The Emancipation of Trish Stratus

A/N: I don't own anything. Also, I'm really sorry if there's a bunch of errors in this chapter. I was in kind of a hurry to get it posted. And thanks, again, for the reviews. You guys are the coolest.

"You got this one in the bag, Champ," he smiled at his girlfriend as Trish stalked around the women's locker room like a caged animal. It had been a week since she had made her fateful in-ring appearance against Triple H, and she hadn't heard from him since. That fact alone left her almost paranoid enough to forfeit her title to Christy Hemme without ever approaching the ring.

She smiled at him sweetly and then resumed her pacing. He had been so good to her – all week, promising that he wasn't going to let anything happen to her. He had it under control. He wasn't going to let anyone touch her, and nothing was going to get in the way of them being together. He had promised that, when it was over and they could finally let everyone in on their secret, everything would be perfect. He even promised her that the McMahon-Helmsley Era would have nothing on their reign once the dust settled.

"You shouldn't be here " she chastised, glancing at the clock. "if you get caught," she added nervously.

But he stood from the bench and wrapped his bulging arms around her tiny waist. "Baby, relax. No one has figured anything about us until we were ready for them to figure it out, right?" He flashed her a smile and then nodded, waiting for her to return the gesture. He touched his forehead to hers when she finally smiled. "Me and the guys are gonna make sure that nothing happens to you, and that Triple H doesn't find out what's waiting for him until it's way, way too late to fix it."

The calming effected of his deep voice soothed her to the core. "I love you," she whispered before the shouting of some stage hand interrupted their moment of silence. "You better go."

"I love you, too," he answered, brushing his lips against hers. He held her face in his large hands and placed a kiss on her forehead. "You just go out and make sure you hold on to that title tonight, okay?"

She rolled her eyes and patted his ass as he trotted to the door, darted his head out quickly, and then exited without a look back. Rationally, logically, there was no way that their plan was ever going to work. But even the most insane idea sounded like mathematical fact when he whispered in her ear as sleep took over her exhausted body in the pre-dawn, post-coital hours of the morning.

Licking her lips, she turned her attention to beating Christy for the women's title. Something had happened with Lita's knee in training and she had cancelled at the last minute, so Bischoff had thrown a bone Hemme's way. Once Trish kicked her ass, and secured her title, they could focus on his. And then they could come out to the world – and she could tell everyone exactly how much she loved him.

XXX

Christy, bless her heart, tried her damnedest to pull out some move, any move, that could defeat Trish. But she just wasn't that good. At least, not six-time champion good. Every time Trish whipped her across the ring and slammed her tiny back into the turnbuckle, the veteran's confidence grew. Each time she knocked the red-head to the mat and then pulled her up by her extensions, Trish could taste another successful title defense.

Gearing up for the Chick Kick, Trish envisioned the smirk that she would give the crowd as she swaggered back to the locker room. And she envisioned the congratulatory kiss that would be waiting for her at midnight. And that's when it happened.

His music hit, and she took her eyes off the prize. Turning, she watched Triple H's angry face flash in green on the Titantron. Before she could steady herself, she felt Christy grab her thigh and pull her backward. The three-count sounded before she realized she'd been pinned. She had lost. She had lost to Christy fuckin' Hemme.

And then she heard the voice. The cold, sinister snicker of the man she had been dreading. Christy was out of the ring, up the ramp, and past Evolution before Lilian could present her as the new Women's Champion. And Trish was in the ring alone, facing her own undoing, three times over. No on was coming to her aid – no one was busting through the curtain. And they were all strutting down the ramp with bad intentions in their eyes.

"Awe, Trish," Triple H looked behind him as he spoke into the microphone with mock-sweetness that made her stomach turn. All three members of Evolution, dressed to the nines, stopped half-way between the ring and the top of the ramp, grinning like idiots. "I hope you didn't just lose your Women's Championship because of me," he said.

She backed toward the middle of the ring as the "boos" rang out, waiting. What the hell was he going to do? Surely they wouldn't triple-team a woman on national television. Even they wouldn't stoop that low, would they? "What do you want?" she shouted, refusing to show them any more fear. It wasn't like she could avoid the confrontation – she had to face the music, and she had to do it now.

"What do I want?" Hunter asked, his voice turning icy. "I want an explanation. I want to know what the hell you were thinking when you ran your little ass into this ring last week and bashed me over the skull with a steel chair!" The vein was popping in his throat, and his eyes appeared to be on fire. "What I want, even more than an explanation, is an apology, Stratus!"

He wanted an apology? After everything he had said to her a week ago? Watch your back? Don't trust anyone? And now he wanted her to apologize? She backed toward Lilian, took the microphone, her eyes never leaving Evolution. She was already trapped like a rat. If she was gonna go down, it wasn't going to be with a whimper. "Well, since that's not gonna happen, let's talk about what I want, huh?" He seemed surprised at her gall, as did the other two. "I want a championship. And since you just cost me mine," she looked squarely at his shoulder and pointed, "I want yours."

There was a collective gasp from the audience. Who did this five foot, four inch diva think she was? And did she ever think before she did anything anymore? She could only imagine was JR and King were saying at the announcer's table. But for the first time, she felt completely clear-headed about what she was doing.

"Is this about your secret, Champion-wannabe boyfriend, Trish? The one who is so hell-bent on taking my title? Did he put you up to this?" He laughed and turned to each of his co-horts for confirmation. "See, guys? This is why I always tell you – pick the sluts like Stratus here, and you can get 'em to do damn near anything for you."

She cleared her throat, her gaze steady and undeterred. "Not everything is about sex, you perverted sack of crap," she spat, adjusting her language for the television cameras. She took a step forward, closer to them. "this is about you taking something that was very important to me. This is about making my own decisions for once. This is personal."

He laughed again and nodded. "So you want me to walk into that ring and just hand you the greatest prize in this business?" She shrugged. "Sweetheart, I have given blood, sweat, and tears for this belt. It means more to me than your stupid piece of Women's crap ever meant to you. You want it? You're gonna have to earn it," he challenged.

There were more "boos" through the arena, rising to a deafening level. Nobody was going to get behind the ass who would challenge Trish to a Heavyweight title match. He would break her in half by the time the bell rang. But she could see it in his eyes – there was something that noen of them would ever detect. There was a deep-seeded concern that she might actually say "yes." There was something there that said he didn't want to get in the ring with her.

"Fine," she squared her shoulders and watched him take a small step backward. Orton and Flair made no attempt to mask their shock. "You want me? You got me. Triple H versus Trish Stratus for the World Heavyweight Championship this Sunday at SummerSlam." She waited for Bischoff's music to hit, for him to charge out and inform both of them that it was crazy, dangerous, and impossible for them to fight at the upcoming Pay-Per-View. She waited for anyone to stop it – but no one did.

There was nothing in the arena but the silent glare of two stubborn individuals who were each willing to put it all on the line for a chance to prove themselves right. Somewhere in those moments, Trish realized, it stopped being about him. It wasn't about love or championships anymore. It was about proving that she didn't need to hide behind anyone. Win or lose, she was going to show Hunter that no one controlled Trish Stratus.

"Trish," he started to laugh and then leveled her with a glare. "You got yourself a deal. And when I beat you, you will tell me exactly who it is that you've been whoring around with. You will tell me, and then you will watch as he comes to this ring, and Evolution tears him limb for limb. You will become an example to everyone in that locker room. You will be the poster child for what happens to you, and to everyone you love, when you have the nerve to challenge The Game."

She wanted to believe that something inside of him still cared about her a little bit. She wanted to believe that he only wanted to win, not hurt her. But even if that was the case, it didn't mean that he wasn't willing to hurt everyone, and everything, that mattered to her. He was willing to destroy the one man who meant more to her than a title ever would.

Even as that reality was sinking in, and Evolution took another step closer to her, Trish didn't falter. It was personal. She would not live in fear of him – his opinion or his abuse – anymore. With her arms crossed over her chest, she glared at all three of them and waited.

And just as things had moved in slow motion for her the week before, time seemed to crawl again. She saw Batista first, and then Cena, along with Edge, tearing down the ramp. She saw Hunter take a hit between his shoulders as Batista sent him flying into the apron, face first. She saw Edge spear Orton into the cement floor. She saw Cena grab Ric's arm and drive him into the steel steps. She heard the crowd go wild.

Her eyes focused on him. God, he was beautiful. Even brawling with every intention of destroying, he was beautiful. The muscles and the sweat, and the . . . She stopped cold when a thought hit her. She had just challenged Triple H to a World Heavyweight title match at SummerSlam. Holy shit – they were right. She was losing her damn mind.