Say Anything

A/N: Here you go, Kids - the ending to Say Anything. This story originally began as a OneShot in response to Randy's suspension back in April. And I know the updates were few and far between, but knowing that you all found it realistic and emotional means a lot to me. It was a little different for me to write something so closely based on true events - and you all know that I'm in no way submitting this as the real reason behind the madness. I'm not even going to insult you by disclaiming that. Thanks for all of your reviews - and I hope you enjoy!

Now, I know a six and a half foot tall man does not just disappear into thin air, Trish told herself as she scoured the backstage area of the arena. He had about a 90 second head start, and while he was athletic, Trish knew he didn't move that fast unless he was trying to get away. And she would be damned if she let him get away from her.

For nearly five years, he had been preying on her mind. Whether she was thinking about him as a friend, a lover, or something else, he was always there. She had decided nearly a year earlier that he belonged in the remotest corner of her mind, like an old trinket she kept for its sentimental value, but on which she never really concentrated.

And then the suspension. If what her friends were speculating was actually true, then Randy's plan was working splendidly. If his goal was, in fact, to make her think about him again, to cause her to obsess over him as much as he claimed to pine for her, then he was a master of mental control. Since she had visited his home nearly two months earlier, he was all she could think about.

The whoosh of a door opening in the distance caught her attention and Trish turned just in time to see Randy exiting the building. A familiar sense of irritation flaired in her chest. He was not running away from her again. Not if she had anything to say about it.

He was wrestling his red duffle bag into the trunk of his car when Trish finally caught up to him. "No way, Orton! I am not letting you turn your back on all of the people who actually give a damn about you. Not again." He stopped what he was doing, but said nothing as Trish continued her rant. "Congratulations, you're back. And that's great. But you are not going to continue punishing me by running away everytime things get a little awkward."

Randy tilted his head and blinked. "Are you done?"

"No, I'm not done!" Trish shouted, running a hand over her head as she tried to organize all of the thoughts that had been swirling through her brain since that day at his house. "I understand that this is going to be hard for you, Orton. I understand that you think you loved me or whatever. I know that we were on the verge of a really great thing, but we let it get away, and I'm sorry about that. But it's over now. I love Dave. I'm marrying Dave. And I'm glad your back, but you can't just run around pouting every time you don't get your way!"

"Not running away," he said simply, taking a black bag from the trunk and slamming it shut. "Got the wrong bag."

"Oh," Trish whispered, biting her lip and giving him a nervous smile. "Ha ha," her weak laughter faded as she blushed a little bit.

With a sarcastic nod, Randy pocketed his keys. "Yeah, so are we done here?"

She watched as he headed back toward the building and tried to figure out which conflicting voice to listen to. "Randy," she called out. When he turned a blank expression back to her, she sighed and walked toward him, her hands on her hips. "I don't want it to be like this."

As he watched her approaching, Randy felt the heaviness in his chest once again. When Vince had informed him that he would be returning to Raw, he knew he could no longer avoid her. He would have to deal with Trish Stratus head on. "Like what?" he asked, his eyes holding an apathy that he couldn't cover anymore.

"You know," Trish pleaded with him to understand. There had to be a trace of her old friend in there somewhere. "Like this, with us," she motioned between them. "Awkward. Strange. Uncomfortable."

"What do you want, Trish?" Randy finally asked, the final straw breaking within him. He had fought for too long. "You wanna hang in my hotel room tonight and watch bad action movies? Chill at the club for awhile? What the fuck do you want from me?"

The sheer pain in his voice took her back a step. Though she wasn't sure why, she hadn't expected him to lash out at her. Convincing herself that his return meant a change of heart, she was sure she could get through to him. "We're on the same team," she explained, searching her brain for the right thing to say. "We have to co-exist here."

Randy nodded. "I know that," he assured her. "It's not gonna be like it was, okay? I'm not gonna stalk you. And I'm not gonna take my frustrations out on Dave, or Hunter, or John, or anybody. No stiff bumps in the ring. No snide remarks in the hallways. I'm just here to work, okay?" He shrugged and tightened his grip on the bag in his hand, his knuckles turning white with the pressure. "I'll keep my comments and my hands to myself and everyone will live happily ever after."

"That's not what I meant," Trish snapped back.

"Isn't it?"

She thought about it. It wasn't what she meant. Though he had been known to do those things in the past, she had never really assumed that he would do them again. It went beyond his professional interaction. She could actually give a fuck less what the Legend Killer did. This was about saving Randy, and their friendship. "We used to be friends," she whispered, moving closer to him. "I miss that."

"Ya know," Randy started, rolling his neck as he stepped away, as though unloading whatever had been on his mind for months. "Everyone keeps telling me to grow up. I need to realize that I can't always have what I want, right?"

And Trish felt her defenses going back up. He hadn't changed at all. He wasn't the man she thought he might be. "Oh, stop pouting," she scolded, rolling her eyes. She was in no mood for the Orton "Everyone Hates Me" Fest.

But Randy reached out and grabbed her arm. "No," he demanded as she turned a surprised look to him. "Stop talking to me like I'm the fucked up one here," he said, letting go of her. "You and your band of merry men have told me to grow up and get over it for the last two months. You've told me that life doesn't always give us what we want. That we have to learn to live with disappointment. All of you have made it pretty fucking clear that complaining isn't going to change shit. But apparently it's a pretty bitter pill when I shove it back down your throat, huh?

"I'll be honest with you, Trish. I don't really fucking care if you still wanna be friends. I'm not back because I'm okay with everything that happened between us. I'm not back because I'm ready to kiss and make up. I'm here because I love my career and I'm not ready to let go of it yet." He stared at her for another moment, daring her to respond. Though he hadn't intended to say anything at all, he found that unburdening his soul felt pretty damn good.

Trish shook her head, her hands on her hips once more. "So what? You're just gonna run around like a pissed off son of a bitch for the rest of your life? Turn your back on all of us who have spent the last two months worried about you? Is that the plan?"

Shrugging, he sighed and gave her an expression of bone-chilling sincerity. "I don't know," he said finally. "I don't really have a game plan. I just kinda figure I'll show up and do what it is I love to do. I'll go out there and put on a hell of a show. I'll travel to the next city, hit the gym, and do it all over again.

"Maybe somewhere along the way, I'll stop seeing you as the woman who broke my heart and start to see you as someone I could be friends with. Or, I don't know, maybe I'll stop seeing Dave as a back-stabbing motherfucker who took the most important thing in the world away from me, and start seeing a pretty fucking cool guy who's pretty damn funny when he's not even trying to be." He relaxed his grip on the bag in his hand and turned back toward the building, noting that Trish had fallen in to step with him.

She was too busy processing her thoughts to answer him. He was back, and it was clear that he was a new man. Unfortunately, he wasn't the new man she wanted him to be. And reconciling that information was going to take longer than a walk through the parking lot.

"I haven't forgotten who we were, Trish," he assured her as he pulled the heavy door open. When she stepped through it, he followed. "But that's not who we are now." When he stopped, she turned and looked into his eyes again. "Maybe we'll be friends again someday. Anything's possible, I guess." With a shrug, he turned toward the locker room again. "It's just not gonna happen right now."

Long after he had disappeared from sight, Trish stood still, trying to grasp everything he had said. If his suspension was intended as a wake up call, it had served its purpose well. She just wasn't sure who had been awakened.

He had been her best friend, once upon a time. They had laughed and cried together. They had vented each other's defeats, and celebrated each other's victories. They had offered advice, and always, whether the advice was taken or not, they offered unconditional support. There was a time when Randy's was the most steady shoulder she had to lean on.

Maybe that time was over. Maybe life wasn't the fairy tale either of them wanted it to be. But if he realized that doing what he loved was more important than the disillusionment of growing up, then she had to support that. And if she had to step out of the way to be supportive, she would.

"I take it that didn't go well?" Dave's voice was soft in her ear as his arms wrapped around her waist.

She shook her head and leaned back against his chest. "Actually, I think he might be alright after all," she sighed, turning and smiling up at the man who would be her husband in a few short weeks. "Come on," she tugged at his hand. "Let's go talk about seating arrangements for the reception."