TOO LATE?

RAW IS WAR, APRIL 30TH, 2001

Benoit’s eyes slowly blinked open and he was hit with the sudden realization that he’d been asleep. Weird. He was sitting up and he completely felt like death. He tried to shake out his shoulders but found them stiff, painful and barely responsive. Terrific. He knew better than to sleep sitting up. Then he looked around and remembered. The whore had been beaten to within an inch of her life. He was at the hospital. He groaned a little and squeezed his eyes shut at the pain and heaviness of his body and mind. Suddenly, there was a strong smell in his nostrils and his eyes shot open again. Coffee. Jericho was there, forcing coffee under his nose. Benoit pushed his wrist away, almost spilling the hot liquid.

"No, I don’t drink…"

"Just drink it," Jericho cut in. "You’re gonna need it. Trust me."

Benoit glared at him, but wrenched the cup from his hand and took a sip. He almost spat it out, it tasted so bad.

"I hate coffee," he scowled.

"Just drink it, junior."

Benoit shook his head but sipped it again. The taste and smell were overpowering. The warmth of the drink roared through his veins, reviving his senses. When he was done he handed the empty cup back to Jericho, who was watching with an amused smile on his face.

"I told you."

Benoit just nodded and tried to stretch his legs. "You think it’s too late to head up to Milwaukee?"

Jericho shrugged. "No. Why, you want to?"

"I don’t know." He scrambled to his feet. "Anyone around here talking?"

Jericho shook his head. "Not to me."

"I’ll make ‘em talk," Benoit replied with certainty.

In about ten minutes, he was back.

"Let’s go."

Jericho stared at him quizzically. "What did they tell you?"

"They’ve finished surgery, she came through that okay. They induced coma, she’s in the ICU. There’s nothing we can do so we should just go."

Jericho frowned. "Is she gonna die?"

Benoit shrugged. "They’ll keep her in a coma until the swelling goes down. What matters is how long she stopped breathing before you found her. If it was more than a few minutes, she’s a damn vegetable."

Jericho nodded solemnly. "If she lives at all."

"Yeah," Benoit muttered.

Jericho sighed and shook his head. "Man, this is major."

"I know that," Benoit replied impatiently.

"You wanna go to Milwaukee?"

"There’s no point staying here. Besides," he added, finally breaking into a modified version of his smirk. "We have some beatings to perform."

Jericho nodded. "You’re right. Let’s get out of here."

* * * *

"Chris!"

Both Jericho and Benoit turned around, but Trish Stratus left no doubt as to which one she meant, stepping right up to Benoit and throwing her arms around him.

"I heard something terrible happened to Angel."

Benoit looked past Trish and exchanged a glance with Jericho. Had Edge and Christian been talking? They were damn fools if they had.

"Yeah," he replied, completely unresponsive to the gentle pressure of her hands as they massaged the muscles in his back.

"I hear she got beat up," Trish went on. "Where is she? Is she okay?"

"She’s in hospital in Chicago," Benoit informed her, wondering how long he should wait before shoving Trish away.

Trish shifted position, bringing her hands up to the sides of Benoit’s face and locking her hazel eyes with his blue ones. "Are you going back there? After the show, I mean." When Benoit nodded, ort at least tried to, she continued. "’Cause I want to go too. Angel’s my friend and I want to like…be there for her."

"Listen, Trish," Benoit started, giving her a little push away and reclaiming control of not only his nasal passages, but his taste buds, which had until then been drowning under the weight of her perfume. "I have some business to take care of here and then I’m leaving. If you’re ready to go when I am, you can come with me."

Trish’s eyes lit up.

"Okay," she smiled, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, Chris."

She headed off, swaying her hips and flipping her hair, almost like a cartoon character.

Benoit just shook his head and turned to Jericho. "Come on."

Jericho fell into step beside him and sniffed the air.

"Nice perfume you’re wearing."

"Shut up," Benoit snapped.

"Relax, junior," Jericho grinned, pushing open the locker room door. "What we gotta do is decide who we’re blaming for this, because payback is a bitch."

Benoit nodded thoughtfully.

"Wanna know what I think?" he asked quietly. "I gave her my word so I have to keep it. I think we blame all four. Kurt, Rhyno, Christian and Edge. We hunt them down and take them out, one by one."

Jericho mirrored his nod and broke into a grin. "Sounds like a plan."

"Let’s go," Benoit suggested and they set off.

* * * *

Rhyno walked purposefully down the hallway, shoving Doritos laced with refried beans, cheese, guacamole, salsa and sour cream into his mouth. Life was good. He had nachos. He had a title belt. Title belts were good. And it was the hardcore title belt. That was really good. He’d had title belts before, but not in the WWF. The ECW championship. He’d been the last to hold that one. Still had it, actually, because technically no one had ever taken it away from him. Sometimes, before he won the hardcore title, he used to wear the ECW belt around. That didn’t go down well. He’d copped a lot for it. People just didn’t respect the belt. Well, Paul E did. Paul E was from ECW. Now he sat next to the redneck in the hat. Paul E was good. He knew what respect meant. And now Rhyno held another belt, maybe other people would learn respect too. That would really be good.

Just then, he stopped suddenly. Someone was in front of him. It was Angel’s owner.

"Hello, Rhyno," he said from a face that was all teeth. Except that missing one.

"Uh, hi," Rhyno replied, pushing past Angel’s owner.

That was his mistake. Suddenly, he was grabbed form behind into a full nelson and suplexed to the ground. Then he saw a flash of long golden hair. Edge, perhaps? But no! The golden-haired man was wielding a trashcan. Bam! It was on Rhyno’s head. Then he fell on the ground. He rolled a little as people attacked the trashcan. Then the trashcan was put right again, with Rhyno’s legs emerging from the top.

"That oughta hold him," called a voice.

"One down, three to go," added the other.

Rhyno was upside down in the trashcan. He tried to move but something was stopping him. He was trapped. So he shoved some more Doritos into his mouth. He was still trapped. But he still had his nachos and he still had his title belt. Life was still good.

* * * *

Edge left William Regal’s office with a grin on his face. That had totally gone well. He had his title shot and that toolshed Matt Hardy was going down, just as he should have last night at Backlash. It hadn’t happened for Christian, but if Edge had his way, it was going to happen tonight – at least one of the E to the C was totally getting his hands on gold. Man, they deserved it. Not only were they the seven time tag team champions, they were also brutally good looking, not to mention the most photogenic team in the history of the WWF. If only they gave out gold for that. There would be no contest. Edge and Christian, all the way.

Speaking of Christian, it was very unusual for him to not be around, but Edge had wanted it that way. Christian was totally suklaged over losing last night. The last thing Edge needed was Christian blowing his fuzzy yellow top and reekacizing the chance at the title. So Edge had sent him to get sodas – ‘cause sodas rule, and told him to meet him at the locker room. Edge loved his brother, he so did, but losing totally sucked and nothing reeked like a newly crowned loser. That’s just how things were.

Boom! Suddenly, someone flew into Edge’s back. He spun defensively but found himself on the ground. Someone grabbed his legs, turned him over and then pain roared through his back and neck. He knew what this was. The Walls of Jericho. So he tapped. But before his hand even hit the ground, his arm was being wrenched around, then it was trapped in a fleshy vice. Hands were on his face, his neck snapped back. The crippler crossface. Two simultaneous submission holds. If Edge had to bet his life, he’d bet it on the fact that even if he tapped, they wouldn’t let him go. So he did the only thing he could do. He screamed.

As the pain seared his flesh, one thought seared his mind.

‘If I get out of this, I have to warn Christian. They’re onto us. I have to warn Christian.’

* * * *

Sporting a cheerful expression, Christian closed his eyes behind his shades and plunged his hands into the bowl of ice, pulling out two cans of drink.

"We have soda!" he cried joyfully, before peering at his lucky dips. Pepsi and Pepsi. Awesome! Pepsi totally ruled. And Edge loved Pepsi – who didn’t? This was going to be an awesome night.

Clicking the still damp cans together, Christian left catering and headed for the locker room, wondering whether Edge had been victorific in his quest for a title shot. If so, he’d totally win it. It was a sure thing. And then they’d get their tag titles back and become eight time champs, plus Edge with double gold. Outstanding!

Just then, his grin froze on his face. Chris Benoit was sitting on a chair in the hallway, his face expressionless.

"Hey Benoit," Christian said calmly.

"Christian," he replied.

That had gone okay. Benoit was his usual sucktacularly unfriendly self. Christian didn’t trust him, but he wasn’t quite past yet.

"I heard Angel got attacked. That’s gotta suck," he said smoothly.

Benoit said nothing. He just raised his eyebrows. It made Christian uneasy and he shrugged his shoulders as he passed by.

"So yeah, I guess I’ll see you later, mon frere," he said, before muttering under his breath, "Dork."

"Oh, Christian?" He stopped and turned back, jumping noticeably at what he saw. Benoit was standing now, holding the chair over his head. "I’m not your brother."

"Yeah," Christian muttered, quickly turning to escape.

In the same split second he noticed that Jericho had appeared from nowhere, two chairs cracked across his skull. He dropped both Pepsis and fell to the ground, completely out cold.

Benoit and Jericho violently threw their chairs onto Christian’s fallen body. As Jericho picked up the cans of Pepsi, Benoit spoke, his voice full of mocking.

"What’s it they call that? The con-chair-to?"

"That’s it," Jericho nodded, tossing one can to Benoit. "Conchairto. In major jackass."

They clicked their cans together in a toast to Christian and drank.

"One to go, eh?" Jericho asked with a grin.

Benoit nodded coolly, breaking into his smirk. "One to go."

* * * *

After a quick and fruitless search for Kurt Angle, Benoit and Jericho returned to their locker room. They’d hardly been there a minute when there was a knock at the door and a scrawny fetcher guy appeared.

"Revised match list," he said nervously, holding out a piece of paper.

"Thanks, junior," Jericho nodded, taking it from him as the guy quickly made his escape.

Jericho gave Benoit a pointed glance, scrunched it into a little ball and prepared for the three point shot into the trashcan.

"Wait," Benoit stopped him. "We should look at that."

"What?’ Jericho frowned. "With our relationship with commissioner assclown, you actually expect to have matches?"

"Well, I won’t," Benoit shrugged. "Right now I don’t have a manager."

"Well, Angel’s been making my matches too."

"Still," Benoit mused. "We should check it out."

Jericho sighed and opened the paper, then smoothed it down and read it. "Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me!"

"What?" Benoit frowned.

"Excuse me," Jericho said through clenched teeth. "I have a friend to visit."

* * * *

"What the hell do you think you’re doing, you assclown?" he cried, bursting into the commissioner’s office.

Regal looked mortified and covered the phone. "Do you mind? I’m making a very important telephone call." He uncovered the phone and spoke into it. "I’m dreadfully sorry, mother, but a frightfully rude individual just appeared in my office raving like a bloody maniac and…"

"Maybe you didn’t hear me," Jericho snapped, pressing his palms down on Regal’s desk and leaning forward threateningly, right into the commissioner’s face. "I said, what the hell do you think you’re doing, you assclown?"

Regal jumped back with a start. "Look, mother, I’m sorry, but I shall have to speak with you later. A certain situation demands my attention. Cheerio, mother." He put the phone down and glared up at Jericho. "Now, young man. How may I help you?"

"You can start by explaining this," Jericho scowled, slamming the paper down on the desk.

"Ah, yes. I had a visit from that young man just moments before that list went to press. Delightful boy, incredibly articulate…"

"William. I can call you William, can’t I, assclown? Would you please shut the hell up? Now," he continued, taking stock of Regal’s besmirched face. "Get to the point and make it quick."

Regal was now in defensive mode. "He asked for you specifically. You or Benoit. And since I have an arrangement with Miss Torres regarding Benoit’s matches, it had to be you. Plus, there is the added incentive of the title. I thought that would please."

"Cut the crap, Regal. We both know why you did it. You did it to spite me. You wanna see me get my ass kicked."

Regal eyed him curiously. "Well, if you know why, may I ask how come you’re wasting my time now?"

Jericho formed a sick little smile. "I’m going to get you for this, Jerky. Mark my words."

He turned to leave, then spun back around and leaped over the desk, right onto Regal. The chair fell backwards as Jericho landed a few punches. Regal cried out and before they knew it, security guards were in there, separating the two. Jericho struggled as four men forced him to the door.

"I’m going to get you for this!" he screamed again. "This isn’t over!"

Regal adjusted his clothing and set his chair right.

"I agree, young man," he mused. "It most certainly is not."

* * * *

Jericho was still fuming when he reached the locker room.

"Let me guess," Benoit said quietly. "You’re still facing Rhyno?"

Jericho didn’t answer, except to pound one fist into the other palm.

"Let’s go find Kirk," he suggested. "I’m in the mood to kick some ass."

"No," Benoit replied emphatically. "You get ready for your match. I’ll deal with Kurt."

"What?" Jericho cried, not liking that suggestion one little bit.

"I already kicked Kurt’s ass last night," Benoit explained. "He’s almost learned his lesson. Almost."

"Are you sure?" Jericho frowned.

Benoit nodded slowly. "I have a plan. This one I’ll deal with alone."

* * * *

Benoit sprinted down the hallway, having stopped only long enough for Jericho to throw him his bag and then he was on his way. His plan had gone even better than expected. Kurt didn’t even know what hit him.

As soon as Raw started, the Olympic Zero had headed out to the ring so he could complain about the unfairness of last night’s Backlash match, as Benoit had known he would. He had accused Benoit of cheating and riled up the crowd some. Benoit had just been planning on attacking him from behind, which he did, but after suplexing Kurt onto his head and out of the ring, Benoit had looked down and spotted something. Kurt’s gold medals. The bitch would be lost without them. So Benoit had picked them up and, before Kurt had even managed to find his feet, he ran back up the ramp. He hadn’t stopped since, not even acknowledging shouts of encouragement from the people he passed – including Tazz and Michael Cole. Now he pushed open the final door and entered the parking lot.

"Chris! Chris, wait up. Please!"

He slowed at the urgent female voice. Trish. He’d forgotten about her.

"What is it?" he asked impatiently as he kept walking.

She trotted on behind him, finding it hard to run in her knee-high boots.

"Are you leaving now?" she cried in dismay.

He didn’t reply. They’d reached his car so he popped the trunk and put his bag inside, then slammed it down again.

"You have to wait!" Trish insisted, grabbing his arm.

He spun to her and swatted her off like an annoying little mosquito. "Why?"

"Because I’m not ready. I have to fight Chyna."

Benoit shrugged indifferently and unlocked the driver’s side door.

"Please, Chris!" Trish cried, getting in the way of the door. "I want to see Angel."

"So shut up and get in the car."

"I can’t! I have to stay for my match. If I win I get a title shot."

"You’re not going to win," Benoit replied, pulling the door shut so forcefully that Trish had to jump out the way to avoid getting hit.

Trish tapped on the window, but it remained closed as the car pulled back out of the parking space and drove away. Trish stood in the middle of the space as tears pricked her eyes.

"Come on, Trish. Don’t cry. You have Chyna tonight. Chyna! What would Angel do? She’d get ready to kick ass, that’s what!"

Finally forming a smile, Trish headed back inside.

* * * *

If Jericho had been in a bad mood before his match, now he was absolutely unbearable. From the start the odds had been stacked against him. A hardcore match, with Benoit having left the building. Still, he was game. Then commissioner assclown showed up for color commentary. In other words, he’d say ‘besmirched’ a few times, throw in a ‘toe rag’ or two, cause some trouble and cash his paycheck. Half his luck.

Yet, despite all this, plus the inevitable underdog status he’d had as the match’s challenger, Jericho had actually done quite well. Very well, in fact. He’d had the upper hand for most of the match. Regal, somewhat surprisingly, hadn’t interfered, and he was all set to take away the title…until those two blonde jackasses showed up and sprayed him with a fire extinguisher, causing him to lose his vision just long enough to walk into a powerful gore.

In his first book, Mick Foley had written something along the lines of "Beatings I can take, but an abdominal injury can level a man". He wasn’t far off the mark. Now, about half an hour after the match, after a shower and a heavy rubdown session, Jericho still felt like anything he ate tonight would be in no hurry to stay down.

Still, even though Christian, Edge and Rhyno had gotten the last word in the match, Jericho had the last laugh. With him still crippled from the gore and having not even summoned the energy to leave the ring yet, Regal chose that moment to launch a surprise attack. Bad move, Jerky. Jericho had him on the ground in a flash and started pounding the crap out of him. It took at least five refs to drag him away. Take that, assclown. It almost made it worthwhile losing the match. Almost. It was a title match, after all, albeit the hardcore title, contested mainly by psychos and people who were too big for light heavyweight while not being up to standard in even the Euro division. And if junior, jerky and jackass really thought the rivalry was over, well, they were in for a surprise. It was bad enough that they had attacked Angel. Now, by ruining Jericho’s match, they’d made it personal.

Now he was about to head off to Chicago again to see whether Angel had pulled through. He had no obligation to her personally, but she was a person, after all, a person whose life he’d tried to save. He had a vested interest in finding out whether she’d made it.

So he headed down the hall with one hand on his stomach and the other lugging his gym bag. He wasn’t in the mood for this – driving for two hours and then possibly spending another night in hospital, but sometimes you had to put yourself second. Look at Benoit. He hated Angel but he was probably already back in Chicago. So what about you, Chris? Do you like her? Not as much as Jeff Hardy or Test, apparently. Maybe if she lost the attitude. She really didn’t deserve to be liked. And she pissed him off constantly, but he was pretty sure that was only because she was hurting so much. But why was she hurting? It didn’t make sense.

"Hey Chris."

He raised his head and blinked through the pain. The Hardyz and Lita were walking towards him, talking and laughing. Matt had spoken to him.

"Hey guys. You heading off now?"

"Yeah, now this one’s done," Matt replied, squeezing Lita fondly.

"I challenged Chyna for the women’s title," Lita explained, obviously very proud of herself. As if she stood a chance.

"Right," Jericho nodded. "Well, good luck with that."

"Thanks," Lita grinned. "How about you, Chris? Are you leaving?"

"Yeah," Jericho replied, cringing from the pain. "I’m about to drive down to Chicago again."

"Chicago?" Matt frowned. "What’s back in Chicago?"

Jericho’s eyes widened. Maybe the grapevine wasn’t working as well as it usually did.

"You guys didn’t hear about Angel?"

Lita let out an exasperated sigh. "What did my cousin do this time?"

Jericho shook his head. "She got her ass kicked. She’s in hospital."

"What?" Matt cried as Jeff’s eyes almost bulged out of his head.

"Is she okay?" Lita asked nervously, gripping Matt tightly.

Jericho sighed. "We don’t know. When we left this morning, she was in intensive care. Benoit went down there right after he took Kirk’s medals, but I haven’t heard anything."

"Intensive care?" Jeff gaped. "She…she won’t die, will she?"

Jericho stared at him solemnly. "I don’t know. The assclowns working there didn’t want to tell us much ‘cause we’re not family."

"But I’m family," Lita stated.

Jericho nodded. "Well, maybe they’ll tell you something. You guys wanna come back down with me?"

"Of course we’ll go," Matt announced.

"Okay," Jericho mused. "You’ll all fit in my car. We can stop by the hotel and get your things."

"No need," Matt told him. "We have a car. We’ll follow you down."

Jericho nodded in agreement. "Okay. Let’s go."

"Chris! You guys!"

They stopped short and turned to see Trish, who was still a wreck from her match with Chyna. "Are you guys going to see Angel?"

"Yeah, we are," Jericho nodded.

"Well, can I go too?" Trish asked timidly. "Angel’s my friend. I want to go and see if she’s okay, you know?"

"Sure, Trish. You can ride with me," Jericho told her.

"Oh, thanks, Chris!" Trish cried, throwing her arms around him. "I just have to go get my bags from the locker room. I didn’t check into the hotel yet. I’m always running late." She trotted off before anyone could answer.

"I guess we’re waiting for Trish," Jericho shrugged as they stood in the hallway, baked in an uncomfortable silence.

"Chris." At last, Jeff broke the silence, his voice quiet and unsteady.

"Yeah, junior?"

"Have…have you told Test? Does Test know?"

Jericho frowned. "Why would I tell Test?"

Jeff blinked under the heaviness of his mind, but still didn’t manage to clear his vision. "Well, aren’t they…him and her…Test and Angel, I mean. Aren’t they, you know…a couple?"

"No."

"They…they’re not?" He was stuttering badly and he didn’t know why.

Matt put a steadying hand on his shoulder but he shrugged it off.

"No," Jericho repeated. "Test stopped hanging around more than a week ago."

"He did?" Jeff asked. "So…that’s over, then?"

"Yeah," Jericho nodded. "She never even talks about him."

"Oh," Jeff murmured, nodding to himself.

Jericho thought about adding, "She does, however, talk about you all the time". But he didn’t. The kid already had enough on his mind without having to deal with that. Especially if Angel didn’t pull through. It was a bad thought, but they had to be open to that possibility. If it happened, they’d all have to deal with it. Luckily, he didn’t have to think about it anymore. Trish was back.

"Okay, I’m ready. Sorry I took so long."

"Hey," Jericho smiled, doing the gentlemanly thing and picking up her bags. "You were real quick. Let’s go then."

"Hey Chris," Matt called. "You wanna give us the name of that hospital in case we lose you?"

"Yeah, that’s a good idea," Jericho agreed, digging in his pockets for a pen and something to write on. Matt stepped forward and Lita immediately wrapped her arms around Jeff, the two of them relying on each other for comfort.

"Alright," Matt said at last. "That’s done. Let’s go." He took out his keys as they started off.

"I’m driving," Jeff announced, stepping away from Lita and reaching for the keys.

Matt drew back. "No, you’re not."

"Yeah, I am," Jeff insisted, trying to grab the keys from his brother. "Come on, Matt. I drive faster than you do."

"That’s what I’m afraid of," Matt told him, his eyes clear and serious. "You’re not driving, Jeff."

"Come on!" Jeff cried.

"No," Matt replied emphatically. "Look at yourself. You can hardly even stand up. I’m not letting you behind the wheel."

"I’m fine!" Jeff cried, throwing his hands in the air.

"No, you’re not. Look, Jeff. You’ve got two choices. Either you ride with me and Lita or you ride with Chris and Trish, but you’re not driving. You’re wrecked by this an I’m not letting you drive."

Jeff glared at his brother and shook his head furiously, then turned and marched away. Lita quickly ran after him, shooting Matt a look over her shoulder.

"What?" Matt called out. "He’s not driving, Lita."

"I know that," Lita snapped. "But you didn’t have to…ugh." She scrunched her face up and turned back to Jeff. "Are you okay, honey?"

"I’m fine, alright?" Jeff muttered. "I’m not a kid."

"I know, Jeff, but this is major."

"I know that!" Jeff screamed, throwing her off and taking off ahead. "I’m fine, okay? I’m fine. Let’s just get in the damn car." He kept walking quickly and suddenly, furiously, upended a trashcan. "Dammit!"

Lita cringed at the crash and stopped short. Matt quickly grabbed her and kept her walking.

"Come on, Lita," he said softly. "Come on, baby."

"My cousin," Lita whispered. "My little baby cousin. Poor Ange. I should have been there for her. Now she’s…she’s…"

"No, Lita," Matt said strongly, putting his hand behind her head and drawing her close. "Don’t so this. We’re gonna go down there and see Angel. We don’t know how she’s doing so we can’t be worrying about her just now, okay? We’ll go down and see how she’s doing and you will be there for her. Okay, Lita? We’ll go as quick as we can. Until then, we’ll just think of her and pray for her…"

"Positive energy," Lita murmured.

"Exactly. So, you think we can do that, honey?"

"Yeah," Lita whispered. "Yeah, let’s go see her."

Matt grabbed the sides of her face, stared deep into her eyes and kissed her gently.

"Let’s go," he echoed, taking her hand and walking her down the hallway.

* * * *

Jericho drove quickly but steadily, his stereo turned down from its usual level but still loud enough to be a welcome distraction from what they were going to have to deal with when they reached Chicago.

"You know what, Chris?’ Trish asked at last.

"What, Trish?"

"Before Angel, I never really had any girl friends, you know? But she’s great. She’s special. I…I really care about her."

Jericho nodded to himself as he concentrated on the road. "You should stick around, Trish. Angel really needs friends like you."

"Yeah, I know," Trish agreed. "How about you, Chris? Are you and Angel close?"

Jericho scoffed. "I wouldn’t say that. She doesn’t exactly like me."

"Really?" Trish cried.

"I’m afraid so,’ Jericho shrugged.

"Oh." Trish took a thoughtful pause. "Well, I like you, Chris."

He broke into a little smile. "Thanks, Trish."

"You’re welcome."

They were silent again.

"How long does it take to get to Chicago?" Trish asked suddenly.

"About two hours. Maybe a little longer."

Trish nodded. "Hey Chris."

"Yeah, Trish?" Jericho asked, trying to be too impatient.

"Do you know what an armdrag takeover is?"

Jericho frowned. Was she serious? "Yes, Trish."

"Angel taught me how to do those," Trish explained. "And scoop slams, too."

"Is that so?" Jericho asked.

"Yeah. If it wasn’t for Angel, I’d be in Right To Censor now. Can you imagine?"

"You in Right To Censor?" Jericho grinned. "No, I really can’t see that."

"I know!" Trish cried, before going quiet. "Angel’s gotta be okay. She’s just got to!"

Jericho nodded. "We’ll go see, okay?"

"Yeah," Trish nodded. "Now she’s my friend, I don’t know what I’d do without her."

Jericho thought about this as he drove on. A whole lot of people cared about Angel – Trish, Jeff, Lita, Matt. Maybe he hadn’t even unearthed them all. And yet Angel had this big old inferiority complex about not having any friends. What was her damn problem? Where did she get off neglecting these people in favor of those jackasses Edge and Christian? Like so many things about Angel, it just didn’t make sense.

* * * *

Matt, Jeff and Lita’s car also traveled quietly. No one was speaking, but a local pop music station played the latest hits into the night.

Jeff was sitting in the back, trying to keep his trembling legs still. Too much energy because he hadn’t had a match. That was his excuse, anyway. It didn’t explain why his vision was still blurry, or rather, streaky. Almost as if he was looking out through a rain-soaked window. But outside it was dry and clear. He didn’t understand it. His head ached too and his mind was heavy, pressing out on his skull from inside, pressurizing his temples. He couldn’t think. He was numb.

‘Migraine.’ A thought broke through . ‘Maybe I’m getting a migraine.’

He’d never had a migraine before, but that didn’t matter, did it? They could come from nowhere, just like this one.

‘How do you treat migraine?’ he wondered. ‘Aspirin? I think I heard somewhere that doesn’t work. Maybe…maybe…maybe I could think if it wasn’t for this damn music.'

The radio was playing a soppy love song by some boyband. It was eating Jeff’s brain.

"Can you turned the radio off?" he blurted. "Turn the damn radio off!"

"Okay, just a minute," Matt sighed, reaching down and turning the dial, silencing the music.

"Thank you," Jeff muttered, leaning back again. "I hate that damn boyband crap."

"Hey Jeff," Matt started.

"What?’ Jeff snapped.

"You know, Angel. She’s gonna be alright, man. She’ll be okay. I promise, she’ll…"

"Shut up," Jeff scowled. "Just shut the hell up."

"Hey, cool it," Matt protested. "I was just trying to…"

"I don’t care!" Jeff cried. "Don’t do it. Don’t tell me she’s going to be okay when you don’t know if that’s the truth. Don’t promise me something you can’t guarantee, okay, Matt? ‘Cause then what happens if she’s not, huh? Maybe she won’t be okay. Ever thought of that? Maybe she’s gonna die. Maybe she’s already dead. We don’t know that, do we? So don’t tell me she’s gonna be okay, alright? Just…just don’t."

From the front passenger seat came the sound of loud sobbing.

"Nice work, Jeff," Matt scolded. "Now Lita’s crying. Just great."

"Yeah? Well, at least I’m not trying to lie to her."

He shut up then, drawing his shaking legs up as far as he could and slamming his head into them. Then he wrapped his arms over his head and curled up as tightly as was humanly possible.

‘Cure for migraine, cure for migraine,’ he repeated in his mind. But there was no point. There was only one cure for this pain and maybe it was already gone.

* * * *

When Lita and the Hardyz reached the hospital, they found the others sitting around an ICU waiting area, looking drained and depressed. Gripping Matt’s hand tightly, Lita wiped away tears and stepped up to them.

"What’s the news?"

Benoit frowned at her. "Serious but stable."

Lita nodded. "Can we see her?"

He shrugged. "I don’t know. They might let you."

Lita turned and stopped a nurse’s passage through the area. "Hey."

"Can I help you?" the nurse asked dismissively.

"Yeah," Lira replied, tucking her hair behind her ears. "I’m here about Angel Torres. Can I see her?"

The nurse frowned. "Are you family?"

"Yeah, she’s my cousin."

The nurse shook her head.

"Immediate family only," she said impatiently, trying to push past Lita.

"Wait!" Lita cried.

"I’m sorry, I have a lot of patients to deal with," the nurse rushed.

Lita quickly ducked around and got right in the nurse’s face. "No, you listen to me. My cousin is in intensive care. She’s from Australia so her parents are at least a day away. She might not even last that long. You see these people around here? We just drove two hours from Milwaukee just to see her. The least you can do is let us."

"I’m sorry," the nurse said brusquely. "Hospital regulations. Immediate…"

"No, I’m sorry," Lita cut in. "Because you’re obviously not hearing me. Me and these others are the only family Angel has here. This man here…" She pointed out Benoit. "…Is her coach. He feeds and clothes her, houses her. That makes him like her father. And this man…" Jericho. "…Is his closest friend, so I guess that makes him her mother."

"Hey!" Jericho protested.

"Shut up," Benoit snapped.

Lita was on a roll. "This woman…" Trish. "…Is her close friend. That makes her Angel’s sister and as for me, even though I’m her cousin, we’ve always been close, more like sisters. This guy…" She pulled Matt close. "…Is my boyfriend, so that makes him like her brother and this…" Jeff. "…Is my boyfriend’s brother and he really, really cares about Angel, so he’s like her brother, too. I heard somewhere that if coma patients hear the voices of their loved ones, it can snap them out of it and make them better. All we want is to see her and talk to her. Please, you have to let us. Please?"

The nurse stared into Lita’s agonized face and let out a sigh. "Okay. Just you six. One at a time. And don’t cause any trouble or I’ll have to throw all of you out. We’re running a hospital, not a zoo."

Lita nodded, relieved. "Thank you."

But the nurse was already gone.

Lita turned back to the others, who were all staring at her. All except for Jeff, who was sitting with his face buried in his hands and didn’t seem to be aware of anything.

"Nice work, sister," Jericho said.

"Yeah," Lita nodded solemnly.

"You go first," Benoit suggested.

Lita shook her head. "No. I should go call my aunt and uncle. Angel’s parents. I’m betting no one’s done that. And even if they have, they’ll want to know updates. They’ll probably fly over here."

The others nodded solemnly. Wrestling was often so separate from the outside word, it was sometimes hard to remember that people like parents existed. But Lita was right. They probably hadn’t been informed.

"So…I’ll go call them," Lita finished. "One of you guys can go in."

"Jeff?" Matt suggested.

Jeff slowly raised his head. "Yeah?" He blinked at Matt as if trying to focus.

"You want to go see Angel, man?"

Jeff frowned.

"Yeah," he said helplessly.

Matt now switched his gaze between his brother and his girlfriend. Right now they both needed him. What to do?

Trish noticed this and leaped to her feet. "Lita, I’ll go with you if you like."

Lita formed a small stressed smile. "Okay. Thanks."

The two of them walked away.

"Come on, Jeff," Matt encouraged, helping him to his feet. "Let’s go see Angel. We’ll see that she’s doing okay right now."

"Okay," Jeff repeated, letting Matt lead him to the door of Angel’s room.

"Alright, man," Matt said softly, patting him on the back. "I’ll have to leave you here. That nurse said we have to go in one at a time. So, just go in and talk to her for awhile, okay?"

Jeff nodded dumbly, gripping the wall and peering into the room. There was Angel. She was just lying there and it was her, it was definitely her. But she didn’t look right. Her face was swollen and bruised, far worse than it had been after the Radicalz attacked. But she’d been okay then. Sore and depressed but…alive, conscious, normal. Now…there were tubes and wires all over her. And machines. Her heart monitor beeped rhythmically. Beep…beep…beep. A respirator or something like it hissed. She just lay there and she didn’t move a muscle. Not even her eyelids. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t her. It couldn’t be her. It was impossible. Impossible.

Suddenly, a breath caught in Jeff’s throat and stayed there. His eyes clouded over and he was blind. His hand slid down the wall and, just before he fainted, he spun around and ran. He ran as fast as he could, blindly, as his heart pounded in his ears and the heart monitor beeped…beep…beep…beep. And the respirator hissed. Inhale…exhale…inhale…exhale. And Jeff kept running, and running, and running.

"Jeff!"

Matt’s voice seemed so far away.

"Jeff!"

Jeff stopped and swayed and nearly fell. Then Matt held him around the shoulders, supporting him, keeping him upright.

"It’s okay, man. It’s okay. It’s okay."

Matt’s voice was soothing. Jeff’s whole body was shaking as he sobbed loudly, openly and his brother held him tight.

"It’s okay, Jeff. It’s okay."

"She’s dead," Jeff gasped. "She’s dead."

"No, she’s not," Matt replied.

"Yes, she is," Jeff insisted. "She’s dead."

"No, Jeff." Matt drew back and looked Jeff deep in the eyes. "She’s not."

Jeff nodded frantically. "Yes she is. Did you see all those machines? So many machines. They make her heart beat. They breathe for her. They feed her. She can’t do any of that, Matt. She’s dead."

"That’s what intensive care means," Matt said gently. "She’s had surgery so she’s real weak right now and she needs help like that. But I swear to you. She’s not dead. She’s actually doing okay."

Jeff inhaled sharply. "She’s not dead?"

"No, she’s not."

Jeff stepped back and wiped away his tears, nodding wearily.

"I um…" he gasped. "I um…" He took a deep breath and tried again. "I love her, Matt. I love her. And it’s too late now. It’s too late." He was crying again, so Matt stepped forward with a protective hug.

"I know you do, man. And it’s not too late. You know, even though she looks bad right now, she’s alive and she can hear everything we say to her. So it’s not too late, Jeff. You can tell her. And then when she wakes up…when she wakes up, you’ll tell her again. And then we’ll work something out with Benoit so she can hang with us, just like before. It’s gonna be okay, Jeff. You’ll see."

"Yeah," Jeff said shortly, his breathing returning to normal. "Yeah."

Matt released him and gave him a sympathetic look. "You think you’ll be okay now?"

"Yeah," Jeff nodded, wiping away tears. "Yeah, I think so."

"Good." Matt put a brotherly arm around him and led him back towards Angel’s room.

"I can’t believe I cried!" Jeff exclaimed suddenly.

Matt just shrugged. "Happens to everyone sometimes."

"Yeah, but I cried like a little girl."

Matt let out a small, therapeutic laugh. "It’s okay, man. No one saw but me."

"God, I hope not," Jeff muttered.

Matt didn’t bother telling him he looked like an absolute wreck. He really didn’t want to know.

* * * *

Pretty soon, Lita and Trish also returned. Lita stepped right into Matt’s embrace.

"How’d it go?" he asked softly.

"They’re freaking, of course."

"Understandable," Matt told her.

"Yeah," Lita nodded. "And they’re heading over here as soon as they can get on a plane."

"Okay," Matt replied. He kissed her gently on the forehead. "Are you alright?"

Lita nodded solemnly, then suddenly spotted Jeff over Matt’s shoulder. "How’s Jeff doing?"

Matt sighed. "He wigged out when he saw her. I think he’ll be okay, though." He lowered his voice. "I’ll explain when I’m sure he can’t hear me."

Lita nodded again and finally stepped out of Matt’s arms. "So, who’s in there, then?"

"Well, that was a barrel of laughs."

They all looked up to see that Jericho was back.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I ran out of things to say."

Benoit raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

"Who’s up?" Jericho sighed.

"Me," Lita replied, before glancing at Matt. "Here goes."

He gave her a small smile and a squeeze and she headed off to talk to her cousin.

* * * *

"Oh, Ange," Lita breathed, staring sadly at Angel’s motionless form. "Ange, Ange, Ange. Look at you. It just…it wrecks me to see you like this. I mean, I know we haven’t exactly been on great terms lately but you’ve gotta know I still care about you. You’ll always be my girl, you know. Always. And I don’t even know what happened between us. I mean, I do, but I don’t. It was so stupid but you made me so mad and it all seems so pointless now because you’re…you’re… You can’t leave me, Angel. You can’t. I don’t know what I’d do if you…" She broke off and rubbed her eyes. "You don’t need me talking like that, do you? I want to be strong for you. There’s no point crying, ‘cause you’re gonna make it, right, Ange? ‘Cause everyone here, they’re all here to see you. We all care about you, honey. You should see Jeff. He’s an absolute mess. And it’s all because of you, how he feels about you. He loves you, Angel. And I don’t know if he’ll ever say that to you, but now I have, and I know you can hear me. He does, you know. So you have to get better. For me, and Jeff and Matt, and Trish, and the Chrises. You’ve just got to, honey. You’ve got to…"

She trailed off and watched Angel for awhile, taking her right hand in both of her own.

"What are we going to do with you, huh? You’ve really got yourself a problem. I knew it was there, I just never knew it’d put you in hospital. You’re too trusting, Angel. You trust your first impressions like they’re the Bible or something. If people are nice to you at first, you’re incredibly loyal and if they’re not, you hate them with a passion. You can’t afford to do that, honey, you just can’t. Because people aren’t always the same, they’re always changing. And you can’t just trust what you already know. You have to be on your toes, all the time, you do. Because tomorrow, the person you think is your best friend could screw you over. And you have to be ready to deal with that, or it’ll destroy you."

Lita took a deep breath and went on.

"When you wake up, I’ll tell you this again. And you’ll probably get mad. You might even stop talking to me for awhile. But if it keeps you from getting in trouble again, it’ll be worth it. ‘Cause you’re my girl and we’ve just got to keep this from happening again. Okay, Ange?"

* * * *

The wrestlers' corner of the waiting room was silent. Benoit stood like a sentinel, except for the fact that he was holding Kurt Angle’s gold medals up in front of his face and swaying them as if trying to hypnotize himself. Jericho was sitting down, his head bowed and hands slightly folded. Jeff was also sitting, but he stared into space and his legs shook noticeably as Matt sat protectively by his side. Trish had been pacing, but she stopped and took in the scene.

"Chris?"

At the sound of her voice, everyone, not just Benoit and Jericho, turned and stared.

"What are you doing?"

Benoit stopped swaying the medals, but this time, Trish wasn’t talking to him.

Jericho frowned at her. "I’m praying. What’s it look like?"

Trish blinked heavily at him and spoke quietly. "Can I pray too?"

Jericho was surprised.

"Yeah," he told her, patting the seat next to him. "Come sit down."

Jeff tilted his head and watched them for a second before turning to Matt, who nodded. Without a word, they got to their feet and joined Jericho and Trish.

Benoit was absently swaying the medals again. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the four of them, now sitting on the floor in a little circle. He sighed and caught the medals in his left hand before watching the show, a frown on his face. He knew Jericho was a Jesus freak, everyone did, but now it looked like he had himself three little recruits. Whatever. If they thought it would help, good for them. Benoit wouldn’t be joining them, just as he wouldn’t be going in to talk to the girl. He was here out of duty. And although Lita’s showing up had technically freed him of obligation, he knew the girl was still his responsibility and would remain so until the parents appeared. But he wasn’t going to pray and he wasn’t going to go in and talk to someone who couldn’t even hear him. If she got better, she got better. If she didn’t, that would suck, but he was no doctor. He couldn’t fix her. Why pretend he could?

* * * *

Lita was in with Angel for a long time and when she returned she looked absolutely exhausted.

"I hated that," she admitted quietly as Matt stepped up to meet her. "It’s just so hard to be positive when she looks like that."

"Yeah," Matt replied sympathetically, enveloping her in his arms. "But the good news is she’s hanging in there, right?"

"Yeah, you’re right," Lita sighed. "Still, God, Matt. It’s just…" She trailed off miserably.

"I know," Matt soothed, stroking her hair. "I know."

Lita steadied her breathing and wiped away her tears before peering meekly at the others over Matt’s shoulder.

"Sweetie," she called out to Jeff. "You want to try again?"

Jeff raised his head, a bewildered look on his face. He nodded slowly and scrambled clumsily to his feet. He stood still for a moment, then took a huge breath before taking a few tentative steps.

"I’ll be okay," he assured Matt and Lita as he passed them.

Matt reached out a hand and patted him on the back, which also served to propel him forward. Soon he reached the entrance to Angel’s room again, grabbed the wall with his left hand and slowly opened his eyes, not knowing why he’d closed them in the first place. He caught one look at Angel and his heart stopped. His eyes started glazing over again and he was struggling for air.

‘Why did I think this would be easier?’ he wondered as he heaved air into his lungs. ‘’Cause Lita and Chris Jericho managed it. That’s why.'

He was hyperventilating now; his hand slid down the wall. He couldn’t see a thing. He collapsed onto the ground and put his head between his legs – anything, anything to shake these feelings.

* * * *

Back in the waiting area, Matt and Lita heard a cry.

"What was that?" Lita asked fearfully.

Another cry rang out.

"Shit," Matt swore. "It’s Jeff."

They both ran after him without another word.

Trish waited a few minutes, then got to her feet and headed to Angel’s room.

Matt and Lita were crouching with Jeff near the entrance, their heads close together and arms enclosing him.

"You guys, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to see Angel."

Matt raised his head.

"Go ahead," he said solemnly. "We’re going to be here a while."

Trish nodded sadly. "When Jeff’s ready, you can kick me out. I just think someone needs to be with her and I want to see her."

Matt gave a small half smile. "Thanks, Trish."

She nodded again and entered the room.

* * * *

"So Chyna kicked my ass, I’m afraid," Trish said. "I mean, I kind of knew it was going to happen, but I still thought I’d do better than I did. I think I needed you in my corner, helping me choose what to do. I think even if you were there, Chyna would have won. She’s amazing, Angel. I don’t know that anyone’s ever going to beat her. I think Lita figures she can do it and good for her, I say. Maybe she can. I think if anyone can, it’s her. Or maybe you. No one’s ever seen you fight, but you know so much! I think you could beat Chyna. I really do."

Trish’s voice was steady and confident, belying the fear and worry she was feeling. She was used to wearing masks and now was no different.

"Oh, I almost forgot to tell you," she rushed on. "I think this is that hospital from ER, because when me and Chris Jericho were walking in here, I saw this doctor who looks exactly like that Noah Wyle guy, only hotter. You should see him, Angel. He is so fine!"

"Trish?"

She turned around. Jeff was standing alone in the entrance to the room.

"Can I see her? I mean, I know it’s your turn, but I’d really like to try again."

Trish nodded slowly. "Sure, Jeff. I’ll just finish here." She turned back to Angel. "Well, Angel. I guess my time’s up. Jeff’s here, so try not to give him too much trouble, okay?" She leaned over the tubes and gave Angel a kiss on the forehead. "I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?" She turned back to Jeff. "She’s all yours."

"Thanks," Jeff replied weakly.

Trish stepped past him, reached out and squeezed his hand.

"Good luck, eh?" she said, giving him a sympathetic smile.

"Thanks," Jeff repeated and then she left him alone. Alone with Angel.

"Come on, Jeff," he breathed, wring his hands together. "How pathetic are you when even Trish Stratus is feeling sorry for you? Come on. You have to do this, man."

By now he was in the room, almost to the bed. The machines still beeped and hissed. Angel still didn’t move, but he was almost there, almost to her side. Suddenly he felt his legs going again and his vision as well. Before he could even think of turning and running, he stumbled forward, grabbed the chair and threw himself onto it. It worked. His vision cleared and he could breathe.

Finally, when he felt like he could handle it, he raised his head and looked at her. She really did look dead – like she’d been in a car wreck. Much of her face was covered in various plasters. Her eyes were closed. Her dark lashes were still. She was so still. Her chest rose and fell. That was all. He had to touch her, to make sure she wasn’t dead, but he didn’t want to hurt her.

Her right hand was in front of him. It didn’t look too bad. Not bruised or swollen. Before he knew it, he was trailing his finger along it, too scared to press any harder. Finally, he moved his wrist so that his whole hand was over hers.

"Angel," he gasped, twisting his hand around hers so he was holding it. Her hand was warm but it didn’t move. She didn’t link her fingers with his. "Angel. My beautiful little Angel."

He leaned forward and pressed his head against the bed, next to her body.

"Angel, Angel. I’m so, so sorry." By now he was sobbing again, holding her hand and crying, the top of his head touching her side.

Jeff said nothing for a long time. He just sat and cried and held Angel’s hand. Suddenly he heard a noise and sat up with a start.

"Sorry, just me," called a nurse as she bustled around Angel’s bed. "Just checking her vitals before we change shifts."

Jeff nodded wearily. "Do you want me to go?"

"No, you’re fine right there. I’ll just be minute."

Jeff exhaled a breath and stared at the nurse, who soon sensed she was being watched and glanced over at him.

"Are you her husband?" she asked gently.

"No," Jeff replied. "I mean, she used to be my girlfriend, but I let her get away."

The nurse frowned. "You didn’t do this to her, did you?"

"No," Jeff insisted. "I would never…if she was with me, this would never have happened. I wouldn’t have let it. I would never, never hurt Angel. I…I…well, you know."

"You still love her?" the nurse guessed.

"Yeah," Jeff sighed.

The nurse smiled sympathetically. "You know, you can talk to her. I believe that she can hear everything you say and I know she’d love to hear your voice."

Jeff nodded meekly. "I know. But I don’t really have mush to say right now."

"Just take your time," the nurse suggested as she filled something in on Angel’s chart and returned it to its holder.

"So, how is she?" Jeff asked nervously.

"Still fighting," the nurse smiled. "It might be some time before we know anything, so the best thing to do is just keep praying for her. Now news is good news in this case."

Jeff nodded again. "Thank you."

"It’s my job," the nurse smiled again, heading off to check on the next patient.

Jeff was left alone with Angel again. He still didn’t know what to say to her so he kept holding her hand and watching her chest rise and fall, rise and fall, keeping her alive. An hour later, with his head down on the bed, one hand on hers and the other gently on her stomach as he felt her breathe, he fell asleep.

* * * *

Benoit stood against the wall, still playing with the medals. He’d been swaying them for a long time now, so he stopped and took a look around. It was late…or early, depending on your opinion, but no one had made a move to check into a hotel.

Lita was curled up on Matt’s lap, drifting in and out of sleep as he soothingly ran his hand up and down her arm. He wasn’t sleeping, but his eyes were closed and he looked peaceful. Trish was sitting next to Jericho and was sleeping with her head on his shoulder. Jericho sat there, eyes open, blinking from time to time. Benoit stepped over and sat on his other side.

"Hey."

"Hey," Jericho replied, giving him a tired look.

"What do you think?" Benoit asked.

Jericho took a deep breath. "I think she’s gonna make it."

"Yeah. Me too," Benoit nodded. "She’d better."

He folded his arms across his chest, daring Jericho to call him on what he’d said. He’d meant it. Maybe he didn’t give a crap about her, but these other people did. If she was selfish enough to die now…well, that would piss Benoit off more than anything else in the world. Maybe she’d been foolish. Maybe she’d deserved the beating. But these other people didn’t deserve it. So she couldn’t die. And that was all there was to it.