Blaze of Glory

A/N: Thanks, guys, for all of your reviews. This story has been a little bit of a struggle to write, and you're being so supportive. I love that - it's awesome. For any of you who thought I forgot about Randy - lookie here - he gets his very own chapter. How could I snub him after that uber-hot run-in on last night's Smackdown, right? Oh, and for those of you who thought you were going to find out who the top-secret trainer is in this chapter? Come on. Did you really think I would give you a sequel to The Emancipation, a story built on it's secrecy, without a little nugget of "I'm not telling yet"? Soon, you will find out, but for now - he's a big secret, explained only in pronouns. Sorry - but don't stop reading! And you know I don't own them, but in case you recently lost the Master Lock challenge, I'll remind you again. They're not mine - I don't own them. Enjoy!

By the time he got to the hotel bar after the night's taping, Randy cringed to see that half the roster had already shown up. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy a post-show party as much as the next guy, but it had already been a bad night, and he wasn't ready for more fake smiles and pretend happiness. His head was throbbing, his back hurt from a cheap shot at Super Crazy's hand, and he couldn't get ahold of Trish. Again.

In the beginning, they had called each other three or four times a day. It was like being apart was the worst fate either of them could imagine. Over time, they slowed down, making a nightly call before bed count for the whole day. But even before he had shown up to surprise her three weeks earlier, those calls were proving a challenge. Sometimes he just wanted to hang with the guys. And he knew that she was avoiding his calls, too. And since her latest attack on RAW, she had been next to impossible to reach. He now found himself settling for telling her voice mail that he loved her. The only comfort was that she usually returned that sentiment to his phone, as well.

The fact that she had cancelled their upcoming, three-day getaway to be with another guy wasn't sitting well with him, either. Sure, it was just training, and he trusted his girl completely. Hell, he trusted him completely, too. But he wanted to be the one watching her sweat while she bit her lip and listened carefully to everything he said. He wanted to be the one helping her repeat each move, the determination and focus etched on her beautiful face, until she perfected it. Training with Trish had come to be one of his favorite "couple" activities, and he hated the thought of someone else sharing it.

"Hey, Orton!" His thoughts were broken by Booker T's gravelly voice.

Turning, he offered a half-hearted grin, moving toward the table. The veteran was flanked on either side by his wife, Sharmell, and three of the Smackdown divas. "What's up, man?" Randy asked, accepting the handshake Booker was offering.

"Why don't you have a seat and buy a couple of these ladies a drink, man?" Booker offered, nodding to the woman around him. "Help lighten the burden on a brother's wallet, you know?"

Surveying the room quickly, he noted Batista at a table in the back, intently focused on whatever Taker was telling him. He didn't want to be the bratty little kid, but sometimes he hated that one of his best friends had come to Smackdown with him, only to spend all of his time learning at the feet of the fuckin' Undertaker. The guy was a legend, no doubt, but what about the Legend Killer? Hadn't they been through enough together to warrant a little "guy time" now and then?

When he looked back at the table, Torrie Wilson and Michelle McCool were motioning to the chair between them. Randy shrugged simply and moved to sit, shedding his leather jacket and draping it over the high back of the chair. What the hell? It wasn't like he was doing anything wrong. Hey, at least these girls wanted him around. "What d'ya say, Tor?" he turned to the blonde on his left. "Think your husband'll mind me buyin' you a drink?"

Shaking her head, Torrie cast a longing look at her wedding band. "No more than your girlfriend will," she stated.

With a smile, he watched the waitress approach. Torrie placed her order and he turned to his right. "What about you, 'Chelle?"

Being this close to her reminded Randy of the times he had been in the ring with the Diva Search contestants. Most of them weren't worth a second look, in his opinion. But sitting next to Michelle reminded him that she was one who had actually managed to impress him. She was the one that he thought might show some real wrestling ability someday. She was no Trish, but the few times she had been inside the ropes, she hadn't sucked too badly. At least there was some potential there.

Shaking her blonde ponytail, Michelle held up her hand. "I can buy my own drink," she assured him.

"Oh, my God," he rolled his eyes and handed a bill to the waitress, motioning to himself and the women on either side of him. When his eyes met Booker's across the table, he laughed. "It's like being out with Trish," he commented.

"Well," Michelle leaned on the table as the waitress moved from their table to another. "I always thought Trish was pretty cool."

Randy was surprised to find a lump of emotion in his throat. Fortunately, a commotion at the door diverted his attention from the painful thoughts Trish's memory evoked. "Let me ask you a question," he leaned back in his chair and angled his shoulder toward Michelle, but mused loud enough for all of the women to hear. "What is it about that guy? I mean, chicks dig him, right?"

Michelle and Candice let their gazes drift to the door, where Christian was working the room like a pro. He strutted from table to table, winking at the groupies, and kissing ass with the power players. "He's confident?" Candice offered, as though she just wasn't sure what it was.

It took Michelle a little longer to answer, as she watched him carefully. "He's cute," she stated, hands folded on the table in front of her. "And he's kinda funny – not that he's trying to be," she added. "He's not my type, but I can see how he could be someone's."

He had been Trish's, at one time. And no matter how much he tried to respect the guy in the ring, Randy couldn't seem forget all the locker room bragging Christian had done when he was dating Trish. At the time, Randy had thought she was just an average diva slut, too, so the stories hadn't surprised him. He could clearly remember Christian telling them all how rough she liked it, and about how he was going to get as much sex as he could, and then he was going to kick her ass to the curb. It had seemed like a good idea to the young Legend Killer at the time, but now it made him want to throw up. That was the future mother of his children the Creepy Little Bastard had talked about that way.

"Michelle," Christian stopped next to her chair and gave her that seedy grin he liked to throw around so much.

Randy wanted to punch him, but was afraid that would look like he was defending Michelle. The last thing his and Trish's relationship needed, at this point, was some rumor that he was interested in someone else. Gripping his beer bottle, Randy took a drink and met Booker's eye again. It was evident that the older man was no more pleased with this jack ass's presence than Randy was.

"What's up, Christian?" Michelle asked, her easy, Southern drawl dripping with artifical sweetener when she looked up at him.

"Not much. I saw you sittin' over here," he started, one hand in his pocket as the other rested casually on the back of her chair. "Thought maybe we could go get a drink, maybe talk a little?"

Randy heard a snicker from his left and leaned over to pat Torrie on the back when Christian actually winked at Michelle. "You alright?" he whispered out the corner of his mouth.

Torrie gulped another drink from the glass in front of her and nodded, hiding her laughing mouth with her long, thin hand. There were tears in her eyes when Randy looked over at her, a smile finally fighting it's way to his lips as well.

Michelle nodded and put on an apologetic face, much to the amusement of everyone else at her table. "Thanks, Christian, for the offer," she smiled, raising her glass. "But I've already got a drink."

He shrugged and looked at Randy, knowing full well that the arrogant piss-ant was laughing at him. "From Orton? Come on, Michelle. He's practically married," he leaned low, whispering something in her ear. When he stood, there was a triumphant smile on his lips.

The diva's cheeks flushed a bright pink as she looked to the table, and then the floor, before shaking her head. "Um, I don't even know how to do that, Christian," she stammered for words.

With another wink, he told her to think about it and then come find him at the bar. "Ah, come on, Christian," Randy called after the man. "You don't have to leave." He received a middle finger for his "friendly" gesture. "Man, he didn't have to move to another table," he told the girls around him. "With the four of you, there's more than enough rejection for one night. He could have pulled up a chair."

The girls giggled at his joke and then went on asking him questions. None of them were Trish – none of them would lean their sloppy drunk frames on his shoulder while he carried them to bed later after this party ended. None of them would roll their eyes and tell him that they were not too drunk as their legs got all tangled in their jeans, launching them onto the floor of the hotel. None of them would giggle at random intervals for most of the night, driving him to kiss the back of their necks and softly profess his love for them a hundred times before the sun came up. None of them would ever be her.

But they were just flirty enough to make him feel like the sexy guy he used to know he was. And they were talking to him enough to make him feel like he might actually still be interesting to someone. Hell, they were acknowledging him, and that was enough of a difference between them and Trish, at least for one night.