Title: Endless Love

Author: Crimson Coin

Rating: PG 15 and higher at some points. Warning: Language.

Summery: The sequel to "Unstoppable". Will Chris Jericho and Trish Stratus's love truly be able to last?

Disclaimer: I do not own the WWE or any of the affiliated wrestlers.

Timeline: From March 22, 2004 and all said dates.

Archiving: Ask me first.

SummerSlam August 15, 2004

Trish Stratus sighed heavily, walking leisurely down the arena corridor. Her eyes blinked slowly, her shoulders hung with weighted sorrow. It was early, only a little after four O'clock in the afternoon and yet still an increased sense of foreboding filled her weary body. She was afraid.

But at this time in the arena, she knew no harm would come to her. Most of the others had not yet arrived and she felt comforted at the fact that no one would bother her. Her mind swirled with each tentative step she took and her confusion mounted at every moment.

Her heart was torn. Two men had affected her life as no other and she had no idea where her love truly lie.

Randy Orton was perfect. He displayed nothing but affection and sweet caring. He lusted her and yet loved her in the same breath. He was attractive, attentive and sensual but still could show a childish playful side that not many possess. He was the perfect man in every way.

But her mind remained plagued with Chris Jericho. He consumed her thoughts, her dreams and her actions. With every kiss, every touch from Randy she dreamed it was Chris. Every glance, every word she imagined coming from Chris's mouth.

The guilt flooded her mind. Randy did not deserve that kind of betrayal.

Shaking her head clear, Trish attempted to rid her mind of such torturous thoughts. Her eyes widened, a gasp slipping from her lips as she was roughly grabbed. Panic rose in her body, her breath catching in her throat as the rough hand on her arm yanked her viciously.

The dark closet swallowed her and Trish heard the door close. A hand covered her mouth before she could cry and she was pinned flush against the door, a male body pressed against her to keep her still.

"Please, don't scream." He begged in a soft voice, worry and sadness most prominent in his tone.

Trish froze, unmoving as she squeezed her eyes shut, shuddering under so rough a hold. A slight whimper rose in her throat and she couldn't stop it from slipping out.

"Shhh," he hushed again. "Open your eyes. Look at me."

His whispered voice was indistinguishable. Fear consumed her and she shook her head. She didn't want to see him. If she saw him, then she'd know who he was and he'd hurt her more to keep her quiet. She prayed for him to do whatever he would then leave her be.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He replied, his palm still warm against her mouth. Her soft breath exhaled from her nose and he could feel her breaths increase with her fear. "Don't be afraid. Please, look at me."

Trish forced her eyes open. She stilled, holding her breath as a pair of familiar blue eyes gazed down at her. Chris.

Chris Jericho smiled shyly, not relinquishing his hold of her just yet. He didn't want to pull away so soon, he didn't want to lose the touch of her body. "Don't scream. Please, just let me talk. Will ... will you let me speak?"

Trish nodded, her eyes still wide and locked on him.

"Please don't scream." He repeated again then slowly lowered his hand. Eyeing her with caution he took two steps back, his hand slowly dropping to his side.

Trish whimpered, though it escaped her. She didn't want him to move. His eyes were so beautiful, so icy blue and intense. She always loved looking into his eyes. It was like gazing into a watery pool, so clear and crisp.

"God, I'm such an idiot." He sighed, reaching out to touch her cheek.

She flinched involuntarily.

He closed his eyes then and when he opened them again, panged rejection reflected. "I deserve that. But I ..." He brushed his fingers across her cheek. "I'm the most foolish man on the planet."

Trish swallowed hard, watching him shudder the moment he touched her skin. His breath rose and fell in slow rhythm. He was ready for his match later in the evening, standing in only his tights and boots. She couldn't stop her eyes from scanning his bare chest, and his tight abs. Had he been working out more aggressively? He was thinner, his love handles not nearly as pronounced.

"I've been a mess." He began, softly, shaking his head. "I've just been an absolute mess. Months. It's been months. I haven't slept. I can't eat. I'm a frickin' wreck."

She cocked her head, gazing at him in curious wonder.

"It's like I'm plagued," he said, his face scrunched in emphasis as one hand fisted the hair on his head. "My mind spins and I feel sick to my stomach. I can't keep anything down. Food, water, it doesn't matter. I've been distracted in the ring, everything's falling apart. My friends are gone, my family's estranged, I'm all alone."

He sighed, his shoulders slumped as his hands fell limply at his sides. "Not a soul. No one will talk to me. They say I'm ... crazy or ..." he wiggled his fingers, his brow raised in mock fear. "Creepy. Oooooo." He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. "But they don't know. None of them fucking know."

Chris licked his lips, reaching back to rub the back of his neck. "Edge is gone. He and I practically want to kill each other and ever since Stacy left him, he's not been the same. She talks to me in passing but nothing like she used to. Lita's a zombie. Benoit's engrossed in his title. There's nobody else. And my family?" he snorted, pursing his lips a moment to control their trembling. "My father and I got into this big fight when I ..."

He sighed, closing his eyes a moment then opened them. His eyes, ever so intense, locked on her deep brown orbs. "After I struck you, I went home. I felt like shit. There was no excuse for what I did and believe me when I say that I'm not trying to make excuses. But I went home and I ... I talked to my Mom. My Dad was there and when he heard that I hit a woman, he flipped."

Chris sniffed, blinking back the tears as he looked to an equally blackened corner of the closet. "My Mother was silent. My Father yelled. He threw me out of the house, out of the family. He said that he never raised his only son to act that way. And since I did, I am no longer his son." A tear slipped down his cheek and his lower lip trembled as he maintained the best composure as he could. He had to speak.

"I never expected them to approve," Chris continued, his voice shaking with his tears. "But I never expected to be expelled. To be tossed to the side and be kicked out of the only thing I ever knew as my constant. After Stephanie and even right after Wrestlemania when I went home to my folks, they were there for me. They were there when I ... through everything and now ..."

He sighed, shaking his head as his eyes met hers again. "But you?" He reached out, cupping her cheek in his hand, brushing his thumb along her moist cheek. Was she crying? His eyes searched her face from her brow to her nose to those perfectly pouty lips. "God, you're still so beautiful." He breathed, the words escaping him before he could censor his thoughts.

Trish flushed, a tiny smile tugging her lips but she quickly pulled it away and kept her eyes on his.

"I don't even deserve this opportunity." Chris said, gently. "I don't deserve to look at you and I know you're with Randy. He proved to be the better man, though I always kinda knew he was. It was just the way you kissed him, way back when. In the hallway that day and I caught him kissing you and ... you never kissed me like that and I knew that he was twice the man I could ever be."

"It's true." He said quickly, brushing his thumb over her cheek and to her lips to silence her. "It is. He treats you the way you deserve to be treated. He's kinda and affectionate and sweet and probably wildly passionate in ways that I could never measure up. It's ok."

His voice choked but he controlled himself, willing the words to continue. "I never really knew you and ... and I know I'm not in your league or on Randy's level. From my body to my face to my hair, my personality and brains, or lack there of. Everything. I understand and I ... There's not a single excuse for doing what I did. No matter what I saw or you said or anybody did. I'm not a man. A man doesn't hit a woman, much less the woman he loves, or claims to." He shook his head, his eyes transfixed on hers. "I don't deserve to live. I'm not a man. I never was. I didn't know the precious ... treasure ... I had in my hands."

He licked his lips, a fired haze flashing in his eyes as he pressed flush against her, his hands gripping her waist as he brought his face within inches of hers.

Trish shivered, her eyes wide but her lips parted willingly, her chin tilting towards his. His lips were so close. That soft sensual flesh that she'd spent nights dreaming about and days praying that she could feel again. His lips parted as his mouth hovered over hers. He was so close, she could feel and taste his hot moist breath, his lips almost brushing hers. The tip of his tongue licked the top point of his upper lip and she wanted to cry as that slick muscle touched her lip with that action.

"God, I want to kiss you." He growled, heatedly, his body lurching and shuddering against her. Suddenly, he shook his head, pushing back from her as he recoiled into himself, his head bowed in shame. "I'm sorry. I ... I don't know what came over me. Here ... here I promised I wouldn't do anything and ..." He clenched his teeth, his hand fisted as he scolded himself. "Damn it. I'm such a fucking asshole."

Trish shuddered, her heart beating in her throat as she opened her eyes to look at him. Her stomach quivered, her head hurting a little and she could feel heat and pressure in her temples and through her brow. Her neck was tense, her shoulders pulled taut and her knees could barely support her body. She wanted to collapse.

"I'm sorry." He apologized again, oblivious to the state his actions had left the woman he loved. "I ... I had more to say but ... I don't remember what it was. I ... I wasn't hoping that you'd do anything or even say anything. I just ... I was praying that maybe saying something to you would put my heart at ease. I'm so tired. And hungry. Maybe the fact that I spoke to you will ... I don't know. Maybe I can keep the food down tonight. Maybe I can get a good night's sleep without some horrifying nightmare. I need that peace of mind."

Trish reached out, steadying herself on a crate to her right and she sat down, unable to control the searing emotions in her body. She breathed heavily, overwhelmed by not only his words and the love that they sparked inside her again, but the lust that his nearness had surged.

"I'm sorry," he said again, racing out of the closet and letting the door close behind him.

Trish leaned forward, her head hanging between her legs as she desperately willed her nerves to still. She shouldn't feel this way. She was with another man. She had a boyfriend and Chris's actions should not have instilled such a feeling inside her. She hadn't felt that way since ...

A tear slipped from her eye as she sat straight, her hands balancing herself on the edge of the crate. She hadn't felt that way since he first kissed her in that alley in Boston. She hadn't felt such a rush since Chris fiercely fucked her against those lockers. Since they made passionate love on the couch in his locker room the following week.

Randy had never made her feel that way. And here Chris resurrected that intense yearning without even kissing her, with barely a touch.