YOU CAN'T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT

SMACKDOWN, MAY 31ST, 2001

It was late Thursday night, but Angel couldn't sleep. Instead, she stood next to the small window in her hotel room, staring out at the Edmonton skyline. Edmonton. City of Benoit.

It hadn't been an easy night for her, any more than it had for Benoit or Jericho. She was playing her role of good little submissive valet very well - bandaging their injuries, slathering up the baby oil, getting them ready for their matches, then accompanying them to the ring and rallying the crowd for support. That last bit was easy. It seemed the entire crowd were Jerichoholics from the Cult of the Crippler. But Angel didn't like that role. She wanted to be involved.

'You can't always get what you want,' she told herself as someone in an apartment or hotel room across the way turned out their light.

How true that statement was, for everyone. Benoit and Jericho had arrived at the arena looking for a tag title defense against Austin and Vince McMahon. What they ended up with, however, was a singles match each. Jericho was a little peeved to be fighting Kurt Angle again, but Benoit was happy - he had a rematch for the Federation title. And this time, he vowed that when he went home that night he'd be taking the title with him. No Montreal or any other kind of screwjob was going to get in the way of what was rightfully his.

But you can't always get what you want. It had taken thirty minutes and was a match worthy of a pay per view, but Benoit had lost. Despite all his effort, all his sacrifices, Benoit went home with only one belt.

Edmonton. Edmonton, Edmonton, Edmonton. Tonight had been the first time Angel had ever worn a hockey jersey. Jericho had given it to her, saying the fans would give her bigger pops if she wore it. He wasn't trying to be mean, but Canadians, and especially Edmontonians, were hockey obsessed, so when in Rome… Of course, she'd had to get approval from Benoit to wear the Y2J hockey jersey, but he told her that it was fine, so long as she didn't wear it to his match against Austin. The one he'd lost.

Angel hadn't been the only one wearing a hockey jersey. Benoit had been given a personalized Edmonton Oilers jersey. He wore it to the ring with pride as soon as SmackDown started. It was the happiest she'd ever seen him and that pissed her off. Why should he be allowed to be happy when she was so…so…numb? It wasn't fair, and her sharp tongue had been busy all night trying to bring him down a notch. It hadn't worked. He was home. He was in Edmonton and Edmonton loved him. It was all he'd ever wanted. Except the title, of course, but he still didn't have that. We can't always get what we want.

Even for Angel the night had held some bright spots…one bright spot. She'd gotten revenge on Kurt Angle…again and because of this, Jericho had won the match. Why didn't he ever give her as much grief about that as Benoit did? Not that she wanted him to, it was just interesting.

"Thanks for the help, Rogue, although you know I could have done it myself."

"I know you could have," she'd replied. "I just really, really hate Kurt Angle."

"Well, you're entitled to a membership card for that club, too."

Good old Jericho. He was such a great friend. She really didn't know what she'd do without him.

'Kill myself, probably.'

He sure did make dealing with Benoit just that little bit more bearable. Jericho made her feel like she was worth something - like if she trained hard enough and got the right breaks, someday she could be like Chyna. Or better yet, like him. He made her feel like the WWF was still a good place to be.

Not that she wouldn't jump ship to WCW the second she was asked. WWF was the premier fed, no doubt about that, but WCW had one thing going for it. No Benoit. The other great thing about WCW was the cruiserweight division. While the light-heavyweight division in the WWF was failing due to lack of competition, the cruisers had been WCW's shining light before the sale and subsequent restructure. Angel Torres, WCW cruiserweight champion. It had a nice ring to it and was pretty prestigious, at least as important as Euro in the WWF. Jericho had held the cruiserweight title, as had Eddie Guerrero and his nephew Chavo Jr. When the sale went through, Chavo had just lost to Shane Helms, the bane of Angel's existence…other than Benoit, Steven Richards, William Regal, Kurt Angle, Rhyno, Edge, Christian, Ivory, sometimes Jeff Hardy. Okay, so Angel had a lot of banes to her existence. But why, when she said Shane, did people think she was talking about Helms rather than McMahon? Wouldn't McMahon be the more logical choice? First Benoit and then Lance Storm. It was pissing Angel off and wasting precious Shane-finding time.

Tonight she'd searched for him everywhere on the tip-off that his limo had been seen circling the building. But it wasn't until she was down at the ring for Jericho's match against Angle that he showed up. Apparently Shane McMahon hated Kurt as much as Angel did. He'd tried for the run-in but security was everywhere and it took every good man to keep him out of the way. Jericho was down, victim of the ankle lock. Kurt and the ref were both distracted by Shane. No one had seen Angel go up top.

"Argh!" she screamed. She flew in the 'rana and dropped Kurt to the canvas. Next she hit the tornado DDT and went up top again for the moonsault. Bam! She landed it and was out of the ring before the ref even knew she'd been there. All he saw was Jericho, hitting the lionsault and hooking Angle's leg. One…two…three. Angel and Shane had won the match for Jericho.

"Whoo!" Shane screamed, punching the air as three very large security guards dragged him backwards through the crowd. "Yeah, alright! Whoo!"

"Shane!" Angel cried, racing after him. "Wait up, Shane! I need to talk to you!"

He caught sight of her. "Angela."

"It's Angel. Can we talk?" She still had to scream to be heard.

"Um, I'm kinda tied up right now, but call me, okay, call me?" He even made the 'call me' signal with his hand as the guards evicted him from the arena.

'But I already called you,' Angel thought, sighing deeply. 'And you didn't give a crap. You didn't even talk to me.'

You can't always get what you want. She'd wanted a ride back to the hotel after the show, but she hadn't gotten that either. She probably could have if she'd tried hard enough, but she'd just wanted to leave so she couldn't be bothered waiting. She could have caught a ride with Trish and Blackman, but she had a feeling they wanted to do other things and she didn't want to get in their way. She also could have ridden with Jericho but…but Benoit. Jericho had told her that Benoit's family wanted to meet them. His tag partner and valet. Apparently, Benoit's wife had asked especially to meet the pretty and talented young woman who was managing her husband. Angel had just about crapped herself. Benoit must have told his wife what had happened but of course, being Benoit, he'd bent the truth to suit himself. He'd probably painted Angel as the cheap, skanky little slut who'd thrown herself on him, a married man. She could just imagine what the wife would say.

"How dare you, you dirty little home-wrecker? You're nothing! Do you hear me? Nothing!"

Well, Angel was damned if she was gonna let that happen. A small smile crept across her face as she realized that, in her mind, Benoit's wife sounded exactly like Benoit, only with a slightly higher voice. That was pretty classic.

Anyway, straight after Benoit's match, Angel had split as fast as she could. She'd hauled some dude out of a taxi and stole it. She was back at the hotel in no time.

Benoit's match. All thirty minutes of it. His ribs were still bruised and by the end his bandage had come loose and was hanging off his stomach like a tail. The tail of a Wolverine. Apparently Angel couldn't even bandage properly anymore. She was completely losing the plot, just as Benoit was going from strength to strength.

Three sharpshooters, four crossfaces and ten freaking Germans in a row. If it hadn't been for a well-timed chair shot by Vince, Benoit would have won. Benoit had gone insane, wailing on Vince with the chair. But the match wasn't over and Austin grabbed Benoit's tights and rolled him over into a pin. The ref called the three and that was that. Benoit was livid - yet another match he'd lost because of illegal tights pulling. But this time it was the Federation title and it had happened in his home town. You can't always get what you want.

Angel sighed and watched the cars outside travelling down the street below. There weren't so many of them now. It was late and Edmonton wasn't exactly a party town. How could it be? Benoit lived here. Benoit and the wife and kids. He'd been so happy tonight knowing they'd be watching. So freaking happy. It was a world away from a week ago when he'd been pissed off all night and then he'd kissed her. He still hadn't said anything about it. Everything was back to normal. He yelled at her when he thought she deserved to be yelled at and ignored her the rest of the time. Even when she and Jericho teased each other he didn't seem to care. If he stared at her, it was always at her face, no matter what she was wearing. He was businesslike and focused. All the time.

Angel was frustrated. He was normal. She was numb. Seeing just how normal he was tonight hadn’t just made her more numb, it had made her doubt herself, something she hated doing. Had that kiss happened at all? She thought it had, but she had been pretty badly concussed and, from memory, her dreams had been pretty bizarre that night. Were that kiss and the conversations that followed it just parts of another dream? It was possible. She'd had raunchy dreams about Benoit before. But if it had all been a dream, why had she spent one night in the suite alone and the rest of the time since then in her own single room? Unless the suite part hadn't happened either. She'd been concussed. It was possible.

'Why am I spending so much time thinking about this?' she asked herself. 'Because I want to know. I have to know. Why did he do it? He still hasn't told me. But I can’t ask him, because what if it didn't happen? He'd have me then. There'd be no coming back from that.'

Angel sighed again, pressing her warm face against the stark coldness of the windowpane. She had a great view from here - miles and miles - practically the whole city. She wondered if one of those houses out there was Benoit's…or did he live in an apartment? She didn't know. He was probably sleeping right now, knowing him. Yup. Sleeping or screwing. Angel slammed her forehead against the window. Great. Now she was thinking about Benoit screwing. Or was that screwing Benoit?

She turned away from the window with a deep sigh and looked around her room. The bed was still made and her clothes were still in her cases. She was still wearing her outfit from that night - the 'Shooter' crop top and leather pants. The hotel room was lit brightly from above. The TV wasn't on. And the whole scene just felt so empty. So…so lonely.

Angel sat down on the bed and clicked the remote, bringing the TV to life. Three cycles of the channels later, she clicked off again in disgust. Edmonton didn’t just have no nightlife, it also had no decent TV.

She flopped backwards and stared up at the ceiling for awhile, trying to get her thoughts in order. It was an impossibility. There was just too much on her mind.

Finally, she spoke out loud.

"I gotta get out of here."

Then she jumped to her feet, grabbed her key and left the room.

* * * *

Angel knocked at the room next door, not fancying her chances much. What were the odds that two insomniac losers had adjoining rooms in the same hotel? But the door opened and there stood Jericho, shirtless and looking like he'd just thrown his pants on.

"Hey," he smiled.

Angel frowned. "I didn't wake you, did I?" she asked, thinking that if he'd been doing other things that didn't require clothes she probably would have heard it.

"Nah," he replied. "I wasn't sleeping."

"Oh. Well, I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Well yeah, actually you are." He grinned at her stricken face. "I'm watching hockey. You wanna come in?"

Angel nodded coolly. "Yeah, that'd be nice."

She followed him into the room.

"Take a seat," he told her, picking up the phone.

"What are you doing?" Angel frowned, flopping down on the bed.

"Calling for pizza. You look like you might wanna hang out for awhile."

Angel nodded. "I couldn't sleep. My room was just…I don't like this town."

Jericho raised his finger for silence. "Yeah, can I get a large pepperoni and a bottle of Coke? Yeah, just a second. Hey Rogue, do you know the address of this prison?"

Angel leaned over the bed, opened the bedside drawer and found the matchbooks next to the bible. She threw one at Jericho.

"Catch."

Jericho finished his order, then hung up the phone and turned to Angel with a grin.

"Done."

Angel stared at him incredulously. "You called a local pizza place to deliver to the hotel?"

"Well, it beats room service," Jericho shrugged.

"But they'll let you do that?" Angel questioned.

"Baby," Jericho grinned. "It's amazing what can happen when you're Y2J."

Angel returned his smile and threw a pillow at him. He caught it and leaped down on the bed next to her.

"It's hockey time," he announced, holding up the VCR remote and pressing play.

"It's a tape?" Angel frowned.

"Yeah. It was on while we were working tonight so I had the AV guys record it for me. They love me."

"Damn Jerichoholics. They're everywhere!" Angel cried. "Who are we watching?"

"Stanley Cup game three. Colorado and New Jersey. Ooh, nice save. Did you see that, Rogue? Did you see it?"

"Yeah, I saw it. And who are we barracking for?"

"Barracking?" Jericho frowned, before figuring it out. "Oh, I'm rooting for the Avalanche. New Jersey's just too close to home, you know?"

She didn't know, but that wasn't what was bugging her about what he'd said. "Well, you go ahead and root for them. I'm just gonna stick to barracking, okay?"

"Whatever you say, Rogue," Jericho replied absently. "Oh, that was so close! Come on, get it! Come on!"

Angel watched quietly, but Jericho was really into the game, screaming at the top of his lungs. He couldn't have been watching for long before Angel got there - she would have heard him for sure.

"That's icing, ref, icing! See, Rogue? Told ya it was icing."

Angel nodded. Whatever icing was. She didn't really get ice hockey, other than the fact that you had to put the puck in the net. Well, that and the fact that, for some unfathomable reason, there were three periods and not two or four. And sure, she'd spent her early childhood in the USA, but this particular sport had just never been a part of her culture - not the way it was obviously a part of Jericho's.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Jericho checked his watch. "Twenty-five minutes. Damn, I wanted free pizza." He grabbed for his wallet and handed it to Angel. "Can you get it?"

"Sure," Angel nodded.

She opened the door. There stood a generic pimply teenage pizza guy.

"Holy shit!" he cried. "You're Chris Benoit's hot-looking valet! I mean, I got your pizza, ma'am. Your Coke, too."

Angel gave him a dazzling smile and took the pizza box and bottle. "Thanks. Um, how much do I owe you?"

"Oh yeah," he grinned. "You're supposed to pay for it. It's uh…large pizza…Coke…uh…"

"That's okay," Angel grinned. "Here's a twenty. You can keep the change as your tip." After all, it was Jericho's money and he'd hardly miss a couple of dollars.

"Wow, thanks," the pizza guy smiled. "You know, you really are one sexy chick…uh I mean woman. And that accent - it's insane!"

Angel grinned. "Thanks." She realized he hadn't made any move. "Hey, would you like an autograph?"

His eyes lit up. "Could I?"

"Sure," Angel chuckled.

He searched his pockets. "Oh, I don't have anything for you to sign…or a pen."

"That's okay," Angel told him. "What's your name?"

"Mike Daniels."

"Mike. I'll be right back." She stepped inside and closed the door.

"Took you long enough," Jericho commented.

"Sorry. The pizza dude's a fan. Is there anything around we can sign for him?"

"Yeah. They usually put a notepad with the matchbooks, so wherever you got that from."

Angel found it. "You got a pen?"

"Backpack. Front pocket."

"Got it. Hmm, now let's see." Angel scrawled a message. "You wanna sign it too?"

"And make some kid's night?" Jericho asked. "You bet I do. What's his name?"

"Mike."

Jericho broke into a grin and started writing. He tore off the notepad page and handed it to Angel, who read his message.

'Mick,

Edmonton is Jericho…or Benoit. But he's not here and Y2J is so I'll have to do. Sorry about that, junior.

Y2J - Chris Jericho.'

Angel grinned and stepped back over to the door. "Here you go, Mike."

"Thanks. Oh my God. Chris Jericho's in there?"

Angel nodded, amused.

"Whoa, this is so cool! Hey, can I have a hug?"

"Sure," Angel nodded, deciding not to warn him that if he tried grabbing her ass she would deck him.

Mike finally stepped back again. "You're great - you’re totally hot and you've got some amazing moves. Hey, can you tell Chris Benoit I think he's awesome and he's definitely gonna be the next WWF champion?"

"No problem," Angel nodded.

"Thanks. Well, bye…Angel. Enjoy your pizza."

"See you later, Mike," Angel smiled, stepping back into the room. "Fans are fun."

"Told you," Jericho replied, already with a mouthful of pizza.

Angel jumped down next to him and picked up a slice. "This stuff is good. How's the game going?"

"Nearly over. Avalanche are gonna win it unless something miraculous happens."

"Oh. But that's good, right?"

"Yeah, Rogue, it's good," Jericho grinned. "Oh, ten seconds left. Eight, seven, six…"

Angel counted with him. "Five…four…three...two…one…"

Jericho let out a noise like a buzzer as Angel screamed out, "Break the walls down!"

Jericho laughed. "You're a funny girl."

"I know. Now, scoot. I need some more pizza."

Jericho switched off the tape. "Good game. What you wanna watch now, baby?"

"I don't know," Angel sighed. "You choose."

They finally settled on ESPN, where a late edition of Sportscenter was playing and sat back to watch.

* * * *

As the TV quality degenerated so did Angel's mood. Soon she'd have to go back to her room and return to her life. She didn't want to. With Jericho, she was smart and funny and beautiful. Alone, she was as with Benoit. Absolutely nothing. She sighed deeply and drew her knees up towards her chest. Jericho gave her a sideways glance and put a protective arm around her. His touch made Angel burst into tears, although she didn't quite know why. It was probably because she was tired. She hadn't slept too well this week. She was restless, nervous.

Jericho pulled her into his chest and gently touched his hand to her face, wiping away her tears.

"Do you need a Kleenex?"

She shook her head and he pulled her even closer, rubbing her back and the back of her head as she sobbed against his chest. Finally, she moved away and stared at him with tear-stained eyes.

"I'm sorry. I don't know why that happened"

"It's okay," Jericho replied seriously. "Sometimes it's hard."

"Yeah," Angel nodded.

Jericho mirrored her nod.

"Hey, I know what you need," he announced, leaping off the bed. "This is why I always get the key to the minibar." He returned with a few tiny bottles. "Vodka, tequila, scotch, bourbon. You name it, we got it. I can even hunt up a beer if you wanna be exotic."

Angel managed a small smile. "I'll return to my roots. Tequila me."

"You got it, baby." He spread out the bottle son the bed and handed Angel the tequila as he tried the scotch.

"It might not fix it," he murmured. "But sometimes it makes you feel better."

Angel nodded, taking a shot and feeling the warmth of the liquid as it hit her stomach. "Let's just hope tonight's one of those nights."

* * * *

Several bottles later and Angel was feeling no pain.

"Hey Jerky!" she cried, grabbing at his arm. "How many bottle in that minibar?"

Jericho grinned at her in between sips of a Heineken he'd found. "Lots."

"You think we can finish it?"

"What, tonight?" Jericho frowned.

Angel nodded enthusiastically.

"Sounds like a challenge," Jericho replied thoughtfully. "Let's do it."

"Great!" Angel cried, leaping to her feet. "Pile the bottles on the bed and we'll go through them one by one."

"You want a Snickers?" Jericho asked, finding one in the minibar.

Angel thought about it. "Okay."

"Good, 'cause I wanted the Butterfinger."

Angel smiled happily at the different tastes in her mouth. Snickers, vodka, Snickers, vodka, ooh, Snickers and vodka. Surprisingly good, like chocolate liqueur…and peanuts.

She peered down at the pile of bottles and burst out laughing.

"What?" Jericho frowned.

"I just realized. They did this on 'Dawson's Creek'. How sad are we?"

Jericho grinned at her and started singing in a high-pitched voice. "I don't wanna wait for our lives to be over!"

Angel fell back onto the bed, dissolving into fits of laughter. "Very good! Now, do 'Friends'."

"Too easy," Jericho told her, before he started singing. "So no one told you life was gonna be this way…"

Angel joined in and they sang the whole song, loudly and raucously.

"'Cheers'!" Jericho cried when they finished.

"Making the way in the world today takes everything you've got!"

The sang together, then Angel said, "Okay, a tough one. 'The Greatest American Hero'."

"Obviously, you don't know who you're dealing with," Jericho warned her. "I am Stone Cold Steve Austin. Just kidding. 'Greatest American Hero'? Believe it or not, I'm walking on air…"

"I thought I was the only one who knew that," Angel announced when they were done.

"You thought wrong," Jericho replied. "'Laverne and Shirley'."

They went through as many TV theme songs as they could remember, and a good portion of the minibar, too.

"You think Benoit's having as much fun as we are?" Angel asked suddenly.

Jericho shook his head. "No, I bet I know exactly what he's doing. He's sitting on his couch, watching a tape of tonight's match, trying to figure out what he did wrong. And his wife's saying, 'honey, come to bed'. But he's saying 'no. I have to watch this. If I watch it enough times I'll never lose and if you don't think so, why don't you prove me wrong?'"

Angel gave a little laugh. "Is she nice?"

"Who? Mrs. Crippler? Yeah, she's nice. Nice-looking too. I can't for the life of me figure out how he landed her."

"Unsolved mysteries, huh?" Angel joked.

"Yeah. Did that have a song? I don't remember."

"Me neither. I need a drink."

She reached for a bottle and unscrewed the lid. Jericho held up his beer.

"To Benoit."

"To Benoit," Angel nodded, clinking her bottle against Jericho's. "May he rot in hell."

* * * *

Jericho returned from the bathroom.

"There's still that many bottles left? Oh, no way."

"Come on, Jerky," Angel coaxed him, patting the bed. "We can do this."

"If you say so," Jericho shrugged, flopping down as Angel handed him another bottle.

"You know what we should do?" she announced, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes. "Body shots!"

"What?" Jericho cried incredulously.

"Come on!" Angel insisted. "There's plenty of tequila left and you don't have to do 'em out of my tits if you don't want to."

Jericho stared at her, eyebrows raised. That was one seriously drunk girl.

"Two problems," he told her. "No, make that three. No shot glasses, no lemon, no salt."

Angel scrunched her face up into a thoughtful frown. "If I fix the problems, will you play? I'm not that drunk, you know."

"I can see that," Jericho humored her. "Okay, if you can fix the problems, we can do the body shots."

"Great!" Angel cheered. "We don't need shot glasses 'cause we'll do them straight from the bottles. There's not much more than a shot in any of them. And as for lemon and salt? Two words, Jerky. Room service."

"Room service?" Jericho echoed. "At what…two thirty?"

"That's why it's called 'room service'," Angel told him, enunciating her words clearly. "If we want something they have to get it for us."

"Okay," Jericho shrugged, picking up the phone. "I did promise."

"Yes!" Angel cried, bouncing up and down. "Oh man, I gotta pee."

She raced into the bathroom, leaving Jericho to make the call.

"Hey, I'm calling from room 274. I need a full salt shaker and some lemons, cut into wedges would be good. Why yes, I am doing body shots. Don't worry, if we make a mess, I'll pay for it. Bye."

Angel practically danced on her way back from the bathroom. "I feel good. Do I look good?"

Jericho smiled at her and looked her up and down. Her hair was wild and her face was flushed, but at least she wore a grin.

"Yeah, baby. You look great. Hey, do you have any idea how much salt and lemons are gonna cost me?"

Angel shrugged and leaped onto the bed, flopping down on her back. "Lots and lots and lots. I'm just gonna lie right here, okay, and wait for room service."

She closed her eyes and hummed a little tune as Jericho grabbed a trashcan and started tidying away the empty bottles.

Knock, knock, knock.

"That was quick!" Angel cried, sitting up.

"All they had to do was cut the lemons," Jericho reminded her as he headed to the door, wallet in hand.

"Body shots!" Angel cried triumphantly when he returned. "You first or me?"

"Ladies first," Jericho told her, sitting down and handing her the salt.

"Okay," Angel frowned. "Salt, shot, lemon. Here goes. Let me get at your neck." She licked it so the salt would stick better, then sprinkled out the salt. "Lemon in your mouth. Let's go."

Salt, shot, lemon.

"Oh, I love that!" she cried. "Your turn."

Jericho grinned. "Look out, baby. Here I come."

Salt, shot, lemon. Salt, shot, lemon. Salt, shot, lemon.

"My turn!" Angel cried. "Dammit."

"What's the matter, baby?"

"We're out of tequila. Wait a minute. No, we're not. I'll be right back."

She ran from the room before Jericho could answer so he just shrugged and picked up another drink.

* * * *

Thud!

Jericho leaped to his feet and hauled the door open.

Angel was sitting there, flat on her butt, laughing like a psycho.

"What happened?"

"I don't know!" Angel cried, accepting his offered hand. "But I dropped the tequila."

"It's okay," Jericho told her. "Carpet."

"Right," Angel grinned, helping him scoop up the still-intact bottles. "Carpet."

They carried them into the room and dumped them on the bed.

"My turn," Angel announced. "Jerk up, Salty. I mean, salt up, Jerky."

Jericho laughed. She was funny when she was drunk.

Angel shook out the salt and handed him a lemon. Salt, shot…

"Damn!" she cried. "I spilled it. Never mind."

She simply leaped forward and licked the tequila from Jericho's chest, then went for the lemon as normal. "All fixed! Your turn."

Salt, shot, lemon. Salt, shot, lemon.

"Hey," Angel said, picking up a bottle. "You wanna reverse the salt and lemon?"

"What?" Jericho frowned. His head was buzzing. How was Angel still sitting up? They'd done four body shots each and that was before all those other drinks. No, after. It was after the drinks.

"I put the lemon in my hand and you do the shot from my mouth."

Jericho nodded. That didn't sound too bad.

Angel held the bottle to her lips. "Do it quick," she grinned. "Before it gets warm." With that, she took the shot herself.

Jericho sprang into action. Salt, shot… The tequila slid from her mouth into his. Damn, it tasted good.

Angel was the one who broke the kiss.

"Lemon!" she shrieked, shoving it in his face. He bit it quickly, letting the bitterness assault his tastebuds.

"Okay," Angel called out. "Now I do one."

Jericho nodded rapidly. That was fine by him. Salt, shot… Angel really wanted the tequila. Her tongue darted into Jericho's mouth and his met it there, moved against it, shared the taste. Angel finally pulled back, her breathing ragged.

"Lemon?" she frowned.

Jericho held her gaze, raised the lemon into the air and threw it over his shoulder. Angel grinned, grabbed at him and pulled him down for another kiss. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her deeply, tenderly. Nothing like the violent, possessive bullshit Benoit had tried last week.

Angel sighed happily as her lips and tongue responded to his and her hands trailed slowly down his bare upper body, over his shoulders, his back. His muscles were so soft and yet so hard at the same time. It really was incredible.

They rolled to their sides, sill kissing. Jericho trailed his lips down the side of her face, down her neck. Angel's hands had made it to his butt. Great ass - at least as good as Test's. Finally, she slid them back up and buried them in his hair as her lips found his again. She started kissing her way down his chest, tasting tequila, tasting him. His hands moved over the front of her shirt, cupping her breasts as she continued her way down his stomach. She was so turned on and could feel that he was, too. This was so right. So right. Her lips hit the waistband of his pants and she paused, then moved her hands to the front, to the fly.

"What are we doing?" Jericho murmured.

She peered up at him curiously. "You wanna stop?"

"No," Jericho admitted. "But I think we should."

Angel took a deep breath and dropped her hands. She moved back up his body until her mouth was right next to his. "Why?"

Their lips touched and Jericho's eyes closed again. "Because we're drunk."

"Yes. Very drunk," Angel whispered against his mouth. Their kiss deepened and they grabbed at each other's faces.

Jericho finally pulled away. "I'm serious. We can't do this."

"Sure we can," Angel murmured, pulling him in again.

"No," Jericho replied. "You're drunk and I'm not gonna take advantage of you…not when you're drunk and I'm drunk and…"

Angel finally broke away and scowled at him.

"Oh, I forgot you're the damn paragon of virtue, aren’t you? That's what everyone calls you, you know."

"I know what they call me," Jericho muttered.

"How does it feel, Jericho?" Angel asked. "Knowing you're so much better than everyone else - so much more virtuous? How does it feel? You'd never take advantage of a woman. You don't need to. You're Y2J. Tell me, Jericho. Are you a virgin? Are you saving yourself for marriage? Hey, Mr. Paragon of Virtue? Are you?"

Jericho frowned at her. "That was mean."

Angel stared at him, spotting the hurt on his face. "I know. I'm sorry."

"I know you are," Jericho sighed. "Come here, baby."

Angel crawled back over to him and he wrapped her up in his arms again.

"Don't be mad, okay?" he said gently. "You're beautiful and sexy and smart and funny and talented. You deserve a lot better than a drunken grope."

Angel felt the tears started again and tried to swallow them down. Jericho held her tight and they rocked gently, bathed in silence.

"What are you thinking?" he asked at last.

"I'm confused," she murmured sadly. "So damn confused."

"Yeah," Jericho sighed, slowly running his hand up and down her arm. "I know what that's like."

He didn't, though. How could he possibly know? So Angel just kept quiet, enjoying the closeness of him but realizing she'd probably never been so lonely. So…so numb.

"You know," Jericho said suddenly. "As much as it sucks, we're not always able to get what we want."

"I know that," Angel whispered, her head still buried against his chest. "It seems to be my mantra lately."

Jericho nodded solemnly and took a deep breath. "You can't have him, baby. It doesn't matter how much you want him. He's got a wife, a family. You can't have him."

"I know," Angel sighed before abruptly raising her head and changing her tone into something harsher, more accusatory. "Look. Whatever you think you know, you don't, okay?"

Jericho held her gaze, a serious look on his face. "Yeah, I do. You just told me so yourself."

Angel scrunched up her face and leaped across the bed, away from him.

"Shit," she muttered, raking her hands through her hair. "Shit, shit, shit."

"It doesn't make you a bad person," Jericho called out. "Hell, I've often thought about a roll in the sack with him myself. Bringing tag partners closer, so to speak."

Angel turned and glared at him. "That's not funny."

"Sorry," Jericho said seriously. "You wanna talk about it?"

"No."

"Come on, baby," Jericho cajoled her. "It might make things better."

"Right," Angel muttered. "I don't want to talk about it because I don't really know if I really even want him."

"Yeah, you do. You just don't know if you love him. Lust is easy. Either you want him or you don't. Love's a little bit harder."

"I don't love him!" Angel cried incredulously. "I just…I just don't know if I hate him anymore. I mean, I do hate him…God, but I still want him so bad. Argh!" she screamed. "I hate alcohol. It always makes me honest and that sucks."

Jericho said nothing. He had a feeling she was on a roll now. He was right.

"I don't even know why I want him. He doesn't deserve it. He's such an ugly, evil, putrid piece of shit and he's so goddamn sexy I can hardly stand it. And I know he's married and the thing is, I don't care. I don't care. I hate him so much. I hated him before I wanted him, but now I hate him even more. I hate him because I want him and there's nothing I can do about it and I know it. I didn't need you to tell me that. I know it. I hate him because he went home to screw his wife and he left me alone with nothing to do but imagine him screwing his wife…or screwing me. God, I am so messed up. I hate it. I hate him. I want to…I want to see him naked. I want him to see me naked. I want to be naked with him. And I'm sorry for sharing because I know that's wrong. Sick and wrong."

"It's okay," Jericho said quietly. "Well, not okay okay, but okay. Okay?"

Angel nodded slowly. "I just don't know what to do. No one can help me. No one understands because no one's half as messed up as I am. No one's even close to being that sick and that wrong."

"I understand," Jericho told her.

Angel turned to him with a frown. "No, you don't."

He gave her a self-deprecating smile. "Rogue, baby. I am the king of sick and wrong."

"Yeah right," Angel muttered, turning away again.

"There's not much sicker and wronger than having a crush on Stephanie McMahon for two years."

"What?" Angel cried, spinning around again. "What did you just say?"

"I've wanted Steph since the moment I joined the WWF. It was one of the reasons I joined, actually. But then she was with Test and now she's with Hunter and she just didn't give a shit."

"Oh my God," Angel blurted. "You mean I was right?"

"Yup," Jericho sighed. "You were right."

"Oh my God," she said again. "I only said that to get a rise out of you."

"Well, you did," Jericho shrugged. "You're one of only two people who ever called me on that."

"Who's the other one?" Angel frowned.

Jericho let out a deep sigh. "Chyna. You know, you were right about something else. I do want to be Triple H. Or at least, I want his women." He broke off and reached for another drink. "Chyna. Man, I hated her. She is one big bitch. I couldn't stand the sight of her, because she could beat me and I hated that. My manly pride just couldn't take it. And then suddenly Kirk Angel came along and we were on the same team. You know, that dude has a real knack for bringing people together. Me and Benoit, you and Benoit, me and Chyna… Anyway, no matter what you may have heard, we were never more than just friends, me and Chyna. I wanted more, hell, I prayed for more, but I guess she never took me seriously, like I'm some clown or something. And then one day she was gone. She said to me, 'You know what, Chris? I know Eddie's a greasy little rodent, but I'm gonna give him one date, just to shut him up.' So, that was that. She left me for a midget with a mullet, lost me my Euro title and all. When they broke up I tried to talk to her, but she said she didn't want to listen to any of my smartass bullshit. She couldn't take that I was right and she was wrong. So she ran off with Bad-Ass Billy, who has enough trouble walking upright and talking at the same time, let alone thinking of something entertaining to say. You know, he's harmless, like one of the Backstreet Boys. I could have killed him when her neck got busted. And then when it happened again. But then again, it did break them up…" He shrugged. "When I see her round now we don't talk much. I don't think she's ever forgiven me for not visiting her when she was out injured. But I had stuff of my own to deal with, you know and…okay, fine. I admit it. I should have gone. But I didn't. I couldn't. I'm fine around hospitals and sick people - so long as I know what to expect, and with Chyna I just didn't. I mean, a broken neck. Who knew what could happen? And why'd she even expect me to go? It's not like we were even really friends. Not since Eddie. And I guess we're even. She left me for Eddie. I left her for dead." He hung his head miserably.

Angel crawled up by his side. Now she was consoling him.

"You should talk to her," she said softly, stroking his long golden hair. "I mean, Steph's a lost cause. She's like Benoit. But Chyna…I don't think it's the same thing. I think you're in love with her."

"What?" Jericho cried incredulously.

"Well, you definitely like her a lot, which is more than I can say about Benoit. You should just ask her out. You have nothing to lose and at least you won't keep asking yourself 'what if' anymore."

"Nah," Jericho sighed. "I had my chance."

"Come one, Jerky. Just ask her. Maybe she'll even say yes."

"Well, of course she'd say yes, baby. I mean, I am Y2J. Me and Chyna. I don't know, Rogue. I mean, I am so much better than her and all."

"Oh, without a doubt," Angel grinned.

They flopped back on the bed and lay there, staring at each other.

"Look at us," Jericho murmured. "Aren’t we just the most pathetic couple ever?"

"Probably," Angel replied. "But at least we've got each other."

"Right, but I'm still not going to take advantage of you."

Angel sighed. "I need a boyfriend."

"Yeah," Jericho agreed. "We definitely need to get you hooked up."

"Let's see," Angel mused, closing her eyes. "Most people are too old. Spike Dudley and Steve Blackman are taken; Edge, Christian, Rhyno and Test are assholes; X-Pac, Justin Credible and Albert are in homosexual denial; K-Kwik…K-Kwik's cute, but I don't know if he'd be able to handle the fact that I'm a better wrestler than he is. Same goes for Essa Rios, plus he's my cousin's ex."

"You're Lita's cousin, not Crash's, so that counts him out," Jericho put in.

"Funny," Angel laughed. "Uh, Jerry Lynn? I don't know much about him, but he seems like a prick. Or there's that new guy. What's his name? Tajiri?"

"How about Jeff Hardy?" Jericho suggested.

"Oh, Jeff? No. Him and me have we too many issues to ever go down that road again."

"But he's into you," Jericho told her.

"So I'm told. It's just…it's not gonna happen. Sorry."

"Hey, don’t apologize to me…what's wrong?"

Angel leaped to her feet. "Oh God, I'm gonna hurl." She sprinted into the bathroom without another word.

Jericho got to his feet. Funny, she'd seemed pretty sober for a while now. Delayed reaction vomiter. He dug his water bottle from his gym bag and followed her into the bathroom. She was just flushing the toilet and hanging onto the bowl for dear life.

"See?" she muttered weakly. "Even the thought of getting back with Jeff makes me sick."

Jericho lowered himself into a crouch and handed her the bottle. "Here. You should have been drinking water."

"Thanks." She took a sip. "You realize this is probably gonna make me spew more?"

Jericho sat back against the bath. "Probably."

Angel joined him and lowered her head onto his shoulder. "Thanks for being here, Jerky. You're the greatest."

"You too, Rogue," he replied, tilting his head so it rested on hers and gripping her hand comfortingly. "You too."