Another Sunday, another pay per view. John Morrison watches blankly as his tag partner, Miz, wanders around the locker room, close to pacing. "Will you sit down?" he asks finally, the man's nonstop motion making him feel anxious.
"No, no I won't, John. Tonight is it, you know? I have Ted DiBiase after my title, you just had to wrestle Sheamus... not to mention the tag title match later on." His frantic eyes rest briefly on the bright red briefcase waiting in one of the cubbies over Morrison's head as he swallows. "I don't know if I... if I'll be able to do this." He scrubs at his mouth with a shaking hand and shakes his head. "Dammit."
John's lips twist unhappily as he takes in Miz's uncertainty, something once rare that's only happened more and more often since the email GM threw them back together as a tag team in July. "You know, this is probably stating the obvious but I think... once we have the tag belts back," he pauses a moment, rethinking his words. Probably not the best idea to get his hopes up but maybe if he thinks I believe we can do it, it'll make it easier? I don't know... Oh well, can't take it back now. He clears his throat. "You should just go for it."
Miz's eyes snap to his face, stopping a moment on the still visible yellow bruise above his eyebrow before their eyes lock, curiosity warring with the deep reluctance to believe in his words. "What do you mean?"
Morrison looks up at the briefcase and says, "Well, if the email GM isn't going to give you a moment's peace while you have it, then do what you have to do. Maybe not tonight but ASAP."
Miz is about to answer when the locker room door opens. Alex Riley hovers in the doorway, looking back and forth between him and John. "Uh, your match is next, Mike." Without a side glance to Morrison, he collects his briefcase and US title, brushing past Alex.
"Good luck," John mumbles to thin air, flicking the TV on to watch.
The match starts off slow, Ted feeling Miz out for awhile with a couple lock ups in the middle of the ring but after a few elbows to the throat, Miz lands on his back, dazed, and John cringes as Ted climbs the top rope and lands a harsh elbow to his sternum. Ted goes for a cover but Mike manages to kick him away. Before he can regain his balance completely after scrambling to his feet, DiBiase grabs his leg during another kick attempt and twists it, sweeping him back down to the mat. Ted immediately drops onto him, raining punches down on him before going for another cover.
Morrison sighs as he only gets another two, immediately rolling his eyes as the camera pans over to a spastic Alex Riley who's looks like he's seizing as he slams his fists against the apron in attempts to encourage Miz on. Oh, brother. Guess that's why he keeps Riley around, since the audience won't cheer for him.
Miz regains his footing quickly this go around, dropkicking an advancing DiBiase and sending him into the ring ropes. Without thinking, he clotheslines him over the top and to the outside before sliding under the bottom rope to join him. A few punches and DiBiase is staggering around, tripping over his own feet as Miz smirks, falling back into his element like the flip of a switch. John shakes his head in amusement as he watches, knowing that all of Miz's problems are now far from his attention, focus locked completely on the here and now. Miz leads Ted over to the barricade wall, picking up speed as they go, just to drop, slingshotting him into the hard black material forcefully.
"Get back in here!" the ref yells, mid-count, looking annoyed. But it doesn't matter as Miz drags Ted upright and pushes him back into the ring, sliding in after him at the eight count. Miz covers him but he kicks out just before the ref hits the apron for a third count and Morrison mutters a curse as Mike stands, looking about as annoyed as he feels.
DiBiase gets up really fast, still a little off balance, but somehow knocking Miz to the apron with an intense clothesline of his own. He grabs Miz and puts him into position for the Dream Street but Miz elbows him right in the jaw, startling him. Another elbow and he's released, taking the opportunity to slip behind and grab Ted under the arms. Ted barely has a second to think when his legs are sweeped out from under him, his face smacking into the apron. Miz covers him once more and John nods in relief as finally a third count is earned.
One down, two to go, he thinks, grabbing his coat and sunglasses to go face Sheamus since his match is next. Least our matches are early on so we get some time to prepare for the tag match later. He stops abruptly at the doorway, turning around as Miz's voice comes from the TV, watching as some of his tension melts away when the ref gives him his belt and he holds it safely in his hand.
"I'm really getting tired of holding this briefcase," he says a bit breathlessly, blinking against the sweat trickling down his forehead as Alex hands over the aforementioned object. "It's not if, it's when!"
Morrison blinks at the TV as he leaves the ring and the scene changes into the history of his issue with Sheamus. "Guess my suggestion earlier worked," he mumbles, actually relieved to see the return of cocky Miz. Now we have a chance, he thinks, feeling better about things as well.
His confidence continues as he beats Sheamus, despite his abused leg. His tentative walk as he rejoins them in the locker room isn't missed by Mike or Alex but he brushes it off. "I'm fine," he insists before either can say anything, sitting across from them as he unlaces his boots. Two out of three.
"You better be," Miz comments, the worried look in his eyes belying the casual tone behind his words.
Two hours gives him enough time for his leg to start feeling better but he knows the smallest thing could cause it to flare back up so he carefully stretches before the match, not willing to risk it by going all out with his usual pre-match parkour workout. "Ready?" Miz asks as he stands up, Alex lingering behind him as always.
"Yep. Let's go do this." His leg feels a lot better as they walk to the ring, John coming out to Miz's music for once. He looks around in amusement as the audience buzzes in confusion. It never really gets old, he thinks, a bit of his former self unearthing as he takes in their reaction to a heel and face teaming together. All feeling of hilarity fades from his mind as Nexus' music plays, Heath Slater and Justin Gabriel coming out alone with the precious tag belts around their waists. Yep, it's gotta be a trap, Morrison thinks, glancing over at Miz to find him staring back. They share a nod, obviously coming to the same conclusion. This should be interesting.
Heath and Miz start the match off but instead of fighting him, Slater gets in his face. John can't hear his comments over the buzz from the audience but whatever it is must be bad as Miz snaps and punches Heath square in the face, dazing him.
As the ref admonishes Miz, Heath gets away and lunges for Justin. "Miz!" Morrison warns him, leaning as far as he dares while clinging to the tag rope. When Mike looks up to find Justin entering the ring, he rolls his eyes and brushes past the referee, quickly tagging John in.
"I want Slater," he explains when John glances his way curiously before entering the ring.
Great. I wonder what he said, he thinks as he faces off with Gabriel, the first few seconds spent sizing the other up before they lock up. Morrison overpowers him but he dodges the kick that follows, chopping John hard across the chest. He gasps for air at the stinging sensation, finally hitting a solid kick to the side of Justin's face. As Justin collapses, Morrison rubs at his chest a moment before going after him once more. This brief pause ends up being a mistake as Gabriel succeeds in a drop toehold, sending him straight into the corner.
"Hey!" he hears Miz yell out, trying to get into the ring as he spots what a perilous situation Morrison is in. He groans as the referee rushes over to keep Mike in his corner, opening John up further for an ambush. Sure enough, Slater reaches in through the ropes and grabs him, holding him down as Justin works him over with punches and elbows. John shakes himself out of the beatdown induced fog long enough to get his legs up and kicks Gabriel hard, putting enough distance between them to elbow Slater, whose hold slips. He drops down just enough to kick upwards, smirking as his boots contact with Heath's skull, sending the man off of the apron. Now that the path to Miz is open, he stumbles past Justin and tags in quickly, relieved to lean against the turnbuckle and catch his breath as he watches Miz go after a still down Gabriel, sending him facefirst into the bottom rope.
He's dragging him into the middle of the ring when John notices movement behind Miz. His need for a breather is immediately forgotten as he realizes their earlier worry of a trap is correct- the rest of Nexus storms the ringside area. He ignores the referee's warning and rushes in, putting himself between Miz and the members as they surround the ring, tension ratcheting until Morrison can barely take in a full breath. Otunga moves first, leaping up onto the apron in front of him. He lunges for him but he drops back down, Morrison's fist contacting with thin air. As the ref struggles to regain some order, pushing John back to his corner, he notices Miz going after McGullicutty just for him to drop back to safety as well, a now free Justin slipping past him to tag in Heath. Heath advances on his distracted tag partner, quickly rolling him up from behind. The ref rushes into position to count the three and Morrison is just a split second too late regaining his senses, rushing through the ropes just to arrive as the referee counts the three. He comes to a stop at Miz's side, jaw sagging a little as he takes in the fact that they've lost another chance at the tag belts, despite all the motivation gained earlier in the evening.
He can't bring himself to look down at his unmoving tag partner, instead watching as Nexus celebrates with the tag titles on the outside of the ring, mocking looks on their faces. He's never really understood the term seeing red but as his blood boils within him, well aware that they had a good chance at winning if the other members of Nexus had stayed away, he thinks he sees it. His chance to fix this is slipping through his fingers as Nexus heads up the ramp, still celebrating in their obnoxious way. He lunges to his feet, yelling over the top rope at the ring announcer. "Give me a microphone!" he orders, eyes flashing.
Hesitant to get too close to him, the ring announcer holds the microphone out as far as he can possibly manage, so as not to get in Morrison's range of attack while he's in this mood.
He presses the microphone to his lips, breathing heavily as he tries not to scream into the item, all the stress and anxiety from the last five months crashing down on him. His eyes lock on Nexus as they wait to see what he has to say, all smirking and laughing as Miz sits motionlessly next to him, more than likely shocked from the horrible outcome of the match that so much of his hopes depended on. "Hey, Anonymous Raw GM. Are you watching right now?" he asks, struggling to keep his tone level. "Are you? I know you think we're just a couple of nuances so I'm going to prove you right, here and now. I want you to restart this tag match right now. I think we've proven ourselves in getting more tag title opportunities no matter what you do, so either here tonight we finish this or tomorrow night, or the next week... but either way, we're not giving up. So what do you say? God forbid you get labeled as an unfair, biased GM, right?"
It seems to take a lifetime as he breathes in and out, out of things to say that could possibly goad the GM into paying attention, but finally the lights flash as the email sounder echoes through the arena, followed by a chorus of boos. Despite the audience's reaction, it's a relief to Morrison as Cole goes through his usual rambling before finally reading the email. "And I quote... I don't take kindly to being ordered around by my superstars, John Morrison. But if it will get you out of the ring quickly, very well. This tag team match will be restarted- with a couple of conditions. To make things fair, so you won't complain in the future that I sabotauged you or the Miz's chances. First, all other members of Nexus will be banned from ringside. And second, you think you can get title opportunities no matter what I do? Well, not if, after this match, you're banned from all number one contendership matches. So this is your last chance, I suggest you make it count." Gabriel and Heath talk amongst themselves as their team mates leave but before they can get too far up the ramp, the sounder goes off again. "One more thing," Cole reads, "Nexus being banned from ringside also holds for the main event."
Morrison chuckles as he catches sight of Heath and Justin's face, before realizing that Miz is still sitting, his back pressed against the turnbuckles as if he forgot how to hold himself up after losing to Slater. "Come on," he says, grabbing Mike under the arm and dragging him up. "You with me?"
Miz blinks a few times before focusing on John, his eyes slowly clearing. "Did you get us another chance or was I hearing things?"
"You heard right. It's just my powers of persuasion. I'll start this time, you get over to our corner before the referee gets mad again." He gives him a slight push, turning to face off against Heath Slater once more.
"Think you're smart, don't you? Forcing the GM to restart this match... I'll show you," he yells, lunging at Morrison with an outstretched fist. Before he can make contact, John dodges and kicks him in the back of the head, sending him into the turnbuckle. Like Miz earlier, he forgets everything that's happened before him, his old familiarity with the ring coming back to him as he rushes Heath and grabs him around the throat, slinging him down to the ring face first. Rolling him over, he quickly covers him just to come up with a two.
Heath tries squirming away towards his corner but John grabs ahold of his leg, holding on as he struggles. He grips him tightly, aided by the grooves in his boots and knee braces as he pulls the man back, towards where Miz is waiting patiently in the corner. "Here ya go," he mumbles, tagging him in.
Miz has obviously been waiting for this as he kicks him viciously in the head, barely nodding at John as he releases Heath and ducks into his corner to watch the proceedings. "Think you can make a fool of me, huh?" he yells, slapping him coldly across the mouth, causing Morrison and most of the audience to flinch. Lifting him up, he slingshots him into the corner and follows it up with a running clothesline that buries him into the turnbuckle, leaving him limp enough to slip to the mat as soon as Miz removes his arm.
John glances from Miz to Justin to Heath, the obviousness of Heath's next move slapping him in the face about as surely as Miz did to Slater just a few moments earlier, before he slips off of the apron. Making sure to stay low, he sneaks around to the other side as Mike frees his legs from the ropes. Sure enough, Slater's trying to regain his faculties enough to reach Justin and Mike's still just a bit too far away as Heath leaps forward to get the tag but before Justin reaches out, Morrison grabs him by the legs and pulls him off of the apron, effectively killing the tag.
Unable to do anything, Heath turns to find Mike waiting for him and takes a swing at him again just to get punched once more. Miz then grabs him by the hair and slams him face first into the turnbuckle, dazing him further. Morrison leans up so he can see, a knee pressed to his squirming opponent's sternum keeping Justin down as Miz rolls Slater up, mirroring how he lost the first part of the match while distracted due to Nexus. When the ref counts the three count, John immediately forgets Gabriel and rolls into the ring, his eyes locked on the tag belts as the referee brings them to the new champions.
"Oh my God," Miz whispers, fingering the belts as if afraid they're about to disappear. "We did it," he says, looking up at John.
"Yep, we did," he says, releasing a deep breath that feels like he's been holding it in for weeks, if not months.
Three out of three.
Morrison breathes against his title belt, shining it as he half watches the King of the Ring qualifying matches. His is later on in the evening but he has an interest in watching this particular match, having heard somewhere that Miz is supposed to compete at some point in the evening. He hasn't seen the man all evening, which is strange. Miz is, after all, one of those people who it's hard to miss with his loud voice and obnoxious declarations. He winces as Miz's music follows Ezekiel Jackson's, looking up when Alex Riley comes out instead. He frowns. Where is Miz?
As soon as A-Ri's match ends, he gives up polishing the belt, deciding it's as shiny as a bronze title can possibly be, and goes to find the former NXT rookie. He's not hard to find, moving slowly down the hallway towards the trainer's. "Hey," John calls out, stopping him.
"Oh, hey, Morrison," he says almost reluctantly, turning towards him.
"You said Miz had an anxiety attack?" There's no way to keep the incredulity out of John's voice so he doesn't even bother, raising an eyebrow at Alex as he tightens his hold on his sore ribs. "I don't recall him mentioning having one before."
"First time for everything, right? I have to go," Alex says, gasping in an exaggerated way as he stumbles down the hall to the left.
"Uh, the trainer's is that way," John calls after him, pointing to the right.
"Oh yeah," Alex cringes, forcing a smile as he turns around.
John rolls his eyes. Yeah, that wasn't suspicious at all.
He doesn't see Miz the rest of the evening, which would be worrisome if Alex hadn't seemed so casual about it all only an hour earlier. After hanging out with Melina for awhile, he qualifies for the King of the Ring tournament and returns to the locker room, surprised by how vacant it all is without someone to at least comment on his victory, even if just to mock him. "Huh," he mumbles, uncertain about these thoughts. "Oh well." He's still keyed up so when meditation doesn't really work for once, he returns to wandering the halls. He thinks something's going on as there are groups of people surrounding the monitors but he's so distracted by wondering where Miz is hiding at and considering his own chances next week that he doesn't think twice about it.
"Hey, John," he hears Melina call behind him. "Congratulations on qualifying for King of the Ring," she says as she joins him, smiling up at him. "I knew you could do it."
"Thanks," he replies, smiling back. "Think you wishing me good luck earlier helped."
"Oh yeah?"
Before he can answer, a familiar voice interrupts their conversation. "Hey, toots, go bug someone else," Miz says, walking up behind John, his hands clasped behind his back.
Melina's face darkens as she looks over Morrison's shoulder. "Oh great," she mumbles, glaring at the intrusion. "I'll see you later, John," she offers before flouncing off.
"What the hell was that?" John demands, turning towards his tag partner. "Seriously? Ar-" Before he can finish his question, Miz brings his hands forward to reveal the WWE title to Morrison, lips twitching as his jaw drops at the sight of the belt. "Wait, did you- you cashed in!" Little hints through the evening suddenly click into place and he feels stupid for not figuring it out sooner. "Dammit, I missed it."
Too thrilled and abuzz from the adrenaline still rushing through his system, he brushes it off. "I'm taking the footage, you can watch it whenever." He falls quiet as he looks down at the title belt, looking more relaxed than he has in about as long as Morrison can remember. "Oh yeah." He turns and motions Alex forward, tossing the rental keys to him. "Hey, go get the car and bring it around. I wanna go celebrate." The kid's face brightens as he grips the keys and starts to walk off. Miz's voice stops him. "You're gonna be the designated driver!" His shoulders slumping slightly, Riley forces himself to nod before resuming out to the parking area.
"He's never going to live that down, is he?" John asks, humored.
"Not for awhile, nope." Miz swallows, suddenly looking almost... nervous as he looks over at John. "But that was mostly an excuse because I didn't want him to hear what I have to tell you. I have a reputation to uphold, after all."
"Alright," John mutters, unsure if he really needs or wants to hear this. He's never one to back down, however, so he holds his ground as Miz's gaze grows more confident, intense almost.
"Well, I'll never admit to saying this so don't even bother telling anyone." He pauses and takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what's to come."But I wouldn't have made it this far without you, and God knows you could've walked away at any time. Sure, I know that part of it was the GM could've suspended you, but you could've taken the easy way out and done what Cena did last night just to get back at me because of everything wrong between us. Instead, you stood up and did a lot to make sure I even got to this point so... I wanted to say... thank you." It's awkward but strangely familiar all at once as Miz steps closer and hugs John for the first time since the draft that caused the divide between them.
John freezes, his brain stuck on Mike's unexpected words before time restarts and he slowly lifts his arms, hugging Miz back hesitantly. "You're welcome," he mumbles, dazed. He can't help but remember the draft and how final that had felt too, the end of a chapter of his career, the same doubts and worries from back then running through his mind once more as he waits for something to happen. It's not like he needs me anymore, he thinks slowly. He has what he wants now, after all. Miz pulls away, clearing his throat awkwardly as he looks away from John. Any time now. As they stand around, a slight awkwardness still in the air, John holds his breath, almost waiting for Miz to do or say something but nothing happens until his phone begins buzzing to alert Miz to a text.
"Car's ready," he comments calmly, turning towards the exit.
Morrison's head is swimming with a mishmash of confused thoughts and feelings as he watches him walk off, almost relieved that he's leaving so he can just sit here and think for awhile about what's happened in the last twenty four hours; with enough time, maybe it would all start to make sense. "Uh, yeah, ok. Have fun tonight," he comments, trying to concentrate on his surroundings now that the obvious time for another betrayal has passed.
Miz stops midstep and turns to look back at him, eyebrow raised incredulously. He almost looks surprised that John is still sitting by the wall. "Um."
"What?" John asks, hands twitching around the strap of his tag belt. Great, now what?
"You idiot," he says, shaking his head. "You're invited too, you know?"
His eyes soften as some of his worries ease away. "Oh, ok. Sure." He collects his scattered things and quickly joins Miz, shaking his head at himself.
"Can I ask you something?" he asks out of nowhere as they walk out into the slightly cool November evening.
Morrison blinks a few times, still collecting his scattered thoughts, before mumbling, "Uh, yeah, sure."
"I've asked before and you dodged the question pretty expertly but considering I'm the world champ now," he smirks proudly, loving how those words sound and still barely daring to believe it. "I still want to know how exactly you got us the tag title opportunity the first time. I can't think of any connections you could have that would be able to go over the Email GM so quickly... and I'll be honest, I've pondered it a lot."
"Well, if I tell you, you can't tell anyone else," he warns, shifting as he buries his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "So I guess we both would be taking a vow of silence over this conversation."
Mike rolls his eyes, chuckling a little bit. "Fine, fine. Just tell me already."
"You remember when I first joined WWE, I was Eric Bischoff's assistant." They lean against the sides of the waiting car, looking over the roof at each other as Alex peers around at them from inside, wondering what the hold up is.
"Eh, yeah, Johnny Blaze, right? Well, for a week anyway..." Miz smirks as Morrison starts to look irritated at the reminder of his rapid name changes back in the day.
"Anyway. Well, despite his being out of WWE for so long, he still knew some people on the board of directors. He owed me a favor or two so it wasn't that hard to convince him to contact them. I found out the day of the pay per view that he had come through for me, and the board had sanctioned us being in the match."
"Hmmm." Miz nods thoughtfully, absorbing this information. "I see. Well, let's go, time's a-wastin'."
Next morning
Miz groans, waking up with a jerk as loud, repetitive beeps fill the hotel room. He scrubs at his eyes as strange, creepy dreams of Otunga in a turkey costume fade from his mind's eye. Damn Thanksgiving, he thinks.
"Shut that off," Morrison's groggy voice comes from across the room.
"I'm not getting up," he mumbles, stuffing a pillow over his face. "You get up."
"Hey, it stopped," he faintly hears after a few moments.
"Thank God," he mumbles, throwing the pillow away before rolling over... just to groan out another curse.
"What?"
"Sunlight, right in my eyes." He rolls over again and squints over at Morrison (stretched out across Alex's bed) through the darkness, swallowing a yawn. "Where's Alex?"
"Dunno," he whispers. "Asleep?"
"Sure, but where? You hijacked his bed after we got in last night... uh, this morning?" He actually giggles, mindlessly running his hand against something that alternates between hard ridges and soft leather. "Huh," he mumbles, rapping his knuckles against it, trying to understand why.
"What do you want from me? There's only two beds in here... not my fault hotel rooms are stupid," John responds, voice trailing off sleepily towards the end.
"True enough..." Miz slurs, dozing back off too.
Alex sits on a chair, blearily listening to them talk as he glares at Miz's cell phone, daring it to beep and wake him up again. He slowly pads over to the beds and rests it gently on the table between them, trying not to make too much noise. He glances over at Miz and smirks, shaking his head as Miz snuggles against the WWE title in his sleep. What did I do to deserve this? he thinks, returning to the chair and sinking down into it.
