WHEN ANGELS FALL

BACKLASH, APRIL 29TH, 2001

"What do you mean you don’t want a valet?" Angel cried.

"I’m very sorry, Miss Torres, but I’ve already made arrangements in that regard. Tonight, Her Majesty the Duchess of Queensberry herself will be in my corner and I can’t compromise my attention to her by including another valet, even one as useful as yourself."

"But I’ll do it for free," Angel insisted. "And I’m not afraid of Jericho. I don’t mind cheating. Not that you’ll even need to cheat, what with the rules of the match."

"I’m sorry, Miss Torres, but I simply can’t. Perhaps tomorrow night on Raw."

Angel sighed. "Okay, but the offer’s only good for a match against Jericho that doesn’t include Benoit."

"Done," Regal smiled. "I hope you enjoy your evening, Miss Torres. And do come back later and meet Her Majesty. I’m sure she’d be delighted to meet with one of her loyal subjects."

Angel nodded. "If I can get away from Benoit long enough, I’ll be there. I’ll see you later."

She ran off and returned to the interview area, where Coachman had just wrapped up. Benoit walked over to her and eyed her suspiciously.

"Where the hell have you been?"

"Nowhere," Angel breathed, trying to get back to normal.

"Right," Benoit muttered, grabbing her wrist. "You want to play. I hope I don’t need to remind you not to mess with my match tonight."

"Please, Benoit," Angel sighed. "I hate Kurt almost as much as I hate you."

Benoit nodded solemnly. "Just don’t forget."

He dragged Angel along until they reached the locker room, then threw her inside. She peered down at her wrist as his finger marks turned white, then red and finally faded. Damn, he was tense. Like even more than usual. Maybe she should have found Lillian to interview him, he could have blown off some steam.

"Angel," she murmured, taking a seat on the bench. "Why do you care?"

Jericho was already there. No one was speaking and the air was thick with tension, some of it due to Angel, but most of it due to the night itself. As soon as the show started, with X-Factor versus the Dudley Boyz, Angel jumped to her feet.

"Where the hell are you going?" Benoit demanded. Jericho refused to even look at her.

"To valet for Regal. He wants me to wear a costume or something." Oh yeah, that’d mess with Jericho’s mind.

Benoit slowly shook his head and scowled at her.

"Don’t worry. I’ll be back for your match."

"It’s straight after Jericho’s," Benoit reminded her.

"I know," she shrugged. "I might have to quick-change, but I’ll be there."

Benoit sighed furiously as she left the room. The bitch had won again. There was nothing he could do about it. Maybe he’d been too lenient lately. Well, that’d change, starting tomorrow. After all, the bitch really did need some ladder match training. See how clever she felt after falling from ten feet, flat on her back, four or five times in a row. He’d teach her to be a manipulative little whore. She’d learn, sooner than she thought.

* * * *

Angel walked cheerfully down the hallway. Everything was going great. Jericho was almost pissed enough to burst, Benoit was dumbfounded and now she had a window of almost an hour to hang out with Edge, Christian and Rhyno. She had to hurry though – Rhyno’s match was up next and she wanted to wish him luck before he headed out there. So she walked quickly, knocking on doors of locker rooms, running into several people she’d rather not talk to – Test and the Hardyz being the most obvious examples, but she didn’t care and most of them were too worried about their own matches to really register she was there. She was a girl on a mission. Still, it was taking too long. Where were her friends hiding? Maybe they weren’t in yet. That was possible. Christian’s triple threat for the Euro title was almost last on the card. But Rhyno should have been there.

She frowned at a TV monitor as she passed it in the hallway. Rhyno was there, all right. His match was on. Angel sighed. Oh well, she had forever, until after Jericho’s match. She could catch Rhyno after he was done – if she ever found the right locker room, that was.

"Hey," she said, approaching a guy from the crew. "Do you know where I can find Edge and Christian’s locker room?"

He nodded slowly. "Sure. You go up there, take a left. Second on your right."

"Got it," Angel smiled. "Thanks."

She frowned at yet another monitor as she passed it. Rhyno had just gored Raven for the win. At the rate Angel was going, he’d beat her to the locker room, so that was something good.

She raised her head at the sound of a voice. Kurt Angle was headed straight for her, head down, mumbling under his breath.

"How dare Lillian Garcia even suggest…of course you’re more important, my beauties. And tonight, after I beat Chris Benoit, after I…"

Angel watched him warily before taking a deep breath. If she kept on walking past he probably wouldn’t even notice her. She cautiously stepped forward.

‘Keep your head down, Kurt,’ she silently ordered him. ‘Keep your head down.’

He was doing it, he was doing what she said. Then, suddenly, he lifted his head and was staring right at her.

"Angel!"

He looked around frantically, obviously searching for Benoit. Angel held her hands up and smiled meekly.

"Just me, Kurt."

"Oh really?" Kurt broke into an evil grin. "That’s a shame, isn’t it?"

"Come on, Kurt," Angel sighed impatiently. "I haven’t given you any trouble for at least a week and you know how I feel about Benoit. If you just play ball and kick his ass tonight…"

"Hold on a second," Kurt cut in. "Are you trying to say you’re on my side?"

Angel made a little girl face. "You’re against Benoit. Whose side would I be on?"

Kurt frowned skeptically. "What do you want this time?"

Angel’s smile said one thing. Busted! "I want to go to Edge and Christian so I can wish Christian luck in his European title match."

"That’s it?" Kurt cried.

"That’s it," Angel replied.

"Well, come with me," Kurt told her. "I know where they are."

"Just like that?" Angel frowned.

"Sure," Kurt grinned. "What’s wrong? Don’t you trust me? I am Kurt Angle, your American Hero and, like our great president, George Washington, I can not tell a lie. Oh, it’s true. It’s true."

"Right Kurt," Angel nodded mockingly. "Just take me to the guys."

"Oh, we’ll get there," Kurt assured her. "And I’m sure they’ll be very, very happy to see you."

‘Not as happy as I’ll be to see them,’ Angel sighed, following Kurt up the hall.

* * * *

Chris Jericho stepped out onto the stage with a microphone in one hand and a top-secret super-technology, multimedia clicking button in the other. He didn’t really know much about it, apart from the fact that when he pressed it, his collage would appear on the Titantron, and that was good enough for him. He had other things to worry about, like winning a match when he didn’t know the rules, and that certain other little problem.

"Angel," he scowled as he made his way to the ring. "Where are you, little bitch?"

He couldn’t see her anywhere. All he could see was Howard Finkel, William Regal and some chick in a bad wig and even worse dress. She was sitting on a throne, flanked by two secret service-looking guys. So, Regal had tracked down the elusive Duchess of Queensberry. Kudos to the assclown. So where the hell was…oh, no way. He cocked his head and stared as he reached the end of the entranceway. That was some disguise. She’d sure used a lot of makeup – and fake teeth. She looked authentic, all right. And awful, absolutely awful. He raised the microphone to his mouth as his music stopped. It was time to speak.

"So let me get this straight. That is the Duchess of Queensberry?"

The Angel in Duchess clothing gave a toothy grin and nodded.

"That’s strange, because I thought the Duchess of Queensberry looked a little more like this…"

He turned to the Titantron and pressed the button down, revealing his picture of William Regal dressed as the Duchess. The crowd went wild as Regal fumed inside the ring.

"Although to be quite honest, I don’t know which of you looks more like a man."

Angel somehow stayed in character, slowly shaking her head. Regal was outraged. But Jericho wasn’t done yet. He was more than willing to play along with their little charade.

"But even though Chicago is the Windy City, from the looks of it, it seems that Queensberry is the ugly city!"
That did it. Angel’s eyes blazed and she fanned herself with that half a bird she was holding.

Jericho grinned. That ought to hold her until he kicked Regal’s ass. He climbed into the ring and circled his opponent. It was go time.

Other than a failed missile dropkick, the match was all Jericho as Angel was forced to look on through dark brown contact lenses. Jericho threw Regal down with a bulldog, hit the lionsault and hooked Regal’s leg. But before the ref could make the count, the ringbell sounded. The ref was just as bewildered as Jericho, but Howard Finkel was there to explain it.

"Ladies and gentlemen. According to the Duchess of Queensberry rules, the time limit for round one has expired."

Jericho bounced to his feet. "What? Round one? What the…?"

Before he could dwell on it, Regal had grabbed him from behind and rolled him right up. Jericho kicked out on two and tried to recover his thoughts. This was bad. He’d had a feeling the match was going to be screwy, now he knew for sure. But what could he do? Beat Regal at his own game, that’s what. Bring on Round Two.

Jericho was weary from round one and after a series of offensive moves, Regal locked on the Regal Stretch. Jericho reached and reached and finally grabbed the ropes, but he was weakened. Regal went for a suplex, but Jericho countered into a rollup, then turned Regal over into the Walls of Jericho. The commissioner wasn’t anywhere near the ropes and he started to tap. The ringbell rang, ‘Break Down The Walls’ played and Jericho prepared to leave, before Howard Finkel’s voice rang out again.

"Ladies and gentlemen, according to the Duchess of Queensberry rules, you can not win by submission."

Jericho froze, his face the picture of exhaustion, pain and frustration. What the hell kind of crap shoot was this? If he’d known this would be some sort of multiple round submissionless slugfest he would have gone about his preparation a whole lot differently, that was for sure. But now he could do nothing but try to survive – and win against the odds. He got up to argue his point with the ref, but he was also flying blind. Finally, he pointed over at Angel.

"I’m gonna get you for this, slut!"

She frowned back at him. It seemed the party was just beginning. Jericho climbed out of the ring and approached the so-called duchess, cursing her as he went. Suddenly, he heard Regal panting behind him and turned to meet him with a couple of right hands before slamming his face into the announce desk. Regal stumbled forwards, grabbed the Duchess’s scepter and cracked it across Jericho’s skull. The ref immediately called for the bell, but again Finkel was deep in discussion with the "duchess".

"According to the Duchess of Queensberry rules, there is no disqualification."

Regal gloated, picked up Jericho’s semi-conscious body and tossed him back into the ring. He made the cover, but somehow the ever-tenacious Jericho kicked out. He had heart, that was for sure. But heart wasn’t good enough.

Regal beat Jericho around, slowly, repeatedly, before making another cover. Another kick out. But Jericho was weakening every minute. Somehow he reversed a back body drop by landing on his feet and hit an enziguri, but this only served to knock both men onto the canvas. The ref started a ten count and made it all the way to nine before the combatants found their feet.

Jericho was barely standing, but somehow managed to mount an offense, before grabbing Regal’s legs and starting to turn him for the Walls again. Suddenly he remembered. No submission; no disqualification.

"Assclown!" he screamed, bringing his foot down between Regal’s legs.

Regal climbed from the ring to regroup, but Jericho wasn’t going to let up. Not now, not ever. He kicked out in a baseball slide, smashing into Regal’s back and knocking him down, right into Angel’s lap. The look on her face – and Regal’s – was absolutely priceless. But Jericho’s laugh wasn’t over. He brought Regal down with a clothesline, decked the secret service guy and grabbed Angel by the shoulder.

"Hey baby. Let’s get it on."

She wailed at him in an obviously fake British accent but he just gave a sinister grin and threw her into the ring. He jumped up next to her.

"Did Benoit teach you to tap from submission? ‘Cause that ain’t gonna help you."

With that, he pushed up her skirt, found her legs and turned her over into the Walls of Jericho. Sure enough, she tapped. But she hadn’t learned her lesson yet.

"Just a little bit longer, baby," Jericho spat. "Just a little…"

Slam! A chair cracked across his back and Jericho was down. Regal hit him twice more for good measure and made the cover. One…two…three. It was over.

Regal rolled from the ring and helped the duchess to her feet. He signaled the crowd as they stumbled together towards the entranceway and out of sight.

Down in the ring, Jericho was still flat on his back and in great pain. The ref was checking on him.

"I’m okay," he hissed and he was telling the truth. Once he caught up with Angel he’d be fine. She’d done a lot, but now she’d cost him a match. She was going to pay. Still holding his head, he somehow made his way to the backstage area. Benoit was there, waiting for his entrance. He was also alone. He just took one look at Jericho and shook his head.

"Where is she?" Jericho demanded through clenched teeth.

"She’s not here yet," Benoit scowled. "But she will be. She knows better than to try and miss my match."

"Want me to go hurry her along?" Jericho asked.

Benoit shrugged. "Do what you want. I don’t care. But she’ll be here. She knows what will happen if she doesn’t show."

Jericho nodded wearily. "Well, good luck, man."

Benoit slowly returned his nod.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

They hit fists and Jericho continued on his way.

* * * *

"Angel!" Jericho screamed. "Angel! Where the hell are you?"

He’d been searching forever, it seemed, and he still couldn’t find her.

"Come on out here so I can kick your ass!"

She wasn’t in his and Benoit’s locker room, she wasn’t in the women’s locker room, she wasn’t in catering and worse yet, she wasn’t at Benoit’s match, which he was currently losing. After Jericho was done beating her, Benoit was gonna want a turn. Maybe between them they’d actually knock some sense into her. Surely that wasn’t too much to hope.

"Angel!" he cried, throwing open the door to yet another locker room. "Get your ass out here!"

The inhabitants of the room, Billy Gunn and Test, stared at him expectantly.

"Hey. You guys seen Angel?"

Test gave him a look that was true to his name. Testy. "Have you asked the Hardyz? She’s probably with them."

Jericho nodded slowly. "Thanks. Hey, what are you guys even doing here? You don’t have matches."

"Yeah, thanks for reminding us," Test scowled. "You wanna leave now?"

Jericho raised his hands. "Relax, junior. Listen, if you see her, tell her Y2J is hunting her down."

"Will do," Test replied, closing the door in his face.

Jericho stared at it for a minute before heading off again. That hadn’t gone too bad, considering. At least Test knew who Angel was. When he’d asked for her at other locker rooms, the other wrestlers went, "Who’s that?" It was tragic, what steroids did to a person’s mind. Just look at Scott Steiner and Ric Flair. Whoo! Jericho smiled mockingly at his former workmates and pushed open the next door. He had entered the Hardy Zone.

"Hey guys."

"Hi Chris," Matt replied. "How’s it going?"

Jericho raised his eyebrows. "Well, I lost my match. Listen, I’m looking for Angel. Have you guys seen her?"

Jeff scowled from his position on the bench. "Have you asked Test? I’ll be she’s with him."

Jericho blinked disbelievingly. Test and Jeff could fight over Angel on their own time. He had a bitch to catch.

"Never mind," he shrugged, before turning to Matt. "Good luck out there, junior."

"Thanks," Matt smiled. "We’ll see you later?"

"Yeah," Jericho nodded, leaving the room. Maybe she’d skipped town. That would be the smart thing to do.

"Angel! Come out, come out, wherever you are."

He threw the next door open and peered around cautiously. No one there. This place sure did have a lot of locker rooms. Most people were probably watching the show in catering.

His theory was proven when he tried the next locker room. A tumbleweed could have rolled across there and not looked out of place.

He sighed. "Angel, I’ve had about enough of this. I’m gonna find you sooner or later. You might as well show yourself."

He opened the next door. Yet another empty room. Just as he turned to leave, something caught his eye and he spun back around.

"What the…?" He raced into the room and crouched by her side. "Okay, baby. I found you. You can get up now."

She wasn’t moving. She was facedown. Frowning, Jericho turned her to her side and lightly tapped her face. Her nose was bleeding and her eyes were closed.

"Hey Angel. Get up, all right? This isn’t funny. Angel, can you hear me? Can you hear me?"

She still didn’t move. He leaned over and put his ear next to her mouth, listening for the rush of air into lungs. This was bad. This was very, very bad. He stopped thinking and turned her onto her back before lowering his mouth onto hers and counting in his head as he breathed.

"One…two…three…four…five."

He checked for a pulse. Oh shit.

"Can we get some help in here!" he screamed as started compressions. "Help!"

Fifteen compressions, two breaths, check pulse every minute or four cycles. He was surprised at how calm he was, considering he didn’t know how long she’d been out. Considering this was just some shit he’d learned in high school and he didn’t even know if he was doing it right.

"Get an ambulance!" he cried as he started a new cycle. "Get EMTs. Just help!"

Finally, some people heard his cries. They took over as he sat back, feeling dazed and lightheaded. He couldn’t believe he’d been thinking of kicking the crap out of her. Obviously someone had beaten him to it. She might already be dead.

They had her loaded onto a gurney and were still working frantically. Jericho followed absently, watching like a hawk.

"I’ve got a pulse!" someone cried and he exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

They loaded her into an ambulance and strapped her onto a ventilator. It was breathing for her. He nodded solemnly and climbed into the vehicle without a word. No one challenged him. They sped into the night, sirens blaring. He sat next to Angel, watching her, watching the EMTs monitoring her, and still not really knowing why.

He did know who, though. He’d known that before he’d even found her lying on the ground. The yellow basketball jersey hanging in one of the lockers gave it away. No matter what happened at the hospital, Edge and Christian were going to pay. This time they’d gone too far.

* * * *

Benoit opened the door to the locker room and stepped inside. He’d run to the shower quickly, to savor the glory of his miracle win in sudden death overtime. It was only now that he realized something was wrong with the locker room.

The bitch hadn’t shown up for his match and he’d used the shower to think up new and brutal ways of punishing her. Or he could just send her home. He’d had about enough of her and it wasn’t as though she hadn’t been warned. But that was before he realized all her stuff was still in the locker room…as was Jericho’s.

Benoit wondered whether Jericho had found her and taught her a lesson. She deserved it. Still, she knew what she was doing. If Jericho touched her, Benoit would have to fight back. It was bullshit, but those were the rules. And the damn bitch knew it, just as good as Benoit did.

There was a knock at the door.

"Yeah?" Benoit asked, raising his eyebrows and his gaze to see who was there.

"Mr. Benoit?" It was a messenger, dressed in a WWF polo shirt. "It’s about your manager, sir."

"Yeah, where is the slut?" he asked, picking up his gear and not paying attention to the messenger.

"They took her to hospital, sir. She was assaulted."

Benoit blinked and turned his head. "Jericho?"

"He went with her."

Benoit processed this. "Okay. What hospital?"

He nodded as he was told. That was typical. A lot of hospitals refused to treat wrestlers. They said if the wrestlers wanted to make a living beating the crap out of each other, they could treat themselves. Some places were okay, though, and this hospital was obviously one of them.

"Okay," Benoit said slowly. "I’ll head right over there."

He gathered Angel and Jericho’s things together into gym bags, hoisted all three bags onto his shoulders and set off.

* * * *

"What the hell’s the matter with you, Y2J?" Benoit snapped when he tracked Jericho down in the ER. Not that Jericho was inconspicuous. He was still wearing his wrestling trunks.

Jericho spun defensively. "Hey, I didn’t do it. I may have wanted to, but I would never have gone this far. Give me some credit."

Benoit frowned at him but handed over a hockey jersey. "Here."

"Thanks," Jericho replied uneasily, pulling it over his head.

People had been staring before and they were staring now. No one had actually physically bothered him though and for that he was grateful. As good as he was to the Jerichoholics, he was in no mood to sign autographs.

"So?" Benoit prompted, taking a seat across from him.

Jericho shrugged. "She’s in surgery or something. They don't like to tell you much around here."

Benoit nodded slowly. "So, if you didn’t, then who?"

"You have to ask? We both knew this was going to happen. She’s a damn fool."

Benoit blinked heavily. "Edge and Christian." It wasn’t even a question.

"I’m afraid so. And I can’t prove it, but I think Rhyno and Kirk had something to do with it too."

"Kurt? But I was kicking his ass."

"Junior," Jericho sighed. "You saw Regal’s duchess friend. That wasn’t Angel, was it?"

"No," Benoit replied.

"Yeah," Jericho mused. "That’s what I thought." Benoit frowned at him so he went on. "When I found her she was already badly bruised. She’d been there awhile."

Benoit swore. "So is she gonna die?"

Jericho wearily raised his hands. "I don’t know, man. I guess we just sit tight until they tell us something."

Frustrated, Benoit shook out his aching shoulders. Anyone who said being a pro wrestler was an easy job had obviously never wrestled.

The two Canadians sat in silence for a while. Jericho had his head down; Benoit was deep in thought.

"Jericho?"

Jericho slowly raised his head.

"You can go back to the hotel. This is my problem now. I’ll deal with it."

Jericho shook his head.

"Nah," he replied, forming a small smile. "I wanna be here when she wakes up so I can see her face when I tell her I saved her life. She’ll hate that."

"You saved her life?" Benoit frowned.

"If she lives, yes. I gave her CPR. The kiss of life from Y2J. Lucky girl."

"You’re right," Benoit nodded solemnly. "She will hate that."