BASIC TRAINING

SUNDAY NIGHT HEAT, MARCH 25TH, 2001

Angel sat and stared unfocusing at the whiteboard as Benoit’s monotonous voice droned on and on.

"This one is the STF. People who don’t know what they’re talking about might call it the abdominal stretch. Right now William Regal is using it as a finisher and he calls it the Regal Stretch, but it’s actually the STF."

"What’s STF stand for?" Angel asked, trying to pretend she at least semi-cared.

Benoit stared at her and dismissed her question by turning back to the whiteboard. "The way you apply the hold is to…"

Angel just shook her head as Benoit’s stick figure theater STF-style began to take place. Squiggles and dotted lines had never meant anything to her, but then she’d never claimed to be a basketball coach, or player for that matter. She was a practical learner, always had been. The least Benoit could have done was get the production team to make a tape showing the holds in practice but no, he was a theoretical teacher. His theory was very, very detailed and very, very boring. She almost longed for the day when Blackman had taught her mat technique and they’d nearly killed each other. Actually, Blackman was the only one keeping her sane. She’d progressed from basic weapons to basic overall martial arts and those lessons were desperately needed to break the cycle of theoretical STFs, figure four leg holds and some sort of big bad family whatever it was called that Perry Saturn did from time to time.

"…So that’s how it’s done. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Angel replied robotically.

"Good," Benoit smirked. "Because I think it’s time to try them."

"Uh huh," Angel said absently. When she looked up again, Benoit was standing right in front of her. She jumped a mile as Benoit stared down at her, eyebrows raised.

"Get in the ring."

Angel frowned. "We’re actually going to…oh, what’s the word, wrestle, in our wrestling lessons?"

By now Benoit had entered the ring. "Germans. Go."

Angel climbed up next to him and stood still, relaxing her arms and staring straight ahead. It was a moment before Benoit spoke.

"Princess. What the hell are you doing?"

"Waiting for you to suplex me so I can try and reverse it."

Benoit was surprised. "Is that what you did with Al Snow?"

"Yes."

"Okay." He shook his head in disbelief. "Here’s a new idea. How about you suplex me?"

Angel glared at him. "You don’t have to be an ass about it. Germans?"

"Germans."

"Okay then." Angel stepped up behind Benoit and looped her arms around his waist. Gritting her teeth, she dug her hands into his stomach and tried to lift him. Then she adjusted her grip and tried again. And again.

"Damn it!" she cried in disgust, dropping her hands and stepping away. "I can’t lift you."

"Germans!" Benoit snapped.

Angel scowled and tried again. Her hands slid to the front of Benoit’s tights.

"Don’t even think about it."

"You wish," Angel glowered, moving her hands up again.

Benoit was losing his patience. "Waistlock!"

"What?"

"Waistlock!"

"I don’t know what you’re talking about!" Angel cried.

Benoit furiously grabbed her wrists and forced her arms into a waistlock. "Now go!"

Angel clenched her jaw, pressed her arms into Benoit and tried to lift him again. "I can’t lift you!"

Benoit had had enough. He ripped her arms away and turned on her, giving her a little shove. "What the hell’s the matter with you?"

Angel glared furiously. "Well, maybe if you dropped a few pounds. I can’t lift your big fat ass."

"Lift? Lift? You don’t even know how to do a damn suplex and you think you belong in the WWF?"

Humiliated, Angel breathed deeply. "Well, if you weighed what a woman weighs…"

"It has nothing to do with how much I weigh. You make a waistlock like this," he said, grabbing her tightly. "Lean back and use your own momentum to carry you over." Bam, Angel’s back hit the canvas. "Then you do it again." Bam. "And again." Bam. He released her and climbed to his feet. "It’s not very hard. Now, go."

"Might not be hard but it damn sure hurts," Angel murmured to herself as she found her feet and stepped up behind Benoit. "Waistlock," she muttered. "Lean back, push off." To her surprise, over they went. It wasn’t a brutal suplex, but it was a suplex nonetheless. Angel was so surprised she almost screamed. But her excitement was short-lived.

"Again!" Benoit shouted.

Angel tried to get up.

"Don’t drop the waistlock!"

"Fine!" Angel screamed, going for the second suplex. It badly winded her, but…

"Again!"

Angel swore in Benoit’s ear as she went for the third. She landed it and released the waistlock at last, lying on the canvas as she caught her breath.

"Rollups!" Benoit ordered.

Angel groaned, pulled herself up into a crouch and leaped on Benoit, who simply lifted his knee into her abdomen. Angel yelped and collapsed onto the canvas, holding her stomach. "You bastard!"

Benoit stood over her, smirking. "You wanna try me? Show me what you’ve got."

Angel scowled and gulped in a few big breaths, then dove through Benoit’s legs and landed on her feet. She delivered a quick kick to the small of his back and he stumbled forward as she caught his front with her hands and forced him down. She moved her arm long enough to elbow him in the back and curve his spine further before she locked on his own crossface.

"Tap out, you son of a bitch!" she screamed, leaning back to increase the torque.

Benoit let out a low growl and threw her off as if she weighed nothing, before scrambling over her and locking the crossface on her. Angel screamed as her neck bent back and pain shot through her body.

"Tap out!"

‘Never!’ Angel thought, trying to crawl towards the rope. She hardly moved at all.

"Tap out!"

"Argh!" She tried again. Still no go.

"Tap out!"

Tap…tap…tap. Benoit pushed her down and released his hold before leaping to his feet.

Angel rolled over and stared up at him as tears of pain and humiliation streamed down her cheeks.

"I hate you," she hissed, grabbing at her neck with one hand and wiping away tears with the other. "I hate you!"

Benoit smirked at her. "Today’s lesson, princess. Before you try something, make sure you know what the hell you’re doing."

"I hate you!" Angel screamed one more time before climbing out of the ring and leaving the room, and Benoit, behind.

* * * *

Angel was in a slightly better mood after showering and dressing. In fact, she was just in the right frame of mind to seek out Commissioner Regal.

"Who do you want on Heat tonight?" she asked, towel drying her short hair on her way between her bedroom and the bathroom.

Benoit didn’t look up from the TV. "No one."

"What was that?" Angel asked, not sure she’d heard right.

Benoit still concentrated on the match on TV. Wrestlemania X-6. Himself, Kurt Angle and Chris Jericho for the IC and Euro titles. Benoit had come away with IC but had spent most of the match concentrating on Jericho. For the first time he wished he’d done things differently. But Angle had had a hell of a year 2000 and there was plenty of footage, plenty of mistakes to be forced, plenty of weaknesses to be exploited, plenty of…

"Kurt Angle has the night off."

"Yeah, and I’m not his manager."

"I want Kurt."

"But you just said he has…"

"Not tonight," Benoit snapped, turning to her incredulously. His eyes had that glazed over, focused look. "At Wrestlemania."

"But what about Heat tonight…"

"Tonight," Benoit repeated, cutting her off. "Tonight I watch Kurt. Tonight I do not waste my time disposing of low card nobodies."

Angel sighed. "You don’t want a match, then?"

"I want a match," Benoit assured her. "I want Kurt Angle at Wrestlemania."

"Okay, fine," Angel shrugged. "I’m done talking to you." She turned to enter the bathroom.

"Princess?"

"What?"

"Take the day off. I don’t want you interrupting me when I’m trying to watch these."

Angel frowned. "You’re giving me the day off?"

Benoit glared at her. "Do I stutter?"

Angel resisted the urge to reply, ‘no, but you do have a lisp.’ She broke into a slow smile. "Great. I might even grab some McDonald’s."

Benoit waved her off, focusing on the TV again. "I don’t give a crap how you poison your body."

Angel stared at the back of his head for a moment. She told herself not to argue. A day off was nothing to be sneezed at. Now, what was she going to do with it?

* * * *

Jeff Hardy sat at a weights bench, strengthening his shoulders and arms. TLC II was only a week away and he had to be mentally and physically tough enough to battle through it and bring home the gold. He knew that he and Matt were considered underdogs with the Dudleyz currently the champions and Edge and Christian having won it the first time around. But he also knew that he was willing to do anything – anything – to become the champion again.

He definitely wasn’t the only one thinking alone those lines. As well as Matt; Edge, Christian and their freakish friend Rhyno were in the gym and the Dudleyz had just left after some ring work he felt sure had included scaling ladders. It wouldn’t be easy, but Jeff felt certain that he and Matt were due. It was their time – it had to be.

And suddenly there she was – the only person who could distract him from his goal. Her appearance made him feel suddenly sick as he realized just how much he missed her. For such a short time she had been his – he remembered every moment so clearly. Her feverish kisses, the smoothness of her skin under his fingers, her awesome smile, the way she’d do crazy things and then laugh, the way she always, always refused to admit how sweet and vulnerable she really was. God, how he missed her. He almost got up and stepped over to her, before reminding himself that she wasn’t like that anymore. She wasn’t his Angel. Now she didn’t smile – she smirked – just like Benoit. Now she wore her ‘Prove Me Wrong’ tube top and walked focused and methodically – just like Benoit. Now the only expression her face showed at all was the occasional raising of her eyebrows – just like Benoit. No, she wasn’t his Angel anymore. She was Benoit’s.

She didn’t even look at him as she walked through the gym – but she did see other people there. First, a high five to Christian, then a familiar gripping of Edge’s hand before he pulled her in for a friendly hug. They talked briefly before Angel stepped away, a smile – or rather a smirk – on her face. So that was how things were. Just then, that Rhyno thing ran at her and for a moment Jeff thought she was in for a spear, but he wrapped his tree-trunk thick arms around her tightly in a hug that was even more friendly than Edge’s. He could see her face as she first looked scared to death, then broke into a smile and returned Rhyno’s hug, saying something to him as she did so.

Jeff shook his head sadly. Now, more than ever, she was gone. She was Benoit’s sidekick; she was friends with Edge and Christian. It honestly couldn’t get any worse. He watched her leave his enemies and head towards the other room, where the ring was set up.

Damn, she looked good. Obviously her gym routine was working because her muscles were looking real good. She looked fit, healthy and somewhat dangerous and he really, really, dug that. She’d always been a babe, but he’d almost liked it better when he was the only one who’d really noticed. Now, he figured, most people had watched her brief appearance in the main gym, even those who really didn’t have the right to look.

He shook his head sadly. She’d been his and he’d let her go. She’d had to go, though. It was that old saying – fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. The title belt and chair shots were two things he really had not needed. Though none of them had said it, Jeff was sure that Matt and Lita considered Jeff’s concussion from the chair at least partly to blame for the tag title loss. Jeff’s life was easier without Angel, that was for sure. It didn’t mean it was better. Not for the first time, he wondered if they had wrongfully accused her – that she hadn’t meant the things she’d done; that she really did loathe Benoit and was his valet under duress. He’d never forgive himself if that was the case. But it couldn’t be. Valets didn’t share rooms with their clients – not if they weren’t a couple – and they sure as hell didn’t spend every waking hour together. It was a mystery, one he might never figure out.

"Hey Jeff, how many reps you gonna do?"

Jeff looked up at Matt and slowly came out of his trance. "I think I’m gonna go…work with the ladders for a while."

Matt smiled. "Okay. I’ll join you later. Be careful, okay?"

Jeff nodded and hit fists with Matt. "You know I will."

* * * *

Angel worked alone, visualizing an imaginary opponent. She leaped off the ropes, carefully coordinating her moves. Clothesline, elbow, then an Asai moonsault (AKA Chris Jericho’s lionsault). Next, she ran at the corner, jumping at the turnbuckle as though leaping over an opponent. She turned quickly for a spinning heel kick but threw herself off balance and fell back into the ropes. Leaning back, she pulled herself up to the top turnbuckle and leaped out in a missile dropkick that would floor any opponent. She made the cover but somehow the bastard kicked out, so she gave him a quick elbow to the ribs and was back on her feet, running at the ropes again and returning just in time for the DDT. She kicked her opponent towards the corner, then climbed the ropes for the moonsault. She laded it, made the cover and one…two…three, it was over.

She climbed to her feet and raised her arms in the air, breathing heavily.

"Damn," she muttered. "I really need a training partner."

Along the side wall, someone had lined up five ladders, presumably training for the TLC match.

"You want a piece of me?" Angel yelled. "Oh, you do, huh? Well, maybe you should get your ass in the ring!"

She slid down to the floor and closed a ladder before shoving it into the ring and climbing in after it.

So far her experiment had worked – how would her tube top and leather pants hold up to an actual match? Now was the real test. Now she had an opponent.

Nodding to herself, she opened the ladder and stood it near the center of the ring. Then she pulled out her sticks and sized it up.

Slap, slap, slap, slap, slap. The sticks crisscrossed up and down the ladder, only slightly jarring her hands as she danced around it, prepared for anything. Slap, slap; two knife-edge chops, stick style and the ladder was teetering. Boom, a martial arts kick to the side and it fell, hitting the ropes and springing back at her. She just leaped out of the way in time. Then she smiled to herself and steadied the ladder, ready to start again. Slap, slap, duck, slap. She decided to try the spinning heel kick again and this time she didn’t teeter, her boot making a satisfying crunch against the steel. But she failed to turn around in time and this time, when the ladder fell she did too, getting crushed between it and the ropes.

"Ow," she muttered, pushing the ladder back up. She moved it a little closer to the corner and climbed to the top turnbuckle, focusing on the fifth rung – her opponent’s head. She flew in another missile dropkick and connected perfectly with her target, but she hadn’t counted on what would happen after that. Her feet and legs skidded over the top of the rung, which trapped her body in the ladder as it closed slightly, using her momentum to fall and slamming her legs into the canvas.

Angel was too stunned to scream as the jolt of impact raced through her body, along with the realization that, of all the things she’d tried, this was definitely not the smartest and she almost wished she’d had a crowd there to chant "HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!" She took a deep breath and pushed off the canvas with her hands, releasing herself from the ladder and scrambling to her feet.

‘I’m okay,’ she thought, pacing around. ‘A little sore, but okay.’ It was incredible. She should have broken her back, or her leg at least, but she was okay.

"I’m unstoppable!" she cried. "Unstoppable!"

She grabbed the ladder as though it weighed nothing and stood it as close to the edge of the ring as she could get it without going over. There was one move left to try.

Focused, she climbed the in-ring side of the ladder, right to the very top, then raised her hands to keep her balance. It was a long way to the floor, but she had to do this.

"Swanton bomb," she whispered, and then she took off. Flight, spin and landing were all perfect and she spun her arms around on impact. She’d done it, and landed it on her feet, just as she’d planned.

"Yes!" she cried, pumping her fists as she still stared down at her feet. "Yes!"

When she looked up, someone was staring back at her.

"You know," he frowned. "If I hadn’t already seen all the crazy stuff you just tried, I’d tell you that’s a damn good way to wreck your knees."

Angel glared at him. "Oh, I’m sorry, Jeff," she breathed. "I forgot they appointed you god of ring safety." She challenged him with her eyes.

"At least I wait until the fans are watching and medical help’s around before I nearly kill myself."

"Still no cure for death, you know," Angel told him.

Jeff decided to change the subject. "So, I hear you’re Benoit’s manager now? That’s good work for someone who claims to hate him."

Angel stared him off. "So, I hear you and Matt lost the titles just after you shafted me. That’s good work for people who blamed me for all their problems."

"We might not have lost them if you hadn't hit me with a chair."

"Oh, and I meant to do that," Angel said sarcastically. "I was in the ring with Benoit and he wanted me to hit Haku, but I thought ‘You know what? I think I might hit my best friend instead’."

Jeff glowered at her. "Have you always been this much of a bitch?"

"Yeah, I have," Angel replied. "I guess you were too busy trying to get down my pants to notice."

Jeff fumed, sizing her up. "Speaking of pants," he said evenly. "Didn’t I buy those?"

Angel looked down. "Actually, yes, I think you did. Here, Jeff," she added, fumbling at the button. "Far be it for me to deprive you. You’ll look great in them. In fact, you should wear them at Wrestlemania."

Crash! Before Jeff could reply, the door flew into him and knocked him down.

"Angel face!" Edge cried.

"Angel, how goes it, ma soeur?" Christian added.

"Angel?" Rhyno finished. "You’re bleeding! Look, you’re bleeding!" He leaped over Jeff and grabbed Angel, trying to stop the flow of blood from her arm.

"I’m okay," she assured them.

"Whoa!" Edge cried, spotting Jeff at last. "You like, broke him!"

"Awesome!" Christian agreed.

Jeff painfully crawled from the room.

"See you later, Jeff," Angel called after him.

"What a toolshed!" Edge announced.

"Totally!" cried Christian.

"Angel. Have you stopped bleeding yet?" Rhyno asked.

"Yeah, I’m fine. I promise. Thanks, guys."

* * * *

"I need the keys," Angel said as soon as she entered the room.

"Why?" Benoit asked, not looking up.

"I want to go shopping. I’ll keep out of your way, I promise."

"Just you?"

"Yeah, just me." She paused. "I asked Molly, but Crash had a match with Perry Saturn and she seems to think she can take out Malenko so…"

"Here." Benoit was holding up the keys. "Put some gas in it."

"Okay," Angel said evenly, taking the keys. "Thank you."

"Don’t thank me, just get the hell out."

Angel sighed and headed for the door. He didn’t have to tell her twice.

* * * *

Angel was almost out of the lobby and on her way to freedom when someone called her name.

"Angel! Hold up for one second."

She spun around, her expression cool. "What do you want, Kurt?"

"You know," Kurt started. "I’ve been hearing some nasty rumors about you."

"Such as?" Angel asked boredly.

"Such as you don’t even like Benoit."

"That’s not a rumor. I tell that to anyone who’ll listen."

"So, if you don’t like him, why do you manage him?"

"Because he’s the best," Angel shrugged.

"He’s not the best!" Kurt cried incredulously.

"Sure he is. Dave Meltzer says…"

"I don’t give two hoots what Dave Meltzer says. Has Chris Benoit ever been the World Wrestling Federation champion for four undefeated months? No, I didn’t think so. Has Chris Benoit ever represented his country in the summer Olympics? And he’s from Canada – you’d think all you’d have to do to make that team is show up at the airport – kind of like Australia, right? But was Chris Benoit ever an Olympian? Does he have these, Angel?" he cried, holding up his gold medals. "Well, does he?"

"No, he doesn’t."

Kurt smirked. "Exactly. So how can he be the best?"

Angel shrugged. "I’m not the one who calls him the greatest damn technical wrestler in the WWF."

"The…the what?" Kurt cried. "But I’m a gold medallist. Chris Benoit’s just…well, where are his gold medals?"

"He doesn’t have any," Angel said flatly.

"That’s right! I’m the best! Me! You should be my manager!"

Angel cocked her head. "Excuse me?"

"Not that I even need a manager, of course, but if you want to represent the best, it has to be me. Tell me, what has Chris Benoit ever done for you?"

"Well, he is my coach. And then there’s my fee." She broke into a smile and informed Kurt exactly how much it was costing Benoit to keep her around.

"Wow, he has that kind of money to throw around? I mean, when did he last have a main event match at a Pay Per View?"

Angel just stared at him so he continued. "I’ll match it. And I’ll coach you. Who better to coach you than me, Kurt Angle, your Olympic Hero? What do you say, Angel? Come work for me."

"I can’t, Kurt."

Kurt was stunned. "Why the heck not?"

"Because I work for Benoit."

Kurt exhaled derisively. "So quit."

"I can’t."

"Of course you can. You’re just the person for the job. You have intelligence, you have intensity and really, two out of three is not that bad. How about it?"

"I can’t. I have a deal with Benoit. I work for him for as long as he wants me. I can’t quit."

"Sure you can."

"No, Kurt," Angel shook her head. "If I back out of the deal, what’s that make me? Where’s my integrity? I can’t do it. That’s just the sort of person I am. Thanks anyway, though." She nodded slowly and continued on her way.

Kurt watched her, shaking his head. "Integrity," he muttered. "Who’d have thought it?"