Blaze of Glory

A/N: Alright, so I kinda lied a little bit. Not intentionally or anything, but this is NOT the last chapter of BoG. There was a loose end I needed to tie up before getting to the last chapter. And to be really honest, I'm not sure that the next chapter will be the last, either. I know I can write another story about Randy and Trish, but I've grown to love them in this one, and I'm not sure I'm ready to let it go just yet. I promise it won't be more than twenty chapters, but maybe making it the same length as The Emancipation is the right way to go. I don't know - it's a fight I'll have with myself later. But for now - here's the new chapter, chocked full of people I don't own, and emotions I don't usually show. Enjoy!

Trish sucked in a deep breath and raised her hand to the heavy wooden door. There was one more thing that she knew she had to do before she could wrestle this match, and it wasn't going to be easy. He would be pissed, but she was sure that he would get over it, just like he always did.

Twisting the handle, she pushed the door with her shoulder and then smiled as the pair in the center of the room jumped apart like high school kids. Raising an eyebrow at them, she watched as Stephanie tried to straighten her skirt and her hair at the same time. Hunter just smirked, leaning back on the couch with his arm over the back of the soft leather, one shirt tail hanging out over his pants, the buttons undone to his navel.

"Ever heard of knocking, Stratus?" he asked, laughing when she shook her head.

Stephanie ran a finger around her lips, wiping any smears away, and stiffened her posture. "I'm just gonna go see if my dad needs anything," she mumbled, sliding her stilettos on as she fumbled toward the door.

Trish watched her leave and then leaned on the door that her friend's wife had just slammed. "So, now I see how the executives get ready for a Pay Per View," she grinned, pushing off the door and headed toward him.

"What do you want?" Hunter smirked, his eyes sweeping over her appreciatively.

She had grown up a lot in the last five years, his little Trish-ster. When they had first met, she had been just another faceless diva slut with more boobs than brains. But then she had asked him to show her a few wrestling moves. She had told him that she wanted a career that lasted more than two years – she knew that she would have to make herself indispensable inside the ring to prove to Vince that she was more than his little bitch.

Hunter had seen her heart, her determination, and her passion for the industry grow over the years, and he had been proud to say that he had a part in it. Sure, he had been pissed when she turned on him. Especially that she had turned on him for a cocky, disrespectful frat boy like Orton. But the more he thought about her actions, the more blame he heaped on his own shoulders. Trish was smart, and she didn't do things without a reason, and he had been wrong to assume that she would stay hidden in his shadow forever.

In an attempt to hold on to some of his pride, he told himself that he had been the one to bring Trish and Randy together in the first place, since they had met through Randy's first stint in Evolution. Of course, they had claimed to hate each other, but they had been so similar, even back then, that he should have seen it coming. They were both so stubborn, so focused, and so driven to succeed in those days.

After a million looks back at everything that had happened in the course of the last year, he had finally come to terms with the fact that they were good for each other. Trish had outgrown the need to show her body for attention, and Orton had gotten over the need to talk about his.Trish had stopped sleeping with every other freak-of-the-weak to feel loved, and Orton had stopped tapping every ass that stumbled across his path just because he could.

Even as his thoughts wandered over the true evolution of his past protegees, Trish cleared her throat and stared at him through thick lashes. "Hunter?" He raised an eyebrow in response. "I have to tell you something."

He nodded and gestured for her to speak. It used to be like this all the time – the two of them in his dressing room before a big show, talking about whatever was on their minds. Sure, it was different now, but he hoped that they would someday find their way back to the old days, in some form or another. "What's up, Kiddo?"

She had been fighting the tears all afternoon, but now it was too much. There was no one person in the company who had been as important to her, for as long, as he had. He was her protector when she didn't know how to protect herself. And he had been the one to hold her, to promise her that the right guy would find her someday, when she had broken up with Jeff Hardy. He was the one who threatened to kick Jericho's ass when he found out about that damned bet. And he was the one who threatened to kick hers when she started sleeping with the Creepy Little Bastard. He was the only one who had cared from day one.

Watching her blink her eyes at a furious rate, Hunter moved across the leather couch to pull Trish into his arms, her face buried in his chest. "Hey." His voice was soft, paternal. "Trisha, hey," he repeated, pulling back to wipe the tears from her cheeks. "What the hell is wrong? Are you worried about tonight? Did Orton do something?"

She watched his nostrils flare angrily and shook her head, sniffling and wiping her cheeks. "No," she laughed finally. "No, it's not Randy. It's me. And you," she started to cry again.

He was stumped. Hadn't he assured her that they were okay? He rocked her gently, one hand on her back and the supporting the back of her neck. There were not many people in the world who got to see this side of him, but there weren't many who made him feel like she did. "Trisha, we're good," he promised. "We're fine. You and me," he whispered.

Wiggling out of his arms, she smacked his shoulder. "I can't believe this. I have a fuckin' match in, like, fifteen minutes, and I'm a blubbery mess. I should be focusing, I know. I should be in my locker room, thinking about what's going to happen out there," she started to ramble.

Hunter touched her hand, resting limply between them on the couch. "Shut up and tell me what's wrong," he said firmly.

Trish rolled her eyes and took her hand back. "I can't shut up and tell you, ass clown," she pointed out. He flipped her off, seemingly breaking the tension that had been building in her. "Tonight's my last match," she said finally.

But Hunter shrugged his shoulders and stood, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. "You can beat him, Trish. I mean, Orton's good – he's damn good – but he's not unbeatable," he encouraged. "You can get inside his head, probably easier than I could."

Moving to him, Trish interrupted with a hand on his back. When he looked into her eyes, he saw the same firm determination that always accompanied her bad decisions. "I agree. I think I can beat him," she stated. "I wouldn't have accepted the match if I didn't think I had a shot."

"But if you win," Hunter started, his heart sinking when Trish shook her head. "You're retiring anyway."

With a nod, she moved back to the couch. "Are you completely disappointed in me?" she asked, burying her face in her hands.

He wanted to tell her she could never disappoint him, but that wouldn't be true. The truth was, as much as he could argue that the business needed her, he needed her even more. Something about having Trish around told him that everything was going to be okay. And having her walk away before he was ready to let her go was, well, disappointing. "Why?" was all he could manage.

She sighed and leaned back, resting her head lazily against the back of the couch. Hunter almost laughed – it was the exact same posture Orton had taken with him a couple of months earlier, at the Royal Rumble. "Because I feel like I've done everything. I've won the Women's title seven times, Hunter. I've won the World title once. I've beaten the girls, and the guys, and I've made a name for myself," she started. He looked like he might interrupt, so she kept talking. "I'm ready."

His skepticism was still etched on his features, so she laid the truth on him. "I want to be a wife who spends some actual time with her husband, more than I want to be a wrestler who spends every night missing her boyfriend. I want to be a mom who watches her kids grow up, and gets to teach them cool shit, more than a champion who just takes nine months off and then hands them to a nanny.

"Having a family and a career is not a decision that you guys have to make," she pointed out. "And I can bitch about how it's not fair that I can't have both, but it doesn't change anything. It's a choice I'm ready to make."

He couldn't argue. She had thought it out, and it was time. Everything about her posture and her tone said that she wouldn't be swayed. She had come into the WWE on Vince's terms, but she would leave on her own. And he couldn't be disappointed in her for that. "Look, I don't want you to go," he said honestly, pulling her to her feet and crushing her against his chest. "But I'm proud of you, Trish."

Catching another sob before it could escape, she pulled back and smiled. With one thin hand, she wiped a tear from his cheek, one he would, no doubt, deny was there. "It's not like I'll never see you again, I know, but I wanted you to be the first to know."

There was another moment of comfortable silence as the two friends watched each other and thought about the years of memories they shared. Finally, Hunter put his hands on her shoulders. "You got a match to win," he reminded.

Trish sniffled again and nodded. "Come see me in the trainer's room when this thing is over?" He nodded and she kissed his cheek again quickly. "Thanks. For everything."

Wandering into the hall, Trish checked her watch and rubbed her eyes again. Thank God for waterproof mascara, she told herself as she rounded the corner to gorilla, where Randy stood with Cena, Batista, and Victoria.

Approaching from behind, Trish put her right hand on Victoria's new Woman's belt, and her left on the Heavyweight belt over Randy's shoulder. "What are we talkin' about?"

Batista, Victoria, and Cena all heaved sighs of relief at her presence, but Randy just rolled his eyes. "Great," he turned to Cena. "I owe you," he promised with a nod.

"For what?" Trish asked, a smile on her lips.

"He bet me fifty bucks you wouldn't show up. Said something about you hiding in the shower or something?" Cena laughed as Trish smacked Randy's ass.

Victoria reminded Batista and Cena that they should leave the main-eventers alone to prepare for their match. After hugs, hand shakes, and well-wishes, Trish found herself alone with Randy, and a few members of the production crew. "So this is how it ends?"

A tiny lump of emotion formed in Randy's throat. "Why is it you only ask me that when one of us is about to be laid out in agonizing pain?" He recalled the last time she had voiced the question, in a hotel room when he told her he was going to Smackdown. They had nearly broken up that night, and he didn't like the memory all that much.

"Oh, Sweetie," Trish scratched his back lightly, noting that he was swaying from one foot to the other nervously, "that's not gonna happen tonight."

Randy raised an eyebrow and turned, his hands resting on her waist. To say this was his most unusual pre-match confrontation of his career would be a severe understatement. He had never held Batista before they went head to head, or rested his forehead against Ric Flair's, just staring into his eyes before they met in a steel cage. He had damn sure never let Triple H run his hands over the Legend Killer's ass before one of their title matches, and the thought of placing tiny kisses on Mick Foley's nose before their contests? Well, that was enough to make him swear off kissing forever.

"You think you're gonna get all the offense tonight?" he asked, challenging her before catching her lips with his. So maybe he wouldn't swear off kissing forever – not if it meant never licking the inside of Trish's mouth again.

She pushed back from the kiss and stepped out of his embrace. "Oh, no. I fully intend on both of us ending up in agonizing pain. That's what this about, right?" He seemed confused. "We promised those fans a show like they have never seen. And I'm not intending on holding anything back when we get out there."

He nodded in concession. He didn't want to go out there and hit her. He didn't want to beat her until she couldn't stand on her own. He didn't really want to be in this match at all, and he sure as hell didn't want her retiring. But he had learned, over the past year, that it didn't matter what he wanted anymore. All he really cared about was making sure Trish had whatever she wanted.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Lillian's voice could be heard over the speaker in the arena. "The following contest is a Last Man Standing Match, where the only way to win is to. . ."

She continued explaining the rules and Randy pulled Trish into his embrace one last time. "When this is over. . ." he started.

Trish put a finger over his lips and winked. "Surprise me."

'Burn in My Light' played to twenty thousand cheers, and he kissed her forehead. "Let's give 'em somethin' to scream about, baby," he smiled ran up the stairs to the curtain.

When he had disappeared, Trish bit her lip. Her career would be over in twenty minutes. But she felt like her life was just beginning.