Authors Note : Update. Thank you for the reviews guys, I really appreciate them as always. Contrary to popular belief, I am not trying to kill Trish. She's a tough girl and can take what I throw at her. Although I have to admit I was tempted by the vision of Trish limping down the aisle. But I'm just mean. Please read and review. And I disclaim.

Is it too early to make a case for spousal abuse?

Trish felt the giggle in the back of her mind, before she released it from her throat. All at once, she groaned, feeling a dull throb of pain claim her chest. Her voice was dry and brittle, something akin to centuries old bones being shaken roughly. More than a little light headed, Trish found it difficult to focus on the hear and now. It was difficult to tell if she was still asleep, or if what was happened was real.

Carefully, Trish lifted the lid of her right eye, before the left followed suit. Sleep clouded her vision for a moment, but the hospital room slowly came into view before her. It was obviously a private room, bathed in pastel greens and just a hint of blue. The large windows on the left of Trish's bed allowed the warm morning sunshine to bathe the room in a luscious golden glow.

Smiling into the rays of light, Trish inhaled the sweet scent of morning air, as though it were for the first time. With a considerable amount of effort, she looked down at herself. Her petit body drowned in waves of green material as the nightgown she was clothed in became hidden beneath the sheets of the bed. Trish's left arm was covered by a thin white bandage, more for support considering her sprained wrist. Her right arm was covered in tiny lacerations of glass, completed with an intravenous drip pinned into her flesh.

Lazily lolling her head back against the pillow, Trish noted with some amusement the water mixed with a strong painkiller being pumped into her veins. Turning her head to the left, Trish giggled again as she took in her reflection from the full length mirror attached to her bed-side cupboard.

Her normally vibrant blonde hair was completely flat, pressed against her head in straight waves of faint gold. Above her right eye were more stitches than her clouded mind could count, and the ugly purple and blue bruise on the socket didn't do much to enhance her beauty. Trish's roughed up looked was accentuated by the bruise stretching from her chin to her lip which was slip on the side, and angry shade of crimson red. The slashes of glass-made wounds on her neck made Trish poke her tongue out in disgust. The red marred her flawless creamy complexion.

Trish had been hard fought battles before, but she had never looked this bad. If someone didn't know better, they would think she had been involved in a particularly vicious bar fight. Sighing, the blonde Canadian glanced up to note the nurse in the room, busily re-arranging flowers on the opposite end of the room.

The entire back wall was littered with varying bouquets of roses, orchids, tulips, sunflowers and every other kind of flower you could imagine. Trish grinned at the other woman as she took in the different shades of pinks, purples, blues, reds and yellows, a beautiful water colour against the dull hospital indifference.

"You're awake," the cheery red faced nurse grinned, "how are you feeling dear?"

"About as rough as a Texan prostitute on a Saturday night." Trish admitted, licking her broken bottom lip with a painfully dry tongue. The Nurse chuckled as she moved a particularly impressive bunch of white roses to the windowsill closer to Trish's left.

"These are beautiful," she noted as she sniffed one of the flowers, "I've never seen so many flowers for a patient. A lot of people care about you dear."

Trish smiled warmly at the Nurses observation. "Especially that handsome boy there."

Trish's brow furrowed as she heard the Nurses words. Turning her head in the direction of the Nurses stare, she inhaled sharply as she noted Randy. The chair next to her bed had been pulled closer, and his head rested on the mattress, his face turned away from Trish. His arm rested across the bed, in a protective embrace of Trish's legs.

"He hasn't left your side since you came in on Sunday." The Nurse chuckled again, smiling fondly at the young couple.

"Yeah…he smells like it too." Trish giggled, scrunching her nose in jest. The Nurse smiled before tottering out of the room, leaving Trish alone with her slumbering fiancé.

Smiling, Trish reached her hand forward, sliding her fingers through the short crop of Randy's dark brown hair, twirling a few strands softly between her finger tips. Gently, she slid her fingers down a little lower, making circular massaging motions on the exposed part of his neck. Dipping her hand ever lower, Trish giggled as Randy stirred sluggishly under her touch.

"Mmmm…that's feels good." Randy's voice was slurred, thick with sleep and incoherence. But at the sounds of her rolling giggle, he immediately tensed, sitting up immediately, his crystal blue eyes doing their best to focus on Trish. As they did so, they filled with concern as they eyed Trish suspiciously.

Giggling a little harder, Trish reached her hand up again, cupping Randy's face in her hand. With a quick motion of her thumb, she brushed away the thin line of drool that was creeping down his chin. Blushing a little, Randy raised his hand and locked his fingers into hers, careful not to dislodge the IV drip in the back of her hand.

"…Hi." He ventured, as if he didn't know how to take the turn of events.

"Hey." Trish responded, smiling warmly. Randy's face became filled with guilt, as this moment which he had been preparing himself for was suddenly upon him. Looking at the woman he loved, beaten and bruised, and being in the knowledge that he had done it to her, was the most chilling, nauseating feeling he had ever known.

Clearing his throat, Randy opened his lips to speak, trying to put all the emotions burning in his brain into words. Even before he could begin, tears stung at the back of his eyes. He fully expected Trish to reject him, to tell him that the engagement was off. He had done the one thing he had sworn he would never do to her. He had hurt Trish, and badly. No-one in the history of Trish's career had ever beaten her the way he had at Armageddon. No matter what she could say, he would never forgive himself for that.

Releasing a shaky breath, Randy couldn't stop the single glistening tear that escaped from his eye, tumbling down the soft pillow of his cheek. It didn't have the chance to reach his jaw as Trish traced her finger across it's path.

"Hey," she started, her voice a soft coo, "don't okay? I chose to be in the match. I knew what the risks were, I knew what could, and would happen. I knew it would involve me fighting you. I made you hit me Randy. It was my decision to be a part of all that. I went against you knowing full well you didn't want me to be a part of that fight. So don't you feel any guilt at all. None of this is your fault. Randy, this doesn't change anything for us. I'm more in love with you now that I've ever been, and I know you love me too. So don't beat yourself up about this. It doesn't matter to me. I'm fine. We're fine. That's all I care about."

Randy sniffed softly, pushing the back of his wrist across his cheek. It was times like this that he realised why he loved Trish so much. But he couldn't let her forgive him like that when he hadn't even apologised for everything that had happened. Opening his mouth to speak, he was cut off again. Trish's lips were against his in an instant, insistent and teasing as the sucked on his bottom lip.

Resting her weight on her arms, Trish felt unsteady and almost slipped, but Randy's arms were around her before she had the chance, holding her steadily next to him. Their lips melted together in a tenderly warm kiss. Without words, they could say so much to one another, reaching a level of understanding most could only hope for.

Unfortunately, the lack of oxygen Trish was receiving ignited a terribly insistent pounding in her skull. Groaning, Trish pulled back, resting her head against Randy's shoulder as her pulse slammed around in her skull, bringing tears to her eyes. Sensing her pain, Randy glided his hands up and down her back, carefully resting her back against her pillows.

Trish whimpered as the pain reached an almost unbearable level. Just when he thought he should call for a Nurse, Randy breathed a sigh of relief as Trish slowly opened her eyes, her chest rising and falling in a more regular rhythm. Motioning to speak, Trish was cut off by the gentle knock at the door. Casting a glance past Randy, her eyes widened to bursting point, seeing the very last person she could ever expect to see.

Dressed in faded, torn jeans and with the hood of her jacket pulled up over her head, Jazz looked about as passive as Trish had ever seen her. Seemingly nervous, Jazz wringed her hands in front of her, as Randy raised from the bed, standing to his full height in a menacing position as he glared at the woman who had been a constant thorn in Trish's side.

Clearing her throat, avoiding the gaze of Orton, the Women's Champion spoke. "May I come in?"

Nodding in pure shock, Trish could only watch as Jazz ventured into the room. Her mind whirred with possibilities. Would Jazz really throw down with Trish right here and now? Was she planning on smothering Trish in her sleep had she not been awake?

Unanswered questions were all Trish had as Jazz stopped next to the bed, pulling the hood back down from her face.

"How are you feeling?" her voice was thick and velvety, void of any threatening tones. If anything, Jazz simply sounded uncertain.

"Sore. Very sore." Trish answered, eyes focused on Jazz before her.

"The uh…the girls backstage are really concerned about you." jazz noted, shuffling her feet in front of her.

"That's sweet," Trish couldn't keep the tone of incredulity from her voice, "can I ask why you're here? Seriously, I couldn't fight you now even if I wanted to."

Jazz looked back up to lock gazes with Trish, digging her hands into her pockets.

"I ain't here to fight Trish," Jazz admitted, "I came because…well…look Trish, it's no secret we're not friends. I hate you, you hate me and we've fought over the belt for years. But Sunday night, I watched your match believe it or not. And, as much as I didn't want to admit it, I was really impressed by what you did out there. You fought your ass off in the toughest match there is and pinned Kane for god's sake. I know think you're a crazy ass bitch, especially since you got head smashed through some glass by your boy over there, but you've also earned my respect. I now see why everyone calls you the greatest female wrestler there is."

Taken aback by Jazz's admission, Trish could only open and close her mouth in abject shock as Jazz smiled softly.

"Wow…I mean, coming from you…that means a lot." Trish admitted, feeling a soft blush creeping to her cheeks.

"Well, I mean it." Jazz continued, "I don't know if I could have done what you did in that match. I guess I was wrong about you Trish. You're one tough ass bitch, and I admire you for your guts and determination. So now you gotta rest up and get back to fighting condition, so I can fuck you up all over again."

Jazz released a wicked chuckle, to which Trish could only join in on. Slowly, she accepted the hand Jazz offered, and shook the other woman's hand honestly and without pretence. Saying so much via their eyes, Trish was in a daze long after Jazz retreated and left the room. She came back to her senses as Randy slid onto the bed next to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder, running his fingers up and down her upper arm.

"What the hell was that?" Trish giggled. If it wasn't for Randy being in the room, Trish would have wondered if she was dreaming.

"That was some amazing shit. And she doesn't like anyone. Hell, I wish I recorded that." Randy smiled as Trish relaxed against his body, her head naturally finding a spot on the expanse of pectoral muscle. "Say you'll marry me."

Randy didn't know where the statement came from, but he realised its what he had been thinking for quite some time. For some reason, he needed the affirmation that she was still his girl.

"I'll marry you Orton," Trish yawned animatedly, "just not right now. I'm sleepy, and I don't think I could make it down the aisle by myself. And I'd have to spend a few hours covering all these bruises up with makeup."

Randy smiled, relaxation flooding his muscles as Trish snuggled closer to his chest, preparing to drift into a deep sleep once more.

"Besides," she continued, "if I don't marry you…who else would?"

Randy chuckled heartedly at Trish's words. Even exhausted, beaten and high on medication, and she still had that sarcasm about her which he found irresistible. Glancing down, he saw Trish purring gently in the arms of a deep sleep. Gently kissing the top of her head, he rested his head on hers, allowing his own eyes to drift shut.

Whatever happened next didn't matter to Randy anymore. He was with the woman that he loved, and after every hardship, they were still standing.