A/N: So this is it, Kids - the end of Scar Tissue 2. Those of you who have already read my profile page know that this is also the last story that I will be posting - actually, my other story has one more chapter, but as far as Randy and Trish are concerned, this is it for me.

To all of you who have faithfully read and reviewed my work from the beginning, thank you so much. You will never know how hard it is for me to walk away from this, from all of you. You've been my confidence when I didn't have any on my own. You've been my determination when I wanted to quit, or slack off. I hope you've found some sort of connection with Trish and Randy through this story, or at the very least, have found entertainment in their antics. That's all I've ever really wanted my stories to accomplish.

One final thing before you read the story - Trish Stratus and Randy Orton are my absolute favorite pairing to write. Though I've spent some time in the world of OCs and a few other superstars, my greatest passion is in developing the connection between these two. Letting go of that is probably the hardest thing about stepping away from fan fiction. Fortunately, I have found someone I feel is above and beyond qualified to carry on the "legacy." (Wow, I sound really self-inflated, don't I?)

Anyway, if you find yourself suffering through Trish/Randy withdrawals, check out Immaculata's "Follow Me Home." My boy Reece is so fucking talented, and I would love it if you would all throw some love his way! I know that's what I'll be reading when I miss these two crazy kids.

Okay - without further ado, I give you the final curtain call:

Scar Tissue 2: Irreversible Damage

"Got no way of knowing exactly where I'm going, but I feel so alive. Everything is changing. Life is rearranging, but I feel so alive."

XXXXX

"You look like shit."

Randy raised his eyes to glower at the champion standing beside him. The Royal Rumble was well under way, and he would be up shortly. "So do you," he shot back, raising an eyebrow in defiance.

"You wanna know what I heard?" Edge asked, lowering himself to the seat beside his co-worker and opponent for the night. Even though the pair weren't really friends, there had always been a level of respect between them, a love for what they did that transcended the need for a secret handshake or drinks together at a club.

Shrugging, Randy cleared his throat. He really didn't want to know what Edge had heard. Mostly because he knew that it had something to do with Trish and he was trying his best not to think about her.

Since leaving her house in Toronto, he hadn't spoken to his ex-girlfriend. There was no sign that she would show up tonight, and he was trying not to care. Refusing to ask any of her friends what she was up to, or if she was back with Carter, he did everything in his power to shove her out of his mind. A few of them had managed to give him tidbits of information, but he pretended not to care.

With a nod, Edge hitched his belt onto his shoulder and savored the weight of it one last time. In less than an hour, he would lose the belt to Randy, and he wanted to hold on to it for as long as he could before then. "Alright, then," he said, turning to leave.

"Edge." The words tumbled out of Randy's mouth before he could stop them. "What did you hear?" He wanted to play cool, but he wanted Trish there even more. Once he knew for sure that she wanted nothing to do with him, then he would move on. But he had to know for sure.

Shaking his head, Edge ran his fingers through his blonde locks. "She wanted to make it, man, but she's working."

As Edge walked away, Randy felt his shoulders sag. Victoria told him that Trish had landed a leading role on a new television series being shot near her house in Toronto. He was proud of her, but wished that she would have told him herself.

Of course, he thought as he began walking toward the gorilla position, why would she tell me?

By the time Lilian Garcia announced his match, Randy had resigned himself to the fact that he had ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him. It wasn't unusual - he was good at ruining the good things. But this time, it bothered him. At least he could take out some of his disappointment and frustration in the ring.

XXXXX

Anyone who thinks this shit is fake needs to walking a fucking yard in this body, Randy thought as he gingerly hoisted his duffle bag over his shoulder. Thirty minutes and three spears into his match, he had known that he wouldn't be running to the car when the night was over. Hell, he'd be lucky to roll out of bed tomorrow after everything he and Edge had done to each other.

But the crowd had been good, and they had managed to pull out all the stops, so he really couldn't complain as he made his way toward the exit of the arena, prepping himself for the straggling fans who always seemed to be waiting for autographs.

The silence that greeted him under the twinkling stars was welcome. Looking around to make sure he had used the right exit, Randy stopped short and nearly dropped his bag.

"Hell of a match, Champ," Trish smiled, resting comfortably against the seat of her silver Harley Davidson.

He wanted to run to her, but his sense of cool kept him firmly in place. "You made it," he said simply. He was too tired to muster the elation that he was actually feeling.

With a nod, she pushed off the bike and walked toward him. "Had a hell of a time getting off work, but yeah," she nodded, stopping right next to him. "I made it."

He was glad she was there, that she had managed to rearrange her busy schedule for him. But the skeptic in him was still clawing at his gut. "Why?" he asked.

Trish looked up into his blue eyes and tucked her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "Because you asked me to," she said easily with a shrug. "Because I wanted to see my man do what he does best."

The smirk found his lips naturally. "This," he patted the belt on his shoulder, "isn't what I do best, Stratus."

With a matching grin, she nodded and raised an eyebrow. "I know, Orton."

Dropping his bag to the ground, Randy put both hands on her waist and smiled down at the tiny woman in his arms. Her innuendo was clear, and he wasn't about to turn her away. The look they shared cemented the fact that they were ready to move their relationship forward, but Randy stopped himself from kissing her full lips.

"Follow me to the hotel," he whispered, pressing his mouth to her forehead before picking his bag back up. It wasn't that he didn't want to kiss her. Quite the opposite - he was afraid if he started, he would just lay her down on the cold asphalt and have his way with her right there. Though it wouldn't be the first time, it didn't seem appropriate at the moment.

As Trish trailed Randy's car, she revelled at the feeling of the cool wind in her hair. She was well-aware that she was his first real girlfriend, at least for as long as she had known him. And she was also aware that their relationship wasn't garunteed to last. Distance and history alone told her that they were logically determined to fail miserably.

But she didn't give a damn about logic anymore. She didn't care about his history, or her own. She didn't care about the rocky path they had taken to get there. The only thing that mattered was that she wanted to be there, with him, more than she wanted anything in a long time.

The rest, she thought as Randy met her in the parking lot and wove his fingers through hers, would just have to work itself out.