"The hell, man? You're on the event list, then you're off, what's going on?" Mike asks, half teasingly as he packs for the latest tour of house shows- smaller events that are only shown for people in the arenas- spanning Illinois for the next few days before skipping states to Indianapolis for Raw on Monday.
There's a long pause before Morrison finally answers, something in his tone of voice that makes Mike's eyebrows raise curiously. "HHH requested my presence at Smackdown on Friday."
"So he 're-signs' you and personally invites you to Smackdown in the same week?" Mike asks, pausing in his packing long enough to air quote- not that anyone else is present to see it, but still. "You two BFFs now or something?"
"Jealous, Mike?" The tension from before breaks a bit with that as Mike rolls his eyes. "He said something about shaking things up over at Smackdown a bit this week, that's all."
"Hmm," he murmurs, disgruntled.
That Friday, Mike wanders around in the hallways of the Peoria, Illinois, arena, a grimace on his face. He's about to turn away from the gorilla position, disinterested in the Chris Masters vs Jack Swagger match that's happening in the ring, when he spots R Truth pacing not far away, his head whipping this way and that as he mutters seemingly to thin air.
It's not like I have anything else to do tonight, he thinks blandly, leaning against the wall across from Truth and just watching for a bit.
His whole demeanor, however, changes as the bell rings, revealing Masters as the winner. Miz pushes forward as Truth's whole body stiffens, the invisible people he converses with becoming a distant memory as he turns to look back out into the ring.
It happens after an angry, stumbling Jack Swagger storms past them, tearing his wrist tape off with vicious, jerky movements- Mike blinks and Truth has disappeared, leaving the curtain fluttering behind him. He's about to venture forward and see what the demented man is doing when someone pushes past him with an exclamation of "Are you serious, bro?"
His fists clench. So not the week to screw with me, he thinks angrily, closing his eyes briefly at what he's about to do, who he's about to assist. The double team against Zack Ryder is quick and ends almost as soon as it begins, as Alex Riley runs out and the four men- Masters disappearing into the back with some help from the referees- fight around the ringside area, everything going by in a blur until finally Ryder and Alex are left in the ring, Alex motioning for a microphone.
The challenge that follows is unsurprising; even though Ryder takes most of the match, neither Miz or Truth allowing the tag, it eventually ends with Miz hitting the Skull Crushing Finale on Alex (after Truth takes Ryder out before he can attempt to assist, the sound of his body flying over the top rope and hitting the floor making the audience ooh loudly) and achieving the three count.
I jinxed myself, he thinks grimly, as he walks up the ramp with Truth by his side, already returning to mumbling at thin air. I say last week it's so annoying to team with him, and look what happens. Knowing my luck, I'll be teaming with him the rest of the weekend, too, or something. At least we won.
He's still hovering in the back, picking at his wrist tape outside of the locker room, uninterested in listening to more of Truth's weird diatribes when Alex and Zack wander back, both looking beat and sweaty.
"...see that girl by the ramp? She was totally reaching for me, Bro!"
Riley looks somewhere between amused and annoyed, shaking his head. "Well, she touched me."
"You got in the way!"
"Whatever, Zack," he can't help but laugh, sobering as he catches sight of Mike. Zack pauses too, glancing over at their opponent, but Alex slaps him on the chest, nodding towards the locker room. "Go ahead, I can deal with him."
"Ok," Ryder says reluctantly, peering back and forth between the two men as he walks past Miz to enter the locker room.
"You stealing Ryder's fangirls, Alex?" Mike asks with a bland smirk, raising an eyebrow as his former protege brushes sweat out of his eyes.
"Not purposely," he shrugs. "Morrison not around tonight?"
"Our new COO invited him over to Smackdown for the week." Despite Mike keeping an emotionless look on his face, his eyes give him away as he glances over at a nearby monitor, his fingers twitching slightly. Since the event isn't televised, monitors are generally not needed but they usually bring them anyway- along with everything else on the trucks- and someone tends to set one or two up in the locker rooms, or hallways, or anywhere they feel like it.
Alex brushes past him and turns it on, flipping through the channels. "Where the hell is the Syfy network?" he mumbles, brow furrowing as he goes further through the channels. "They do get Syfy here, don't they?"
Mike snickers as finally Alex- getting into the higher channels- mutters a quick AHA! and pulls back, Morrison's match against Christian now airing on the TV. He steps away, letting Miz watch the match intensely. It's already going badly, Miz's lips twisting into an annoyed frown as John grabs at his neck, still fighting through as best as he can. However, Christian is merciless, eventually wins after whipping the back of John's neck against the top rope.
"Dammit," he mumbles, hands clenching into a fist around his wrist braces. They don't move for a few moments, as Smackdown rolls on, Alex's attention divided between the flashing TV screen and his eerily silent mentor. He does, however, notice when Zack Ryder appears on the screen, bugging HHH for something to do. Wait, what? I just teamed with him... how is he... there... if he's... He looks towards the locker room door Zack had just disappeared behind with a confused look on his face, shaking his head.
Before he can mention it to Miz, he pushes away from the monitor and marches towards the locker room, his hands clenching spastically at his sides. Alex switches the TV off, his eyes gleaming with worry as the former world champion slams through the door, everyone within falling silent immediately. "What are you looking at?" he demands, voice low and dangerous as he zeroes in on his bag and immediately begins repacking it. Everyone looks away, the silence complete as no one dares to even whisper with Mike's explosive anger filling the locker room.
Thirteen weeks. That was how long ago it was before everything hit the fan, when Morrison was just starting to struggle against Truth and more injuries than Mike realized. When Alex was drafted away and Mike hadn't seen him for almost a week, when Miz got the idea (and the nerve up) to suggest John and he begin traveling together like they used to. The three months had dragged on, toeing the line carefully to assure the Anon GM that he and Alex's hatred wasn't just an act, each week their feud spreading as the GM refuses to let him go. Despite Alex not mentioning Smackdown as a viable option for weeks, Miz still feels bad about the Anon GM's hatred for him derailing what could've been a good opportunity for the former NXT rookie. As he gazes down at a sleeping Morrison, he can't help but fret further, his eyes downcast.
The doctors' constantly changing stories do little to reassure him of how well John has healed, and based purely on how Morrison had supported his neck during the little bit of the match against Christian Mike had seen the previous Friday night, he'd guess it was somewhere in the middle- perhaps not as well as John was trying to pass it off as, and not as bad as the doctors initially claimed.
Swallowing, he turns away from the beds and glances out the window at the Indianapolis night. It's quiet, the ever present city bustle barely noticeable over the AC running next to him, attempting to cut through some of the humidity and heat still blanketing the central states of America. He has more media to do in a few hours, Monday Night Raw in almost sixteen hours, but sleep seems to be enjoying evading him.
He rests his forehead against the cool window pane, yawning blearily as he blinks, frustrated at being exhausted but unable to actually shut his brain up long enough to sleep. He's still standing like this when he hears the bed creak behind him, his breath seizing in his throat as he waits, listens.
"Mike?" John asks groggily, the bed protesting again as he sits up, the former champion watching him in the reflection of the window as he runs a hand through his hair, over his face. "What are you doing?"
"Thinking," he mumbles. "Go back to sleep."
As always, Morrison doesn't listen to him, however, slowly untangling himself from the sheets and joining him to gaze out at the soft blue horizon, gradually lighting up with each passing moment. It had been a long drive from Springfield to Indianapolis, not as bad as Pennsylvania to Indy, but still tiresome, so Miz had been relieved to arrive to find Morrison already fast asleep.
"This was sudden," John comments as he pulls his hair back, still thrumming from the adrenaline rush his attack on Truth had brung.
"No kidding," Miz responds dryly, his focus on many different things at once. HHH as new COO, Cena and Punk's faceoff in the ring still burnt into his retinas, not to mention everything directly involving him- Morrison's return, Alex hanging around Mysterio, and everything else.
John seems to be steeling himself for something, his dark eyes peering around as he starts to speak, stops. Opens his mouth once more and fails, his jaw clicking shut again.
"Just tell me already," Mike demands, rolling his eyes as he drops all pretenses. "You didn't have this much trouble telling me you needed surgery. So... just, spit it out."
"I need a place to crash," he finally manages, fiddling with his bag handles as his former tag partner stares at him. "I received the call and didn't have time to figure anything out. I figured with Alex and you working to continue this illusion that maybe..."
It barely takes a moment to think over, Mike shrugging even as his eyes light up slightly. "Sure, I have an extra bed."
Once that awkward moment had passed, John had asked if it should be more permanent- since they were basically doing this anyway before his injury- and again, Mike had little to no argument against it. Even now, dead tired and unable to sleep, John peering out the window next to him at almost 5:30 AM, he doesn't regret the split second decision.
They sit up for awhile longer, Mike's eyes growing more and more gritty and rough the more time passes. Finally he can't stand the silence any longer, his mind stuck repeating Morrison's match against Christian, and looks over, eyes accusing and dark in the early morning sun as it rises, blanketing them in golden light. "You said..." John jerks, a pained grimace appearing on his face at the abrupt movement, fueling Miz's annoyance all the more. "You said you were recovered completely. What I saw during your match on Friday wasn't recovered completely."
"I said I was cleared," he comments calmly, shifting in the chair slightly as Mike leans forward, face lit with aggravation. "Never said full recovery. I'm well enough to do what needs to be done. It's just a matter of time."
"A matter of time," Mike repeats with a mirthless chuckle. "A matter of time until your nerve damage worsens again because you can't just wait a little longer? We both know this kinda crap isn't something to be played with, John."
"Sitting around, waiting, isn't going to get me anywhere. I was told if I am careful, I'll be good to go."
"Yeah, but you're not careful," Mike grumbles, shaking his head. "I doubt the doctors released you just for you to repeatedly pull this crap. I've told you how many times to stop with the high risk BS? I'm gonna be healthy and wrestling and you, well... who knows what you'll be stuck doing." He drifts to a stop, his lips twisting as he considers a WWE without Morrison permanently- his career cut short similarily to Edge's.
"You try changing your style after years and see where it gets you," John huffs, his eyes flashing warningly. "This is how I'm used to doing things- I'm not going to change just because of an injury that I'm already mostly healed from."
They stare at each other for a bit, neither man willing to yield, only stopping when Mike's phone alarm goes off, reminding them of their responsibilities. "I have interviews this morning," he mumbles, quieting his phone with a quick press of buttons as he heads for the bathroom.
They don't see each other again until that night, John arriving at the building to find Mike waiting by the eraser board that lists the evening's matches and other various notes. He remains quiet, uncertain if the other man will start arguing with him again or what, but Mike only glances over at him, his attention turning right to the board. John skims it quickly, stopping as he comes to his own name. "Huh," he mumbles.
"Is it possible HHH heard what I said last week?" Mike responds, crossing his arms over his chest as he ponders the chances of getting caught should he change the scheduled matches, the marker for the board teasing him, just within arm's reach.
"Well, you are a loud mouth," he says, smirking.
"That stings," Miz rolls his eyes. "You're gonna be careful this match... right?"
John's smirk fades as quickly as the words on the board behind them could. "Aren't I always?" Without waiting for a response, he walks off, his shoulders held stiffly.
Mike grumbles and scrubs at his face, exhausted beyond belief. "Idiot..."
He tries, he really does- insists on starting the match off against Morrison, keeps John away from Truth in the corner as much as possible, and only tags in when Rey is the legal man. But the dive over the top rope nearly does him in- so many thoughts, flashes of memory and emotions running through his mind, too quick for him to comprehend the majority of them in the few seconds it takes John to land. He's not even standing close to where John slung himself out to, so he's not sure what the reckless man is thinking, but it's instinctual as he lunges forward and just barely braces John's fall, taking some of his weight.
Despite John getting right back up, Mike is sore and angry, his fists clenching and unclenching as the match progresses. He's so annoyed that when Truth tags in at the same time that Rey tags in Morrison, he almost doesn't care, his glower leveled on John as, despite his warnings time and again, he goes for Starship Pain. Mike isn't sure how it happens, he's just standing between the ring and the announcer's desk one minute, and the next he's pulling Truth out of harm's way, leaving John to crash and burn against the mat. He wants to scream and yell at him that this is what his high risk offense causes, but he refrains until Truth re-enters and cinches in the three count for them, sagging against the ropes as John clutches once more at his neck.
The mere sight of it- the pure stupidity behind competing this match as if he's at a hundred percent- leaves Mike's blood boiling until he can't even see straight. As instinctive as it was to cushion Morrison's fall earlier, he lunges forward and locks in the Skull Crushing Finale, screaming in John's face as he thrusts his head back afterwards, needing to look in his glazed eyes as he finally says what's been echoing in his skull since the first thoughtless leap over the top rope. "I told you!" he screams, slamming John's face against the mat.
Everything afterwards- raising Truth's hand in victory, walking back to the locker room, packing his things, and even the drive to the hotel- goes by in a blur. It's not until he enters the hotel room and catches sight of a pair of Morrison's cross sunglasses on the table between their beds that it all comes crashing down around him, reality slapping him upside the face. "Oh my God," he breathes, his bag slipping from between his fingers as he sinks back against the door, it clicking shut with his added weight. "What did I just do?"