THAT OLD FEELING

SMACKDOWN, MAY 17TH, 2001

Angel’s breaths came in ragged gasps as she tried to ignore the pain in her neck and upper back. Benoit had the waistlock on and she’d already gone for one German. Bam! Her back hit the ground again and she cried out a little. She felt him hoisting her to her feet for the third, never breaking the waistlock.

"Reversal!" her brain screamed. "Reversal!"

Just then, time seemed to freeze as she puzzled over it, as if the universe wasn’t ready to see her go for the third suplex like she had on so many other mornings. Her first instincts told her "low blow", but she’d never hear the end of it if she tried that. Time wouldn’t stop forever. She had to act.

Wham! Her elbow swung through the air and clipped Benoit right on the chin. His head snapped back and, while he didn’t release the hold, he relaxed it just enough for Angel to wriggle to his side, tangle her legs with his and slam him down in the side Russian leg sweep. In a second she’d bounced back to her feet and was beckoning for him to stand.

"Come on, jackass. Show me what you’ve got."

Benoit furiously ran at her for a clothesline, but she ducked her legs down for the perfect drop toehold. Benoit flew forward, right into the ropes. Angel measured his fall and rolled just a little towards the ropes as Benoit toppled backwards. At just the right moment, she reached up, grabbed Benoit’s waist and rolled him up for the pin.

"One…two...okay, that’s two. Let him go, Angel. Let him go."

Angel frowned as she got to her feet. Since when had the practice session included a ref? Maybe she was still suffering the effects of her Monday night concussion. But she didn’t have much time to think about that – Benoit was getting up. She spun around and met him with a marital arts kick, then grabbed him under her right arm and slammed his face into the mat. Bulldog. Benoit was down, but she knew he wasn’t quite finished yet.

Angel sucked in a huge breath of air and quickly climbed up top. She turned back just long enough to judge the distance before flying in the moonsault. She landed it, hooked Benoit’s leg and one…two…

"Two!" cried the ref. "Get off him, baby."

Baby? Angel was so surprised she dropped Benoit to the canvas and turned to look for Jericho. If this was only in her mind she was one messed up chick. Before she knew it, she was on the mat and Benoit had the crossface locked on.

Angel cried out. Always crossface. He always beat her with crossface. Well, not today. Today she would reach the ropes. He had her left arm in the leg scissors just above the cast, so she dug in deep with her right and legs, trying desperately to scramble forward.

"Go girl," she encouraged herself as the hold became even more painful and it got more and more difficult to even concentrate. "You can make it. You can make it."

It was working. The ropes, barely visible over Benoit’s hands, were coming closer and closer. She was doing it!

And just then, Benoit released the hold, slammed his hands down on the back of Angel’s head, dragged her back into the center of the ring and locked on again.

"Son of a bitch!" Angel screamed. And then she tapped.

"Okay, Benoit. She tapped, it’s over."

Benoit slammed her head into the canvas again, then jumped to his feet, smirk in place. Angel rolled over onto her back and waited while she amassed the energy to get up.

Jericho crouched by her side and offered his hand. She gratefully took it and he helped her to her feet.

"One of these days I’ll break that damn hold," she panted.

"It’s not easy, baby, trust me," Jericho consoled her, before turning to Benoit. "Watch it, junior. She almost had you…twice."

Benoit scowled at him. "Who won?"

Jericho just broke into a grin. "I think you got lucky." He peered back at Angel again. "I really liked your hands free attacks. That’s smart."

Angel grinned. "Thanks. I have to do something to make up for this." She held up her left arm.

"Shooter work," Jericho mused. "Nice."

"Y2J, what are you doing here?" Benoit demanded.

Jericho noticed the irritation in his voice, but was not put off. "I thought the three of us could practice together today."

Benoit sniffed and raised his eyebrows. "She’s done. I beat her."

"This time," Jericho teased, before backing off a little. "Relax, junior. You’re the reason I’m here. I thought I could help prep you for Judgment Day by playing the part of Kirk Angel and throwing his moves at you."

"I already do that," Angel informed him. "You should see my Angle Slam."

"She can’t do an Angle Slam," Benoit muttered.

"Sure I can," Angel insisted. "Only problem is it always ends up as a crossbody for my opponent."

"A crossbody as a reversal for an Angle Slam?" Jericho mused. "Baby, that’s pure genius."

Benoit scowled again, eager to end the mutual admiration society going on in front of him.

"Thanks," he told Jericho. "But I’d rather practice alone."

Jericho just shrugged and turned to leave.

"Oh, come on, Benoit!" Angel cried. "It’ll be fun. I’ll be ref."

"No, you won’t," Benoit snapped.

"Go with it, junior," Jericho suggested.

"Have you seen her ref?" Benoit demanded. "She’ll fast count."

"You’re paranoid," Jericho smirked. "And even if she does, so what? You don’t know what stips Kirk will ask for, do you? Maybe he’ll want commissioner assclown as ref. You think Regal won’t fast count you? You have to be ready for anything."

"Okay," Benoit said slowly. "Little girl, you’re ref. Jericho, you’re Angle. Let’s do this."

Angel looked over at Jericho with a smile. This was going to be fun.

* * * *

Benoit scowled as he followed Angel and Jericho down the hallway. He could hear what they were saying and he was not impressed. He’d beaten Jericho that morning, fair and square, forced him to submit to the crossface, forced the damn whore to call the match, but yet he was the one who felt like the loser.

They were talking about him, each saying the other had let him win that morning in their respective matches when they both knew that was bullshit. He’d beaten them and they knew it. But still they kept on, sneaking the occasional glance back to see if he was listening, like he was some kid they were trying to protect from their words. Their words held no truth and they knew it. He slowly shook his head and wondered if they were going to start spelling out words soon to even further spare him from their lies.

"Bitch!" he snapped. "Go get me a match."

She stopped and rolled her eyes at him, like he was some burden she was saddled with and not the other way around.

"Who do you want?" she asked calmly.

"Kurt Angle."

"Okay." She smiled sweetly. "You got it." She turned back to Jericho. "You wanna keep playing with Edge and Christian, right?"

He nodded solemnly. "I just love those guys."

"Alright," she grinned. "I’ll meet you guys back at the locker room. Try to keep your pants on ‘til then, okay?"

And then she walked away, humming cheerfully.

Jericho waited for Benoit to catch up.

"She’s something, ain’t she?" he asked with a grin.

"No," Benoit replied darkly. "She’s nothing. Nothing."

Jericho raised his eyebrows, mouthed the word ‘okay’ and continued down the hallway, a very pissed off Benoit by his side.

* * * *

Angel pushed open the door to William Regal’s office.

"Hello…"

"Stop right there, Miss Torres. Do not take another step."

Angel cocked her head. "Why not? Is this place rigged with explosives? Come on, Regal. That’s a little excessive, isn’t it?"

Regal glared at her. "I’m deadly serious, young lady. You will vacate my office at once."

Angel folded her arms as best she could and smirked at him. "But I need to talk to you about Benoit and Jericho’s matches."

"They’re already booked. Now leave, Miss Torres."

"What?" Angel cried. "They’re booked? Who for?"

Regal looked down at the booking sheet and read from it. "Mr. Benoit will be facing Kurt Angle and myself."

"What?" Angel cried. "No. He’s not going to go for that. No way."

"…With Rikishi as his partner," Regal went on.

Angel paused. "Tag? Oh. Well, what about Jericho?"

Regal looked disgusted at the mere mention of that name. "He will be facing Edge."

"Just Edge?" Angel asked skeptically.

"Just Edge."

"Oh," Angel said again. "Okay."

"I trust this is satisfactory?" Regal asked evenly.

"Yeah," Angel nodded. "At least, I think so."

"Good. Now get out."

"Huh?"

"Remove yourself, you filthy little tart."

"Come now, that’s not nice, you limey freak."

"Miss Torres!"

"Okay, okay," Angel muttered. "I’m going. "See ya Monday."

She let herself out of the office, still somewhat confused. That had gone far too smoothly. There had to be a catch. Trouble was, she couldn’t figure out what it was.

Oh well, she’d gotten Benoit and Jericho what they’d wanted. If Regal tried anything now, she really couldn’t be held responsible. Could she?

She was still frowning when she reached the locker room and stepped inside.

Benoit took one look at her and broke into a smirk. "You couldn’t do it, could you, bitch? You didn’t get me Kurt. Go…"

"No," Angel cut him off, still frowning. "You and Rikishi have Regal and Angle and you, Jerky, have Edge."

She stepped over and plonked herself down on the bench. Jericho raised his head from where he was applying baby oil to shine up his muscles.

"You seem down, baby."

Angel shrugged. "Something’s not right. I don’t know what, but I just have a feeling Regal didn’t give me the whole story."

"Ya think?" Jericho grinned. "Seriously, baby. Forget about it. If he tries anything, we’ll get him back, just like before."

"Yeah," Angel sighed. "I don’t know. It just doesn’t feel right, you know?"

"It’s called the after effects of a chair shot to the head," Jericho informed her. "I’m feeling it too."

Angel finally smiled. "Just a couple of headcases, right?"

"You got it, baby."

Smile still on her lips, she watched him work the baby oil into his skin. She’d seen Benoit do that before, but she’d never really cared.

"Hey Jerky?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"Do you need some help with that? I could help?"

Jericho gave her a sexy grin. "Thanks, but I got it."

"Okay," Angel shrugged indifferently. "Just thought I'd offer." She got to her feet and stepped over to the punching bag before letting rip. Bam, bam, bam.

"Hey, baby?"

Angel stopped her assault and turned around.

"There's a part on my back I can't quite reach. You think you can get it for me?"

Angel raised her eyebrows and shook out her shoulders. "You had your chance."

"Oh, come on, baby," Jericho cajoled her. "You know you want to."

Angel cocked her head and smirked at him. "Okay," she said finally. "But just this once."

Jericho grinned and held up the bottle of baby oil, then squeezed a little onto the palm of her right hand.

"Just there," he told her.

"Alrighty," Angel mused, sizing up his back, her canvas. She applied the baby oil and watched it trail down his back before she stopped it with a sweep of her hand. She rubbed it in carefully. "How's that?"

"Oh yeah, baby," Jericho teased. "That's good. That's real good. Keep going. Oh yeah, that's the spot."

Angel grinned, shook her head, then brought her hand down on his shoulder with an oily slap. "Jackass."

Jericho turned around, self-confident smirk in place. "You love it."

Angel gave a little laugh. "That's me. Here for all your baby oil needs. Hey Benoit. You want me to do you too?"

Benoit's glare changed as he raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, get your mind out of the gutter," Angel went on. "I meant the baby oil."

"I know what you meant," Benoit scowled.

Angel was unmoved. "Do you want it or not?"

Finally he nodded.

"Okay," Angel told him. She got up and walked over to him, baby oil bottle in hand. When she got there, she handed it to him. "Knock yourself out. And I mean that literally." Then she turned and headed for the punching bag again. She still couldn't shake that feeling that something major was about to happen. Not even giving Jericho a baby oil backrub had helped.

'By the end of the night you'll know,' she told herself. 'I just hope when I do find out, everyone's okay.'

* * * *

Knock knock knock.

Angel leaped to her feet so she could perform her duty as door bitch. When the door flew open, she jumped back a little, suddenly face to face with four hundred and twenty-five pounds of Rikishi.

"Where's Benoit?" he demanded. "Him and me, we gotta talk strategy."

"Come on in," Angel frowned, stepping out of the way. She watched from where she was standing as Benoit and Rikishi, neither of them the most animated man alive, discussed their match.

"Hey Rogue. Wanna help me stretch up?"

Finally roused from her thoughts, she stepped over to Jericho.

"Okay. Stand right there and don't let me push you back."

Jericho pressed his hands against her shoulders and leaned in, stretching his legs.

"Nice, baby. You're just the right height for this."

Angel smiled at the compliment, but her eyes were trained on something else. Jericho turned around and noticed straight away.

"What's wrong, baby?"

"That guy," Angel mused.

"Rikishi Fat-Ass? What about him?"

"Isn't he…oh, I don't know. Evil?"

Jericho scoffed. "Evil? What makes you say that?"

Angel still frowned at the big man. "When I was in Team eXtreme, he stinkfaced Lita and he crushed Jeff's ribs. You know, back when I cared."

"You still care," Jericho said softly.

"Yeah, maybe," she admitted. "He gave Matt a stinkface too. They were my friends and he tried to destroy them. And now I'm supposed to be on his team?"

"Baby, it's just a tag match," Jericho consoled her. "Besides, he rubbed his big fat ass in that slut Stephanie's face last week. Anyone who does that has to be worth getting to know."

"You're probably right," Angel sighed. "Still…"

"You still have that feeling?" Jericho guessed.

"Yeah. I don't know. I just feel like something big's about to happen."

"Well," Jericho commented, eyeing Rikishi. "They don't come much bigger than that guy. You need to relax, baby. Any tenser and you'd be Benoit."

Angel made a face. "We don't want that to happen."

"No, one is definitely enough." He pulled her in for a comforting hug. "It'll be okay, baby. You'll see."

"Ick!" Angel cried. "You're slimy!"

"Your fault," Jericho shot back. "You oiled me up real good."

Angel broke away from him, unable to conceal her grin. "You know what, Jerky? You make me smile. I can't say that about too many people."

Jericho grinned back. "You're sweet," he told her. "So, you wanna get back into these stretches?"

"Sure," Angel nodded. "Sculpt me as you will."

* * * *

Angel and Benoit stood in the backstage area, listening to Kurt Angle speak.

"Now, the good commissioner has allowed me to pick the match which I will beat Chris Benoit in at Judgment Day. Listen up, people. The match I’m talking about is the perfect match."

"Alright," Angel cheered. "Ladder match."

Benoit turned and scowled at her.

"Relax, I’m just kidding," she sighed. "Kurt’d never choose a ladder match. You’d wipe the floor with him."

Benoit had to admit she was right about that, but Kurt was still talking. In fact, he was calling Benoit out.

"Get the microphone," Benoit ordered Angel, watching as the tech guys cued his music. He stepped out onto the stage, microphone in hand and valet by his side.

"Now, Benoit," Kurt went on. "I realize that my precious gold medals, my poor gold medals, are resting comfortably against your genitals."

Benoit looked down as Angel slapped herself in the chest. "I got one right here too, mate. Don’t forget about that."

But she needn’t have worried. Kurt knew all about it.

"I also know that you force Angel, your valet, to keep one nestled safely in her…her…cleavage."

The crowd roared at the mention of that word as Angel grinned smugly. Kurt was not a happy boy, however, and he wanted everyone to know it.

"Personally, I think you’re sick, Benoit! But not nearly as sick as the match that I have in store for you. This Sunday at Judgment Day, I will face you in a straight-up wrestling match."

"What?" Angel cried. "You’ve gotta be kidding."

"No catches, no crazy stipulations. Just you and me, the ring and no excuses," Kurt went on. "How do you like that, Benoit?"

"I’ve pulled better matches out my ass," Angel muttered.

Benoit ignored her and lifted the mic to his mouth. "You know, Kurt Angle. Your idea…it reminds me an awful lot of you. It really sucks!"

"Oh!" Angel cried. "That hurt."

Benoit turned to glare at her, before concentrating on Kurt again.

"You know, it’s like this, Kurt. I say I’m better than you. And I say the fact that I have your gold medals proves it. You know, Kurt, you really disappoint me. I’d have thought you’d have come up with a lot more creative a way than having a straight wrestling match? Now I say we settle this, once and for all, no ifs, ands or buts about it. This Sunday we fight two out of three falls. First fall – pinfalls only. Second fall – submissions only. If that’s okay with you, Kurt."

Kurt smirked over at him. "Hey, that’s fine with me. I have no problem with that. But let’s just say, maybe you cheat again and manage to squeak out a win. Then what happens, Benoit?"

Benoit put his hand on his chin and thought about it. "Well, you know, Kurt. That’s really simple. Ladder match!"

"Ladder match?" Kurt cried indignantly.

"Yes!" Angel cheered. "Watch him squirm."

"If it’s tied at one," Benoit explained. "We take the medals, suspend them above the ring and the first man to climb up the ladder and grab them gets the gold."

"Hold on a second!" Kurt cried. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. A ladder match? No freakin’ way, Benoit. No way."

"Are you scared, Kurt?" Benoit mocked.

"Look at him," Angel sneered. "The bitch is crapping himself."

"Whoa, I’m not scared," Kurt protested. "I’m not scared of anything. If you want a ladder match for the third fall, you got it, buster."

"Oh my God," Angel murmured. "He agreed to it. You’re going to kill him."

"To be honest with you," Kurt went on. "It’s not going to get that far. Now, let’s get on with this match tonight."

Angel gave a little laugh and started with Benoit down the ramp. "Kurt’s a dead man. What is he thinking?"

Benoit turned to give her his death glare. "Jericho’s not here to listen to you pretending to cheer for me."

Angel frowned. "What the hell’s that supposed to mean?"

But Benoit just scowled. "Go stand in the corner. And keep out of it."

"Yes, master," Angel muttered, knowing she wouldn’t. She climbed up onto the steps and watched as Rikishi made his entrance.

Angle and Regal met their opponents outside the ring and it was on. Kurt and Benoit battled past Angel and she bolted off the steps and followed them. Benoit caught sight of her just as he landed a chop to Kurt’s chest.

"Stay in the corner, bitch."

"Fine!" Angel cried, stomping back to the steps.

By now, Regal and Rikishi were in the ring, so Benoit disposed of Kurt, then hurried back to wait for the tag. He got it almost immediately and Angel grinned, ready to go cause trouble.

"Where you headed, girl?" Rikishi asked.

Angel sighed. Benoit must have told him to keep an eye on her. "I’m just gonna go kick Kurt Angle’s ass."

"Okay," Rikishi nodded. "Go for it."

"All right," Angel grinned. Maybe Rikishi wasn’t so bad after all. She raced quickly around the ring. "Hey, Kurt!"

He turned, spotted her, then turned quickly back to the ring. "Go away, Angel."

"Oh, come on. I just wanna talk."

Kurt didn’t answer, so she went on.

"You know, I seem to recall that Regal said you could make the stips for the match on Sunday. And yet you let Benoit call the shots. You know what you are?"

Kurt turned and glared at her. "No. What?"

Angel smirked. "A pussy."

"What?" Kurt fumed.

"You’re a pussy, Kurt. Look at you!"

"You better shut up," Kurt warned. "You better keep your damn mouth closed."

Angel just widened her eyes. "Meow!"

"I’m warning you, Angel…"

Suddenly, there was another voice. "Young man, I’m ready to make the tag."

Angel just gloated at the confusion, and the job well done. But just then, Benoit moved towards his corner, like he was going to tag in Rikishi.

"Crap!" Angel cried, racing back around to where she was supposed to be. She had a couple of seconds as Benoit helped double team Angle and then Regal. Angel grinned. Kurt was out again. Unfortunately, so was Benoit.

"I mean it, bitch. Don’t move."

Angel sighed. "Rikishi!" she shouted. "Tag Benoit! Tag Benoit!"

And just then, he did.

"Yes!" Angel was on the move. "Hi, Kurt. I’m back. Wanna play?"

Kurt ignored her. "Come on, Regal!"

"Here, kitty, kitty," Angel mocked.

Kurt looked across the ring. The ref was busy with Rikishi, so he climbed in and forced Benoit away from Regal, then climbed back out again.

"How’d you like that, Angel?" he gloated.

"Oh, that was real good, Kurt," Angel replied patronizingly. "In fact, I think you deserve a medal for that!" She reached down her top and held up the medal for Kurt to see.

"Hey!" he fumed. "You better give that medal back. You give that back, Angel."

"Kurt!" Regal cried suddenly. "Make the bloody tag!"

Kurt spun back in surprise and Regal slapped his hand. Angel just had to laugh. It wasn’t exactly tough, but she was seriously messing with Kurt’s mind.

"He’ll think twice before he tries to screw with me again," she gloated as she returned to her corner. "Let’s go, Benoit! Come on!"

Benoit had just raised his shoulder from the cover.

"Come on!" Angel cried. "Fire up, Benoit! Fire up!"

Benoit and Angle traded punches, then Angle whipped Benoit into the ropes. Kurt raised his leg for the knee to the abdomen, but Benoit simply grabbed it and rolled him up for a near fall. Kurt kicked out violently, then continued to sink his boot into Benoit.

"Let him up, pussy!" Angel screamed.

Kurt paused to stare at her, then started kicking Benoit again. He grabbed Benoit’s head, hooked his arm and sent him for an Angle Slam, but Benoit reversed into a crossbody and got a two-count before a very surprised Kurt Angle kicked out.

"You’re welcome!" Angel shouted at Benoit. "That was my idea!"

Benoit just scowled and violently chopped Kurt twice before Kurt tried another Angle Slam. Benoit countered, right into the DDT. Both men were down.

"Come on, Benoit!" Angel cried, tapping the mat with her right hand. "You can make it. Tag Rikishi!"

Benoit crawled over and did just that. Rikishi went nuts, cleaning house and plowing both Regal and Angle into the corner before slamming all his weight into them and then hitting Regal with the superkick. Kurt stopped him with a knee to the abdomen, then went for a powerbomb, but he was never going to lift Rikishi, who simply back body dropped him, then collapsed his legs and sat right on Angle’s chest.

"Whoa," Angel laughed. "Maybe that guy is cool. One! Two!"

But somehow, Kurt raised his shoulder. Rikishi frowned down at Kurt’s near motionless body, then stomped over to tag in Benoit, who immediately climbed up top for the headbutt.

"No, Benoit!" Angel cried. "You didn’t signal!"

Sure enough, by the time Benoit came down, Angle wasn’t there. Benoit’s head crashed into the mat and he was out. Angle took his opportunity, grabbing him and finally nailing the Angle Slam.

Benoit was out cold and Rikishi was busy chasing Regal around the ring. Kurt stood over Benoit, trying to decide whether to make the cover…or try something far more disgusting.

"Cover him, pussy!" Angel cried.

Kurt stepped over to Benoit, but instead of making the cover, he lifted the top of the Canadian’s tights.

"No!" Angel fumed. If Benoit came round to find the medal gone, he’d shit. "Come get mine, pussy! That way you don’t have to give Benoit a hand job."

"Shut up, Angel!" Kurt snapped, making a face. He could have chased Angel, but Benoit was right there and he was unconscious. Turning away and cringing, Kurt reached down Benoit’s tights and dug for gold. He withdrew his hand, medal safely inside and leaped to his feet, whooping with joy. He held the medal up for the crowd to see and then, unable to conceal his excitement, he kissed it. And then he remembered where it had been.

"Oh my God!" Angel cried. "That’s not right."

But Kurt kept celebrating and signaling the crowd as Angel nimbly ran to his side. Just then, Benoit found his feet and launched himself onto Angle, bringing him down into the crossface. Kurt put his foot on the rope, but Angel was right there and removed it before the ref saw a thing.

"Tap, pussy, tap!" she sneered. "He’ll break your damn neck and you know it."

Kurt tried desperately to struggle free, knowing that to tap would mean releasing the medal. But finally, he had no choice. The medal bounced onto the mat and then, so did Kurt’s hand. Tap…tap…tap. Benoit held the crossface for a few more seconds as Angel simply reached in and grabbed the medal, then sprinted up the ramp. She hung Benoit’s medal off her broken arm, then reached her good hand down and picked up the other before she held them both in the air.

"We’ve still got ‘em, pussy!" she called to Kurt, who looked like he was about to cry. "Yesterday, today, Sunday. You’re never getting them back. And why? Because you’re a pussy. See you on Judgment Day, pussy!"

Just then, Benoit and Rikishi joined her.

"Give me that!" Benoit snapped, tearing the medal from her left arm.

"Okay, you don’t need to snatch. Hey, nice job out there, Rikishi," she smiled, patting him on the back.

He turned to nod at her. "Thanks, girl."

Angel grinned. "Hey, you wanna see my gold medal? It’s pretty sweet."

She held it just so, giving 6’3" Rikishi the perfect view of her cleavage. Suddenly, Benoit grabbed her arm and dragged her along.

"Hey!" Angel cried. "I was just making friends."

Benoit just scowled at her and dragged her back to the locker room without another word.

Chris Jericho was just finishing his preparations.

"Wish me luck," he smiled confidently.

Angel smiled back. "You want a valet?"

Jericho thought about it. "Sure, Rogue. You can join me."

"No, she can’t," Benoit snapped.

This was news to Angel, who spun accusingly "You said I can valet for whoever I want. Well, I choose him."

"Not this time," Benoit scowled. "You’re still my valet."

"But your match is over!"

Benoit simply shook his head. "Debrief."

"That’s bullshit!" Angel screamed.

"Sit your ass down!" Benoit spat.

Angel scowled at him, then turned to Jericho. "So, it looks like I’m not going. Kick Edge’s ass for me."

Jericho nodded. "You bet, baby."

Angel gave him a fond pat on the shoulder, then stormed over to the bench and threw herself down. She folded her arms and glared up at Benoit. "So, are you gonna take your briefs off, or what?"

Benoit scowled at her. "Don’t be a child."

"Me? You’re the one acting like a jealous five year old."

"Jealous," Benoit repeated furiously. "What do I have to be jealous about?"

"Because Jericho likes me more than he likes you."

"Grow up," Benoit spat.

"You can talk. Considering it’s not even about that today. I just wanted to be there to get Edge and Christian back."

"And I told you to stay out of it."

"Screw you," Angel scowled, jumping to her feet.

"What are you doing?" Benoit demanded.

"Turning Jericho’s match on," Angel snapped, violently flicking the button on the TV. "And if he needs my help I am going out there."

"No, you’re not," Benoit glowered.

"Asshole," Angel spat, throwing her hands on her hips, her face the picture of indignation. "Why don’t you try and stop me?"

* * * *

"No," Angel moaned as Jericho's head hit the deck. It definitely wasn't the first time. She started to get up, then peered over at Benoit.

"Don't even think about it."

"But he's getting the crap beaten out of him!" she protested.

"Then maybe he shouldn't be out there."

Angel sighed and sat back, tuning into the TV again.

Edge grabbed Jericho and slammed his face into the turnbuckles, over and over and over.

Angel gave Benoit an expectant look.

"He can take care of himself," Benoit snapped.

Frustrated, she shook her head and turned back to the TV. Edge was taking the covering from the turnbuckle while Christian distracted the ref. He then picked up Jericho, ready to ram him into the exposed steel holding the ropes together, but Jericho reversed and rolled Edge up for the pin. He only got a two count, but that was enough for Benoit to start gloating.

"See? He can take care of himself."

Angel gave a reluctant nod. Perhaps Benoit was right.

Edge was unimpressed and started pounding Jericho's head, over and over.

"Leave his head alone!" Angel cried helplessly before turning to Benoit. "He keeps hitting him in the head."

Benoit was unmoved. "It's good strategy. What have I told you about working the weak body part?"

"But it's not fair!" Angel protested.

"Maybe not, but it is legal," Benoit shrugged, matter-of-factly.

"God, I'm glad you're not my friend," Angel scowled, before watching the action again.

Edge had a sleeper hold around Jericho's head, not his neck, and he kept squeezing and squeezing and squeezing.

"That's it!" Angel cried. "I'm going out there."

She grabbed a chair and tucked it under her left arm, then headed for the door. Benoit rose to meet her, but she kept going, acutely aware of his position. When he tried to grab her, she simply reached out and sent him for an armdrag takeover. Then she ran.

* * * *

As Angel reached the stage, she heard Edge and Christian's song, but she didn't stop. This wasn't about who'd won - it was about Edge and Christian - what they'd done to Jericho, what they'd done to her. Jericho was motionless in the ring and they were signaling the crowd, the jackasses. Angel ran quietly - she'd be just out of view. Then she looped over behind them. Bam! Bam! A shot to each man's back, before she started running again. Not debilitating by any means, but just enough to make sure they didn't forget about her. Smiling as their shouts of protest filled her ears, she jumped up next to Jericho with the chair still in her hand.

"Are you okay, Jerky?"

"Arrgh, my head," he moaned, clutching it.

"Let me see," Angel told him. "I won't touch it, I swear." He moved his hands to grab at his ribs instead. "Just here on top?"
"Yeah," he breathed through clenched teeth.

"It's not bleeding," she confirmed. "So that's good. Come on, let's get you to the trainer."

She helped him from the ring and up the ramp, taking it really slow.

"Rogue," Jericho murmured painfully, still grabbing at his head as she did her best to hold him up. "Judgment Day. Some sort of tag team tournament."

Angel bit her lip. He was barely lucid and she wasn't quite sure what he was asking her. "Tag Team Turmoil?" she guessed.

"Yeah, that. What is it?"

Angel sighed. He really should have known the answer to that. "It's like the Royal Rumble for tag teams. Two at a time until one remains. The winning team is the number one contender for the tag titles."

"And Edge and Christian are entered?"

Angel nodded. "Yeah, them, the Hardyz, the Dudleyz…"

"Well, now I'm entered too. Team Jericho."

"Jerky, you can't," Angel told him. "You need a partner and Benoit's got Angle in what's probably going to end up as best two of three and a ladder match."

"I'm entering," Jericho insisted. "Tag Team Turmoil is Jericho!"

"Okay," Angel sighed. She'd talk him out of it, later, when he wasn't concussed. "First, let's get that head checked out. Waah!"

Benoit had grabbed her and slammed her against the wall in the hallway. "I told you not to go out there."

"But Jericho needed help…"

"I don't care. When I tell you to do something, you'll damn well do it."

"Alright," Angel sighed. "Just let me get him to the trainer. He's concussed. His head's really messed up."

"So take him," Benoit smirked.

Angel turned around. Sure enough, Jericho was gone. She immediately panicked. In his state, he was practically an escaped mental patient.

"Jericho? Jericho? Where did he go?" she asked Benoit frantically.

He just raised his eyebrows at her. If he knew, he wasn't telling.

"Asshole, he's sick. He needs treatment."

But Benoit just didn't care.

Angel let out an exasperated sigh and started searching.

"Jericho? Jericho?" she screamed. Then she turned the corner and nearly ran into him. "There you are!"

"Rogue," he muttered, looking like she'd just woken him and that he had a monster hangover. "Would you please shut the hell up?"

Angel lowered her voice. "Sorry. I just got worried when I lost you."

"I was right here, talking to Vivian," Jericho explained as Lilian Garcia and her cameraman packed up and gave them a smile.

"Oh really?" Angel asked. That would have been a great interview. Half-demented raving Jericho. "What did you guys talk about?"

"I told her how I'm gonna kick ass in Tag Team Turmoil."

Angel sighed. "You're really serious about that?"

"Of course I am. Edge and Christian, come Sunday, baby, it's go time. In fact, I'm gonna find Vinnie Mac right now. I'll be tag-teaming before you can even say 'turmoil'."

"Right," Angel murmured. "First, let's go see the trainer. And then maybe you can have a shower and put on some other clothes. Then we'll go find Mr. McMahon. Okay?"

"Rogue, don't look at me like that. We'll do this my way. My way or the highway."

Angel nodded patiently. "We'll go, I promise. But does your head still hurt?"

"Like someone slammed a chair into it," Jericho told her.

"Well, how about we get that checked out first?"

Jericho frowned at her. "Then will you stop talking?"

Angel grinned. "I'll try."

"Great. Then let's go fix my head."

* * * *

Angel returned to the trainer's room with Jericho's bag on her shoulder and a piece of paper tucked under her arm. She dumped the bag and took a seat next to Jericho, who was lying on the examination bench with his eyes closed.

"How you feeling, Jerky?" she asked quietly.

Jericho's eye blinked open. "I feel like my head exploded."

"So, better, then?" Angel joked.

He broke into a little smile. "At least I'll sleep well tonight."

"Well, I got you a present," Angel told him, opening out the paper.

"What's that?" Jericho frowned.

"The current roster," Angel explained. "We're gonna get you a tag partner."

"That's really sweet of you, Rogue, but you don't need to do that."

"Someone does. Benoit's busy and you can't do it alone. Who's the Brooklyn Brawler? Is he any good?"

"That guy still wrestles?" Jericho frowned.

"This says he does. Okay, so a lot of people are busy, but let's see here…Eddie Guerrero?"

"You must be kidding!" Jericho cried.

"Okay, okay, I'll try a little harder. Billy Gunn?"

"Rogue, if that's how you try, just stop trying."

"I can't, Jerky. I've got to help you choose a partner."

"I've already chosen," Jericho informed her.

"You have? Who? Steve Blackman? He's good."

"No, Rogue," Jericho sighed. "You."

"Me?" Angel squealed.

"That's right," Jericho went on. "I choose you, Pikachu."

"But…but…why?" Angel stammered.

"Like you said, Benoit's busy. So I thought I'd get the next best thing."

"Okay," Angel said slowly. Jericho really was concussed. "Has it escaped your attention that I'm a girl?"

"No, baby. Believe me, it hasn't."

"But you want me to be your partner anyway?"

"Baby," Jericho sighed. "This morning, you nearly beat Benoit. If you can beat him, you can beat anyone. So, how about it? Are you in?"

'He's delirious,' Angel thought. Tomorrow, he'll wake up and go, "What was I thinking?"'

"Um, Jerky?" she said out loud. "Broken arm?"

Jericho just formed a smile. "Hands free attacks. You can do 'em. Come on, Rogue. You know you're ready for this. Jump off the cliff with me, baby."

Angel stared at him for a while. She wanted to, oh, how she wanted to, even if only so she could get her hands on Edge and Christian. But there was still one problem.

"I…I can't."

"Now what?" Jericho frowned.

"I can't fight…even if I wanted to. I'm not contracted. They won't let me."

"Well, that's easy fixed," Jericho told her. "We go see Vinnie Mac and get him to sign you."

"Like it's that easy, deadhead," Angel muttered.

"It is easy, baby. All I've gotta do is go see Vance and tell him I want to enter myself and a mystery partner in Tag Team Turmoil. And he'll be only too eager, because he'll know that all the best wrestlers already have matches at Judgment Day. And then, once we have that in writing, I'll tell him I've already chosen my partner. And he'll ask who and I'll tell him I want you. He'll have no choice. You're in, baby. Trust me."

Angel frowned again, but her insides were jumping all over the place. "You're sure you wanna do this?"

"Definitely. It's perfect. I wanna beat the living hell out of Edge and Christian, you wanna beat the living hell out of Edge and Christian. In fact, let's go right now, before you change your mind."

"I won't change my mind," Angel assured him. "But I'm worried about you. Are you really, really sure? I mean, I wouldn't want to let you down."

"Baby, I trust you," Jericho said softly. "Maybe you should trust me, eh?"

Angel slowly broke into a smile. So maybe Jericho was concussed. Here was her big chance and, dammit, she was going to take it.

"Okay, Jerky. Let's go get this signed."

* * * *

Jericho threw the door open. "Hey boss!"

Vince jumped off the couch. "Jericho!" he cried, sounding totally constipated.

Jericho grinned and grabbed Angel. "Have you met my friend? Vance McMahon, Rogue. Rogue, Vinnie Mac."

"That's Mr. McMahon to you," Vince scowled. "And yes, we've met."

But Jericho didn't really hear him. "Okay, boss. Tag Team Turmoil. I want to enter a team."

"Well, you know what? After hearing you with Lilian Garcia, I figured that you might, so I took the liberty of entering your team. All you have to do is sign the release."

Jericho picked up the contract and read it slowly. "Pen?"

Vince handed him the most expensive-looking pen Angel had ever seen.

"Signed, sealed and delivered," Jericho grinned, quickly folding the contract into an airplane and flying it at Vince's head. He grabbed it angrily and filed it away in his briefcase.

"Is there anything else?" he asked irritably.

Jericho grinned and gave a nod. "Don't you wanna know the identity of my mystery partner?"

Vince frowned thoughtfully. "Actually, yes, I think I would. You do know that Chris Benoit has a best two of three falls matchup with Kurt Angle and will be unable to partner you?"

"Yeah, I know. That's a shame, isn't it?" Jericho muttered. "But it does mean I'm free to choose whoever I want to be my partner, right?"

Vince nodded. "If they agree, yes."

Jericho's eyebrows shot up. "Anyone at all?"

"Yes, Jericho. I'm sure Essa Rios would be delighted."

"I don't want Essa Rios," Jericho informed him. "I want Rogue here. She'll be my partner."

Vince's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "Is this some kind of joke? We know how fond you are of jokes."

"That's why I love you so much, boss. But no, this is no joke. Come Sunday, Rogue and I will win Tag Team Turmoil."

"But, she's not rostered!" Vince cried.

"Yeah, see, that's where you come into it," Jericho told him. "You'll need to sign her so she can compete with me. You said I can choose whoever I wanted and she's my choice. So, bring it on, boss. Sign her up."

"Let me get this perfectly clear," Vince frowned. "You want me to sign this…this girl to a match in which she will face the APA, the Dudley Boyz, X-Factor…"

"No," Jericho cut him off. "I want you to sign her so she can take on Edge and Christian. And she wants it too, right, baby?"

"Yeah," Angel nodded rapidly.

Vince stared at her, as if noticing her for the first time.

"Angel Torres," he mused. "So, you wanna be a wrestler?"

Angel nodded again. "Yes, sir."

"And you want to take on men?"

"If I need to, yes."

"Well, that is interesting," Vince told her. "Who the hell do you think you are? Chyna?"

"No." Angel put her hands on her hips. "I'm Angel Torres."

Vince gave a little smile and nodded. "Good answer. Do you have any idea what could happen to you if I include you in this match?"

"Nothing that hasn't happened to me before," Angel replied, glancing meaningfully at her cast.

"You're injured," Vince frowned.

"It's nothing," Angel dismissed it.

"It doesn’t look like nothing. It looks like a broken arm."

Angel shook her head. "It doesn't stop me."

"Well," Vince mused, somewhat taken aback. "You're determined, I'll give you that. So, I'll tell you what I'll do. Against my better judgement, I will allow you to be Chris Jericho's partner for Tag Team Turmoil. For this, you will sign a contract in the form of a release and you will be paid…"

"The money doesn't bother me," Angel cut in.

"I have to pay you if you work for me. This release relinquishes responsibility of the WWF should you become injured in the match. You will be entitled to the company's insurance policy, but you will not be able to take further legal action. Do you understand?"

Angel nodded.

"Good. Here is the release form." He held it out and she handed it directly to Jericho. "Should the two of you win Tag Team Turmoil, I will arrange another release for your title shot next Monday night on Raw. Should you win that match, I will continue to sign you match by match until which time you lose the titles. Then, I feel, we will be in the position to discuss your future employment with this company in the form of a long-term contract. Does that sound fair?"

"Yes, sir. Very fair."

Suddenly, Jericho piped up. "Hey, this says nothing about Tag Team Turmoil."

"No," Vince confirmed. "It's a standard one match release, the same form every new talent signs when they first trial with us. Your release mentions Tag Team Turmoil, binding you and the partner of your choice, young Angel here, to the match. Provided you come through with the opportunity and she signs the one match release, come Sunday, Angel will make her in-ring WWF debut."

Angel's eyes widened and she spun to Jericho excitedly. "Should I sign it?"

"If you want to fight, yes," Jericho confirmed.

Angel snatched the paper from him, turned him around and leaned it on his back as she signed. Then she handed it back to Vince, unable to hide her grin.

Vince nodded at the signature, then safely deposited the contract in his briefcase. He held out his hand, a broad but decidedly evil grin on his face.

"Congratulations, Angel Torres. You are now a wrestler."