INVASION!

RAW, JULY 9TH, 2001

“Hey Trish,” Angel called. “You look great.”

Trish stopped and placed a hand on her hip, flipping her hair slightly. “You really think so?”

She’d spent a long time deciding on tonight’s outfit – a white tank top and matching boots, paired with a patchwork skirt Angel had told her to buy on one of their shopping trips and finished with a long sleeveless bluish-purple jacket, that looked like denim but actually wasn’t.

“Definitely,” Angel enthused as Jericho gave a little nod. “You look almost…virginal.”

“Oh,” Trish giggled. “Right, Angel. Whatever you say. I only hope Jeff likes it. That’s the important thing.”

“Why should you worry about what Jeff thinks?” Jericho asked her, frowning slightly.

“Because,” Trish grinned, eyes shining. “I still haven’t really…you know, thanked him for saving me last week. So tonight, I’m going to make sure he knows…well, just how grateful I truly am. Don’t you think, Chris, that when someone does you…a favor or two, no matter how big…huge even, they are, you should be grateful and repay them with something equally…big?”

Jericho swallowed. “Sure, he replied weakly, having forgotten what he’d even asked. No matter how hard he tried, he was suddenly having a whole world of trouble tearing his eyes away from Trish’s exposed cleavage.

Angel noticed straight away. She had to hand it to Trish. The girl sure knew how to work men to her advantage.

“Besides,” Trish added, twirling a strand of blonde hair around her finger. “Tonight’s the perfect time, what with Matt and Lita in New York. Jeff’s all alone and someone really should go keep him company.”

“And you’re willing to make that sacrifice?” Jericho asked skeptically.

“I sure am,” Trish smiled. “Anyway, I’ll see you two later. I have to go put my makeup on. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck with your makeup, Trish,” Jericho called out.

Angel turned on him with a mock glare.

“What?” he asked. “I thought she was already wearing makeup.”

“Not the point,” Angel told him, although she had been wondering about the same thing. “I hope she and Jeff do hook up.”

“I’ll just bet you do, baby,” Jericho muttered.

Angel ignored him. “I think they’d be a great couple.”

“Sure they would,” Jericho agreed. “With Trish being a slut and Jeff being in love with you.”

Angel scowled. “When are you going to get over this?”

“When are you going to get under Jeff?” Jericho shot back.

Angel just shook her head and turned her back as they reached the locker room.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, wrenching the door open.

There was a slight ripping sound as Jericho tore away a note he’d found on the door. Angel had obviously missed it when she’d stormed on through. He read it quickly and flipped it against his hand, opening the door to the locker room and finding her already attacking her punching bag, despite her obvious injuries.

“Hey Rogue,” he called, holding up the note. “Your secret admirer’s been writing you love letters again.”

Obviously punching her bag had restored her good humor because she waggled her eyebrows and asked, “Which one?” before taking the paper from him and reading it.

‘Upon arrival:
Angel Torres to report immediately to Mr. McMahon’s office. Urgent.’

“Hmm,” she murmured, scrunching it up and lobbing it at a garbage can near the door (it hit the rim and bounced out). “I guess the boss does remember I exist after all.”

Jericho smiled. “You want me to go with you?”

She shrugged heavily. “Nah, I’ll be right back. You just stay here and look pretty.”

“Done and done. Good luck with Vinnie, Rogue. He can get nasty.”

Angel stopped. “Now that was definitely more than I needed to know,” she announced, leaving the room and shutting the door after herself.

* * * *

Angel walked slowly, but not particularly painfully, down the hallway, her aching eased somewhat by full doses of the best swallowable painkillers money could buy. Last night had been interesting, or so she’d been told. She’d been in an exhausted sleep pretty much the whole time and remembered very little, but apparently Bradshaw had carried her all the way to the trainer’s room, only to have her pronounced unconscious and sent to hospital. They’d been pretty convinced that she was concussed again, given her history, but Jericho, who had been anxiously watching backstage and had ridden with her to the hospital, had insisted that no particular knock to the head had been all that bad…except for maybe Bradshaw’s big boot.

Still, they kept her overnight…again, only to have her wake up a couple of hours after admission throwing her guts up and unable to respond to simple commands, like lifting her arm or moving her head. Eventually she stopped vomiting and passed out again.

It was only then, when the doctor asked Jericho a few more questions, that the truth came out, about her fighting seven matches end to end. They changed their diagnosis from concussion to acute dehydration, got the saline and morphine going, and she slept comfortably through the night. All she remembered of any of this was a wonderful dream where Benoit had kissed and licked all her sore spots until she was floating under his ministrations.

In the morning she had the pharmacy dispense her some painkillers, then discharged herself and had Jericho pick her up in their rental car. They headed straight to the airport and just made their scheduled flight from Washington to Georgia, possibly the longest trip in the business. They hadn’t even had time to check into the hotel before they headed to the arena, just in time for yet another show. Angel was sore and weak; Jericho was tired and neither of them had much interest in fighting matches tonight, but if they found themselves on the card, they wouldn’t complain. They were, after all, professional wrestlers.

Angel wondered what Vince wanted. He couldn’t possibly have any reason to fire her, not after last night’s display. She’d beaten six men – six men! Hey, maybe he wanted to give her more money. That’d be pretty cool.

“Well, hey, you know what? Fuck you too!”

Angel stopped short as Justin Credible appeared in front of her, slamming a door behind himself. He walked right into the middle of the hallway and cursed at the top of his lungs, then stormed right back to the door and threw it open.

“Give me my fucking gym bag.”

Angel could hear a shouted reply, but couldn’t quite make out the words.

“Oh, I won’t, won’t I?” Justin asked, grabbing at his bag. “Is that so? Well, you two fags can kiss my ass because you sure as hell won’t be getting a piece of it again. That’s right, I said fags. That’s what you are. That’s what we all are. The only difference is, I’m man enough to admit it. So, you two can go fuck yourselves, because you’re not going to be fucking me anymore. I don’t need this shit and I am gone, okay, gone!”

With that, he slammed the door again and leaned heavily against it as he threw his bag violently against across the hall.

“Fuck!” he cried, wiping furiously at his eyes. “Fuck him. Fuck them both.” He took a deep breath. “No, Justin, don’t go back in there. You don’t need to put up with that shit anymore. Fuck. What the fuck do I do now?”

Suddenly, he turned his head and locked eyes with Angel, who had been frozen to the spot since he’d first appeared. She flinched, really not wanting him to be attacking her. He may have only been Justin Credible, but he was bigger than her, and she was injured, and there weren’t any refs around to make sure it didn’t get ugly. In the state Justin was in, he’d probably welcome the chance to kick the crap out of a girl. Just then, he swallowed and his dark eyes became clear and focused. He gave a little nod.

“I’ll talk to Tazz about it,” he said quietly, voice full of determination. “He’ll tell me what to do.”

With another sharp nod, he stepped over to his gym bag, hoisted it onto his shoulder and headed off down the hallway, a man on a mission.

Angel exhaled loudly. Justin had been looking right at her. How had he not seen her? Well, his mind was obviously on other things. She felt bad for him. Whatever had happened in the locker room before she’d come along was obviously pretty intense.

She had a feeling she’d just witnessed the death of the X-Factor. X-Factor the team, X-Factor the relationship, X-Factor the often joked about threesome. Apparently, beltless Justin wasn’t good enough to be with light-heavyweight X-Pac and intercontinental Albert anymore. Poor guy. He’d looked devastated. Angel knew what that was like. She wondered if she should go find him, help him talk it through. But who the hell was she kidding? She didn’t even know Justin and besides, he already had someone to talk to, just as she’d had Jerky. He had Tazz.

Angel silently wished him well and set off for Vince’s office again.

* * * *

“Angel Torres, come in, sit down, make yourself at home.”

Angel frowned and almost walked right out of there. She didn’t know what reception she’d expected, but it wasn’t overt friendliness. She’d only spoken to Vince once since she’d used the hardcore title to blackmail him, and that was when he’d begrudgingly given her a contract to sign and had sent her on her way.

“Thanks,” she replied cautiously, stepping into the small but plush room.

It contained three two-seat sofas. On one sat Stone Cold Steve Austin and on another, his wife Debra. Vince walked over and took his place right in the middle of the third and Angel stopped, switching her gaze from Stone Cold to Debra and back again, wondering where exactly she was supposed to sit.

“Come in, girlie,” Stone Cold echoed. “Make yourself at home.”

Angel shrugged and stepped over to sit on his sofa, between him and Vince.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Austin stopped her. “Not here, you set over there with Debra, that’s where the women sit, okay?”

Angel sighed and sat herself next to Debra, who was staring at her husband with an ‘I can’t believe you’ expression.

“Now, Angel Torres,” Vince started, leaning forward onto his knees. “I bet you’re wondering why I called you in here today.”

“I’ll just bet she’s wondering that, ain’t you, girlie?” Stone Cold added.

“Well, actually…” Angel started, but Stone Cold cut her off, turning towards Vince.

“See? Told you she was wondering.”

Vince sighed. “Steve…”

“Yeah, Vince?”

“Right now I’m feeling a little…dry. Can you show Debra where to get the coffee…”

“She knows where to get it, don’t ya, Debra? Well, don’t you?”

“Steve…” Vince tried again, shooting a sideways glance at Angel.

“Oh!” Stone Cold cried, letting out a low laugh and tapping his nose to show he understood. “I got you, pal. How long you need? Five, ten minutes?”

“Please, Steve,” Vince sighed. “I just want a coffee.”

“Coffee. You want a coffee. A little word of advice, Vince. Don’t be lettin’ this one be treatin’ you like that Torrie Wilson.”

Vince just buried his head in his hands and waited for the Austins to leave.

“You know what?” Debra half-whispered. “I thought he deserved everything he got.”

Stone Cold glared at her. “You would.” He shot Angel a deadly look, then jumped over to Vince and enveloped him in a hug before finally putting his hand on his wife’s back and leading her from the room.
Vince let out a deep breath and finally looked up.

“Now, Angel Torres. I have a very good reason for wanting to see you tonight.”

Angel raised her eyebrows skeptically. If he wanted her to go down on him he was most definitely out of luck. She was quite willing to have meaningless sex with people who didn’t give a crap about her, but she did have some standards.

“Last night,” Vince went on. “Would you care to explain to me what the hell you thought you were doing?”

Angel didn’t bat an eyelid. “Proving my alliance to the WWF. Proving I wasn’t the mole. Proving I will stand and fight until I am physically incapable of moving if it means people will understand they can trust me.”

Vince nodded thoughtfully. “You do realize that you made six of my men look like fools.”

“With respect, sir,” Angel replied. “Two of those men were from Kaientai and one was Essa Rios.”

Vince nodded again. “Point taken. And Crash Holly had lost to other women on both Raw and SmackDown last week. And as for that Al Snow? Well, it’s no secret how I feel about him. But Bradshaw? He and his tag team partner Faarooq are two of my best men. In fact, they have a tag team title shot tonight on Raw. And yet you punished Bradshaw. You pounded him into submission. You, well, you made him look very, very foolish.”

Angel blinked. “I’m um…sorry?”

“No, you’re not!” Vince roared, making her jump. “Never apologize to me for giving one of your fellow wrestlers a hiding. You gave him a lesson he’ll never forget, Angel Torres, and maybe now he will lose some of that complacency and move himself to the next level. I am always looking to get more out of my employees and I think that in Bradshaw’s case, you may have allowed me to do that. So remember. You may be new to the World Wrestling Federation, but you have as much right to be here as anyone else. Never be regretful for pounding the living hell out of other wrestlers. Do you understand me?”

“Sure,” Angel replied.

“Good. Now, the next thing, Angel. I have to ask about your condition. How are you after that gauntlet match last night?”

Angel shrugged. “I’m fine.”

“Are you really? No bumps? No bruises?”

“Oh. Well, of course I’m hurting. But that’s all part of it, right?” Angel smiled weakly.

“It doesn’t have to be,” Vince warned her. “I’ll level with you. The reason I asked is that I have a very…special…assignment. And, after what you showed me last night, you are just the person for the job.”

Angel nodded thoughtfully, leaning forward herself now. What could this assignment be? A women’s title shot? Or maybe he was going to pay her for acting as Jericho’s full time bodyguard. She was startled out of her thoughts by Vince’s low voice.

“What do you know about Torrie Wilson?”

Angel frowned. “Uh, blonde, blue eyes, dimples, athletic-looking, doesn’t wear all that much…”

“Oh, so you have met her,” Vince cut her off.

“Yeah,” Angel nodded. “She seemed nice enough, just a little ditzy.”

Vince mirrored her nod, leaning back and folding his hands together. “Would you like to hear what I think about Torrie Wilson?”

“Sure.” Angel decided to indulge him, being pretty sure of what she was about to hear. Torrie Wilson had made a fool of Vince last Monday, causing his wife Linda to catch him with his pants down.

And, suddenly, Angel knew exactly why she was here. Vince had chosen her to exact his revenge. Out of all the women in the WWF – Lita, Molly, Chyna, Jackie – he’d chosen Angel Torres, a girl who’d only been working for him for two weeks. Well, he was yet to ask her, but what else could it be?

“I hate Torrie Wilson,” Vince announced. “My son Shane, that little ingrate, used her as a pawn in his plan to turn his mother, my wife whom I love with all my heart, against me. Now, I don’t know whether or not you heard about my impending divorce, but I’ll tell you what. Things don’t look good for me. I can’t afford to look bad, do you understand? I can’t. That’s why I’ve turned to you, Angel Torres. After you showed your loyalty to me last night, I know I can count on you.”

Angel swallowed under his intense scrutiny. Was he about to sexually proposition her? She didn’t like the way the conversation had turned from Torrie Wilson to Vince’s wants and needs.

“Of course,” she nodded coolly. “I’m here for the WWF. A hundred percent.”

Vince actually smiled. “That is exactly what I was hoping you’d say. I’ll tell you what I want you to do, Angel Torres. I want you to take tonight off.”

“You do?” Angel frowned.

“That’s right. By all means, stay around backstage, but I don’t want you to feel obligated. I’m making you immune from the booking process. You will not be put in a match. It’s for your own good, you understand. I want to give you enough time to recover from last night and, let’s be honest, Angel. That’s time you sorely need.”

Angel swallowed. “I don’t mind fighting. I’m here to fight.”

“Of course you are. And you will fight. On SmackDown, you will take on Torrie Wilson. And what I want from you, Angel Torres, is a wrestling lesson. I want you to take Torrie Wilson to school, so to speak. I want you to bury her. I want you to destroy her and I know I can count on you to do that, can’t I, Angel Torres? Can’t I?” By now he was shouting and bouncing up and down excitedly.

“Let me get this straight,” Angel replied coolly, face completely emotionless. “Last night I fought seven men, seven grown men, seven experienced wrestlers, and on Thursday you want me to fight Torrie Wilson?”

Vince swallowed nervously, his Adam’s apple bouncing noticeably. “Well, yeah.”

Angel gave a slow, steady nod. “Well, I have a question for you, Mr. McMahon.”

“And that is…?” Vince frowned.

“Exactly how bad do you want me to beat Torrie Wilson?”

Vince broke into a joyous grin. “See? I knew I could count on you. Good luck, Angel. Have fun tonight and I’ll see you on Thursday.”

Angel stood up and calmly shook his hand. “See you then, boss.” Then she left the room, a small smile on her face.

She walked happily down the hallway. She was very, very slightly high on painkillers…not enough so Vince could tell, obviously. She had the approval and trust of her coworkers and now of her boss, too. He’d entrusted her with a special project that could, and more than likely should have gone to one of the older, more experienced girls. She had a terrific best friend and roommate, who’d created a very broad job description of ‘bodyguard’ for her, so that by her doing next to nothing, he now paid in full for their hotel room at lest two nights a week and often bought her dinner as well. Trish was making moves on Jeff and would finally get him out of her hair. She had the distinct good fortune and blessing of Benoit’s spirit working in her and helping her out. Her singles record stood at ten and four. Really, there was just one thing missing. And tonight, even that would be hers. She’d truly be able to say she had everything. Sure, she was strictly banned from competing tonight, but she didn’t even need a match to pull this off.
She knocked on the biggest locker room. This was the room where Faarooq and Bradshaw had taken up residence since appointing themselves as the leaders of the jobbers.

“Come on in!” called a voice she recognized as Bradshaw’s.

“If you ain’t from WCW,” Faarooq added.

Angel had to smile as she opened the door. Well, at least the guys were consistent.

“Honey! Good to see ya!” Bradshaw cried and was soon joined by a chorus of “Hi, Angel!”

“Hi everyone,” Angel replied, almost shyly.

“What can we do for you, our sister?” Faarooq asked her.

Angel bit her lip and searched the room for the person she was looking for. Finally, she spotted him.

“Steve Blackman.” She stepped right over to where he was sparring with the air. “Do you happen to have a kendo stick with you?”

Blackman stopped air punching and frowned. “Everyone always asks for the kendo sticks. It’s a good thing I get them wholesale. Catch.” He retrieved a stick from his gym bag and threw it at her.

Angel caught it and tucked it under one arm. “Just so you know…I might break it.”

Blackman just shrugged. “That’s okay. I buy in bulk. Go for your life.”

“Thanks, Steve,” Angel grinned, kissing him on the cheek, much to the delight of the other lowcarders. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Bye Angel,” they called out.

“Hey, honey,” Bradshaw added. “What’s the stick for?”

Angel grinned, spun the stick around once, then bounced it off the end of her boot and caught it before tucking it under her arm again. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Good luck with your tag match tonight. You too, Faarooq. Now, if you’ll excuse me, me and Mr. Stick are gonna go do some damage.” She strode purposefully out of the room.

Bradshaw turned to Faarooq with wide eyes. “Now, that’s what I call a woman. Now, if only she can rope a steer, I’d have to say she’s pretty darn perfect.”

“Well, she is a lousy strip poker player,” Faarooq remembered.

“Like I said, brother,” Bradshaw grinned. “Pretty darn perfect.”

* * * *

“Earl!” Angel cried, hardly able to believe her luck. “Glad I caught up with you.”

Senior referee Earl Hebner stopped and turned to her. “How’s it going, Angel? What’s been happening?”

Angel shuffled her feet, widening her eyes innocently. “I kind of need a favor.”

“A favor?” Hebner echoed. “I’m sorry, Angel, but I’m strictly impartial. It’s something I pride myself on.”

“No, nothing like that!” Angel assured him. “I just…I’m going to try and win the hardcore title back from WCW and I need someone to make the count.”

“Oh, is that right?” Earl asked. “Why didn’t you just say so? I’d love to make the three for you. It’d be an honor to get that title back in WWF hands.”

Angel broke into a grin. “I was hoping you’d say that. So, whenever you’re free…”

“I’m free now,” Earl told her. “Are you ready?”

“Sure!” Angel cried. “Let’s go!”

She led him down one hallway and then another to the area that was now used by the WCW contingent. Finally, she reached the large locker room.

“Stand back,” she warned Earl, knocking confidently.

Moments later, the door opened and Angel found herself face to face with the soufflé (or was that chocolate mousse?) eater, Chavo Guerrero Jr. He looked her up and down before turning back into the room so that Angel could see past him, Chavo not being the largest guy in the world.

“Hey, muchachos,” he called. “Which of you people is ordering a restaurant quality chica with magnifíco gazongas?”

A few people gave testosterone infused laughs.

“I did!” called out a large man with spiky hair who Angel recognized as one half of the tag team champions, Sean O’Haire.

The guy next to him, a blonde with ridiculous bright pink trunks, just looked confused.

“What’s gazongas mean?”

O’Haire laughed. “You know, man. Hooters.”

“Yeah,” added another big guy, one with long curly hair, who must have been O’Haire’s tag partner, Chuck Palumbo. “Titties.”

A few others chimed in with their own favorite euphemisms until the blonde in the pink trunks gave a little nod. “Oh, okay. How about muchachos?”

Palumbo backhanded him across the face and they got into a little scuffle before Chavo spoke again in a heavy Mexican accent.

“O’Haire, is she yours or not, ‘cause if you’re not wanting her, I am, you know what I mean?”

O’Haire’s eyes lit up with an almost predatorial glint, but just then someone else leaped across the room and dragged Chavo from the doorway.

“Move it, Guerrero, it’s my avenging angel.”

“Ah, sí,” Chavo nodded, backing off. “O’Haire, I’m sorry, compañero, but Kidman, he says she belongs to him now.”

O’Haire didn’t even hear him, so busy was he explaining to the blonde what ‘muchachos’ meant.

“Oh!” the blonde said at last. “And magnífico?”

Kidman laughed and turned to look over his shoulder once more. “Hey Chavo? Maybe you should give Stasiak a crash course of Spanish. Keep you both busy.”

Chavo gave a little nod. “Sí, hombre. That is probably a good idea.”

Finally, Kidman stepped out into the hallway and shut the door to the locker room, silencing the voices.

“Sorry about those guys,” he said to Angel, giving a meek little smile. “O’Haire and Palumbo have one track minds and as for Stasiak? He’s got an IQ of about sixty-five. He’s clinically retarded.”

“That’s okay,” Angel smiled. “But I guess tonight you’re my angel of mercy.”

“Anytime,” Billy smiled. “So anyway. I saw you on Heat last night. You were out of this world.”

Angel shrugged. “It was no big deal.”

“No big deal?” Billy echoed incredulously. “Angel, you completely blew them away. Me too,” he added with a sly little smile.

Angel smiled right back as they lapsed into a comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of someone clearing his throat.

Angel turned and immediately remembered Earl.

“Billy,” she started. “It’s good to see you again, but I’m actually here to see someone else.”

“You are?” Billy asked. “Well, you sure know how to break a man’s heart. Who you after?”

“Mike Awesome. Can you send him out for me?”

“Awesome, huh?” Billy asked. “Well, I’d like to, but I can’t. He’s not in there.”

“He’s not?” Angel frowned.

“No. I guess they backed down, because they gave us a couple of small rooms. He’s in one of those. You’ve gotta go down this hallway to the end, take a right, then it’s the first room on the left. But hey, are you sure you need to go right now? I could introduce you to some of the guys.”

From inside the locker room came a roar of “Kick his head in!” followed by several shouts of approval.

“Uh, that’s okay,” Angel replied, patting Billy on the arm. “I really need to talk to Mike Awesome. I’ll see you later.”

“Sure,” Billy nodded. “Good luck, Angel. If you can get a decent conversation out of Awesome, you’re better than most people.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Angel smiled, turning and walking away. “Come on, Earl. He said it’s just up here to the right.”

They made their way towards the other locker room, turned right at the end of the hall and found themselves outside another door.

“You want me to stand back?” Earl asked.

“Not yet,” Angel replied thoughtfully, spotting a table that was covered with bundles of insulated cords and other junk. She swept it clean and dragged it next to the door before climbing nimbly on top of it and speaking to Earl. “Knock and then get out the way.”

“Sure thing,” Earl nodded, stepping up to the door and rapping on it loudly.

“Come in!” boomed a voice with a Canadian accent.

Half a minute later, the door still hadn’t opened. Earl and Angel exchanged glances.

“Try again,” Angel suggested.

Earl knocked and leaped quickly out of the way as the door flew open. The second a head appeared around it, Angel flew, cracking the stick down on the person’s skull. He immediately teetered and began to fall as Angel again swung the stick, cracking it across his gut. He dropped like a stone and Angel flung the stick away, leaping on top of him in the cover.

“Count it!” she cried, beckoning Earl over.

Earl hesitated.

“Angel…?” he started nervously.

“Just count it, Earl.”

“Okay,” Earl sighed, dropping to the ground.

Angel let out a breath as the count began. Awesome was smaller than she’d expected, only about the same height as Jerky – barely six foot. Hadn’t Jerky said he went six six?

“Three!” cried Earl.

Angel let out a breath. She’d done it. The title was hers again. So, where was her belt? Awesome wasn’t wearing it.

Suddenly, she flew across the hall, crashing into the wall and sliding down. A huge man, much larger than the one she’d pinned, stood over her.

“What the hell’s going on out here?”

Angel swallowed and slowly reached for her sticks, but just as she did so, the big guy picked her up. He held her easily over his head, pressing her a couple of times as if proving how much stronger he was than her. He threw her hard against the wall and she again slid down, crashing heavily to the floor.

Just then there was a furious shout as Chris Jericho raced down the hall towards them. He jumped on the big guy’s back, distracting him for a half second while Angel finally got the sticks. Hebner looked on in a daze until he eyed the kendo stick and picked it up. The three of them fought furiously, forcing the other two men into the locker room.

“Now, run!” Jericho commanded, picking up a still partially dazed Angel.

They didn’t stop running until they were safely back in the WWF area.

Jericho set Angel down carefully. “Are you okay, baby? Did that big jackass hurt you?”

“Not too badly,” Angel cringed, grabbing at the back of her neck. “How’d you find me?”

“You were gone a little too long for just talking to Vinnie Mac, so I went looking for you. I ran into your little buddy Kidman and he told me you went to find Mike Awesome. I guess I showed up just in time.”

Angel gave a pained little nod. “I wanted to get the hardcore title back.”

“Well, that’s all well and good, baby, but do you have any idea who you actually pinned?”

“I’m guessing it wasn’t Mike Awesome,” Angel muttered.

“No, baby. Awesome’s the big assclown who was using you for pitching practice. The jackass you pinned was actually my old tag team partner, Lance Storm.”

“Oh.” He was right. She’d spoken to Storm before and the guy in the red and white tights who she’d cracked across the head was definitely him. “Thanks for saving me, Jerky.”

“Anytime, baby, but next time you want to go cause havoc WCW style, maybe you should tell me first.”

“I’m sorry,” Angel sighed.

Jericho broke into a slow smile. “Not as sorry as Lance Storm, baby. You took him down!”

Angel had to grin. Jericho always could make her feel better.

* * * *

“Those two assclowns Austin and Angle wouldn’t know what was good for them if it jumped up and bit them on the jackass,” Jericho announced, stomping into the locker room and slamming the door. “You offer help and they don’t want to hear about it.”

Angel jumped up with a start, not realizing she’d been asleep. On the TV, her cousin and Matt were making out and now Jericho was rambling about helping Austin and Angle. It all seemed a little bit Twilight Zone for her liking.

“What’s going on?” she asked, trying to stretch and then wincing and grabbing at the back of her neck.

“I offered, out of the goodness and humility of my heart, mind you…”

“Humility,” Angel scoffed, cutting him off.

“Hey, watch it, baby.”

“Sorry. Go on.”

“I offered,” Jericho said again. “To be a part of Team WWF at the Invasion pay per view, but those assclowns didn’t give a crap.”

“Well, you did make everyone think you were going to take the heavyweight title over to WCW, me included,” Angel replied diplomatically, still rubbing at her neck.

“When will people get over that?” Jericho cried. “It was just a joke. A joke!”

“I know how you feel,” Angel told him. “I mean, you know what crap I went through just for having Shane McMahon’s business card in my gym bag. Hey, maybe you can run the gauntlet.”

“Yeah,” Jericho muttered, dropping down to sit on the bench next to her head. “So I’ll be a low card celebrity like you? I’m sure it’s great, but it’s hardly what I want.”

“You wanna be loved by everyone,” Angel murmured, reaching up and patting his hand.

Jericho absently took her hand between both of his as he thought of ways to prove his alliance to the WWF.

“Why didn’t you ask me to be your bodyguard when you went to see Vince?” Angel asked suddenly.

“Hmm?” Jericho frowned.

“You should have taken me when you went to see Vince,” Angel told him. “Kurt and Austin hate you. You’re lucky you didn’t get your ass kicked.”

“It was a spur of the moment thing,” Jericho told her. “Besides, you were sleeping and you’re just so darn cute when you sleep…unless you’re yakking about…well, you know.”

“Like this?” Angel asked. “Oh, Chris! Yes! Chris! Oh! More! Chris! Oh!”

“Yup,” Jericho muttered, dropping her hand and clasping his together. “That’s it.”

Angel grinned and stared up at him happily. “I love you.”

“Love you too, baby. That’s it!” he cried, leaping to his feet.

“What?” Angel frowned, yawning and rolling over so she was seated. “You’re gonna fake an orgasm for Austin and Angle?”

Jericho gave her a murderous glare. “No,” he snapped. “Listen to this, baby. Kane has a handicap match against those assclowns we’ve already beaten tonight.”

Angel blinked. “Kane has Storm and Awesome? I thought Taker did.”

“Taker did,” Jericho nodded. “Only he took Sara to hospital after that DDP Diamond Cutter, so Kane’s pinch hitting for him.”

“You’re into the baseball analogies tonight, aren’t you?” Angel commented.

“You’d rather I moved on to hockey?” Jericho asked. “Fine, so Team WCW’s got the power play and…”

“Argh!” Angel cut him off, hands on her temples. “Start making sense!”

“I’m going to be Kane’s tag partner,” Jericho informed her.

Angel stared at him incredulously. “Start making sense!”

“What?” Jericho frowned. “Kane needs a partner, I don’t have a match. You told me you’re not allowed to compete.”

“Jerky,” Angel sighed. “Have you forgotten about November and December last year? That last man standing match at Armageddon? Britney Spears wearing a Kane mask?”

Jericho broke into a grin. “That was pretty funny, wasn’t it? Remember the Bush and Gore Kanes and People Magazine with Kane and his women?”

“That’s exactly my point,” Angel told him. “That was one intense feud. You want to be his tag partner?”

“Sure, baby,” Jericho nodded enthusiastically. “What better way to convince all the assclowns I’m reliable that teaming with my old enemy?”

Angel sighed and flopped back down.

“Jerky,” she muttered. “You make my head hurt.”

Jericho gave a sympathetic smile. “Maybe you should go back to sleep, baby.”

“Don’t patronize me, Jericho,” Angel shot back. “It’s just these painkillers – they make me a little drowsy.”

Jericho nodded. “Maybe you should stay back here for my match. With a partner like Kane I hardly need a bodyguard. You can have the night off.”

“No, I want to go,” Angel told him. “Besides, I want to see the looks on Awesome and Storm’s faces when they see us again. And hey, maybe you and Kane will be able to help me beat Awesome and get the hardcore title back.”

“Sorry, baby, but they already announced it. The twenty-four seven rule is suspended until after Invasion. You can only win the title in an official match.”

“What?” Angel cried. “But Awesome only won it because of that rule.”

“I know,” Jericho sighed. “I guess he and Storm got paranoid over your attack earlier and decided to crawl to Shane McMahon on their hands and knees. You know, women are to Vince what men are to Shane…or so I’ve heard.”

“That’s not true!” Angel cried, aghast.

Jericho shrugged. “I don’t know. Shaneo’s a nice looking man. I’m sure he’s turned a few men in his time.”

Angel gave an evil grin. “You’re bad, Jerky.”

“You know it, baby. But I wasn’t kidding about the twenty-four seven rule. It’s suspended.”

“Damn,” Angel sighed. “I must have been sleeping a while. What else did I miss?”

“Well, we have new tag team champions.”

“We do?” Angel asked. “The APA won?”

“Yeah,” Jericho grinned. “Apparently Spike got the last laugh in the war of the Dudleyz after all.”

“Spike? I thought he broke his leg!”

“He did, but the little guy’s tenacious. He came stumbling down that ramp, screwed his brothers out of the title, then limped right back up again. You would have loved it, baby.”

“I’ll bet,” Angel nodded. “So, what else?”

Jericho hesitated. “Well, Kirk Angel is taking on Booker T for the WCW title and I guess that’s happening right now.”

Angel frowned at the TV, then abruptly turned away. “Like I really give a crap about Kurt Angle. What else happened, Jerky? Is that all?”

“Shaneo screwed the Undertaker…”

“Yeah, I saw that bit. What else?”

Again Jericho paused.

“What, Jerky?” Angel frowned. “What happened?”

Jericho stared at her solemnly. “Count your blessings, baby. You got your wish.”

“My wish?”

“Trish Stratus kissed Jeff Hardy,” Jericho informed her.

“She did?” Angel bit her lip to hide her grin. “Way to go, Trish.”

“You’re gonna regret this,” Jericho sighed. “One of these days it’s going to hit you and you’re going to realize exactly what you lost when you gave up on Jeff.”

Angel just shrugged and started digging through her gym bag until she found the top she was looking for. “Not likely. Now, on to more important things. Since I’m just your bodyguard tonight, I thought I should wear this one. What do you think?”

Jericho sighed at the black tank top with ‘Jerichoholic’ written on it in red with a yellow shadow.

“It’s fine, baby,” he muttered. “Whatever you want.”

* * * *

It was all falling apart. Mike Awesome had Jericho in a reverse chinlock and he couldn’t get free.

“Come on, Jerky!” Angel cried, but her words seemed to be in vain.

She’d been playing her part of bodyguard pretty well, picking up the scraps when the tag was made and the ref looked away, or when Lance Storm was twice dumped from the ring. However, he was surprisingly resilient for a guy who’d earlier been cracked over the head with a kendo stick. Trust her to pick one of the well-conditioned guys to try and wear down.

“Yes!” she shrieked suddenly.

Jericho was getting up. He elbowed Awesome in the ribs a few times, breaking the hold and forcing the much bigger man into a neutral corner, where he punched him and hit the knife-edge before going for the whip. Awesome reversed it and ran at him, but Jericho raised his arm and punched him in the mouth. He leaped from the top in the dropped forearm, but Awesome caught him and tossed him over his head in a modified belly to belly suplex.

Jericho painfully clutched his head as Awesome grabbed him and dragged him away from the ropes, making the cover. Angel leaped, monkey-like, onto the apron, dragged her nunchukas from her boot and slammed one end down on Awesome’s back, causing him to break the cover. She was down on the ground before the ref really clicked and glared at her.

“What?” she asked innocently, clutching the nunchukas behind her back. “I’m just the cute little valet.”

He gave her a skeptical frown and turned back to the action.

It was not good news for Jericho. Awesome had tagged Storm and the two made the double team. When Awesome retired to the outside while Storm sank the boot in, Angel was on the run. She had to face Torrie Wilson on SmackDown, but there was nothing saying she couldn’t challenge for the hardcore title on Heat. Especially after destroying Torrie. She’d have pretty much all the bargaining power she needed. All she had to do was get Awesome mad enough to grant her a match.

And so she hit him with the nunchukas, right at the base of his spine. Awesome roared and reflexively kicked back, his boot slamming into her jaw and causing her to slip off the steel steps and hurtle backwards into the barrier. Angel, who was just happy something had broken her fall, collapsed back against the barrier, clutching at her jaw and moving her mouth to check it wasn’t broken.

“Damn lucky I’ve still got all my teeth,” she muttered, leaning against her knees. “It worked for Benoit, but for me it wouldn’t be such a great look.”

It had worked for Benoit. He had a talent, blowing jets of warm air through that gap where the tooth had been knocked out. It had proved very handy for him when he was at his most persuasive. Angel’s eyes rolled back a little at the memory of exactly how persuasive he could be. Clever fingers, unbelievable tongue. She was powerless beneath him. He was so good…so creative, never the same twice. And as much as she loved the power of giving, getting was just…was just…

“Shit!” she screamed as Awesome flew towards her, luckily changing course as he bounced off the ropes.

“Girl,” she murmured, falling forward on her hands and knees. “You be trippin’.”

It was a good thing Awesome had gone bungee-roping…or whatever. If he hadn’t, Angel would probably have been busted by several million people with her hands down her pants. Nice.

“Where’s my toy?” she asked out loud.

That big jackass Awesome had made her drop her nunchukas somewhere. They were the only ones she had and those babies were expensive. She couldn’t just ask Blackman to give her his…that wasn’t fair. She had to find her own. They were round, maybe they’d gone under the ring. She ducked under there quickly, searching as best she could in the dark.

‘I hope there’s no rats in here,’ she thought. ‘That’d really suck.’

Aha! No, wait. That was a broom. Hmm, street signs. Street signs were cool. She tucked them under her arm and backed up into the open air. Wait, her nunchukas. Ah, there they were. She had them. And the street signs. Cool, double or nothing. She was a winner. Finally, she backed up, happy with her prizes.

“Oof!” she cried, before she started to giggle. “Look!” she murmured dopily. “I just got caught in a Storm!”

Storm didn’t hear her, leaping off her and onto his feet. “Ma’am, I highly advise you to stay in your own corner.”

‘That’s what Benoit always used to tell me,’ Angel thought, flopping back onto the ground. ‘Storm’s like if Benoit was in the army. GI Benny.’

“Hi Kane, bye Kane,” she cried as Kane bounced off the ropes as Awesome had done earlier.

She was vaguely aware that she shouldn’t be feeling like this, that her drugs were making her act funny. And then she fell flat on her face on the steps. She slowly, slowly picked herself up and peered into the ring.

“No!” she screamed. “Get off him!”

They were attacking him, attacking her Benoit. Storm and some long haired guy she didn’t really recognize.

Angel dove into the ring, ignoring the fact that Kane was also being double-teamed, by Awesome and another guy. All that mattered was rescuing Benoit, her soulmate. He’d come back to the WWF for her and he had long hair now, like Jericho. He’d come back for her. She had to save him.

“Get off him!” she shrieked, jumping on the long-haired guy with the denim shorts. “Get off him!”

He shoved her aside, but she was right back on him, swinging her nunchukas for all she was worth. “Get the hell off him, you piece of shit!”

Then Lance Storm hit a superkick to the head and she hit the deck.

“Chris,” she sobbed, a little quieter now. “Why are they doing this? Why?” She’d found him now, crawled her way up his body, clutching him tightly as the long-haired guy kept booting both of them.

“Baby,” he murmured. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I had to come,” she whispered tearfully, her words shaking with each boot. “I had to save you.”

Suddenly, there was a roar from the crowd. Angel opened her eyes and broke into a smile.

“They’re here,” she announced. “Raven and Rhyno and Tazz and Bubba and D-Von and Justin. They’ve come to save us!”

He squinted at her. “Help Kane up, baby. It’s going to be okay now.”

“I don’t want to leave you,” she told him.

He was her Benoit. She never wanted to let him go. But he wanted her to help Kane. She’d do anything for him, anything. And so she went to Kane.

The three of them were standing now, huddled in a little group, watching as their six saviors kept their enemies away.

And then the six turned around. They were facing Jericho, Kane and Angel.

“Baby,” Jericho muttered. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I hope you’re ready to fight.”

Bubba attacked first but the others soon joined in. Angel let out a cry, hitting Raven with a knife-edge, landing the dropkick to Rhyno, trying to snap D-Von out of the ring, but there were too many of them. There were ten. Tazz and Raven, Bubba and D-Von, Justin and Rhyno, Awesome and Storm and the two new guys. And they did not let up. The beating continued, over and over. Angel was punched, kicked, powerbombed, gored. But she didn’t care. All she cared about was her Benoit. He was down. They were attacking him, hurting him.

“Stop it,” Angel sobbed, trying to crawl to his side. They stopped her, separated them, surrounded them. “Leave him alone.”

One of the intruders (the one with short hair) picked him up and sent him for an airplane spin, then dumped him down. Angel leaped forward, covering his body with her own.

“Chris,” she moaned. “Chris.” She kissed him feverishly, all over his face. “My poor, poor Chris.”

He was clutching the back of his neck. His neck! His neck was hurting again. They’d busted his neck again.

“Baby,” he murmured, voice filled with pain. “Baby.”

“It’s okay,” she soothed. “I’m here. I’ll protect you. I’ll never leave you.”

And then they both heard another voice. It was the annoying, raucous tones of Paul E. Heyman.

“Well, I guess now it’s time, JR, that you want the truth. So, JR, tonight I’m gonna give you the whole damn truth. I have been sitting…I have been sitting like a damn corporate sell-out next to that damn pig and I have been talking…I have been talking about WWF versus WCW. I have been spilling my guts about this invasion and it seems to me like everybody has forgotten the tribe of extreme.”

“Chris, what’s he talking about?” Angel asked, voice filled with fear. She was just lying there with him, refusing to let him go until this whole thing blew over, until someone said they were going to be okay.
But Heyman wasn’t done. “It seems to me like these men were too extreme for WWF versus WCW. It seems to me like this man and this man have left Shane McMahon’s WCW. It looks to me that these six men have left Vince McMahon’s WWF. And it looks to me that they have all joined ECW. So, Vince or Shane, anytime you guys want revenge, we’ll take on the WWF. We’ll take on WCW. We’re not hard to find. Because this invasion just got taken to the extreme!”

“ECW,” Angel murmured. “ECW’s back.”

Now she truly knew she was high. ECW had folded earlier in the year. That’s why Rhyno, Spike Dudley, Justin Credible, Jerry Lynn and Tajiri were in the WWF now. But ECW was back? It was the worst thing that could happen. Absolutely the worst.

* * * *

“Chris,” Jericho muttered through clenched teeth, still grabbing at the back of his neck as Angel protectively clutched his arm and Kane walked with them too, each of them supporting the others. “We have a problem here.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” the trainer replied gravely, calling in some helpers to check them over. They tried to pry Angel away from Jericho but she refused, saying she was fine and she wasn’t going to leave his side. Not now, not ever.

The trainer sighed and turned back to Jericho. “What exactly happened?”

Jericho grunted as work began on his back.

“Kane and me were fighting Lance Storm and Mike Awesome, when in from nowhere those two ECW assclowns Rob Van Dam and Tommy Dreamer came flying in and jumped us.”

“Really?” the trainer asked. “RVD’s here?”

Jericho winced as the hands moved closer to his most tender places, his neck and behind his head. “You a fan or something?”

“Everyone loves RVD,” the trainer shrugged. “So, it was them who gave you this beating? RVD and Dreamer?”

“They wish,” Jericho sighed. “So, they’re beating us and we’re fighting back and it looks like hey, miracle of miracles, the cavalry’s arrived, because suddenly in the ring we have Bubba Ray and D-Von Dudley, Rhyno, Tazz, Raven and Justin Credible. Only it turns out that sure, they were there to help, all right. They were there to help belt the living hell out of us. So there’s ten of them against me, Rogue and Kane. I mean, we’re good, Chris, but please. Is it any wonder we look like this?”

“I guess not,” the trainer muttered. He suddenly caught sight of Angel. “Are you sure you don’t want someone to check out your injuries?”

Angel smiled sweetly at him.

“I’m fine thanks, Chris,” she informed him, slightly slurring her words as her eyes remained wide and unblinking. “I just have to make sure my Chris is okay. He and Kane got beaten up by the ghosts of ECW.”

“Is that so?” the trainer asked, reaching for an ice pack for the back of Jericho’s neck.

Angel nodded solemnly, her eyes moist with tears. “The wouldn’t leave him alone. They just kept hitting him. I tried to stop them, but they wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t stop, just kept on…his neck? See, they hurt his neck. Right when he was just better. Right when he came back. He came back for me. I knew he would. We’re soulmates. We belong together.”

“Baby?” Jericho asked worriedly, but Angel simply kissed his hand.

“Shh,” she told him. “Just relax. Hopefully Chris will make you better so you won’t need…” She turned back to the trainer. “Just when he’s back, just when he came back for me, they broke his neck again. Broke it. He took so long coming back. He grew his hair like Jerky’s. Long and beautiful. Now his neck’s broken and they have to cut it off so they can operate. His hair will be gone, just like him. He just came back for me and now he’s leaving again. Twelve months, a year. He can’t leave, Chris. I love him. Love him so much. Chris…my Chris. You know, you’re Chris and he’s Chris and Jerky’s Chris. So many Chrises. But there’s only one Chris that I love with all my heart. My Chris. And they’re gonna take him away from me again. Because the ECW ghosts broke his neck. He can’t leave me again. He can’t. I love him. I love him so much.”

The trainer let out a deep sigh.

“Chris,” he told Jericho. “Your neck’s almost certainly not broken. I can tell you right now you’d know if it was.”

“I know,” Jericho replied darkly.

“Okay,” the trainer muttered. “Jim. Test this girl for concussion.”

“You got it, Chris.” The trainer called Jim ran the standard tests before reporting back to his superior.

“Speech is noticeably sluggish, as is her accommodation reflex. Pupils are constricted without light stimulation and yet she claims she wasn’t hit in the head. Memory and awareness appear to be fine, if perhaps somewhat exaggerated.”

“Not good,” the head trainer muttered. “Listen, can you help out with Jericho here? I’ll try to get to the bottom of this.” He tried to lead Angel aside but she again refused to let go of Jericho.

“Okay,” he said at last. “This information will not leave this room, but you have to tell me. What are you on?”

“On?” she repeated. “I’m on my own two feet. I don’t need any help. I’m fine.”

“What did you take, Angel?” he asked patiently. “Have you taken any drugs today?”

“Yes,” she nodded frantically. “They gave me some painkillers at the hospital. I took those.”

‘Bingo,’ the trainer thought. “Okay. When did you last take them and how many did you take?”

Angel stared at him worriedly. “Before the match. I didn’t take too many. I took the number I was supposed to. Four, I took four.”

“Four?” the trainer repeated. As far as he knew, no painkiller had to be taken in groups of four.

“Yes, four,” Angel insisted. “I took four two times a day, like they said. Four this morning, four tonight.”

The trainer’s concern was growing. “They couldn’t have possibly said take two four times a day?”

Angel shook her head rapidly. “No, and anyway? Why would that matter? Four twos are eight. Two fours are eight. I learned that when I was seven.”

“Do you have these pills with you?”

“They’re in my gym bag in the locker room with Jerky. He’s waiting for us. Chris, we have to get back. Jerky’s waiting. He’ll be worried. Come on. Is your neck better? Can you stay?” She trailed off as her words became unintelligible.

The trainer turned to Jericho. “Is there someone in your locker room who can find her pills for us? Who’s this ‘Jerky’ she keeps mentioning?”

“Uh, that’d be me,” Jericho told him.

“Oh. So she’s hallucinating?”

“Looks like it,” Jericho muttered as the trainer removed the ice pack and the blood and pain came flooding back.

“Okay. I think she’s probably taken a compound analgesic and she’s gotten a little bit of an adverse reaction from the codeine. It’s the acetaminophen I’m worried about. How much does she weigh? Angel, what’s your weight?”

“A hundred and fifty pounds,” she replied simply. “Give or take a few ounces. Sixty-eight kilograms, one fifty pounds. One fifty. The same as Spike Dudley, but he’s a guy and I’m a girl. He’s shorter than me, too. I’m five foot nine, that’s a hundred and seventy-five centimeters.”

“Okay,” the trainer cut her off. “And you only took four tablets?”

“Eight tablets,” Angel corrected him. “Four this morning, four tonight. I’d never take more than that. Never. Chris, my Chris…he doesn’t like drugs. If I took too many, he’d be so mad at me. I don’t want him to be mad. I just want him to be happy. I love him. I love you,” she told Jericho.

“I know, baby,” he sighed. “So, what’s the verdict, doc?”

“She should be okay. She did OD on her tablets, but what you see here is probably as bad as it’s going to get. Take her home, put her to bed and treat her like a concussion patient. If her breathing becomes labored you might have to seek further treatment. Tomorrow start her on her correct dose of pills. Check the label; you might have to call the hospital. That’s really all I can tell you. You’re free to go, but I highly advise an ice treatment for that neck and any of your other injuries.”

“Fifteen on, fifteen off, I got it,” Jericho told him, taking the ice pack in the hand that Angel wasn’t gripping. “Come on, Rogue. It’s time to go.”

“Rogue,” she repeated with a giggle. “That’s what Jerky calls me.”

“Yeah,” Jericho mused. “Funny that.”

He led her from the trainer’s room and they walked unsteadily down the hallway.

“Are we going back to the hotel now, Chris?” Angel asked, sliding a hand up his chest.

“Yeah, baby, that’s where we’re going. It’s definitely bedtime,” Jericho sighed, trying to ignore the pain in his own body. Maybe he should have asked Chris for some pills of his own.

“Bedtime,” she echoed happily, climbing up his body like a spider monkey. “I love you,” she breathed, gazing at him adoringly, her face not even an inch away from his. “I’m so glad you came back for me. It was hell without you. I tried to get by with just the thought of you, but now I don’t have to. Now you’re here. I knew you’d come. I knew you could hear me.”

“Baby, I…” Jericho started.

“No,” Angel cut him off, eyes wide. “Just be with me. That’s all I want.” She pulled him even more tightly into her embrace, pressing her cheek against his. Finally, she pulled back a little and gazed at him with complete devotion shining in her eyes. Not for the first time, he inwardly cursed Benoit for doing this to her. “I love you, Chris. I don’t care about our past. That doesn’t matter to me. All I care about is you. I would do anything for you.”

Jericho closed his eyes as their lips met. It had been so long since a girl had looked at him like that – a girl who wasn’t a fifteen-year-old ring rat, anyway. Her lips were soft but firm, tentative but accomplished as her mouth moved against his. Her lips parted and he felt the tip of his tongue against his own lips, brushing over them. Before he knew it, he’d surrendered and they were kissing deeply, tenderly.
‘That’s it, Jericho,’ he thought. ‘You’re officially going to hell.’

But still he didn’t break the kiss. They just stood there, locked in each other’s arms, kissing as though their lives depended on it. They didn’t even hear the voices.

“So, let’s think about this a minute. We’ve got us, as well as O’Haire, Palumbo, Jindrak, Stasiak and Kanyon.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Well, I don’t like it either, but that’s how it is. We were chosen. Now, Billy, you and me are the only ones fresh.”

“You think I really give a crap? All those WCW guys are fresh too.”

“That’s true, So there’s seven fresh on our side, whereas they’ve all been in action tonight.”

“No, only Storm, Awesome and Rhyno have. The others were just beating on Kane and Jericho and that can’t have been hard with ten of them.”

“Thank you for telling us that, Show, we didn’t realize. Why the heck do you think we’re all about to bust our asses in this match?”

“Okay, sorry. Sheesh.”

“So, we got seven, they got seven. But we’re bigger. We’re better. We’re gonna show them who belongs here. We’re gonna win this thing, sure as houses.”

“Unless WCW screw us too.”

“Now, why would that happen? ECW’s a threat to them, too.”

“Still, I don’t trust WCW.”

“I don’t trust ‘em either, but what can we do?”

The voices faded away and still Angel and Jericho kissed. Finally, Jericho broke away.

“Baby, we really should get our things and go to the hotel.”

She smiled contentedly at him. “Sure, Chris. Let’s go.”

With that, she grabbed his hand and they both set off.

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