Dying Embers

(aka The Emancipation of Trish Stratus II)

A/N: Thanks to a lot of pleading - or death threats, but who am I to split hairs - I have decided to write the sequel to The Emancipation. I was going to write something different, but the inspiration for this one finally smacked me in the head, so here it is. If you haven't read the first story - The Emancipation of Trish Stratus - you might want to check it out first. I don't know that this one won't make sense without it, but you'll get a lot more backstory. Y'all know I don't own any of the characters, PPV names, or anything else remotely WWE related (except some really cool gear) so don't kid yourselves into thinking that I do. And, as always, your reviews are not only welcome - they are encouraged.

"You can't be serious," Trish Stratus's little giggle escaped her throat before she could stop it. If she hadn't seen the words coming out of his mouth, she never would have believed them.

Vince McMahon's eyes narrowed and he nodded his gray head, hands resting on the file in front of him. "You know I'm not going to fire you, Trish," he started with a sigh of resignation. "You're far and away the most popular diva on our roster. Even after two months off, you're still a fan-favorite."

She stared at him in disbelief. After two months out of the ring, healing from injuries she sustained as a referee in a No Disqualifications match at Unforgiven, she had finally been cleared to wrestle again. And now Vince was telling her that he didn't think she was ready? Her heart sank as she realized they had all been right. Victoria, Lita, even Stacy, had been right when they warned her that things would not be easy for her, as a woman returning to RAW. At least, not as easy as they had been.

So she was a six-time Women's Champion. She wasn't a Playboy centerfold, willing to strip down to her bra and panties for rating on national television. The Diva Search girls were taking over the locker room, they had warned her, and she wasn't going to seamlessly fit into the picture anymore.

"I did not bust my ass in this business, learning from the best trainers in the world, to valet for some mid-carder, Vince. I deserve better than that," she insisted, growing uncomfortable in the presence of her boss, and four other upper management stiffs.

Settling back into his soft, leather chair, Vince relaxed his shoulders and clasped his hands over his stomach. "Here's the thing, Trish. The new girls are pulling ratings, regardless of what you and your holier-than-thou friends may think. If this was about friendships and loyalty, I would agree with you. But it's about money." Leveling her with a glare, he dared her to challenge him.

"Trish," a voice spoke up from Vince's right side. She turned and rolled her eyes at Hunter, who was dressed in his power suit and playing the "corporate bitch" role that he was seemingly so good at as of late. "Look, you're a more than capable wrestler, when you're on your game. But you've been out so much lately," he started, trying to reason with his friend.

Huffing, she threw her arms up in the air. "Maybe I wouldn't have been out if you hadn't smashed me in the head with a lead pipe, you arrogant son of a bitch," she spat. "I can't believe that you, of all people, are going to sit there and tell me that being out due to a serious injury is a good enough reason to be demoted. Who'd you valet for when you you came back from your fuckin' quad injury, Hunter? Huh?" She risked a glance at Vince, who was sitting stoic, and then at Stephanie, sporting the same expression as her father. "Injuries happen in this business. Give me a chance to rebound and I will," she promised.

Hunter rolled his eyes and watched as her red face started to return to it's naturally bronzed color. "Are you finished?"

She shrugged and then flipped him off. It probably wasn't the smartest thing to do when he was in "boss" mode, but Trish didn't care. Sometimes he reminded her so much of the old Hunter, the one she had spent hours screaming at, only to end the argument with a hug and a laugh. Events of the last several months had changed that, but every once in awhile, the old feelings came bubbling back up.

"Hunter," Vince addressed his son-in-law, who respectfully nodded in attention. "Maybe you and Stephanie should wait outside for a minute?" The couple didn't protest, only stood and left the spacious office without another look back. "You guys, too," he turned and Shane, and another guy that Trish recognized as new, but who's name she didn't know yet, followed the others into the hallway.

"Vince, listen," she started, leaning forward when they were alone. She had never been intimidated or uncomfortable in the CEO's presence, and she was sure that she could reason with him, now that all the other kiss-asses were gone. "I know that I've missed a lot of ring time in the last year."

But he cut her off by raising his hand and then standing from his chair. "This is not about that, Trish," he stated. His tone said that he was not going to budge, but that he was more than willing to explain himself, even though he didn't have to. "I understand that talent will miss time due to injury," he reminded her. "What I don't understand is what has happened to the Trish Stratus that I knew a year ago. Hell, I don't understand what happened to the Trish I saw out there three months ago."

Trish knew exactly what had happened. Randy Orton went to Smackdown. Granted, they hadn't spent a lot of time holding hands or making out in the halls at work, since most of their relationship was spent concealing their involvement from anyone and everyone who might have something to say about it. But just knowing that he wouldn't be there to smile at her across gorilla position, or to meet her outside before a match, or to nudge her with his shoulder when he passed her in the cafeteria, made it harder to anticipate showing up to work.

"Seems to me," Vince interrupted her thoughts, "that you've been in a funk since Orton left." She stared at her hands, unwilling to admit that her boss was right. "And until you've regained the fire, the passion, that made you the Women's Champion in the first place? Well, Trish, you'll be wearing what I tell you, valeting like a regular diva, and smiling while you do it."

A million expletives flooded her mind, but she bit her lip. That was not a "let's negotiate" tone Vince was using. "Can I choose who I valet for?" she asked, conceding to the terms without actually saying the words.

"You'll accompany Cena to the ring Monday night," he nodded, knowing who she would say before she asked. With Batista also jumping ship, John was the only of her "revolutionaries" left. And Vince had a feeling that the Doctor of Thuganomics might just be the only person around RAW that had a prayer of bringing the firey Trish back to them.

She stood to leave, feeling as though the weight of the world was resting on her shoulders. "Thanks," she spoke softly before letting herself out of the office.

She met no one's eye as she passed the power triangle in the hall. And that other new guy. Let them all think what they wanted – maybe she had suffered some set backs and hit a few bumps on the road. But she was still Trish fuckin' Stratus. She was a wrestling champion, dammit, not some skank-ass valet.