UP THE WALL

RAW IS WAR, APRIL 23RD, 2001

Angel left the bathroom en route to her own room, daring to give Benoit a passing glance. Last night had been sex-dream free and the images were already starting to fade away to nothing. And that, as well as the twenty-minute shower she’d just taken, had put her in a semi-decent mood. As usual, Benoit’s eyes were glued to the TV.

"Hands were I can see ‘em," she called out antagonistically.

Benoit raised his head and his eyebrows. "You got a problem?"

Angel shrugged. "Not a new one, anyway." She peered past him and focused on the TV. "More Kurt? Don’t you ever get sick of the sight of him?"

Benoit didn’t even bother to respond.

"What match is it? I don’t know that other guy."

"Kurt’s first match," Benoit replied without turning around. "Survivor Series ’99."

"Who’s the other guy?"

"Shawn Stasiak."

"As in Stan the Man?" Angel questioned.

"It’s his son."

"Oh, okay," Angel nodded, before breaking into a grin. "Look at them. They’re both just skin cancer waiting to happen, aren’t they? A tanning bed session gone horribly wrong. A couple of turkeys just fresh from the…"

"Princess?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut your damn mouth."

Angel grinned and perched on the edge of the bed as the tiny TV fighters went through the motions.

"Aren’t you leaving?" Benoit asked, his back still turned.

"Nope," Angel replied. "I thought I’d hang out with you for a bit and watch pork roast and melanoma compare tans."

Benoit just ignored her.

"So, who wins?" she asked after awhile.

"If you can shut your damn mouth for a couple of minutes, maybe we’ll find out," Benoit replied testily.

Angel grinned but watched quietly for a while.

"You know, I don’t understand why you spend so much time watching tapes anyway. You should be in the gym. I mean, a thirty-minute ultimate submission match, that’s gotta take a lot out of you. You should make sure you’re ready physically and not just…mentally."

Benoit turned and smirked at her. "Princess. Who’s coaching who?"

Angel just stared at him indignantly.

"Exactly," Benoit nodded, turning back around. "When you have a match to prepare for, you can do things your way."

"Maybe I’d have a match if I could get away from you," Angel muttered.

Benoit let out a low laugh and she scowled and settled in to watch the rest of the match.

"Damn, Kurt won. I was barracking for the feral guy in the snazzy neon hot pants. Day-Glo orange always was my favorite color. Hey, what are you doing?" she cried as Benoit clicked the remote control, stopping Val Venis in mid-entrance.

"The match is finished. I’m putting on the next one."

"But I was watching that!"

Benoit looked up from his pile of tapes with a smirk. "That’s just too bad, isn’t it?"

Angel sighed. "I really don’t see what the point is. You watched all these tapes before Wrestlemania. You know every last move. You know how Kurt puts together an attack, how he thinks when he needs a reversal. You know it all." She broke off. "Whatever. I’m wasting my breath. What’s the next installment in the best of Kurt Angle?"

Benoit slowly rose to his feet, then threw the remote so it hit her hard in the chest. She caught it as it fell to the bed and frowned up at him.

"Where are you going?"

Benoit just shook his head and walked slowly to the door. "Lunch is at twelve. Make sure you’re there."

Angel smirked at his retreating form. "Cardiovascular. That’s what you wanna work on. Then you’ll be all set."

The only response she got was the slamming of the door.

* * * *

After lunch, Angel was again on her way to her room when there was a knock at the door. She turned to Benoit and immediately scowled. He was already settled in for a tape viewing session and obviously wasn’t going to answer the door.

Angel shook her head slowly. It was naptime, dammit. And she needed every minute she could get. She got up at six freaking AM for up to six hours of training and often, particularly on show nights, they weren’t back at the hotel until well after midnight. She needed her beauty sleep. Not that Benoit needed to know that, of course. As far as he was concerned, she just went to her room because she wasn’t interested in his tapes. And if that’s what he wanted to think, it was fine with her.

She let out a deep sigh and headed for the door. Her scowl just deepened when she saw who it was.

"Benoit, it’s Jericho," she muttered, turning to head for her room and her bed.

Jericho grabbed her arm and she spun defiantly.

"Actually, sister, I came to talk to you."

Angel gave him an indignant look. "Make it quick. This is the only me time I have and I intend using it."

Jericho smirked at her. "Sorry, baby. Change in plans. Go get yourself into one of those cute little gym outfits, ‘cause you are one privileged little girl. You, baby, will be spending the day with Y2J."

"No thanks," Angel said evenly, turning away but noticing he still held her arm. "Can you let me go? ‘Cause I hate to burst your bubble, but you just happen to be the second to last person I’d ever…ever want to spend the day with." She shot a pointed glance at Benoit for added emphasis.

Jericho still smirked. "Oh, you’re coming, baby."

"The hell I am!" Angel cried, wrenching her arm away.

"Go with him," Benoit growled suddenly.

"Excuse me?" Angel cried.

Benoit slowly turned from the TV and glared at Angel.

"I said go with Jericho," he said slowly.

Angel cocked her head to the side. "Is that an order?"

Benoit solemnly held her gaze. "Go with Jericho."

Angel threw her arms to her sides.

"Fine," she muttered, before trudging to her room with a shake of her head. She mumbled under her breath as she pushed the door open. "But if I’m grumpy tonight, we all know whose fault it is."

* * * *

Jericho drove too fast. Like that was a big surprise. It wasn’t as though Angel was a Sunday driver, but she literally had to hold on for dear life as Jericho’s rental car navigated the Denver streets. And yet she was almost prepared to stake her life on the fact he’d never had a speeding ticket. He was charmed like that.

And that damn music – if you could call it that. Angel was a fan of most styles, but not heavy metal, and this made most metal sound like the freaking White Album. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. Sneaking a sideways glance at Jericho, who was concentrating hard on not getting them killed, she reached out and turned down the volume. Jericho’s hand was immediately on hers, pushing it away and restoring the sound to its original two billion decibels. As soon as he removed his hand, Angel’s was there again and Jericho immediately turned it up again. This went on about four more times until Jericho finally turned to glare at her.

"You’re starting to piss me off."

"What?" Angel cried, putting a hand to her ear. "I can’t hear you."

Jericho rolled his eyes and turned back to the road. Two seconds later, the volume was down again. Suddenly, Jericho threw both hands down to the stereo and Angel leaped back into her seat as the car lurched forward. The car was no longer going straight.

"Jericho!" Angel screamed piercingly, causing him to grab the wheel and set them right again. She sat back in her seat and tried to slow her breathing.

"What’s the matter, baby?" Jericho laughed. "Did I scare you?"

Angel folded her arms across her chest. "No."

"Yeah, well maybe you’ll think twice before you mess with my sounds again, okay?"

"Sounds," Angel scoffed. "What the hell is that shit anyway?"

"That shit," Jericho replied. "Is my favorite band."

"Sorry?" Angel asked, feigning deafness again. "I can’t hear you over the best of Steve Blackman’s trashcan concertos."

Jericho gave an ironic smile, but reached down and slightly, very slightly, decreased the volume. "I said it’s my favorite band, Fozzy."

"Really? ‘Cause it sounds like a bunch of alley cats got in a fight in a homewares store and trashed the place."

Jericho grinned. "You know, that wasn’t up to your usual best."

Angel shrugged. "Maybe I’d be wittier if I could hear myself think. Where are we going, anyway? You’re not gonna knock me out and marry me in Vegas like Triple H and Stephanie, are you?"

"Maybe," Jericho deadpanned. "Or maybe I’ll just choke you out and dump you in the river."

"Sounds good. And hey, if I go to hell, at least now you’ve given me a preview of the background music."

Jericho grinned. "You don’t like me, do you?"

"Not at all," Angel replied without hesitation. "No, seriously, Jerky. Where we headed?"

"According to Benoit," Jericho started. "You have the upper body strength of a four-year-old."

Angel scowled at the mention of Benoit’s name. "Someone should teach Benoit the physical differences between men and women."

"A four year old girl," Jericho informed her.

"Fair enough. So, where we going?"

Jericho grinned. "You’ll find out."

Angel nodded and tried to ignore the so-called music as it crippled her mind. "Benoit put you up to this, didn’t he? He told you I was giving him shit about his tapes and asked you to take me away, so he could watch Kurt Angle and play with himself in peace. That’s what happened, isn’t it?"

"As delightful as you make that sound, no. This was my idea."

"Really? ‘Cause I see what he gets out of this, but what about you? You’re getting me out of the way while he gets hot over another man. I mean, he’s supposed to be your boyfriend."

Jericho formed a snide grin and abruptly spun the wheel, jerking the car into a parking lot. Angel gripped the tops of her thighs and did her best not to crap herself. Jericho screeched to a halt, perfectly parked, and shut off the engine.

"While I have enjoyed this banter we have going on, baby, it’s go time."

Angel gave him a wary glance and undid her seatbelt as he reached up, pulled his shades from the sunvisor and put them on.

"I get recognized," he announced, giving Angel an ironic smile. "It comes with the territory."

Angel rolled her eyes and jumped out of the car, then waited for him to do the same. He carefully put on his jacket, fixed his hair in the mirror and climbed out, locked up and eyed Angel expectantly.

She looked him up and down. Jacket by Tommy Hilfiger, hiding a black T-shirt and shiny leather pants. It was an ambitious choice of outfits, but Jericho pulled it off. Still, shiny leather pants in the middle of a Monday? Please. Angel caught Jericho’s gaze, lowered his eyes to his pants, then made eye contact again.

"And you don’t at all make yourself conspicuous," she muttered sarcastically.

Jericho gave a grin and placed a hand on her back. "Come on."

She shrank away from his touch but followed him into a large building.

"Rock climbing?" Angel cried incredulously. "What, I send you up the wall so much you figured you’d do the same for me?"

Jericho grinned and stepped up to the counter. "Something like that." Angel held back and after a moment, Jericho turned to stare at her. "I don’t know what that thing you have going on with Benoit is, but I’m not paying for you."

Angel held his gaze. "Which of us wants to be here?"

Frustrated, Jericho muttered something under his breath and turned back to the counter. Angel smirked at his back. Manipulation was fun.

Jericho turned back to her with an armload of ropes, harnesses and other gear, still looking pretty pissed off.

Angel smiled sweetly at him. "What? It’s not as though you can’t afford it."

Jericho thrust the equipment at her. "Suit up."

Angel stared at him dumbly. "Aren’t you…?"

Jericho raised his eyebrows. "Unless you’d rather go back to the hotel gym and do four hundred chin ups."

Angel pouted and yanked a harness away from him.

"How do you do this?" she asked in a rare moment of weakness.

It didn’t go unnoticed by Jericho.

"Hold still a moment," he said gently, strapping her in. "There, you’re all set."

Angel frowned and stepped away from him.

"So, now what?" she asked, slapping her hands down on her legs and taking a good look around.

"This way," Jericho told her, leading her towards a particular wall. There were several of them with various obstacles, overhangs and differently spaced hand and foot holds.

"The four year old girl wall?" Angel guessed.

Jericho grinned. "You got it, sister."

He got her set up so that he would spot her from the ground.

"Okay. Take your time and make sure you get to the top."

Angel nodded, rubbed her hands together and stared up at the wall. Shouldn’t be too hard. Once she’d started, she regretted this evaluation. Jericho was right. Her upper body strength was pathetic. She climbed slowly, obviously using her legs and feet more than her arms. She tried to pick the path where the handholds were further apart than the footholds, without realizing that handholds became footholds and soon she was stuck, still several feet from the top. She hung there like a stunned possum and tried to clear her mind.

"Get that handhold to the left!" Jericho shouted from the ground.

Angel did as she was told without even thinking.

"Great! Now move your left foot to that one even further to the left."

Angel nearly peered down in disgust. How the heck was she supposed to do that? That would mean she’d have to move her right foot, too – the human body just didn’t stretch that far. For at least a split second, she’d be hanging by just her hands. There was no way…

"Go!" Jericho shouted.

Spurred on by his cry, Angel clenched her teeth and pushed on the handholds, releasing her feet. Straining against the pressure, she moved her left foot. Closer, closer, she was there. She leaned down hard and slipped. She was falling. Jericho was on it, slowing and controlling her descent until she was safely on the ground again.

Eyes blazing, Angel threw her hands onto her hips and glared. "Great plan, Jerky."

"You’re doing it wrong," Jericho informed her.

"No kidding."

"You wanna be a shooter, right?" Jericho asked.

Angel sighed. "You wouldn’t even begin to understand what I want to be."

"Try me," he challenged.

Angel scowled and turned away.

"What I was getting at," Jericho went on. "Is that the wall’s like any wrestling opponent. You need three things to beat it. Speed, strength and strategy. If you’re a shooter, start acting like it and kick the wall’s ass."

Angel turned and glared at him again. "I’m not a damn shooter. I don’t give a crap about being a shooter. Learning with Benoit is just the means to an end. Okay?"

Jericho held her gaze. "You’re lying, but fine. That’s a long enough break. Try it again. And this time, try it a little faster. My stopwatch fell asleep before you were even halfway up."

"You’re timing me?" Angel cried.

"I’m timing you. Now, plot your course and go for it."

Angel scowled at him but nodded and turned to the wall. She mentally imagined the path she’d take, then clapped her hands together. She was ready.

She took it slowly, screw Jericho and his stopwatch, and methodically, still concentrating more on limiting the use of her arms. But this time she had a path to follow and, eventually, she made it.

"Yes!" Angel cried as Jericho lowered her again. "I did it!"

Jericho was less impressed. "Are you even hearing a word I’m saying?"

"I made it to the top!" Angel snapped. "What more do you want?"

"Of the three things I said you only had strategy. What the hell kind of shooter behavior is that?"

Angel shook her head in disgust. "You’re not even a shooter and yet you’re giving me more crap about it than Benoit does."

"Well, someone has to."

"Newsflash, genius!" Angel snapped. "It’s a wall, not a wrestler! And furthermore, Benoit’s the shooter. I’m not."

"Not if that’s how you act under pressure," Jericho spat. "I’m not kidding about this. You’re wasting my time and yours. Now do it and this time do it properly. Go fast and if I see you favoring your legs again, I’m gonna tie them together."

Angel’s mouth dropped open. "You wouldn’t."

Jericho’s eyes flashed dangerously. "Dare me."

Angel took a deep breath and faced the wall. Forget Jericho. Forget Benoit. Forget everything. She had a mountain to climb. Despite the fact he might want to, Jericho wasn’t going to let her fall to her death. It didn’t matter if she slipped. She clapped her hands together again and replotted the course. Speed, strength and strategy. Now, go.

She dragged herself up the wall as quickly as she could, finding that, once she stopped treating her arms and hands as disabilities, she could actually move much faster. Before she knew it she’d reached the top and was being lowered again.

She grinned triumphantly at Jericho. "How was that?"

He nodded. "Better. Now, shave ten seconds off that time." He held up the stopwatch so she could see.

"What?" Angel cried, shaking out her already sore arms. "You’ve gotta be kidding."

Jericho stared at her. "Not kidding. Speed, strength and…"

"Strategy, I got it," Angel muttered irritably, turning to the wall. "Kurt’s three I’s have nothing on you and your three S’s."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about, baby. Y2J only has one ass and that’s a damn fine one."

So, with those words in her mind, Angel scaled the wall again.

"Three point two," Jericho informed her. "Not good enough."

Angel sighed. "I told you I’m no shooter."

Jericho shook his head. "It’s not about that. It’s about the wall. You fear the wall. Never fear the wall. Own the wall. Make the wall fear you."

"Whatever," Angel muttered.

"Maybe ten’s too much," Jericho mused. "Try for five."

"Again?" Angel cried.

"Again."

Angel swore under her breath and turned to the wall.

"Fear me, bitch," she scowled, although whether she was saying it to the wall or Jericho she didn’t know. Perhaps both. Whichever way, she had to get up the wall and get up there quick. She took off, hand, foot, climb, go. Faster, faster, faster.

She hit the top and Jericho lowered her again.

"Six point four," he informed her. "Better."

Exhausted, Angel heaved in gasps of air. "Great. Let’s go home."

Jericho shook his head. "Do it again."

"What?" Angel cried.

"Five more seconds," Jericho said. "Then we can go."

Angel’s arms were burning from the shoulders down and she wrapped them around her, face contorted in pain. "Bullshit. I’ve already trained today!"

"Five more seconds and you own the wall," Jericho informed her.

"Five more seconds and I drop dead," Angel shot back.

"Sister, that’s reason enough for me. Now, get up there."

Angel glared at him before reclaiming her cool. "If I make it, I get to be car DJ."

Jericho gave her a thoughtful stare. "Okay, make it ten seconds."

"What?" Angel cried. "Impossible!"

"Ten seconds. Now go, go!"

Angel didn’t even think. She just climbed. She knew the path so she trusted her arms and legs and went for it. Her shoulders burned, her breathing was ragged, her hair was probably a wreck, but she kept going up. Up…up…up. She hit the top with no idea of her time. It had felt faster, but then that could have been because she hadn’t been thinking about it too much. When her feet hit the ground, she looked over at Jericho, who was peering from the stopwatch to Angel and back again.

Angel breathlessly threw her hands onto her hips.

"So?" she prompted.

Jericho blinked heavily and held up the stopwatch. Angel wiped the sweat form her brow and did the math.

"Ten point seven?"

"That’s what I got," Jericho nodded disbelievingly.

Angel slowly broke into a grin.

"Oh yeah!" she cried, slamming her hands down in a D-Generation X crotch chop. "Eat this, Jericho! In your face!"

"Cool your jets, sister," Jericho advised. "Next time I’ll try you on the five year old girl wall."

Angel grinned. "Bring it on!" She tore at her harness, suddenly eager to exercise control over the stereo. In less than a minute, she was hopelessly, irrevocably tangled.

Smirking, Jericho watched her struggles. "Need some help?"

"No, I’ve got it," Angel snapped, still pulling at the harness and actually tightening it around her body. She looked desperately up at Jericho. "Are you just gonna stand there looking goofy or what?"

Jericho chuckled, but stepped forward. He adjusted something and unclipped something else and then, just like that, Angel was free.

"Are you okay?" Jericho chuckled, noticing she was holding her stomach where the harness had dug in.

"I’m fine," she replied shortly. "Now, let’s get the hell out of here."

Jericho laughed at her again and they headed over to return the equipment.

* * * *

Angel closed her eyes and let the sound drift over her. Pure, blissful silence. Beside her, Jericho muttered under his breath and concentrated on driving like a maniac.

"I thought you were gonna be DJ," he said at last.

Angel’s eyes blinked open. "I am."

"So, where’s the tunes?"

Angel lazily stretched her still aching arms. "This is it."

Jericho shook his head. "Forget that."

He reached down and popped the tape back in, causing the stereo to roar into life and Angel’s headache to return with a vengeance.

"I don’t think so, mister," Angel announced, ejecting the tape and pulling it from the player. "I won. That means I get the spoils."

Jericho shot her a sideways glance. "You better put that tape back."

"I know what I should do with it," Angel told him, winding down her window just enough to get him worried.

It worked.

"Don’t even think about it," Jericho scowled, switching his gaze between her and the road.

"It’d be a shame, wouldn’t it?" Angel teased, waving the tape in the air.

Suddenly, Jericho pounced.

"Get off me, you son of a bitch!" Angel screamed, still tightly clutching the tape.

Jericho fumbled around shouting "Give me the tape, slut!" and the car veered onto the sidewalk.

The sudden undulating surface shook Jericho back into his seat as they realized exactly how much trouble they were in if they didn’t act. Jericho didn’t think. He swung the wheel and the car jerked back onto the road, the sudden movement dislodging the tape from Angel’s hand.

"Uh oh," she blurted.

Jericho slammed on the brakes and glared furiously at Angel. "Now give the damn tape back, okay?"

Angel stared at him, eyes wild. "I don’t have it."

"You better have it!" Jericho screamed.

Angel shook her head quickly. Benoit she had controlled, but not Jericho. She had no doubt that he could…and would kill her if she pissed him off enough. And this might just be the catalyst. The look on his face was positively frightening.

"I’ll get it," she announced, throwing the door open and leaping out before he could say anything. She sprinted down the sidewalk.

"Come on!" she cried. "Where are you? I don’t want to die today."

It was hopeless. Searching for a tape in the city was like searching for a soul in a McMahon. But then, that wasn’t altogether helpless.

"Shane and Linda," she reminded herself and suddenly, there it was.

She picked it up with a flourish and ran back to the car. Jericho’s face was unreadable as she closed the door and handed the tape back to him. He examined it carefully, playing with the reels and checking the surface. He looked over and noticed that Angel was watching him.

"This is a taped jam session," Jericho told her. "It’s not an album or anything. It is the only copy."

Angel said nothing. She was praying even harder that the tape was okay.

Satisfied that the exterior was fine, Jericho put it in the player. The sound blared out, loud and clear. Jericho nodded and fast-forwarded it a little before playing it again. Convinced there was nothing wrong, he ejected the tape, found its cover and put it safely inside. Then he started up the car and pulled back into traffic.

Angel watched him quietly. She hadn’t wanted to lose her life today, true. But now she knew how to get at him. She could cover her back and pick her spot. And then it’d be adios, Jerky. Good stuff. Real good. She studied Jericho’s face. He thought he was so damn good, so damn witty, so damn sexy, God’s gift to women and the world. It was about time someone pulled him down a notch. And if William Regal couldn’t, Angel sure could.

‘Some day, Y2J,’ she vowed. ‘Some day.’

"I’m gonna grab a burger," Jericho announced suddenly. "You want one?"

Angel was so stunned he was speaking to her, she didn’t even reply. It didn’t matter. Jericho went on.

"McDonald’s, Burger King, Wendy’s?" Jericho asked, eliciting a silent frown from Angel. "Wendy’s it is."

* * * *

Jericho watched Angel with an amused smile. "Wanna eat any faster?"

"Shut up," Angel muttered with a mouth full of burger. She grabbed at a handful of fries and continued her feeding frenzy. It was almost as though she could feel the saturated fat hardening her arteries.

"Damn this is good," she muttered blissfully before catching herself and reforming her smirk. "Benoit’s gonna crack the shits when he finds out you let me eat this."

"What?" Jericho asked. "He got you on a special orangutan diet?"

"Yep," Angel nodded. "So he’s gonna kick your ass when he finds out about this."

Jericho gave her a frustrated frown. "You’re welcome."

"I didn’t thank you," Angel said bitchily.

"Exactly. You never do. A lot of people do a lot of things for you, but all you do is bitch and complain. Can’t you be grateful for once?"

"Sure," Angel scowled. "When I have something to be grateful for."

Jericho shook his head slowly. "I don’t believe you. You’re so self-absorbed you can’t even see past the nose on your face to all the blessings you have in your life. Why can’t you see it?"

Angel raised her eyebrows. "When I want a sermon, I’ll go to church."

Jericho sighed deeply and watched her ravenously devouring her meal. She was a strange girl, but he had her figured out. Someone had to save her from herself. He didn’t have to do it, but the fact was that he could. And maybe he was the only person who could.

"Hey baby," he said thoughtfully. "Let’s play a game. If I was to tell you that today I’ll buy you the one thing you want the most, what would that one thing be?"

Angel blinked at him uncertainly. "That’s a stupid game."

"No, really. Whatever you want. I’ll buy it for you. You want a car, it’s yours. Come on. It’s not like I can’t afford it." He gave her an endearing smile, which made her incredibly uncomfortable.

"Don’t do me any favors," she snapped.

"Wouldn’t dream of it. Favors require gratitude and I already know I won’t be getting any of that from you. Besides, I don’t do favors, remember?"

Angel scowled at the repetition of the phrase that had started this whole mess.

"What do you want more than anything else in the world?" Jericho asked again.

"Jericho, I don’t want you as a friend, so don’t even try, okay?"

Jericho shook his head. "This isn’t about friendship. It’s about you, looking deep into your heart and soul and being honest with me, maybe for the first time ever. That’s the game we’re playing. And if you don’t play, that means I am the winner and you are the loser."

Angel glared at him. There was no way she was gonna lose a mind game war with Chris Jericho.

"I want a hot fudge sundae," she blurted.

Jericho was amused. "Really?" he laughed.

"Yeah," Angel scowled. "A hot fudge sundae. That’s what I want."

"Okay." Jericho threw his hands in the air. "I guess you win."

"You’re damn right I do," Angel replied testily.

She wrapped her arms across her chest. She’d won. They both knew it. So why did she feel like she’d lost? Suddenly, she heard a small voice.

"Chris Jericho?"

Both Jericho and Angel looked over at the speaker. It was a teenage girl, who was standing with a small boy.

"Oh wow, I thought it was you," the girl cooed. "Can you sign an autograph for my little brother? You’re his favorite; he has your action figure and everything."

The small boy stared at Jericho with wide eyes and produced the miniature Y2J. Jericho grinned.

"Would you look at that? It’s me! What are your names?" he asked the kids as he stole Angel’s napkin and received a glare in protest.

"I’m Melissa and this is Eric," the girl said, trying to keep her cool, despite the fact she was bouncing all over the place.

"Marisa and Derek?" Jericho replied jokingly as he wrote the correct names on the napkin, along with ‘Welcome to Wendy’s is Jericho.’ He scrawled another few pleasantries before signing his name and ‘Y2J’. He handed the napkin and pen to Melissa, who was staring at him as though he was a god.

"Thank you," she breathed.

"You’re welcome, baby," he grinned, but she was still rooted to the spot.

"Who…who’s this lady?" she asked uncertainly. "She’s pretty. Is she your girlfriend or whatever?"

"Oh, she wishes," Jericho gloated, winking at his young fans. "No, you know her. Chris Benoit’s manager."

The young girl squinted. "Oh yeah. Well, I don’t like Chris Benoit. He’s kinda freaky looking."

"Yeah, you got that right, baby," Jericho agreed. "But trust me, you should get this girl’s autograph too. She’s gonna be bigger than Chyna!"

The girl gave him a strange look. "Okay, whatever." She handed Angel the napkin and pen. "Can you please sign this?" she asked, all enthusiasm gone from her voice.

Angel frowned but signed her name as the girl got somewhat bold with Jericho.

"So, what are you guys doing today?"

"Escaping from Benoit," Jericho told her. "Can you imagine having to hang out with Mr. Roboto 24/7? That’s what Angel here has to do."

"That sucks," the girl agreed, eyeing Angel for a moment. "Hey, I remember you, now. You used to hangout with the Hardy Boyz, right? I love them. They’re so cute! What are they like, really?" Angel pretended to be engrossed in her own autograph so she wouldn’t have to answer. "So, like, what was up with you and Jeff? Because my friend Shauna said the two of you were kissing one time on Sunday Night Heat. I didn’t see it because my parents won’t let me watch MTV. But Shauna, she was so pissed, because she’s like completely in love with Jeff. I mean, she even has every one of his poems memorized…"

Angel frowned up at the girl. "Your parents don’t let you watch MTV but they let your little brother watch WWF?"

The girl shrugged. "Well, yeah."

Angel raised her eyebrows and handed back the napkin and pen.

"There you go," she said coolly.

"Thanks," the girl replied uncertainly. "Come on, Eric. Mom and Dad are waiting." She flashed what she hoped was a sexy smile at Jericho. "It was so great meeting you. You’re really hot!" she blurted quickly, making her escape.

"Bye-bye, Y2J," the small boy said timidly before racing after his sister.

"Cute kids," Jericho mused, before frowning at Angel. "You need to learn to be nice to the fans."

Angel shrugged indifferently. "They weren’t my fans. They were yours."

"You could have at least tried to make a connection. Like talking to that girl about the Hardyz. That’s what she wanted."

"I don’t even like to think about the Hardyz," Angel informed him. "Why would I want to talk about them?"

Jericho shook his head slowly. "Come on. We’re outta here."

Angel simply threw her trash on the tray and followed Jericho from the restaurant without another word.

* * * *

Angel sighed deeply as Jericho pulled up, ending yet another round of Denver Road Rage.

"Now where are we going?"

Jericho turned to her and grinned maniacally. "I’m a genie in a bottle, baby. You gotta rub me the right way."

"Whatever," Angel muttered, climbing out of the car.

"This way," Jericho announced.

Angel followed him solemnly until her eyes fell on the store in front of them.

"Ben and Jerry’s?" she cried before she could stop herself.

"You won the game," Jericho shrugged. "It’s the least I can do." He stepped up to the counter and tapped it thoughtfully until a girl arrived to serve him.

"Can I help you?"

"You bet you can. This girl over here needs the biggest, deadliest hot fudge sundae you can possibly manage. It needs to be so good, so potent, that after just one bite she will never…ever be the same again."

"I got it," the girl said boredly, jotting down the order. "And you?"

"I’ll take a small Rocky Road."

"No problem." The girl took his money and headed off to fill the order.

Minutes later, Jericho and Angel were sitting at a table, eating their desserts.

"Oh man," Angel sighed happily as the ice cream and fudge melted on her tongue.

Jericho watched with amusement as he delicately licked his own ice cream. "That really was what you wanted most in the world, wasn’t it?"

Angel couldn’t conceal her pleasure and nodded. "Don’t start thinking I’m gonna thank you, though."

"Wouldn’t dream of it."

"And when Benoit finds out he is seriously gonna lose his mind. I mean a burger, fries and ice cream? It’s like the ultimate sin in Benoit-land."

Jericho frowned at her. "So don’t tell him."

Angel smirked at him. "I wanna tell him. I wasn’t kidding about him watching what I eat. When he finds out what you fed me today he’s gonna kick your ass."

"And you like that idea."

"Jerky, I love that idea."

"And why’s that?"

"Simple," Angel shrugged. "It’ll get rid of you, then once again, I’ll only have to deal with one asshole."

Jericho held her gaze. "You really think it’s gonna be that simple?"

"No, I don’t. But I haven’t even tried yet."

"Is that a threat?" Jericho asked, eyebrows raised.

"Take it how you want it," Angel said softly.

Jericho blinked. "Why are you so desperate to get rid of me?"

"It’s a thing me and Benoit have. We like each other to be lonely and miserable. We get a kick out of it."

Jericho’s eyebrows shot up. "Benoit’s gonna be lonely and miserable no mater what. It’s his schtick, you know?"

"Yeah, maybe. But you’re looking more and more like his friend every day. So sorry, Ayatollah, but you gotta go."

Jericho nodded thoughtfully. "Wanna know what I think?"

Angel shrugged indifferently. "Not really, but I’m sure you’re gonna tell me anyway."

Jericho grinned at her. "You, baby, are in love with…"

"If you say Jeff Hardy I’m gonna break your face," Angel cut in.

"No, not Jeff," Jericho told her. "Although I wish that were true. The kid’s a good friend of mine. He deserves a break."

Angel’s insides were all over the place.

"So tell me, Jerky. Who am I in love with?"

"You’re in love with Chris Benoit."

"What?" Angel screamed.

"Well, maybe not in love," Jericho said. "But you definitely want to get down his tights."

Angel was fuming and clawing at the table. "What’s wrong with you, Jericho? Going a little heavy on the bleach this month?"

Jericho smirked at her. "You want him and you can’t have him and that kills you."

Angel’s face was bright red and she was very close to popping a vein. "I don’t have to listen to this."

Jericho couldn’t hide his grin. "You do. Just think about it. You clearly want to get rid of me so you’re alone with him."

"Getting rid of you is only one step away from getting rid of him," Angel spat.

Jericho was unfazed. "And you’re always hounding the poor guy, trying to get his attention, trying to get him to notice you. You just keep bugging him and bugging him and bugging him until he calls you princess. Because that gets you going, doesn’t it, princess?"

Angel was absolutely livid. She couldn’t even speak.

"Well, princess, let me tell you something. I’m not going anywhere. So if you want a piece of the Wolverine Machine, you’ve gotta put up with the fact that I’m gonna be there and I know exactly what you’re doing."

"You don’t know shit," Angel snapped.

"Yeah, we’ll see, baby. Now eat up. You’re gonna need your energy for trapping your man tonight."

Angel threw down her spoon. "I’m done."

"You wanna go back to the hotel? You miss Benoit that much?"

Angel’s eyes flashed. "Shut the hell up."

"So you can dish it out but you can’t take it. What a surprise."

"Screw you," Angel spat. "I hate Benoit. I hate him more than anything else in the world."

"Really?" Jericho asked.

"Really."

"You don’t want a piece of the Crippler?"

"I hate him."

"Well, in that case," Jericho shrugged. "You won’t mind if I do this."

With that, he lunged across the table, grabbed her face in both of his hands and kissed her. Angel squirmed under his touch, caught her arms against his chest and pushed him away. He stared at her smugly as her eyes blazed dangerously.

"Let’s get something straight," she hissed. "Never, ever kiss me without permission again. Do you hear me?"

"You were begging for it, baby," Jericho gloated.

Angel stood up, absolutely furious.

"Take me home," she demanded.

"What?"

"Take me home now!" Angel shouted.

Jericho shrugged. "Okay, baby, get a grip. We’re leaving."

"Good," Angel fumed, heading for the door. She didn’t say another word until they were back at the hotel.

* * * *

Angel had been quiet all night. Jericho knew why and as a result his smirk was wider than ever. Benoit didn’t even seem to notice. All he was concerned with was getting the match he wanted and when Angel came through with that – tag with Jericho against Angle and Regal, with submissions, no less, he was as happy as he ever got. In fact, he even sought out Angel to let her know something.

"Set up two in a row like this and we’ll get that punching bag."

Angel just nodded solemnly. Incentive. She only hoped Regal would play ball. Regal, her last hope. Well, close to her last hope. She’d been manipulating Regal since she’d first suited up as little miss manager. Like Angle, he was too stupid to see it. Unlike Angle, she hoped he wouldn’t clue in before she got what she wanted.

During the match itself, Angel cheered on the commissioner and tried her best to pretend the other three didn’t exist. Being a submissions match, it should have taken longer. Should have. Unfortunately, Regal found himself on the receiving end and, despite Angel’s encouragements, he tapped out. The Canadian Chrises emerged unscathed from a match that had been almost too easy. Angel was worried. In order to set her free, Regal would have to be able to beat Benoit. Right now that looked like it’d require some very heavy duty cheating. She just had to get free – not just from Benoit, but from Jericho too. The stakes were high. Could she handle it?

She was thinking so hard on this as she followed Benoit and Jericho to the locker room that she almost missed her friend.

"Angel." The voice didn’t hold its usual exuberance. That in itself made Angel stop short.

"Hey, duchess and queen. Don’t sweat your berries. I’ll catch you up later." Neither Benoit nor Jericho even bothered to turn around. "Okay, Trish. What’s up?"

Trish’s pretty face was contorted into a frown.

"Do I look nervous?" she asked, holding up a visibly shaking hand.

"Yes," Angel confirmed, putting a hand on her shoulder. "What happened?"

"I have a match," Trish sighed. "With Ivory. If I lose I have to join RTC."

"What?" Angel cried.

"It’s true," Trish said sadly. "I can’t join them, Angel. I’d look just awful in those outfits. And wearing my hair pulled back would make my ears stick out so much I’d look like a Volkswagen with the doors open. It can’t happen!"

"Okay, Trish, calm down a minute? Who made the match? ‘Cause Commissioner Regal really likes me. I could probably get it changed, even canceled."

"No." Trish shook her head. "It was Vince."

"Vince?" Angel cringed. That was one she couldn’t fix. "What happened?"

"I ran into him in the hallway. He was rambling about Shane and then next thing I know I had this match."

"Looks like you have a severe case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time," Angel told her.

"I know," Trish wailed. "Please, Angel. You have to help me. I can’t join them!"

Angel nodded slowly. Here was her chance. She hadn’t been able to save the Kat but maybe now, two months later, she could finally make amends.

"Don’t worry, Trish," she said with certainty. "We’re gonna win you this thing. Now, let’s go to the locker room and talk this through."

Trish nodded frantically. At this point in time she was willing to try anything.

* * * *

"Okay," Angel said, pacing the room as Trish sat miserably on the bench. "What are your signature moves?"

"My what?" Trish asked anxiously.

Angel’s eyes widened. That was definitely not promising. How had Trish even gotten a contract? Oh duh, Angel. The same way she’d gotten first class airplane tickets.

"Alright," Angel tried again. "What moves can you do?"

Trish frowned thoughtfully. "I can do a bulldog and a DDT."

"Okay, now we’re getting somewhere," Angel nodded. "What else?"

"I can push her head into stuff, you know. Oh, and I’m real good at bra and panties matches."

Angel took a deep breath. "What else?"

Trish grinned t her. "I can punch and I can kick and I can slap and pull hair."

"That’s it?" Angel asked, hoping not too incredulously.

"Well yeah. I’m a diva, not a wrestler. Is that bad?"

Angel sighed. Yes, it was bad. Very, very bad.

"How about submission?" she asked out loud. "Which submission holds do you know?"

"Submission holds?" Trish frowned. "You mean in or out of the bedroom?"

And the scary part was she wasn’t kidding.

"In the ring, Trish."

"Submission holds," Trish repeated. "Submission holds. Oh, I know! I can do a chokehold!"

"Chokeholds are illegal," Angel informed her.

"Oh, they are?"

"I’m afraid so."

"Oh," Trish whined. "Well, that’s all I know."

Angel sighed again. Trish was in big, big trouble. "Okay, we don’t have much time. Get into your ring outfit and I’ll try to teach you a couple of things. And don’t spend too much time making yourself look good, okay?"

"But…" Trish started.

Angel stared at her. "If you want to win this match you’ll do what I say."

Trish withered under the younger girl’s stare. "Okay." She quickly ran to get ready. Angel let out a huge breath and racked her brains. They had no time. What could she teach Trish that would even make her competitive with Ivory?

Minutes later, Trish was ready. Angel was impressed with her speed.

"What do you want me to do?" Trish asked.

Angel had set up a few gym mats and was standing in the middle of them. "Can you do a spear?"

"What’s that?" Trish questioned.

"Edge does them. Rhyno too. What you’ve gotta do is go in low and stick your shoulder into my stomach. Try it."

"What, now?"

"Yeah, now. Run at me as quick as you can and slam your shoulder into my stomach."

"But won’t I hurt you?" Trish asked worriedly.

"That s the idea. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Now go, hit me!"

The spear wasn’t too difficult and Trish soon had it down.

"This is fun!" she cried. "What next?"

"Clothesline? Simple but effective."

"Oh yeah," Trish grinned. "I can already do those, so you don’t have to teach me."

"Great," Angel smiled. "How about some sort of powerslam? How strong are you?"

"I don’t know," Trish shrugged.

"Alright. Ivory’s not too big, but you’ll still probably have trouble lifting her, so we’ll try a scoop slam."

"I don’t know what that is," Trish admitted.

"It’ll work best if Ivory runs at you and tries for a clothesline or something. Grab her leading arm, hold her by the shoulders, pick her up between the legs, lift her as high as you can and slam her down real hard. Okay?"

"Um, I don’t know."

"I’ll run at you and you try it. Pin my arm, pick me up, slam me down. Got it?"

"Yeah, I think so."

After three attempts, Trish had only managed to lift Angel to waist height, but had still done some damage to Angel’s back.

"Good enough for now," Angel decided. "Now, most important move. Irish whip. That’s where you swing them by the arm and push them across the ring. Even if you can’t do anything else, you’ll do some real damage with a few whips to the turnbuckles."

"I can do that," Trish nodded confidently.

"Alright. What else? Hey, you wanna learn a real hold?"

"Sure!"

"Alright," Angel grinned. "Armdrag takeover. It’s tough, but if you can pull it off, Ivory’s gonna have a new respect for you."

"Sounds great!" Trish cried. "How’s it work?"

Angel showed her as best she could, demonstrating a couple of times before she let Trish have a turn.

"I had real trouble when I first learned this," Angel admitted after a few failed attempts. "But then, I was doing it to Al Snow."

"I always wanted to do it to Al Snow," Trish grinned.

"Trish," Angel laughed. "Be serious."

"I am serious," Trish insisted. "He has the cutest dimples."

"Okay," Angel smiled. "Let’s try another couple of armdrags."

Trish nodded, getting a focused look on her face.

Suddenly, there was someone at the door.

"Miss Stratus? It’s time for your match."

Trish let out a huge breath. "Well, Angel. I guess this is it. Wish me luck."

"Luck?" Angel cried. "I’m going with you."

"You are?"

"Hell yes, I am. I want to be there to see the look on Ivory’s face when you kick her cocky ass!"

Trish grinned. "Okay! Let’s go!"

She and Angel headed off to the ring.

"You know," Trish confided. "I’ve never had a female valet before."

"Well, Trish," Angel smiled. "Looks like it’s your lucky night."

* * * *

Angel and Trish stood in the ring, watching Ivory make her entrance. Angel could just see the little weasel staring at Trish as if to say, "There stands our newest member".

"Over my dead body," Angel muttered under her breath. She patted Trish on the back. "Kick her ass."

Trish nodded, completely focused on Ivory. Angel rolled from the ring and took her place in the corner.

"Let’s go, Trish!" Angel cried as the bell rang.

Unfortunately, Ivory immediately brought Trish down with a drop toehold and then physically walked over her spine.

"Oh, come on!" Angel cried. "That can’t be allowed. Get up, Trish!"

Trish did as she was told and tried for a hard right hand but Ivory ducked it, kicked Trish in the stomach and slammed her down in what appeared to be an X-Factor.

Angel slowly shook her head. This was not going to plan. Next came a suplex and a scoop slam before Ivory hooked Trish’s leg.

"Kick out!" Angel screamed and Trish did so, just in time.

Angel sighed. Ivory was owning Trish. Something had to be done. So, as Ivory grabbed Trish’s hair and prepared her for the next hold, Angel shouted the first thing she thought of.

"Spear! Spear!"

Bam! Trish’s shoulder slammed into Ivory’s abdomen and pushed her all the way into the corner. But Trish wasn’t done, throwing in four mini-spears for good measure.

"Great, now whip her!"

Ordinarily, these words would have meant something else to Trish, but she was on task, sending Ivory into the opposite corner and running to the middle to wait for her.

Angel opened her mouth to shout "DDT!" but before she could, Trish grabbed Ivory’s arm and threw her over in a very impressive armdrag takedown.

"Yeah. Way to go Trish!" Angel applauded.

Encouraged, Trish tried again and the second one came off even better than the first. She was on a roll.

"Scoop slam! Scoop slam!"

Sure enough, Ivory was going for a clothesline. Trish grabbed her arm, lifted her to shoulder height no less, then slammed her down again. Angel was very impressed, but there was no time for that.

"Make the cover!"

Trish pounced on Ivory, but only got two.

"Alright," Angel mused, leaning right over the apron. "Whip her again."

Trish nodded and sent Ivory into the corner again.

"Try a bulldog," Angel suggested.

Trish turned and started to run at Ivory, but was caught with a clothesline.

Angel’s fists flew to her mouth as Ivory picked up Trish by the hair. She suddenly realized she hadn’t taught Trish any reversals. Whatever Ivory did to her, she was going to have to wear it until she could find some offense of her own. It was bad, bad news.

Ivory finally decided on a sit down powerslam – brutal. She made the cover.

"Kick out!" Angel screamed.

Somehow, Trish found enough to do just that.

Angel heaved a sigh of relief. Maybe they were just prolonging the inevitable but still, Trish was fighting for survival. She had everything to lose.

Another scoop slam and Ivory went up top.

"Trish, run, run!"

Trish somehow found her feet and moved from the flying clothesline just in time.

"Yes! Now, while she’s confused, surprise her!"

Trish formed a painful grin, spun around and bam! Bulldog.

"Hook her leg! Cover!" Angel screamed. "One! Two! Three!"

Angel went wild. Trish had done it! She’d done it! Angel dove into the ring as the ref raised Trish’s hand in victory. Angel grabbed her other hand and launched it into the air.

"You did it!" Angel cried, hugging her friend.

They climbed from the ring together, gloating over at Ivory, who was completely bewildered.

"I did it!" Trish shouted. "I beat that frigid bitch! That’s right! I beat you!"

Angel laughed and put her arm around Trish as they started up the ramp. "You did awesome, girl."

"Yeah, I did," Trish grinned. "But Angel. I couldn’t have done it without you."

"Oh, you had all the moves," Angel told her. "I was just some fool shouting stuff."

"Yeah, but if you hadn’t, I would have been lost."

"I guess we do make a pretty good team."

"You bet!" Trish cried as they turned on the ramp and hugged each other again. This drew a huge pop from the heavily male crowd, obviously thinking ‘I wanna be in the middle of that!’

Angel smiled at Trish’s happiness. Oh well, she’d just proved something. Even if this getting a contract and beating Steven Richards thing didn’t work out, at least she knew she could coach other people to a win. Maybe she could open a wrestling school.

‘Oh yeah,’ she thought. ‘The Torres Dungeon. Or better yet, Angel’s Hell. How sweet would that be?