Blaze of Glory

A/N: I just have to say thanks, again, for all the great reviews. You guys are the best, and I appreciate all of your feedback. I hope you all know that by now. This chapter is kind of long, and I hope it's not too tedious. I think it's neccessary, obviously, or it wouldn't be in here, but I hope it's not boring or anything. I don't own any of them. And, as always, I hope you enjoy it.

There was a time when Trish thought that voice mail was the greatest invention in recent history. But that was before she had tried, and failed, to reach anything but Randy's for two days. She had been busy, training and planning and focusing, but she missed him. And not hearing his constant, supportive, and comforting words was wearing on her.

When she got the message for the third time, she growled and rolled her eyes. "Baby, it's me – again. Look, I just wanted to tell you that I miss you and that I wish you were hear tonight. Um, I guess I'll try to catch you later. I miss talking to you," she sighed and started to hang up. "I love you."

As she flipped the phone shut, her door opened and she turned to see her new trainer enter. "Hey, man. I didn't expect to see you here tonight," she chuckled softly, watching him pace the room for a minute before turning intense eyes to her. "Something wrong?"

"Are you ready?" He didn't stop moving, looking her over. "Are you ready for anything?"

She bit her lip. She thought she was ready. She certainly didn't doubt her decision to start training with him. If anything, it was the best part of her entire plan. He had done everything he could to teach her more in three weeks than she had learned in her previous five years of training. He was patient to show her the same move twenty times, if she just wasn't getting it. But he was determined not to move on until she had mastered everything he was teaching her.

More than a little pride filled her chest, as she thought about how her body had changed over the last couple of weeks. She had lost nearly ten pounds of fat, but had gained almost fifteen in muscle. Her arms were sculpted, and her thighs were toned. Her abs, though, were becoming a thing of cut beauty. Like rocks, they were hard and defined, a result of all the lifting he had made her do, and the countless sit ups that she had endured.

"I'm not ready to be seen in my underwear," she stated, thinking about the Bra & Panties match she was booked in later in the night.

"Then don't let Christy beat you," he shrugged, his smile showing for the first time.

At the sound of such a notion, she huffed and did a couple of impromptu jumping jacks. "That little ho's got nothin' on me, man," she sighed.

But he rolled his eyes. "I seem to remember a few months ago, was it August? Yeah, before Summer Slam, Trish. I remember watchin' my TV and seein' that little ho take your title. Didn't I see that?"

It wasn't the first time he had tried to get inside her head, making her doubt herself. He was good at helping her diversify her maneuver portfolio – the best she could have chosen, she knew. But what she hadn't banked on was the fact that he was always trying to get inside her head, making her doubt herself, strengthening her mental resistance. And it was paying off in spades. She no longer made excuses for her losses – she learned from them. He could prod and poke at her past failures, but she couldn't buckle. She couldn't lose focus. She wouldn't.

"You saw that," she acknowledged. "But I'm not that woman anymore, man. I'm not the girl who can be distracted by a little entrance music," she assured.

He nodded, but looked unconvinced as he sank to the couch in her dressing room. "I hear you say it. But I've seen you attacked in the ring three weeks in a row," he reminded, leaning back against the soft leather and letting out a sigh. "I've seen you take chair shots, boots to the face, full nelson submissions, and body slams. I've seen you off your guard enough to be taken from behind."

A small smirk tweaked her lips, but his expression said that he had meant no innuendo. Clearing her throat, Trish shook her head and felt her curls swishing around her shoulders. "I'm expecting it tonight, man. Nobody's takin' me from behind. If they want me tonight – they're gonna have to take me face to face."

Finally, a proud smile spread across his lips as he stood and patted her shoulder. He was nothing, if not passionate and intense about this business. And to think that Trish had acquired some of that fire from him, that the blaze in her soul had been stoked, in any way, by his influence, made him proud. "Alright, then," he nodded and made his way for the door. "I just stopped by to make sure you were focused." As her cell phone rang, he groaned. "Trish?"

She turned dark eyes to him, cell phone in hand. She knew that he was about to tell her that she shouldn't be talking to anyone so close to her scheduled match. If she listened to him, she would lock herself away from any and all contact at least an hour before every taping or house show.

But it was Randy. She nodded and waited until her coach had left the room, praying that the phone would still be ringing. "Hello?"

His relieved sigh filled her ears and she felt a reassuring peace washing over her. "Is this my totally sexy, kick-ass girlfriend?" his voice finally asked.

Trish gave him the giggle, the one she knew turned him inside out. "Depends. Is this my totally sexy, amazing boyfriend?"

"God, Trish," he said softly and then stopped. She heard him breathing, but waited for him to say something. Anything. "I miss you."

If she didn't know her Randy better, she would have sworn his voice cracked. But her man didn't cry. Even on the night that they had packed all of their bags and headed toward opposite coasts for the first time, he had been stone-faced. He hadn't been happy – she could tell that much – but he didn't break. "I want you to come back to RAW," she whimpered.

It wasn't strong. Her new trainer would be kicking her ass for the whiney noises she was making. It was pure weakness, but she was the first to admit that Randy Orton was her weakness. She could get around it, steel herself to it, and forget about him when she was training or when she finally carried out this plan they had been formulating. But when his voice was in her ear, she couldn't deny that, if he asked her to quit, she would do it in a second.

"I want you to throw this Bra & Panties match tonight," he teased, a smile creeping into his voice. "Can't you just lose one? For your sex-deprived boyfriend?"

Trish laughed and moved back toward her couch, sinking to it's inviting embrace as she drew her legs to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. "Maybe I can just send you some snap-shots later?" He groaned, and she knew that it was going to be more than he could take in a matter of moments. "Can I ask you a question, Randy?"

It was simply stated, but the vulnerable sound of her voice broke his heart. "You can ask me any fuckin' thing you want, baby."

Clearing her throat, she picked at the sequins on her pants and imagined his handsome face. His clear blue eyes would be drilling through her if he were there. There would be nothing but interest and concern reflecting in those crystal pools, if he were there. He would be holding her hips with one hand and brushing her blonde hair away from her shoulder with the other. He would be waiting for her to speak, and she would be waiting until actual sentences would form in her mind. And they would just be standing there, or sitting, in completely silence, enjoying each other.

"Thing is, Trisha," he finally broke her thoughts. "That whole 'sitting in silence' thing only works if we're together."

"Not if you have a good imagination," she stated, a hint of seduction in her voice. She tried, for a moment, to remember what she had been about to ask. "How far is too far?"

"Huh?"

She shook her head. It was something she had wondered on more than one occasion since deciding to buckle down and get serious with this thing. It was something she was forced to ask every day in her training and preparing. And it was something that she knew could turn her world on it's ear. She knew that this was the question that could change everything for them.

"You know what's goin' on with me right now, and I just wanna know where the line is. I wanna know where the point of no return is for you." She stopped when he didn't answer. "Because you know that the only thing I care about more than my little crusade right now is. . ."

"Don't," he stopped her before she could finish the sentence. It was hard enough to know she was in another city, charming millions without him waiting behind the curtain. It was hard enough to know that she was laughing with the RAW guys without him to witness the hypnotic power of that magic giggle. He didn't need her questioning his, or her own, commitment, too.

"But," she started again.

"Nothing. Listen to me, Trisha," his voice was deep and it was firm. "There is no line, and there is no such thing as too fuckin' far, and there is no need to ever discuss this again." She grunted. His voice softened when he said, "You went through hell to make sure that we could be together, baby girl." For a moment, he contemplated the events of the last six months or so. "And I am not about to turn my back on that sacrifice that you made for anything."

There was a knock at the door of her dressing room and Trish cleared her throat, unwilling to end the call. "Yeah?" The PA stuck his head in the room and informed her that her match was next and they needed her at gorilla in three minutes. She waved the guy off. "Baby, I gotta go."

"I'll be watching," he promised. "Hey, Trish?"

"Hmm?"

"Remember number three." She thought back to the night she had fought Triple H for the World title at SummerSlam. "No matter what," he started, and then cleared his throat. "Don't roll your eyes at me, Stratus."

She laughed and stopped herself, mid-roll. He knew her, better than anyone had ever known her. "Fine. But don't be so fuckin' corny," she scolded. "I got a match to win."

And it was Randy's turn to let out a belly-rumbling laugh. "Fine. Just go and beat Christy Hemme, like I know you can, and keep your pants on. Make me wait to see you all next-to-naked for another three months. See what happens when you need your back had and I'm not there to have it."

She loved it when he pouted. "Baby, in two weeks, I promise you that you will have all of my back that you want. And my front," she suggested, throwing the door to her dressing room open and taking to the hallway, a beaming grin firmly in place.

"What are you talking about?"

Rounding the corner toward gorilla, Trish smiled at Victoria and then waved at Cena, who was talking to Maria. "You remember that hotel we went to in Cabo? Back before you left for Smackdown?" He grunted his affirmation. "Well, I reserved that suite that we had, and you and I are heading down in two weeks for a weekend," she licked her lips and smiled at one of the make-up girls.

"Have I told you how much I love you today?" Randy asked, excitement evident in his voice.

Trish shrugged and stopped near an equipment crate. "Probably. But feel free to tell me again," she offered. She could listen to those words spill over his lips all night.

Except, before he had a chance to say them one more time, Trish felt a shooting pain in her shoulder, screams from by-standers, and the pressure of something incredibly heavy holding her to the floor. She didn't even have time to contemplate her attacker this time, before the lights went out and the world faded from existence.