YOU DON'T OWN ME

SMACKDOWN! JULY 26TH, 2001

“I want to make amends,” she said, eyes downcast.

“I know,” Jericho replied solemnly.

She’d been like this all week – depressed, guilt-stricken, sometimes teary.

“I just don’t know how,” she trailed off miserably, prodding listlessly at a spear of broccoli with her fork. “I mean, if all it took was giving Chyna a rematch, I’d do it in a second. But I can’t.”

“It wasn’t your fault, baby,” Jericho told her, maybe for the millionth time.

“Wasn’t it?” Angel asked, tears glistening in eyes which were now hazel brown, just like her cousin’s. “I could have stopped it. Lance…he said to me that I was a part of ECW, that they’d chosen me. But worse than that. He said that I’d paid my dues and that they were going to see to it that I reaped my rewards. They knew I was going for a title Monday night, because I beat Helms. They must have set it up so it would be Chyna. Then they made sure I won it, that there could be no rematch. I mean, I wanted the gold, but not that way. Not that way.”

“Rogue, it wasn’t your fault,” Jericho said again. “Those jackasses would have done it no matter who you faced. What, were you supposed to retire from wrestling just because they decided they want you in ECW?”

“No,” Angel replied quietly. “But because of who I did face, Chyna might never wrestle again. I called her, you know.”

“I know,” Jericho nodded. She’d told him that. What she hadn’t told him was what she’d said, and what Chyna had said. But maybe now was the time for that.

“She had surgery right away. They rushed her in, the same guy who did Benoit’s. It went well, she said. She’s resting. In another day or two they’ll let her go home to New York State. They expect her to make a full recovery.”

“That’s good,” Jericho replied, nodding intently.

“Yeah,” Angel murmured blandly. “But she said something else. They don’t want her to wrestle again. They tell her that every time. They said it after the first time and it only took her a month to come back. Then they told her again after the Royal Rumble and that time it took two months. This time…it’s a little different this time. This is her third serious neck injury in seven months. She’s taking them seriously this time. Jerky, I may have ended Chyna’s career.”

“It wasn’t you,” Jericho scowled. “You were fighting a clean match. Those ECW jackasses made it ugly. You shouldn’t beat yourself up over this. If you want to get revenge for Chyna, I’m all for that, but don’t take it out on yourself.”

“I will get revenge on them,” Angel said reflectively. “But first I have to make amends. Any ideas?”

“Sorry, baby. This is a tough one. But don’t worry. You’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah,” Angel muttered again, suddenly catching sight of her title belt. “Look at it. It’s ugly. I don’t even want it.”

“Yeah you do,” Jericho told her. “No matter what happened, you earned it. You would have won it without the interference.”

“I earned it, alright,” Angel spat bitterly. “God, it just sucks. I mean, I hate to be all self-pity when I’m safely here today and Chyna’s recovering from surgery, but why me? Why did they choose me? Why not Chyna? She’s bigger than me, a more experienced wrestler. Or Lita. She’s better looking than me and she’s great in the ring. Why me?”

“I don’t know, baby,” Jericho sighed.

“It’s that fucking Lance Storm,” Angel swore, slamming her fist down on the table. “He did all this. It was his idea to kidnap me, his idea to hurt Chyna. He’s an asshole. God, he’s an asshole.”

“And there he is,” Jericho commented, tilting his head towards the buffet table.

Sure enough, Lance was there, frowning down at the food in the buffet. He suddenly turned his head and focused his icy green eyes on Angel, giving a little nod. And then he began approaching her.

“Hello, Chris,” he said coolly. “May I speak with Angel for a minute?”

Jericho glared at him furiously. “That’s up to her,” he replied evenly.

“Angel?” Lance asked.

She refused to look at him. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“That’s fine,” Lance nodded. “I’ll do the talking.”

“Don’t you get it, Lance?” Jericho snapped. “She wants you to leave.”

“She didn’t say that,” Lance frowned. “Now, Angel. I must say I’m surprised at you. You missed our meeting earlier about tonight’s ceremony.”

“What?” Angel cried.

“The Alliance met to discuss the gold ceremony,” Lance explained. “You were expected to be there.”

“My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail,” Angel replied sarcastically.

“We forgave you this once,” Lance told her. “But you must understand. Your presence at meetings such as that one is mandatory and absence will not be tolerated.”

“What are you going to do?” Angel asked smoothly. “Kick me out of the Alliance?”

“No, nothing so drastic,” Lance replied. “But the punishment will fit the crime. For example, if you skip another meeting, you may find that your name is not on the card for that night’s matches.”

“I’m sure I’ll live,” Angel mused. “I know the commissioner. And besides, you’re a fine one to be talking about crime and punishment after what you did on Raw Monday night.”

Lance gave a little nod, half thoughtful, half satisfied. “Yes, that was quite a performance, wasn’t it? Do you realize that the Alliance now holds four WWF titles?”

Jericho scowled and rolled his eyes before muttering under his breath, “Do you realize that you’re a delusional assclown?”

“No,” Angel replied simply. “I wasn’t aware of that.”

“Well, it’s the truth,” Lance went on. “At Invasion, we were victorious in the hardcore title match and with the meet itself. We successfully persuaded Stone Cold Steve Austin to join our ranks. Finally, on Monday night, you and I topped it off with our own outstanding title wins.”

“Wait a minute,” Angel blurted. “I’m not in the Alliance.”

Lance was taken aback. “Of course you are, Angel. You joined the Alliance when we released you in Buffalo.”

“No, I didn’t,” Angel argued. “I would never do that. I abhor everything you stand for. I abhor you.”

“Is that so?” Lance asked. “Well, I’m afraid that will have to change. Here, I bought you a gift.” He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a small velvet jewelry story box. “Open it, Angel.”

Angel frowned up at him. What the hell was this about?

“You got me a gift because I won the women’s title?” she asked skeptically.

“No, although the Alliance does appreciate your efforts and intends to recognize you for them. I bought this gift for one reason and one reason only.”

“And that is?” Angel asked.

“Spit it out, assclown,” Jericho added.

“Angel,” Lance said solemnly. “I would be greatly honored if you would be my girlfriend.”

“Oh my God!” Angel blurted.

“I’m sure if you agree, He would also give His permission,” Lance replied smoothly.

Angel didn’t notice that he’d made a joke.

“Lance,” she sighed, pushing the jeweler’s box along the table. “I can’t take this.”

Lance frowned. “You haven’t seen what it is, yet.”

“It doesn’t matter what it is. I can’t take it.”

Just then Jericho leaned across the table and whispered in her ear. “Take a look. If it’s worth anything we’ll pawn it and give the money to Chyna.”

Angel’s eyes widened. That was a great idea. And so she opened the box.

Inside was a silver necklace with two flat charms. Angel knew what they were, but Lance still said it.
“They’re identification tags, like soldiers wear in the armed forces.”

Angel nodded and turned them over between her fingers. The first said ‘Angel Torres’ and the second, ‘Lance Timothy Storm, 3rd April, 1969’.

“I didn’t know your full name or date of birth,” Lance explained. “So I did the best I could. It was Rob’s idea. He said it would be…” He paused, as if searching for the right word. “Romantic.”

Angel bit her lip as complete weirdness and discomfort overwhelmed her.

“Well, thank you,” she replied crisply. “But this isn’t my name.”

“Angel Torres?” Lance frowned. “But I thought…”

“You thought wrong. You hang out with people who call themselves Mike Awesome and Justin Credible and you actually think the name I wrestle under might be real?”

Lance paused. “But those are really Mike and Justin’s names.”

“Lance, don’t be retarded. Of course they’re not.”

“Angel.” Lance stood up deadly straight. “Which of us do you suppose has seen their drivers licenses?”

Angel blinked. “So Mr. and Mrs. Credible really called their son Justin? No wonder he’s so fucked up.”

“Angel, I’m not seeing your meaning,” Lance frowned. “Now, is Angel Torres your real name?”

“I already told you it’s not. So, in retrospect, this is a pretty crappy gift, don’t you think?”

“I…” Lance started, before nodding. “You’re absolutely right. Forgive me. Next time I’ll be sure to check my facts. Goodbye, Angel.” He gathered up the box and walked away without another word.

“Lance, there’s…” Angel began shouting, but he was already gone. “…Not gonna be a next time,” she finished lamely.

“What in the hell was that about?” Jericho asked.

Angel sighed. “I honestly thought he was joking.”

“Baby, you should know by now. Lance Storm does not joke. Besides, why would you think that?”

“Because it seemed too unlikely,” Angel explained. “He told me he wanted to court me.”

“He what?” Jericho cried. “And what did the assclown expect to do? Take you to the Middle Ages so you could slay dragons, pull swords from stones and catch syphilis from the dogs?”

“From the dogs?” Angel echoed, aghast. “Nice, Jerky.”

“You see my meaning. He wanted to go courting? Like King Arthur’s court?”

Angel sighed. “Well, like I said. I never thought he was serious.”

“Why not?” Jericho questioned. “Because he didn’t start off with the words ‘if I can be serious for a minute. Angel Torres, I think you are the most swell girl I have ever met and I would seriously, seriously like to get horizontal with you’?”

“It’s not funny, Jerky,” Angel scowled.

Jericho’s smile faded. “You’re right, it’s not. Do you want me to kick his ass and beat some sense into him?”

“I don’t know what I want to happen. I mean, I only just got Jeff Hardy off my back and now Lance Storm? I thought Jeff was bad, but God, at least he’s likeable.”

“Yeah, Jeff’s hot,” Jericho mused and they both lapsed into silence for a while
.
“Have you heard from Benoit lately?” Angel asked suddenly.

Jericho frowned. “Back on old Benny again?”

“I wish,” Angel joked, a half smile on her face. “No, just wondering how he’s doing.”

“He’s good,” Jericho nodded, blue eyes serious.

“Yeah? And how’s the rehab going?”

“Real good,” Jericho smiled. “Actually, I meant to tell you about that. They’re thinking about amending the twelve months to nine months.”

“Serious?” Angel cried. “That’s fantastic. So, once he pops out that baby, he’s gonna be back?”

“Looks that way,” Jericho nodded, still smiling. “But really, baby. I thought you were finally getting over him. What brought him back all of a sudden?”

Angel sighed. “Lots of things. Lance wanting me…Chyna.” She frowned thoughtfully. “Hey, since he’s going so well…do you think maybe I could get Chyna to call him? Do you think he’d encourage her, help her through her own rehab? I mean, he’s not the most selfless person in the world.”

“Baby,” Jericho said quietly. “Him and Chyna…it’s not exactly the same thing. It was his first, but like you said, Chyna’s been there three times in less than a year.”

“I know,” Angel said sadly. “But I just thought…maybe they could help each other. I mean he’s my s…uh, mentor and she’s my hero. I care about them.”

“I know you do, Rogue,” Jericho nodded. “And hey, maybe it’ll work, but you don’t need to do this. You want to get rid of your guilt by making Chyna okay, getting her back in the ring, but baby, you don’t need to. It wasn’t your fault. You don’t have to feel guilty.”

“No,” Angel replied shortly as once again, tears glittered in her eyes. “But I do anyway. And I can’t change that. I just have to make amends.”

* * * *

Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!

Angel worked her punching bag systematically, trying to clear away all the conflicting emotions that were clouding her thinking processes. She wasn’t the most rational person at the best of times, but now, forget it, buddy. And so she punched and kicked, linking her sequences, one to the next as it all floated away, or at least that was the plan. Bam! Bye-bye guilt about Chyna. Bam! See you later, fear at being blamed, fear at being hated by fans, fear at having everyone turn against her, right when she was just beginning to be accepted.

‘God,’ she thought. ‘How high-maintenance am I?’

Bam! Goodbye fury at Lance Storm and ECW…or rather goodbye for now. Hasta luego. It wasn’t doing her any good at the moment, but maybe later it’d be useful and she could access it. Bam! Adios, sudden, urgent need for Benoit…again. It had been so long now, it was just getting pathetic. Bam! Bam! Bam! Goodbye everything.

She did a little spin, ready to start again. Maybe it’d work this time. And then she stopped as something caught her eye. She strode purposefully over to the bench, picked up her title belt and did it up around her waist. Then she started on the bag again.

“What’s going on, baby?” Jericho asked from the floor. Ever the eternal optimist, he was warming up, despite not even having a match booked…yet. He was Y2J. He’d have a match. “You finally decided you like that gold enough to wear it?”

“No,” Angel replied breathlessly, turning to him for a moment with a truly intense look on her face. “I just don’t want to have to look at it. This way it’s out of sight.”

Jericho slowly shook his head. “You gotta snap out of this funk, baby.”

“I will,” she replied simply. “As soon as I figure out how to fix this.”

“Okay, but while you ponder that, maybe you should cut your bag some slack and make yourself useful.” He jumped to his feet, beckoning for her to join him and she did so, slowly, tentatively.

“Stretch up,” he told her and she leaned against him while he did the same to her.

He looked deep into her eyes, curiously, searchingly. Damn, he had beautiful eyes. They were two of her favorite things about him.

“I want my old Rogue back,” he said quietly. “I miss the sass beast. I miss the girl who beat Hurricane Helms because she could. Bring her back, baby. Chyna doesn’t blame you for what happened, so you shouldn’t either. Come on, baby.”

“That’s it,” Angel breathed, eyes wide. “I’ve got it. Jerky, can I come down for your match?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Jericho frowned.

“Tonight, I’m not going to be your bodyguard,” Angel told him. “Tonight I’m going to try my hand at color commentary.”

“Well, why not?” Jericho frowned. “You rock at ring announcing and you’re one whole hell of a wrestler. Why not branch out?”

Angel suddenly released her pressure on him, causing him to clumsily fall forward into her arms.
“Thanks, Jerky. You’re the best.”

Jericho grinned. “Yeah, I am, alright.”

And just then there was the sound of a female voice booming from the TV.

“…And Shane, Paul and I? Well, we were all right.”

Angel frowned at Stephanie’s image as Jericho stiffened noticeably.

“Is it just me,” she mused. “Or is Stephie looking fat?”

“You’re not fat, baby,” Jericho replied without skipping a beat. “But that slut definitely seems to have packed on the pounds during her hiatus.”

They both sat on the bench, now completely focused on the TV as Stephanie continued her speech.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Allow me to introduce you to the gold card carrying members of the Alliance, starting off with the WCW tag team champions, Sean O’Haire and Chuck Palumbo.”

“What is this?” Angel asked. “Didn’t the APA beat them at Invasion?”

“Yeah,” Jericho nodded. “But apparently it’s ‘let’s cheer for the golden assclowns of the Alliance’ night.”

Angel just shook her head as O’Haire and Palumbo made their way down the ramp to the ring.

“While we’re on the topic of things that are unusually big,” Angel blurted, staring at the genetic wonder that was Chuck Palumbo.

“He stuffs,” Jericho replied simply.

“Really?”

“Oh course, baby. There’s no doubt.”

“Hmm, penis envy?” Angel said under her breath, turning to the TV again.

Stephanie was back on mic. “The WCW cruiserweight champion, Billy Kidman.”

“It’s a shame,” Angel sighed. “He was so much hotter in the wife beater and denim shorts.”

“Superficial much?” Jericho commented.

“And how,” Angel agreed, concentrating hard on Stephanie to see who was next in the cattle call of meatheads.

“The WWF women’s champion, Angel Torres!”

“What?” Angel screamed. “That’s me! That’s my music!”

“Something weird’s going on here,” Jericho muttered.

Angel half expected to see an image of herself appearing on the stage, but of course it didn’t, and that was when the realization truly hit her.

“They expect me to go out there!” she cried. “They think I really joined the Alliance.”

“Angel Torres!” Stephanie shouted again, with no less enthusiasm than the first time.

“Sure looks that way,” Jericho commented.

“Why are they doing this?” Angel asked. “Do they honestly think that because they forced me into winning this title they own me now? They don’t own me, Jerky. They don’t own me.”

She bounced to her feet and headed for the door.

“Where are you going, baby?’ Jericho asked, somewhat worriedly.

“I’m going to tell them. They don’t own me.”

And then she was gone. She ran quickly. Pretty soon Stephanie was going to decide she wasn’t coming and she’d officially lose her chance. Her chance to tell them once and for all what she thought of them, to stop singling her out, to leave her the hell alone.

“You don’t own me,” she said quietly as she ran. “Why can’t you just stay out of my life? You don’t…yeargh!”

Just as she reached the gorilla position, someone had pulled her aside and there was a large hand over her mouth. Angel was just about to bite down when she heard the voice, barely even a whisper.

“Angel, what are you doing here?”

“God, get off me, Kurt,” she snapped, shoving him until she was free.

“Shh!” Kurt insisted, pressing his index finger to her lips. “If the Alliance hear you here, you could be in real big trouble. Now, why are you here?”

Angel shook her head in disbelief. “I was going to go set those jackasses straight. I’m not in the Alliance, Kurt.”

“Shh,” Kurt hissed. “I know you’re not. Angel, do you have any idea where we are?”

“Um, the gorilla position?” Angel asked testily.

“Well, yeah, but where in the gorilla position? That’s right, Angel. We’re in Pittsburgh, PA. My home town. Oh, it’s true. I don’t know if you understand what this means to me.”

Angel stared at him incredulously. “What’s that to do with my crashing the Alliance party?”

“Angel, don’t be so selfish,” Kurt hissed. “And anyway, listen.”

Angel did as he said. Her music was no longer playing. Instead there was a different song. Rob Van Dam’s song. She scowled. It seemed her chance was over. Opportunity had knocked and she’d been stuck just behind the front door with a real Olympic hero, arguing about who was going to be the one to answer it.

“Well, Kurt,” she said testily. “Thanks so much for holding me up.”

“Hey, you’re welcome, Angel. Remember to look for me when I interrupt them a little later.”

“Sure, Kurt, whatever you say.” She rolled her eyes and walked away. The guy seriously had no concept of sarcasm but she couldn’t hold it against him too much. It was his hometown and he wanted to make a good impression as a fan favorite, possibly for the first time ever. And he wasn’t to know how critical it was for Angel to plead her separation from the Alliance. Fan support was tantamount to bookings. If the fans liked you, you got matches. If they didn’t, well, you better hope that somebody hated you enough to challenge you or you’d be jobbing on Sunday Night Heat faster than you could say Essa Rios.

It didn’t matter, though. Angel still had time. She’d just have to make sure she did it right when she did color commentary during Jerky’s match. Hopefully opportunity would come to visit one more time.

* * * *

“Commissioner Regal’s associate Tajiri has had a great week as well,” Michael Cole was saying. “At Invasion, a win over Tazz and also an upset Monday night on Raw.”

“The Japanese Buzzsaw, Tajiri,” JR added. “With his unorthodox style, it’ll be interesting how he meshes with Y2J as Angel Torres, Chris Jericho’s valet, joins us at ringside. How are you today, Angel?”

“Not too bad,” Angel replied, taking a seat next to him. “But I’ve gotta correct you on something. I’m Jericho’s bodyguard, not his valet.”

“His bodyguard,” JR repeated. “Well, that is an impressive job description.”

“Yeah, I know,” Angel nodded, looking up at the stage where Kanyon was making his entrance wearing his newly ‘won’ US title. “Can you believe that clown? Who better than Kanyon. Hell, I think both you guys are better than Kanyon and that’s just a start.”

“Yeah, well, JR touched on it earlier,” Michael Cole stated. “How can the Alliance go around giving out title belts? Booker T giving his US title to Chris Kanyon earlier tonight.”

“Well, they gave me a title Monday on Raw,” Angel said bitterly. “Which was incredibly kind of them, don’t you think?”

“We’ll stay with that as we see Rob Van Dam on his way to the ring,” JR announced. “Rob Van Dam being one of the men who made that victory over Chyna possible.”

“Yeah,” Angel nodded harshly. “I thought that five star frogsplash after Chyna had already taken a tombstone and God knows what else was really appropriate, didn’t you?”

“Well, that’s interesting you say that, Angel,” JR told her. “When earlier tonight, Stephanie McMahon-Helmsley called your name as a championship holding member of the Alliance. Now, is that not the case?”

“Absolutely not,” Angel replied. “I don’t know what the Alliance’s deal is with me, but I want it to stop. I am just a wrestler, trying to do my job, trying to win matches fairly, and I think what they did to Chyna is absolutely disgusting.”

“Well, I agree with you there,” JR told her. “But Angel, have you spoken to Chyna since the incident? The official word is that she again has a broken neck.”

“That’s right. They operated on her and the operation was a success, but that’s not the point, JR. The point is that it shouldn’t have happened in the first place, and if I’d known it was going to, I would never have even challenged for the women’s title. I don’t need titles to be given to me. I’m not about that. I’m about earning them, fair and square.”

“Well, Alliance members Kanyon and Rob Van Dam against WWF members, Chris Jericho and Tajiri,” Michael Cole said, bringing them momentarily back to the match taking place. “And you talk about handing titles around. Nobody’s going to hand anybody a title tonight. It’s going to take hard work on the part of Kurt Angle to take the WCW title from Booker T tonight on SmackDown.”

“Nice chop,” Angel nodded as Jericho hit the knife-edge on Kanyon.

“Let me tell you something,” JR piped up. “I believe in Kurt Angle. I believe in what Kurt Angle stands for.”

“I believe in him too, JR,” Michael Cole stated. “And here comes the tag, Tajiri in.”

“I hope Kurt wins it too,” Angel announced. “I mean, I don’t always get along with the guy, but he’s WWF all the way, and that makes him infinitely better than any of those losers in the Alliance. You know, I just don’t understand why they’ve singled me out. If I’d fought X-Pac for the light heavyweight championship on Raw, you know they would have beat up on him too.”

“Well, you’re probably right there,” JR noted. “It seems they want you about as much as they want the Rock. Now, that is a frightening thought. What if, folks, what if the Rock…ooh, what a shot that was…” (as Tajiri kicked Rob Van Dam in the jaw). “What if the Rock would join the Alliance? We’re gonna find out Monday night if the Rock is even coming back to competition and apparently if he’s going to join the Alliance or not.”

“He won’t,” Angel said confidently. “Wow! Awesome rollup by Tajiri there. Now, he’s good, that Tajiri. Why don’t the Alliance want him?”

“They did,” Michael Cole told her. “Only he refused emphatically early on.”

“Well, so did I,” Angel assured them. “I’ve told Lance Storm, Rob Van Dam, Paul Heyman himself that I’m not interested, but I guess none of them are listening. I’ll make ‘em listen, though. Don’t you worry about that. And the Rock will, too. There’s no way he’s joining the Alliance.”

“Stephanie McMahon mentioned about a fatal blow and driving nails into the WWF coffin,” JR reminded them. “Could that be what they were alluding to? Could that be it? That the Rock could join the Alliance? Again, we’ll find out, Monday night.”

“Well, think about it,” Michael Cole added. “The Alliance will then have Stone Cold Steve Austin, the World Wrestling Federation Champion, and the Rock in its fold. Oh man, I shudder to think what that would be like. And look at Chris Kanyon, in control of Tajiri. Here’s the cover, hook of the leg by Kanyon. May have him. And Jericho breaks up the three count.”

“Alright, Jerky,” Angel muttered in a low voice. “Let’s do this.”

“Kanyon very innovative offence,” JR pointed out. “I just can’t believe Kanyon. He wandered into Commissioner Regal’s office, demanded a match with Jericho and said, ‘I just won the US title tonight.’ Kanyon didn’t win anything. He was given the title.”

“Well, he may win this match up if he continues this high risk offence against Tajiri,” Michael Cole went on as Jericho flew in for the save. “And look at Jericho. Face first, Kanyon and Tajiri counters.”

“Nice sunset flip,” Angel added. “Too bad he didn’t get the three.”

“This US title business is pathetic!” JR cried. “People awarded titles when they don’t deserve it, when they don’t earn it.”

“Like mine, huh?” Angel asked bitterly.

“It’s not the same thing, Angel,” JR told her. “You at least had a match against Chyna. You fought your heart out. Sure, the ending was clouded, but it’s not as though Chyna just came to you and said, ‘Angel. I don’t need this anymore. Why don’t you take it?’ I like to think that we at the WWF are above that.”

“Well, that’s nice of you to say, JR, but I know you must be thinking what the fans must be thinking, what everyone must be thinking. If it wasn’t for ECW, if it wasn’t for the Alliance, would she have the belt at all? Now, not even I know the answer to that. I’d like to think I’d still have won, but who’s to say I would have? You know, I like to think of myself as a vigilante, as someone who brings justice whenever it’s needed. Now, I can’t bring justice to Chyna, I can’t give her a rematch, because she won’t be able to be there. The Alliance put paid to that. So, instead, what I want is to bring justice to the women’s title itself. Walls of Jericho! Oh, broken by RVD. It doesn’t deserve a champion who won it the way I did. That’s why tonight, I’m holding an open challenge. Later tonight, I’m going to make my way to the ring. The first woman to follow me gets a title shot. The Alliance divas need not apply. They were destroyed by Lita and Trish at Invasion and their challenging for the WWF women’s title would just be a waste of time. But everyone else…Jackie, Molly, even Terri Runnels if she dares, feel free. And as for the rest of the Alliance, in particular Lance Storm, Rob Van Dam, Justin Credible and Mike Awesome. I’m telling you now. Stay away. I don’t want or need your help. Chris Jericho will not be at ringside, so you don’t need to show up either. I do not want to join the Alliance, so please, stay away. Hold it, I gotta go.”

“Look at this!” Michael Cole cried. “Tajiri, going for the tarantula to Rob Van Dam. He’s got it locked in.”

“Wait a minute!” JR boomed. “Kanyon with the United States title he was given just nailed Tajiri. Kanyon on the outside. Angel Torres has left the announce position to stand on our desk and ooh!”

“Hurricanrana! Hurricanrana!” Michael Cole cheered. “Hurricanrana by the vigilante Angel to Chris Kanyon, and now Rob Van Dam, top rope. Tajiri’s in trouble. Five star frog splash, connects for RVD.”

“It should be over here,” JR stated. “How can Tajiri kick out of this?”

“He can’t,” Michael Cole replied as the ref made the three count. “RVD and Kanyon win.”

He and JR paused a moment as Howard Finkel made the official announcement. “Here are your winners, Chris Kanyon and Rob Van Dam.”

“Well, Chris Jericho and Angel Torres taking exception to Rob Van Dam as they boot him from the ring,” Michael Cole said.

“And Angel’s message to him perfectly clear,” JR added. “Stay away from my title match tonight, Rob Van Dam. Stay away.”

* * * *

“See?” Angel asked, a smile on her face at last. “I knew tonight it’d all turn around and fix itself. I mean, look at that. Lance Storm just got the crap beat out of him by a mop.”

“Well, that will teach him for picking on Moppy,” Jericho deadpanned.

“Yeah,” Angel agreed. “Moppy’s quite a girl…er, mop. And I can’t blame Perry for choosing Moppy over Terri. I mean, it does have more personality.”

“It’s got a little more meat on it too,” Jericho laughed, turning serious as they heard a knock. “Who can that be?”

“I dunno,” Angel frowned, starting to wind black electrical tape around her wrists. “Stripogram, maybe?”

“Really?” Jericho grinned. “Outstanding.”

Angel smiled to herself as she heard him answering the door.

“Hey! You’re not stripogram!”

“Hello to you too, Chris,” Lita called, stepping past him into the locker room. “There she is, my women’s champion cousin.”

“Hey, Lita,” Angel nodded, the mention of her title belt making her sullen again. “What’s up?”

“Not much, Ange,” Lita told her. “I just want you to know that I think it’s real cool what you’re doing tonight, putting your title on the line and all, but I want you to know, I won’t be taking you on. It’s not that I don’t want that title, I do, but Jeff told me what you said, how you won’t fight him, me or Matt anymore, so the least I can do is promise you the same.”

Angel smiled up at her older cousin. “Thanks, Li.”

“No problem, cuz,” Lita smiled back, ruffling Angel’s hair. “So, I don’t know who it’ll be, but whoever it is, knock ‘em dead, okay?”

Angel’s face fell. “Lita, after Monday, how can you say that?”

“Relax, Ange,” Lita soothed her. “It’s just a figure of speech. Like break a leg. That’s how I meant it.”

“Oh, right,” Angel nodded. “I guess I’m just a little…I don’t know, edgy. If those ECW guys show up like they did on Raw, what am I going to do? I couldn’t take someone else being hurt the way they hurt Chyna. I mean, they broke her neck. They could have killed her. What am I going to do if they try again?”

“Ange, you’ve just gotta be ready. I know you told them not to come, but you have to be ready. If you need us for the run in, me Matt and Jeff will have your back and I’m sure Chris will, too. Right, Chris?”

“You bet,” Jericho nodded.

“So be ready, but don’t worry,” Lita advised. “And everything’s going to be okay. You’ll see.”

* * * *

“Hey guys,” Angel said as the men involved in the match before hers walked on past. “Nice win out there.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Edge cringed, lugging his King of the Ring trophy and his brother along. “But if I hadn’t moved out the way, that toolshed Rhyno wouldn’t have gored my brother.”

“Because of that gore you got the win,” Angel reminded them. “That’s all that matters.”

“Yeah,” Edge said again. “See you later…Angel face.”

“Bye guys.”

Angel took a deep breath. It was time for her to bite the bullet and earn the title around her waist. And so she started her long walk down the ramp.

“The following match is scheduled for one fall and it is for the World Wrestling Federation women’s championship. Introducing first, the champion, from Australia, Angel Torres!”

Angel shrugged her shoulders as she walked. The crowd was half-hearted in its response to her. She couldn’t blame them really. They were probably having a hard time trusting her, believing she was for real. Well, tonight she’d prove herself again.

She stepped around the ring, holding the women’s title above her head in both hands, before passing it over to the referee. It was time to see who’d accepted her challenge.

Some music hit.

“Oh no,” Angel murmured.

“And,” continued Howard Finkel. “Making her way to the ring, the challenger, Trish Stratus!”

“Hi Angel,” Trish grinned, climbing in through the ropes.

“Trish, what are you thinking?” Angel asked darkly.

“Well, you said it was an open challenge and I’ve never been the women’s champion. Besides, you taught me just about everything I know. Who better to challenge you than someone who knows you as well as I do?”

“So long as you know what you’re doing…”

“Don’t worry about me, Angel. Worry about yourself.”

The ringbell sounded. It was time to start. The two women circled each other, both looking very focused.

“Go on, Trish,” Angel said coolly. “Take the first shot.”

Trish furrowed her brow in concentration, ran in and shoved Angel with all her might. As Angel stumbled back slightly, Trish reached out and sent her for an armdrag takeover. She ran in again, but now Angel hit her with an armdrag and then another. Angel grabbed her arm, hauled her to her feet and sent her for an Irish whip, catching her on the return with a huge powerslam.

“Come on, Trish,” she mused, again pulling her friend to her feet. “Let’s do this.”

Bam! Knife-edge chop. Bam! Another. Bam! A third and Trish’s back slammed into the corner.

“Up you go,” Angel hissed, lifting Trish up top. She had only one thing on her mind. Close this out early, prove her WWF loyalty and avoid the Alliance run in. For, despite warning them away, she knew the inevitability of the interference.

And so she jumped, carrying Trish over in the hurricanrana takedown. She turned to make the cover, only to find that Trish had slipped to the ground in order to regroup. But Trish had forgotten something. Luchadors don’t regroup. They just keep on going.

Angel took a deep breath and then a run up, sprinting, jumping, bouncing off the top rope in the somersault plancha, but Trish saw it coming and dove desperately out of the way. Angel crashed down with a thud – a thin crash mat the only thing between her and the concrete floor.

“Ha, Angel. Who’s smart now?” Trish breathed, picking her up and forcing her back into the ring. “I might not be able to do that move, but I know when you’re going to.”

Trish climbed in after her just as she was getting up, landed a boot to the stomach and sent her for a belly to belly suplex. She rolled into the cover and hooked the leg.

“One! Two!”

But Angel kicked out emphatically.

Trish got up quickly.

“How do you do this, Angel?”

Bam! Boot to the back. Bam! Another. Bam! One to the side and Angel tumbled over. Trish grabbed Angel by the shoulders and forced her into the corner, then wham! Wham! Wham! A series of three short spears had Angel reeling. Trish now climbed up top, grabbing Angel in the headlock and lifting her off her feet in what was an illegal submission hold. The ref was on the ball.

“Hey! Get off the ropes! Get out of the corner!”

But Trish just gritted her teeth and hoisted Angel up by the neck again. Angel reached behind to try and break the hold and bam! Snapmare over, Trish was down.

Angel raced over to her and got the waistlock on. Bam! One German. Bam! Two Germans. Bam! Three Germans into a bridge.

The ref dropped to the canvas.

“One! Two!”

Suddenly Angel saw something out of the corner of her eye and nipped up. Sure enough, there was Lance Storm…and Rob Van Dam…and Justin Credible…and Mike Awesome.

In one swift movement, Angel retrieved her nunchukas from her boot and was swinging them around her head.

“Come on!” she roared. “You guys want a shot at the women’s title? Come on!”

And then Trish whipped her into the ropes, causing her to drop her nunchukas and before she knew what was happening, bam! Bulldog.

Trish made the cover.

“One!” counted the ref.

Angel kicked out quickly, racing across the ring to charge an advancing Justin Credible.

“I don’t want your fucking help!” she screamed, not knowing or caring whether the ring mics had caught her.

And then Trish was rolling her up for a pin.

“One! Two!”

Angel kicked out. If she hadn’t, not even the ECW guys could have done anything about that one. It would have been over too quickly.

Trish was lifting her to her feet. Angel could see the ECW guys congregating just behind her, so she reached out and Irish whipped Trish into the ropes on the other side of the ring. Angel caught her on the return with a knee to the abdomen which was more instinct than anything. Angel ran for momentum off the ropes and leaped in the Asai moonsault, slamming Trish onto the mat again. Angel leaped up, glaring around the ring to keep the Alliance in check and scoop slammed Trish to the canvas. She was going to end this, before Trish had a chance to fight back, before those jackasses had a chance to hurt her like they’d hurt Chyna. And so she hit the corner. Bam! Bottom rope moonsault. Bam! Second rope moonsault. Jump up top, jump around. Tonight she screamed something different.

“WWF!”

And then she leaped in the senton, hit Trish, made the cover and hooked the leg.

“One!” counted the ref. “Two! Three!”

Angel breathed a sigh of relief and jumped up, accepting her now earned title belt from the ref and holding it up for the crowd. She bit her lip suddenly. The fans weren’t cheering. They were booing. In fact, they sounded absolutely livid.

‘I’ve lost them,’ she thought frantically. ‘I’ve lost them.’

And that was about the time she realized that Trish was gone. They had her, dragged her through the ropes. They had her on the steel steps.

Angel watched openmouthed as Mike Awesome held the top tier of steps over his head and Trish screamed in terror.

“No!” Angel shrieked, racing over there, throwing the belt aside.

The steps slammed down with a metallic crack. Angel launched herself and flew. She wasn’t a big fan of the suicide plancha, but now it was different. Now it was about her friend.

Wham! She crashed against Mike Awesome and was back on her feet before the big guy even hit the deck. She was a woman possessed, grabbing her sticks and cracking them against anything that moved, single-handedly fighting off Storm, Van Dam and Credible. It wasn’t too hard, though, considering they weren’t fighting back. They soon retreated to the ramp, looking on as Angel threw the upper tier of steps aside with all her strength, freeing Trish from her trap.

Just then there was a roar from the crowd as Lita, both Hardy Boyz and Chris Jericho raced down and cleared the area of Alliance members. Angel didn’t hear, though. She was trying to talk to Trish, who was screaming and crying, her normally beautiful face contorted into a frightening grimace.

“My ankle!” she wailed. “Oh God, Angel. My ankle.”

Angel didn’t even think twice. She simply lifted Trish and began carrying her up the ramp.

“Jeff!” she cried. “Jeff, help me. Trish…it’s her ankle.”

Jeff stepped up and took Trish from her, carrying her far more easily than Angel had.

Finally free of the Alliance, they made their way backstage, to the trainer’s room. Angel was distraught, gripping Jericho’s arm so tightly her knuckles were white with effort.

“It’s her ankle,” Jeff said solemnly, placing Trish gently on the bench.

“Chris!” Angel cried. “They dropped the ring steps on her ankle. Please fix her. Please make her okay.”

Chris the trainer had used Jeff’s help to roll up the leg of Trish’s tight but pliant pants and remove the boot.

“We’ve gotta get her to hospital for X-rays,” he announced gravely.

“No!” Angel gasped, clutching Jericho even tighter as tears streamed down her face. “What have I done? What have I done?”

Jericho twisted her arm around and dragged her out into the hallway, where he grabbed her shoulders in his hands and stared deep into her eyes.

“Get a grip, Angel.” She immediately froze at the use of that name when he always called her ‘Rogue’ or ‘baby’. He went on, just as strongly. “I am not going to let you break down over this. You told them to stay away. You did your part. It’s all them, it’s not you, now cut out this crap.”

Angel stared at him with eyes that were soaked with tears and threw herself into his arms. She didn’t move until she heard paramedics wheeling a gurney towards them.

“No!” she shrieked again. “Trish! Why Trish? Why?”

Jericho grabbed her tightly and was still gripping her when the paramedics returned with Trish, followed by the Hardyz and Lita.

Matt gave Jericho a tight little smile. “We’re following them to the hospital to check on Trish. You guys wanna come?”

“Yes!” Angel blurted, but Jericho gave her a squeeze, silencing her.

“We’re going to stay here until this one calms down. Call me on my cell if you need to.”

“That’s okay, Chris,” Jeff said. “You can go. I’ll stay with Angel.”

“No, Jeff!” Angel cried, leaping from Jericho’s arms into Jeff’s with wild eyes. “You have to go. Trish is your girlfriend. She needs you. I’ll…I’ll be there as soon as I can. Go, Jeff, go.”

She gave him a little push down the hallway and he had no choice but to walk.

Angel returned to Jericho, her face the picture of misery.

“What am I going to do, Jerky? First Chyna, now Trish. No one’s ever going to want to fight me again. I’ll be the least fightingest women’s champion in the history of the World Wrestling Federation and I’ll be remembered in the future as the girl who couldn’t even stop her friends from getting hurt.”

“You told them to stay away, baby,” Jericho told her again. “It isn’t your fault. Worst case scenario, Trish has a broken ankle. It doesn’t matter, baby. She’ll get better. And we’ll make those assclowns pay, once and for all. You, me, the entire WWF. And you, a women’s champion to be proud of. Tonight it might not have ended the way you wanted it to, but believe me, baby. Tonight you earned that title, fair and square. You had four ECW jackasses and a very determined Trish Stratus as your test and you passed it, with flying colors. You’re a winner, baby. Always have been. Never forget that.”

Angel looked up at him, forming a little smile. “Thank you, Jerky.”

“You’re welcome, baby. Now, do you wanna go find out how Trish is doing?”

Angel gave a little nod, eyes focused and clear. “Let’s do it.”