A/N: My "one year anniversary/birthday" special story of BtB. Similar to Against the Grain, Policy of Truth has no true connection to the main storyline. Sometimes I just like creating stories that are stand alone, I just tinker with them for fun. Thank you for reading and I hope you all enjoy!
I hadn't been General Manager of Raw for very long when the July 2010 pay per view, Money In the Bank, happened. As I watched Mike "The Miz" Mizanin win the briefcase and celebrate, my disdain for the man grew until I couldn't sleep, eat or even breathe without reflecting on that moment. The embarrassment of having him as a contender for the title- not to mention champion, when he finally cashed in that briefcase- weighed down on me from moment one, and despite my best manipulations, he somehow outplayed me. But I'm far from done, even though he's not champion any longer. He'll regret ever crossing me.
After losing the title, it's hard for Mike to even think about where to go from there. He's held it for months, even retained it at Wrestlemania, just to lose it against Cena not even a week after surviving the draft. As he enters the arena, he glowers down at his empty hands and tries to ignore how alone he is. He hasn't seen Alex Riley since the supplemental draft, since his being drafted to Smackdown. It just adds to his bad mood.
He pauses outside of the WWE champion's locker room and narrows his eyes, glaring at the name plaque. Instead of reading The Miz, it clearly screams out John Cena, the mocking gold letters gleaming in the overhead lights. It takes all of his inner strength and stubbornness to keep his chin up and continue walking on to the regular locker room where non-champions congregrate to handle pre-match and post-match business. He comes to a sudden stop as the first thing he sees is John Morrison staring at him, something like sympathy in his dark gaze. Annoyance and shame washing over him like waves, he slams the rest of the way into the room and drops his bag unceremoniously as far away from John as he can get in the small room.
John Morrison had sacrificed more than anyone- even, perhaps, Miz himself- to help him to win the title, going above and beyond what the Anon GM had deemed neccessary for Miz to win the title. There was a chance that, had Morrison not gone through with the GM's orders, he would've been fired anyway, but none the less he had stayed with Miz, despite their turbulent history and the ever present tension between them, pulled strings and fought with all he had just to win and keep the tag titles so that Miz could cash in the briefcase and win the WWE title. So tonight, to walk into the locker room and face him without the title where it belonged, felt like a belittlement of all that they both had gone through just to secure the WWE title, not to mention the road to something resembling forgiveness they had both ended up taking thanks to the GM's order ten months ago.
Miz is quietly untangling his wrestling boots' laces when he hears footsteps coming his way. He ignores it as their owner comes to a stop next to him, a huffy sigh released before he drops down on the bench, not minding at all as Miz looks over at him with a glower, rolling his eyes.
"Nice to see you too, Mike," John says with a bemused smile before sobering. "You alright?"
"I'm frickin fantastic, can't you tell?" he mumbles, trying to ignore his other opponent from the night before. But Morrison isn't just stubborn in the ring; he remains nonplussed by Miz's temper, settling back against the lockers with a soft sigh as he stretches his arms over his head.
"Where's A-Ri at?"
"Good question," he grouses, finally succeeding at getting his laces loose. "Haven't seen him since the supplemental draft last week."
"Aren't the Smackdown guys here for Rock's birthday? That's kind of weird," Morrison hmms, staring thoughtfully ahead.
"What are you getting at?" As Morrison shrugs, Miz rolls his eyes. "Then don't start with the conspiracy theory cra-"
"Excuse me," one of the random tech people that neither of them had ever talked to, barely had seen around in the backstage, breaks into their conversation, a sheepish look on his face as he stands before them. "Miz?"
"What?" the former WWE champion snaps, already dreading whatever's about to be said.
"I was instructed to give this to you," he says, handing over an envelope with Miz's name typed on it in large letters. With a quick glance over at Morrison, the tech quickly leaves to go back to work.
"Gee, I wonder who this could be from," he says dryly, holding the envelope up to the lighting. Unable to see much of its contents, he sighs and, digging underneath the weak glue, pries it open with his thumb. Morrison watches quietly as he pulls the paper out and reads it. Almost immediately his skin goes sickly pale, the letter drifting out of slack fingers.
"Mike? What's wrong?" John quickly grabs the offending page when his former tag partner doesn't answer right away, his jaw slack and eyes unfocused.
Mr. Mizanin,
This correspondence is to notify you that I have been retained by the Raw General Manager, who wishes to remain anonymous. After reading through Alex Riley's personal contract, it has been declared null and void due to the fact that a new contract has been drawn up declaring him a Smackdown superstar. He thus cannot be on both Raw and Smackdown full time as the WWE's contract does not allow for-
Uninterested in the rest of the jargon, Morrison too drops the paper and turns to Miz. "Mike-"
"That- damn- GM," he chokes out, slamming his fist on the bench. "Dammit!"
"It's ok, Mike," John tries to calm him down. "We'll figure this out. You'll see."
For some reason, Mike finds he believes him.
I had a plan from the start- nearly the moment Miz won Money in the Bank. He couldn't be world champion, it just wouldn't be good for business. I could see ratings fall, revenue drop, everything. Armageddon for WWE and WWE alone. So I set some of the most ridiculous challenges before him- setting it up so he was forced to tag team with one of the men he'd hated the most for well over a year, something that at the time I thought for sure would spell the end of his title aspirations, be it by his own hand or Morrison's. Unfortunately, I overestimated Morrison's hatred. The idiot toughed it out, actually helped Miz win the tag belts- not once but twice- and opened the doorway for him to defeat Randy Orton for the WWE title. I hate being wrong about people.
But it isn't the end of it for that night. Far from it. Truth, who's had problems with Morrison since he beat him and took his #1 contendership from him, attacks him viciously that night before their match and leaves John writhing in pain at the top of the ramp, already complaining about numbness and barely able to stand, the pain so bad.
Miz watches on from a monitor, anger boiling within him as he wonders what else could go wrong this night, when the Anon GM sounder goes off before the referees can even get John up to his feet completely. Dread swirls within the former WWE champion as he bites his lip, his fingernails biting crescents into his palm as he waits for Michael Cole to read the damn email already.
"... And I quote, the Raw General Manager says that..." Cole sucks in a deep breath of surprise and Miz closes his eyes, somehow sensing what's to come. "... Due to John Morrison becoming a liability to the company, he is FIRED!"
He doesn't remember the walk from the monitor to the gorilla position, doesn't remember all the gossiping, shocked people he passes on his way, or what he was thinking about, but he does remember turning the corner and seeing security already on scene, probably notified ahead of time, trying to unceremoniously escort a struggling, snarling Morrison to the exit. "HEY!" he yells, acting on impulsive instinct as he lunges forward, grabbing a nearby steel chair and going after the nearest guards. "Let him go, he's hurt, can't you jackasses see that?"
It works, the four men releasing Morrison and scattering, unhappy looks on their faces as they all reach for their radios to call for more security to back them up. "Mike," John says breathlessly, still trying to rub the unrelentless pain from his neck and shoulder. "Don't- last thing we need is you fired too."
As a security guard, still angry at being rushed with a weapon, grabs out for him again, Miz steps between them, his lips twisted into a viscious snarl. "STEP BACK!" he spits in the man's face, his eyes dark and stormy with angry intensity.
"Mike, please!" John finally yells, as more security arrive on scene. He forces through the pain and drops a hand on Miz's shoulder, wincing as he does so.
"What, John?" he demands, outnumbered eight to one. Even with the steel chair, those are horrible odds.
"They're doing their jobs, ok? Just... I'm going to go. Ok?"
Mike turns slightly so he can keep an eye on the security guards and Morrison both. "John-"
"We have no other alternative. The Anon GM has all the power; I have to go." Miz's face falls and John sighs painfully, both emotionally and physically. "Listen. Don't do anything stupid, alright? We can't fix anything if we're all gone," he whispers, staring intensely at his former tag partner. Mike nods slightly, his eyes fixed and watery as Morrison looks over at the security. "Fine, I'm going. At ease," he says mockingly, turning slowly towards the exit.
The original four immediately move to flock him but Mike grabs one of the nearest, dropping the chair to show he's not moving in to attack as everyone in the area tenses up. "You listen to me. I wasn't kidding, he's hurt. So don't you go and make it worse. Understand me?" The two men stare at each other for a moment before the security guard nods begrudgingly, nudging away one of his fellow guards to stand by Morrison's right side, careful not to touch him as they follow him to the exit to make sure he leaves.
Miz doesn't follow, his mind moving at a snail's pace as he tries desperately to rectify what all has happened this evening, the night before, everything. He presses his fist to his forehead and groans softly, trying and failing to keep his composure as life slowly returns to the hallway around him, the drama done as the last angry security guard drifts away to return to his job.
He's all alone, and titleless, on Raw, where the General Manager is too cowardly to show his face, hiding behind Michael Cole of all people, and hates him on top of that.
The Miz is beyond my understanding. I like to think of myself as an intelligent person but why, exactly, people like John Morrison and Alex Riley gravitate around him, helping him with almost all aspects of his career, evades me. Especially Morrison, who shows moments of intense promise. Even so, one doesn't need understanding to thoroughly isolate someone and completely crush their spirit. It just takes cunning and a bit of timing, maybe some luck.
Three weeks later
Things have moved at a dizzying pace after Morrison's firing- sometimes torturously slow, other times roller coaster fast. Trying to keep his composure grows harder, especially after Miz hears from John that he ends up needing neck surgery to correct a pinched nerve, which seems unbelievably cruel timing.
Despite his attempts to keep his head down, the Anon GM doesn't let up- the first week, he puts Miz in a match against Khali, who doesn't even come close to taking it easy on him, seeming to almost relish swatting away each of his attempts at offense like they're pathetic little flies before KOing him with one massive slam. The week after that, he's put in a match against Kane, who is well known for liking boiler rooms and demolishing opponents inch by painful inch. Still feeling the week before, he has no chance against the Big Red Machine, falling like a sack of potatoes after a round of carefully aimed punches and the dreaded chokeslam.
It's the week after that everything hits the fan, his body still hurting and mind not quite with it. The Anon GM puts him in a match with the ruthless Alberto Del Rio. He shakes his head, eyes dull and hopeless as Ricardo Rodriguez says something to ADR in Spanish, a mocking smirk on both of their faces. He tries to get the upper hand, hitting a few punches and clotheslines, but Alberto is on top of his game and quickly gains the advantage by moving away before Miz can do his running clothesline against the turnbuckle, his shoulder slamming into the post as he overshoots just a little. "Dammit," he wheezes, pain stabbing through his arm to join the rest of his aches.
Alberto, tired of waiting, drags him out of the corner and immediately locks in the arm submission that he's become well known for, wrenching back hard on the appendage and ignoring as Miz taps even as the referee tries desperately to pull him off, screaming in his face that the match is over, he's won, to let go already. Mike barely registers the loud, desperate sounds of pain he's making, unable to focus on anything but the intense pain he's in... until a flash of brown and blue just noticeable through his sweat-blurred, pain-faded vision breaks through, the pressure immediately disappearing from his arm. He collapses to the mat, panting through the throbbing ache, his body stiffening automatically as Alberto's boots come uncomfortably close to his face, the man stumbling away uncoordinatedly. He blinks and they're gone, ADR now glaring up at something standing over him as he hovers outside of the ring, Ricardo talking agitatedly to him, almost seeming to orbit the taller man while they both gesture excitedly into the ring.
He's about to piece together his remaining energy and turn over to look when a warm, calming hand rests on his shoulder, keeps him down. "Don't move," the familiar voice of John Morrison murmurs in his ear, just barely audible over the loud buzz of the confused crowd.
"John?" he croaks, still struggling to breathe normally, eyelashes fluttering wearily as he works to keep his eyes open. "What are you-?"
"Don't talk," Morrison rebukes him, squeezing his shoulder slightly. "Just catch your breath." They both freeze when the Anon GM's email sounder goes off, John immediately cursing so angrily that Miz chuckles slightly, his breath ghosting across the mat as they wait.
"If I may have your attention please," Cole says in his usual smug way. "I have received an email from the Anonymous General Manager." To a growing chorus of boos, he continues, "And I quote... John Morrison, I thought taking your job would stop you from disrespecting me and this fine business... but I see I was wrong. So you leave me with no choice." Cole pauses, his eyes flashing in the overhead light. "ARREST HIM."
The audience's buzz grows as police and security alike pour from the backstage area, marching down the ramp towards the ring. John moves away from Miz and stands, his face void of all emotions as his eyes flick back and forth from Mike to the group of men nearing them.
"John-" he says, blue eyes almost impossibly wide as he watches Morrison move away. Ignoring the pain still stabbing through his arm, he forces himself to roll over, managing a half sitting position by leaning on his good side.
"It's ok," he mutters, not budging as the police and security enter the ring, Miz pushing himself closer to the ring ropes to regain his footing. "I expected something like this."
"What? Well, I didn't!" the former world champion yells, his face twisting angrily as John barely blinks. "Dammit, John, what's going on?"
He turns to look over at Mike, his eyes soft and almost sympathetic as he takes in how carefully Miz is holding his right arm while he pushes himself away from the ring ropes. "I've been fired, Mike. Just standing in these ring ropes is trespassing. Laying a hand on ADR while not contracted to WWE, he could press charges for assault. Who knows what else the Anon GM will think of."
Mike pales, his eyes turning icy as he looks into John's much too calm face. "You bastard, you knew this could happen and still did it? What the hell, John? I thought you were smarter than this. Fresh off of surgery too! God, John!"
Before Morrison can say anything to defend or explain himself, the police and security surround them. "John Morrison, you're under arrest for trespass and assault," one of the policemen say, holding up a set of handcuffs. "You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law..."
He's moving to pin his arms behind his back to handcuff him when John winces in pain, the incision from his recent neck surgery protesting the uncomfortable position. Miz immediately intercedes, forcing himself to stand straight despite his own discomfort as he nears the police officer and his former tag partner. "Hey, are those really needed?" he demands, eyes still icy and dangerous. "He just had neck surgery recently. You don't want to re-injure him, do you?"
The officer pauses, thinking hard as he looks over at the other man, taking in the look of pain on his pale face. His lips thin as he reluctantly drop John's wrists, moving instead to stand in front of him. "This is unorthodox but this one time..." he mumbles, waiting for Morrison to shake some feeling back into his arms before proceeding with reading him his rights, carefully handcuffing his hands in front of him instead.
Before they can fully leave, the Anon GM's sounder goes off again, Miz pausing mid-way out of the ring as Cole calls out his name, almost sounding apologetic. His eyes track the police as they march Morrison out of the arena, his teeth worrying his bottom lip as the email's read out to him. "One last thing, Miz. If I find out you've attempted at all to help Morrison get out of prison, I'll take great pleasure in indefinitely suspending you. Now I don't think that's what Morrison would want, do you?"
He closes his eyes, hissing out angrily as yet another weight is piled onto his shoulders.
The easy thing, at this point, maybe would've been to just get rid of Miz but after months of having to deal with him as champion, the so-called face of my brand, I was having much too much fun making his life a living hell week in and week out. Besides, it means so much paperwork.
Alex, frozen on the edge of his uncomfortable hotel bed, watches numbly as Morrison's arrest and the horrified look on Miz's face are shown or talked about time and time again on Raw, as if they can't get enough of the two men's humiliation. He wonders briefly if the Anon GM ordered them to talk so incessantly about the arrest before combing his fingers through his short hair, making it stick up even more than usual. "Dammit, I have to do something," he mumbles, unable to get the images out of his mind.
He all but dives for the hotel phone, dialing quickly for the front desk.
"How may I-?"
"Yeah, this is room 293. I need to know what room Ted DiBiase Jr. is in," he says, ignoring the guilt he feels at interrupting the woman at the front desk mid-sentence.
"I'm sorry, sir, I'm not allowed to give that information out-"
He pinches his nose in anger before taking a deep breath. "Listen, we're co-workers. Another guy we work with is in trouble, Ted is the only one who can help." When she doesn't say anything for a long moment, he tries again. "Ted would want to know. He'd probably give a generous tip if you would just do this one thing." It's a long shot, but the promise of money tends to win almost anyone over- he'd learnt that from his months with Miz, so he has to try it.
She hesitates for a moment longer and he thinks he's lost her but finally she huffs a deep breath and says lowly, "Give me a minute."
"Thank you," he sighs in relief.
Ten minutes later, after finally getting the number, reiterating the generous tip offer (which he's feeling so relieved that the information is actually his that he's almost willing to give the girl his whole paycheck in case Ted doesn't go along with his plan), and thinking out a game plan just in case Ted needs convincing, he grabs his own hotel key card and heads for the elevator. Once on floor six, he takes a right and a left before another right. Why is it the more expensive these hotels are the more maze-like they become? he wonders in exasperation, finally coming to a stop in front of room 629.
Abruptly uncertain, he leans closer to the door and listens, trying to decide if knocking would make sense- or if he'd be about to interrupt something, should he go ahead. Hearing absolutely nothing decipherable from the other rooms nearby, he shakes his head and quickly pounds on the door. It's to help Mike, he reminds himself when the uncertainty returns to him and his hand drops back to his side.
It only takes a few moments- but somehow manages to feel like hours- before the door is finally wrenched open, Ted DiBiase standing before Alex with an unhappy glower twisting his lips. "What do you want?"
Alex swallows, holding his head high as he stares back at Ted. "I need your help." It's laughable to look back on, starting off the conversation this way with Ted, when he's a newbie to Smackdown- hell, still a newbie to the business- but there's no turning back now, even when Ted rolls his eyes and leans against the doorframe, his arms crossing over his chest. His mere stance screams derision. "More like, John Morrison needs your help. And Mike."
"Why the hell would I help them?" he scoffs, eyebrows raising as he takes in the former NXT rookie.
He's already turning, about to slam the door shut in Alex's face, when he slaps a hand against the door, keeping it open just long enough for him to spit out, "It's a way to get back at the Raw GM too!" This causes Ted to pause and Alex sucks in a deep breath, grasping his chance with both hands. "Don't you want to get back at him for overlooking you while you were on Raw?"
"You act as though Teddy Long is any better," he mumbles, staring warningly at Alex as he waits for the kid to explain himself.
"I can't help you with that, but if you want some revenge against the Raw GM, I think I have an idea," he manages, overcoming his tongue tied state long enough to explain his idea to the second generation wrestler.
I hate Miz for how egotistical he is. How he thinks he's above everyone around him. Some may say I'm being hypocritical, that the power's gone to my head, and they might even be a little correct at times, but I just want to show this scourge to the company that he is merely a small part of the whole. It's been my main goal since I first took this job over a year ago, something I've been steadily working on for almost as long as I can remember.
He would ordinarily fly home after the long Mexican tour and events in Texas that had culminated in Morrison's arrest but the thought of being stuck in a plane, surrounded by a bunch of staring people, right now makes his skin crawl so he scraps his original plans to turn in the rental car on his way to airport, choosing instead of to risk the monstrous gas prices and drive back to LA, not minding the time it would take or long stretches of empty highway before him. His life is generally so busy, traveling from one place to the other, he doesn't usually have a lot of time to just think, which is normally ok but here- now- with Morrison in jail, Alex forced over onto the other brand, and Mike unable to do anything about either thing... Quiet time to just think and stew over it all, though usually not his cup of tea, is a welcomed change.
It's only been a few weeks after Alex and Miz first met on NXT, their mentor/protege relationship still tenuous at times, when Mike decides that the best way to break some of the remaining awkwardness is to travel together from California to an event in New Mexico. Strictly by car. Even with switching off on driving shifts, it's a lengthy, tiresome adventure and when Miz pulls off at a rest stop area in Arizona, Alex almost collapses with relief against the building. "Is this how it is all the time?" he wonders, lips twitching a little as he revels in being able to move his legs again. And to think we're barely half way there, he thinks, shaking his head in wonder.
"Yeah, sometimes we get sick of planes so we drive. Either way, it's a bitch but you get more used to it with time," Mike responds, poking at the snack machine waiting patiently for him to make a decision. "Crap, all of the good stuff's been taken. Oh well." Turning his attention to the soda machine, he barely notices as Alex goes around looking at the various tourist-enticing fliers and maps around the walls.
"Do you come here often?" he asks, sounding humored as he peers at the map curiously.
Flushing, Mike shrugs. Busted. "Why do you ask?" he wonders, keeping his voice level as he picks at the label on his diet coke.
Alex laughs slightly, pressing a finger to the corner of the map. "Unless I'm seeing things, this is your name right here."
Shuffling slowly across the tile, Mike joins him, peering at the awkwardly printed Miz in faded blue ink, his somewhat childish signature with the tongue sticking out beneath it. "Yeah," he drawls, trying to seem unaffected by it being found so easily. "So? This thing will be priceless some day."
"Why here though?"
Rocking back on his heels, Mike looks around at the quiet, lifeless building. "This was the first rest stop I stopped at the first time I traveled by car to a WWE event, years back. It just felt right, I guess. So when I can, I stop by here just to reflect on where I've been and where I'm at, where I hope to go." Feeling disgustedly sappy, he steps away from the map and slaps Alex on the shoulder before turning to the exit. "Ready to go now?"
"Sure, man."
Despite the months that's passed, the building remains the same- same aged exterior, empty interior. Even so, he breathes a sigh of relief when he enters, immediately wandering over to the map to press a finger on his old signature. Some things change, while others remain the same, he thinks dully, almost wanting to pull the sheet of paper out and tear it into shreds. Destroy any of evidence of his presence from this rest area. Shaking his head at his morose thoughts, he drops his hand to his side and turns to look at the snack and soda machines. One last twix bar, he thinks, a bit surprised. Guess it'll do.
Candy bar in one hand and root beer in the other, he returns to the map and remembers dragging Alex here last year- a very transparent attempt at getting to know his rookie a little more, not wanting the same issues with Daniel Bryan to repeat themselves with Alex-, remembers stopping here briefly with Morrison years ago too. Well, now we're both all but abandoned, he thinks, pressing his knuckles against the smooth wall next to the map. I wish I could think of what the hell to do to fix things... but the Anon GM has me cornered... He barely reacts as a car door slams outside of the rest area, his lips thinning as his unhappy peace is broken, but he doesn't move even as the people enter the building.
He's still standing there when footsteps come up behind him and he shifts to the side, thinking whoever it is wants to look at the map, but they don't move again- until a hand rests carefully on his shoulder. His defenses automatically kicking in, he spins around, fist ready to impact with whoever it is when he registers the insistent "Mike!" being yelled out from his side.
He immediately looks over, fist only inches away from the other man's face, focusing instead on a wide-eyed Alex Riley, his own face freezing as he stares blankly at him. "Alex?"
"Dammit, Mike, could you try not to punch him after everything I've done just to get him here?" the former NXT rookie says in exasperation, hesitantly taking a step forward.
Remembering the reason he instinctively took a swing in the first place, he forces his gaze away from Alex and gapes instead at the man standing before him, his dark eyes somewhere between wariness and amusement even as he winces away from the fist still hovering inches away from his bearded face. "Holy sh... John?"
"Yeah, as fascinating as your knuckles are, mind getting them out of my face?" he cracks, gingerly resting a hand on Miz's, slowly lowering it.
"Good Lord, I'm sorry. I didn't know what to think," he mumbles, quickly dropping his hand to his side. "But, I mean... you... how?"
"Eloquent as always, Mike." After a mirthless smile, Morrison motions to Alex. "Thank your apprentice here. He figured out how to pay my bail without it being linked to you or himself."
At Miz's clueless glance, Alex smirks, spreading his arms out in a shrug. "Let's just say Ted DiBiase hates the Raw GM as much as we do, and has plenty of spare money to play with."
Mike chuckles, rubbing his face tiredly. "Who would've guessed." He glances over at John, his gaze softening. "I'm glad you're out. Good work, Alex. But, seriously, how did you find me?"
"We've both been here with you," John points out after a moment. "We figured when we checked with the airlines and you hadn't taken a flight out that you were driving. Your rental's not hard to spot so... here we are."
"And this is how stalkers are born," Mike mumbles, smirking as Alex flushes.
"Anyway. I've been trying to think about what we can do about everything else," A-Ri hedges after a moment, reluctant to break the almost light mood but knowing that it needs to be said.
"About that." Morrison looks from man to man, his piercing gaze lit with determination. "I think I have an idea."
John's comment teases Miz and Alex as they decide first to leave the rest area and find a hotel, all three of them looking exhausted due to the unfortunate mix of driving and drama. It starts to feel more like a delicate spy mission instead of three wrestlers just getting a room as, to avoid any spying eyes- who knows what that Raw GM is doing to keep an eye on us?- Mike goes first, booking the room in his name. Once he's in, he texts the room number to Alex, who relays the information to Morrison. "Five minutes," the former Vice President urges John before leaving the car and slipping in through the back exit, careful to avoid the front desk as he walks to the stairs casually.
John gives them three before boring of waiting in the stifling Arizona air. Eh, that's good enough, he decides with a shrug, entering the building. He gets the elevator, smiling slightly at the frazzled looking mother and two children who move out of his way as he presses the button for floor 5. They exit first at floor three so he relaxes briefly against the back wall, his entire body anticipating the chance to relax in something other than a car or jail cell. When the doors finally open, he sighs and walks down the hallway, watching for room 539. Of course it's at the very end of the hall, he thinks with a grumble, knocking on the door once he finally reaches it.
Alex answers, glancing behind him quickly. "That wasn't five minutes," he teases slightly before moving aside.
"Yeah, well, I'm impatient," John responds, walking slowly into the room.
"You ok?" Mike asks, watching his careful movements from the couch, which is facing the door with the TV on the half-wall next to the doorframe.
"Yeah, just tired," he mumbles, not even wanting to walk all the way over to the beds. Collapsing next to Mike, he stretches out, his whole body releasing tension bit by bit as he rests his legs on the table in front of them. "What's all this?" he wonders, pointing at the papers scattered along Mike's lap, couch and table.
"Media event listings and other crap like that," he explains, lips twisting unhappily. "The Anon GM has really piled it on me lately. Usually I like these things but the timing is a bit curious, to say the least..." He leans forward, dumping the pile of papers on the table, before turning to face John. "So your big idea..."
The smile that transforms Morrison's tired gaze into a intensely mischevious stare is so startling that even Miz almost feels sorry for the GM. He has no idea what he's gotten himself into.
Once finished explaining his brainstorm, the energy seems to drain out of him like water through a funnel and he falls quiet, staring blankly ahead at the TV screen. Alex hops onto one of the beds in front of them, flipping through TV channels in an attempt to find something to watch. Miz takes advantage of the quiet to look through more of his papers, shaking his head at the Anon GM's attempts at keeping him busy. Unable to think of a way out of this mess...
Alex gets up after awhile and heads for the door. "Gonna get a soda, you guys need anything?"
Mike thinks for a second before shaking his head. "I'm ok." Morrison blinks tiredly before shaking his head also. Dragging his gaze away from the exhausted looking man next to him, he returns his attention to the papers in his lap. He's barely focused on them for two minutes, however, when he's distracted by John, fast asleep, slowly slipping to the side. He watches, somehow captivated by the real-life slow motion movements as gravity finally brings him to a stop leaning completely against Mike, his head pressed against his shoulder. "No freakin' way!" Mike mouths, eyes wide as John sleeps blissfully on, not bothered by the change of position or his new pillow's annoyance.
His only option, of course, is one of the most difficult things possible as he inches his left hand into his jeans' right pocket, careful not to jostle the sleeping man- Though he probably couldn't feel it anyway?- as he tugs his cell phone out and sighs in relief as he accesses his text message menu.
Text to: Alex
Get back here. Now. And be quiet.
He has to hand it to his protege in both speed and discretion, almost unaware that Alex has returned until the door clicks quietly behind him barely a minute later, his eyes widening as he takes in Mike and John's positions. His lips twitch, even as Mike shakes his head warningly at him, blue eyes boring into him threateningly. "What do you want me to do?" he whispers uncertainly as John sleeps on, oblivious to everything around him.
Mike's eyes flicker over, softening slightly as he thinks over the options. "Just... support him for a minute so I can stand up without startling him awake or something. Ok?" Alex nods, resting a hand on the side of John's neck, his upper arm pressing against the other man's shoulder as he braces him as well as he can. Seeing that Alex is as ready as is possible, he stands quickly, paying no mind as the papers scatter around the floor.
Holding his breath, Alex eases John down against the couch cushions while Mike lifts his legs so he's stretched out as comfortably as possible, considering. They both step back and exchange glances, amused and glad to see that he's slept all through their manouvers. "I would've been back sooner," Alex whispers as they step away from the couch so they can talk without worrying about waking him up, "but I found an arcade game room close to the soda machine so..."
Unsurprised, his mentor rolls his eyes goodnaturedly at Alex before his attention returns to the sleeping man. "I guess he's really out," Mike murmurs, some of his humor fading away as he thinks about what John's been through the past month.
Alex senses that he's far from ready for sleep just yet so he nudges his mentor. "Come on, let's find something to watch for a bit. He doesn't mind if we keep the volume up, does he?"
"Nah, he can pretty much sleep through anything," Mike comments, dropping onto the bed nearest the TV as Alex searches out the remote.
Once he finds it where it's fallen off to rest against the dresser between the two beds, Alex settles on the other bed and turns it on, flicking through the channels until stopping on one that looks like the only half way interesting thing on, some weak overly dramatic cop show. The scene depicted on the television doesn't raise any red flags with Alex until he hears a strangled, faint groan from his right. Looking over, he finds Mike staring at the screen, his eyes wide and frozen in horror. Muttering a quick curse, he realizes what the problem is and almost dives headfirst off of the bed in his haste to grab the remote, to take away the visuals that are taunting his former mentor. "Hey, hey, Mike, look at me," he orders as soon as the colors on the TV have faded into bleak darkness.
Mike's fists clench as he looks away, an almost imperceptible shudder rocking through his slumped shoulders.
"Mike," Alex tries again, softer this time. "John's fine. You know he's fine... Look, he's just a few feet away." Mike does glance over Alex's shoulder at the still sleeping man but the silence remains, increasing A-Ri's anxiety. "Please, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. Just say something? Yell at me, if you want," he attempts, unnverved by the unnatural silence coming from his usually abrasive friend. He too looks over at Morrison, shuddering slightly as he recounts the scene they had unknowningly stumbled upon- a man in jail getting shanked for who-knows-what reason. I should've shut it off as soon as the scene changed to that jail, he thinks, hating himself briefly in that moment.
"It's fine," Mike finally speaks, his voice weak and uncharacteristically faint. After a moment, he tries again, his hands twisting around each other as he dreads the answer. "Did... he act odd when you got him? Anything seem off...?" His eyes bore into Alex, wide and a bit fearful as they both think of what jail can bring- what the Anon GM could've brought down on their fellow wrestler.
"No," Alex shakes his head quickly. "He seemed fine- a little tired, as you can tell, but he was making the usual kind of stupid jokes that made very little sense about two minutes into the drive out of there, so I'm pretty sure he's fine. I don't know him as well as you do, but everything seemed normal. He seemed ok while you've been with him... right?"
"Yeah," Mike nods, relieved at being able to respond that way. "Now, John's not the only one who needs sleep." He raises an eyebrow knowingly. "You look wiped out."
"You'll-"
"I'll be fine," Miz says in a tone brooking no argument. "Go. Sleep."
"Alright." Alex reluctantly toes out of his shoes and lays down, almost out sooner than Morrison had been. Mike sighs, looking back and forth between the two men, wondering how exactly he'll be able to keep them safe from their invisible enemy when he's not sure where the next attack will come from, or if their earlier plannings would even come close to being effective.
There have been times when my plans, thoughts, determination to see Miz ruined have kept me awake for days. I've never been a fan of the path WWE has taken in the last few years- slowly, steadily ignoring pure athletes to rain praise and promise on "entertainers". Guys like him, who will do anything for attention. It makes me sick. Watching him slowly self-destruct is easing the disgust I've felt since the unfortunate turn the company has taken.
Barely an hour after dropping into bed, Mike is wide awake once more, his weary gaze locked on the ceiling overhead. He shifts a little, mindful of how the cheap hotel bed creaks in protest with each movement, not wanting to bother the two sleeping men. All three of them didn't need to be wide awake and miserable, after all.
Moving slowly, he pushes himself up (the bed only makes a couple vague noises before he successfully escapes it) and slips between his and Alex's bed, pausing briefly to peer down at the sleeping Smackdown competitor. Lips twitching after he finishes taking in how Alex's buried under the sheets, one hand gripping the edge of the bed like he's afraid he may float away, he quietly makes his way past the bed and over to the couch, where Morrison is stretched out.
His sleep is far from as peaceful as Alex's, his eyes fluttering every so often, his lips downturned even in rest. Miz wonders (not for the first time) if sleeping on the couch was a bad idea for him, so soon after the neck surgery. But there had been no helping it at the time, John being completely out when he and Alex worked together to stretch him out across its ugly, plaid surface, careful not to wake him with each movement. Shaking his head, Mike watches him for a few more minutes before dropping onto the floor, his back pressed against the edge of the couch, his head cushioned by the slight padding of the armrest.
He's not sure when it happens but somewhere between listening to the soft breathing, one directly behind him and the other off to the left, he dozes off himself, still propped up against the couch.
It's laughable, the reports of Miz keeping his head down and going through event after event, trying not to get noticed. Like a break from his abrasive voice will keep me from attacking him. Ha. Even with Morrison gone and Riley on Smackdown, there's so many things I can do to break him.
He wakes up sluggishly, each sense slowly returning to him one at a time. Hearing is first, the faint sounds of a bustling city and people walking outside his door dragging him towards awareness no matter how hard he fights it. Taste is next, the faint cloying aftertaste of coconut water and vegetable lasagna that A-Ri had brought back for him the night before as he licks his lips, trying to relieve how dry they are, exasperated by the deep, hard sleep he's still fighting his way back from. Touch comes then as he realizes his arm has fallen over the side of the couch, resting against something bristly and almost familiar. Experimentally he brushes his fingers through it, not knowing what exactly it is. He yawns slightly, accidentally shifting his fingers and freezing as whatever he's touching slowly moves beneath his fingers.
"What the hell?" Mike slurs sleepily, looking around in confusion. "What'm I doin'..." He stutters to a stop, registering the fingers in his hair and sits up straight, knocking Morrison's hand away. "John?"
Squinting against the faded sunlight brushing against his face as his eyes shoot open, he stares down at Mike, startled. "What are you doing down there?"
"Good question," he groans, shifting stiffly. "Were you playing with my hair?"
"I don't know, I was asleep," he defends weakly, frowning when Mike looks at him suspiciously. "What, I was, until you started talking!"
"Whatever." Mike shrugs, standing up slowly. He glances at the clock and, disbelieving what he's reading, checks his cell phone clock just to find the same answer awaiting him there too. "Well, damn. It's after 9 AM. We better get this show on the road."
Waking Alex is never easy, the younger man a heavy sleeper, a fact that makes Mike glad that he usually wakes up last between the two of them. Until mornings like this one, when they have things to do and not a lot of time. Miz ignores John's amused gaze as he crawls from the couch over to the bed, his hands up to protect his face as he peers over the edge. "SQUIRREL ARMAGEDDON!"
"WHAT?" Alex yells, sitting up immediately and throwing the pillow his arm had been wrapped around just moments earlier. In his half sleep state, he misses completely and Morrison ends up grabbing the incoming weapon before it smacks him in the face.
"Ok, he's lucky that was a false alarm because his aim sucks," he declares, dropping the pillow and resting his head on it.
Once Alex stops glaring at Mike and apologizing to John, they go over the next part of their plan. "I'll check out, you guys go out after me..." He glances from Alex to John curiously. "I guess we're all heading to LA?"
Alex nods. "Yeah, I think it'll be easier to make plans initially if we're all in the same place, other than us being on opposite sides of the country."
"Since it's the least suspicious option, he's going to be staying with me for a little bit," Morrison explains. "If the Anon GM or someone gets curious, we'll just say he had some questions about being on Smackdown full time and since I was on there not that long ago, and am friendly with Teddy Long, he came to me. It may not completely erase suspicions but most times, the easiest answer is the best."
Mike nods, seeing the wisdom behind this. "Alright. Time to go check out. I'll see you two in LA." He pauses at the door and looks back at his only two real friends in the business, both taken away from him by different means. It won't last, he thinks determinedly. It can't. I won't let it."Good luck."
"You too." John and Alex exchange a glance as the former world champion quietly leaves, shutting the door securely behind him.
But as they say, everything comes to an end...
"We're going to have to be really careful with this, obviously. Who's the Raw GM screwed over the most?"
He leans against the locker room door frame, thoughtfully gazing out at his passing collegues. Jack Swagger passes by after awhile and Mike hesitates just a second, about to stop him, when his nerve fails him. Dammit, he thinks as the Oklahomian brushes past him into the locker room. Not a lot makes him nervous but this plan depends not only on the big picture but also on the minute details. One small thing goes wrong and they'll lose their chance.
Thankfully, Big Show goes by next and Miz relaxes, the presence of his former tag partner a welcoming thing. He clears his throat loudly, effectively stopping Big Show before he can get away. "Got a minute, Show?" They've only talked a time or two since the dissolution of "ShowMiz" but after the initial tension faded, Mike hadn't been scared to approach him for this or that over the last few months, including wrestling against Cena before his title defense.
The large man looks like he's about to refuse but takes one glance at Miz's grave face, lined with exhaustion, and shrugs. "Sure, what's going on?"
To his credit, he follows him all the way to the parking lot and listens to Miz's whole plan without interrupting once, his dark eyes glinting in the flickering street lights as he weighs everything the former world champion is laying out.
"So," Mike says, running out of things to explain. "What do you think?"
"I think you guys are crazy," he says with a grin. "But," he hastens to add when Mike starts to look pissed, "if anything can keep the Anon GM in line, it'd possibly be this."
"So you're in?"
"Yeah, I'm in."
Mike sags in relief, shaking his head. "Thank God. This makes things a lot easier."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. People actually like you, so they'll listen to you."
Show chuckles and claps Mike on the shoulder, almost knocking him over. "Heh. Yeah, let's get this show of yours on the road."
"No pun intended?"
"Don't make me change my mind."
Nothing is meant to last forever...
That Friday, Alex is still riding on a high from Mike's reported success when he arrives at his new, hopefully temporary, home on the blue brand. Changes weren't obvious yet but when they become so, the business won't be the same ever again. It's a frightening, exciting prospect and he can't believe that he's not even been in the business close to a year and already a part of this radical thing.
The good luck continues when he spots his target the minute he arrives at the arena, Ted DiBiase and Cody Rhodes both in the process of unloading their things from their rental car- well, Ted unloading, while Cody stands off to the side, arms crossed in disgust. "Where are those idiots at?" he's grumbling as Alex parks nearby and gets out of his car.
"Hey," he greets them uncertainly, a bit unnerved by Cody's piercing gaze that quickly drops down to the side, like it hurts his eyes to gaze at Alex's face for too long. He wonders if he should be offended before Ted turns to him, raising an eyebrow.
"What do you want now? More bail money?"
Alex coughs as Cody's eyes sharpen with intrigue, glancing from man to man. "Uh, no. I do want to talk to you...both... about something though."
"Make it quick. There are hideous faces to cover up," Cody orders. "That is, if those damn bagger idiots get here in time..." He gazes at Alex curiously, his lips twisting beneath the plastic mask supposedly designed to protect his features. "You could handle it, I suppose."
Alex sputters a moment before shaking his head. "I already have a match tonight."
The youngest Rhodes hmphs musingly. "Of course you do..."
"Anyway, I, uh, wanted to talk to you about Raw..."
And there's always pride before the fall.
Miz tries not to look too pleased with himself when he arrives at Raw to find the place a tense, confused madhouse. "What's going on?" he asks calmly, glancing over at the costume designer as she struggles to maintain her professionalism and get some last minute sewing done as the noise escalates around them.
She jerks and looks up at him in surprise, her mouth gaping a bit. "It's insane," she whispers. "It's all rumors of course but there are reports that a bunch of guys put in their resignation over the last week. No warning or anything."
Mike stamps down the giddiness welling up inside, struggling to look merely curious. "Even though they're on contract? No kidding?"
Her wide eyes flickering back and forth, she nods, her messy blonde hair going all over with the movement. "Word is there may be more too. It's insane."
"That's one word for it," he nods solemnly, leaving then. As soon as he's out of her sight and no one else is around to witness it, his lips twitch up into a proud smirk. I love when a plan comes together. He takes to amusing himself by going from locker room to locker room and taking note of who's missing. Big Show is an obvious one, Jack Swagger the other. Drew McIntyre and Curt Hawkins are also gone... none of which surprise him, each of them being on his list of "possibilities" because it's no secret that they've all felt overlooked or screwed over by the Anon GM at one point or another. He is, however, surprised when he finds that New Nexus is also missing, the former NXT and FCW guys more than likely taking their leader's cue and leaving. The locker room is silent, pensive. Dolph Ziggler and Vickie Guerrero are the only ones talking, gazing furtively around as their intense discussion continues on.
His grin grows as he settles down to get ready for the event. I bet the GM is having a fit, he thinks joyfully. The plan had been set up delicately- Miz couldn't quit or make it known that he, Morrison and A-Ri were the ones behind this. He'd have to be careful for the next few weeks until this thing hit a conclusion so as not to raise any further suspicion, take whatever the Anon GM would do in response and just go with it, but not too eagerly. He slaps his hands together, the smirk fading from his lips. Bring it on.
The following week, word spreads and more people realize just why their colleagues are gone, slowly following suit. This time, R Truth, Zack Ryder and Primo both, along with Dolph Ziggler are missing. Word trickles down that despite the Anon GM's best attempts at getting Smackdown guys to temporarily travel over to fill up the empty spaces on his roster, very few had taken the opportunity when only a few weeks ago, the same guys would've been chomping at the bit to be on the so-called "A" show.
It's impossible to keep the pleasure off of his tanned face as he makes his way down the hallways, taking in how empty, quiet the arena seems with almost half of the Raw superstars gone. Those who remain keep their eyes downcast, their thoughts to themselves. No one has cued in to the cause yet, Big Show has kept his promise and his mouth shut.
"What in the hell do you think you're doing, Miz?"
He comes to an abrupt stop, his good mood failing as quickly as it came. "What do you mean, Cena?" he all but hisses, taking in the calm appearance of his arch-enemy. The man who stole his title weeks back.
"I know you're the cause of everyone leaving," he comments quietly, unfazed by Mike's anger. "It's no big mystery; your best friends get fired, arrested and moved to Smackdown, and not even two months later, people start going on their own? That's too much of a coincidence even for me. I am, however, surprised that the Anon GM hasn't done anything about you yet... if I could figure it out, he probably has too."
"He's probably a little too busy with the freaking out board of directors," Mike shrugs, not bothering to deny his involvement. It's not like I'm ashamed of it, he thinks with a little thrill of pride. "You know, Cena, if you loved this business as much as you say you do, you'd stand up for what you believe in for once and not let guys like Nexus and the Anon GM railroad you into things that would ordinarily make you uncomfortable. Would your precious fans rather watch a patsy week in and week out doing what he's been told, or would they prefer a man who at least fights for what he knows is right, no matter what it may mean for his career in the long run?" He smirks as Cena stares at him, indecision blatant in his piercing gaze. "You think about that, and who knows- maybe you'll actually figure out what exactly in the hell I think I'm doing one of these days." Riding on his own high, he turns and walks away without waiting for a response.
But this is just a set back.
It doesn't even take a week. That next Monday, Mike arrives at the week's arena to find tension at an all time high, no one willing to answer his questions as they bustle around and struggle to keep the show together. It doesn't take long for him to realize that Cena is gone, obviously took his words to heart, and decided to stand up and do his part to facilliate a change.
His teeth bared into a triumphant grin, he attacks his phone, too joyful to be careful with the keys.
Text to: Alex, Morrison
I think we've done it. Cena left.
As much as it should bug him that the final straw that broke the camel's back was his most hated competition, he's too thrilled right now to even care. Later that night, he's sitting in the darkness of his hotel room, too keyed up to sleep and using the Wifi on his laptop, when he's alerted to a new email.
Email from: [unknown]
This email is to alert all WWE competitors and staff that, in hindsight, things have not been handled well lately. I, the General Manager of Raw, offer my sincere apologies and encourage you all- including John Morrison and Alex Riley- to return to Raw this upcoming Monday.
Hope to see you then.
Mike clicks out of the browser, his lips twitching as he tries not to burst out laughing at 3:35 AM and get yelled at by his sleeping neighbors. "Oh screw it," he murmurs, letting loose. "This is awesome...!"
I'm far from finished.
The following week, Mike leans against the wall facing the entrance to the arena, pretending to focus on his phone as he waits patiently. The arena has returned to its normal buzz of bustle and conversation, all prior competitors returning. Most who left still have honest gripes about their careers- and Mike wonders if their idea will lead into something bigger, an honest change that goes beyond his own agenda, deeper than just returning his two closest friends to Raw- but with the fretful board of directors more than likely keeping a close eye on the GM after the past few weeks, that and the honest love they have for the business appears to be enough to bring them back.
He glances up as the door slips open once more, his phone instantly unimportant as he mindlessly drops it into his suit pocket. "Took you long enough," he says amiably as he slaps an approaching Alex on the arm. "Did you get lost?"
"Nah, just needed a minute." His face lights up as he looks around at the Raw personal. "God, I've missed this place. Don't get me wrong, Smackdown was ok... but this is home, you know?"
Understanding completely, Mike nods. "I gotcha."
"Heard from Morrison?" Alex asks after a minute, glancing around as if the dark haired superstar is about to jump out at them or something.
"No," Mike shakes his head. "I know he got the email, we talked briefly the next day. I'm not sure what's going on."
"Oh. Well, show starts in an hour," he points out, frowning.
"Yeah. Well, I can't do anything about it if he doesn't accept the Anon GM's oh so gracious invitation... Truth be told, I wouldn't blame him if he stayed away- he was fired and arrested within two weeks. Anyone would be hesitant to return..." His voice dies away as he looks up, takes in Alex's distant gaze. "Seriously? Am I that bori-...?" Following his protege's focus, he makes a strangled sort of noise, his breath sticking in his throat.
Morrison is standing in the arena's doorway, watching them with a large grin, the usual dark sunglasses hiding his eyes from them. Obviously amused by their attention, he joins them, his facial features never changing throughout the slow, sauntering walk, even as he removes his sunglasses. "Talking about me, Mike?"
"Damn you, Morrison," he says, half exasperated, half laughing as they stare at each other, each man's blatant relief reflecting in the other's gaze.
Afterwards it's impossible for Alex to decide who makes the first move- both appearing to step forward at the same time- but he blinks and the former tag partners are hugging, John's tight grip echoed by Mike's. Before they can separate, he hovers nearby and clears his throat, feeling left out. "Can anyone get in on this or...?"
They glance over at him, then at each other, before John shrugs. "Whatever." They split momentarily to allow Alex in, the group hug only lasting briefly as they each have responsibilities to get to before the event begins but it's enough for the former NXT rookie.