Ebonyyyy- Thank you for the review! I posted Back to Basics chapters 12 and 13 originally on October 7th and 14th, 2010. Morrison's birthday is October 3rd and Miz's October 8th, so I addressed Morrison's birthday in chapter 12, and Miz's in the 13th. So Miz was wishing Morrison a happy birthday after the triple threat match. Hope that helps a bit.
He tries to sleep, he really does, but all he can see when he closes his eyes is Morrison's thin handwriting against his eyelids. Tossing and turning from laying on his back to his side does nothing but annoy him as lights outside of his hotel room burn into his eye sockets, rolling onto his other side brings darkness back but he still can't sleep. Flipping onto his stomach is his final choice and he slams a fist into the thin, uncomfortable pillow under his head, sleep eluding him stubbornly. He groans and sits up, blearily staring out through the darkness. It's a little after 1 AM and he huffs. "Fine!" He lunges for the dresser and slams the drawer open, almost knocking the phone book and room service menu within onto the floor in his angered haste.
As soon as Morrison's letter is clasped in his hand, he flicks a light on and groans, squinting through the sudden brightness. "What the hell does he want?" he mumbles, unfolding the piece of paper once more and reading through it.
I think the only way a potential truce between us is going to work is if we actually get some things out in the open... Miz presses his fingers to his eyes, sighing. "Great, a bare-your-soul letter. There better not be any poetry in this thing." He rolls his eyes skyward before resuming.
I'm not great at verbalizing what I mean to say a lot of times so... a letter seemed the way to go. Mock me later. Miz obediently clamps his mouth shut, lips twisting into a bemused grimace as he continues reading, offput by how well Morrison still knows him.
Anyway... It all started at the 2009 draft. I for obvious reasons never got the chance to apologize for interfering in your match. I'm not sure anymore why I did, maybe things would've been better between us if you had been drafted without me having a hand in it. Probably not, but who knows. I can see it a little clearer now that two years have passed- to you, it probably seemed like one more sign that I didn't view you as an equal with everyone telling you I was the future and you were just the tag-a-long. Maybe I was a little too high on myself at the time, we knew walking into the partnership back then that we were both egotistical; it was part of what made us such an amazing tag team. But two egos in one team can only last so long before resentment starts forming, right? I think that's why R Truth and I work together alright. At the mere mention of Truth, Miz is tempted to crumple the letter and toss it aside, forget everything he's read so far, but some latent masochistic drive deep inside keeps his eyes locked on the sprawling print, forcing him to read it the rest of the way.
Our careers aren't as entwined as yours and mine were back in 2008 and early 2009. Can you think of anything we did in those months that didn't involve the other? I can't, but Truth and I both have single careers and only team now and again. We're friends, sure, but not like you and I were back two years ago. It's just different, we don't spend enough time together to start disliking the other. Does that make any sense? I hope we can find some balance, Mike. I really do. He skims over the PS, frowns at the letter and drops it, letting it flutter down against his bedding carelessly.
He hates to admit it but Morrison makes some sense. He lets loose a yawn, surprised at how heavy his eyes are suddenly feeling. The light is still on but he barely cares as he slips further down in the bed and finally dozes off, fingers compulsively twitching around the letter. When Alex Riley finally returns, a little tipsy and off-balanced as he kicks his shoes off with loud thuds and mumbled cursing, he doesn't even stir.
When his eyes open of their own volition the next morning, he groans at the bright sunlight pouring onto his bed. He scrubs his eyes, blinking at the clock. Seven AM? I'm never up at seven without being able to blame outside forces, he thinks unhappily, a yawn slipping from his lips. As he shifts, something crinkles in his hands, his gaze immediately dropping to it. John's letter, he remembers dully, sighing. "...I'll be at the Path..." he reads out loud from the post script, dropping his head back against the still uncomfortable pillow. "Dammit, fine."
He's still in jeans from the night before but even he's not so desperate to go out like that, so he digs in his bag and locates new clothes. A quick change and use of a toothbrush and some gel for his lifeless hair that he hadn't touched since his shower the night before and he's out of the hotel with barely a glance for the knocked out Alex Riley, carefully stowing Morrison's letter in his jacket's front pocket.
He makes a quick decision at the hotel doors and leaves the rental for Alex, instead taking one of the many taxis waiting outside of the hotel. After giving the address to the driver, he lets his mind wander, frowning at the fall foliage slowly taking over Seattle, Washington. When the taxi comes to a stop, he hands over the fee to the driver, with a sizable tip since he arrived sooner than he expected. He takes a minute at the entrance to look up and sighs, breathing in the cool, crisp air.
He's glad he threw on this jacket now as he buries his hands in the jacket pockets, bolstered by Morrison's letter crinkling once more. Despite growing up in Ohio, the last few years in California have re-conditioned his body to be used to more warm climates and steady weather, so overcast or cold weather just seems foreign now. He doesn't even mind the earthquakes. Usually.
Shaking his head, he refocuses, entering between the stone hedges he's been standing in front of for a few minutes. He can barely remember the last time he was here so he takes his time, wandering down one path and another. After awhile, he starts to notice familiar things so he walks a little faster, resting a hand on a small tree that barely comes to his shoulders as he passes it.
A minute or two later, he almost walks right past a group of bright purple flowers spotting the grass between a fork in the path and stops just in time, gazing at them. He shakes his head and doubles back, taking the right fork and walking down it until he comes upon a large weeping willow, its sizable branches hanging upside down and nearly kissing the ground. He stares at it for a long moment before taking a deep breath and sitting down on the ground near it, pressing his back against its rough bark. The chill is already seeping through his legs but he doesn't say anything, biting his lip and waiting patiently, instinctively concentrating on his breathing as he takes in his surroundings.
It's a large garden that's famous in Seattle, with ambling paths and impressively large trees. Wildflowers grow almost everywhere, in conjunction with flowers planted here, and even he has to admit it's a peaceful, ethereal place that makes him feel calm and unworthy to break the quiet that settles over every growing thing within its walls. Supposedly the person who had fought for and ultimately funded the place had been inspired by The Secret Garden. After only the first five minutes spent here so very long ago, Miz came to understand how someone could want to have a hand in creating a place like this. It's so impressive, even most children who come here are in so much awe that they remain quiet and respectful, keeping the peace amongst the flowers and trees.
He's not sure how much time's passed when he finally hears shuffling from the other side of the tree, someone standing and then brushing off their clothes. "So you remembered." The person speaks quietly, not loud enough to break the mood, but just enough that Miz can hear.
"Yeah. Wasn't sure I was going the right way at first, but here I am," he comments, slowly climbing to his own feet. "It hasn't changed much."
"No, not so much," Morrison agrees, rounding the tree and joining him. "You haven't been here since the draft?" He rests a hand on the side of the willow, eyes traveling between the tree to Miz and back. He can't help but be somewhat surprised that Miz still remembered the place where he often went to meditate when in Seattle that he had started calling simply "The Path".
"No," he comments awkwardly, hand closing around the letter and cringing as it crinkles tellingly. He wonders if Morrison selected this place because it's just so hard to be angry around so much nature. Already he can feel his agitation ease away, brushed away by the soft chirps of bird and soft wind tickling against his skin
"You read my letter?"
"Yeah." He looks down a moment before locking eyes with John, eyebrow raising as he sighs. "You made some good points, I guess." Silence resumes as they lean against the tree, a few inches apart, and stares around at the different plants surrounding them. He tries to decide where to start and finally blurts, "I'm sorry I said that Zack Ryder would make a better tag partner." It's random and a little silly, out of everything they've both said to the other recently, that that's where he begins so when Morrison laughs, he releases a soft chuckle too. After a moment, he sobers and continues. "Think we can figure out how to make things work so we stop being so... angry all the time?" He cringes, thinking he sounds kind of pathetic in this moment, and waits for John to tease him.
It doesn't come. "I do. It might take some time, but yeah. It'll work out. I mean, we've only been teaming again for a few weeks. We spent a long time bitter and angry towards each other. We're not going to get along perfectly all the time but I'm willing to try harder if you are."
Miz's lips twitch as he nods, surprised at how easily the motion comes. "I am."
"Great." They stand in companionable silence for a few minutes before Miz tilts his head, looking over at him.
"I hope you have your rental nearby- I left mine with Alex."
"Yeah, it's just across the street," he comments with a shrug.
"Good. I'm hungry."
John smirks. "Want to go get some breakfast then?" He pauses and examines Miz, taking in his tired looking features. "I'll even throw in a small amount of coffee. Maybe."
"You're never going to let me forget that, are you?" he mumbles as they wander towards the exit, embarrassed at the memory but pleased that things are going right again between them.
"Not really, nope."
Once they get back to LA later that Tuesday, they don't talk, back into the grind of media coverage and other things for the WWE leading into Bragging Rights. Even so, things are mostly comfortable since both left Seattle feeling like more things are squared away between them finally.
So when they first see each other again, it's because Team Smackdown invades and Miz calls his team to join him. Raw storms the ring to try to rid it of the invaders but before long, it's obvious they're not going to get rid of them, especially with Big Show knocking them down as soon as they get an inch of advantage so Miz rolls out and grabs the first Raw people he sees, dragging them with him. Most of the others follow but he has to go grab Morrison too to get his attention since he seems content staying in there and tiring himself out in the melee. "Save it for Sunday!" he tells them, an edge to his voice. He's never really been a leader before and he refuses to screw it up now.
When Big Show challenges him to a match, he rolls his eyes as his fellow teammates heckle and push him to accept, as he glares up at his opposing team leader. His ego ultimately encourages him to accept.
Morrison follows him quietly to the back and through the hallways, double taking a time or two at Smackdown people they pass on the way to the locker room. "Christ," he mumbles after awhile. "Did Teddy bring the whole Smackdown locker room with him?"
Miz twitches, wanting to say something disparaging about the Smackdown General Manager, but drops it. "We're up next," he says simply, entering the room and immediately heading to the corner to get ready.
"Oh yeah, the Harts," John responds. "Shouldn't be too hard, especially if they continue arguing like they have been."
Miz nods, unnaturally quiet as Morrison sits across from him and puts on some more wrist tape, just to make sure he's prepared as well.
After a bit, he looks up and frowns. "Are you alright?"
Miz jerks a little and glances up before resuming his own preparation. "Sure, why wouldn't I be?"
"You're never this quiet," Morrison answers but lets it go when Miz doesn't offer any more information with a shrug, rubbing the stickiness leftover from the wrist tape off of his fingers.
The match against the Hart Dynasty goes fast as they mis-communicate their finisher, opening DH Smith up to a Skull Crushing Finale and Tyson leaves him to be pinned. Morrison joins Miz as Natalya tries to calm David down and they shrug before raising their titles in victory.
"Sucks that they can't get along," Morrison comments later on as they wander through the various halls, the Hart Dynasty's tension obviously at the forefront of his mind. "It's not like there are a lot of tag teams left anyway..."
"You sound like you want more teams vying to take our belts away," Miz says, shifting slightly so the bronze title rests higher on his shoulder. "Look at it this way, the less competition we have, the less double duty we have to do between the singles matches and tag matches."
"Yeah, I know. And you have less to juggle between defending the tag belts, the US title, watching for opportunity to cash in the briefcase, and leading Team Raw to victory this Sunday."
Miz groans at the end of the dialogue. "Makes me tired just listening to you list it all off."
He grins. "I can see why." He's about to say something else when Miz stiffens next to him. "What?" He follows Miz's sight line and blinks as he sees Teddy Long talking lowly to Big Show. "Oh."
"So you two still friends?" he asks, voice tinged with bitterness as he grips the tag belt a little bit tighter.
"Uh, hardly," he responds, pushing Miz to get him to continue walking.
"Oh really?"
"Well, he did kind of show his true colors the weeks leading up to Night of Champions, right? That's not the actions of a friend."
Miz is glad he's in front of Morrison as a slight smile appears on his lips briefly, turning into a smug smirk as he passes by Teddy and Show. There's hope for Morrison yet, he thinks.
They arrive at the locker room in time to see Daniel Bryan in the ring, dancing with the divas. "What... is that?" Miz demands, disturbed. "It's like staring into the sun... I'll probably go blind if I keep watching but I can't stop."
John reaches around him and flicks the TV off, a little humored when Miz continues staring at the blank screen, a dazed look on his face. "Hey, come on," he comments, flicking Mike on the shoulder. "Focus on Show, not Daniel's... uh, dancing abilities."
"Huh, maybe he should go on Dancing with the Stars, we'd be rid of him for a few weeks, I guess," he mumbles, before turning his attention to his upcoming match.
Miz vs Big Show doesn't last very long, as both Raw and Smackdown locker rooms are clustered around the ring and interject early on. Before anyone can blink, it's changed to a Raw vs Smackdown Battle Royal. Despite things going well between them, Miz is still a little surprised, so used to watching his own back, when Morrison keeps him from being eliminated and tries helping him to eliminate Rey Mysterio. After awhile he slips outside and hides so his opponents can't see him but it doesn't help, he enters the ring too soon and Edge surprises him- he is the second to last Raw guy to be eliminated but Smackdown winning grates at him as he stumbles back up the ramp, glowering.
Morrison's waiting for him by the gorilla position, tattered red shirt still covering his back. "We'll get them Sunday," he says, following Miz as he walks away from the titantron area, unwilling to see Big Show or Edge again this soon.
"Sure," he mumbles, a bit of doubt creeping into his tone. He looks up and rolls his eyes, lips twitching as he realizes Morrison's still wearing his abused Raw team shirt. "You look ridiculous." With no warning, he reaches out and pulls the torn shirt over John's head, throwing the strips of red to the ground.
"Pftaw," he pretends to spit dramatically. "I was about to say something- I think I swallowed bits of fabric thanks to you." He frowns as Miz stares at him, an eyebrow raised.
"Mm hmm. So I missed it, how were you eliminated?"
John coughs awkwardly, turning away from Miz and starting to walk down the hallway, ignoring him all the way.
"John? You're not getting away that easily," Mike calls after him, following stubbornly. "Don't tell me. You eliminated yourself again." When Morrison stiffens for a moment, he guffaws in disbelief. "Oh God, please be joking me. What is this, the second time in a month?"
Despite his general dislike of being teased, it's taken Miz's mind off of his doubts about this Sunday for a little bit... After a bit, Morrison realizes he doesn't mind very much this time as Mike's laughter echoes through the hallway behind him.
