"Wait, what?" Miz asks, confused as Michael Cole shifts in front of him, glancing around the hallway nervously.
He swallows, his cell phone held tightly between anxious fingers as he stares at Miz and repeats, "The anonymous GM sent me an email to tell you that you won't have to defend the WWE title until TLC. Due to what happened last week, he wants to make sure you're in good shape for your rematch against Randy Orton."
The skeptism doesn't leave Miz's face as he stares down at Cole, not believing it for a second. "Riiiight," he drawls sarcastically. "Tell your buddy thanks, will ya?" He doesn't wait to see Cole's response before inching back into the locker room and shutting the door solidly behind him. He crosses his arms over his chest and rolls his eyes, leaning against the doorframe. "How stupid do these people think I am?"
Oddly enough the Email GM's good mood or whatever the hell this is continues when Cole corners Miz at catering and tells him that the GM has also given him the choice on his and Orton's TLC match. He stares suspiciously as Cole shifts anxiously, waiting for some reaction from the new WWE champion. After a moment of strained silence, Cole slinks away, unnerved by his intense stare.
"Who knew you becoming WWE champion would make the Email GM pull a 180?" John Morrison cuts into his rampant thoughts, barely looking up from where he's poking around the table of food.
"This is definitely a trap," he mumbles, walking over to join John. "It's just too friggin' simple."
The strangeness of the evening continues through the first hour of Raw as Alex challenges Orton to a match when Miz comes out to relay what the Email GM had to say to him. He's brainstorming in the locker room about what exactly to do regarding Orton and Alex's match when another knock sounds on his locker room. He sighs, motioning to Alex, who answers the door.
"What do you want?" he asks, blocking Mike's view. Annoyed, he shifts to the side and peers around to see one of the many referees standing at the door.
"I was told to come find The Miz and John Morrison. There's been a four team elimination tag match made for the tag titles tonight and, well, it's next," he says, stepping backwards as Miz abruptly appears in front of him, dark blue eyes flashing as he pushes Alex out of the way to lay into the man about this last minute notification.
"When was the match made?" he barks at him, almost shaking due to the sudden anger coursing through him.
"I- five minutes ago?" the ref asks, looking startled as Miz's hands tighten around the edge of the door, his knuckles whitening as his hold intensifies along with his wayward emotions. "Uh, yeah, I'm going now."
Miz blinks as soon as the shorter man disappears from his sight and, realizing what exactly he's doing, forces his hand to release its tight grip on the door. He takes a deep breath and slowly turns to find Alex watching him worriedly. "I knew this was too simple. Dammit."
He meets up with John at the gorilla position a little later, glaring down at the scuffed floor as they wait for their cue to go out. "This sucks," John says after a few minutes, the unusual silence from his tag partner beginning to weird him out.
"You always had an exceptional way of stating the obvious," Miz sighs, shifting the tag belt on his shoulder and finally glancing up, just barely dodging Morrison's gaze. "The email GM obviously set this up- he was probably trying to make me relax by thinking that he's not being as biased and then throw this match together when I least expected it."
Morrison sighs with a nod, glancing out at the ring as the three teams go out one by one. "Yeah. Well, at least it's not as vital as previously- if we lose, it's not like you're losing anything else. You've cashed in, so..." His words taper off as he glances at Miz, taking in the odd look on his half-shadowed face. "What? Something wrong?"
Mike looks from the tag belt on his shoulder to Morrison, still not quite meeting his eyes, and shrugs. "No, of course not," he says, taking a deep breath.
John frowns as he tracks Miz's gaze, his own eyes widening a little as he begins to suspect something. "You're worried about losing the tag belts."
"What?" he sputters, scoffing as he pushes past John to look out at the ring again. "Yeah right. I have the WWE title, why would losing the tag belts bother me?"
"You tell me," Morrison says, unable to say anything else before Miz's music plays. He sighs and, having no choice but to drop the conversation, follows him out to the ring, not liking their chances as he looks at the three teams waiting for them. If not for Mark's strength, he and Yoshi more than likely wouldn't be much of a problem, and considering the Usos still are a bit green, he's not overly worried about them either... but that leaves Santino and Kozlov. The odd pair's teamed together longer than pretty much any team currently active in the WWE, including he and Miz- not counting before the year-plus they spent hating each other.
"Here we go," Miz mumbles as the bell rings. John chooses to start off with Yoshi Tatsu and tries to slow the man down with forearms and kicks but Yoshi eventually gets control, obviously trying to keep Morrison away from their corner. Somehow Morrison gets some separation, reaches Miz before Yoshi can stop him and tags him in.
Miz gets caught in an armbar before he can even decide what to do first, Yoshi holding him down for a bit working his arm over before tagging Henry in. Warning bells going off in his head- No injuries just after winning WWE title, no way- propell him forward to the only free corner, where he tags in one of the Usos and dashes outside, catching his breath as he returns to his and Morrison's corner.
He barely pays attention to the match, disinterested in the Usos getting beat up by Mark Henry, but when the much smaller Yoshi is tagged back in, his focus returns all at once. He's desperate for an opportunity, anything to hold onto the gold. He's not lacking in title belts and accolades, far from it, but he's grown so used to holding the belts again that just thinking about losing them leaves him feeling almost empty. He glances out of the corner of his eye at Morrison, unsettled by these thoughts, and almost misses his chance, turning back to find Yoshi sprawled out on the mat. Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, he quickly reaches out and slaps the current Uso on the back as he stupidly runs against the ropes close to Miz, slipping into the ring as the ref pushes Jey into his corner in an attempt to maintain order.
He pins Yoshi easily, working off of the momentum of the Usos, and barely has time to stand before the Usos begin going after him, tagging so rapidly he can't keep track of which one's in the ring at any one time. He dodges a flying headbutt but before he can make the momentary respite work in his favor, Kozlov snags a tag and he has no choice but to return to his corner and watch as Kozlov eliminates the Usos, all plans cut off mid-way through.
Morrison takes over, working Kozlov over for awhile after knocking him to his knees and tags Miz in after keeping the larger man down with a kick to the side of the head. Taking over from where John left off, he begins kicking him, most to the knees but making sure to spread the pain around his upper body as well. After a bit of this, the referee pushes him away and begins lecturing him, allowing Kozlov the space to tag Santino in.
Undisturbed by this change of opponent, Miz smirks, letting Santino have the first move. Why Morrison feels the need to keep saving this guy, I have no idea, he thinks as Santino attacks with a few lame punches, barely fazing him. His distraction and cockiness work against him though as a few seconds pass blurrily and he finds himself being slammed against the mat, blinking up at the lights in surprise as Santino flips around and covers him. His shock wearing off, he kicks out at a two and clotheslines Santino into the mat. Yeah, have fun with this, he thinks in annoyance as he lunges for his corner and tags John in.
Despite the slight reluctance Miz notices on his face and in his stance, Morrison doesn't hesitate as he enters the ring and takes off at a run, his knee contacting with a half-sitting up Santino's face and sending him back down to the mat. He follows up with a chinlock but Santino's off-and-on good fortune returns as he somehow grabs Morrison and succeeds in hitting an armdrag, forcing him to break the hold all at once.
John shakes his head, a bit dazed before realizing how close Santino is to his corner now, Kozlov clearly desperate to get into the match once more. He kicks a still recovering Santino a few times before tagging in Miz, who goes right after Santino and holds him to the mat, choking him out with his boot for as long as he can without getting disqualified.
As the ref pushes Miz off of him, Santino stands up shakily and waits for the ref to move before rushing forward. He somehow manages to clothesline Miz and sweep his legs out from under him all at once, giving himself just enough time to get to Kozlov.
Miz scoots backwards as the Russian enters the ring, an annoyed leer on his sharply lined face. As soon as he's in range, Morrison reaches out and tags himself in, his speed giving him the advantage for a bit as he knocks Kozlov back with kicks and punches to keep him out of his corner, getting him into a facelock despite his struggles to get to Santino.
Kozlov, however, is stronger than Morrison and gets just close enough to the corner for Santino to sneak in a tag while John's back is to him, the ref making him break the hold so Kozlov can get into his corner as Santino enters the ring once more. The speed of the match is substantially slower now so he and Santino circle each other, a look of understanding passing over their faces as they near each other.
He holds a hand out to Santino and notices over the man's shoulder as Miz slaps an exasperated hand to his face, a smirk coming across his own as he shakes hands with his opponent, to show that there would be no hard feelings no matter how the match would ultimately go. As soon as they separate, he attempts a clothesline but Santino ducks into a near split, Morrison's move going right over his head.
Damn, he's thinking when Santino grabs him and tosses him over onto his back, drawing the breath from his lungs. How does he do random crap like that? A headbutt follows, adding to his daze as he regains his footing, however uncoordinated it may be... just to be grabbed by the neck and slammed down in what feels like a stunner, his jaw impacting with Santino's shoulder. He's attempting to kick out of the cover that follows when Miz lunges into the ring and kicks Santino, breaking up the possible three count but there's a flash of red as Kozlov rushes past them, sending Miz back out of the ring and away from his tag partner just to land hard close to him.
Morrison manages to make it to his feet once more, Santino lingering behind him, when the lights flash twice and the email GM's obnoxious sounder goes off. Time slows as everyone from the ref to the commentators look around curiously, Punk half-standing, as if trying to figure out if he should go to the laptop and read off the email despite the match still going on. John locks eyes with Miz briefly, who's shaking his head- trying to shake himself out of the fog caused by Kozlov's attack or in desbelief over the GM's interruption- before turning back around to get clipped by the Cobra, which sends a shooting pain up his throat before his whole body goes slack.
When awareness slowly returns to him, Miz is sitting next to him, an aggravated look on his face. He doesn't even need to ask, the tag belts not being held out to him all the answer he needs about how the match ended up.
"I knew it," Miz mumbles, pacing angrily around the locker room. He has nothing to throw this time, Alex Riley taking great care to keep the briefcase away from him after last week. "That damn GM, this is probably just the beginning. And you," he spits, looking at Morrison. "Your new best friend got the upperhand because you let him. If you had just treated it like another match, maybe we'd still be tag champions."
John rolls his eyes, thrumming with annoyance and disappointment too. "Oh, please. I didn't hold back from Santino, and he didn't hold back from me. Besides, like I said, why does it matter to you? You don't need the tag belts anymore, now that you've cashed in and have the WWE title. The GM can't hold that over your head any longer." He stares at Miz, jaw working as he waits for an answer. "Nothing to say? Yeah, I figured. I need to go see a certain Irishman. See ya around."
Miz opens his mouth to stop him, half-rising from where he's sitting on the bench, but John's gone before he can decide what to say that won't annoy him further. "Damn," he mumbles, anxiously fingering his US title.
Alex stares at him curiously, not willing to risk making him even madder by asking what's going on with him and Morrison. It's at least something to keep him off of his match against Orton later for a little bit.
"I'm not sure entirely why losing those belts bugged me so much either," Miz says softly after a few minutes, surprising his apprentice. "I went for so long without them that it just felt... right when they were mine- ours- once more. Sure, teaming with Big Show was ok but there was something different winning them again with Morrison. Despite all the anger I felt at the Email GM for screwing with my career, holding me back, I guess a part of me was glad to go back to that simpler time when it was John and I working together." He looks away, as if ashamed to watch the younger man's face as he confesses this, as if it's a weakness. "I just wonder if... now that we don't have the tag belts, and have no real reason to go after them again, if things will go back to how they were before.
"And I know, I know that before was all me, I put it all into motion and made Morrison hate me, so if anything, I'd kind of deserve it but..." His voice drifts away thoughtfully as he picks at his fingernails, almost ferociously. "I really don't want it to go back to that. I put on this show that I'm ok with being alone, scratching and clawing for every little bit of notice and accolades I receive, but damn, half the time I'm just waiting for someone to look past the bluster and see me."
Alex stares ahead, speechless and slightly uncomfortable as Miz breathes heavily through his nose, his rant dying away as quickly as it started. He frets all the way to the ring for his match against Orton, Miz's uncharacteristically soft-spoken words tumbling around in his brain as he tries to keep up with the much more experienced Viper.
He wants to make Mike proud, needs to hold up his end of the bargain so Miz can reveal his match for TLC to a weakened Orton. Despite his best efforts, he finds himself about to be RKO'd when Miz runs in and hits a Skull crushing finale on Randy, sparing him from that. Even so, he gets put through a chair mere moments later for the second time in a week, his back protesting even more at this rough treatment.
Once Orton's left, Miz ventures back out and pushes a couple referees out of his way so he can talk to Alex. "You ok?"
"Sure," he breathes, desperately putting on a strong front for his mentor. The walk back to the trainer's office is slow and seems to take forever. Alex is tempted to ask if they'll get him there before TLC begins but another spasm of pain stabbing through his back muscles rids him of all thought- sarcastic and otherwise.
"Just breathe through it," he hears faintly, squinting around to realize that Mike is gripping him under one arm, a fretful twist to his lips as they inch slowly down the hallway.
A few minutes later, the referees are working at settling him down on a couch for the trainer to poke and prod him when a soft, almost hesitant knock, sounds on the door. Mike looks around before shrugging in aggravation and going to answer, mumbling something about beating down whoever's come to whine to the trainer now.
Alex doesn't even need to crane around to recognize who it is as soft murmurs come from the door, which is very good because any movement involving his neck or spine is very, very unfortunate right now. He blinks tiredly at the ceiling as the trainer continues his examination, Miz and Morrison's quiet voices washing over him. I doubt you have anything to worry about, Mike. Don't think either of us is going anywhere any time soon, he thinks, eyes fluttering shut as the last few weeks catch up to him.