Blaze of Glory

A/N: Alright, so I was going to put a Randy/Trish chapter in here, but I decided to hold off a little bit longer. What can I say? I'm a bitch! Anyway, here's the next chapter, and I hope you enjoy it. Thanks for all of your support - and if you come across anyone from the WWE, make sure they know I'm not claiming any of their characters as my own! Oh, and Kiera, I know I promised you this chapter was for you, but I threw this one in as a transition. The next one is for you! Maybe I'll write it tonight before I go to bed. Enjoy!

At first, Trish had truly believed that Vince's lack of reaction to all of her latest antics was a good thing. She thought that she had caught him off guard, and that he didn't know how to counter. How could he be upset with her? She had seen the RAW numbers – the ratings, and the average cost of advertising spots on the two hour program were both up considerably. There had been actual AP write-ups on their actions in newspapers across the country. It seemed that Trish's little movement had set the wrestling world on fire, and she really didn't care if Vince took credit for that or not.

She didn't care who got the glory for her actions, because none of it had been about glory for Trish. It had been, and was still, about letting the world know that women were not inferior in the wrestling ring. Sure, they were different. She was the first to admit that none of them would ever be three-hundred-pound pieces of mindless meat, who could bench press a small vehicle. But they could be smart, quick, and exciting to watch – even fully clothed.

Unfortunately, she had been wrong, at least about the boss. Vince wasn't ignoring her – he, and the Board, were paying close attention to everything that the little fire-starter, and her band of merry miscreants, were doing on the show. And he wasn't happy. Oh, he was ecstatic about the ratings and the advertisers, and the publicity. But he was not about to admit, even in the privacy of the board room, that Trish Stratus was anything more than a punk-ass has-been, with more talent for talking trash than backing it up.

The more steam the movement picked up, the more pissed Vince was becoming. She had been fined $25,000 when one of Victoria's friend in LA opened a website for the girls. TakeBackTheRing dot com was the official site for all things Trish, Victoria, and Lita. A petition to support the movement had garnered more than 100,000 signatures during its first week, and showed no signs of stopping. It was also the only place to buy the tee shirts the girls were now wearing on a weekly basis.

WWE couldn't sanction any apparel with the word "penis" on it, but a private distributor could. He could also sell the new design Randy had commissioned: a black tank top with red letters that said "Sorry to leave you hanging, Vince" on the front. The back read "But I couldn't wrestle with your cock in my mouth." According to Dante, the web master, it was nearly impossible to keep up with the demand for both designs, and the fans were now submitting their suggestions for new slogans.

She had wanted to make some waves, and Trish thought she was succeeding. Unfortunately, the movement was new, and it still needed time to grow into a revolution. She knew that they could only go forward as long as they had a platform to fight, and without Vince, their stage was gone. If he got angry enough to fire the three of them, she knew they couldn't pick up the party anywhere else. Sure, plenty of indie promoters were offering big things now. But by the time their no-compete clauses were up, she doubted anyone would be interested in 'those three girls who tried to take on Vince McMahon that one time.'

Deciding to suck up her pride, she had scheduled a meeting with Vince and Eric, dressed in her best business suit, and approached the offices of Titan Towers with as much confidence as she could muster. And for thirty-five minutes, she tried to sell the men on thedrawing power of a Triple-Threat match for the Women's Championship at the Royal Rumble, now only three weeks away. Vince had, at least, seemed impressed with her thorough ratings and profits research, though he made her no promises.

Bischoff said that he would let her know before Monday night's taping, in three days, whether or not she would get her match. But Trish knew, before she even made it to her car, that she would spending yet another Rumble PPV behind the scenes. Their faces said they had no interest in helping her do anything, and that if she thought dressing up and smiling like a choir girl was going to fool them, she wasn't nearly prepared to take on either of them, let alone both of them.

Upon returning home from her meeting, Trish went directly to the refrigerator and helped herself to an ice cold bottle of beer. Corona. The kind she and Randy had shared on a beach in Maui just before he went to Smackdown. A fleeting smile passed her lips as she closed the refrigerator and looked at the plethora of photos held in place by various magnets from all over the country.

Her Randy was so pretty. There were nights she regretted, missed opportunites to be with him, or to listen to his voice on the phone. Voice mails wishing her sweet dreams weren't the same as hearing it live. She had been sure that Christmas would give them some much-needed time together, but it hadn't worked out. Scheduled appearances, and family obligations left them only a day to be together. And it had been a disaster.

She knew that she still loved him, and that he was the one she wanted to share her life with forever. But she also knew that something had changed, shifted, over the course of their time apart. Their comfortable silences had turned awkward, and his touch felt forced, obligatory rather than affectionate. Even the sex, which had never been anything short of magical, was mediocre that night.

She knew she couldn't fault him, though. He hadn't been the one to back out of their plans time and time again. On the contrary, he had been the one to cancel two phone interviews and a family dinner, just to fly to Toronto to see her for eighteen hours.Sure,he was sometimes too busy for her, as well. But every time she needed something - from a new tee shirt slogan, to a pick-me-up 'I love you' before a sabotage mission in the ring, he was right there to follow through. Trish had started to think, when she actually made time to think about him, that he was too good for her. She didn't deserve Randy Orton. She could only pray that he didn't realize that before she had a chance to rectify the situation.

Sinking onto her couch, she made a mental note to buy him something big and expensive as soon as this thing with Vince was over, and then shechecked her cell phone for messages. Three had been left while she was in her meeting. Propping her tired feet on the ottoman before her, she entered her password and leaned her head against the soft, brown leather of the sofa. "You have three messages," the robotic voice told her.

"Trish, it's V. Call me. I wanna know how it went today." Victoria had never been one for small talk, in all the time Trish had known her, and at that moment, she was thankful. She wasn't in the mood to talk.

"Trisha, it's me. Hey, Taker invited me and some of the other guys to his place in Houston for the weekend. We're gonna try to get some intense training and stuff in before the Rumble. So, um, I just wanted to let you know that I'm not gonna be able to make it to Atlanta to see you on Friday. It sucks, I know, but we'll definitely see each other in three weeks, right? Um, anyway, I'll call you later and we can talk about what hotel you want to stay at in Boston. Miss you. Bye." Randy's voice brought tears to her eyes, but she pushed them down before they took over. She wasn't in the mood to be hurt by, or to be missing, Randy Orton at the moment.

"Hey, it's me. I just got a weird-ass call from Bischoff. I don't know what the fuck you said in that meeting, Trish, but you musta pissed them off bad. Now you gotta fight me Monday night. At least you know how to counter everything I can throw your way, right? Alright, call me back when you get this. We'll talk strategy."

Before she could stop herself, Trish stood from the couch, ran to the bathroom, and vomited. Victoria's message had proven that she, and Lita, were counting on Trish to be their leader, to get things done, and to make sure that they won this fight. And, for the first time, since everything had started, she wasn't sure shewas the right woman for the job. She wasn't sure that every part of her plan had been perfect. She wasn't sure that Victoria wouldn't be a better leader.

On top of that, Randy's message had shown her that their relationship was now officially on the back burner – in both of their eyes. He had called her Trisha - a term of endearment in his eyes, but a far cry from the 'baby' or 'sexy' or 'beautiful' that he usually used as his greeting. And then he had backed out on her, like it was no big deal, as though they hadn't been planning on spending forty-eight hours together in Atlanta for the last three weeks. She was disappointed, and then guilty, when she realized that it was probably exactly what he was feeling every time she did the same thing to him. He hadn't even ended the call with the customary "I love you."

The final message had said that Vince was finally ready to go to war. He wasn't going to mess around by giving the crowd the same women's matches they had been watching for nearly a year. He was going to make them earn the respect they wanted, or die trying. And in three nights, in front of a live audience, he was going to make Trish go face to face with the man who had taught her everything she had learned in the last two months. The crowd would love it, but he wouldn't go easy on her. Millions of RAW fans didn't know it, but they were about to get one hell of a match.

Trish thought about the possibilities. And she threw up again.