BUILDING BRIDGES, BREAKING HEARTS

SUNDAY NIGHT HEAT, JULY 8TH, 2001

“Maybe you can tell me, Angel,” Lita started, leaning over the table in the hotel restaurant. “What the hell does Trish Stratus think she’s doing?”

“What do you mean?” Angel frowned.

“That little scene in the locker room on Thursday me and Matt walked in on. ‘Thank you, Jeff.’ What was that?”

Angel shrugged. “Trish is cool like that. If you do her a favor, she’ll repay it for sure.” She was thinking of the shiatsu massage classes Trish was giving her in exchange for wrestling training. Classes were held in Trish’s hotel room using whichever lucky man they could find to be their guinea pig. So far they’d had no trouble attracting volunteers.

“I can imagine,” Lita scowled. “Lucky for her I’m not the same way. I’d just love to repay that favor she did for me by putting her collagen-injected lips on my man.”

“Lita, I told you,” Angel sighed. “That’s how Trish helps win a match.”

“I don’t care,” Lita insisted. “She better stay the hell away from Jeff. He might be related to Matt, but he’s like my kid brother too and I’m not letting that skank get her hands on him. No way. And you can tell her that, if you want to.”

“Okay, Lita,” Jericho called, trying to keep a straight face. “She’ll tell her.”

Lita glared over at him. “Are you making fun of me, Chris?”

“Never,” Jericho insisted, raising his hands in surrender. “You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to know that’s not a good idea.”

Lita nodded. “That’s right, you don’t. But Trish Stratus isn’t a rocket scientist, so I want you to explain it to her real slow, so even she can understand. Okay, Ange? Can you do that for me?”

Angel nodded. “Of course, Lita. I’ll do what I can.”

Lita smiled. “Tell her Jeff’s in love with you or something. I don’t care. Just keep her away from me. There is no place on Team Xtreme for a bitch like her. Just make sure she understands that.”

“Okay, cuz. I’ll talk to her.”

“Great, Ange. Thanks.” Lita gave her another smile. “So, anyway. Me and the guys are gonna go catch a movie. Do you two wanna come along?”

“I’d like to,” Angel told her. “But I have a match tonight so I’ve gotta get prepared for that and Jerky’s gonna help me out. Right, Jerky?”

“You bet, baby.”

“Okay,” Lita nodded. “Well, I thought I’d ask. I guess I’ll see you later.”

“Bye Lita,” Angel called after her.

Jericho exhaled loudly. “Whew. I wouldn’t trade places with Trish Stratus for anything.”

“No kidding,” Angel muttered. “I don’t know what the problem is, though. If Trish is after Jeff it proves she’s not gonna try anything on Matt again.”

“Not necessarily,” Jericho warned.

“True,” Angel nodded. “But I know Trish. She might be a bit of a whore but if she’s into someone she’s really faithful to them, and trust me, she’s into Jeff. I think it’s great – two of my favorite people possibly getting together.”

“Are you serious?” Jericho frowned.

“Sure. I think they’d be great for each other.”

“Who would?” called an interested voice.

“Jeff!” Angel cried, startled. “I thought you were headed to the movies with Matt and Lita.”

“I was,” Jeff shrugged. “But it would have only been the three of us and I really don’t like doing that.”

“You could have taken Trish,” Angel suggested.

Jeff flinched. “And have her and Lita scratching each other’s eyes out? No thanks.” By now he’d pulled up a chair and was sitting backwards on it, resting his arms on the top.

“Join us, junior,” Jericho commented.

“Besides,” Jeff went on, not hearing him. “Why would I take Trish when there’s other people I’d rather take?”

Angel swallowed. Whenever Jeff did this, she only felt more and more uncomfortable.

“Because Trish is cool.”

“Yeah she is,” Jeff nodded, slightly tilting his head as he examined Angel’s face.

“And she’s a babe.”

“So they say,” Jeff agreed, his words soft.

Angel was going to have to try a little harder. She was going to have to get male.

“She’s got a great body and a fantastic rack.”

“If you say so,” Jeff murmured dreamily.

“Um, baby…” Jericho started, but Angel silenced him with a quick glare.

“And she’s from Canada so she’s got that neat accent.”

“She definitely has a sexy accent,” Jeff agreed.

“And she’s into you too, so what’s to lose?” Angel smiled, thinking of that hideous purple shirt.

“She’s what?” Jeff frowned, breaking out of his trance.

“Trish likes you too, Jeff,” Angel told him. “I think you should ask her out.”

Jeff’s jaw dropped. “Trish? Trish likes me?”

Angel nodded enthusiastically.

“No,” Jeff argued. “She was just thanking me for dropkicking the Big Show on Raw. And that wasn’t even about her, you know?”

“It’s okay, Jeff,” Angel smiled. “You can hook up with Trish if you want to. I don’t mind.”

“You…you don’t?” Jeff stuttered.

“No. In fact, I think it’s great.”

Jeff had begun to rapidly shake his head. “No, I could never…me and Trish…that’s never gonna happen. Lita would freak big time and if you’ve ever seen Lita freak…”

“Don’t worry about Lita,” Angel told him. “She’s your brother’s girlfriend, not your stepmother. You don’t have to ask her for permission. And she’ll get over it. And if you want me to, I’ll talk to her. She’ll come around.”

Jeff suddenly jumped to his feet and backed away from the table. “I’m going to go to the kitchen and see if they’ve got some pie. I want pie.”

Jericho laughed as the younger Hardy walked away. “The boy wants pie.”

Angel grinned over at him. “Jerky, you’re not the Rock, so don’t even try.”

“Oh, that hurt,” Jericho announced, feigning chest pains.

Angel rolled her eyes. “Do you think it worked? My sales pitch, I mean. Have I got what it takes?”

“Well, I don’t know about Jeff,” Jericho told her. “But I sure wanna do Trish Stratus. What number hotel room is she?”

Angel laughed. “Seriously, it’d be good for the two of them to get together.”

“Because it gets Jeff out of your hair?” Jericho asked.

“No,” Angel argued. “Because they’re both lonely and they don’t have to be. They might just find that what they’ve wanted all along has been right in front of them.”

Jericho turned serious. “Jeff’s never gonna go for that, baby. Not really. He might consent to a couple of dates as friends, but he’s never gonna go further than that.”

“Why not?” Angel frowned. “Millions of guys would kill to have Trish Stratus as their girlfriend.”

“Maybe, but Jeff’s not millions of guys. And he just happens to be completely in love with you.”

Angel’s stomach dropped out. “Well, he’s just going to have to learn to get over that, isn’t he?” she spat.

“Didn’t you notice when you were saying all those things about Trish he was just staring at you wistfully and applying all those things to you? Trish wasn’t even on his mind.”

“Well, she will be,” Angel scowled. “I’m gonna get those two together if it kills me.”

“He loves you, baby. He’s crazy about you. And he’s a great guy.”

“I don’t care,” Angel announced.

“He is, baby. He’s cool, he’s nice looking, he’s got a real neat accent and a good body and as for his rack? Unbelievable.”

Angel scowled at her grinning friend. “I don’t care.”

“Baby,” Jericho sighed. “If it won’t hurt Jeff to go out with Trish, it won’t hurt you to go out with Jeff. Why don’t you?”

“Because I don’t want to,” Angel muttered, shoulders stiff.

“Why not?” Jericho pried.

“Because he’s not my type.”

“Sure he is. You were with him before.”

“Okay, then,” Angel snapped. “It’s because I don’t want to be with anyone. I don’t want or need a boyfriend.”

“You seemed awfully willing to flirt with Billy Kidman on SmackDown,” Jericho pointed out.

“That’s different. Billy’s cute. And we’d just met. It’s not like I asked him out.”

“Okay, then,” Jericho mused. “What about that Helms kid? The two of you seemed pretty close before it all turned ugly.”

Angel shook her head. “Trish staked claims from the start. I would never have gone there. Besides, he’s a jackass.”

Jericho nodded thoughtfully. “So, what about Billy Kidman?”

“What about Billy Kidman? I already admitted we flirted. But who gives a crap? I flirt with a lot of people. God knows I even flirt with you.”

Jericho held her gaze, watching her coolly. “Admit it, baby. If Billy Kidman asked you out, you’d accept.”

“What?” Angel cried.

“Admit it,” Jericho repeated, more forcefully.

“Okay!” Angel cried. “If Billy asked me out, I’d go out with him, even though he’s completely not my type and Jeff is. There, I admitted it. Are you happy?”

Jericho still stared solemnly. “So, what’s the problem with Jeff?”

Angel scowled. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you just said you’d rather date someone who’s not your type, someone you don’t even know over someone you do know, someone you’ve obviously had feelings for in the past, someone who worships the ground you walk on. Now, why is that?”

Angel hung her head, suddenly finding her half-full plate very interesting. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on, Rogue,” Jericho blurted. “I think you do know. And I also think you’re going to tell me, even if we have to stay at this table all day.”

Angel slowly raised her head so Jericho could see the tears glistening in her eyes. “You really wanna know?”

Jericho’s expression softened, as did his tone. “Yes, baby, I do.”

Angel gave a little nod. “I can’t be with Jeff,” she started. “Because he does love me. I can not handle his love. I can’t handle it. And so I ignore him and put him off and try to avoid him, because every time I talk to him, every time I see the adoration in his eyes, it just makes me sick. Why does he love me, Jerky? I don’t deserve him. I don’t deserve anyone’s love, especially not love like that. All-consuming unconditional love. I can’t handle that. What I deserve is to be treated like the pathetic piece of ass I am. That’s why I shamelessly flirt with random guys, guys who don’t give a crap about me, guys who just see me as something they might like to nail. And the further they are from my normal type, the better. Because anyone can have me, Jerky. Hell, everyone can have me. But no one, no one can love me. Do you hear me? No one. All I’m good for is a quick screw, a random blowjob and that’s it. I can’t be with Jeff, someone who loves me, because I don’t love myself. I hate myself. And until I do find some way to stop detesting myself, this person I’ve become, that’s how it’s going to stay. Okay, Jerky? Jeff can’t save me, no one can save me, because I am not good enough to be saved. Just let me rot in the filth I’ve created and go about your lives. I don’t care. Just leave me the hell alone.” With that, she jumped to her feet. “You can’t save everyone, Jesus boy. And neither can Jeff. It’s time the two of you understood that.”

Suddenly there was a crash and Angel spun to find Jeff staring back at her, eyes wide. His plate of pie was upended and smashed on the floor and he was frozen to the spot.

“Shit,” she swore, realizing that the only way out of the restaurant was right past him. “So now you know,” she spat bitterly, giving him a cold glare.

“Angel, wait…” he started.

“Don’t bother,” Angel called, turning around once more. “If you want to love something, get a puppy, because people will always let you down. I want you to remember that.”

Jeff watched her leave, then turned helplessly to Jericho. “Chris…what?”

Jericho sighed. “Sit down, junior.”

Jeff sat heavily, pressing his elbows against the table and resting his head in his hands. “Why did she say that, Chris? She never used to be like that. What happened to her?”

“She’s…just a little messed up right now,” Jericho replied in what was possibly the understatement of the year.

“Well, I can see that, but why? Something must have happened to make her like that. What happened, Chris? Please, tell me.”

Jericho got to his feet. “You know what, junior? I can’t talk to you about this right now. I’ve gotta go make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid, like show up at Billy Kidman’s hotel room wearing nothing but a smile. Here,” he went on, handing Jeff a fifty. “Pay our check, give them a decent tip and get yourself something nice. Like maybe some more pie,” he finished, nodding down at the waitress who was busily cleaning up the spill. “I’ll see you later, junior.”

“Bye,” Jeff replied absently, running the fifty between his fingers. He didn’t really understand what he’d heard here, but obviously something serious was going on with Angel. Jericho wasn’t talking and Lita would have said something if she knew. So, that really only left one person…

* * * *

“Jeff!” Trish cried, giving him her brightest of smiles.

“Hi Trish,” Jeff replied uneasily, trying to ignore the fact that she was only wearing a towel.

“Come on in,” Trish told him, opening the door wider. “I was just washing my hair.”

Jeff couldn’t help noticing that her hair was dry and perfect as always. Her makeup wasn’t as heavy, but that was a good, rather than bad thing.

“So, what’s up, Jeff?” Trish asked, sitting down on the bed and rearranging her towel as she patted the mattress next to her.

“It’s Angel,” Jeff sighed, watching as Trish picked up a nail file and went to work. “She’s…I don’t know. We were in the hotel restaurant just now and she…” He went on to relay everything he’d heard.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Trish told him. “That’s just Angel. She’s been like that, well, since I’ve known her.”

“She has?” Jeff frowned.

“Sure,” Trish smiled. “Say, can you reach my purple nail polish for me? I’d get it myself but I just don’t trust these hotel towels, you know?” She let out a giggle to accentuate her point.

Jeff jumped to his feet. “Uh, Trish? There’s like ten different purples here.”

“Oh yeah,” Trish grinned. “I meant the lavender one.”

Jeff still stared at her blankly.

“The next to lightest one?” Trish prompted.

“Oh, got it.” He handed the bottle to Trish and sat back on the edge of the bed. “So, you don’t think I should worry?”

“About Angel? No,” Trish replied smoothly. “She just goes through these phases now and then. You’ve got to remember, Jeff. She’s only twenty. She’s practically a teenager.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jeff sighed. “But you remember how you talked to me about a plan to get her to fall for me?”

“Sure!” Trish enthused, hazel eyes sparkling. “Can you please get me that toe separator? Thanks.”

Jeff settled down again and thoughtfully watched Trish painting her toenails. “I think maybe we should kick it up a notch.”

“You do?” Trish asked breezily.

“Yeah. I have this feeling I’m about to lose her to Billy Kidman.”

“Billy Kidman?” Trish echoed. “The new cruiser champ? He’s cute!”

“Yeah,” Jeff muttered. “That’s the problem. Apparently Angel thinks so too.”

“Well, don’t worry, Jeff,” Trish replied. “You want to switch out plan to high gear? We’ll do it.”

“Great,” Jeff nodded. “So, what exactly is our plan?”

“I’ll keep you informed,” Trish told him.

“Okay, well, great. Thanks, Trish.” Jeff stood up. “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye Jeff,” Trish called cheerfully. She heard the door shut and allowed herself a knowing smile, then continued painting her nails. Things were going to work out, better than even Jeff expected.

* * * *

Angel nodded over at Howard Finkel. “Go for it.”

“The following is a gauntlet match, where the individual matches will continue until the challenger is defeated. Introducing first, the challenger, Angel Torres.”

Angel held her hand up for the crowd but refused to go overboard. Gauntlet matches were about survival, not impressing the fans.

Just then, some music played. Angel ignored the ring announcer, preferring to concentrate on her first opponent. Apparently they were lulling her into a false sense of security. She was facing Funaki.

She watched him come down the ramp and gave a little nod. It would be interesting to face someone who was smaller than her for a change. Well, she’d faced Lita, but that had certainly been no picnic. She didn’t expect this one to be any easier.

Angel and Funaki circled, eyeing each other off, ready for the lockup. Funaki tried to grab her and lift her, but Angel caught him in a headlock and started to spin him around for the backbreaker over the knee, a move she’d been working on in training. Funaki managed to back them into the ropes, then push her over into the other ones, breaking the hold. Angel simply jumped at the critical moment, hit the Asai moonsault and crashed against Funaki, knocking him down. She hooked his leg and one…two…three. One down. God knew how many to more to go.

Angel jumped to her feet and paced the ring, refocusing her thoughts as she waited for her next opponent.

“What does everybody want?”

Oh, crap. Angel knew that song. It was her old coach, Al Snow. The last time she’d talked to Al, he’d chewed her out because the Radicalz had dressed her like him and he’d gotten offended. This match might not turn out to be pretty.

Al wasn’t carrying Head. This really must be serious.

Angel sighed and swung her arms across her body, keeping them loose. She didn’t want to have to fight Al, but it looked as though she was going to. He was, after all, a backstage jobber.

Angel gave Al a little smile and extended her hand, but he simply reached out and shoved her to the mat. Angel bounced up and ran at him, pushing him with all her strength, but he was stronger and pretty soon she found herself in the corner. She had to fight back. Bam! Knife edge chop, then a kick to the stomach and another knife-edge. Al was reeling backwards. Angel hit two more kicks and one more chop to keep him back, then grabbed the ropes, pushed herself up, springboarded off the second rope, locked her legs around Al’s head and took him down in a modified hurricanrana.

She made the cover.

“One! Two!”

Only two. Angel plotted her strategy in her mind, grabbed Al’s arm and tried to whip him into the corner, only to have it reversed. She hit the ringpost with a thud, bounced off and suddenly found herself on the mat, courtesy a forearm to the back of the head.

Al didn’t make the cover, picking her up and sending her for an Irish whip. Angel bounced off the ropes, right into a hard suplex. Now Al made the cover.

“One! Two!”

Angel punched out, getting her right shoulder up off the mat.

Al simply picked her up and sent her for another whip, but this time she leapfrogged him as he tried to run through her and spun around to catch him on the return with an easy hiptoss.

‘Now she gets it,’ Angel thought, turning back to Al and waiting for him to stand.

He pounced towards her and bam! Drop toehold. She clambered over his fallen body, curling his legs around her own and squatting deeply. Sharpshooter on. It was time for the student to defeat the teacher.
But Al began to crawl and crawl and, all of a sudden, he had the ropes.

Angel let him go with an illegal leg drop on the back of his head.

The ref let her get away with it, as she’d known he would and she simply waggled her eyebrows at him and jumped in on Al again. She got the waistlock on and tore him away from the ropes in the German suplex. She went for the trio – bam, bam, bam, into her now-standard bridge.

“One!” counted the ref. “Two!”

But Al kicked out. Angel jumped up, gave him a sharp kick to the back of the neck, then ran at the ropes. It was swinging neckbreaker time. Angel leaped over him the first time, intending to catch him the second, but as soon as they met, she felt herself flying through the air in the back body drop. She hit the canvas with a painful thud, but it wasn’t over yet as Al picked her up and sent her crashing down in the scoop slam. As Angel lay on her back, writhing in agony, Al could have made the cover. But instead, he lifted his index finger for the crowd. He was going up top. Bam! He hit the moonsault and hooked Angel’s leg. The ref dropped to the ground to make the count.

“One!” he counted. “Two!”

Just then, there was movement from under Al as Angel kicked out violently, rolled through him, slammed him down on his stomach, trapped his left arm and slammed her hands against his face. Crossface. Al was near the ropes and could probably reach them, but he was too startled to think of that. And so he tapped.

She let him go quickly, far quicker than Chris Benoit would have done. He rolled to his side, shaking the cobwebs from his head and noticed that she was on her feet, peering down at him with an inquisitive expression. And not only that. She was offering him her hand. He took it and let her help him stand, as she pulled him into a hug.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I forgive you,” he replied, patting her back. “Good luck with the rest of the gauntlet.”

“Thanks.”

She released him with a meek smile, then turned to the ramp to see who she had next. It was an entrance song she’d already heard tonight. But this time it belonged to Taka Michinoku. She plunged her hands onto her hips as she caught her breath and tried to walk out the pain in her back. Just how many back-room jobbers was she going to have to fight?

* * * *

Bradshaw frowned at the monitor he and the other guys were watching. A couple of men were stretching up; they were probably up soon, or maybe they were just eager. A lot of them didn’t often find themselves with matches so even fighting a hundred and fifty pound woman on Sunday Night Heat sounded good to them. Hell, they probably thought they could come up with the win for the team.
A week ago Bradshaw may have agreed with them, but now he was starting to think otherwise. Kat’s friend was feisty, she was stubborn and she probably wouldn’t quit, not until she couldn’t get up anymore, no matter how hard she tried.

He honestly hadn’t expected her to get this far. She’d beaten Funaki, she’d beaten Al Snow and now she was warring with Michinoku. The girl sure didn’t know the meaning of the word quit.

“Hey man,” he called Faarooq over.

“Everybody’s ready in case those WCW fools try somethin’,” Faarooq replied, figuring that, like normal, he could tell what his old friend was thinking.

But this time he had it wrong. Bradshaw just gave a little nod. “What number you got, man?”

Faarooq frowned at the little piece of paper in his hand. “Ten. You?”

“Six,” Bradshaw replied solemnly.

Faarooq gave a thoughtful nod. “Well, don’t worry about it, brother. She ain’t gonna get that far.”

“You’re probably right,” Bradshaw agreed. “But hey, man. Don’t you think we’ve proved our point? I mean, she beat Funaki, she beat Snow, no one’s showed up for the screwjob. I think she’s been tellin’ the truth. She ain’t the mole.”

“We gotta see it through, man,” Faarooq told him. “I mean is there anyone here who can’t beat Sho Funaki or Al Snow? Yeah, didn’t think so,” he went on before Bradshaw could argue the point. “Besides, maybe those WCW fools are waitin’, maybe they’re pickin’ their spot, maybe they’re waitin’ for us, you know?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Bradshaw sighed, pounding his fist into his other hand.

“Hey, don’t worry, man,” Faarooq told him, trying to erase the frown on his old friend’s face. “If she ain’t our mole it’ll be over before she gets to you, and if it ain’t, you just take her down easy, give her the clothesline and that’s the end. Right?”

“Right,” Bradshaw nodded, hitting fists with his drinking buddy. He turned back to the TV as a realization hit him. Mole hunting was no fun when you had yourself a conscience.

* * * *

“One! Two! Three!”

Angel threw down Taka’s leg and rolled over onto her own back, absolutely exhausted. Now her back wasn’t the only thing hurting. She’d kicked out after the Michinoku driver as well as several dropkicks and crossbodies, so her whole body now felt like a tray of recently tenderized meat. She was up to number four.

“You want to give it away?” the ref asked, crouching beside her with a concerned look on his face.

Angel formed a wistful smile. “I keep winning, don’t I? Just tell me when the next guy gets here.”

At that moment, some very distinctive music hit. Angel was about to be joined by her fellow luchador, Essa Rios. To win this one, she’d have to match him in high-flying…if she could find the energy. She clambered up to find that Essa had already entered the ring and was eyeing her skeptically.

Angel broke into a sick little grin. “Viva la México, ¿sí?”

“Sí,” Essa agreed and immediately armdragged her to the canvas.

Angel spun around and clambered to one knee, looking frantically for Essa. Luckily for her, he wasn’t up top. He was waiting for her to stand. She did so slowly and then they circled, ready for another lockup. They jostled for position for a moment, but this time Angel snapped Essa over in the armdrag. She grabbed for his arm and Irish whipped him, but he knocked her down with the clothesline. Angel winced as her back hit the deck. Every time she was knocked down, she found it just that little bit harder to get up. But she knew she had to. Essa was quick, real quick. She nipped up, just in time to leapfrog Essa, then dropped to the canvas, lifted her knees and kicked him across the ring. She got up quickly and bounced off the ropes, ducking the clothesline, but Essa grabbed her on the return, trying to send her for a suplex. Angel twisted frantically and scored the headscissors takedown.

Angel took a deep breath and refocused her thoughts before peering over at the ringpost.

“You’re right, Benoit,” she murmured, spreading her arms across her chest. “It’s headbutt time.”

She clambered up the ropes and turned around, but bam! Essa Rios hit the standing dropkick right to Angel’s stomach. She slipped off the turnbuckle, bounced off the apron and hit the floor with a crash.

“Ow,” she muttered, picking herself up.

Suddenly, Essa flew from the top turnbuckle in the crossbody and knocked her down again. He reared back on his knees, arms extended and shouted for the crowd. Angel could do nothing to retaliate as Essa grabbed her behind the head, got her momentum going and slammed her into the barrier. Then he grabbed her again and rolled her back into the ring before climbing onto the apron.

Angel was barely conscious as she lay flat on her back. Just then, there was a voice in her ears.

“Move! Now!”

It was Benoit. She had to do as he said. And so she rolled.

Just then there was a thud as Essa Rios, who had been flipping himself from the outside, crashed to the deck.

“Now,” called the voice. “Get your ass up and finish that piece of shit.”

Angel used the ropes to drag herself up, then propelled herself towards Essa. He stopped her with a quick punch to the head and a kick to the gut. Suddenly, Angel’s eyes flashed and she let out a roar. Bam! Knife-edge chop. Bam! Another chop, even harder than the first. Bam! Red welts were building up on Essa’s chest. Angel trapped him by the arm and violently whipped him into the ropes, then caught him on the return with a knee to the abdomen, which spun him around and absolutely floored him. Angel leaped on top of him and hooked his leg.

“One! Two!”

Essa got his shoulder up.

Angel let out a grunt and clambered to her feet. Maybe this situation called for a missile dropkick. She dragged herself up top again and prepared to leap, but suddenly Essa punched her right in the knee, her legs gave way and she slammed down onto the turnbuckle.

Essa moved her legs to the front of the ropes, then leaped up and took Angel over in the hurricanrana. He made the cover.

“One!”

“Kick out!”

“Two!”

Angel kicked out. She writhed around as Essa frowned down at her. Her back was completely on fire. Was this even worth it? Surely she’d proved her loyalty now. But she knew what’d happen if she called it in, if she lay down. The accusations wouldn’t stop.

Neither would Essa, it seemed, as he grabbed her by the back of the head and bounced her face off the turnbuckle. Now he was going up top, climbing the ropes from the outside. Angel grabbed the ropes and forced her legs through, kicking Essa in the gut and forcing him off the apron. She climbed slowly after him, gave him a quick punch in the face and rolled him back into the ring.

She climbed onto the apron and grabbed the top rope. She was going to try something new, something she’d only tired in training after studying some old Mexican lucha tapes. It was the Frankensteiner, a move used by Rey Mysterio Jr. and she had never pulled it off. Now was as good a time as any.
Essa Rios was just getting to his feet. He turned, looking for his opponent, the little chica.

The second Essa turned to her, Angel pushed down on the top rope, launching herself into the air. Her feet landed on the rope and she leaped, kicking out. Her legs curled around Essa’s head as she continued her flight through his legs, trapping them with her arms as Essa flipped over onto his head. Angel leaned back, pinning Essa’s shoulder as the ref dropped to the canvas.

“One! Two! Three!”

Angel let out a huge breath, Another one down. She clambered wearily to her feet, muttering, “Luego, Essa,” and noticed with a quick glance down that Howard Finkel was drinking from a bottle of springwater. She caught his gaze and signaled, hoping he’d throw her the bottle. Sure enough, he screwed the lid on and tossed it in her direction. Angel caught it on the fly, undid the lid and sucked the cool liquid into her mouth. She gulped down about half the bottle, then dumped the rest over her head, much to the crowd’s delight. The only thing wrong was the fact that her top was black – a converted tie-on made from an Attitude shirt – and not white.

Angel peered down at the ramp. It was time for opponent number five. It was time for Crash Holly. A few weeks ago, he’d challenged her to a fight. Now it looked like he was getting his wish. But today it wasn’t a fair fight. Crash was fresh. Angel had just fought…and beaten…four men. Maybe that’s why Crash was smiling so broadly.

Angel circled him, keeping eye contact, extending her aching arms and flexing her fingers. They collided with Angel trying for the headlock, but she suddenly found herself facedown on the canvas. She’d forgotten how much strength Crash packed into that little body. And now that four previous opponents had worn her down, it was so hard to get up again, so hard.

“Get your ass up! That pathetic little piece of shit thinks he’s better than you. Get up!”

Angel found her hands and knees, but Crash’s boot cracked down on her spine and she was flattened again.

“Get up!”

“Okay!” Angel screamed, pulling herself to her feet.

Crash ran at her off the ropes and she jumped in a leapfrog, but instead of clearing him, she folded her legs around his neck and brought him down in a hurricanrana. Fifteen minutes ago she would have cleared him by a mile and come back for the quick bulldog. She was definitely losing it.

Still, she picked herself up and hit the standing dropkick on an advancing Crash, forcing him backwards. She Irish whipped him into the ropes and set herself for the clothesline, but Crash grabbed her arm, wrenched it around and ducked under her legs, lifting her onto his shoulders. He prepared to slam her backwards, but Angel shifted all her momentum to the front, rolling Crash forward and into the pinning predicament.

“One! Two!”

Crash kicked out. Angel started to get up when, wham! Crash grabbed her by the hair and slammed her back down again. Angel let out a cry and tried to stand, but wham! Crash again smacked her head against the canvas. Things were getting very, very foggy. Next offensive move by Crash and she was going to give up. She had to give up.

But suddenly something filled her. An all-consuming, unstoppable fury. Crash had her by the head, he was lifting her to her feet. And then she snapped. Bam! Knife-edge chop. Bam! Another chop echoed throughout the arena. Angel let out a roar and violently whipped him, catching him on the return with a knee to the abdomen. Armdrag, armdrag, scoop slam, cover.

“One! Two!”

Only two. Angel leaped to her feet and whipped him again, ducking her head for the back body drop. She raised her arm, but Crash caught her as he sailed through, and her shoulder smashed down in the sunset flip.

“One! Two!”

Angel kicked out. She didn’t have much left. That sunset had floored her, figuratively and literally. The only thing that kept her going was the instinct to kick, to raise her shoulder. It had been drummed into her over and over by Benoit in training.

“Fight back. Keep fighting until you’re dead. Fight! Fight!”

Crash was lifting her.

“I can’t, Benoit. I can’t do it anymore.”

He had her upside down over his head. All the blood was rushing from her feet to her brain, and then she was slammed down in the vertical suplex. She winced as her back hit the deck, but in truth it didn’t hurt anymore. All of her body was aching so much that it just didn’t mean anything anymore.

“Come on, Angel!” Crash cried, grabbing her and picking her up again. He forced her over to the corner and sat her on the top turnbuckle. He climbed up after her, prepping for the superplex, but Angel hit yet another knife-edge chop, then shoved him with all her strength. He hit the deck with a thud, leaving Angel swaying up top. Eyes half-closed, she pulled herself up so that she was standing.

Crash was just finding his feet when, bam! Missile dropkick. This time Crash didn’t get up, but she knew he would. If she wanted to close this out, she was going to have to pull out the big guns. She was going to have to hit the Stairway.

Jumping wasn’t easy. Bam! Bottom rope moonsault. Bam, second rope moonsault. Jump up top, jump around. She nearly slipped, but held her balance, flailing her arms wildly. She lifted her arms above her head, screamed “Lucha libre!” and then she leaped in the senton. In one movement she slammed down on Crash and hooked his leg.

“One! Two! Three!”

Five. She’d beaten five. She rolled off Crash towards the corner and used the ropes to pull herself up into a seated position.

Angel squinted at the ramp as her sixth opponent made his way to the ring.

“Oh no,” she murmured.

She’d thought Crash Holly and Essa Rios were tough. They were nothing compared with six foot six, three hundred pounds of Bradshaw.

Still she sat in the corner, sucking air into her lungs hoping Bradshaw would give her a small chance to recover before locking up. No such luck as he reached for her hand and Irish whipped her. Angel bounced off the ropes and just managed to turn around when bam! Bradshaw hit the Clothesline From Hell, spinning Angel almost 360 before she crashed down onto thew mat, her head bouncing sickeningly. Bradshaw sighed and slowly lowered himself into the cover. He counted along with the ref.

“One! Two! That’s two!”

“What?” Bradshaw fell back so he was kneeling and peered down at Angel. She was just lying there, completely motionless other than the rapid heaving of her chest. One fist was clenched and the arm straightened – she must have punched out. But how? Her eyes were closed and she didn’t look as though she was even conscious. He shrugged and covered her again.

“One! Two! Two!”

Now Bradshaw wasn’t just confused. Now he was kind of depressed. He didn’t want to have to hurt this girl more than he had to – why was she doing this to herself? He had to end it, before he killed her. So he stood up and forced her head between his legs, ready for the powerbomb. He lifted her easily over his head, but suddenly lost his grip as she slipped though behind him. Quick as a flash, she spun around and nailed the standing dropkick, sending him hurtling towards the ropes. She caught up with him and grabbed him around the head, using his momentum to carry them forward, up the ropes. Then she spun around, slamming him down in the bulldog headlock. She crawled back on top of him.

“One! Two!”

Bradshaw threw her aside as though she was a tissue.

Angel crouched down on the canvas, trying her best to regroup. The ring trembled slightly as Bradshaw headed towards her and the second he touched her, bam! Angel hit the huge armdrag and he was down again. She bounced up as quickly as she could and climbed the ropes, ready for the missile dropkick. She waited for Bradshaw to stand and, when he turned towards her, she flew. He caught her on the fly and held her as if she was a toy, then dumped her over his head in the fall away slam.

Angel burst into tears. She was so tired, so, so, tired. Her head felt so heavy and cloudy. It was just telling her to give it up. Give it up.

Bradshaw was grabbing her by the arm and forcing her to her feet. Angel grabbed his arm and tried to send him for the Irish whip, but she didn’t even shift him and before she knew it, she was the one who was hurtling towards the ropes. Bradshaw was going for another clothesline. Angel couldn’t kick out of that again, no way. So she slid along the canvas and under the ropes, landing on the outside.

As soon as Bradshaw ran out after her she dove back in, spun around, grabbed the top rope and slammed her feet through, connecting with Bradshaw’s head. He was forced backwards, but didn’t fall, taking only seconds to right himself before he turned back to the ring. At that moment, Angel leaped off the top rope, spinning around like a cannonball and flooring Bradshaw with the somersault plancha. She picked herself up, landed a kick to the back of Bradshaw’s neck, then grabbed him with one hand behind the head and the other on the back of his tights, forcing him back towards the ring.

Bradshaw rolled in as Angel climbed up next to him, grabbing him by the tights and forcing him to his feet. She was going to try and snap him over. She gritted her teeth and lifted, but got nothing. Bradshaw grabbed her pants and got her about halfway, but Angel hooked her leg through his, got a grip on his head and rolled him up for the inside cradle. She got two and bounced up quickly, hoping to clothesline him from the ring as she had with D-Von on SmackDown. Bradshaw ducked and she found herself bouncing off the ropes. Angel spun around and bam! Bradshaw decked her with a huge boot to the face.

He frowned down at her as her eyes rolled back in her head. He would have loved to have avoided that, but if she wanted to keep fighting, he had to keep fighting back. He didn’t lay down for anyone. Especially not for some girl who may just be their traitor, their mole. Still, he didn’t make the cover, turning instead to the ref.

“It’s over, man. She’s out.”

The ref mirrored his concerned look. “Cover her and I’ll call it.”

Bradshaw shook his head. “Just ring that bell.”

Angel’s shoulder moved, but it may have just been involuntary. Her eyes were now closed.

The ref knelt beside her and lifted her wrist as Bradshaw crouched next to him. The ref released the arm and it dropped like deadweight by her side. He lifted and released it again. Same result. One more time, then they could end this thing. The wrist went up, the ref let it go. It sailed out and suddenly flew up again in a strong fist.

The ref was just as bewildered as Bradshaw.

“She wants to go on. Just cover her and I’ll call it.”

Bradshaw nodded and made the lateral press.

“One! Two!”

Angel kicked out. It was weak, but it was a kick out. Bradshaw sighed and fell back on his knees.

"Come on, honey,” he muttered. “Just give it up.”

He lifted her to her feet and locked her arm between her legs, getting her in the hold for the pumphandle. He began to lift her, but she elbowed him in the face and stunned, he released the hold. She was all over him before he could blink. Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, punch after punch, surprisingly strong right hands, but not just that. Lefts, too, combinations. Punches, kicks, she was on fire and suddenly he was in the corner. He tried to force himself out, but bam! She hit the huge knife-edge and grabbed him by the arm, trying to whip him again. She moved him a little this time, but again he reversed it and she sailed into the opposite corner. He ran at her low, so he could grab her over his shoulder and slam her down, anything to end this mess, but she caught the ropes and lifted her legs, causing him to run right at the ringpost. Before he could even process what had happened, she was crawling over him. Her legs curled around his stomach, as she dove over him in what was almost a sunset flip. His shoulders were pinned, the ref was on the mat.

“One! Two! Three!”

She pushed him to release him and lay back on the mat, closing her eyes and trying to catch her breath, trying to will the pain and fatigue out of her body.

Just then she heard Bradshaw’s voice.

“Why don’t you give it up? You ain’t got nothin’ left.”

She didn’t even open her eyes. “I just beat you, didn’t I?”

Suddenly she felt his hand on hers and, alarmed, widened her eyes. He was helping her to her feet.

“I don’t know who’s next,” he told her. “But you’ve proved your point. Give it up, honey.”

Angel just shook her head. “I can’t do that.”

“Your choice,” Bradshaw shrugged, giving her one last sad glance before he exited the ring.

Angel let out a deep breath and tried to pace out the ring. She could hardly stand, so filled with lactic acid were her legs. They were shaking all over the place, so she backed up against the ropes, curled her arms through and allowed them to support her.

She was absolutely drenched in sweat, from head to toe. All she wanted was a massage, a long hot shower and twelve hours sleep, not necessarily in that order. But she couldn’t have any of those things, not yet. It was time for lucky number seven.

Bob “Hardcore” Holly showed typical lack of emotion as he made his way down the ramp. Save his raised and extended arms, he didn’t acknowledge the crowd at all.

Angel squinted at him. Great. He went about two thirty, two forty. Right now she’d be lucky if she could lift Terri, who wouldn’t weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet. She used the ropes to propel herself forward and circled Hardcore unsteadily. They joined hands and locked up, jostling for position until, quick as a flash, Angel skidded her hands to Holly’s trunks and used all her strength to snap him over. She formed the bridge and the ref dropped to the mat.

“One! Two!”

Holly kicked out as Angel slumped to the ground. He dragged her up by the arm and whipped her into the ropes. She tried to dive over him into the sunset flip, but he simply set himself and nailed the standing dropkick. He scooped her up, carried her back and cracked her against the mat in the Alabama Slam. He made the cover.

“One!” counted the ref.

The voice was back in Angel’s mind. Benoit’s voice.

“Kick out,” it was saying. “Kick out. Princess, kick out. Do you think I’d let Bob Holly beat me? Is that what you think?”

“Two!”

She could see his face, she was looking into his dark blue eyes. She was right where she belonged – in his arms. She had everything she wanted. She had him.

“Three!”

Angel heard the count, but it didn’t really connect. She knew she’d been beaten, but it didn’t matter. She was with Benoit. Hardcore was off her now, leaving the two of them alone and she formed a wistful smile as she felt his lips trailing down her body, kissing all her pain away, just as she wanted to do to him.

“I love you,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I lost.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied. “You beat six men. You’ve got a set bigger than all of those pathetic pieces of shit put together.”

Angel sighed contentedly at this reaffirmation.

“Kiss me.”

Just then, she heard another voice.

“I told her to give it up before she face you, man.”

“I only gave her the slam,” someone else replied. “She really mustn’t of had nothing left.”

“Bradshaw?” Angel asked weakly.

“Honey!” Bradshaw cried, taken aback. “You’re awake?”

But Angel was unable to make sense of his words, hearing only his voice. “Bradshaw…I think I need to go to the trainer.”

“Yeah, no kidding you do,” Bradshaw commented.

Angel smiled as Benoit’s lips brushed her shoulders.

“I need to go to the trainer,” she told him. “Bradshaw can take me so we don’t hurt your neck. Will you…will you come too?”

Bradshaw frowned over at Hardcore. “She talking to you, man?”

Hardcore just shrugged. “Beats me. I got a feeling we gotta get her the hell outta here, though.”

He rolled her through the ropes to Bradshaw, who lifted her gently and carried her up the ramp.

“It’s all gonna be okay,” she murmured, looping her arms around his neck. “So long as you stay with me. Never leave me. I love you, Chris. I love you.”

Bradshaw blinked and turned to Hardcore. “You know if Jericho’s waitin’ on her?”

“Not a clue,” Hardcore shrugged.

They stepped through the curtain to the backstage area. Everyone was standing there - the people Angel had beaten and the people she was yet to face. And, one by one, led by Al Snow, they started to applaud, separating to make way for Bradshaw.

Angel heard the applause and smiled even wider.

“See?” she said to Benoit. “They believe me now. I told them I wasn’t the mole and now they finally believe me. Thank you for helping me prove them wrong.”

“You’re welcome, honey,” Bradshaw replied with a little nod. “But now shut that little mouth of yours while we get you some help, ‘cause believe me when I tell you that you be needin’ it.”

Angel just rested her head against his shoulder as he carried her along. She had Benoit, she had the trust and approval of her coworkers. She really could finally say she had it all.

“I love you,” she mouthed, so even Bradshaw couldn’t hear her. “You’re my everything and I will never, ever let you go.”

And then everything was quiet and still.