STAND BACK

RAW IS WAR, MAY 28TH, 2001

Angel held the receiver as she punched the numbers into the phone. This call could save her. It could set her free. Tonight she'd have to face Benoit again and she wasn't ready. She wasn't sure she ever would be. So she had to get away, now more than ever. And this was her only chance, now that she'd run out of people to fight for her. She sighed and waited for the call to connect.

"Hello, World Championship Wrestling, Shane McMahon's office."

Angel swallowed. "Yeah, hi. May I please speak to Shane?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. McMahon is unavailable. May I ask what this is in reference to?"

"Yeah, I want to be a wrestler and he gave me his card and told me to call when I was ready for a trial."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but the roster is full. Mr. McMahon is in Calgary, finalizing Lance Storm's contract and once he's signed, that's it, I'm afraid."

"But he told me to call," Angel protested. "He even wrote down my name so he'd be ready when I called."

"Oh, in that case, tell me your name and I'll see what I can find on our database."

"My name's Angel Torres. T-O-double R…"

"Torrie Wilson?" the receptionist questioned.

"No, Angel Torres."

"Well, I'm sorry, Ms Torres, but we have no record of you. We won't be scouting new talent for at least a few months. If you leave a contact number we'll try to get back to you as soon as a position becomes available."

"But I don’t have a contact number. I'm on tour with the World Wrestling Federation."

"Is that so? Well, in that case you should keep an eye out for Mr. McMahon. He told me that no one in the WWF is safe. So, if you see him, perhaps you can talk to him yourself."

"Yeah," Angel murmured. "I'll do that. Thanks."

"You're welcome. Good luck, ma'am."

Angel nodded and put down the phone. So Shane didn't remember her. So much for that plan. Bloody McMahons.

Just then there was a knock at the door.

"It's open!"

"Hey Rogue, you got a VCR?" Jericho asked.

Angel nodded indifferently.

"Great, then I have a tape you just have to see. You'll love it. It's a riot. Hey, what's the matter, baby? You haven’t been yourself lately."

"I'm okay," Angel replied with a shrug.

"Aw," Jericho grinned. "You miss Benoit."

"No, I don't."

"It's okay, baby. I know how that is. Whenever he was fighting with someone else I always kind of missed kicking his ass. Don't worry, though. He'll be at the arena tonight, so the two of you will be down each other's throats again in no time."

Angel frowned at him as he set up the tape. Did he know? Of course he didn't. It had just been an unfortunate choice of words.

"What is this?" she asked as the TV danced into life.

"1987 Slammys," Jericho grinned, adjusting the volume.

"Oh," Angel cringed. "Those costumes are nasty! Oh my God. Is that Vince?"

Jericho nodded, smirk in place. "Vance McMahon, front and center."

Angel burst out laughing. "This is awful! Seriously, this song is worse than the crap you listen to. Where'd you get this tape?"

Jericho grinned. "Let's just say it mysteriously appeared outside my room."

"Oh man!" Angel shrieked. "Is he dancing?"

"I think he's trying to," Jericho laughed. "Isn't this great?"

"It's the funniest thing I've ever seen," Angel confirmed, before she started singing along.

"I thought you'd get a kick out of it, baby," Jericho told her. "And tonight's gonna be great. We're in Canada, Stu's gonna be there."

"Stu?" Angel frowned.

"Yeah, Stu Hart. He trained me and Benoit in his dungeon and made us what we are today."

Angel nodded slowly. "He must be quite a guy."

"Yeah," Jericho agreed. "He hasn't been doing too good lately, though. Still, it'll be good to see him."

Angel smiled at him. "Are you happy to be home?"

"I'm not home. Not the same way Benoit is. But still, it's Canada."

Angel nodded. "You're gonna get huge pops tonight, you know."

Jericho grinned. "Baby, I'm Y2J. I get huge pops wherever I go."

* * * *

Angel wandered down the hall in an almost good mood. Because of Jeff and Jericho's combined efforts, she now had something to take her mind off the fact that sometime tonight she'd have to face Benoit. In her arms she carried a huge bunch of Jeff's roses and she was singing, loudly, Vince's Slammy song 'Stand Back', stopping occasionally when she came across someone.

"Spike Dudley!" she grinned.

He was a funny little guy, shorter than she was. Not traditionally good-looking but still kinda cute. And he was just the kid of guy who could do with a rose.

"How's it going?" he asked. He wore a smile. That was good. It was always easier to talk to someone who was smiling.

"Not too bad," Angel nodded. "Here, take this rose and give it to your girlfriend."

"You mean it?" Spike asked.

"Sure. Go ahead. I've got a bunch of them."

He grinned. "Well, thank you. Molly's gonna love it."

"I just bet she will," Angel nodded. "I'll see you later." She walked on, picking up her song where she'd left off. "I'm a man running wild, heading for the top, never slowing down and I'm never gonna stop. On the way you're gonna see a lot of men drop. Baby, watch 'em drop. Baby, baby… Baby…" She trailed off.

They stared at each other for a while. She couldn't read him. Why couldn't she read him? She had to talk. This wasn't right. This was hell, that's what this was. And he wouldn't have the decency to break the silence. So it was up to her.

"I'm…just gonna go book you a match," she blurted, hurrying past him.

"Wait." He didn't grab at her arm. Thank God for that.

She turned back.

"Don't bother," he finished.

"What?" she frowned.

"My match. Don't book me one."

"Why not? You don't want one?" She was searching his eyes, hunting urgently, but for what she didn't know.

"No," he replied. "I want a match. I just don't think you can get me what I want."

"And what is it you want?" she asked impatiently.

"I want a title shot."

Angel nodded coolly. "Well, I've gotten you title matches before."

"No, you haven't. Those were handicap and that was when William Regal didn't want to beat your ass."

"You don't think I can do it? Fine! Get your own damn match." Angel gave him a scowl and then stormed off down the hallway. She kept on going until she reached the women's locker room and threw the door open. "Trish, I need you."

"What's wrong?" Trish asked, alarmed. She was holding out her fingers, letting her nail polish dry.

"I just…" she sighed. "I need to hide out for awhile. Can I hang here with you?"

"Sure," Trish grinned. "As you can see, I'm just getting ready for my match."

Angel nodded solemnly. "I don't know, Trish. I just feel completely…numb. Shouldn't I be feeling…I don't know, something?"

"Or someone," Trish teased, before pausing at Angel's stricken face. "Honey, it's perfectly natural."

"No, it's not! How can it be? Either I want him or I hate him, but I don't. Both of those would be natural, but none of them are how I feel. I'm just…I'm just…numb."

Trish frowned. "You know what you need? You need a makeover."

"No. What I need is a time machine."

Trish giggled. "You're so funny, Angel. No, seriously. Sit down. You'll be feeling better in no time."

"Okay, whatever."

Angel sat slowly and Trish began fussing around her. She could guarantee this wouldn't make her feel better, but at least while she was here she wasn't in the locker room with Jericho…and Benoit. If he was getting his own match she didn't need to be there until…that match started. She was the valet. That's all she had to do…valet.

"Just relax, Angel," Trish said breezily. "This'll feel good, I promise."

'Nothing feels good,' Angel thought. 'I'm numb. Nothing feels…anything.'

"Okay, now close your eyes like this. There you go. Man, Angel, you are gonna look so hot! This is just what you need. You'll feel like a new person."

'I hope so,' Angel thought. ''Cause right now the only person I feel like is…'

Her eyes shot open.

"Angel, come on! Now I have to start over."

"Sorry," Angel muttered, closing her eyes.

She felt sick to her stomach and she licked her lips. She could almost taste him. Why the hell did he have to be so…so…Benoit-ish? He'd kissed her, dammit. Where did he get off pretending like nothing had happened? It had happened and it was his fault. Why was he so damn...casual? He was married. He was supposed to feel like a prize shit. She was single. She could kiss whoever the hell she wanted. She hadn't hurt anyone - he had. What was his goddamn problem?

"Oops, sorry!"

Suddenly, the lipstick slid across Angel's face and she was now wearing warpaint.

Trish turned furiously to the intruder.

"Bitch! You did that on purpose!"

Terri just shrugged. "Well, if you dropped a few pounds, maybe your fat butt wouldn't take up the entire locker room. Trish."

"Well, excuse me if men prefer curves, Terri. But walruses like Perry eat fish, right, so I guess they don't mind bones sticking out all over the place."

Terri just puckered up in front of the mirror. "At least I've got a man. And Perry's gonna beat the hell out of you for what you just said. You'll be crying your eyes out and you'll be flat on your back…but I guess you're used to that, aren’t you, Trish?"

Suddenly, a hand snaked through the air and Terri was up against the door, being pinned by the neck.

"Listen to me, you vindictive little slut," Angel growled, staring Terri right in the eyes. "I could snap you in half with my bare hands right now and there's nothing Perry can do about it because he's not here. Do you understand?"

Terri nodded frantically.

"Good," Angel scowled, releasing her.

Terri grabbed for her throat, obviously greatly offended. "You don't have to get upset just because no one taught you how to do your own makeup, you know."

Angel's eyes flashed and she pounced at Terri, who screamed and ran out the door, slamming it behind her.

Angel turned back to Trish, shaking her head.

"People shouldn't try me tonight. I'm not in a good mood."

"No kidding," Trish grinned, nodding her approval. "And Terri will only get more of that once I get my hands on her tonight. Here, sit down while I fix your lipstick."

"Your match is against Terri?" Angel asked.

"Angel, don't move. Just go like this. That's it. Yeah, me and Steve are facing Terri and Perry. We're gonna kick their asses! Okay, and we're done. Look in that mirror, you look gorgeous."

Angel examined her reflection. She did look pretty hot. It wasn't her usual hardcore style, but thanks to Trish, she was a babe.

"I like it," she announced. "But we have something more important to discuss. Steve? You mean Steve Blackman?"

"Uh huh. We tagged together on SmackDown and we really hit it off."

Angel nodded, a grin on her face. "So, tell me. Is he really the Lethal Weapon?"

"Angel!" Trish scolded.

"Come on, Trish. I'm just teasing. But I want to know. Are you two an item now, or what?"

Trish shrugged. "Maybe we are and maybe we’re not."

"Come on, Trish."

"I never kiss and tell."

"Trish, you always kiss and tell!"

Trish's jaw dropped. "I do not."

Angel just laughed. Good old Trish. She'd actually made Angel feel better. Now, if only she could hang out here all night instead of being where she was supposed to be.

"Hey Trish. The skank and the walrus will probably bring Malenko, right?"

"I guess," Trish shrugged. "Since Eddie left, you can't separate the three of them."

"Well, do you want me to come even things up?"

Trish nodded slowly. "Well, I don't know about Steve, but I'd love to have you along."
"Great," Angel grinned.

That was perfect. What better way to take her mind off Benoit than deciding how to kick the crap out of his former best friend? The night could be salvaged yet.

* * * *

The numbness was back. Jericho had played the 'Stand Back' video for the Calgary crowd, drawing a classic response from Vince. And then Benoit had joined Jericho on stage. Their matches were now set, with no effort from Angel required. Benoit would be taking on Rhyno while Jericho had a hardcore title shot against the Big Show. That wasn't all. Whichever of them was the more impressive in his match would have another match that night - a title match against Stone Cold Steve Austin.

Angel got to her feet. Benoit or no Benoit, her best friend has a chance at a title shot. And he deserved it. No one worked harder than Jericho.

'I'm gonna go there,' Angel decided. 'I'm gonna ask him what he needs from me.'

"Hey Trish. I'm gonna go back. I think I'm ready."

"Are you sure?" Trish frowned.

"No," Angel shrugged. "But this is about Jericho. I'm gonna make sure he wins the Federation title tonight."

"And indulging in a therapeutic make-out session with him won't hurt either," Trish grinned. "Well, it won't!" she cried as Angel shot her a look.

"Alright, Trish," Angel smiled. "Well, I better go then. I'll see you before your match. Looks like I'm gonna be a busy girl tonight."

"I hope so, Angel," Trish nodded. "For your sake."

* * * *

"A small thing you don't know about me," Angel started, stepping into the locker room calmly, like nothing was wrong. "I bandage like a maniac."

Jericho frowned. "What the hell's that mean, baby?"

Angel grinned at him. "My ex in Australia used to play club football every Saturday and I helped out the medics sometimes. So hand me your limb and it shall be strapped."

"No arguing with that," Jericho shrugged, holding out his arm. "It's my elbow. Go for your life."

"How's that feel?" Angel asked, as she wound the bandage around Jericho's arm.

"Oh yeah, that's good, baby," he grinned. "No one bandages as good as you."

Angel gave him a sexy smile. "And don't you forget it." She finished bandaging and secured it with tape.

Jericho examined her face. "You did your makeup different," he noted. "I like it. You got rid of all that dark eye stuff."

Angel raised her eyebrows. "And how would you know about eye stuff?"

Jericho leaned in and whispered in her ear. "What I do in the privacy of my own home is my business."

"God, you really are a fruit!" Angel cried as he rested his hands on her shoulders.

"And you want me!" he retorted.

"So much I can hardly stand it," Angel smiled. She turned around and found herself face to face with Benoit. Immediately, her smile faded. "What the hell do you want?"

He didn't say anything. He just stared at her.

"What?" Angel demanded.

Then she felt Jericho's arms around her. "What my esteemed tag partner is trying to ask is, will you bandage his ribs for him?"

"I didn't say that," Benoit snapped.

'Oh,' thought Angel. 'So he does have a tongue.' Wait, she already knew that…

"Well, good," she said out loud. "Because I'm not gonna do it."

"Come on, baby," Jericho coaxed her. "No one bandages like you."

Angel stared at him. She should just refuse. Jericho would never know by that what had happened. Finally, she grabbed his arm and led him away a little.

"You're my best friend. Do you think I should do it?"

"Well, someone has to," he told her. "And you know he won't go to the trainer."

"Alright," Angel sighed, before raising her voice. "But only because you asked me."

She picked up her spare 'in case of other Jericho injuries' bandage and stepped up to Benoit.

"Just so you know, this is a favor to him, not you. I don't give a crap about you."

"I know," Benoit replied solemnly. What could he say? The bitch was about to strap his insides together. He couldn’t yell at her, could he?

"Now, hold still," she warned. "'Cause this will hurt. Trust me."

She would the bandage tightly around Benoit's upper abdomen, trying urgently to avoid touching his bare skin. She was feeling sick again and bit her lip as she worked.

"Hold this down as hard as you can."

His hand brushed hers. She ignored it as she picked up the tape and stuck the bandage down, taping the free ends carefully so they wouldn't come loose during the match.

"That should hold. Give me your belt."

She took it from him and calmly fastened it low around his hips so it wouldn't tangle with the bandage.

"There. You're done."

Then she evacuated the area, preferring to settle into her usual routine of beating the crap out of the punching bag.

"There you go," Jericho said. "How about a thank you, Benoit?"

Benoit just stared at him, then turned to Angel. "Princess? Get your ass moving. It's time to go."

Jericho nodded slowly as the two of them left the room. He was keeping the peace…just. There was a future for this team yet.

* * * *

Angel watched the match as if though a fog. She should have cheered Benoit on or tried to interfere. He was facing Rhyno, after all. But she just stood stiffly in the corner, not aware of any particular moves by either wrestler as the crowd chanted, "Let's go, Benoit. Let's go, Benoit."

She didn't even register Paul Heyman's shout of "Gore!" but suddenly, she was flat on her back. He was on top of her. She could smell him everywhere. She cried out and urgently tried to push him, attempting to struggle free. His skin, slick with sweat and baby oil, rubbed against hers.

"Get off me!" she screamed. "Get off me!"

Finally, she managed to break free and pounced into the ring. Rhyno was there. This was all his fault. She glowered over at him, then took off.

"Whoa, wait, wait, wait. That's not a good idea."

Angel cocked her head and frowned at the ref. "No, this is a great idea. What's not a good idea is letting Rhyno knock that son of a bitch Benoit right on top of me."

The ref looked totally bewildered before catching himself. "Get out of the ring. If you're not out in five, I'll DQ your man. One...two…"

"He's not my man," Angel muttered, rolling back to her place in the corner. "I don't even want him to be my man. Why can't people just accept that?"

She leaned over the apron and watched the rest of the match absently. When Benoit reversed another gore for a crossface and the win, she didn't even react. So he'd won. He was better than Rhyno. That went without saying. She trudged up the ramp by his side, refusing to look at him, preferring to remain in her own little world. Sometimes reality was just too bizarre and confusing.

"Angel, quick! It's time for our match."

Benoit turned and switched his gaze between his valet and Trish.

"Is that okay with you?" Angel asked testily, eyebrows raised.

Benoit just nodded expressionlessly and continued down the hallway.

"So, you think you can take down Dean Malenko?" Blackman asked as they made their way to the entrance.

"Nope," Angel shrugged. "I know I can."

"There you go," Blackman nodded.

His song played and the three of them made their entrance, Angel remaining on the ground, in the dark, unnoticed by the Radicalz. She was going to give Malenko the surprise of his life.

"Hi Dean," she said, fixing her sultry gaze on him.

"Angel," he said, eyeing her suspiciously. Could it be possible that Lita's little cousin wanted him? Well, of course it was possible. She was only human, after all and he was Dean Malenko. "How you doing?"

"Not too bad," she smiled, switching her posture a little and ruing the fact she'd worn the 'Shooter' top instead of one of her cleavage enhancers. They could have been very, very handy.

"Well, that's fantastic," Malenko told her. Look at that damn body language! The girl was begging for it! Still, that didn't mean he had to give her what she wanted. The question was, did she deserve it enough?

"You know, Dean," she said softly. "I don't think there should be any…you know…hard feelings between us. The past is the past. That's what I always say."

"Absolutely," Malenko nodded enthusiastically.

Angel grinned. The guy seriously had a voice like a chainsaw. How could he actually think that was sexy?

"Wow," Angel mused. "Is it just me or is it really, really hot in here?"

Malenko grabbed at the collar of his shirt. "I don't think it's all you, although you're definitely a big part of it."

She held his gaze and slowly licked her lips, then pulled off her top to reveal her bra. "Come here a minute, Dean. I wanna show you something I do real well."

Malenko's eyes just about bulged out of his head. "Whatever you say, Angel."

He couldn't get over there fast enough and just as e reached for her, boom! His head slammed into the steel steps. She'd hit him with the drop toehold. Before he even knew what was happening she'd grabbed his head and twisted around into the tornado DDT. He tried for the counter and bam! Armdrag. Bam! Another armdrag. She leaped up onto the apron and hit him with a moonsault, then scooped him up. One German…two Germans… He countered and she was on her stomach. If she thought she could hit him, Dean Malenko, with Chris Benoit's moves, well, she was even a dumber broad than she looked. He coiled her legs behind her and she was completely screwed. Texas cloverleaf. She screamed, but she hadn't learned her lesson yet.

"They call me the professor!" he growled at her, pulling tighter with every word. "I've forgotten more holds than you'll ever know. If you think you can get the best of me with what you learn from Chris Benoit, you're out of your mind! I've known that man probably nearly as long as you've been alive! I don't care if you're tapping, I'm not letting go."

Suddenly the crowd roared and he lifted his gaze but didn't release.

"What the hell?" he screamed. "Lance Storm?"

Perry was in trouble. He was flat on his back and Blackman had the cover. Malenko leaped to his feet, shoving Angel in the face.

"You're lucky this time, but next time I promise you, when I'm done, you won't even be able to walk."

Angel tired to pick herself up. Damn Malenko. She should have known he'd go for the cloverleaf. But why'd he let her go? Lance Storm?

"Holy shit!" she screamed. Her legs were killing her but Lance freaking Storm! He was her ticket to Shane! She had to find him. Only one problem. Where was he? She looked around blindly, then discovered some commotion in the crowd. It was a long shot, but she had to chance it. She leaped the barrier and hit the ground running, despite the pain in her legs. It was all adrenaline.

"Lance Storm! Lance Storm!" she screamed.

And then she spotted her. Red and white tights and a crewcut. "Lance! Lance Storm!"

He didn't stop. He didn't even slow down. Still, she was gaining on him and trailed him all the way around the building. Finally, at the bottom of a flight of steps leading outside, she caught his arm.

"Lance…hold up a minute," she gasped, trying to catch her breath.

He frowned at her with steely eyes. "What, are you a fan?"

"No. But I do need to talk to you for a minute. Do you have any idea how I can get in touch with Shane?"

"Shane Helms?" he cried incredulously. "Don't waste my time."

"No!" Angel insisted. "I really need…"

Lance cut her off. "If I can be serious for a minute," he started. "I have a limo waiting for me out back and about twenty security guards on my tail. If you want to meet Sugar Shane, the best advice I can give you is to keep your eyes open. I'm sure he'll be seen around the WWF soon. It's started. I'm just the first. But now I gotta go."

He raced up the steps as several security guards appeared.

"No, you don't get it!" Angel cried, chasing after him again. "I want to talk to…Shane!" she cried, pushing the doors open and spotting Shane and Lance hugging jubilantly next to a white limo. "Shane McMahon! Wait up! Shane!"

But he didn't hear her as he and Lance climbed into the car and sped away.

"Shit," Angel swore, slamming her arms down by her sides. So close, and yet so far. Oh well, if what Lance had said about the WCW invasion was true, she'd have more chances. Like he'd said, she just had to keep her eyes open.

* * * *

Angel was just about to push the door to the locker room open when it removed itself from under her hand.

"Hey Rogue. Where you been? It's time for my match."

Angel stared past him and spotted Benoit. "Can I come with you?"

"Sure," Jericho grinned. "I know how you like it hardcore."

She broke into a smile. "Only with you, Jerky."

"But of course," Jericho nodded, putting his arm around her as they walked. "Actually, there's something I have to ask you, baby."

"Ask away."

"You're not gonna like it," he warned.

Angel frowned. "What is it?"

"Okay. I don't want you to think I'm going all Benoit on you, but I need to ask you to not interfere in my match. Vinnie said that whoever's more impressive will get the title shot. Benoit was pretty amazing against Rhyno, especially with those busted ribs. I guess what I'm saying is…I really want to be WWF champion."

"That's okay," Angel smiled. "I'll stay out of it."

"Not that I don't think you could kick the Big Show's ass…" Jericho went on.

"It's okay, really, Jerky. I'll just be your cheerleader. And you know…if you win this match and then you win the title tonight, you'll have to win triple gold."

"That would be tremendous, wouldn't it?"

"You bet," Angel grinned.

* * * *

Jericho was in trouble. The Big Show was owning him, destroying him. He was sprawled over a garbage can as Show went for momentum off the ropes.

"Jerky!" Angel screamed. "Leg drop!"

He moved out the way just in time and the Big Show slammed down onto the trashcan.

"Yes!" Angel cried. "Now, get up! Get up!"

Jericho stumbled towards Angel and picked up a trashcan lid, then turned back to Show. Bam! Bam! The lid crashed across Show's head, then Jericho leaped off the ropes for a flying shot. Boom! Big Show floored him with a huge boot.

"Come on, Jerky! Get up!" angel screamed.

Big Show picked up Jericho by the hair and made a throat-slitting action, signaling the Final Cut, but when he tried it, Jericho simply slipped out the back and landed on his feet. The Big Show growled and slammed him to the canvas.

Angel groaned along with her friend. Jericho was fading. He didn't have much left.

Show picked up Jericho again and sat him on the top turnbuckle before pounding him a few times with his huge club of a fist. As far as the match was concerned, it was only a matter of time. A very short time, it seemed as Show loped over and picked up the ring steps. Forget winning - if Jericho survived this match it'd be a miracle.

As Show approached Jericho, Angel squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't watch her friend's destruction like this. She heard the impact and shut her eyes even tighter. Poor Jericho. Just then there was a huge roar and Angel finally took a peek. Jericho was just hitting the lionsault and going for the cover. One…two…three!

Jericho rolled down next to Angel, clutching his injured arm. He was too sore to be happy about his new belt and Angel knew why. Jericho didn't even like hardcore. He'd been put in this match against his will and had gone through with it for only two reasons. Firstly, he was too proud not to, and second, it was his passage to the Federation title - the title he really wanted. Now he'd be lucky to even make it to that match, although Vince would be hard pressed to look past him. As far as Angel was concerned, Jericho had even outclassed Benoit, but he was obviously the worse for it.

"Come on, Jerky," Angel soothed, grabbing him protectively. He clutched his hardcore belt as she clutched him and together they headed up the ramp.

"Get my other belt, Rogue," he said as they passed it. "Get my tag belt."

Angel ran to do as he said while he continued towards the stage. She handed him his second belt and he held them up to the crowd.

"You rock, Jerky," Angel grinned, hugging him tightly. Just then, she saw something over his shoulder. "Rhyno! Look out!"

Jericho spun defensively, right into a gore. Angel ran to help him, but Rhyno simply pushed her away, then made the cover as a ref jumped in from nowhere. One…two…three. Rhyno was the new hardcore champion, courtesy that division's twenty-four seven rule.

"Dammit!" Angel screamed, running in. She was too late. Rhyno was gone.

Angel dropped to her knees next to Jericho. He was really in bad shape - the back of his head had hit the steel stage when he fell and he'd jolted his arm again.

"Oh, Jerky," Angel sighed.

"Help me up, Rogue," Jericho cringed.

Angel did as she was told. "So you want to go to the trainer?"

"No time," Jericho muttered. "If I want to face Stone Cold tonight I have to be there when Vinnie makes his choice."

"Okay," Angel nodded, helping him back to the locker room. "Are you sure you don't need anything?"

He shook his head as they reached the door. "But if Vinnie chooses Benoit I'm getting my ass straight to the trainer."

"He'll choose you," Angel told him, following him inside. "How could he not? You beat the Big Show."

"Nice work, Y2J," Benoit announced.

Angel stopped short. He'd sounded sincere, not sarcastic.

"Thanks, man," Jericho nodded. "You too." He stepped over to his bag and rifled through it one-handed, finally finding what he was looking for. "Hey Rogue, you think you can help me out with this?"

"What? Oh yeah, sure," Angel said quickly, not realizing she'd been staring at Benoit.

Jericho handed her a small spray bottle. "This stuff's magic."

"Yeah," Angel nodded. "It's magic spray. We used it at the footy all the time."

"Footy?" Jericho repeated incredulously, trying to mimic her accent. "Footy? Baby, what in the hell is footy?"

"Football," Angel told him, ignoring the slam. "What I need you to do is hold your arm steady with your left hand while I unbandage it, spray it and tie it up again."

"You got it, nurse," Jericho smiled.

Angel smiled back at him and went to work. When she was done, she looked up expectantly. "Any better?"

"No, but I guess I'll have to live with it."

Angel grinned. "Don't be such a wuss."

"Me? Y2J? A wuss? I'll have you know something, baby. I am the three-time WWF inter-Chris-inental title holder."

"Former holder," Angel teased.

"Ouch," Jericho cried, clutching his heart with his good hand. "That hurt. Well, what about you, baby? I have a tag belt and until a few minutes ago, I had a hardsnore belt, too. What do you have, eh?"

Angel stood her ground. "I have looks, I have brains and I have talent. Any more questions?"

Jericho grinned at her. "Come here, sass-beast!" he cried, pulling her into a tight hug.

"Argh!" she exclaimed. "What have I told you about protruding title belt hugs?"

Jericho raised his eyebrows. "But baby, I'm not wearing my belt right now."

"Okay, that's nasty," Angel scolded him.

"Ah, that's not what you said last night."

"Enough!" Angel laughed. "You win! You beat me!"

Jericho let her go and grinned at her. "And don't you forget it, sister."

He stepped past her, slapping her on the ass on the way. Angel turned to give him a mock glare before realizing that someone was staring at her. That someone, of course, was Benoit.

Angel frowned at him. "What?"

He held eye contact, his gaze darkening. "Where the hell's your shirt?"

Angel looked down, puzzled, before she remembered she'd taken it off in her Malenko game. "Um, I guess it must have come off somewhere."

"Sorry about that," Jericho piped up.

Benoit switched his gaze between the two of them. "Neither of you are funny. You know you have to wear the clothes that I approve or you're not allowed at ringside."

"Actually," Angel replied, deciding to fight this one. "Our deal was that I wear the clothes you approve or else I wear nothing at all."

"I vote option two, and I'm sure the fans concur," Jericho announced.

"Shut up!" Benoit snapped, before turning back to Angel. "And you. Go get your damn shirt."

Angel shrugged and turned to her own gym bag. "Forget about it. I brought the tube top so…"

"I told you to go get your shirt, you little slut!" Benoit screamed.

Angel turned back, lips slightly pouted.

"Okay," she said evenly. "If it means that much to you, I'll get it."

She stormed out of the room without another word.

Damn Benoit. The piece of shit hadn't gotten better since kissing her. If anything, he was worse. Since when had anyone in the WWF minded a little skin showing from its divas? Angel personally didn't give a crap what she wore when she fought, so long as she looked good. She wore bikinis on the beach in Florida and Australia, so she really couldn't be a hypocrite when it came to wrestling, could she?

She was fuming as she made her way down the ramp. The Hollys and the Dudleyz were in the middle of a table match, but she was so pissed off she hardly noticed.

"Hey Molly. You seen my shirt?"

Molly turned, puzzled and anxious. "What? No."

"Never mind, I've got it."

She scooped it up, tucked it under her arm and stormed back up the ramp again.

* * * *

"There, I got my damn shirt, are you happy?" Angel snapped, pulling the shirt on as she stepped back into the locker room again. She stopped short. Jericho was gone. She frantically stepped back against the door, clawing at it, searching for the door handle.

He was staring at her intently and she somehow forced herself to resist the urge to look him up and down. He just stood there, saying nothing, not moving. He was driving her insane. Again, it would be up to her to break the silence.

"Listen," she started, but the words caught in her throat and came out as a harsh croak. She swallowed, licked her lips and tried again. "About SmackDown."

He raised his eyebrows. "What about it?"

Angel swallowed again. Her heart was racing, her skin was flushing.

"You owe me one," she said hurriedly. "If it wasn't for me, Edge or Matt would have won. So, that belt you're wearing? It's at least partly mine."

"Excuse me?"

Angel gave a little nod, her eyes still intense. "So, you're welcome, Benoit. That's right. You're welcome." She leaned back and opened the door. "I'm going to hang out with Jericho in the trainer's room. Come get me when it's time for your match."

"How did you…" Benoit frowned, but Angel cut him off.

"Simple. He's not here." And then she walked away.

There. That hadn't gone too badly. If Benoit could go around pretending that nothing had happened between them, then she damn sure could too.

"Get out of my way, girlie."

She stopped short. "Stone Cold?"

He turned back with a sinister grin. "My name is Stone Cold Steve Austin and don’t you forget it."

"I didn't forget," Angel assured him. "Actually, there's something else I remember."

"Is that so? Then you've got yourself one hell of a good memory, don't you?"

His tone was incredibly mocking, but Angel was unfazed.

"You promised me a favor."

He looked taken aback. "Now, does that sound like something I'd do? Let me remind you of something, girlie. My name is Stone Cold Steve Austin and I am the World Wrestling Federation Champion."

"Yes," Angel replied patiently. "And you also promised me, Angel Torres, a favor."

Stone Cold stepped up into her face, staring her down imposingly. "Girlie, do you have any idea who you're talking to? I'm…"

"You're Stone Cold Steve Austin and you owe me a favor."

"Wrong. I am Stone Cold Steve Austin and I don't owe no one nothing!"

"All I want you to do is fight Benoit!" Angel cried.

Stone Cold took a step back. "What's the matter with you, girlie? I'm already fighting Benoit."

"I know. But what I need you to do is get an extra stip put in. Wager me against your title. Since your title's already up for grabs I'll be a freebie. The best man wins."

Stone Cold stared at her, then suddenly burst out laughing. "Ha-ha. That's a good one, honey. You should think about going into comedy. You'd be real good at that."

Angel frowned. "I was serious."

"Hey, what's that look? Are you glaring at me? Are you glaring at Stone Cold Steve Austin?"

"Look," Angel sighed. "All I want is one stupid little stipulation on tonight's match. It can hardly even be called a favor. You're getting off easy."

"I'm getting off what? Girlie, the bottom line is this. Stone Cold Steve Austin doesn’t do favors. Now, you have about ten seconds to get outta my sight before I lay a beating on you the likes of which hasn't been seen I showed that little red-headed cousin of yours who was boss. Alright, girlie?"

"No, it's not alright," Angel scowled. "You promised me a favor and I'm here to collect. I'm not asking for much."

"That's funny," Stone Cold sneered. "Because I swear I told you ten seconds and yet here you still are, flapping your little gums. Now I don't know…"

"Austin!" shouted a voice. "Get the hell away from my valet!"

Stone Cold turned away from Angel, sinister smirk back in place. "Oh, this is your little valet, is it? Me and girlie here were just talking fashion. Ain't that right, girlie?"

Angel just glared up at the big, bald coward. "Oh, blow me, jackass."

Stone Cold gave a nervous laugh. "She's got a mouth on her, ain't she? Well, good luck in the match tonight, Benoit. You're sure gonna need it. I'm Stone Cold Steve Austin and…"

"I know who you are," Benoit cut in darkly. "And I am going to kick your ass tonight. Come on, princess."

Stone Cold leaned over as she began to walk away. "Remember, little princess. DTA. Don't trust anybody."

Angel stopped and turned back with a smirk. "Believe me, I won't." She stormed up to Benoit. "What's your problem? I could have handled that myself."

"No, you couldn't," Benoit replied coolly.

"Is it time for your match?" Angel challenged.

"No."

"Then piss off. I'm going to see Jericho." She headed off to the trainer's room again.

"Bitch," Benoit called after her.

She stopped and turned back, her face a perfect scowl.

"Eat me, Benoit," she growled. "Eat me."

* * * *

Angel was giving the valet performance of her life. She didn't interfere, not by a long shot, but she was riling up the crowd, getting them behind their home-province boy, Benoit. She initiated chants of both his name and 'Austin sucks' and really, in Benoit's injured state, the support of the crowd was the only thing carrying him on.

When she'd arrived at the ring and taken Benoit's tag belt from him, she was quite prepared to do the submissive little woman bit and just stand in the corner for the duration of the match. But then she'd caught sight of Stone Cold - that evil grin. Stone Cold, once worshipped, was now loathed. He was the man who'd beaten the crap out of Lita just before the Easter break. He'd pounded her with a steel chair for no greater reason than that she'd tried to protect Matt, her boyfriend, from further injury by laying herself on top of him. That should have been enough to piss Angel off, but there was one thing more. Beatings happen all the time in wrestling, revenge was relative, life went on. But if there was one thing Angel couldn't stand, it was someone who went back on a promise. Regal had tried that once and he'd paid. Now it was Stone Cold's turn. By the end of the night, he'd no longer be the WWF champion - Benoit would. But Angel couldn't interfere, or risk getting Benoit disqualified. That's why she was using the other secret weapon - the crowd.

In the opposite corner, playing cheerleader for Stone Cold, was the most important man in sports entertainment - Vincent K. McMahon. Angel didn't mind. She was no longer afraid of him. A quick trip to the AV department earlier tonight, before she'd even started handing out roses, had put paid to that. Jericho had taught her two things with his 'Stand Back' tape. Firstly, there were cameras and microphones everywhere. Mostly they were used to prevent security breaches, but they also sometimes provided the fans with compelling viewing. Secondly, when it came to the AV department, everything was available, for the right price. As of tomorrow, Angel would be in possession of a tape containing every one of her meetings with Vince - including the handshake that had launched the petition and the appearance of Benoit that had sealed her fate. As of tomorrow, she could officially walk the halls and do whatever she pleased without fear of Vince going back on his word and booting her out. As of tomorrow, she'd officially be untouchable. But that didn't mean that if Vince tried something in this match she couldn't start tonight.

She eyed him off with a confident smirk. He seemed surprised by her impertinence. Her smile widened and she started mouthing the words of 'Stand Back'. He looked startled, then turned away in disgust. Angel nodded happily. Angel 1, Vince zilch.

Next, she climbed up onto the apron and leaned over the ropes.

"Come on, Benoit! Come on!"

The match was even but Stone Cold was slowly wearing him down by slamming into his ribs where possible.

Angel held her hand in the air to encourage the crowd.

"Benoit! Benoit! Benoit!"

"Yes!" Angel screamed as Benoit launched an attack with knife-edge chops. He then went for momentum off the ropes, but Austin stopped him by slamming him to the canvas. Just then, Benoit flipped him with his legs into a rollup.

Angel raised her eyebrows. That was her style of reversal! He was taking a leaf from her book.

But Benoit only got a one count before Austin countered into a rollup of his own. Benoit kicked out, then scrambled over Austin and locked on the crossface. Austin crawled and crawled and reached the ropes.

"No!" Angel yelled as the crowd booed and Austin escaped the ring so he could regroup.

"Get him, Benoit! Don't let him get away!"

Benoit slammed Austin's face into the announce desk and then the steps, but Austin reversed and Benoit's body crashed into the steps. Again.

"Benoit!" the crowd chanted. "Benoit!"

Austin threw Benoit back into the ring and kept attacking him until Benoit countered into a clumsy but effective sunset flip. Next, he grabbed Austin's legs and turned him over into the sharpshooter. The Calgary crowd roared. Benoit, their Canadian hero, who'd trained for two years at the wrestling school of Stu Hart, a Canadian legend, was using the sharpshooter - a Hart family specialty.

Austin was in deep trouble. He couldn't break the hold. He tried to crawl to the ropes but Benoit dragged him into the middle again. Austin dug deep and grabbed the ropes at another side of the ring.

Vince was relieved. Angel was pissed off.

"You can't stop him," Angel cried as Vince stalked past her. "He's gonna win. You can't stop him."

"Angel Torres," Vince replied. "I am a billionaire. There's nothing I can't do."

The match went on. Austin had the upper hand, but Benoit kept fighting back and the appreciative crowd kept cheering him on. Austin picked up Benoit and threw him from the ring, then jumped down after him and ran to pick up his title belt. He held it steady, waiting for Benoit to get up, but just then, referee Earl Hebner tore it from his hands. Austin was livid, but took it out on Benoit, tossing him back into the ring while Vince took up the fight with Hebner.

"What are you doing? Give me that belt."

"If he uses it, he's DQ'ed."

Meanwhile, Austin hit the Stunner and made the cover, but the ref was still outside the ring and didn't see.

Just then, Angel had an idea. She slid Benoit's tag belt into the ring, right near his head.

Austin got up to see what was going on and Benoit grabbed the belt. When Austin turned around…bam! Benoit threw the belt down to Angel and made the cover, just as the ref returned.

"One!" chanted Angel and the crowd. "Two!"

But Austin kicked out. If only the ref had come back a second earlier…

The match continued. Austin kept working on Benoit's ribs until he was brought down into the crossface again.

Austin was about to tap, but Vince pulled the ref from the ring, just in time.

"No freaking way!" Angel screamed, pulling herself up into the ring. She raced past Austin and Benoit and, before she even really had time to think, leaped onto the ropes and bounced out in the suicide plancha, taking Vince down with her. She jumped to her feet and stood over him indignantly.

"Take that, you piece of shit!"

Then she ran back to her corner before he could reply.

"Come on, Benoit!"

The ref was back in the ring, but again Austin had reached the ropes.

Vince cheered Austin on as he reversed a whip into a knee to the abdomen. Benoit screamed. His ribs weren't going to be able to take much more of this. Austin sat on his back, made a clumsy leg scissors and locked on the crossface.

"Easy!" Angel cried. "Throw him off, just like you do me. Throw him off!"

Just then, the bell rang and the ring announcer called Austin as the winner.

"What?" Angel screamed, gripping the title belt. "He didn't tap! He didn't tap!"
She leaped into the ring, tag title belt in hand. Bam! It slammed into Austin's back and he fell forward, taking the ref down with him. Bam! Bam! Bam! Angel kept on hitting him as he struggled to roll over. Just then, he kicked out at her and she was on her back, but this only pissed her off even more. She leaped to her feet and ran at him, but he simply kicked her in the stomach, grabbed her by the head and she was down, courtesy one Stunner.

Benoit picked himself up and noticed Angel and the ref's fallen bodies, then spotted Vince and Austin with the title belt.

"Son of a bitch," he growled. "Son of a bitch."

A Montreal screwjob. A damn Montreal screwjob, in Calgary, of all places. Benoit was not a happy boy.

At that moment, Jericho raced down the ramp, taking down Vince and Austin. He launched into Austin as Benoit joined him.

"Jackass!" Jericho sneered between kicks. "You stay the hell away from Rogue, okay? That girl's a better wrestler than you'll ever be."

He threw Austin into the ring and turned him over into the Walls of Jericho as Benoit ran to Vince and locked on the crossface. It took about eight refs and Sergeant Slaughter to pull them away.

"Come on, Rogue," Jericho said breathlessly, helping her up.

Benoit met them on the ramp.

"Stunner?" Angel asked, leaning heavily against Jericho.

"Yeah, they're a barrel of laughs, aren't they?" he replied.

"Damn," was all Angel could manage before slumping against him again.

"Oh, crap!" Jericho cried as she accidentally jolted his broken arm. "Benoit, can you help out, man?"

Benoit said nothing but put Angel's other arm around his neck so they could continue up the ramp and down the hallway.

"You driving back tonight?" Jericho asked as they walked.

Benoit nodded. "I'm getting the hell out of here as soon as I can. Goddamn Montreal screwjob."

"Yeah, I know, man. It sucks. At least you get to go home. I'll just take this one back to the hotel, make sure she gets to bed okay."

Benoit nodded again. "Maybe you can talk some sense into her."

"Come on, man," Jericho grinned. "What fun would she be if I did that?"

"I want my money," Angel blurted suddenly. "Give me my money."

Benoit frowned. "I don't owe you any money."

"The hell you don't," Angel muttered.

"You were ringside for four matches. That means I don't pay you."

"Bullshit!" Angel cried, her pain just increasing her anger. "Four matches, yes, but two were yours. You owe me for at least two."

"She's got you there," Jericho piped up.

"Okay," Benoit scowled. "But I don't carry money in my tights."

"No, just gold medals, right, jackass? Oh, and by the way, you're freaking welcome for the title belt, too."

"I didn't ask for your help," Benoit muttered.

"No, you didn't, but if you didn’t want it, you wouldn't have used it. Come on, Jericho. Let's get our things, get my money and get the hell out of here. I don't want to talk to this piece of shit anymore."

And that, it seemed, was that.