The Emancipation of Trish Stratus
A/N: I own my truck, some frozen waffles, and an RKO tee shirt. I do not own any of the characters you're going to read about here.
For the first time in his professional life, Hunter didn't care about the match ahead of him. His mind was wrapped around Trish's accusations, and that little threat she had hissed just before she walked away. Of course, she was right. He had invited Orton back into Evolution to keep an eye on him. And he did care a lot about his title. But there were things he cared more about in the world. He cared about the future of the business, and it's current reputation. He cared about Steph and Ric. And he cared about Trish.
When he had suggested bringing her new lover into Evolution, it was, indeed to keep an eye on him. But it wasn't to protect his title. It was to protect her. It was to make sure that some gold-digging, power-hungry upstart like Batista, Benjamin, Edge, or Cena didn't try to get to him through her. She thought she knew the business after five years, but he knew that she still led with her heart, and that it would get her into trouble, just as it always did.
She was so damn stubborn, though. He could put it all on the line, tell her everything that he was really feeling, and she wouldn't listen. She would just put her hands on her hips, stick out that enormous chest, and tell him to go to hell, that she could take care of herself. Sure, she could. Just like she had taken care of herself with Hardy, Jericho, and that fuckin' chump nut, Christian. Sometimes she made him so angry – he just wanted to grab her by her blonde hair and yank some sense into her. What the hell was her problem anyway?
By the time he was called to the ring for his match, his adrenaline was pumping and a sick smile tweaked his lips. Channeling all of his anger toward Trish, he ralled the troups and led Orton and Flair to the ring. Creative visualization was going to leave Edge crying for his mommy, or that stupid whore he had valeting for him these days.
XXX
Trish watched the screen at gorilla position with great interest. She had absolutely no affection for Lita or Edge, but the way that Triple H was dismantling her fellow Canadian made her stomach sick. He was so calculating, so cold about every move. He knew he had already twisted Edge's surgically repaired neck and back, probably bad enough to keep him out of action for a couple of weeks, and now he was mercilessly attacking the same spot with knee, after knee, after knee.
Jack-off's Orton and Flair were doing a great job of keeping the ref distracted while Hunter continued the assault. Lita was screaming for him to stop, and Trish felt ill at the sudden realization that she would have found that extremely funny a couple of weeks ago. Triple H destroying a man's career in the ring? Ha, ha, bloody ha. Crippling someone for the sake of protecting his own reputation? It was all part of the game. It was kill, or be killed, within that stretch of canvas, and he was doing what anyone else would have been doing in his position.
Except that all she could see, each time Hunter's elbow or shoulder dropped onto Edge's back, was the face of the man she loved. That's exactly what was going to happen when he found out – he was going to try to end his career. He was going to destroy everything. And he was going to succeed. Because he always did – he was The Game.
Suddenly, she couldn't stand by anymore. Edge somehow buried his fist in Triple H's gut and found his way to his feet. Waiting for Hunter to regain his composure, he coiled in the corner, ready to deliver a devastating Spear. She blinked as Flair tried to hold the ref's attention by jumping onto the apron while Orton grabbed the Heavyweight title belt and snuck toward the ring.
By the time Lita grabbed Orton's arm to stop him, Trish was already on her way down the ramp. She wasn't thinking about what she was doing, didn't even stop to consider the consequences as she slid ito the ring, raised the chair she had brought with her, and crushed it over Triple H's head, immediately sliding back out again. She threw the chair beside the ring and backed up the ramp.
The rest seemed to happen in slow motion. Flair and Orton grew red-faced, shouting loud profanities at her from the opposite side of the ring. Edge and Lita watched her in wide-eyed shock. The referee tried to figure out what the hell had happened, and why no one was moving. The crowd cheered. And Hunter lay deathly still in the middle of the squared circle.
Finally, Edge snapped back to reality and threw his body over Hunter's for the win. But Trish had already high-tailed it fo rhte locker room. She had unleashed her hell on Triple H, but the victory would be short-lived. Soon, he would recover. And Trish had a feeling no one would be able to save her from his fury.