping the phone closed. Deciding that the $50 can cover his weak beer along with the bribe, he storms out and heads for his car, immediately dialing Morrison's number.
"Hello?" John asks after a few minutes, sounding breathless.
Probably training again, the idiot, Miz thinks angrily, wanting to punch something. "Are you watching Smackdown?"
"No, why?"
He sucks in a deep breath, pinching his nose as he slams his car door closed and slaps the steering wheel, briefly molified by the echoing sound that follows. "Teddy Long hasn't called you."
"No," Morrison hedges and Miz can almost see the confused frown on his face as he runs his free hand through his obnoxiously perfect hair. "What's going on?"
"Alex Riley had me turn on Smackdown. Drew McIntyre and Cody Rhodes are wrestling the Hart Dynasty right now."
"For the tag belts?" He sounds a little incredulous and it serves to make Miz even madder.
"I don't know! Probably! So much for your best friend, Teddy Long, helping you out!" he spits, tempted to throw his cell phone into the ocean.
John takes a deep breath and Miz twitches, wondering why people keep breathing into their phones like this. "Listen, just calm down. I'll try to figure this out and talk to you later," he says after a minute of tense, awkward silence.
"Wai-" Click. Miz looks in disbelief at his phone flashing that the call has ended before returning to his wallpaper, of course of himself holding the briefcase and US title. He glares for a minute, trying to picture the tag team titles- and maybe, if he's feeling charitable, Morrison- being a part of that picture and shakes his head. In this moment, it feels unreachable. "Dammit," he mumbles, slamming the phone down on his dashboard.
Saturday, September 18th, 3:28 PM
Morrison's spent almost twenty hours thinking and pondering. He has to leave for Chicago early the next morning and should be packing and doing other last minute errands but right now, all he can think about are ways to get an answer from Teddy. Emails and phone calls have gone unanswered, he's even called Michael Cole after digging around for his contact information. Cole is unhelpful with contacting the mysterious Raw General Manager, as always, but Morrison's not ready to give up yet.
"So much for your best friend, Teddy Long, helping you out!" he remembers Miz saying, his eyes closing in aggravation. Smackdown's General Manager and he barely talk and he thinks that it's the old Raw vs Smackdown bias causing the man to cut most contact with John since he's been drafted over; even though they don't have hard feelings, it's still not very helpful circumstances when in need of a favor.
He's still poking through a pile of paperwork, trying to get some idea of how to make things work out before tomorrow night when he remembers something, sucking in a deep breath. "Got it." He quickly brushes aside some sheets of paper and grabs his cell phone, dialing a number. "Hey, I need some more contact information. Yeah, I know, it's a Saturday. Can you help me out anyway? Night of Champions is tomorrow. Come on... I'll owe you big time." After a moment of focused listening, his face relaxes into a bright smile. "Thanks. Yeah, I need the number for..."
Night of Champions
Miz mumbles as he paces around the locker room, his hands tightly wrapped around both the US title and his briefcase as if afraid that both will disappear if he lets go for a split second. Tag match or no, there's a slight- miniscule, really- chance that he may lose the US belt and if he does, well, what then? The email GM has made it clear he has to hold both the US title and tag belts in order to cash in the briefcase... Daniel Bryan doesn't worry him but stranger things have happened. He sighs, pressing his flushed face against the wall as he tries not to dwell on the prospect of losing the belt now on top of not even having a tag title match. Things are falling down around him and he struggles not to panic.
"Miz?" Morrison's voice breaks into his thoughts as he stiffens. "You alright?"
Reluctantly he turns and stares at John, glowering as he watches him worriedly. "I'm just fine, John!" he snaps, eyes flashing angrily. "Why wouldn't I be? No tag team title opportunity, that loser Daniel Bryan thinking he's good enough to even step in the same ring as me and no chance in cashing in my briefcase when I want to! Yeah, I'm perfect!"
Morrison blinks, his lips twitching.
"Something funny about this to you? Huh? Are you trying to sabotage my chances? That's it, isn't it? You never called Teddy, that's why you never heard anything. Oh my God, why did I ever think a partnership with us would work again? Did I lose my mind?" he demands, pointing at Morrison.
"Miz-" John starts, his eyes widening as Mike pushes past him, sending him back first into a locker, the handle digging into his spine as he gapes.
"Stay away from me. God..." He's still mumbling as he grabs his duffle bag and leaves in a huff to get ready to face Daniel Bryan.
Morrison releases a sigh, rolling his eyes. "Show's over," he snaps at the smirking, murmuring guys who've witnessed the whole thing.
Bryan has more of a fight in him than Miz expects, it's almost enough to send him further off of his game, but he focuses his anger as best he can and succeeds in injurying his arm. He gets a sick kind of pleasure as he locks in a submission hold, tweaking Bryan's arm and shoulder viciously. Unfortunately he realizes a little too late that he's close to the ropes and Bryan hooks a foot quickly, breaking out of the hold after a very short period of time.
Alex Riley tries helping when it seems Bryan's about to get the LaBell Lock but when Miz scrambles free, Daniel sends him into the ropes and knocks Alex off of the apron to the floor. Aggravated, Miz grabs Bryan and sends him flying over the top rope onto the floor next to Alex. Riley's attempt at getting an advantage backfires when he runs towards Bryan just for the indy wrestler to duck, Riley running right into the post. Miz groans and immediately goes for Bryan's shoulder when he returns to the ring, kicks and punches and knees burying into his injured appendage as he tries to keep him down. Somehow it doesn't work and the next thing Miz knows, he's tangled up in the LaBell lock and his arm is throbbing as he tries to maintain his focus, desperation and agony making him thrash around as much as he can with Daniel's full body weight holding him down.
Nothing's working, the hold's unbreakable and Daniel's wrenching him back so viciously that his vision is swimming a little. "No," he groans, trying to hold on to the hope of maintaining his US belt, someday winning the tag belts and cashing out his briefcase to become world heavyweight champion. His hand is shaking, raising just a little above the mat. He thinks he can hear the audience around him holding their collective breaths, waiting for the tap and as much as it disgusts him, he's anticipating it too, just so the pain will stop ...when something stops him.
He blinks and looks ahead at the ramp, thinking he's seeing things. But... no. John Morrison stands a few feet from the ring, looking at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Something about his stance brings other things into focus for Miz, like how close the bottom rope actually is, and distracts him from the rest- such as the pain, and how Bryan keeps wrenching his body around, hungrily demanding the tap with each forceful move. He will not lose in front of John, not like this, never...
"No!" he repeats, a little stronger this time as desperate adrenaline pulses through his body, giving him the strength to lunge forward and wrap his fingers around the bottom rope. As the ref rushes forward, ordering Bryan to break the hold, his eyes lock with Morrison briefly. He looks almost... proud? Relieved? Not bothering to waste time dwelling on it, Miz twists around to stand facing Bryan and they glower at each other, confusion on the other man's face. He's obviously trying to figure out how Mike broke free when he was so weak moments earlier but it's enough as Miz lunges forward, a rough uppercut followed by a sweeping clothesline that pushes Bryan to the mat. He covers him but it's just for a quick breather as he kicks out at two, again. Miz is on his feet within seconds, feeling a little less dead-on-his-feet and grabs Bryan in a rough armbar, twisting him around so his forearm is pressed against his own throat. The Skull-crushing finale that follows is definite and so abrupt that the audience gasps as their precious Daniel Bryan is laid out for the three count.
Miz staggers out of the ring, clutching his US title with a startled gleam in his eyes. "What was that?" he asks, joining Morrison on the ramp.
"What was what?" his tag partner asks with an innocent shrug.
It takes an embarrassing amount of time for the usually overly verbose US champion to think of something else to say. "Why did you come out?"
John stops, his fists clenching and unclenching as he stares over at him intensely, and the audience quiets as they watch, waiting for the two men to come to blows or something. "I told you last week I'd be around if you needed me." That said, he walks up the ramp, ignoring the shocked look on Miz's face as he watches him.
"That jackass," he mumbles. "He used my anger towards him to insure I'd win..." He shakes his head in amazement. Even after a year and a half of distance and arguing, Morrison somehow still knows what works and what doesn't with him. It's almost... frightening? Freaky? He shakes his head. Nice...?
Miz feels a little better with the US title still safely against his shoulder, smirking at every wrestler who looks twice at him as he walks through the hallways, reveling in showing off his win. After all the doubt about who should've been the teacher and who should've been the student, this feels awesome. His smirk grows as Daniel walks past, a mulish look on his face, obviously ignoring Miz. He's about to turn and go into the locker room when someone clears their throat behind him. He blinks and turns to find John standing behind him, a ridiculously pleased look on his face. "Morrison? What're you-"
"Come with me for a second," he says, his lips twitching as he tries not to smile.
"What's going on?"
"Just come on," he insists, turning and walking off without another word.
Miz gapes after him before his natural curiosity wins out and he chases after him, bristling internally that Morrison knows something he doesn't. They arrive at the gorilla position in time to find a few of their fellow competitors hanging around. Miz looks unimpressed as he eyes Mark Henry and Evan Bourne. "John, what are we doing out here?"
"Look at the ring," he says.
Miz shifts to the side so he can see past the curtain and blinks. "Is that...?"
"Yeah, Usos versus Santino Marella and Vladimir Kozlov," Morrison affirms. "It's a tag team turmoil match. Five teams. Hart Dynasty already lost the tag belts to the Usos- there will definitely be new tag team champions after tonight."
Miz grimaces in annoyance as he looks once more at Henry and Bourne. "What options," he deadpans, causing Morrison to chuckle a little. "What does this have to do with-" Before he can finish his thought, the Usos finish off Santino and Kozlov and Henry and Bourne straighten up. "Are you kidding me? They're seriously in this match?" Once again, John grins as Cody's music plays.
Evan and Mark both look confused and whisper loudly to each other as Cody and Drew rush past Miz out to the ring, as if not expecting their cue. Miz frowns at a confident looking Morrison. "What do you have planned?" His easy grin in response does little to ease Miz's hatred of not knowing what's going on.
The Usos lose to Cody and Drew quickly and Miz hmphs, eyeing Evan and Mark as they once more head towards the gorilla. "Hey, playas, hold up a minute," Teddy's voice cuts into the tense silence.
Miz stiffens at that sound, his anger growing as he looks up at Smackdown's general manager. He's on his feet before he even thinks about what he wants to do. "Hey, Teddy-"
John intercepts him though and pushes him back down on the crate he was sitting on. "Just listen for once, Mike." It's the first time he's used his first name in awhile and that more than anything makes Miz's mouth clack shut as he watches Long stand between Evan and Mark.
"Change of plans, playas. Sorry to say a tag team match has already been promised to Miz and Morrison, they'll get their chance right now. I'll see what I can do for y'all later on. Sorry about this."
Miz thinks with annoyance that he'll probably grant them a tag team match tomorrow night before his brain processes what was just said. "Wait, are you serious?" He looks to Morrison, who's now grinning fully, nodding. "You- you planned this from the beginning!" he gasps, pushing Morrison back a few steps.
John just laughs, not offended. "Surprise."
"God I hate you," Miz mutters, his head spinning with the news. He did this for me, even after I accused him of trying to sabotage me. Damn...
"Hate me later," he says calmly. "We have tag belts to win right now."
The audience buzzes as Morrison's music plays and... Miz comes out with him for the first time in over a year. Somehow, it just feels right as he smirks at the crowd, brandishing his US title and briefcase at them all.
Morrison kicks off the match, facing off with Cody Rhodes. This reminds Miz of their last match up with these two and before the action can begin, he nudges Morrison. "Keep your eye on them," he says simply before stepping out onto the apron.
"You too," John responds, nodding. He quickly shifts into his fighting position, waiting for Cody to do something. Cody's first punch is dodged as Morrison ducks and whips him into the corner opposite of Miz, kicking him in the abdomen. Cody staggers out when the referee demands separation between the two, giving Cody time to recover. Morrison barely has time to get the ref out of the way when Cody's on top of him, punching him like there's no tomorrow. He finally gets some distance, reversing it so Cody's back is to the turn buckle and punches him, sending him back first into the corner. Cody staggers towards Drew but Morrison snaps off a quick kick to the back of his head, sending him face first into the mat.
John steps back as the ref goes to check on Cody and heads over to Miz, tagging him in. Mike's still a little sore from wrestling Bryan but his arm feels better than it did directly after the LaBell lock so he rounds on Cody, looking like a predator going after its downed prey. He takes a perverse kind of pleasure digging his heel into Cody's back with each kick that he offers the younger man, smirking as Cody struggles to attack Miz with desperate kicks of his own. The ref intercedes after awhile and Cody scrambles over to Drew, quickly tagging him in. Miz shrugs as the taller man faces off with him, an aggravated look on his face. "Those tag belts are ours," the Scottish man yells over at him but he just grins, infuriating him further. "What are you smiling at?" he demands, punching him squarely in the jaw.
Miz licks his lip experimentally, blinking up at Drew as he tastes his own blood, coppery and warm. He's never wrestled Drew so this is something interesting, as he lunges forward and sweeps his legs out from under him, opening the corner up as he leaps over him and immediately locks in an arm bar, digging his fingers in to heighten the agony. After a few moments of this, he switches smoothly to a necklock, twisting on his jaw as he steps backwards, dragging the Scots-man over to his and Morrison's corner. He imagines Striker, Cole and King babbling on about the return of their old chemistry due to their frequent tags as Morrison quickly tags in and takes over, punching Drew down to the mat just to get a running start and kneeing him straight in the face as he struggles to sit back up.
Drew's still down on the mat, dazed, as Morrison runs to the middle rope and slingshots off of it across Drew, folding him up into a covering attempt. The ref gets a two and John immediately goes back onto the offensive, dragging Drew into the corner across from Cody and holding him there with a series of kicks and punches. He barely notices as Cody enters the ring but before he can get to Morrison, Miz is on him, sending him over the top rope onto the floor below. John punches blindly, looking over as Miz sends Cody face first into the announcer's table, causing the commentators to scatter. Miz seems to like abusing Cody's face, he smirks, before Drew takes his opportunity because of John's distraction, a solid forearm to the face dazing Morrison enough for the following punch to send him to the mat.
Drew pushes out of the corner, breathless and his hair all over the place, as he glowers down at John. "Damn you," he mumbles, brushing some of the hair out of his eyes. He runs against the ropes and grabs John by the throat, slinging him down into the mat with all the force he can manage.
Morrison's eyes flutter as Drew covers him, gripping both of his legs tightly. He's looking upside down at the back of Miz as he continues to hold Cody away from the ring and all he can think is No. Not after all of this... Not like this. He somehow knows instinctively as the ref counts one... two... His hand is inches from the mat when Morrison kicks out, a look of repulsed shock on Drew's face. "That was three!" he screams at the ref, who denies it.
Miz rolls into the ring then, realizing what's happening, and clotheslines Drew thoroughly, sending him down crashing into the mat. "You ok?" he asks Morrison, ignoring the referee who's trying to get him to return to his corner.
"Yeah," he responds breathlessly, pushing himself back onto his feet as Drew struggles to his corner to find Cody still down on the outside.
Miz finally returns to his corner and quickly tags in when Morrison stumbles over to him. He waits, knees bent, as Drew flops into the corner next to where Cody should be standing before charging forward and throwing a harsh forearm into Drew's chest, burying him into the turnbuckle and winding him. He smirks down at the just now stirring Cody before slinging Drew back into the middle of the ring, quickly disentangling himself from between the ropes. He covers Drew and hisses as he only gets a two, quickly regaining his footing. Before he can continue with the offense, he notes movement out of the corner of his eye and looks up to find Morrison balancing precariously on the top rope. He nods at him before moving aside, wincing as Morrison hits the starship pain perfectly. As Morrison rolls off, Miz covers Drew once the ref slides into position, counting out the three.
Morrison is on the apron, kicking Cody to keep him from entering the ring when the bell dings, Miz's music following shortly afterwards. Cody immediately stops fighting, his jaw dropping as he sees the referee presenting Miz with the tag belts. Morrison enters the ring quickly and gets his own belt, the smile on his face nearly blinding. The new tag team champions examine each other thoughtfully for a moment before Miz grips his wrist and raises it in victory, grinning as confused chatter from the audience begins once more. I think we just broke all of their simple little brains, he thinks with a smirk.
Morrison spots it first as Cody and Drew try to regroup outside and nudges Miz. They're ready as the two slide in to the ring with kicks and punches, holding up the offense until the freshly beaten tag team gives up and rolls back out of the ring to safety. The new tag team champions smirk at each other, feeling for a second as if they're living out deja vu, before heading to the top rope to pose with their belts (and briefcase).
Once they're safely in the back, Morrison heads towards the locker room but Miz stops him, resting a hand on his arm. "So how did you get this all to work out?"
Morrison's face goes blank, even though there's a glimmer of pride in his eyes. "What do you mean?" he asks, shrugging.
"Stop with the innocent crap," Miz orders roughly, though he can't stop his lips twitching upwards. "I know you got us put in the tag team match. How?"
"Let's just say... Teddy's not the only connections I have," he says vaguely, smirking as Miz stares at him.
"You're seriously not going to tell me? John!"
"Sorry!" he calls back, heading into the locker room.
"Sure you are," Miz mumbles, rolling his eyes at the infuriating man. "Whatever. I didn't really want to know."
Monday Night Raw
"I'm not sure we really thought this through," Miz grumbles as he looks at the scheduled matches for Raw. "That GM hates me and now you, by proxy, since we're tag champions."
Morrison shrugs. "So? It's Kozlov and Santino, I think we can handle it."
"But you also have a match against Jericho."
"I can handle it," he repeats, looking up from taping his wrists. "I'll be fine."
He sighs and throws the schedule away. "Hey, uh, I was thinking-" He freezes as John watches him curiously, shaking his head. "Let's deal with these matches first, then we can deal with that."
"Ok," Morrison says cautiously, frowning as Miz stands and collects his title belts and briefcase, quickly leaving the locker room. It's gonna be a long night, he thinks, before following.
Morrison is correct enough, Santino and Kozlov aren't that hard to defeat- once Morrison takes out Santino, Kozlov is distracted by throwing Morrison out of the ring and opens himself up for the Skull Crushing Finale and a pin. Even so, it still leaves Morrison with Jericho as Miz reluctantly returns to the locker room, the email GM interrupting after their match to say that Miz is banned from ringside during the match. Luckily Morrison doesn't seem too bothered by the development so Miz nods at him and goes quietly, settling in front of a monitor to watch.
Alex Riley is around, talking now and again but Miz only nods here and there as he watches the match. Morrison takes some hard hits- some self-inflicted, some not. He cringes as the foolish man jumps clear over the turnbuckles to the outside, slamming into Jericho and wonders if he's trying to get himself injured before they've even held the tag belts for a week. A minute later, he shakes his head- they wouldn't even have had a shot at the belts without Morrison, so he can't go back down the sabotage route. That's not what Morrison's doing, no matter how ridiculous his moveset is becoming. When Morrison wins, Miz stands up and slaps Alex Riley on the shoulder, mind going to the next piece of business. "Come on, we have to deal with Daniel Bryan."
"How?" his rookie asks eagerly, following him down the hallways towards the gorilla position.
"This is what we're gonna do-"
Morrison meets Miz with an eyeroll after the beat down to Bryan. "Did that make you feel better?" he asks sarcastically as Miz lounges on the bench with a pleased look on his face.
"Very much so," he comments, cockily brushing off his US title. "R Truth's really gotten better at selecting tag partners," he says tauntingly after a few moments, smirking over at John.
Morrison blinks. "What does that say about you?"
"I'm just a slow learner," he responds, lining up his two title belts and the briefcase in front of him. Damn, that looks good. Now I just need to trade the briefcase for the Heavyweight title and it'd be perfect...
"Whatever," John mumbles. "So what were you going to ask me before the tag match?"
Miz's hands still as he polishes his tag belt. "Oh. Yeah. That." Awkward silence follows his stilted answer as Morrison watches him.
He takes a deep breath after a minute and looks up. "I was thinking..." Words fail him as he frowns over at John.
"We should start traveling to shows together again."
"Not share a hotel room..."
He shakes his head, wondering what his problem is. It's not a big deal, Miz. Just ask. It's not like him saying no will make the world end. Come on, you're a big boy.
"Uh, is there a problem, Miz?" John looks almost worried as they stare at each other.
"I know you have Alex Riley in your corner now but... if you need anything else on Sunday, well, I'll be around."
Miz swallows, trying to ignore the memories. We're actually starting to get along again... what if this screws things up again? What if it's too much, too soon?
"Miz, you're kinda freaking me out here," Morrison mumbles, leaning closer. "What's going on?"
"We're co-tag team champions again," he says needlessly, huffing out a stifled laugh as Morrison nods expectantly. "I... should we start sharing a hotel room now?"
His face immediately goes blank as he leans back against the wall.
Oh God, I shouldn't have asked. He's never going to let me live this down, he thinks. Mock me with R Truth and...
"Huh. Um, can I think about it?" he asks after a few moments, surprising Miz.
"Really?" He didn't say no? What the hell?
"Yeah," he responds, that weird look still on his face as he watches his tag partner.
"Sure, yeah," he mumbles, eyes wide. "We'll talk about it later?"
"Sure."
Miz stares at him for a minute before returning to polishing his title belts, hands shaking a little. God, I hope I didn't just screw things up. The truce was starting to work so well...
