Kinda unimpressive, short chapter, sorry.
Even after interrupting Cena's boring promo just so he won't fall asleep, Miz remains in the bad mood he's been in since Morrison cost him a title match at Bragging Rights the week previously. For this reason, he avoids everyone but Alex Riley, not in the mood to listen to the inane blathering that always happens in the locker rooms.
Thus, he doesn't see Morrison until just before he goes to face Cena, spots him leaving the locker room and heading for the parking garage. Something vicious comes over him, his vision turning red with anger, and he calls out, "Hey, Morrison!" His tag partner freezes and he continues, "I bet you're pleased as punch that R Truth's on the team, huh? Bet it just made your day, the fact that the tag partner you can't stand will be leading you and your replacement best friend."
Morrison slowly turns and raises an eyebrow at him, a silent intensity behind his gaze as their eyes lock, lowering his duffel to the floor. "What, would you rather we not be on the team and you get stuck with Santino and Zack Ryder?"
Miz knows he's right but glowers harder as he shifts, trying to stall for time so he can think. Morrison doesn't seem as rigid as a week prior, as if some of the anger had faded with the time that had passed... If anything, this just makes Miz feel even worse as he thinks about the past week- traveling to Australia and trying not to focus on how things crashed and burned so quickly after Hell in a Cell, when for a brief period of time he honestly had felt like things were turning around for him... and, yes, for John too. "You know, I think it'd all be easier if Ryder had become my tag partner!" he yells at him, feeling almost like he could explode with a sudden wave of petulance and indignation.
He barely takes a minute to absorb the startled look on John's face as he turns and storms through the gorilla position, preparing to go out for his match. He's just so sick of the back and forth between he and John, one week he almost thinks things will be ok between them then the next he's fighting just to hold on to one second of normalcy. It makes him want to scream; he's tired of the drama and stress, misses being a singles competitor with every fiber of his being.
In the end, the match with Cena is exactly what he needs, helps get his head back on straight, for however briefly. There's nothing emotionally confusing about it, just him and Cena- and yeah, Alex Riley and eventually the Nexus hopefuls get involved- but for awhile, he gets some single action with no tag team drama cluttering his head and messing up his momentum. Afterward, he rolls out of the ring, a victor, and takes a deep breath, his smile fading ever so slightly as he realizes that he is indeed now teaming with, and the leader of, John Morrison at Bragging Rights. He takes in a deep breath and presses a fist against his forehead. Damn.
As soon as he arrives at the parking garage, hair flat against his head from a recent shower and clothes sloppily poking out of the sides of his duffel, he's somehow not surprised to find Morrison waiting for him by his rental car. "What are you doing?" he asks, brushing past the man. "How did you know this was mine?" He hooks a thumb at the nondescript silver car and throws his duffel in the backseat, frowning at John as he turns to face him.
"Miz pendant in the mirror," Morrison comments vaguely, looking over as Alex Riley comes to a stop a few feet away and turns around, thoughtfully disappearing back into the shadows to give them some time to talk.
"Of course," he mumbles, thinking he should be annoyed at Alex Riley but somehow failing at the emotion. "So what did you want? Congratulate me on beating Cena?"
John's expression doesn't change as he watches Miz. "I think we should start over."
Mike's laugh is loud and perhaps a little frenzied as he huffs at John. "Start over? From when? Hell in a Cell? The Raw after Money in the Bank when this all began? Or maybe November 2007?"
Morrison runs a hand through his hair and sighs, looking worn out as he purses his lips thoughtfully. "The truce. Things were going ok before I lost my temper a few weeks ago. Honestly it doesn't matter if you're using me or not- we've both been dealt similar hands due to the GM, and we have to see things through or risk losing our careers. No matter what we think of each other personally, we've worked too hard to get fired now." Morrison clamps his mouth shut, giving Miz a minute to think as he looks away. "What do you say?"
"I need to think about it," he says listlessly, barely reacting as John looks at him worriedly, offput by his tone. "No matter what, we do have to work together somehow for Team Raw. What happened last year can't happen again- I will prove that Raw is the dominate brand, with or without you." He pulls his door open, movements brisk and somehow final. "I'll see you later, John."
Normally the first name usage would ease a little of the tension in Morrison's stance but it's said so emotionlessly that it makes him feel anxious and a little sick. "See you," he mutters. Miz drives off without a look back.
After finding and picking up a patiently wandering Alex Riley in another part of the parking garage, Miz heads straight to the hotel, relieved that his associate can tell he's not in the mood for a stop at the closest bar or a lot of chatter. They part ways at the door, actually, as Alex goes to the hotel bar for a quick drink and Miz heads upstairs, looking forward to some sleep.
He frowns at a small silver square on the floor of the hotel room that's innocently waiting for him just past the door and picks it up, unbuttoning his jacket as he examines the envelope. Once free of the clothing, he drops down on the bed and sighs, the envelope taunting him from where it lays on the comforter a few inches from his hand. Finally he gives up and tears the envelope open, frowning at the single piece of paper that falls out. A familiar handwriting is sprawled across the sheet and he buries his face in his hands for a moment before steeling himself and looking at it.
Miz,
You're currently in Australia and I'm in Mexico. I'm not sure if you not being here was the cause- or if you being on this tour would've changed things at all- but I've been thinking a lot about what's been going on between us. This is being written on Friday so I'm not sure where we're at as you're reading this but maybe it'll be enough to push things in the right direction.
He sighs and pushes the letter aside, slumping against the stiff pillows as he thinks, considers reading the rest but it's a long, wordy letter, both sides of the page covered in Morrison's scratchy handwriting. He scrubs at his eyes and shakes his head, too tired to deal with this right now. It'll hold until the morning, he decides stubbornly, gingerly picking up the page by the edge pinching it between his pointer finger and thumb derisively, as if it'll grow fangs and bite him. He's intending on stuffing it into the bedside drawer in a place where A-Ri won't see it until he can read it, but something stops him as his eyes rest on the final couple of lines on the back of the letter, at the very bottom. It's markedly less scribbled, as if Morrison paused and took his time thinking through what he was about to say before running out of space.
PS: I know this is a few days late but happy birthday anyway. If you want to discuss things tomorrow, I'll be at the Path.
He grimaces before prodding the piece of paper into place in the drawer, shutting it with an exasperated shove. He gives up on this day and rolls over, not even bothering to get out of his clothes or do any other pre-sleep rituals.