Wrestlemania XXI

She knew it was coming, and it was still hard to take. The bell rang and suddenly, Trish Stratus wasn't the WWE Women's Champion. Christy Hemme stood there looking bewildered. She didn't seem to have a clue. Of course, Shawn claimed to be clueless about Montreal, but that turned out to be a lie. But, at least Christy had the decency to look confused. Lita, on the other hand…

It took only a glimpse at the redheaded slut to know that she was in on the plan. She hobbled over to the ringside, yanking Christy out and trying to lead her up the ramp. She tossed a smirk Trish's way that made her scream. She had wanted Randy to be wrong. She had prayed for him to be out of his mind, but the second the Undertaker delivered the Tombstone and covered him, Trish knew she was in for a similar fate. She knew that Randy was nowhere near as stupid as people tried to make him out to be.

Filled with rage, Trish rolled out of the ring and ran straight up the ramp. She lowered her body and ran straight into Lita's injured knee. Lita went down screaming and Trish stood up. She stomped her in the stomach, then kicked her knee hard. Christy tried to grab her but one fierce glare from Trish was enough for her to know that she didn't want to get involved in this. Trish went back to Lita and kicked her again. She wanted to be sure that her knee kept her off the shelf for as long as possible. If Vince McMahon wanted some random girl as his champion, then he was stuck with her because there was no way in hell that he would have any women left in the division who could actually get the job done.

When Randy said he wanted to make sure all of their bets was covered, he'd been serious. Since the day he figured it all out, the two of them had been getting their things in order. Calls were made and attorneys were secretly brought in. The double screwjobs they had received that night were enough to get them whatever they wanted. Unless they wanted an amped up replay of what happened with Bret Hart, that ninety day clause was going to be out the window. Originally, they thought they would only be able to get the out for Trish, should the inevitable actually become a reality, but the last thing Trish had heard before walking out to her match was the Undertaker talking softly to someone. She didn't catch it all, but she had heard enough. "Vince owes me for that one," he'd said, and in the end, Vince owed more people than just the Undertaker.

Hands grabbed Trish, pulling her off of Lita. She didn't even realize she'd been on her knees, bashing the woman's head into the ramp until she was yanked off hard. She fought at the hands holding her, scratching at the skin that was revealed by short sleeved referee shirts. She kicked backwards and when her leg connected, she was dropped. Another set of arms wrapped around her, and when she realized who they belonged to, she stopped fighting. She turned to look up into Randy's angry eyes and knew that he had found the truth. He didn't have to say anything for her to realize that he had either heard it for himself, or someone had told him.

Trish's head whipped back around to the crowd. They were on their feet, screaming. The ringside fans were actually laughing as Lita rolled around on the ground. She didn't know if they realized what was going on or not. They seemed to think it was all a part of a storyline, and Trish wished that it was. She wished that this was all an acting job, because then, she wouldn't have had to be so angry. Then, she would have been able to go backstage and shake it off. She wouldn't have to carry the burn with her all night.

She let Randy drag her off and they made their way through the crowd. People pushed against them, and security had to fight to keep fans from getting to them. As it were, some fans still managed to get past to clap their shoulders or get a touch of their idols. It was amazing in its own way. The whole point of both of their storylines had been to further them as heels. All this had done was make everyone love them. It was as though they were fighting the regime, fighting the McMahon machine that did what they wanted, when they wanted because they owned the company.

Randy dragged Trish around the building and out a side door. They took off running and it was only when they reached the car, both winded and still angry, that Trish realized all of her things were still in the building. "Randy!" She tried to pull away from him, but he wouldn't release her. "Randy, my bags!"

"They're already in the car." He practically tossed her inside after opening the door, then slammed it shut. He walked back to the other side and got in.

As they drove off, Trish looked at him. He was still dressed as he had been for his match. His black trunks bunched low on his stomach as his body was bent by the seat. "Randy," she said, blinking at him in confusion.

"I tried to make it out there," he said, shaking his head. "I knew what they were going to do, so they all kept me in the room. Fucking… You know Hunter was in on this shit, too? He and Vince came up with that shit to have Taker go over one me, because my head was getting too big, he said. I would have beaten the shit out of him if there wasn't a wall of security between us. They know I could take his spot and they didn't want me to."

"And they think… what? We're just going to let this happen?"

"They're shipping us off to Smackdown." Randy groaned. "Well, they're shipping me off, at least. My last Raw is supposed to be tomorrow night, then I'm off to Smackdown on Tuesday. You… I don't know what they're going to do. Ya know, for people afraid that you're going to defect, they sure as hell went the wrong way about stopping you."

"It's not just me. I…" She stopped as a faint tune reached her ears. In any other circumstance, it would have been funny. She'd especially enjoyed the look on other people's faces when her own theme music sang out from her pocket. "Where's my phone? I can hear it, but I don't know where it is."

"Glove compartment."

She nodded, grateful that Randy was actually thinking. Though she had watched him slowly start to grow up, it wasn't until he did something that required actual planning that she could actually tell what was going on with him. It was his mind that put the clues together of what would happen, and his mind to set things in motion. Even something as small as putting her phone where she could get to it easily was enough to make her think more of him.

Trish snatched the phone out of the glove compartment and flipped it open just two rings before it would have gone over to voice mail. She listened for a moment as two voices went back and forth. When they died down, Trish said, "Okay, I'll give you the number. Call tomorrow and see what can be done. You can't get out of the clause but, I don't know." She sighed. "Yeah, I'll think of something. But I gotta go. I gotta make another call. Come to our room when you get to the hotel and we'll talk about it."

A few more words and the call ended. Trish looked at Randy and wished she knew what to say. She wasn't going to say that he was right. That would be pointing out the obvious. Anything else just didn't seem pertinent. They were both screwed, and they were expected to show up humbly at Raw the next night. They were expected to stand there and act like they didn't care about what had happened, that they could care less that at Wrestlemania, the grandest stage of them all, they had both been screwed out of their careers. They were supposed to act like they didn't know that the second they went to Smackdown, they would end up jobbing on Velocity. Oh, they might let Taker do more of a squash job on Randy for about a month, and Trish would spend her time putting over Torrie Wilson or Michelle McCool, but in the end, they would both end up at the bottom of the heap. The godhood and immortality that was deserving of the only third generation superstar left on the roster and youngest World Champion in WWE history, the whole one that could have taken Triple H's place as top heel now that The Rock was gone, and the record-setting six time Women's Champion would disappear into the McMahon machine as they ushered forth others who wouldn't come close to taking their place.

"Make the call, Trish."

She sighed and looked at him. "Did you tell them, Randy? In all the screaming and shouting, did you tell them? Do they actually know?"

"They don't know anything. Just make the call."

"Randy…"

"Make the fucking call!" He gripped the steering wheel hard enough for the pigment in his tanned knuckles to lighten. Randy took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "They don't know, but they will tomorrow night. Just make the call and get it all set up. I told you we had to protect ourselves, and that's what we're doing. Because otherwise, we'd be stuck here and they'd have all the power."

Trish sighed and looked down at her phone. She punched in the speed-dial number and waited. Part of her didn't want to do this. She was loyal to the core, and this went against what she believed in. But, loyalty had to be deserved, and there was nothing about Vince McMahon that said he deserved her loyalty. The one who had stood by her was sitting next to her, driving intently to the hotel. Randy deserved her loyalty. Her own career deserved her loyalty. And Vince McMahon could kiss her ass. The other end of the line picked up and she said with a sigh, "Yeah, this is Trish. I'm pretty sure you saw what happened so the only thing left to say is…" She gave one last look to Randy. He nodded at her and she sighed. "We're in."