Dying Embers

(aka The Emancipation of Trish Stratus II)

A/N: I had one more chapter in me tonight, but you guys probably won't get to it until tomorrow. Anyway, as usual, I own nothing copyrighted or trademarked in this chapter. Read. Review. Enjoy.

The determination with which Trish had left Vince's office earlier in the day had long-since faded. By the time she had settled into her hotel for the night, clad in sweatpants and one of Randy's tee shirts, she was melancholy and depressed again. There was nothing good on television, and her mind wouldn't have focused, even if there had been. All she could think about was fuckin' Orton – adjective, not verb.

Since the first day they had started passing that stupid rubber ball while rehabbing their Wrestlemania injuries, Trish had known that he was so much more than she had originally thought him to be. After a couple of weeks in that little room, she had known that there was a regular guy under all that "Legend Killer" bull shit. Since their first trip to St. Louis together, she had known that he was The One. When she went toe-to-toe with Triple H at SummerSlam, she had known that there was no one else she would ever trust, or respect, quite as much. And when she had insisted that he go to Smackdown, she had known that no amount of distance or company pressure could change any of it.

What had surprised her was the fact that she was seriously thinking about sacrificing everything she had worked so hard for just to be with him. It was silly, but in her head, it made perfect sense. They had talked about getting married sometime in the next year, and she didn't want to be apart from him then. And, at a just a month shy of thirty, she wanted to start a family in the near future.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to start sooner, rather than later. Maybe fate had just reshuffled the deck a bit and dealt her another hand to play. Maybe Trish the Wrestler was past her prime. Maybe it was time to hang up the boots and think about being Trish the Homemaker.

Before she could contemplate another 'maybe,' there was a knock at the hotel door. It was either John, once again checking on her, as he had every night for the last three weeks. Since she had started traveling with the RAW crew again, he was always around, making sure that she was okay and that she had everything she needed. Or it was Victoria, bitching about another Diva Search chick's over-exposed boobs and hair extensions.

Yanking the door open, Trish yelped. "What the hell?"

"Can you just take the flowers, baby? My hands are kinda full here." Randy's voice sounded from behind the huge bouquet of roses in her face, causing Trish's heart to flop and then jump into her throat.

Everything she had been thinking just a second ago seemed to vanish from her mind when she lowered the bouquet to rest her eyes on the most beautiful sight she had ever beheld. Or beholden. Whatever.

He finally made it into the room, dropping several boxes to the floor. Standing up to his full 6 feet, four inches, he spread his arms wide and shot her an infamous "Orton" grin. "Do I get a hug, at least?"

She sat the flowers on the entry table and launched herself into his embrace, unexpected tears filling her eyes. His scent intoxicated her senses, making her thoughts feel as though they were floating. And when his arms tightened around her waist, lifting her feet inches from the floor, she reveled in the warmth of his body as it surrounded her. So close to him, she felt whole again.

Taking in the scent of her shampoo, Randy gave her another squeeze and returned her feet to the floor. His hands rested on her shoulders as he pulled back and looked her over. "You want your presents?" he asked, cocking his head and wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "Or you just gonna stand there and break my heart with those big, crocodile tears?"

Sniffling, she wiped her eyes and chuckled, moving toward the bed as he gathered the boxes he had dropped earlier. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her throat straining over the tears.

With a grunt, he placed the pile on the large bed and then sank behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Well," he sighed, grasping her soft earlobe between his teeth for a moment. "I got this phone call, saying my girl wasn't quite herself lately." He placed a kiss on her neck as his hands snaked under her tee shirt and his palms rested on the heated skin of her stomach. "And that's really weird, because she keeps telling me that everything is great."

Leaning her head against his broad chest, Trish ran her hands up and down his thighs. "Yeah?" She could feel him nod as he buried his face in her hair again. "Well, Cena's got a big fuckin' mouth."

Reaching for the nearest gift, Randy laughed. He wouldn't be the one to tell her that it wasn't John who had called him. It was an incredibly distraught Triple H, demanding that Randy find out what the hell was going on with his girlfriend before she lost her job. Since Smackdown had been taping in Madison, Wisconsin, while RAW did a house show in Milwaukee, he had rented a car, drove the hour and a half to be with her, and decided to get to the bottom of all this trouble.

"You better open this one first," he ordered, shaking the box for her. He just hoped the contents had survived their trek from the store down the street, to Victoria's awesome gift-wrapping job, and through their "hello."

Trish peeled the wrapping back and noted that the box felt chilly. When she opened the box, she laughed out loud. "Are you fuckin' kidding me? Where did you find these?" she asked, pulling a Styrofoam cup full of strawberry Dippin' Dots out of the box. It was her favorite ice cream, but she had only ever been able to find it at arenas, and amusement parks.

Randy shrugged, amazed at how her eyes lit up at such a simple gesture. "It's kind of a long story, which I'd be happy to tell you someday. But for now, suffice it to say I know a guy who owes me a favor, and who also happens to own a stand here in Milwaukee," he winked, taking the cup from her. Popping off the plastic lid, he fished a plastic spoon out of the bottom of the box and dipped it into the cup.

Trish closed her eyes as he placed the tiny dots of frozen goodness onto her tongue. It was so cold, so sweet. "Oh my god, I haven't had those in so long," she sighed. "That may be better than sex," she teased, opening her eyes to see his dance with amusement.

"Well, then," Randy groaned as he reached for another small box. "I guess you won't need this gift then."

She snatched the box from his hand and tore it open, finding a jumbo package of Trojans. "Plannin' on getting' lucky, Orton?" she raised an eyebrow and watched him wink. Dammit. He always won the flirting game. He was the only man she knew who could ever stare down her eyebrow, and retaliate with something even more sexy.

There were two boxes left, and Randy handed her the thinnest of the two. "There is nothing on television tonight," he said as she ripped the paper back and clapped her hands like a child.

"Don't I already own this?" she asked, holding up a copy of Dumb and Dumber.

Randy tapped the top of the box with his index finger. "That is yours. I stole it last time I was at your house." She tried to pretend to be angry, but Randy just kissed her scrunched nose and felt himself react to the impromptu giggle that escaped her throat. "Dammit, Trish, you're so fuckin' cute."

She rolled her eyes and looked at the bed beside her, reaching for the final package. It was squishy, and she wondered if it was lingerie. It wouldn't be the first time he had bought her something more for his pleasure than her own. "What's this?"

Randy took the package from her hand and stood from the bed. "This, lover, is the most important of the gifts," he informed, holding it as though it were his most prized possession. "But before I give it to you, I want you to tell me what the hell is going on with you?"

She sighed and flopped back on the bed. She wanted to tell him, but she was afraid that it would sound stupid. She wasn't entirely convinced that it wasn't stupid. "I don't know, Randy. I mean, the Women's Division is so fucked up now. And I just don't know if it's even worth fighting for it anymore."

"Woah," he interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest. "What the hell? Not worth it?"

She sat up and met his skeptical gaze with a defeated one of her own. "I just think that maybe, I don't know," she stopped again and then bit her lip. This was Randy. If she couldn't talk to him about it, who could she talk to? "I think maybe it's a sign, ya know? Maybe it's just destiny's way of tellin' me to get out and think about other ventures."

"Fuck destiny," Randy spat, causing Trish's eyes to widen. Sure, he tossed the word around inside the ring, but that was only because it looked cool on a shirt. "Trish, you're the best thing that ever happened to women's wrestling. You're one of the best things that happened to men's wrestling," he added.

She gave an involuntary chuckle and then let her eyes drift to the bedspread beside her. Picking at non-existent lint, she avoided his gaze. She knew that when she looked up, she would see disappointment and confusion, and she didn't think she could bare it. "I was," she emphasized the past tense. "I just don't know if it's what I want anymore," she admitted.

"Why?"

The question stunned her. Surely, he already knew that. "Because what I know I want is you," she whispered.

Randy rolled his eyes. He loved that Trish was a tough girl who could walk the talk that she spewed in the ring. And he loved that she wasn't one of those really girlie girls who always wanted to talk about her feelings. Sometimes he forgot that she even had the capacity to be that girl. His mother always told him that women were complex creatures. The toughest chick in the world had a sensitive side, too. But he always insisted that he didn't have to like it.

Opening his arms, he remained silent until she looked into his face. "I'm right here, Trish."

"Not all the time," she whined.

He could take the tears and the pouting in small doses, but her monthly allowance had dried up and he was ready for hard-as-nails Trish to show back up. "You're the one that told me to go the fuck away, Stratus," he accused, hoping to get a response out of her.

Trish threw her arms into the air and fell back on the bed again. "Can I call for a take-back, then?" When he didn't answer, she put a hand over her face and shook her head. "I just didn't know it was gonna be this hard. And I didn't know that I was gonna go back to work, and it was gonna suck."

"So you're just gonna lay down and die to it all?" Randy stomped his foot and clasped his hands behind his head, heaving a sigh of disbelief. "The Trish I love wouldn't do that. The Trish I love would take this bull shit circumstance and turn it into a fight, on her own terms. And she would win it, no matter how she had to pick up the victory.

"She would take this whole situation and kick it in the balls until it hit the mat. Trisha, baby, look at me," he instructed. She turned her head, but made no attempt to sit up. Randy rolled his eyes. "You took on Triple H, in a No Disqualifications match, and you won. You were fearless, and you showed the world that you're not a woman," he stated firmly. "You're a champion."

"Not for long, if Vince has his way," she spewed cynically.

And that's when Randy had enough. He hadn't become the youngest World Heavyweight Champion in history by whining, crying, and complaining. And he wasn't about to tolerate the behavior from anyone else he loved, either. "Alright," he said, waving his arm at her. "Get off your ass." She looked surprised. "Come on, get up," he instructed.

Her movements were slow and deliberate as she sat, groaning as her feet hit the floor. Moving toward her, Randy grabbed her shoulders and patted her cheek a little more firmly than most girls would have liked. But Trish wasn't most girls, and he knew she could take it, even if she didn't want to. The look in his eyes held nothing but affection, and it wasn't something he had meant for harm, but Trish wasn't sure she liked it. "That was dangerously close to a smack, Mr. Orton," she warned.

With a daring look in his eyes, Randy raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? Does that make you mad?" He watched her eyes flare up. "Good. Maybe you need to be pissed off again."

She took a step back, unsure of what had taken him over. "You don't know what it's like. Being a woman in this business? Treated like a second-class citizen? It's bull shit, Randy, and I'm sick of being walked on. I just wanna watch a movie, and eat ice cream, and be your girlfriend. Can we just do that?"

"As soon as you realize that you are acting like one of those slut-bitch divas," he answered. He could almost swear he heard her hiss. "Listen to me," he held her cheeks in his hands, and ran his thumb over the spot he had tapped. "You are not a victim, okay?" She bit her lip. "We're not victims, Trish. We spit in the face of people who think we should bow to their greatness. We demand respect. We will not go down in history as champions by accident. And we are not fuckin' quitters."

She stood stock-still, watching the passion in his eyes as he ran his hands up and down her arms, shaking her shoulders like a coach, sending her into the biggest game of her career. In a way, he was. If she chose to fight this time, it wouldn't be a meaningless battle in the ring. It would be all-out war.

And then it clicked. Randy's blue eyes held a determination and a belief that ignited the fire in her gut.

Sure, she had taken on Triple H, but he was her friend, and she had done it to prove that she couldn't be controlled. The entire WWE system of operations was so much bigger than even The Game, and when she launched this offensive, it wasn't just for her own sanity. This was for V, and Lita. It was for Ivory, Molly, Gail, Nidia, Jazz, and all the other women who had lost their jobs because they were good at them. It was for those women in OVW, TNA, the regionals, and the indies, who dreamed of getting to where she was, only to find out that it was really no different. And it was for every girl who sat at home and watched them on television, dreaming of someday doing what they did.

She almost laughed as she kissed Randy hard and drove him onto the bed. They had said they wanted the passionate, firey Trish that they had seen with Triple H a few months ago? She could do it, but that had been a mere rebellion, and that wouldn't be enough. No, they deserved more, and more is what she would deliver.

She would give them a No-Holds-Barred, Go-For-Broke, Take-No-Prisoners, Mother-Fucking Revolution.