Miz leans against a wall, watching quietly as Morrison sits on the floor, breathing in and out regularly, face blank and peaceful, lost deep in meditation or whatever it is that he does before every event. It was something lost when Miz was drafted to Raw, this easy silence between them as Miz thinks about whatever and Morrison clears his mind. He's never really allowed himself to consider how he's missed it until this very moment, just the two of them alone in a unused locker room, their various ring gear and title belts or briefcase cluttering the shelves around them.
His breathing is starting to mimic John's easy rhythm when a knock sounds on the door. Peace shattered, Miz groans and pushes away from the wall, mouth twitching as Morrison's eyes flutter open, his lips twisting in annoyance. "What?" he snaps, pulling the door open. He blinks, surprised to find Michael Cole waiting on the other side. "Uh. Cole, what are you doing here?" The ring announcers and commentators usually mind their own business, avoiding the wrestlers like they have the plague so this is definitely strange.
"I have a message for you and John Morrison," he says, hands twisting nervously as John joins them at the door, obviously still aggravated at being interrupted. "I received an email from the general manager."
Miz bites back a groan at the tired line, raising an eyebrow. "And what did the esteemed GM have to say now?" he asks, sarcasm dripping from his very gaze.
"He's making a tag match." Cole pauses until Morrison shifts and Miz motions impatiently at the man to continue. "It's starting the show off- you and Alex Riley vs. Daniel Bryan and..." His gaze roams over Miz's shoulder briefly before dropping to the floor. "John Morrison."
Miz's jaw drops as his hands clench unknowingly into fists. Cole glances between the two for a moment before bustling off, relieved to get away in one piece after relaying that message. Morrison stands still for a minute, trying to wrap his mind around this development before gripping a frozen Miz by the shoulder and guiding him back into the room, shutting the door behind them so they can talk in private. The door slamming shut drags Miz out from wherever he went after the announcement and he frowns at John. "What do we do now?"
John shrugs. "What can we do?" He's not forgotten that his career is on the line, the email GM's threats reverbating through everything done and not done in the last two and a half months. "We don't even know who the GM is, much less how to fight him."
Miz grimaces, annoyed. "Dammit," he mumbles. Normally he'd have no problem facing Morrison- they've wrestled a few times when teaming a couple years ago, after all, but this is different. Their truce still feels a little too tenuous, a bit too fragile. That GM really has it out for me...
The match is a disaster from the get-go. Miz is torn between wanting to win, cheering on his NXT apprentice to do the same, and not wanting to go too far against Morrison despite wanting to lay into Daniel Bryan once more. After spending the whole match being tugged at by every angle, he's almost relieved when he's sent into Morrison and sends him flying off of the apron, just because it gives him one less thing to consider as he sets Bryan up for the Skullcrushing finale. Despite attaining the victory, he and Alex quickly resume attacking Daniel, all thoughts about Morrison leaving his mind until he spots a flash of movement behind him, Morrison pushing both of them off of the rookie. For a minute he forgets where he's at and attacks John before finding himself on the floor outside of the ring, confused and shaking his head.
John is attacking him and Riley and he grimaces, uncertain what exactly is happening as he tries to fight back, when there's another blink-and-you-miss-it movement and he's crashing into the security wall, Bryan this time on top of both he and Morrison. The confusing battle between them all continues until the lights flash and the by now unfortunately familiar chirping noise echoes through the arena, causing all three of them to pause wherever they've ended up.
Cole once more provides another unwanted announcement and Miz closes his eyes, his brain spinning with all of the crap he's being put through... a triple threat match now for his US title? Submissions count anywhere, no less? He looks up and locks eyes with Morrison, who looks thoroughly pissed. He groans. Could things get any worse?
"Oh, and the GM has one other match to make," Cole says, cutting into Miz's morose thoughts. "Later tonight, the Hart Dynasty will have their rematch for the tag team titles."
"WHAT?"
"What was that? Huh?" Miz demands, staring at John as they meet back at the locker room to regroup before the tag match later on.
"Why do you keep attacking Daniel Bryan? He didn't win the US title, you're just making things worse by repeatedly going after him," John grumbles, rubbing the back of his head carefully. It's still sore from where he hit the security wall. Multiple times.
"So you come to his defense, against me? He may be pathetic but he is a grown man, John." Mike shakes his head and huffs out a deep breath. "Who's your tag partner here, me or him?"
"Tonight, both of you apparently," he mumbles, not looking Miz in the eye as he stretches his bad knee out in front of him carefully.
Miz's mouth opens and closes a few times at this, uncertain how to respond or if he even wants to. "Whatever." He rolls his eyes. "I'll see you out there for the rematch."
John looks up but before he can think of anything to say to explain further what he means, Mike's gone, the locker room door slamming forcefully behind him. He cringes and sighs, his headache getting worse.
Considering everything, the tag match goes alright. Miz and Morrison have tagged together often enough in the past that it's become almost second nature to stuff down their issues and just go out and do what they need to do as if there are no problems between them. In fact in the end, it's the Hart Dynasty that leave arguing as Miz and Morrison stand in the ring, triumphant and watching. As soon as David Hart Smith storms off, they glance at each other and chuckle a bit, some of the tension fading away as they show off their tag belts.
Miz's gaze follows Morrison as he leaves the ring first, reflecting on the triple threat match and what just happened with the Hart Dynasty. Not that long ago, that was us, he thinks with a tinge of bitter sadness. Arguing and struggling to make things work... and back then, we didn't even have a General Manager making things worse. He sighs and watches as Morrison slowly turns at the middle of the ramp, their eyes locking once more. Morrison looks almost expectant, as if waiting for him to make a move. He allows himself another moment or two to think before biting his lip and shouldering both title belts, slipping under the bottom rope. His shoulders relax fractionally as he joins John and nudges him companionably.
"Took you long enough," Morrison says, unable to completely stop the smile on his face as they wander up the ramp together.
"We still need to talk," he responds solemnly, twitching a little as the smile disappears from his partner's face. Even so, John nods and they make their way back to the private locker room that Miz had talked his way into. Alex Riley is inside, nursing his own bruises from earlier but he takes one look at the tag team champions and collects his things, discreetly leaving. Knew I trained him right, Miz thinks cockily, before settling down on the bench.
Morrison hesitates for a moment before sitting across from him, his lips twisted thoughtfully as he stares ahead. "What do you want to talk about?" he asks finally after the stifling silence draws on for much too long.
"This Sunday," Miz says, closing his eyes as John winces a little.
"I honestly didn't want to be put in that match, Mike. You were there, it just all snowballed and happened..."
"Then why did you attack me and Alex?" he asks, looking down at his hands. He normally would have no problem looking John in the eye at this moment but not-so-old insecurities and anger are brimming right at the surface, threatening to boil over and make him say something he doesn't neccessarily mean that could ultimately ruin their chances at holding onto the tag belts long enough for him to cash in his briefcase.
"I told you earlier- I don't understand why you keep attacking Bryan. Doing so just keeps him coming after you and the US belt..."
"I can handle Daniel Bryan," Miz snaps, finally looking up. Morrison barely blinks in the face of his anger. "You think I can't?"
"I didn't say that," he says, growing frustrated. "I just think you have enough going on between these tag belts and the briefcase..."
"I don't need your help in defending my US title belt," he says angrily. "I've done fine for months before you and will continue doing so after you."
John's mouth clacks shut at this and he looks blankly at Mike.
Oh, dammit, Mike thinks, realizing what he's just said. "John-"
"Don't John me," Morrison says coldly. "I've wondered for a while now if you were still just using me to get what you needed, if the truce and everything was just temporary." His hand rests heavily on the tag belt. "Glad I have my answer. See you this Sunday, Miz."
This time Mike's the one too slow to stop him as John grabs his things and leaves without looking back. Dammit, he repeats, hitting the back of his head against the wall. Dammit, dammit, dammit.
Later on, when he reaches the parking lot, he remembers that Morrison has the rental car keys- which means he has the rental car. He closes his eyes and drops his bag thoughtlessly on the cool cement, wondering what else could go wrong on the road to Hell in a Cell.
"Sir? Are you Mike Mizanin?" an unfamiliar voice asks. He blinks at the balding security guard as he holds out something towards him. It glints in the pale light overhead. "John Morrison left this with me to give to you, said he didn't need it."
A flood of emotions run through Miz as he takes the keys from the man, eyes locked on the rental tag from the car that they had picked up just that afternoon. He huffs out a deep breath, trying not to lose control. "Thanks," he says tonelessly, walking towards the rental car that's waiting for him. Didn't need it? He rests a hand on the cold side of the car, trying to think. Either... he left it behind so I wouldn't be stranded and he's still too goody-goody to let that happen or... this is his way of dissolving our truce and traveling together. He shakes his head, disgusted and annoyed with the whole situation... but mostly with himself. "Dammit."