He's anxious. There's no better term for it, no other word that could possibly come close to explaining the weird, almost nauseous feeling that's hung with him since late last week when it truly hit him that after the long New Years weekend, he would be facing John Morrison once more- except this time it wasn't just for pride or ego or even some strange stipulation by the Email GM. No, this is to be for his WWE title. And Miz is well aware of the hunger, the pure intensity, that a superstar has when it comes to a chance at winning gold like that; felt it for months there while waiting for the pieces to fall into place after the Email GM nosed his way into things and made it impressively complicated.
He notes absently the strange, worried look on Alex Riley's face but says nothing- knows it stems from the fact that he's been sitting for nearly an hour, not moving or talking, just breathing in and out quietly, one hand stroking the title belt in his lap while the other rests on the bench. Him sitting probably seems like an apocalyptic event, especially to his NXT rookie, who's seen him pace until everyone watching him is dizzy or annoyed or both just to drain some of the hyper energy brimming beneath the surface away. For once he just feels empty, a thrumming dread the only thing keeping him aware of what could happen in a mere few hours. He's clung to the WWE title like it's a lifeline for the last five weeks, despite Orton and King and anything else that's been thrown at him, but tonight just feels different.
The sound of his own thoughts are beginning to annoy him so he finally looks up and catches Alex's eye. They stare at each other a moment before the Rookie offers hesitantly, "Tonight'll be fine."
"Of course it will," he says, yet again sounding more confident than he feels. As always.
Before he's completely ready, time passes quickly as he goes through the motions, barely tuned in as he does the typical pre-match rituals, changing into ring gear and slipping the knee braces and clunky wrestling boots on before wrapping his arms in wrist tape. He grabs the title belt and the next thing he registers, he's out in the ring, Morrison's music is playing and everything else fades from his mind- the anxiety, the fear that this could be the last night of the best period in his career thus far, and trying to figure out whatever weird flashy thing John could have up his sleeve next- as he gets sick of waiting, sick of the silence and takes off at a run towards John before he's even all the way down the ramp, getting caught immediately with a punch. The fight goes back and forth for a long while, Morrison using various parts of the ring side area and titantron set to attack Miz and Alex.
John's on top of his game tonight, taking out Alex with a running knee to the face while A-Ri's perched awkwardly on the barricade wall. Miz gapes as his apprentice slips bonelessly from the wall, Morrison landing easily on both legs as if nothing's just happened; his fear grows. I'm so screwed.
He shakes himself out of it long enough, not ready to give up without a fight, to eventually gain the upperhand. While Morrison is down on the mat, dazed, he crawls out of the ring and sets up a table, just in case he might need it later on. He rolls back into the ring at the ref's sharp command and hits his backbreaker/neckbreaker combo- just for Morrison to kick out again. His jaw drops as he flounders for a way to finish this, to retain his title... to not lose. This distraction is enough as John regains control and hits his Starship Pain, dizziness overcoming Miz as Morrison covers him. NO! he thinks wildly, somehow managing to kick out just before the three count. He's still out of it, working on base instinct by rolling him up, but it doesn't work again as he only gets a two count- the next thing he knows, he's on the outside, Morrison positioning him on the table that he himself had placed out there.
Awareness returns to him in time to see Morrison perched on the top rope, obviously about to hit a - Oh, hell no, Miz thinks, shaking some of the stupor away. He waits as long as possible, so Morrison can't stop himself in time, and rolls off of the table, almost slipping under the ring in his desperation to get away. Ew, at least Hornswoggle doesn't live under here anymore. He flinches as Morrison slams into the table only a few feet away from him, cracking it in two and hitting the floor with a sickening sound. He's shocked, openly gaping at his former tag partner sprawled out in front of him, barely moving, before he remembers what this match is about. He'd do the same thing if it was him, he tells himself as he scrambles away from the ring apron, covering him again. Another two count and Miz reluctantly pulls himself to his feet, dragging Morrison away from the table. One more Skull Crushing Finale and it's over, a different kind of numbness filling Miz as he stumbles away from the finally defeated Morrison, leans against the barricade wall for support.
As soon as his title belt is back in his hand, he begins moving up the ramp, fighting off a part of him that wants to check on John. Trainers are all over the place, he'll be fine, he reminds himself, trying not to think about the way his body slammed into that table or the sound that had followed. Despite this, Miz can't stop looking back as Morrison still keeps struggling, ignoring the trainers as he painfully slowly inches up the ramp, his face twisted in anger or pain, maybe both. Miz watches for a little longer, unable to stop the respect for his sometimes annoyingly stubborn rival from welling up inside of him, before turning and leaving to check on Alex Riley.
Alex is a little sore but ultimately fine so Miz leaves him behind in the locker room, needing some time alone before the #1 contendership match to work out the tension and energy still remaining after the Falls Count Anywhere match. He's in the process of getting himself lost in the arena's many hallways when he wanders by a hallway monitor airing Raw. It happens to be a recap of his and Morrison's match and he freezes, unable to look away as John goes through the table once more. He sighs and scrubs at his face anxiously. Damn, he thinks, turning towards where he knows the trainer's office is located this week. With little forethought, he begins walking in that direction and stops at catering, which is only a few feet away from the trainer's door.
He's twisting a water bottle lid back and forth when the trainer's door opens. He stiffens, almost expecting Morrison to walk out, but instead the trainer himself enters the hallway. Miz releases a deep breath and continues the repetitive motion as the trainer leaves, talking lowly to one of the referees. He peeks over his shoulder, unsurprised to find he's alone in the hallway now. He screws the lid back on before slipping over towards the trainer's door. He looks around once more before inching the door open, holding his breath. As soon as it's open enough, he peeks inside and looks around, taking in how the lights are dimmed, one small lamp in the corner casting a vague gleam over the furniture.
Curious, he inches inside and looks around, taking in how quiet the room is. He's about to leave when he realizes that the room isn't empty after all. Morrison is laying on his side on a couch, breathing softly with an arm wrapped protectively around his midsection. Miz frowns, stepping closer to get a better look at him. When he doesn't respond at all, it's obvious that, even though his face is pinched in discomfort, he's deeply asleep, although it doesn't look very restful considering how stiffly he's holding himself due to his ribs and who knows what else after going through that table, on top of everything else.
The water bottle is sweating, dripping all over Miz's hand, down his wrist, and chilling him, annoying him further, so he glances around once more before placing the water on a table close to Morrison. It's not like the trainer ever keeps drinks in here, and God knows you complain if you wake up thirsty, he thinks wryly, his face softening slightly as he looks down once more at the sleeping man. "Good match," he offers in a whisper before turning on his heel and leaving as quietly as he arrived.