*lyrics from "Butterfly" by Crazy Town and "Intergalactic Planetary" by the Beastie Boys used without permission.

GOING ON A MOLE HUNT

SMACKDOWN! JULY 5TH, 2001

“Test!” Angel cried, absolutely stunned to see him.

“Hi Angel. Hi Chris,” he replied wearily, edging past the tables towards them.

“Hey junior,” Jericho greeted him. “Take a seat.”

“I think I’ll pass,” Test sighed. “Since I got my ass kicked on Monday, sitting down isn’t much fun anymore.”

“Yeah, I can imagine,” Angel nodded sympathetically. “I thought you were going home to recover.”

“I was,” Test sighed. “But what’s the point? So I go home to Toronto and get better. I come back and then what? I get my ass kicked again because everyone thinks I’m a traitor? No thanks. That’s why I’m here. I want to clear the air, you know? I’m no traitor, just because I’m friends with Shane McMahon.”

“I know,” Angel told him. And she did know. On Tuesday she’d gone to visit Test in hospital. She’d admitted pointing the finger at him to the APA, but he’d told her it wasn’t her fault. Apparently, Faarooq and Bradshaw had been on his case ever since the WCW Invasion had first begun. But Test couldn’t have been the mole – he was standing with Sergeant Slaughter when everything went down at Madison Square Garden. As Angel had feared, Test had been wrongfully accused.

“You would have thought people would have learned with the whole Dudleyz and Hollys, Molly and Spike thing, wouldn’t you?” Test said reflectively. “Friends, lovers, who really gives a crap? It’s like the two of you, Chris and Angel. Consider yourselves lucky no one wants to bust the two of you up. Yeah, me and Shaneo are friends, but that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna turn against the WWF. People should get that. It doesn’t matter who you’re friends with, who you’re dating, right?”

Angel nodded thoughtfully. “So you and Shane are dating now? Way to go, Test.”

Jericho started laughing. “Smooth, junior,” he agreed. “Real smooth.”

“Hey,” Test shrugged. “The two of you can make fun, I don’t care. I just had to get that off my chest. Say, the two of you haven’t seen the APA, have you? I’d like to have a word or two with those guys.”

“I’m sure they’re around somewhere,” Angel assured him. “And I had that tape sent to them yesterday like I said I would, so I just hope they’ve had time to take a look at it.”

“Yeah,” Test muttered. “Happy 5th of July to me. Thanks anyway, Angel.”

“That’s fine, Test,” Angel nodded. “Anything else I can do, just ask, okay?”

Test gave a weary little smile. “Thanks, but I’m a big boy. You’ve already done a lot. The rest is all about me.”

Angel reached out and placed a hand on his arm. “Good luck, Test.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you later, Angel. Later, Chris.”

“Bye, junior,” Jericho nodded and a very pained Test lumbered away.

“Well, he looks good,” Jericho commented.

“Poor guy,” Angel sighed. “At least I don’t have to feel guilty now.”

“You bet,” Jericho nodded. “It’s been a good week for you, baby.”

Angel smiled. She hadn’t had the dream since Monday, she’d retained her number one contendership, she’d made peace with Test. Then there was the fact that yesterday was the Fourth of July and she loved fireworks. It really had been a good week. But tonight she had to top it off…by beating X-Pac for that light heavyweight title. She peered briefly down at her half-eaten meal, suddenly eager to get ready, and threw her fork down.

“You ready to go?”

“Rogue, baby,” Jericho smiled, practically bouncing to his feet. “I thought you’d never ask.”

They walked quietly back to the locker room. Suddenly, when they were almost there, Angel spotted someone and felt the urge to break into song as they approached one another.

“Come, my lady, come, come, my lady, you’re my butterfly, sugar, baby. Hi Sugar,” she finished sweetly.

Gregory Helms eyed her skeptically.

“Hi Angel,” he replied simply, continuing past her.

“Goodbye, Gregory!” Angel cried in a fake British accent that just about made Jericho crack up.

Gregory stopped short and turned back, storming after Angel heatedly.

“Do you have a problem with my name?” he demanded, fists clenched.

“What?” Angel frowned, staring up at him with wide eyes.

“My name,” Gregory repeated. “Gregory Helms. Is there some kind of problem?” He went on before she could respond. “Because, you know. I was told I had to change it. I didn’t have a choice. If I didn’t change it, they would have fired me. And it is my real name, after all. And anyway, I’m defending my cruiserweight title tonight, so if you have a problem with my name, maybe you should just tell me so we can move on with our lives.”

“Oh, I don’t have a problem with your name,” Angel assured him coolly. “What I have a problem with, Gregory, is you.”

“Me?” Gregory frowned. “What did I do?”

Angel sighed. “Remember when I told you that I was sick of the WWF? Well, what I’m even more sick of is people who are only in this business for the money. That’s just pathetic, Shane, but it seems to be a trait you WCW people share.”

“What are you talking about?” Gregory demanded, not really caring that she’d called him Shane. “Since when was I…?”

“Oh, since when weren’t you, Shane?” Angel cut in, hands on her hips. “I thought we were tight, you know. You, me and Trish. The three musketeers, like you said. But the truth is, you were just in it to get your bonus and that is just pathetic.”

“You got it wrong, Angel,” Gregory argued. “In case you forgot, I helped you out.”

“What, by wearing a striped shirt and making a three count? Get real, Shane. I could have gotten Jeff Hardy to do that. But you were the one who wanted the bonus so I decided to give you a break.”

“Oh, that’s how you see it?” Gregory asked. “What’s wrong with you, Angel? Been inhaling some of this guy’s bleach?”

“Careful, junior,” Jericho growled.

“I’m not afraid of you, Jericho,” Gregory announced, before turning back to Angel. “What we had, Angel, was a trade. I called the three for you and in return, you got me on WWF-TV wearing my WCW shirt. It was a one for one trade.”

“As friends, right?” Angel asked evenly.

“Right,” Gregory nodded. Could it be, she was finally getting it?

“Well,” she muttered. “Some friend you are.”

“What?” Gregory cried incredulously.

“As soon as the trade was over, you were gone,” Angel scowled. “Yeah, Sugar. That’s what I call a friend.”

“What are you talking about? We hung out all weekend. I went to King of the Ring with you!”

“And then you split as soon as you got your bonus from Shane McMahon. Like I said, it’s all about the money for you people.”

“Oh, bullshit!” Gregory spat. “They dragged me out of the ring and gave me five minutes to get my things and say hi to my boss before they booted my ass out of the arena. Money had nothing to do with it.”

“No way,” Angel argued. “No way would they throw you out. You had a guest pass. I had Vince McMahon’s word that they wouldn’t touch you.”

“Well, I think the person you got a problem with is your boss, not mine,” Gregory scowled. “Because trust me, they booted me out of there faster than the Green Lantern beat Superman. And, in case you didn’t know, that was pretty darn fast.”

Jericho frowned and mouthed ‘Green Lantern’ but Angel was unmoved.

“Even if that is true,” she said evenly. “You could have showed up at Raw the next night.”

“Oh, I could, could I? Mind if I ask how? Those security guards would have kicked the crap out of me if I so much as looked at Madison Square Garden. How was I supposed to get in?”

At that moment, Spike Dudley appeared.

“Hey, I thought we could…” He broke off when he spotted Angel and Gregory in the midst of what looked like a heated argument. “Oh, is this a bad time? I can come back later.”

“No, it’s fine!” Angel and Gregory shouted together, making Spike cringe.

From behind Angel, Jericho gave a little nod. “Come in here, junior. We’ll let these two kill each other in peace.”

Angel spun furiously. “Jerky!”

He met and silenced her with a kiss on the forehead. “Shout if you need me. And if you do kill him, I am not helping clean up the mess. Just so you know.”

“Understood,” Angel nodded, touching his arm as he led Spike into the locker room.

“Whoa, nice mullet,” Gregory muttered as Spike shut the door.

“You can talk,” Angel scowled. “In case you hadn’t figured it out, ponytails are for women.”

“Your boyfriend in there wears a ponytail sometimes,” Gregory pointed out.

“He’s not my boyfriend. And anyway, I’m not done with you, yet. You wanted to know how you could have gotten into Madison Square Garden? Well, it can’t have been too hard. Mike Awesome managed it.”

“They weren’t expecting Mike Awesome,” Gregory argued. “They were expecting me.”

“Yeah,” Angel nodded. “You, Diamond Dallas Page and Booker T. But one of these things is not like the others, Shane. That’s right. Of those three, the only one not to show was you. If you’d wanted to get in, you could have gotten in.”

“Okay, so I could have gotten in,” Gregory cried. “What do you want from me? A formal apology?”

“Yeah,” Angel nodded. “Because we were expecting you; me and Trish. You broke her heart, Shane.”

“Whose, Trish’s?”

“Yes,” Angel insisted. “She thought the world of you. It was Shane this, Shane that. That’s all I ever heard from her.”

“I was never interested in Trish,” Gregory scowled.

“Well, you might have told her that. She didn’t believe me that you wouldn’t turn up. It must have screwed her up big time when you didn’t, because she ended up valeting for the Big Show and kissing my cousin’s boyfriend that night.”

Gregory’s eyebrows rose at the thought of Trish kissing Matt, but soon found their original alignment. “Trish Stratus’s mental health is not my problem.”

“No, it’s not,” Angel agreed. “But you know something, Shane? Trish wasn’t the only one who was disappointed when you didn’t show. Like I said, I thought you were my friend.”

“I am your friend, Angel!” Gregory cried. “Or was your friend. God, I don’t know.”

Angel eyed him impassively. “I thought you’d be there, since you helped me win the hardcore title. I thought you’d be there for my first defense, my match against Rhyno. I thought you’d come down the ring with me, because I wasn’t gonna let Trish anywhere near the action, but I knew you could take care of yourself.”

“Oh, so that’s it!” Gregory blurted. “I get it now. You didn’t want a valet. You wanted a tag team partner.”

“What?” Angel cried.

“Admit it, Angel. You wanted me to help you cheat, so you could keep your title even though Rhyno’s better than you. Well, you know what? Things don’t work that way. If you want to get to the top in this business, you have to do it alone.”

“Oh, like you can talk,” Angel scowled, plunging her hands into her pockets. “You’re the cruiserweight champion. That’s hardly the top.”

“Hey, at least it’s a title,” Gregory protested, slapping the belt he was wearing around his waist. “And I’ve worked damn hard to get it, so believe me when I tell you I’m not complaining.”

“You think I didn’t work my butt off for the hardcore title? I trained with Chris Benoit for four months, several hours a day, seven days a week. I took crossfaces, I took German suplexes, I took it all. Did you know they call him the Crippler because just once in ECW he German suplexed someone and broke the guy’s neck?”

“Sabu, I know,” Gregory scowled. “And you know how I know that? And no, it’s not because I was in ECW, because I wasn’t. It’s because I have lived and breathed this business ever since I was a kid. You think you’re hard done by because you had to train with Chris Benoit? Angel, you’re the luckiest person I know.”

“Lucky,” Angel spat. “Trust me, Sugar. “Luck has nothing to do with it.”

“Luck has everything to do with it. I know your story, Angel. I know you came to see your cousin when you were on holiday and now, what, five months later, you’ve got yourself a World Wrestling Federation contract? No matter what you’ve been through, forgive me, but I do not feel sorry for you.”

“Oh, well that’s nice,” Angel commented.

“It’s how it is,” Gregory told her. “You’re charmed. You think everyone breaks in like you did? You think everyone’s that lucky? No way, Angel. Everyone else in this business actually worked for everything they’ve gotten. They’re people with real dreams, who know what it’s like to have to make a choice between eating or finding a bed for the night so your neck isn’t aching after a hard match in the indies and weeks on end of sleeping in your car. They’re people who for weeks, months, years use more money driving to shows than they do fighting in them. They’re people who break limbs in Mexico and spill blood in Japan, all because they think that, just maybe, someday they’ll get over enough in the indies to have someone from the big leagues even look at them. They’re people who dream of being their heroes, dream of being Jimmy Snuka, Hulk Hogan, Stone Cold Steve Austin, Ric Flair, Bret Hart, Ricky Steamboat. They watch their personal heroes and they work and they work and they work for years, years, just on the off chance that someday they’ll stand in that ring and hold a title belt above their head. So, don’t berate my title, Angel. Because I am damn proud of it. And the way I see it, it shows I’ve paid my dues. It shows that all the sacrifices I’ve made are worth it, because, no, this might not be the top title in the business, but it’s damn sure closer than so many other people get. I know how lucky I am and I know all the things I’ve done to deserve it. Can you say the same thing?”

Angel glowered at him. “Let me get this straight. You think that just because I didn’t grow up in some North Carolina trailer park and I actually went to school when I was a teenager, I don’t deserve to be here? That just because you don’t recognize all the work I did as an active valet and manager as paying my dues, while I was still spending hours in the gym every day, those things don’t exist? It’s been a hard road for me too, you know. I lived in near constant fear for my life just because of the deal I made with Chris Benoit. And, unlike you, I couldn’t just go crying back home to mama when it all went wrong. I was stuck with it. I got beaten to within an inch of my life, twice. The second time I was in a coma for about five days. I have had clothes torn off me, ringbells in my face; I’ve lost friends, I’ve almost lost family. I pulled a hurricanrana fifteen feet off a steel cage with a broken arm to help out someone I didn’t even like. I’ve fought tooth and nail for everything I have achieved. If someone pushed me down, I got back up. If someone kicked me, I kicked back harder. All this, on my own. I have my friends, but I fight alone. And you’re trying to say I haven’t paid my dues? You don’t know me, Helms, and you have absolutely no right to judge me.”

“That’s right,” Gregory agreed. “I am trying to say you haven’t paid your dues. Not like everyone else. Everyone else had to work to get here. You just got lucky.”

“Is that so?” Angel scowled. “Well, I’ll tell you what, Gregory Shane Helms. Tonight, when I win the WWF equivalent of your title, we’ll see whether or not I deserve to be here. And, once I do win it, I’m laying down a challenge to you. Me versus you. Title versus title. Cruiserweight versus light heavyweight. Winner takes all. Because, Sugar?” she sneered, reaching up to touch his face. “I am going to kick your ass!”

“Oh, you think so?” Gregory demanded.

“Gregory, honey. I know so. And then, not only will I have your precious little title belt, not only will you have to admit that yes, I do deserve to be here even more so than you do, but you’ll have to go crying to your buddies, because you will have got your ass kicked by a girl. I’ll see you later, Butterfly.” She gave him one last bitchy smile and stepped into the locker room as she sang again. “Come my lady, come, come, my lady. You’re my butterfly, sugar, baby.”

Jericho lifted his head from his strategy session with Spike. “Everything okay, baby?”

Angel broke into a sick smirk. “Jerky, everything is perfect. Hi Spike, how’s Molly?”

“She’s good,” Spike smiled. “Oh, who am I kidding? She’s great. She should be here in a few minutes. I just sent her to get some drinks so she wouldn’t be bored by me and Chris here discussing our match. Not that it’s boring, but you know. Molly…” he finished feebly, a huge smile on his face.

Angel gave a little nod. “That’s good to hear.” She stepped over to her punching bag and let rip, clearing her mind of her fight with Gregory and replacing those thoughts with her strategy for her match. X-Pac was a highly skilled individual but he tended to waste way too much time attacking with his feet. If she could break down his ankle…or better yet his knee, he’d be screwed. There weren’t too many obvious submission holds for that, but there were plenty of attacks. That title was as good as hers.

* * * *

There was a light knock at the door.

“Just a minute, Chris.” Spike held his hand up and headed towards the door. “That’s probably Molly. “ He opened the door and broke into a huge smile. “Hi Molly.”

“Hi Spike,” Molly grinned back. She was holding a large bundle and Spike stood back against the door, allowing her entry. “Thanks.”

“Aw, that’s okay. Hey, Molly?”

“Yes, Spike?” she asked, brown eyes sparkling.

“I missed you.”

“Oh, Spike. I missed you too,” she replied as Spike drew her into his arms. She pulled back when she remembered the bundle she was carrying. “Oh yes, that’s right. This,” she announced, turning to Angel. “Is for you. I heard some folks talkin’ about bringing it to you, so I thought I’d save them the trouble, since I was comin’ here anyway and all.”

“Thanks Molly,” Angel nodded, taking the bundle from her. If Molly wanted to build bridges, Angel was perfectly willing to go with that. She started undoing the tape around the package, suddenly realizing that Molly was standing right behind her. Angel eyed her skeptically and she shrugged.

“I carried it all this way, so now I wanna know what it is.”

“Probably a parcel bomb,” Angel deadpanned, then finally got the tape undone. Several layers of plastic later, she saw what she had. Clothes. Lots and lots of clothes. Tank tops, tube tops, halter tops, baby tees. There were about ten all up with various patterns and slogans. She held up one, a tiny black and silver baby tee with the words ‘X-Pac? X-Champ’.

“Jerky?” she asked calmly. “Did you do this?”

Jericho gave her a sarcastic smile. “Just who was bitching to whom about having nothing to wear?”

Angel grinned, gathering up all the garments. “Overkill much?”

“Baby, you should know by now. Y2J does nothing by halves. And besides, the seamstresses love me.”

“Along with the AV guys and the production crew, right?”

“What can I say?” Jericho shrugged. “But baby, I am Y2J.”

“And one hell of a poet,” Angel agreed, giving him her brightest of smiles.

“Spike, when’s your match?” Molly asked, gazing adoringly at her boyfriend.

“It’s up first,” Spike told her. “But listen, Moll. I don’t think you should come out there with us. You know what my brothers are like and if anything was to happen to you…”

“That’s okay, Spike. I know. I’ll just watch from the back and root you on.”

“That’s my girl,” Spike smiled, touching her chin. “You know you’re more important to me than a stupid fight or even those titles, but Bubba and D-Von challenged me and Chris, and you know me, Moll…”

“You don’t back down from a fight, I know,” Molly nodded. “And I know you can do it. Just be careful, okay?”

“Of course,” Spike agreed. “And don’t you worry, Moll. I’ll be back here with you before you know it.”

“Promise?” Molly asked, eyes sparkling.

“I promise,” Spike assured her, leaning in for a kiss.

Angel smiled at the young couple for a few moments before turning to Jericho.

“What?” he frowned. “You wanna make out too?”

Angel rolled her eyes. “Do you want a bodyguard or not?”

Jericho thought about it. “It’s up to you.”

“Well, in that case,” Angel told him coolly. “I’m there.”

Just then there was a knock at the door.

“Dudley? Jericho? You’re up.”

“Well, that’s us,” Spike mused, pulling Molly close for one last kiss. “See you soon, kid.”

“Bye Spike,” she called eagerly as he, Jericho and Angel made their way through the door.

“Angel!” cried a voice. “Thank God I found you. I have a crisis and you’re definitely the only one who can help.”

Angel frowned at Trish. “Can it wait fifteen minutes?”

“Um, no. I said it was a crisis, didn’t I? Please, Angel. I need you. Please?”

Angel stared at Trish’s pouty face and let out a sigh. She caught Jericho’s arm and he turned back as she spoke. “I’ll be ready for the run in if you need me, but I guess I better stay here with Trish and Molly.”

Jericho gave a cool nod. “Good idea. Wouldn’t want them to trash our locker room.”

Angel grinned. “Good luck, Jerky.”

Jericho smiled in reply and let his hand slide down her arm until it met her own hand, before they touched fists.

Angel watched him leave, then stepped back into the locker room after Trish, who’d already entered and was speaking enthusiastically with Molly.

“So, Trish. What’s the problem?”

Refocused, Trish shoved her hands onto her hips.

“Well,” she started. “You know Jeff Hardy pretty well, wouldn’t you say?”

“Well, I used to,” Angel shrugged. “Why?”

“This,” Trish announced, reaching into the plastic bag she was holding and pulling out a men’s button-down shirt. It was purple and absolutely hideous. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

Angel stared at her incredulously. “That’s your crisis?”

“Well, yes! It would be just awful if I bought him the wrong thing. I mean, what if he didn’t like it?”

Angel sighed. Obviously Trish deviated somewhat from the mainstream definition of a crisis.

“Okay, Trish,” she replied diplomatically. “What makes you think Jeff would like that shirt?”

“Well, I like it,” Trish told her. “And it’s purple. That’s his favorite color, isn’t it? Purple or that lime green color he always wears, but they didn’t have a shirt in that color so I got this one instead.”

Angel was absolutely dumbfounded. “Trish, why did you buy Jeff a shirt anyway?”

Trish frowned. “Hello? Because he’s the greatest guy I’ve ever met. Did you see on Raw when he saved me from the Big Show? He didn’t have to, but he did anyway. That’s why I thought I’d get him something, but I so hope he likes it. Because you know, it’s expensive.”

“I’ll tell you what, Trish,” Angel told her. “I’ve known Jeff for almost six months and I hate to tell you, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wear a button-down shirt.”

“You haven’t?” Trish frowned.

“Sorry,” Angel shrugged. “He likes that tight-fitting mesh kind of stuff.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Trish nodded. “I guess I’ll have to take this back. Oh well, it doesn’t matter. We’re still in Tacoma, right? And now I guess I’ll have to thank Jeff a different way.” She arched her eyebrows at the thought.

Angel was stunned. “You mean to tell me you’re interested in Jeff Hardy?”

“Angel, I’m just gonna thank him for what he did on Raw,” Trish assured her. “Don’t worry. He’ll always be your man.”

Angel wasn’t sure she liked that idea. Especially when Trish appeared to be giving her a way out of the Jeff situation. The blonde Canadian sure could be persuasive when it came to men. Except Benoit. He’d spurned every since one of her advances. Angel was the one he’s had sex with.

“I want to fuck your brains out.”

She remembered it, that first time, as if it had happened minutes ago. His strong hands, grabbing at her, bringing her body alive with every heated touch; his hips grinding into her, sending her out of her mind with pleasure and anticipation of things to come; his mouth – his lips, teeth and tongue – sucking her, licking her, biting her, taking her closer and closer to the edge. And then, just when she thought it couldn’t get any better, any hotter, any more intense, he was inside her and no words existed that could even come close to describing just how sensational it was. She remembered it all so clearly. Molly could have Spike, Trish could have Jeff. Angel knew who really had it going on. She knew she’d never have him again, but she’d always have her memories and he’d always be with her, at least in spirit. In her heart, in her mind, in her whole body. Directing her, guiding her. He answered her need and she couldn’t ask for more.

“There’s my man,” Molly announced, gazing wistfully at the TV monitor.

Angel turned to look and was greeted with the sight of Spike following Jericho down the ramp.

‘I should be down there,’ she thought, absently taking off the tank top she was wearing and replacing it with the X-Pac one as Spike’s brothers made their entrance. ‘I’m supposed to be his bodyguard. But Trish put paid to that.’

“Hey Trish,” she said suddenly. “You’ll never guess who I ran into on Raw and again tonight.”

“Who?” Trish asked, fascinated.

“Shane Helms.”

“Shane?” Trish cried. “Really? Where is he?”

“Around,” Angel shrugged. “But I wouldn’t waste my time if I were you. Now he doesn’t need anyone to help him get his run in bonus, he’s become the ultimate jackass.”

“Really?” Trish frowned. “What did he say?”

“He pretty much told me that because I’ve never lived in my car I don’t deserve to be in the WWF.”

“That doesn’t sound like Shane,” Trish pointed out.

“Well, he said it, all right. Ask Spike and Jerky. They saw him.”

“Wow,” mused Trish. “He always seemed so sweet. I wonder what happened.”

“I told you,” Angel pointed out. “Now he’s got his precious bonus he doesn’t have to pretend to be a nice guy. He’s just like all the other WCW people I’ve met. Completely self-absorbed and only concerned about how many zeros are on their next paycheck.”

“Wow,” Trish said again. “You think you know someone.”

“Angel?” Molly piped up, eyes still glued to the TV screen.

“Yeah, Moll?”

“Can you tell Chris Jericho…yay, Spike!” she cried as her boyfriend bounced off Jericho’s back and hit the suicide dive on both his older brothers at the bottom of the ramp. She giggled as he beat his chest like Tarzan and threw D-Von back into the ring for Jericho to deal with. Finally, noticing that Spike was safely out of the action, she continued what she’d been saying. “Can you tell him that we…me and Spike, I mean…we’re real grateful for everything he’s done for us. I mean, it wasn’t just him, it was Chris Benoit, too, but we really appreciate knowing that some folks around here are on our side. So, I just want him to know that, and if there’s anything he needs – and I don’t just mean Spike helpin’ out with that handicap match on Raw, I mean anything, all he has to do is ask.”

“I’ll tell him, Molly,” Angel assured her.

“Thanks, Angel,” Molly beamed. “I like Chris Jericho. He’s a great guy and you’re real lucky to have someone like him in your life.”

“I know,” Angel nodded. “He’s my best friend.”

“Really?” Molly cried. “Me and Spike too. He’s my best friend, I mean. He’s always makin’ me laugh and smile and I love his eyes. They’re blue but they have these little parts of green in them. I could look into them all day, you know?”

“Yeah, he’s a cute one,” Angel agreed. “I think the two of you make a great couple.”

“You do? You really mean that? Gee thanks, Angel. That really means a lot to me. Oh no!” she gasped as Bubba hit a huge back body drop. “Come on, Spike.” She leaned forward in her chair, looking on worriedly as Bubba walked over Spike’s head. “Oh, poor Spike. Leave him alone, you overgrown ape. Let him be. Oh no!” The older Dudleyz had hit the flapjack.

Angel was just about to suggest they turn the TV off when Trish spoke.

“Well, Angel. This match is kind of depressing, so I think I’ll go.”

“Okay, Trish. Good luck with Jeff.”

“Thanks, Angel.” She stepped up to hug her friend, then trotted off, bag in hand.

“That was a really nasty shirt, don’t you think, Moll?” Angel asked as soon as the door shut.

But Molly was just clapping along as Jericho tried to rile up the crowd.

“Yeah, Spike!” she cheered as he moved out of the way of a D-Von leg drop and tagged in Jericho.

“Well done, Spike,” she cooed, as if he could hear her. “You did so good.”

“Let’s go, Jerky,” Angel joined in as her friend cleaned house and put Bubba in the Walls of Jericho. But, just as the big Dudley was about to tap, D-Von ran in for the save, forcing Jericho to break the hold. He tagged in Spike and dumped D-Von from the ring, then climbed down after hit. Spike hit the missile dropkick on Bubba and hooked his leg, but only got two. Angel cringed as D-Von slammed Jericho’s face into the barrier.

“Hey, Molly?” she mused. “I’m going out there.”

“Okay,” Molly nodded absently.

But by the time she got there it was too late. Bubba Ray had reversed the Dudley Dog and he and D-Von had double-teamed their brother for the win.

Angel ran to Jericho’s side. “Are you okay, Jerky?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Jericho muttered, grabbing his head. “How’s the little guy?”

Angel peered up into the ring.

“He’s just lying there. Bubba and D-Von won’t leave him alone.”

“Oh, they won’t, eh?” Jericho mused, climbing to his feet. “You take D-Von, I’ll take Bubba. Let’s go.”

Together, they dove into the ring. Angel his the standing dropkick to D-Von’s back, then, as he turned around to retaliate, she launched into him as hard as she could, clotheslining him over the top rope and out of the ring. She turned to find that Jericho had similarly disposed of Bubba, so they celebrated with a high ten and a butting of chests before they turned to Spike. He was still on the mat, holding his leg, his face contorted into a grimace.

“Are you okay, junior?” Jericho asked, trying to help him up.

“Uh, I don’t think so,” Spike groaned, still clutching at his leg.

“Okay.” Jericho nodded gravely. “Let’s get you out of here and get that leg looked at. Rogue, you think you can…?”

“Right on it,” Angel replied, slipping through the ropes and preparing to catch Spike as Jericho pushed him towards her.

“Be careful of his leg, baby.”

“I got it,” Angel assured him, letting Spike slip against her so she took all his weight. “Lean on my shoulder.”

Spike tried to walk but found he couldn’t put any weight on his leg at all. “Arrrgh!”

“New plan,” Jericho announced, jumping down next to them. “Junior, we’re taller than you. Just lean on both of us and we’ll carry you.”

“Alright,” Spike agreed, hating how weak he sounded. Even so, he allowed himself to be carried up the ramp without a word of protest. His leg hurt too much for that.

Molly was waiting in the hallway, an anxious expression on her face.

“Spike!” she blurted. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” he groaned. “I just have to go to the hospital, get some X-rays…”

“X-rays?” Molly cried. “You…you’ve broken something?”

“Maybe my leg,” Spike replied simply.

“Oh no!” Molly squealed. “I’ll have to go with you, Spike.”

“Sure, kid,” Spike assured her. “You can come along. Of all the people I could be stuck in the emergency room with, I’m glad it’ll be you.”

Jericho broke into a smile at that statement. “Well, junior. We’ll take you to see the trainer, then we’ll see if he thinks you need X-rays.”

“Okay, Chris,” Spike nodded, relaxing against the people who were supporting him. “Thanks for this. You too, Angel.”

“No problem, Spike,” Angel replied. “I just hope we find out your leg’s not broken after all.”

“Me too,” Spike mused. “But I don’t know. Something’s not right.”

* * * *

Gregory held his hand up to the crowd as he made his way down the ramp. It was all good. He was the cruiserweight champion, about to make his first title defense – at a WWF show, of all places. His opponent? Billy Kidman, an accomplished cruiser in his own right. But he wasn’t Sugar Shane, or rather Gregory Helms, the sensation of innovation. He didn’t have the Vertebreaker, didn’t have the Nightmare on Helms Street. What did he have? The shooting star press? Big deal.

Gregory had been training all his life for this moment. No one could want this title more than he did. He pointed to his belt and was surprised by what he heard in response. Boos. They were booing him? What was that about? He dismissed it with a shrug. They were WWF fans. What did they know? So he pretended like nothing was wrong, jumping into the ring and showboating a little as Kidman eyed him skeptically.

Gregory took his robe off and handed it to the ref along with his belt. His trunks still said ‘Sugar’ but that would change. If you wanted a great job like this gig with the new WCW, you had to make some sacrifices. It was part of life.

He and Kidman circled. It was time to retina the title. Kidman caught him almost immediately in a headlock, but he got out of it and shoved Kidman into the ropes, only to have him return and roll him up for the pin. Gregory leaped out quickly. He was going to have to watch out for that. Seconds later he was caught in the sunset flip, but again kicked out quickly, bounced to his feet and slapped Kidman across the face. Kidman fought back and they continued to trade shots for awhile until Gregory jumped out of the ring for a breather, only to be caught by the flying crossbody. Luckily it wasn’t falls count anywhere.
Kidman threw him back into the ring and hit the frogsplash but only got two.

Gregory ran a weary hand through his hair. That wasn’t good. His hair was a mess. Kidman was going to pay. Gregory sized him up and hiptossed him from the ring, then jumped down and started booting him.

“Come on, Kidman!” he cried, slingshotting him into the ring post, then tossing him back into the ring.

“One! Two!” Apparently this ref couldn’t count.

Backbreaker across the knee, another cover, another two.

Gregory glared at the ref. “How about three?”

“Two!” the ref replied. Oh well, maybe he couldn’t count to three. Didn’t matter, this one was over.

Gregory spread his arms, signaling the Vertebreaker. He set it up, but Kidman suddenly reversed, got him in the headlock and carried him up the ropes before bam! Powerbomb. Kidman left him alone then, so Gregory knew what that meant. He was going up top. He was going for the shooting star press. Gregory counted in his mind and rolled out the way. Sure enough, Kidman hit the deck with a thud.

Gregory grabbed Kidman’s head, spun him around and bam! Nightmare on Helms Street. He made the cover and stared expectantly at the ref.

“One! Two!”

Suddenly, the ref slid backwards from the ring.

Gregory waited for the three, but none came. He kneeled up and peered to the ground, wondering what had happened. There lay the ref, flat on his face. What the hell? Gregory jumped to his feet and turned around, but the second he did…bam! Angel Torres, wearing the WCW cruiserweight belt, hit the missile dropkick, right to Gregory’s face. She pulled off the belt with one hand and grabbed him in a headlock with the other, than ascended the ropes as she dropped the belt to the ground.

Gregory felt his body fly through the air, but he was too dazed from the dropkick to fight back. Bam! The last thing he felt before he blacked out was cold metal on his forehead as he landed in the tornado DDT, right onto the belt.

Angel pulled the belt out from under his face and tossed it from the ring, then rolled Gregory over onto his back. She grabbed Kidman by the hand and dragged him on top of Helms, then climbed to the ground, picked up the ref and shoved him back into the ring.

The ref blinked groggily. What had happened to him? Oh well, it was all in a day’s work. It wasn’t as though getting attacked as all that uncommon. He blinked again and noticed that Kidman had the cover on Helms, so he did what he had to do.

“One! Two! Three!”

Angel punched the air.

“Oh yeah!” she cried joyously. “Kiss my ass, Gregory Helms. Kiss my ass!”

With that, she took one last look at the carnage she’d created and ran happily up the ramp.

* * * *

“Wish me luck,” Angel called.

“You heading off already?” a freshly showered Chris Jericho asked, frowning at the TV where the Hardyz and Lita had just made their way to the ring.

“Yeah,” Angel nodded. “You know me. I like to be there in plenty of time.”

“Okay, well good luck, baby,” Jericho replied, stepping up to give her a hug. “I know you’ll kick his ass.”

“You bet,” Angel agreed, flipping her sticks around and replacing them in their holder before walking out he door.

She walked coolly down the hall. This match would be no problem. She’d fought three guys on Sunday, plus the equivalent of two (Edge and Christian) on Monday. Also on Monday she’d put a three hundred and twenty-five pound man in crossface and already tonight she’d cost Gregory Helms his precious cruiserweight championship. Surely she could handle X-Pac, even if he did bring his little boyfriend Justin along. And besides, with Benoit in her mind, coaching her through it, how could she lose?

“Hey! I’d been hoping you’d show up again.”

Angel frowned at the smiling young man in the wife-beater and baggy shorts

“Well, you’re in luck, but I can’t talk. I’m on my way to a match of my own.”

“Hey, that’s cool,” the guy told her. “I just wanted to thank you for what you did. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have this right now.” He held up the WCW cruiserweight belt. The one she’d made him win.

Angel stopped and smiled at him. He was kind of cute.

“Well, you’re welcome, but it wasn’t about you…I just like my Sugar with coffee and cream, if you catch my drift.”

“Beastie Boys, I got ya,” the guy smiled. “And I know exactly what you’re talking about. Helms…he can be a bit much sometimes. Did you ever catch that song he and his boys put out?”

“No,” Angel replied, eyes wide. Song? Gregory Helms had a song?

“Well, you’re lucky, believe me,” the guy assured her. “So, anyway, my name’s Billy, but most people just call me Kidman and I’m cool with that.”

“Good to meet you, Billy,” Angel smiled, taking his offered hand and shaking it firmly.

“And you would be…?” Billy prompted, smiling right back at her.

“By the looks of things, I guess I’d be your guardian Angel.”

“My avenging Angel, by the sounds,” Billy joked. “But that’s really your name? Angel, I mean.”

“It’s what my mama calls me,” Angel told him.

“Well, your mama’s a good woman,” Billy smiled.

“Look what we got here,” called a voice.

“Well, ain’t this special,” added another. “Suspect number one, chattin’ with the enemy. Well, if that ain’t proof, I don’t know what is.”

Angel remained calm. “Hi Faarooq. Hi Bradshaw.”

“Hey there,” Bradshaw nodded. “Mole.”

“What?” Angel demanded as Billy leaped to his feet.

“Hey, guys, you can’t talk to her like that. That’s not cool.”

“Boy,” Bradshaw snapped, shoving Billy against the wall and staring him down. “Let me tell you somethin’. You just got yourself involved in someplace you don’t belong. Now, you can use our ring, hell, you can use our locker rooms, you can eat our food and get your purty little bottom-feeding face on our television show, but I’ll tell you what, WCW boy. You can not, and I mean can not use our women. Now do I make myself clear?”

“Use her?” Billy cried incredulously, although he was admittedly intimidated by six foot six of Bradshaw backed up by six foot two of Faarooq. “I was just talking to her. We were just talking.”

“I don’t think you understand, boy,” Faarooq cut in, taking his turn at staring Billy down. “We told you to get yourself out of our sight and don’t be talkin’ to our women no more. Now, get.”

“You don’t belong here, boy,” Bradshaw scowled. “Go join all those others in the locker room you stole from us. Now, go. Move, boy, move.”

“Fine,” Billy sighed, throwing his hands in the air. “I’m outta here. Nice meeting you, Angel. Maybe I’ll see you someplace a little…friendlier.” He gave Faarooq and Bradshaw one last glare and strode away, toting his title belt on his shoulder.

“Good riddance, that’s what I say,” Faarooq muttered as he and Bradshaw made sure Billy was actually gone.

Angel shook her head and continued on her way.

“Whoa, hold on there, honey,” Bradshaw called, grabbing for her arm. “We’d like to talk to you for a minute.”

“Yeah?” Angel challenged, wrenching her arm away and giving him a deadly glare. “Well, you’re out of luck. I’m on my way to a match.”

“No you ain’t,” Bradshaw argued. “You’re talking to us. And if you refuse to talk now, well, I think you saw what happened to good old Test on Monday night.”

Angel stopped and turned back. “What is this about?”

“We think you’re the mole,” Bradshaw informed her. “And do you know what we do to moles round here? We stomp on ‘em until they’re dead, that’s what.”

Angel sighed. “Look, I don’t have time for this.”

Bradshaw caught her arm again. “Maybe you don’t understand how serious we are. We hate and I mean hate WCW. Those lazy no good millionaires trying to piggyback the WWF’s success, trying to take advantage of all the work we done over the years. We hate it. But if it’s one thing we hate more than those WCW sons of bitches it’s a traitor. One of us that’s workin’ for them. Now, I’m gonna put it to you straight, honey, and give you a chance to explain, just because I like you, mind. But if you give the wrong answer, believe me, I ain’t gonna be likin’ you no more. So here it is, honey. Are you or ain’t you the mole?”

Angel focused unblinkingly on Bradshaw’s dark eyes. “I’m not your mole, guys. You’re gonna have to keep looking.”

But Faarooq was unconvinced. “Prove it.”

“What?” Angel spun to him, startled.

“He said prove it,” Bradshaw told her. “Where were you, end of Smackdown last week, end of Heat on Sunday?”

“I already told you...”

“No, honey, we want the truth. Where were you?”

Angel let out a deep sigh. “It was the truth. I was with Chris Jericho at the hotel, both times.”

Bradshaw nodded. “And I suppose if we asked him, he’d say the same thing?”

“Of course he…”

“Yeah, ‘cause he’s covering for you, ain’t he?” Bradshaw snapped. “Why I bet you got that little blonde wrapped right around your little finger, don’t you? I can just imagine what you do to get him to cover for you and I bet you be doin’ it real well.”

Fury blazed in Angel’s eyes and she slapped him across the face. “How dare you. I am not your damn mole so get off my case and let me get to my damn match, okay?” She shoved past both Acolytes and stormed towards the gorilla position, when some ominous words echoed through her.

“Tell her about the evidence, brother.”

“We got evidence, honey,” Bradshaw spat, holding his cheek. “So maybe you should hold it right there.”

Angel plunged her hands down on her hips. “What the hell kind of evidence could you have?”

“The first thing,” Bradshaw started. “Is we’ve seen you talkin’ to not one, not two but four WCW superstars just since Sunday. Now, can you deny that?”

Angel frowned. Two, yes – Helms and Kidman, but four? “I deny it.”

“Their names,” Bradshaw went on coolly as Faarooq handed him a piece of paper to read from. “Are Billy Kidman just now as well as Gregory Helms, Buff Bagwell and Torrie Wilson. Now, do you deny it?”

Angel’s jaw dropped. “Hey, they approached me!”

“Why I just bet they did,” Bradshaw agreed. “Just the same as when they first asked you to be their mole.”

“I am not the mole!” Angel cried.

“My brother,” Faarooq mused. “I think it’s time to break out the big guns.”

“I think you’re right, man,” Bradshaw nodded, reaching into his jeans pocket and pulling something out. “Now, honey. What do you suppose this is?”

Angel went pale. “It’s a business card.”

“That’s right!” Bradshaw grinned. “She’s a smart one, ain’t she? Whose business card?”

Angel swallowed. “Shane McMahon’s.”

“Smart and pretty. Why, she’s just got it all, don’t she? Okay, honey. What do you make of this?”

The sick feeling in Angel’s stomach grew and grew. “It’s a cell phone number.”

“You know, that’s what I think too,” Bradshaw nodded. “Do you think just maybe it could be Shane McMahon’s cell phone number?”

“Probably,” Angel muttered.

“Probably is right!” Bradshaw cried triumphantly. “Now, honey, where do you suppose we got this from. And don’t try to be cute by sayin’ ‘from Shane McMahon’.”

Angel took a deep breath, feeling sweat form on her brow. Where had they gotten the card from? I don’t know.”

“Oh, she doesn’t know,” Bradshaw nodded as Faarooq talked over him.

“We got it in the side pocket of your gym bag.”

Angel narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been going through my stuff?”

“Hey, just relax, honey,” Bradshaw warned. “We didn’t find your panties or nothin'. We was just lookin’ for evidence. And it looks like we found it, don’t you think?”

“I’m not your mole!” Angel insisted, teeth clenched.

“Then why was you talkin’ to those WCW folks?” Bradshaw asked.

“Because they approached me.”

“Why did you interfere in their match when the rest of us have been trying to pretend they don’t exist?” Faarooq prompted.

“Because Gregory Helms pissed me off.”

“Is this before or after you agreed to be the mole in exchange for the hardcore title?” Bradshaw demanded.

“What?” Angel cried. “That never happened!”

“We all saw him help you get that title, honey,” Bradshaw told her.

“Well, that happened, but…”

“Why do you have Shane McMahon’s cell phone number?” Faarooq asked.

“Because…”

“Because he offered you a hell of a lot of money to be his stooge?” Bradshaw guessed.

“No, it’s not about money. I was in contract negotiations and…”

“And he gave you a bonus to sign with the WWF and act as his mole?”

“No!” Angel insisted.

“Well, you know what, honey?” Bradshaw asked her. “We don’t believe you. We think you’re the mole.”

Angel hung her head. “I’m not,” she said miserably.

“Well,” Faarooq started. “What do you suppose we do about this little situation?”

Angel looked up. They were offering her an out. “You mean…you want me to prove my loyalty? You’re giving me a chance?”

“Yeah, and I don’t think it’s smart,” Faarooq told her. “But you’re lucky. He likes you.”

“I like you,” Bradshaw confirmed. “But that ain't gonna last long if we find out you’ve been lying to us all this time. Now, how do you suppose we figure this out?”

Angel almost made the smartass comment of ‘polygraph test’, but it wasn’t the time or place.

“I can’t do it now,” she told them solemnly. “But on Sunday Night Heat I will do anything to prove my loyalty.” She snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it. Get all your boys together and meet me in the ring. I’ll take you all on, one on one. I’ll run the gauntlet and I’ll be flying the flag for the WWF.”

“Are you insane?” Bradshaw asked her. “We’ll kill you.”

Angel shrugged. “That’s a chance I’m willing to take to prove myself to you, if it means this is over, you’ll let me be and you won’t accuse me anymore. I won’t bring anyone to help me. It’ll be just me against you and your posse, gauntlet match. Now, what the hell kind of mole would be willing to put themselves through that? No amount of money is worth that beating.”

Faarooq and Bradshaw exchanged glances.

“She’s right, man,” Faarooq announced.

“Okay, honey,” Bradshaw nodded. “We accept your challenge for a gauntlet match. If you show up and fight your way thorough us and no one shows up to bail you out, we will admit that you ain’t the mole. But, if you don’t, well, you better run, because no amount of fighting’s gonna get you out of that.”

“Fine,” Angel sighed, shaking their hands in turn. “But now I really have to go. My match is about to start.”

“Good luck, honey,” Bradshaw called after her. “I got a feelin’ you’re gonna need it.”

At the sound of his words a lead weight descended upon Angel’s shoulders. A gauntlet match against the back room jobbers? What the hell was she thinking?

“Benoit,” she murmured quietly. “I know you’ve been in gauntlet matches. I’m definitely gonna need your help for that one.”

* * * *

As Angel headed down to the ring, her match with X-Pac seemed almost an afterthought. It wasn’t until the magenta colored lights and that terrible Uncle Kracker song hit, and X-Pac and Justin appeared on the ramp that she remembered. She’d been fighting a week for this one. Two number-one contender’s matches. This was her night. And she was gonna win it. That gold was gonna be hers.

X-Pac climbed into the ring, arms in the air, trying to put her off, but Angel just smirked. She wasn’t going to trash talk him. She didn’t need to. She was above it, because she had all she needed. Benoit working inside her.

And just then, before the bell rang to start the match, a third entrance song sounded. The APA were making their way down the ramp.

X-Pac eyed Angel skeptically. Had she hired protection? Oh well, it didn’t matter. If she got herself disqualified, the title was still his. He raised his arms again and prepared to lock up.

On the ground, Justin Credible hadn’t even noticed the APA. He had eyes only for X-Pac.

“Come on, X. You can do it, baby. Bring it home.”

He didn’t like the fact that the girl was wearing a shirt which slammed X-Pac. Didn’t she and the fans get it? X-Pac didn’t suck. He was a taker, always had been. Well, when it came to head, anyway. In truth, Justin and Albert were the ones who sucked. Sometimes fans were so stupid.

X-Pac tried to psych Angel out from the start with some crafty martial arts footwork, but Angel wasn’t put off. She ran right in there – right into a headlock. Angel gave him the slip and armdragged him in one fluid movement, then got some momentum off the ropes, sailed over the top of a ducking X-Pac and brought him down in the sunset flip.

“One!”

X-Pac kicked out quickly. She’d got the jump on him alright. She clearly wasn’t aware that he was better than her. Well, he’d show her.

Angel ping-ponged between the ropes, jumping over him until he leapfrogged her and met her in the middle. She immediately applied the waistlock and started to lift him, but he broke the hold and twisted his legs around her body as if to say ‘See? I own you. I’ll take you down whenever I want.’

Angel was unimpressed. She grabbed him against her and snap suplexed him to the canvas. She took a deep breath and sized him up. She was pretty sure there was a strategy for this match somewhere at the back of her mind, but what with the APA casing her every move, she just couldn’t remember.

“Come on, Benoit,” she murmured, grabbing X-Pac around the head. “I need you here. Help me out.”

And, all of a sudden, she had it. She swung X-Pac’s arm over her head, right into the armwringer. He cried out and got to his feet, not knowing that was exactly what Angel wanted. Bam! She hit the standing dropkick to his left knee and he was down again. She quickly shoved him face-first to the canvas, grabbed his leg and applied the ankle lock, being sure to twist the knee and not the ankle.

X-Pac screamed in pain as she twisted tighter and tighter.

“What do you say, X-Pac?” asked the ref. “Wanna give up?”

“No!” X-Pac roared, although his hand had begun to over above the canvas.

Angel said nothing. She simply kept at his leg, wrenching it, easing off a little, then wrenching it again, each time a little harder, so he’d know the true meaning of pain. X-Pac tried to kick at her with his free leg, but Angel spotted it, twisted her body and trapped his leg under her own knee. In this position she could apply the ankle lock even tighter, so that’s what she did.

X-Pac’s screams reached fever pitch. He was going to tap. He had to.

Suddenly something caught Angel’s eye. The APA were on the move and they were headed right for her. Angel didn’t even know she’d loosened the hold until she felt herself flying through the air and slammed down between X-Pac’s legs in the move he called the X-Factor.

“One! Two!”

Angel kicked out, although how she didn’t know. One second she was lying there, pretty much out cold, the next X-Pac was whining to the ref about whether or not that had been three. She picked herself up, decided to go for another dropkick, to the back of the knee this time, but bam! X-Pac floored her with a spinning martial arts kick. He leaped up, raising his arms to the fans, who greeted him with a chorus of boos.

“Yeah, X-Pac!” Justin Credible cried from the sidelines. “Way to go! Finish her! Finish her!”

X-Pac responded with a couple of dropped elbows, a boot to the midsection and a sliding leg drop. He made the cover.

“One! Two!”

But Angel kicked out. He immediately got her in a headlock. Angel tried desperately to suck in air, but it wasn’t working. No oxygen was getting to her brain. Then suddenly, from far away, came a voice.
“Make him tap out like the little bitch he is. Put him in crossface and make him scream. Do it. Do it!”
Angel let out a roar, smashed through the hold and clambered over X-Pac. Leg scissors on. Crossface on. She leaned back, harder than ever before. Screw his knee. This was the hold she knew. This was the hold he’d tap to. He was about to tap. She could feel it. He couldn’t take much more.

Just then some movement distracted her and she shoved X-Pac down and leaped to her feet. Faarooq and Bradshaw were standing on the apron.

“Can’t you guys leave me alone until Sunday?” she screamed. “I am trying to win a match here!”

The Acolytes just shrugged and climbed down.

“Thank you!” Angel cried, turning back around to continued the fight. Bam! Another spinning martial arts kick, even harder than the last. X-Pac was covering her.

“One! Two!”

“Shoulder up now!” screamed a voice from deep inside her and she did it, just in time.

X-Pac was unimpressed. That was the second nearfall that should have been three in his estimation. He grabbed Angel by the hair (despite the ref’s warnings not to) and shoved her into the corner. Kick to the gut, kick to he jaw, spinning kick to the face and she was flat on her butt. It was time to saddle up the Bronco Buster. He did his usual little dance, then turned to run in, but bam! Angel flew from the top turnbuckle in the missile dropkick and they were both down. They got up at about the same moment and traded punches until Angel tried to whip him into the ropes, but X-Pac reversed it and whipped her instead. She ducked another kick and bounced off the other ropes, meeting him back in the middle with a waistlock. Bam! One German. Bam! Two Germans. Bam! Three Germans into the bridge. Angel held it strongly and waited for the count, but none came. She could hear the ref’s voice, so she did what she had to do. She released X-Pac and got to her feet.

“Hey!” she cried. “I had the pin over here.”

The ref turned to her warily. “He’s got the belt.”

Angel saw it coming a mile off. Sure enough, Justin Credible had the belt and he was headed her way. At the critical moment, Angel ducked and sent him for the back body drop, then had an idea. If the APA wanted to play, she’d give them a toy. New from Jakks, life size Justin Credible. So, she whipped him against the ropes closest to the ramp, took a run up and clotheslined him from the ring. That done, she turned around to X-Pac again, right into a shot from the light-heavyweight belt. X-Pac threw it away quickly and made the cover. The ref had been following Justin and hadn’t seen a thing. Now he saw. He saw X-Pac with the cover on Angel so he dropped to the canvas and made the count.

“One! Two! Three!”

X-Pac’s music played and his name was announced. He’d retained his title. He grabbed protectively for his belt and got out of there as quick as he could.

“Are you okay?” called a voice.

“Yeah,” Angel murmured, grabbing for her head and sitting up groggily. “He hit me with a title belt.”

The ref just gave her a sympathetic frown. “I can only call what I see. Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Angel murmured, crawling towards the edge of the ring.

“Are you fine to leave?” the ref asked. “Do you need any help?”

“I’ll be fine.” She started wearily up the ramp and noticed that the APA were staring at her from the stage.

“See you on Sunday, mole,” Bradshaw cried, and then he and Faarooq turned and walked away.

Angel just stumbled on. Tonight had been rough. With the Acolytes and Justin it had been more like a four on one handicap match. She knew something for sure, though. This was nothing compared with what it was going to be like on Sunday. She was all set to run the gauntlet and she knew there was no chance she was going to win. It was all about proving her loyalty and earning people’s trust.

“The things I do for my job,” she muttered, rubbing her head and walking through the curtain. “Frankly, I don’t know if it’s worth it.”