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.

September 20, 2004

Trish Stratus strutted down the arena corridor, her title slung casually over her shoulder. She was proud of herself, proud of what she said to those diva wannabe's out on that stage. Neither of them deserved to be in this business. Neither of them knew what they were getting into and Trish wanted to make damn sure that they would regret every moment.

Sighing to herself, she continued slowly down the hall, her heels clicking, echoing through the corridor. She was, however, slightly disappointed with herself. She was usually on fire, on the ball with insults and comments. And tonight, she was horrible.

She shook her head, silently scolding herself. She'd come up with brilliant comments. To JR, Lita, Christian and even to Jericho. And yet out there with the easiest of all targets, she couldn't perform.

But she had her excuses. She was entirely too distracted. Picking up her pace, she quickened her step, nearly rushing down the hallway in her attempt to reach the locker room as quickly and swiftly as possible.

Pushing through the locker room door, she tossed her belt to the floor, discarding it for the sight before her. "Oh, Chris."

Chris Jericho glanced up with half lidded eyes at her sigh and he felt the swelling throb in his chin worsen when he tried to speak. So he didn't.

"Chris, Honey." Trish cooed, walking into the room and sitting down on the couch's edge, reaching out to him with a single hand to brush her fingers across his brow. She slowly shook her head, her eyes searching his. "How are you?"

"Ok," he managed to answer, softly. "I've been better."

She sighed. "Tyson didn't really go easy with that boot."

He offered a small chuckle. "He kicked me in the face. There's no easy way to do that."

"I'm so sorry." She gently apologized. "I just wish I could have more control over Tyson. But with Christian out for blood and paying him on the side, there's nothing I can do." She shrugged. "My hands are tied. How's your ice? Do you need more?"

Chris watched her stand, walking across the room to his duffle bag and pulled out his street clothes. His eyes scanned her perfect body, from her voluptuously curved torso then down those smooth tanned legs. "You look pretty tonight." He sighed then his eyes widened as he caught himself too late. Had he spoken that out loud?

A small smile tugged at Trish's lips as she glanced back over her shoulder. "Thank you, Chris."

He breathed a sigh of slight relief when she returned her attention to his bag, continuing to dig. He swallowed hard, willing his heart to slow, his breathing to regulate. He had to calm down. He just had to. Why was he getting so worked up anyway?

Trish tossed his clothes on the bench then turned back to him, a large white towel in her hands. "You should probably get cleaned up. A shower might relax you." She walked to him, squatting down to his level so she could look more clearly into his eyes. "Does that sound good?"

His heart stung at her almost maternal tone. She was always trying to take care of him and though he loved that idea, he didn't like the way she was going about it. "I don't wanna shower." He protested, holding the ice more firmly against his jaw.

"Are you sure you're feeling well?"

"I feel like shit." He honestly answered. "I just ..." he averted his eyes, staring at the ceiling. "I want to go home. Or back to the hotel, at least."

Trish's gaze softened and she reached out, placing her hand on his chest. "Sweetie, maybe you should go home."

But he shook his head.

"Why not?" She coaxed, rubbing her hand in a slow circular motion on his sweat sticky chest. "If you're not feeling well, you should go right home."

"Because I can't get up."

She furrowed her brow.

"I tried before you came in here." He clarified. "I tried to go shower and I nearly fell over. The ... Let's just say that the Sweet Chin Music followed by a series of punches and a stiff kick – all to the head – is not the best for my balance."

She leaned closer to him, bringing her hand from his chest up to his face, cupping his cheek. "Do you have a concussion, Sweetie?"

He closed his eyes.

She moved closer still. "Hey. Open your eyes."

Chris swallowed hard. She was so close. She was so close he could feel her breath, her warmth. Her touch on his face made him shiver and he had to resist every urge to just cave. He wanted to cry.

"Honey, what's wrong?"

Oh no. He must be tearing. His face must have given some sign of distress. She hurt him now more than she ever did. All he could feel with her was pain. And yet the masochist he is, he couldn't turn her away. He sucked up all that pain, all the denial, all the guilt just to be in her presence. And it was slowly killing him.

"Chris?"

He sniffed, squeezing his eyes closed a moment before gathering himself, looking onto her face. "I'm just really exhausted."

Concern remained in her eyes as her face was drawn with worry. "You really don't look so great." She still cupped his cheek, brushing her thumb along his lips then chin. "Have you been sleeping this week?"

"Not really." He answered, truthfully. "I've been ... distracted."

"Distracted?" She traced her hand down over his neck, rubbing his chest in comfort again, trying desperately to coax more information from him. "How?"

"It's nothing." He quickly replied with a slight shake of the head. "I just need a little time to gather myself, then I'll be fine."

"Tell me, Sweetie." Trish cooed, running her hand up his chest then down his arm, entwining their fingers. "I want to know so I can help. Anything I can do to help you, I will."

But Chris only shook his head. "There's nothing you can really do." He didn't deserve her attention, her caring. He was an asshole, a bastard. Edge was right. He'd hurt her on so many occasions that she didn't even have to give him the time of day. Yet here she was, stroking him, caressing him and being ... friendly ... caring.

Trish sighed, squeezing his hand a bit tighter. "Honey, I do care. I never stopped ... caring." She leaned a little closer to him, looking further into his eyes. "I want you to know that. And I want to help you. Everyway I could."

He licked his lips, his eyes widening as her head began to lower. Good Lord, was she doing what he thought she was doing? He watched, wide-eyed as her eyes fluttered closed and she inched closer and closer still.

"Where is she?"

Trish jumped back, her heart in her throat as she turned to the door. Shocked, surprised, she tilted her head, but still did not release Jericho's hand. "Jeff?"

Jeff Hardy charged into the locker room, falling to his knees in front of Trish. "Where is she?"

Trish still stared in shock, unresponsive to not only the unexpected interruption, but who sat before her.

"Lita. Where ... Where is she?" he forced out, his voice shaking with his restrained tears.

"I ... I don't know, Jeff."

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Jeff snapped, his eyes flashing with anger and sorrow. "How ... how can you not know? Don't you care? Don't you even remotely care about Lita? Or are you too wrapped up in your ..." he gestured at her and Chris. "At this. This! Whatever it is you two are trying to do again."

Trish gasped and Chris couldn't keep the flush from his face.

"You two aren't fooling anyone." Jeff quickly said. "You're still madly in love so just by-pass all this red tape and get on with it already. And I can't believe you ... you're dancing around like this when Lita ... she ... she ..."

"Oh, Jeff." Trish sighed, reaching out and wrapping her arms around the Hardy's neck, pulling him into her.

Tears burst from Jeff's eyes at the touch and he buried his face in her abdomen, clutching desperately at her.

"Shhhh," Trish hushed, running her fingers through his hair, combing it down as she held him, rocking him slowly. "Shhh, honey."

Jeff sniffled, his breath erratic. "My ... my baby." He squeezed his eyes tightly together, burying further into her as he tightened his arms. "My baby's dead."

Chris's eyes widened at those words, total shock falling onto his face.

Trish's eyes quickly met Jericho's and she silently pleaded for him not to say a word.

Jeff winced, his shoulder's shaking with sobs. "Oh God, Lita and ... and Oh God, I never should have left her. No matter what I ... I should have been with her and I ..."

"Shh, Jeff." Trish soothed, rubbing her hands along his shoulders. "Shh, it's not your fault. There's nothing that could have been done. The doctor's did everything they could and at least ... at least Lita's ok. That's what matters. Lita is ok."

But Jeff viciously shook his head. "How can you say that? Everything's not ok. My child is ... is dead. My love is ... is in the hospital ... did ... did you see her? The look on her face. And ... and she's married to Kane ... and ... and ..."

Trish released him when he pushed back and worry filled her at the new look. "Jeff?"

His eyes flashed dangerously and he stood quickly, his body tensing, his fists clenched. "Snitzgy." He growled, then without a second thought, charged from the room.

"Jeff!" Trish called, flying to her feet.

"No!" Chris said, reaching out and grabbing her hand. He winced as the icepack dropped from his hand and he leaned off the couch. "No."

She turned, her eyes full with fear as she looked down on him. "I have to stop him."

But Chris shook his head, his eyes pleading for her. "Please, don't. You can't."

"Why?" Trish asked, pulling on her hand, but he wouldn't let her go. "He's going to get hurt. And ... and there's going to be trouble."

Again, Chris shook his head. "No, he won't." He tugged on her hand and Trish fell back onto the couch, sitting at his side.

"Why?" she asked, her body trembling with her worry. "Why, how do you know? Jeff is a menace when he's like this. I know. I've seen him take it to a lot of people. And that ..."

Chris reached up, pressing a finger to her lips and his brow rose as he spoke softly. "Because Snitzgy left right after his interview. I saw him speeding off."

Trish smiled, relaxing and she reached up, taking his hand from her lips and holding it in her lap. "I'm still worried about Jeff. And about you." She squeezed his hand then sighed, ducking her head. "And about Lita."

"You really still care about her, don't you."

Trish nodded.

Chris swallowed hard. "Help me up."

She watched him struggle to a sitting position, his eyes swimming a moment before he maintained his balance. "Wait." She reached out, steadying him. "Why? I thought you were ..."

"That doesn't matter." He said, quickly. "I'm going to take you to see Lita."

"What?!"

He pushed to his feet, staggering slightly then with his legs spread, found his balance. "You heard me. You have to patch things up with Lita. She could really use you ... and from that look you just had ... you want her friendship again too."

"Chris," she interrupted, reaching out to grab his arm. "I ... I really don't think that's such a great idea."

"But ..."

She placed her hand over his lips, silencing him. "Of all the places to be right now, going to Lita is not one of them. She needs time to heal, physically."

"But ..."

Trish shook her head. "No. I can't. And with Kane there ..."

"He wouldn't touch you." Chris swore, intensely. "I'd kill him first."

Her eyes met his and she felt a surge of love at that very moment, but she quickly shook it off. "I promise that when Lita comes back, I'll talk to her. Ok?"

Chris smiled. "Ok."

She almost exploded. Oh how she missed his smile. She never wanted to see it disappear. She wanted it to stay and she wanted to be the woman to keep it there.