A/N: Oh God. I had to change so much with this chapter. I hope it flows ok. Good Lord. Haha.

Miz stews while they watch Cena on the titanton, mocking his supposedly empty promises. He knows he's impotent right now, only able to lay claim to his briefcase with threats and flashy words. He knows he has months before his chance slips through his fingers like sand but it's still a clock ticking in the back of his mind, reminding him that if the email GM has his way, he will never cash in. His fingers tighten around the red handle until his knuckles are white. Alex shifts next to him, obviously uncomfortable from these developments.

Cena strikes out against what's almost always Miz's weak point, his pride, and forces him to accept his challenge. He mumbles venomously under his breath all the way to the back, Riley careful to keep a safe distance as they head through the hallways to the locker room. "It'll be ok," he finally attempts, looking worriedly at his mentor as Miz almost throws the briefcase into the room, nearly clipping a visiting Jack Swagger's Soaring Eagle. They both ignore the indignantly flapping... creature as they settle in on benches, Miz's eyes downcast as he picks at the laces of his boots.

Alex decides to give him his space, instead keeping an eye on Raw's developments. Miz only looks up when the tag team match begins and they watch as the Hart Dynasty finally disintregrates completely, the thunderous look on his face only growing worse. Alex frowns as he looks from Mike to the TV and back again curiously. "Miz?" he asks quietly but before he can say anything else, the locker room door opens.

Miz stands instantly, stopping Morrison from walking past them. "You wanted to talk about the tag belts... well, now's the time," Mike announces, their eyes locking. The tension in the room immediately doubles, if not triples, and Alex looks around as if to see if he's the only one among the scattered people in the room who senses it.

John stares at him for a long moment, eyebrow raised, before shrugging. "Ok. Here?"

Miz sneers. "Hardly. Come on." He motions out the door and waits for Morrison to move. When he doesn't after a few moments, Mike rolls his eyes and brushes past him, heading down the hallway to somewhere a little less active. He finally stops down a semi-lit hallway, pleased with its emptiness. "Did you watch the tag match?"

"I caught the end of it," Morrison admits. "Guess we have a little less competition in the running for the tag belts now."

Miz nods, feeling about as thrilled about it as John sounds. Not that losing another competing team in the running for the tag belts is a bad thing- it's just that more and more teams are failing around them and it brings back some bad memories, ones that Miz has started to think are best left in the past. But sometimes just glossing over them aren't the easiest thing in the world.

Before he can say anything, Morrison shifts and starts first. "If you're thinking about before, don't. Things are different- we're different than we were back then. Besides, if nothing else, we both want to stick it to the email GM and that's enough to not repeat our old mistakes."

Mike tilts his head, smirking a bit. "Getting wise in your old age, John?"

"Shut up." He sobers after a moment, looking around. "I know we probably won't have many opportunities for the tag belts since the email GM doesn't like us but his options are kind of running low with all these teams breaking up. We should make the most of whatever we get."

"Yeah," Miz mutters. "There's, what, the Usos and Santino/Kozlov left on Raw? That's kinda pathetic when you think about it. Oh, wait, I shouldn't talk about Santino like that, right? You might feel the need to defend him again."

John rolls his eyes. "Come on, Riley might get fretful if you leave him alone too long."

"Ha-ha."

"Let's see what the anonymous General Manager thinks about this," Miz says mockingly, staring angrily up the ramp at Cena. He's still annoyed about the digs towards his inability to cash in from earlier, and as much as he'd like to get in there and take it out on Cena, he has to be smart about things, Morrison's words stuck in the back of his mind as he addresses his challenger. "I substitute Alex Riley into the match!" A few moments pass and nothing happens, Miz nodding as Alex rushes down to face off against Cena.

Alex loses and Miz faces off with Orton after dragging him out of the ring, a bit worried by his sluggish reaction time. Orton gets the upperhand as Miz's attention is divided between way too many things and before long, Mike is being tossed out of the ring, dazed. Once he regains his wits a bit more, he grabs Riley and drags him out of the ring side area, glowering as Cena and Orton stare at each other. He's half up the ramp when the lights flicker, that obnoxious email sounder echoing through the arena.

"I've received another email!" Cole calls out needlessly and Miz groans, pulling Alex closer as they stop and turn around to see what the annoying email GM has to say now. Something tells him he'll want to hang around and listen. "And I quote, Miz, your blatant disregard for matches I make is overwhelming. Even so, I thank you for substituting Alex Riley in your match against Cena tonight; because of that, I can make this match without listening to you complaining about how you didn't get a fair chance. Tonight, there will be a #1 contendership match for the tag team titles. The Usos vs John Morrison and The Miz."

He gapes in amazement as a now more lucid Alex looks over at him, smiling. "That's great!" he offers, his words half drowned out as the email sounder goes off again.

"Oh great," Mike groans.

Cole stops midstep away from the podium holding the laptop and returns. "I forgot something," he reads, adjusting his glasses. "If Miz and Morrison fail at winning this match, they will be banned from going after tag titles- as a unit or separately- permanently."

Miz pales, his mouth gaping open, and it's Alex's turn to take the lead, directing him to the back.

Morrison meets them in the locker room, studiously ignoring the amused murmurs from their fellow wrestlers that only grows in volume at Mike's entrance. "Come on," he mutters, throwing a glance over his shoulder before turning Miz around and pushing him back out of the room. They return to that abandoned hallway, John immediately slumping to the floor and sighing. "Well, this isn't quite what we had in mind when we discussed this earlier," he comments.

"To say the least," Mike responds, pressing his palms into his eyes hard. "Damn GM just doesn't know talent when he sees it," he grumbles, kicking the wall behind him.

Morrison rests his head back against the wall and ponders, staring at the ceiling. "Well, all we can do is go out there and-"

"If you say do our best, I'm gonna scream," Miz warns as Morrison chuckles a little.

The match with the Usos comes up quicker than either Miz or Morrison are prepared for, Alex tagging along again as they head for the gorilla position. Miz scrubs his hands through his hair, making it stand even more on end as they wait for the Usos to enter the ring.

Morrison glances over at him and nods, as if to say Relax. Strangely enough, he does a bit, taking a deep breath and letting the crowd's energy wash over him. It distracts him from what all could go wrong within the next ten minutes, how he may never even come close to cashing in the briefcase if they don't win this match. Alex pats him on the arm just before his music starts and he wonders how exactly he went from being a loner, mocked by pretty much everyone, to having a tag partner and a protege. It's a weird feeling, but he thinks he almost likes it.

The Usos may be a bit green but they're fast and hardhitting when they're focused. Even so, Morrison holds his own alright for awhile against Jimmy, only losing his momentum when Jey hits him from behind when he gets too close to the opposing corner, and for awhile they double team him as Miz shifts, tugging anxiously on the tag rope. Finally Morrison gets enough time as Jey tags in to catch his breath and kicks Jey away from him with both feet before diving over to his corner and slapping Miz's hand.

Miz clips Jey with a hard elbow to the skull before punching Jimmy off the apron, not wanting to open himself up to a potential attack now that he's seen what they're capable of. He turns his attention back to Jey, discovering that he's in the corner, dazed. He smirks and takes off at a run, clotheslining him and burying him into the turnbuckle. As he staggers towards the middle of the ring, Mike spots John watching intently and glances to find Jimmy arguing with the referee. He smirks, a ridiculous thought coming to him. He holds his hand up, and begins to mock Santino by overexaggeratedly doing the motions for the cobra.

Morrison's rolling his eyes at him when he spots movement behind him. "MIKE! Behind you," he yells, distracting his tag partner from mimicking Santino's finisher.

Mike spins around to find Jey advancing on him and, without thinking, lashes out with his hand. When Jey drops like he's been hit with a tranquilizer dart, he blinks in shock, taking a step back. "It works? What the f-?" He feels a slap on his shoulder and turns to discover he's moved in range for Morrison, who's tagged himself in.

He quickly steps aside as John climbs up the turnbuckle and hits the starship pain, rolling off of Jey instinctively as his ribs protest the move. Within seconds, he's rolling back over to pin the younger man, Miz holding his breath as the referee counts. "One... two... three!"

Miz gapes in amazement as John laughs breathlessly, standing up carefully and joining him. "Guess Santino knows what he's talking about with the cobra after all, huh?"

"I will never admit that," he mutters even as long-forgotten hope blossoms in him. We have another chance at Survivor Series! I bet the Email GM is so pissed at himself right now... Never bet against the greatest tag team of the 21st century, he thinks with a smirk as the ref raises their hands in victory.

His good mood lasts all of fifteen minutes, before he hears something about Morrison challenging Sheamus this Sunday. "Tell me that was a mindless rumor," he says blankly when John finally reenters the locker room, talking quietly to Santino as Kozlov wanders in behind them, an annoyed look on his face.

"What?" he asks, running his fingers through his hair before sitting down across from Miz. Santino pauses for a moment, uncertain what he should do, but ultimately pats Kozlov on the arm and leads the way over to another set of benches. Miz's eyes track the two and Morrison rolls his eyes. "You jealous, Miz?"

"Are you kidding me? Of course not, Morrison. I just think we should be a bit more careful what we get involved in leading up to Survivor Series. Being Superman to Santino's Lois Lane isn't exactly the best thing to do right now, don't you think? Actually, I take that back, he's not Lois Lane... he's more like Lana Lang... yeah. That's right..." he mumbles, before turning his attention back to Morrison. "Well?"

"Look, we've both had to wrestle two matches in one night a few times since the Email GM began this whole vendetta, I think we've both proven we can handle it easily enough. I wouldn't have challenged Sheamus if I didn't think I could've handled it. Trust me for once, Miz." John's eyes flash warningly as Miz opens his mouth to argue further. "I won't screw up your precious tag title aspirations." That said, he stands up so quickly that he pushes the bench up against the lockers, making everyone cringe with the squeeching noise that follows. Before Miz can stop him, he leaves, slamming the door behind him.

"Don't say a word," Miz warns the wide eyed Santino, who dutifully looks away.

Around thirty minutes after Morrison stormed out of the locker room, Miz heads off to locate him. He may be annoyed with John's decision to wrestle Sheamus on top of the tag title match this Sunday but bad things happen when they begin arguing and the last thing he needs is to spend the next six days worrying about how they're going to gel at Survivor Series.

He's wandering down the main hallway when he hears a loud thud and shouts from somewhere ahead of him. Normally he wouldn't care about some tech's mishap but there's an odd feeling in his stomach, his ears beginning to ring as he nears where the sound came from. He turns a corner and comes to an abrupt stop, his stomach dropping. He turns without thinking to Alex, who somehow is always there even when Miz isn't aware that he's being followed. "Get a trainer!" he says, his own voice sounding distant and somehow too loud all at once. Without checking to see if Alex heeds his order, he rushes towards where Gerald Brisco and Arn Anderson are leaning over a downed Morrison, almost knocking Gerald over as he skids to a stop next to his tag partner, quickly dropping to his knees and resting a hand on his back. "What happened?" he barks at the legends, brushing the hair out of Morrison's eyes to find he's completely out.

"Sheamus," Arn offers after they get over their shock at almost getting run over. "He came out of nowhere and kicked John... it looked like he hit his head on that rack."

Miz follows his pointing hand to the offending item and sucks in a hissing breath, leaning over to look at John easier. "Come on, wake up," he grumbles, patting him on the side of the face awkwardly, since he's still laying partially face down on the ground. "What is it with you and Alex tonight?" he wonders, allowing his hand to rest on John's cheek similarly to how he had done only around an hour earlier with the former NXT Rookie.

Only a couple more minutes pass before Alex finally returns with the trainer following closely behind, panting for breath. "Give us some space," he orders, crouching down next to John. "Anyone moved him?"

"No," Gerald answers when Miz looks around with a suspicious glance.

"Good," the trainer comments, quickly placing a neck brace on him despite the awkward angle. "He hit his head?"

"Yeah, on that rack," Arn pipes up, once more pointing at it.

The trainer tsks. "Ok, let's move him," he mumbles as soon as the brace is around him securely. Miz returns to Morrison's side almost immediately, causing the trainer to blink. He wisely says nothing though, as they work together at carefully turning John over. A large bruise is already forming over his left eye but he appears to be stirring already, eyes fluttering as they lay him back on the floor.

"Got smelling salts, doc?" Miz asks, masking his worry with sarcasm, almost reluctant to remove his hand from John's shoulder.

Morrison mumbles something, attempting to move his head and failing as the brace holds him in place. It appears to be enough to wake him up more, his eyes fluttering open as he struggles once more to move.

"John? We had to put you in a neck brace. Don't fight it," the trainer says soothingly, holding him down with a hand pressed to his shoulder. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Sheamus," he mumbles, his eyes clearing slowly as he looks up at the trainer, then over to Miz. "Mike?"

"I told you to leave him alone, idiot," Miz chides him, the worry in his eyes belying his caustic words. "But no, don't listen to me... of course not."

"My apologies. I'll remember that next time," he says sarcastically, his eyes closing tiredly.

Miz just shakes his head, lips twitching upwards. He's being sarcastic, he'll be ok. Just hopefully it'll be by Sunday... He sobers. First I have to make sure Sheamus doesn't decapitate him before the tag match.

Miz's long night's not quite over, however, as he's wandering around the hallway outside of the trainer's room, waiting for Morrison to finish being looked over. The trainer's being overly thorough this go around, not wanting to play around with head injuries so it seems to be taking forever. He's so distracted with thoughts of Survivor Series and Morrison's injury that he doesn't see the attack coming until he squints up at the person standing over him, his head- and everything else- aching.

"I'm coming for that belt of yours," a vaguely familiar voice drifts over him, dragging him closer to awareness. "Don't get comfortable; I definitely don't care if you can cash in Money in the Bank or not... I deserve gold all my own, not some pathetic hand-me-down, and I will get it."

As the person walks off, he looks up in time to see Maryse walk up and hug the man. He groans, his attacker's identity coming to him in a rush of realization. Ted DiBiase... damn...

Bonus scene added for Jasmine (set after Morrison drags Miz out of the locker room):

"Hey, where did A-Ri go?" he asks a moment later, glancing around the darkened hallway. He feels a little bad, remembering how out of it the kid was after wrestling Cena. "He-" Before he can finish his thought, Riley wanders up to them, as if summoned by the mere mention of his name, and he blinks. "Where were you?"

"Catering," he comments, looking better now that he's had some food. "Bought you some too!"

He holds out a plate of French fries to Miz, who looks a little weirded out but takes them anyway. "Let me guess, they had cheeseburgers and you left the fries for me?"

"Yep."

"Oh, isn't that cute?" Morrison asks, humored.

Before Miz can glare over his shoulder at him, Alex moves past him and holds something out. "Didn't forget you," he says cheerfully.

John blinks a few times before taking the styrofoam glass from him. "Uhh, ok?" He pulls the lid off of it tentatively and sniffs at the concoction. "Huh, a protein drink. Ah, uh, thanks."

Miz sighs as he eats a couple fries, relieved for the brief comfort the food provides. If only Riley had remembered the ketchup, he thinks. He looks over to find Morrison distracted, peering off the other way into the darkness, and an evil idea comes to him. Using the dim lighting to his advantage, he leans forward and quickly dips a couple fries into the protein drink.

John turns his head quickly and gapes as Miz eats the chocolate covered fries, a pleased smirk on his face. "You did not," he says warningly, looking down at his drink.

"Did what?" he asks, feigning innocence. Before Morrison can say anything else, he makes a big show out of licking his fingers.

"Disgusting," he mumbles, putting the protein drink down.

"Oh please, a little grease won't hurt you," he says with an eye roll, eating a few more fries.

"Whatever you say," John says doubtfully.

"Exactly, whatever I say." When John makes no move to continue drinking his protein drink, Miz resumes dunking his fries into it.

"You better not throw up during the tag match," is all Morrison says upon catching him at it once more.