Blaze of Glory

A/N: So, this chapter turned out a hell of a lot longer than I had planned, but there was a lot of information to stick in here, so I hope y'all don't mind. Um, according to my outline, there's only three chapters left in this story, so that means the next ones are going to be action-packed and pretty intense. I can't wait to write them, and I hope you can't wait to read them. For now, though, Chapter 13 for your reading pleasure. Oh, and I think I forgot the disclaimer in the last chapter. Not because I suddenly acquired the rights to a bunch of WWE superstars, but because I'm a forgetful, bubble-brain sometimes. I don't own 'em this time either. Enjoy!

"Focus on his knees," Randy advised, his eyes fixated on the television screen in the dressing room that he was sharing with Trish. "He's a big guy, and it takes a lot out of him to support all that weight. If you take out his knees, you should be able to get him down."

The Woman's champion sat on the back of the couch, elbows on her knees, her mind fully focused as she watched the Rumble unfold behind the scenes. Her number was high, and she was grateful. As much as she appreciated the well-wishes and expressions of belief in her ability, she knew that her friends and colleagues were full of shit. Even at number 27, she knew that her chances of actually winning this thing were next to non-existent, at best.

"I can't eliminate the Big Show if I knock him down, jack ass," she rolled her eyes, took a drink of water, and then playfully smacked Randy's arm, noting that his new World Heavyweight belt was still laying over his shoulder, more than thirty minutes after he had won it back from Batista in a brutal, ugly contest.

But Randy wasn't playing. "Do you know how big this is, Trisha?" He turned toward her and narrowed his eyes, reaching out to touch her foot. "Do you have any idea how huge it will be if you manage to pull this off?"

She did know, but she tried to shrug him off. "If I think about it too much, Sweetie, I'll just go hide in the shower until it's over," she told him, feeling the nausea in her stomach starting again as she watched Show lift Angle with one hand and Chokeslam him back to the mat. That was going to be her in a few minutes.

Finally, Randy's smile cracked the intensity of his expression. Laying his belt over the back of the couch, he twisted his body and grabbed her legs. It wasn't graceful or pretty, but Trish tumbled into his lap with a laugh and wrapped her arms around his neck to keep from rolling onto the floor. "You want a distraction, Baby?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Trish let him kiss her for a second, but the sound of Waterproof Blonde from the television drew her attention to Christian's entrance. He was entrant number 20, and if he was still there when she made it to the ring, he would delight in picking her up and throwing her over the ropes. She knew he could lift her body above his head – he had done it several times while they were dating.

"What advice you got about the CLB?" she asked, struggling to put her feet back on the floor.

Randy trapped her smooth waist in his hands and pulled her back flush to his chest. He was still sticky from the sweat of his own match, but there would be no time to shower until Trish was done. "Hit him low," he instructed, resting his chin on her shoulder.

Pressing her cheek to his, she reveled in the feeling of his closeness. It used to be like this all the time – the two of them watching RAW from their dressing room, while the world rattled in chaos around them. She moved her hand to his face and lazily stroked his cheek when she asked, "Knees or thighs?"

He groaned at the soft feeling of her hand his skin, as he turned his face and kissed her palm. "I'm not talkin' about his legs," he chuckled.

Trish rolled her eyes and tried to concentrate on the show, rather than his erection, now pressing insistently against her ass. "A low blow isn't gonna send him over the top rope," she reminded.

Randy buried his face in her neck, lapping at her tender skin like a thirsty dog. "But it'll be fuckin' hilarious," he finally answered, pulling away from the intoxicating scent of her shampoo.

Wiggling slightly in his lap, Trish watched as number 21, Kerwin White, slid under the bottom rope. She had five more entrants, at 90 seconds each. If she did the math right, that left her seven and half minutes to take care of his, er, tension. "Take your trunks off," she ordered, standing up and motioning for him to strip.

"What?" Randy asked, as though she had issued the command in Japanese.

"Come on. I've only got a few minutes to fix that," she pointed to the bulge in his shorts.

Randy rolled his eyes and stretched his arm over the back of the couch. "You just go out there and kick some serious ass, and I'll take care of that," he winked. Hell, watching her in the ring on a normal night usually made him hard. Watching her on a PPV, in that barely-there tank top, and those low, low, low rise jeans would surely be enough to keep him occupied until she returned.

A knock at the door kept Trish from insisting even further. "Stratus, you need to be at gorilla in 3," the PA shouted from the other side of the door.

Randy watched her turn to look at the television while she hitched her pants a little higher on her hips, before struggling to his feet. His battle with Batista had left him sore and exhausted. But he felt a sense of duty to Trish, to help her get in fighting form, or at least a fighting mindset, before he would be able to rest. "Just remember everything I told you," he started, his hands on her shoulders. "Think about the weaknesses we talked about. Don't vomit on camera," he smiled, leaning down to rest his forehead against hers, "and don't get thrown over the top rope," he winked. She faked a pout. "If you do, don't let your feet hit the floor, and you'll be good to go."

Capturing her bottom lip between his teeth, he held her nervous eyes in his infinitely calmer ones. Trish kissed him hard and then backed toward the door. "You're a whole lot of fuckin' help," she teased before disappearing.

He had just collapsed back to the couch when the door opened again. "Did you forget something?" he asked, his amused grin replaced by a deep frown when he realized it wasn't Trish. "What the fuck?" he started.

Hunter shut the door behind himself. "Relax, man. I just wanna talk to you," he assured, a hand up in defense.

Randy's eyebrow shot up in disbelief, and he subconsciously reached for the belt at his side. "You do?"

Sighing, Hunter sank to the couch and cast a glance at the belt that had, at one time, been designed just for him. "Well, no," he admitted. "But I need to." His expression was grim, and his eyes flitted the room like he was looking for hidden cameras or recording devices. "It's about Trish."

Too tired to put up with The Game's bull shit at the moment, Randy sighed and laid his head back on the couch, closing his eyes. "What about her?" he asked. They had discussed Trish before, and it usually turned into a fight about what was best for their girl. If this was one of those talks, one where Hunter accused Randy of putting her in harm's way, simply to serve his own agenda, the young champion thought he might blow a gasket.

"Vince is starting to come around," Hunter stated, looking at Randy to see if his words registered. If they did, the younger man showed no signs of caring. "He's starting to see that Trish is a making him money, and he wants to step it up."

That piqued Randy's curiosity. "Step it up how?" He rolled his head to the side and opened one eye, but made no further attempt to show any degree of interest.

Sighing, Hunter seemed to take his apathy as a sign of security. The kid was obviously in no mood to fight, so his former mentor slid further into the soft leather of the couch and unbuttoned his sport coat. "He wants to see if he can get anymore fire out of her, ya know? Take the rivalry to the next level."

Randy laughed in spite of himself, getting a little bit annoyed, both at the message, and the messenger. "I don't even know what the fuck you're talking about." Trish was already operating at an eleven, in his opinion. The dial simply didn't go any higher, and Vince would kill her if he tried to send her to another level. "Why don't you stop being so damned cryptic and just get to the fuckin' point, man?" he asked.

Trish's giggle stopped their conversation, as both men looked to the screen. She moved to the ring with a look of focused determination. "He's talking about getting personally involved in this one," Hunter stated.

Randy huffed, raised an eyebrow, and shrugged. He turned up the volume on the screen as Tazz and JR turned their conversation to his girlfriend. He had yet to tell Trish how proud he was of her each time JR praised her courage, but hearing that someone else thought his woman was the shit always made him feel good.

"And, Tazz, I don't know how much of a shot she's got here tonight," JR started, as Trish sprang off the ropes knocked Mysterio to the mat with a clothesline, right off the bat, "But if she goes out, it's not gonna be for lack of trying." Randy wanted to stand and cheer, but remembered that he was not alone, or all that confident in his legs, at the moment.

"Ya know, JR," Tazz broke into the conversation as Trish left Mysterio and turned to drop kick Big Show's knees as he teetered near the ropes. "Trish Stratus may be one of the smartest wrestlers I have ever seen. She's got a great head on her shoulders when she's in that ring," he commented. "Look at that, she just went straight for Big Show's legs."

"I agree with that, Tazz. Take out the big man's feet, and you can maybe get him over that top rope," JR concurred. "Trish has been a talented wrestler for many years, ya know, but lately, she's been focused, and just psychologically tactical in the ring. She's wrestling smart, and I like that."

Randy and Hunter watched as Trish motioned to Booker T, who grabbed Trish's hand and flung her across the ring, her head connecting with Big Show's chest and nearly knocking him off his feet. He gripped the ropes for support, but Booker delivered a high kick to the much larger man's jaw and then high-fived his "partner" as the 7-footer tumbled backwards and hit the floor.

Hunter cleared his throat, as if to remind Randy that he was still there. "You know how Vince feels about being on television," he started.

At this, Randy guffawed, his eyes not leaving the screen as the camera caught Christian noticing Trish for the first time. "Come on, Hunter," he said distractedly. "Vince is the only guy I know with a bigger ego than yours. He loves camera time more than I do."

"He's scared, okay?" Finally laying it on the line, Hunter shifted on the couch and faced Randy. "Look at me," he demanded.

But Randy rolled his eyes and pointed to the television. "My girlfriend is in the Royal Rumble," he pointed out, as the clock in the corner buzzed and the number 28 entrant made his way to the ring.

The black lighting in the arena brought the crowd to their feet, and distracted Christian enough for Trish to get the upper hand, burying her knee in his gut and then shooting a straight right hand into his forehead. She and Randy had talked to Taker after he drew his number, and he had promised to watch Trish's back the best he could. He wasn't going to help her win, and he certainly wasn't going to let her beat him, but he would lead her as far as could.

Relaxing his shoulders, Randy felt as if things were going to be okay now. Taker had that affect on him. The only thing he could liken it to was the feeling he used to get as a kid, when someone wanted to kick his ass, or when his homework was too hard and he just couldn't do it. In those moments, his father would show up, even if he had been on the road for months, and Randy knew everything was going to be alright. Seeing Taker grab Christian by the scruff of the neck and fling him off of Trish gave Randy that same feeling.

"So Vince is scared, huh?" he asked Hunter, turning his attention to his former friend, while still trying to listen to bits and pieces of the match.

Hunter nodded, and Randy noticed that he was still trying to watch the match, as well. As much as the two men hated each other, neither could deny their mutual love for Trish. The woman would forever keep them tied to one another, whether they liked it or not. And, though he would never admit it to anyone, Randy felt better knowing that someone was watching out for his girl when he was away.

"He knows how good Trish is now. He never thought, in a million years, that she would beat Van Dam. He was sure it was a fluke," Hunter stopped and shook his head. "But then the girls beat the Heartthrobs and Conway last week, and he's starting to think that she's for real." Randy's expression was blank as he turned his eyes back to the screen. "He knows he's too old to beat her," Hunter explained.

Randy nodded and watched as Kurt Angle grabbed Trish for a belly-to-back suplex. "That son of a bitch is fondling my girlfriend," he pointed to the television and hissed. Sure enough, Kurt had one arm on Trish's waist as he ran the other up her stomach, under her shirt. "Oh, I'm gonna kill him," he stated, moving for the door with determination.

"Orton," Hunter spoke as though that one word should stop the kid.

Turning, Randy wanted to tell Hunter where to shove his insider information. "What the fuck do you want me to do about it, man?" he shouted. Angle was out there, not trying to beat Trish, but to humiliate her, and he wasn't going to let it happen. Nobody touched his Trish like that – those breasts were his to play with – no one else's. He glanced at the screen to find Kane entering at 29.

Trish threw an elbow into Kurt's jaw, but he didn't let go. It did seem to deter his interest from her chest, though, as he launched her into the suplex and left her writhing in pain on the floor of the ring. Taker intercepted Kane, who was headed right for the blonde on the ground, but all he received was a body slam for his trouble. When the Big Red Machine had annihilated everyone else, he smiled a sick, sadistic smile, and moved toward Trish.

That's when Randy saw her, and his heart jumped into his throat. "Lita," he pointed to the crowd, where the red-headed diva had jumped the barricade and moved toward the ring. She was taunting Kane, calling him names and trying to provoke him. And like the big, dumb oaf that he was, he bit. Trish moved to her feet, and with Mysterio's help, pushed the monster over the top rope. Lita dashed over the security wall and into the crowd, as her ex-husband writhed in pain on the floor.

Truth be told, no matter what pep talk he gave Trish before she entered that match, he had never believed that she would last this long. She was five-foot-four. She weighed less than a hundred and fifty pounds. And, well, she was a she. She may have been the strongest woman he knew, but she was still a woman, and there was no way she should have had a part in eliminating two of the biggest men in that match.

"Christian's gonna get her," Hunter predicted as the CLB stood in the corner of the ring, watching his ex-girlfriend squaring off with Booker T in the corner. The entrance music started for the super-secret 30th entrant, and Randy groaned. "Or he is," Hunter shrugged.

Snitsky made his way to the ring with a sneer on his lips. He was supposed to be out of action, and he was bandaged and braced like a cripple, but his eyes said that he was only there for one reason – to get rid of Trish Stratus. Unfortunately for him, Hunter's earlier prediction seemed right, and Christian wanted the woman for himself.

She was still staring in horror as the two men fought it out in the corner. And that's when Booker T grabbed her body and threw her, like a javelin, over the top rope. She smacked the security wall with her shoulder and rolled on the ground for a moment. Both of the men in her dressing room stared in disbelief.

"She lasted awhile," Hunter finally said, as though Randy needed cheering up.

He didn't. And he didn't want any fake sympathy from the man who had, on more than one occasion, tried to break his beautiful face. "She's about as likely to listen to me as she is to you, ya know?" he finally returned to Hunter's former topic of conversation.

Standing, the Cerebral Assassin buttoned his jacket again and moved toward the exit. "I'm not asking you to talk to her, Randy," he said, resting his hand against the door knob. "Just warning you," he advised. "Vince is gonna build it up for a little while longer, but I'd say after Wrestlemania, he's going to be looking for the most painful, humiliating way to end it all. And he's going to offer big incentives to anyone who can help expose her weaknesses."

He was gone, as though he had offered Randy any form of useful information. He still wasn't sure, to be honest, if there was anything he could do, or if Hunter was just trying to fuck with his head. This wasn't his fight – he had meant it when he told her that. So why was he now feeling like the personal bodyguard to the army's general.

Trish burst through the dressing room door moments later, an elated smile on her face. "Did you see that?" she asked with a laugh, her breathing still somewhat labored.

Randy shoved his previous meeting from his head as she jumped into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist. "You were amazing, Baby," he assured her, kissing her when she bent her face to his. "I thought I was gonna have to come out there for a minute," he started.

She rolled her eyes and kissed him again quickly before jumping down and collapsing onto the couch. "He was so trying to cop a feel. Angle, right? You saw that?" Randy nodded, biting his lip and smiling she ran her hand over her stomach and watched him with seductive eyes. "He wanted to touch my," she stopped and raised an eyebrow, lifting the hemline of her tank top a little higher. "Well, ya know what? You had nothing to worry about," she smiled again, standing from the couch and reaching out her hand. "There's only one man that gets to play with these girls," she winked, grabbing her breasts with both hands.

Growling from deep in his chest, Randy slung her over his shoulder, moving slowly as she tapped out a generic beat on his ass with her open palms. "Are you spanking me?" he asked playfully.

"Do you deserve it?" she asked, pressing her lips to his back. "Have you been bad?"

He had behaved for months, but his thoughts were anything but good at the moment. "I'm about to be," he growled, dropping her into the shower.

As they grasped and clawed at one another in the stream of steaming water, Randy pushed all of his worries and doubts from his mind. He could be all careful and alert, like Triple H suggested, when he got back to Smackdown. But until then, for the next twelve hours, he wasn't the World Heavyweight Champion, or the Legend Killer, or anything else that any of them wanted him to be.

He was standing in the shower, naked, with the woman that every little girl wanted to be, and every boy and man wanted to be with. For the next twelve hours, he was Trish's boyfriend, and he was going to spend all of that time showing her just how proud he was to hold that title.