The Emancipation of Trish Stratus
A/N: It may be a couple of days before I get another chapter up in either of my stories. My best friend is coming in from out of town to chill for the holiday, so I don't know that I'll have much time to write. Unless she helps me, and then you're all in for a real treat - a drunken, nonsensical treat, more than likely. Anyway, hope everyone has a great holiday. Thanks for reviewing - you've been so great - all of you reak of awesomeness! I'm going to own a large pizza with mushrooms and peppers when the delivery guy gets here, but I don't own any of the characters you read in this story. Have a great holiday!
"You guys ever wish you could just go back to the old days?" Randy asked as he, Batista, and Cena sat around a table in some non-descript bar after the RAW taping.
Batista raised an eyebrow curiously, but Cena answered with a laugh. "Hell, no. But I'm not starin' at an anything goes match with a fuckin' lunatic, either," he pointed out.
Randy rolled his shoulders. He wanted to play the cocky, over-confident, unafraid Legend Killer at the moment, but he couldn't muster the energy. Cena was wrong – Triple H wasn't a lunatic at all. He was a calculating, strategizing genius. And he had a hell of a lot of personal vendetta to exact in that Unforgiven match. Even though he was the Champion, he knew that he was the underdog, and he didn't like the feeling.
"Where's Trish?" Batista asked, checking his watch. They had been there for twenty minutes and she had yet to show. He wasn't used to seeing one of them without the other anymore.
Shrugging, Randy tipped his beer bottle to his lips and then scraped his fingernail over a non-existent spot on the table. "She went back to the hotel." He looked up at Batista, his eyes filled with something indiscernible. It was either worry or a 'leave it alone,' but the big man couldn't tell. "She was fuckin' livid," he added, his shoulder shaking with an amused grin. It wasn't funny, but Trish had no idea how sexy she was when she was angry.
"You tell her about Smackdown yet?" Cena asked, leaning back in his chair. He still wasn't sure why Randy had decided to leave RAW and head to the other brand, and he wasn't all together convinced that it wasn't the young champion's way of hiding. If he was on Smackdown, Triple H couldn't touch him.
Randy's eyes clouded over as he looked from each of his friends, to the ceiling, and then back to the table. "I'm waiting until it's official," he said flatly.
Batista, never one for offering much personal advice, shifted in his seat and rested his elbows on the table, folding his hands in front of him. "If you want my opinion," he started, his eyes meeting Orton's, as if to ask if he should continue. Randy nodded. "I think you should talk to her about it before you make it final, man. You want to spend your life with her, right?" Again, the younger man nodded. "Then maybe a huge decision, that's going to put months and miles between you on a consistent basis, should be one that you make together?"
He knew that Batista was right, that he should definitely tell Trish about the offer, and about his reasons for even considering it, but part of him still held a grudge. "She hasn't talked to me about any of the decisions that she made, Dave. I mean, Jesus, she's been running off like a half-cocked crazy person for months. Now, all of the sudden, I'm just supposed to start consulting her before I make a move?"
"She's your girlfriend," Cena stated. He loved Randy like his own brother, but sometimes, the man had the sensitivity and brains of a door knob.
"So?"
"So? My god, you really are a jack ass, ya know it?" He turned to Cena, "This is why he's never had a relationship that lasted more than a month and a half," Batista pointed out and Randy rolled his eyes, absorbing their punishment without a word. "Orton, man, listen – I been married for awhile, right? And you learn a few things over time – mostly that it takes work and sacrifice."
But Randy wasn't ready to listen. He shook his head and held up a hand in defense. "No, you guys listen. I have sacrificed for months, watching Trish pull bull shit maneuvers that I knew could get her killed. I have kept my fucking mouth shut, and all anyone can do is tell me that I'm the one who needs to be sensitive. Fuck that!" He tried to control the volume of his voice, noting that a few guys at another table were staring at him now. "If she can't give a little, this whole thing is never gonna work anyway." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted having voiced them.
Cena seemed to realize that this conversation was heading for dangerous waters, so he cleared his throat and motioned for the waitress to bring another round. "A'ight, so let's stop with the girlie bull shit and talk about what's important," he stated, tapping the table for effect. "Way I see it – one of two things is gonna happen at Unforgiven, man. Either you gonna prove that you a real champ," he held up one finger, and then another. "Or Hunter's gonna tear yo' ass out through your chest," he shrugged.
"Thanks for that vote of confidence," Randy shot dryly.
Batista rolled his eyes at the two of them – something he found himself doing quite frequently. "So we just have to make sure that you keep that title," he said with a shrug.
XXX
Trish had been known to do a stupid thing or two, especially when she was angry. So, after twenty minutes of imagining what she'd like to yell at Randy, it wasn't a surprise that she left the room, intent on doing the dumbest thing she could possibly EVER do.
Standing outside his hotel room, she raised her hand and lowered it three times. What was she thinking? She didn't know, but she rapt her knuckles against the door and prayed that an answer would come to her soon.
When he pulled back the heavy door, there was a satisfied smirk on his face. "Hey, Trishter," he winked, leaning in the door frame and looking her over.
He was dressed in warm up pants, his long hair in a ponytail, and he smelled like a fresh shower. She looked around him to see his room empty. "Can we talk?" she asked nervously.
Hunter stepped back, opening the door and allowing her to step past him. He was angry, no doubt, but something about having her there tweaked his human side just a little bit. It had been too long since they had hung out and shared a laugh or two. Of course, it had been too long since she was his trusted and loyal friend, as well.
Trish sank to the bed and ran her hands over her denim-clad thighs, licking her lips. Her mouth was dry and she wasn't sure that she could speak. Silently, she watched him move around the room, pouring himself a glass of water, before sitting in the chair across from her. He rested his left ankle on his right knee and dangled the sweating tumbler between his fingers, watching her with an intensity she had forgotten he possessed.
"Where's your boyfriend?" he asked finally, raising the refreshing liquid to his lips.
Trish shrugged and looked at her watch, trying to act far less concerned than she actually was. If she gave him anything, a hint of apprehension, he would take a mile from her. "Out with the boys," she answered as confidently as she could.
But he caught the shift of her eyes, noted the stiffness in her shoulders. "That's some freedom you got there, Trish," he commented with a laugh. "I mean, wasn't that what this whole thing was about for you? Proving to me that nobody controlled you – that you were your own person?"
"I don't know what you're implying," she started to get defensive.
But Hunter just held up a hand and shook his head. "Nothing. I'm not implying anything. I just find it ironic that you snuck around behind my back for months with Orton, and now you're sneaking around behind his back to see me," he added.
Her eyes flashed and she bit her lip to keep from saying something stupid. Anything she said was going to be stupid at this point. Hell, being there was stupid. "Why are you doing this to me?" she asked finally. He seemed confused. "I know what I did hurt you. I know that I probably could have done it a little bit better, that I could have changed things. I know it didn't have to end like it did," she started.
"It's not over, Sweetie," he warned ominously.
She nodded her head, though, and met his eyes. She was tired. Tired of running from him, hiding from him, and being scared of him. She was tired of fighting. And, more than she wanted to admit it, she missed him. He had been like her big brother, and as much as she loved Randy, he was nothing like a brother. "Is there anything left?"
He watched her eyes as they searched his for some sign that he still felt even an ounce of compassion for her. Nodding, he watched her with a casual air that he knew she was so desperately trying to project. She wasn't as skilled as he was – not in the art of manipulation. She wasn't calculating or deceptive. She was passionate, and she acted on instinct. No one would ever accuse Trish Stratus of being pre-meditatively evil.
"Then why are we doing this?" she asked, her voice catching before she could stop it. "We are not these people, Hunter. I'm not this person. I thought that I could prove myself to you and then go back to the way things were, but I can't. I can't keep doing this," she cleared her throat and stopped to breathe. She hadn't wanted to break down. He wasn't supposed to see this side of her. It was only giving him more ammo, and she knew it.
But as he watched her with critical eyes, she couldn't help it. She loved him like family. She missed him like a dead relative. She needed him like the available shoulder and listening ear that he had always been. Maybe he wouldn't believe her, but she had to tell him, to at least try, before she lost her mind and everything else that mattered to her.
Hunter watched as Trish fidgeted. It was her way of screwing up all of the courage in her tiny body. Something big was coming – a confession or an unburdening of her soul. And he didn't want to hear it. Anything she said, he would be forced to use against her, and he didn't want to do that anymore. He hated Orton – that much was clear in his mind. But he couldn't, no matter how much he tried, hate Trish. He couldn't make his heart shut her out. He couldn't lie awake at night and comprehend causing her pain. In fact, it nearly killed him when he stopped and thought about the bruises he had already inflicted on her. Even if it was her fault to start with.
He leaned forward and leveled his gaze at her. He wouldn't let her speak – wouldn't let her give him tears or weakness. "You are that person, Trish," he corrected and she shook her head. "You may not have started out that way, maybe you didn't want to be, but you are now. Because you see, Sweetheart, you don't take on the dark side without stepping into it." His voice was calm and sincere, almost sweet, as a father explaining the hard truths of life to his child. "You can't touch evil – you can't taste betrayal – without it sticking to you, taking hold and turning you – even just a little bit."
She blinked back a tear and straightened her back. He liked to call himself "evil" and the "devil" but she knew that he wasn't. And she knew that he wasn't right. "You're wrong," she started.
He stood and moved to the bed beside her. "Am I? You know why all of this started? Because I was trying to protect you from this. I was trying to keep you away from guys like me. I know I'm an asshole, Trish. I know that I am a power-hungry, vicious, blood thirsty mother fucker who doesn't care about much if it doesn't benefit me." She opened her mouth to protest, but he raised an eyebrow in challenge. "Come on, Trish. You know, as well as I do, that I'm not the saint you want me to be. But let me tell you this," he held up a finger and made sure she was watching him before he went on. "Neither is Orton."
Trish's heart sank. If she was one hundred percent honest, she knew that Randy was a lot like Hunter. He was arrogant and cool. He was talented and ruthless. And he was damn determined to get his way, no matter what he had to do to make that happen. But when it came to her, she knew that he would do anything for her. She knew that he loved her, and nothing would change that. And that's what scared her.
Because he was like Hunter. And she knew that, if their desires didn't mesh, her relationship with Randy would end exactly like the one with Hunter had. If she didn't get absolution, some sort of forgiveness, for ruining this relationship, she worried she was damned to repeat it with the man she loved. "Randy was just doing what I asked him to do. He was just back in Evolution so that I could show you that he was trustworthy. So that you would accept him again, so that you would be okay with me loving him."
Hunter shrugged. "Well, he follows orders well," he admitted. "I mean, he had me totally fooled, and you know how hard it is to do that." She gave him a half-smile, her eyes focused on her folded hands. "He played an Evolution member to a tee, Trish. I mean, the ruthless in-ring execution, the power lunches and conferences behind the scenes? He was a pro. And the parties," he stopped and bit his lip, shaking his head. "Nevermind."
Trish knew he was just trying to get under her skin. She knew that he was pushing a button, but God help her if she wasn't taking the bait. "What?"
"Nothing." Hunter stood again and walked toward the counter, refilling his water glass. "I mean, I'm sure you guys talked about it ahead of time, right? The fact that he would have to seduce all those women in order to make us believe he was really back in the game?"
Was he implying that Randy had cheated on her? Sure, he had come back to the hotel smelling like perfume a few times, and there was lipstick on his collar once or twice, but what did she care about a few skanks in a club here and there? He was twenty-five-year-old man. Hell, she had bought him a lap dance at a strip club in St. Louis for his birthday. "Flirting was part of the gig," she insisted.
Hunter nodded and took another drink. "Well, then I wish you would have a talk with Steph, because she would have me by the short hairs if I flirted women the way your boyfriend does," he laughed.
Trish felt like she was going to vomit. She knew what he was doing, but it didn't make her feel any better. She stood abruptly and shook her head as she moved toward the door. "Whatever the outcome of this match at Unforgiven, Hunter, I really am sorry that things went the way they did for us," she stated in an even tone. Standing in the hallway, she met his eye and didn't flinch. "I'm sorry," she repeated before turning and heading back to her room.
Standing in the middle of the room, he stared at the door and felt the guilt bubbling in his gut. He had hurt Trish, that much he could read on her face, and that had been the last thing he had wanted. But he had a plan to execute, and a title to regain, and he had to get the ball rolling. He didn't want them together, but he didn't have to break them up. All he had to do was plant a seed of doubt, sit back, and watch them fall apart on their own.