TWO CHRISES, TWO KISSES

RAW, JULY 30TH, 2001

“Tonight’s the night,” Angel stated, tucking heartily into her dinner. “The night the Rock comes back, and the night I end this ECW bullshit, once and for all.”

“I thought we did that last night,” Jericho muttered through a mouthful of food.

“Not quite,” Angel replied. “I mean, that’s got to give them the general idea that we – me and the WWF, I mean – aren’t going to take it anymore, but last night it came to me in a dream. I finally know what I’ve been doing wrong.”

“What’s that?” Jericho asked, swallowing.

“All this time I’ve been playing into their hands,” Angel told him. “Well, tonight, it stops. Then we’ll see how much they want me to be an ECF’n diva.”

“You’re not easy, baby,” Jericho assured her. “Easy on the eye, maybe. But definitely not easy.”

“Thanks, Jerky,” Angel smiled.

“You’re welcome, baby. Trust me, if there was anyone in the world who wasn’t easy, it’d have to be you. In fact, you’re the opposite of easy. You’re…”

“Difficult?” Angel questioned, eyebrows way up.

Jericho formed a sheepish grin. “So, tell me about that dream,” he replied evasively.

Angel, who had just taken a bite of food, shook her head and swallowed before responding. “You don’t want to know.”

“Sure I do,” Jericho insisted eagerly. “I want to know what suddenly brought you to this new level of enlightenment.”

Angel sighed. “Okay, so I was in the ring, defending my championship and…”

“Wait,” Jericho interrupted her. “Opponent?”

When Angel gave him a skeptical frown he went on.

“I want a visual. I have to know who you were fighting.”

“Jackie,” Angel replied. “She’s really the only one left, isn’t she? I mean, not including Lita or chicken shit like Terri.”

“There’s Ivory, but I haven’t seen her in a couple of months,” Jericho said thoughtfully. “But anyway, the dream.”

“Right, so I was fighting Jackie and then, sure enough, there were Storm, Van Dam, Awesome and Credible. Only they were joined by the other six ECW guys, like in my match with Helms. So, of course I was trying to fight, while being real worried about Jackie’s safety, not that she really cared, you know, being Jackie. I don’t think she’s afraid of anything. But it turned out I didn’t have to worry, because you and the other guys were there and there was a huge all-in, just like last night. So I concentrated on my match and finally got the duke.”

“How?” Jericho asked, again with a mouthful of food
.
“How what?” Angel frowned.

“The win. How’d you get it?”

“Oh. I reversed her tornado DDT into one of my own and then hit the Stairway.”

“Nice,” Jericho nodded. “So then what?”

“Well, me and Jackie joined in the brawl like me and Molly did. We were just going for the double suplex on Raven when someone grabbed my leg and dragged me under the ring. Of course, I fought back. I didn’t know who it was, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to let him take me down. I knew it was a him because he was bigger than me, stronger. He overpowered me, pinned me under him in the tiny amount of space under that ring. And then he said, ‘hello, princess’.”

Jericho sighed. “Benny again, eh?”

“Jerky, it’s always him. You know that. So then we screwed each other under the ring and all, but I guess all our moans and screams were hidden with the sound of all you guys fighting.”

“Moans and screams, right,” Jericho muttered, cringing slightly. “So, how did you reach enlightenment?”

“Well, we were still under there, just making out now, and he moved his mouth from mine and propped himself up so he could look down at me in the dark. And he said, ‘what’s wrong with you, princess? Why do you keep doing this?’ And I said…”

“Let me guess,” Jericho sighed. “You said, ‘because you’re the best sex I’ve ever had’.”

Angel blushed. “Something like that. But I was a little more evasive. I could never actually tell him what a good lay he was. I was supposed to hate him, remember? So he said, “no, princess. Why do you keep going through this same damn routine, knowing they’ll come for you?’ And I said, ‘it doesn’t matter. The APA and all the others have my back.’ But he argued with me. He always argues, even in my dreams. He said, ‘but that means more people are needlessly getting injured and it’s all your fault. You really are a stupid little bitch.’ So I punched him and he kissed me…”

“Wait a minute, baby,” Jericho frowned. “Benny blamed you for the ECW attacks? Did you have a dream like this after SmackDown?”

“Not exactly like this,” Angel replied thoughtfully, crinkling her brow and trying to remember. “He, um. It was another janitor’s closet, but yeah, he said it was my fault.”

Jericho slapped his hand angrily on the table. “I can’t believe him. Even in dreams he says the wrong thing.”

Angel met his gaze and cocked her head slightly. “Can I go on?”

“Sure.”

“Okay.” Angel took a deep breath to regroup. “So after we fooled around again, he got real close and whispered in my ear, ‘you’re fighting the wrong people’.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jericho frowned. “That you should stop fighting ECW and start fighting WWF?”

“I thought that too,” Angel told him. “But apparently Benoit thought the opposite. He said I have to stop fighting the WWF and start fighting the Alliance.”

“Aren’t you already doing that?” Jericho asked.

“Yeah,” Angel nodded. “But he meant in the ring. Think about it, Jerky. If I stop fighting people like Molly and Trish and start fighting people like Stacy and Torrie, ECW aren’t going to come help me, are they? Because they’d be turning against their own to help someone who isn’t even a part of the Alliance, no matter how much they like to think it’s so. I just can’t believe it’s taken me so long to figure that out. Dream Benoit’s right. I am a stupid little bitch.”

“Dream Benny’s a jackass,” Jericho replied. “So, that means you’ll be fighting Torrie or Stacy tonight?”
“Hell no. Those lesbian whores don’t deserve a title shot.”

“They’re lesbians?” Jericho cried.

“What, I didn’t tell you? They came on to me. Apparently they wanted a threesome.”

“No kidding,” Jericho murmured, exhaling loudly. “Lesbians.”

Angel grinned. “You wanna know who I am going to challenge?”

Jericho held up his hand. “Hold on a minute. I’m still thinking about the lesbians. Okay, now. Go for it, baby.”

Angel rolled her eyes, before finding herself mirroring his grin. “Well, Jerky, I need a guinea pig, to test dream Benoit’s theory. Preferably someone WCW, so that if they do side with me, it might break up the Alliance.”

“Good thinking, baby,” Jericho nodded. “So, who drew the short straw?”

Angel gave another elusive smile. “It’s got to be someone whose ass I want to kick, maybe someone who’s bugged me recently. So, I ask you this. If I have to choose someone to perform a beating on, who better than Kanyon?”

Jericho frowned. “Kanyon, goofy-looking, speech impediment Kanyon?”

“Yeah,” Angel nodded. “Kanyon who you fought twice last week Kanyon.”

“Oh,” Jericho replied.

“What oh?” Angel asked.

“Nothing,” Jericho assured her. “It’s just…he goes what, 245? He’s got nearly a hundred pounds on you.”

“So?” Angel challenged. “Bradshaw had one fifty on me and I beat him.”

“Well, that’s true enough, but you knew Bradshaw. You knew how to beat him.”

“I’ve had two matches to scout Kanyon, though,” Angel reminded him.

“Yeah, okay,” Jericho nodded. “It’s just…I know you’ve only been out of it a week, but it’s weird to think of you fighting men again.”

“Well, thanks for your confidence in me,” Angel muttered bitterly.

“That’s not what I mean,” Jericho sighed. “You wanna fight Kanyon, you fight him. You’ll probably beat him. What are you going to do? Title for title?”

Angel grinned at his joke. “Yeah, I can see it now. Here is your winner and new World Wrestling Federation women’s champion, Chris Kanyon!”

“Nuh uh, baby,” Jericho argued. “He’d never beat you for your title.”

“Damn straight he wouldn’t. Because I am the WWF vigilante, the Next F’n Thing, the Rogue Angel…”

“The baddest mamma in the WWF,” Jericho put in.

“Latina Heat?” Angel suggested.

Jericho grinned. “We could go on and on…and probably will if we get bored enough later. So, Chris Kanyon, watch out. Because, Rogue’s better than Kanyon!”

Angel grinned back at his dead-on impression. “So, how about you, Jerky?”

“Oh, I’m better than Kanyon. You even have to ask that?”

Angel laughed. “No, I mean matches tonight. You got one?”

Jericho shrugged. “I’ll just do what I normally do. Sit around and see what happens.”

“Geez,” Angel breathed. “How can you stand that uncertainty? Back when I was managing Benoit, if I didn’t have him a match by the time the show started, I’d never hear the end of it.”

Jericho gave a thoughtful little nod. “Benny never was the most patient guy in the world.”

“No, he wasn’t,” Angel replied distractedly, thinking again of the time she’d tied him up and how pissed he’d gotten when she teased him instead of just sucking him off.

Jericho saw her expression change and he let out a sigh. “Dream Benny’s a lucky bastard. Getting to do a hottie like you every night.”

Angel frowned at him as his words brought her back to the present. “Not every night.”

“No?” Jericho asked.

“No,” Angel confirmed. She leaned across the table and held her hand to cup her mouth as she stage-whispered. “Don’t tell dream Benoit, but I’m not exactly one hundred percent faithful.”

Jericho drew back, hard-pressed to hide his smirk. “Why, Rogue. You dirty little dream slut.”

Angel shrugged. “Dream Benoit’s good, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes you need a little variety, you know. I mean, dream me has needs!”

Jericho laughed. “Ever dream about me?” he asked casually, looking down at his food as he gathered up a huge forkful.

“Sure,” Angel replied simply.

Jericho’s eyes darted up. “You’ve had a sex dream about me?”

“More than one,” Angel nodded.

Jericho was absolutely stunned. “So, was I…any good?”

“Jerky,” Angel said coolly. “I cheated on dream Benoit for you and went back for more. What do you think?”

“Alright!” Jericho cheered. “I’m a dream stud. So…what’s this mean?”

“Nothing,” Angel replied. “I always have sex dreams about guys I’m spending too much time with.”

Jericho was again taken aback. “You do? Well, maybe it’s time for us to get our own rooms, then.”

“Nah,” Angel smiled. “If I’ve gotta cheat on my dream guy with someone, it might as well be you. I adore you, Jerky. I’ll screw you in my dreams any time. All you have to do is ask.”

“I’m flattered,” Jericho replied, but he was cut off as someone stepped up behind him and spoke to Angel.

“Hello, Angel.”

Angel looked up, her face forming a scowl.

“What?” she snapped tersely.

“I’d like to speak with you, if I may.”

“Let me guess,” Angel replied sarcastically. “You want to be serious for a minute.”

Lance gave a little nod. “Of course.”

“Go for it, Lance,” Angel said, waving him on. “I could do with a nap.”

Lance nodded to himself and then began to speak.

“I was wondering, Angel,” he started, shooting a momentary glare down at Jericho. “What you’re doing tonight.”

Angel drew back as if stunned. “I’ll have a match on Raw, Lance. How about you?”

Lance’s shoulders stiffened, but he hung in there. “I meant after Raw.”

Jericho broke into a grin. “Eleven o’clock, Lance? From what I remember, that’s waaay past your bedtime.”

Lance scowled. “If you don’t mind, I was talking to Angel. Besides, I caught an extra couple of hours sleep today in order to compensate.”

Angel tried not to laugh. “That’s good thinking.”

“Thank you, Angel,” Lance nodded, obviously believing she was serious. “I think it was worth it. After Raw tonight, once the Rock takes his rightful place in the Alliance, it would be my honor to take you out and celebrate.”

“Well, no one parties like you, big guy,” Jericho laughed. “Fun’s your middle name, right?”

“No,” Lance frowned. “My middle name is Timothy.”

Angel picked up her drink and used it to mask her laughter. Jericho wasn’t so polite.

“What?” Lance demanded, throwing his arms to his sides. “What is so funny?”

“Just…” Jericho broke off and wiped tears from his eyes. “Just thinking of a joke we heard earlier.”

“A joke, eh?” Lance frowned. “Maybe you should share it. No one enjoys a good laugh more than me.”

Angel shot Jericho a look, but he held up his hand. “Okay, so an American, a Canadian and an Australian walk into a bar and the Australian says to the Canadian, ‘excuse me, old boy, but…’”

“I’ve heard it,” Lance cut him off sharply before turning back to Angel. “So, Angel. After Raw. Would you like to come see the sights of Philadelphia with me?”

“Oh, gee, Lance,” Angel sighed. “I think I’m all booked up tonight. Jerky, I’ve got you penciled in for sex, right?”

“I believe so,” Jericho nodded. “So that’s got to take at least an hour.”

“An hour?” Angel repeated. “Try all night.”

“Right, right,” Jericho grinned.

“Oh,” Lance frowned. “Tomorrow, then?”

“Acolytes,” Jericho blurted.

“That’s right,” Angel agreed. “I owe Faarooq and Bradshaw for helping me out last night, so that takes care of tomorrow. On Wednesday we’re driving to DC, then on Thursday there’s SmackDown and after that…”

“Tough Enough party,” Jericho put in.

“Yeah,” Angel played along. “We all watch Tough Enough together in the big locker room so we can see who we’ll soon be working with. Okay…Friday…” She snapped her fingers. “Jeff Hardy?”

“Jeff Hardy,” Jericho agreed.

Lance’s eyes boggled as Angel went on.

“Saturday…let’s see…Saturday’s date night.”

“Me again,” Jericho piped up.

“Him again,” Angel grinned. “Then on Sunday, well, hell, everyone needs a night off.”

Lance gave a thoughtful nod. “Maybe next week, then.”

“Maybe,” Angel echoed. “Come see me this time next week and we’ll see what we can do for you.”

“Okay, Angel,” Lance nodded. “I guess I’ll see you later.” He thrust his hand out.

Angel frowned and took it. Lance’s handshake was firm but not bruising. For some reason it screamed business-sense and ethics.

“Until then, ma’am,” Lance said and finally turned to leave.

“Did he hear anything I said?” Angel asked disbelievingly as Jericho laughed heartily.

“What do you mean, baby?”

“I mean I made myself out to be a slut. I thought that’d put him off. Don’t you think he would’ve fit right in with my old friends in Right To Censor?”

“Not Lance, baby,” Jericho replied. “He’s a dynamo in the bedroom.”

Angel’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you serious?”

Jericho burst out laughing. “Lance Storm. Superstud! Women fall at his feet. Men scowl with jealousy. He’s a superstud, baby. A superstud.”

Angel shook her head. “You are so mean.”

“Rogue,” Jericho replied. “It’s Lance Storm. I can’t help it.”

“He’s just a jackass,” Angel spat. “Him and everyone he associates with. This thing with Kanyon tonight’s gonna be a real test, Jerky. Chances are that ECW’s gonna turn against me. I’m gonna need you to have my back.”

“What, baby?” Jericho frowned. “You want me at ringside?”

“No. That’d be asking for trouble, I think. Just…have my back, okay?”

“Sure,” Jericho agreed. “I’ll get all the boys together. Matt, Jeff, Edge, Christian, the APA…”

“Shit,” Angel swore, leaping to her feet. “That reminds me.”

“Where you going, baby?” Jericho called after her.

“Down the road. Don’t worry. I’ll meet you back in the locker room.”

* * * *

“Angel. I’ve been trying to talk to you for a week now, but you sure are hard to pin down.”

Angel paused when she didn’t recognize the voice. She was just about to make some smartass remark about exactly how hard it really was to pin her, when she turned and noticed who’d spoken to her. The Undertaker’s pretty wife, Sara.

“Yeah, well,” Angel shrugged. “It hasn’t been the best week. I’ve been tying to keep a low profile.”

“Oh, I understand,” Sara nodded. “And you seem to be handling it well, although drinking yourself into a coma maybe isn’t the answer.”

Angel looked down at the carton of beer she was carrying. “No! These are for the Acolytes. You know, they helped me out last night.”

“Right, got it,” Sara smiled. “But, anyway. I just wanted to see you and let you know I understand exactly what you’re going through. If anyone knows what it’s like to be followed around by sickos like that, it’s me.”

Angel’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t know, Sara. Look, I realize that what you’ve been through with Page isn’t crash hot, but he never locked you in the trunk of a car in a damn suitcase, then drugged you so you’d sleep and on the premise of letting you go, truly hurt you by attacking your friends for no reason at all. Thanks for your support, Sara, but it’s really not the same thing.”

Sara nodded solemnly. “Still, if there’s anything me or Mark can do, just let us know.”

“Thanks,” Angel replied, giving a little smile. “Say, you want a beer?”

Sara grinned at her attempt to lighten things up. “Thanks, but no. I should be getting back. Nice seeing you, Angel.”

“You too.”

Angel shouldered the beers and walked on, nodding to herself. Sara was a nice woman – articulate, friendly. A nice foil for the inwardly disposed Undertaker, a man of few words at the best of times. And how cute was it that she called him Mark? Not at all like the way Stephanie called Test ‘Andrew’. The way Sara said ‘Mark’ was endearing, not mocking. Still, Angel wondered how well that went down with the phenom. People around here who went by their nicknames took those identities really seriously. Test was Test, Taker was Taker and now, apparently, Hurricane Helms was Hurricane Helms. At least Angel hoped he wasn’t going to change his name again. It was getting very confusing hating someone with so many identities. Well, just so long as he didn’t drop the ‘Helms’ part. Otherwise she wouldn’t know what to call him.

“Beer run!” she cried, opening the stand-alone door to enter the Acolytes’ area, which she assumed was surrounded by an invisible forcefield. That was the only possible explanation for the door, surely.

Bradshaw’s eyes just about fell out of his head when he saw the huge carton of beer.

“Hot damn, honey. Will you marry me?”

Angel grinned and set the carton down on the card table. “Payment in full for last night and a couple of extra with the request that you guys keep watching my back.”

“Girl, we’ll watch your back whenever you like,” Faarooq told her.

“Yeah,” grinned Bradshaw. “Her backside. It is damn fine!”

“You know,” Angel smiled. “I get that a lot.”

“Why, I just bet you do,” Bradshaw nodded as Faarooq went to work splitting the carton.

Bradshaw reached casually behind his own head and slid open the top drawer of a filing cabinet.

“Austin thinks he’s a real beer drinking with that cute little cooler he carts around,” Bradshaw stated. “He ain’t got nothing on us.”

He caught a few passed beers from Faarooq and began stacking them in the drawer, turning to the next one down when it was full.

“Three over,” he announced.

“Three over?” Faarooq repeated, sitting back down. “Well, you know what that means, brother.”

Bradshaw grinned over at Angel. “Drink with us, honey?”

Angel cocked her head in thought before finally taking a seat. “Just one, okay? Then I have to be going.”

Well, why not have a beer? At least with the APA she was definitely safe from ECW. There was no way in hell they were going to let Lance Storm hit on her here. And that, of course, was a really good thing.

* * * *

No sooner had Raw officially begun than a beeping started and smoke diffused from machines next to the ramp. Tazz was making his way to the ring, flanked by Paul Heyman and Tommy Dreamer, who left him when they reached the steps and instead headed over to the announce desk. Tazz picked up a microphone and began to speak.

“Mr. Dreamer, can you please escort Mr. Cole to the backstage area?”

Tommy Dreamer, who was about twice Michael Cole’s size, gladly complied with this request and forcibly removed the smaller man from his seat as Tazz continued.

“So the message of the Alliance can finally be spread. Mr. Heyman, as per request of Stephanie, it seems as though your chair is vacant.”

Laughing evilly, Heyman put on his headset. “Well, hello. Has the commentary on this show sucked without me or what, JR? Tazz? It’s about time for you to tell everybody the truth. Pull no punches, Tazz. Let the bodies hit the floor!”

Angel furiously clenched her fists and jumped restlessly to her feet.

“What is it about those ECW pricks? They think they can force their way into getting anything they want. It’s time it stopped, Jerky. It’s got to stop. In fact, I’m going to stop it personally, right now.”

But, just as she reached the door, Jericho grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back inside.

“Hold it, baby. Remember your match with Kanyon tonight.”

“I don’t care!” Angel shrieked, trying to struggle free. “They’ve been brainwashed. I don’t know how, but Tazz used to be cool. Now he’s just…well, if I can’t talk him out of it, maybe I have to beat it out of him.”

“No, baby, no. Save it for Kanyon,” Jericho argued.

“Let me go!” Angel hissed. “Kanyon’s not even ECW. I want to fight ECW. I want to fight Tazz.”

“No,” Jericho said firmly. “I’ve got a better idea.”

By now, Tazz was talking again as the crowd chanted, “Asshole!”

“Tonight will be an historic night for the Alliance. You see, not just one, but two things are gonna happen tonight, right here live on Raw. Number one. Booker T will yank – yank – that WCW title from everybody’s hero, Kurt Angle, and Booker will bring the WCW title back to the Alliance. Number two. The most electrifying man in sports entertainment, tonight, the Rock, the Rock will come join the Alliance. I personally guarantee it, because…”

“J…J…J…J…J…J…BOOM!”

The crowd went wild as Chris Jericho appeared onstage, followed by his bodyguard, Angel. He was sporting two things he used well – a microphone and a sneer.

“I’m sure that you’re absolutely excited that you finally get to hear the voice of the Alliance,” Jericho stated, piercing blue eyes focused on Tazz. “But I am absolutely sick and tired of hearing the voice of you.”

Next to him, Angel nodded emphatically, her own scowl even eclipsing his with ferociousness.

“So, Tazz,” Jericho went on. “Would you please shut the hell up?”

Tazz fumed and beckoned for Jericho to join him in the ring, but Jericho wasn’t done yet.

“And I know that you’ve got a big head because you’re in ECW and the star of the MTV series ‘Tough Enough’. Well, Y2J thinks that you’re better suited to being the star of another MTV series, ‘Jackass’.”
He tore off his shirt and handed it to Angel before finishing his little speech. “And tonight, I’m gonna kick the living hell out of yours, junior.”

Angel grinned as she followed him down the ramp. That was her best friend – always sticking up for her.
Jericho dove right in, weaving past the shoulder block, hitting the ropes and returning for a flying clothesline. He was up straight away, punching Tazz in the head and trying to Irish whip him, only to have it reversed. Tazz hit a huge clothesline and knocked him on his butt before trying to whip him. This time Jericho reversed, sending Tazz into the corner and getting up momentum for the bulldog, only to have Tazz duck around it and lock on the Tazzmission.

“Stand up, Jerky!” Angel cried. “Don’t let him ground you!”

Just then, Jericho kicked back, hitting the low blow and breaking the hold. Now Jericho hit the ropes and again went for the bulldog. Bam! He hit it. Lionsault time. Bam! It hit and he made the cover.

“One!” counted the ref. “Two! Three!”

Angel threw up her hands in joy and dove into the ring, hugging her friend tightly.

“Thank you, Jerky,” she smiled, kissing him on the cheek. “You’re right. That was a better idea. How long was that…or rather, how long wasn’t it?”

“I dunno,” Jericho frowned. “Let’s find out, shall we?” He stepped over to the ropes and tried to attract the timekeeper’s attention by tapping his wrist where his watch would be and mouthing, “How long?”

“Thirty-two seconds,” came the reply.

Jericho and Angel stared at each other in disbelief. It had taken Jericho only thirty-two seconds to dispose of Tazz, one of ECW and indeed the Alliance’s top guns.

“See, baby?” Jericho asked, putting his arm around Angel as they walked together up the ramp. “That’s what you have to do with Kanyon later tonight. Because you, Rogue, are so better than Kanyon.”

“I know,” Angel nodded. “That’s why I wore this top. Did you know I wore one like it for one of my first ever matches as valet? My client was Steve Blackman.”

Jericho looked over at the black tank top with the word ‘Angel’ written on it in silver.

“I like it, baby,” he nodded. “It’s very…you.”

Angel scoffed. “Don’t you get it?”

“What’s to get? It has your name on it, just like I have my name on my shirt. Not an original idea, but it shifts merch, so…” He broke off with a shrug.

“Yeah,” Angel muttered, eyeing his black shirt skeptically. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Jerichohol.”

“You know what I mean,” Jericho scolded.

“Yeah,” Angel agreed. “And here’s what I mean. Kanyon’s gonna be wearing that retarded Invasion MVP shirt with ‘Who Better Than Kanyon’ on the back. So, just say I go for the superplex or whatever. We’re both wearing out shirts and what do the fans see? ‘Who Better Than Kanyon? Angel’.”

Jericho stuck his bottom lip out slightly and nodded. “Pure genius.”

“Hey,” Angel frowned. “I thought it was a good idea.”

“Oh, it is, baby,” Jericho teased, grinning broadly. “Absolute brilliance.”

Angel narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re an asshole.”

“And you love it,” Jericho challenged.

Angel gave him a mock glare. “If I gave you a drop toehold now would you hold it against me?”

“Baby, anything I get to hold against you is my lucky day.”

Angel paused. “Okay, that didn’t even make sense.”

“Yeah,” Jericho laughed. “And you love it.”

* * * *

“The following non-title match is scheduled for one fall. Making her way to the ring, she is the World Wrestling Federation women’s champion, Angel Torres!”

Angel smiled and waved a little at the fans before hopping into the ring and standing at the corners, holding her title in the air. Down at the announce desk, JR and Paul Heyman were whoring some sponsors.

“Tonight’s Raw is War is brought to you by Burger King. In the land of the burgers, Whopper is king; and by Stacker 2, the world’s strongest fat burner. Call 1-800-LITELINE or visit Stacker2.com.”

Angel personally had a problem with things like Stacker 2. Weren’t they just anabolic steroids (btw no, they’re not, they’re natural bullshit pills with plenty of caffeine, I just went to the website)? It was amazing the kind of shit you could get your hands on in America, particularly in an industry like this. Well, it wasn’t the Olympics. And the Alliance were obviously very lax on drug screens – Rob Van Dam had more or less told her that himself. Probably the whole Alliance was shooting up with performance enhancing wonders and growth hormone.

“Who better than Kanyon?”

And here came one of them now.

“And, representing the Alliance, weighing in at 245 pounds, he is the WCW United States champion, Chris Kanyon!”

Angel’s gaze traveled down Kanyon’s body to the front of his tights. Didn’t steroids make you…lack in the area most guys liked to have in abundance?

But Kanyon’s tights were black and not at all shiny. She’d have to take a closer look.

He stood on the ropes, mocking her by waving his belt in her direction. She just raised her eyebrows and put her hands on her hips, waiting for him to cut the crap and get on with the match.

They circled up, with Kanyon still grinning dopily.

“Hey, baby. Couldn’t get enough of me last week?” he lisped. “Well, maybe once we wrestle tonight you’ll find out once and for all the answer to the question, “Who better than Kanyon?’” He held his arms up and widely apart. “It’s nobody, baby.”

“Nobody?” Angel asked expressionlessly, running her eyes down his body again. Still couldn’t tell. She’d have to roll him up or something – go the grope if she needed to.

Kanyon caught her looking and grinned even wider. “You got it, baby. Nobody.”

Angel gave a slow nod.

“Damn,” she whispered breathily. “You’re sexy. Come get you some, Kanyon.”

Kanyon’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“On yeah,” Angel nodded eagerly. “I want you. I want you right now.”

And with that, she stepped right up to him, stood on tiptoe, grabbed him behind the head and brought his mouth down onto hers. She kissed him hard, sliding her hands down his back. Then, as soon as they reached his tights, she grabbed a hold, rocked back on her heels and in half a second had snapped him over her head.

She grabbed him by the arm and tried to whip him, but he reversed and they next thing she knew, she was hurtling towards the corner. She grabbed the ropes and leaped, causing Kanyon to crash under her and then, bam! She hit the standing dropkick and he cracked into the corner again.

Angel got her shoulder low and slammed it into his back in a kind of reverse spear. Bam! Bam! Bam! Kanyon’s back cracked against the ringpost. Then Angel made the waistlock. Bam! One German. Bam! Two Germans. Bam! Three Germans into a bridge.

“One! Two!”

But Kanyon kicked out. Angel leaped to her feet and tried to drag him up by the arm, but he whipped her again and this time she actually hit the corner. Kanyon again raced in and Angel again used the ropes to push her body up, smashing her feet into Kanyon’s torso.

As he cracked down onto the canvas, Angel climbed up top. Bam! Top rope moonsault and she hooked both legs, sliding her hand up one of his thighs.

“One! Two!”

He kicked out, just before she was about to discover whether or not he abused steroids.

Angel rolled off him and he got to his feet, racing after her. Bam! Armdrag. Bam! Armdrag and he rolled to the ropes, trying to clear his mind. It must have been disconcerting for him, being outwrestled by a girl.

“Come on!” Angel cried, grabbing him by the hair and trying to force him up so she could snap suplex him again. But, just as he was finally standing, he grabbed for her head and cracked it down on the top rope, sending her crashing back onto the canvas. He dropped to the ground and quickly ripped his shirt off, holding it up for the crowd.

“Who better than Kanyon?” he screamed at the top of his lungs.

He turned to get back in the ring and bam! Angel bounced off the top rope, spun around in the somersault plancha and slammed down on top of him. She quickly grabbed the discarded shirt and reared back.

“Who better than Angel?” she shouted.

“Nobody!” came the gratifying replies of the fans.

Angel grinned and jumped up, grabbing Kanyon and forcing him back into the ring. She pulled herself up onto the apron, waiting for him to stand and as soon as he did, she pushed down on the top rope and flew in the Frankensteiner, pinning his shoulders to the mat.

“One!” counted the ref. “Two!”

Again Kanyon kicked out.

Frustrated, Angel grabbed him by the hair and forced him up, then gritted her teeth and sent him for an Irish whip. She steadied herself for his return with a shoulder block but he ducked it and hit the other ropes before they clashed, arms locked. Angel tried desperately for the hiptoss, but Kanyon scooped his arm around her head and twisted her over in the swinging neckbreaker. Before Angel could do a thing, Kanyon was straddling her, lifting her up from the canvas by the hair and launching into her with a series of right hands.

“It’s not ‘Who better than Angel’!” he shouted rhythmically as he laid into her. “It’s ‘Who better than Kanyon’. Who better than Kanyon?”

Finally, the ref threatened to DQ him if he didn’t stop with the closed fists, so he rolled off Angel and climbed wearily to his feet, beckoning her to stand.

Angel had only just made it to a kneeling position when Kanyon cracked his own knee into the side of her skull, rolled one leg over her so she was trapped and slammed her face down in a modified lariat. Still with his legs hooked over Angel’s shoulders, he rolled her over into a pin, pulling her legs back close to his body.

“One!” counted the ref as Angel moaned in pain. “Two!”

She kicked out as hard as she could, only just managing to break the hold. Kanyon was off her and she waited for the next attack, but it didn’t come. Maybe ECW had come in. She rose to a seated position, looking around for Kanyon. There he was, standing just in front of her with one hand behind his head and his groin thrust in her direction. He started gyrating, self-satisfied grin in place.

“Check it out, baby. Check it out.”

Angel nipped up, giving a slow cool nod. And then she stepped towards Kanyon, who was still grinning at her.

“Oh, Kanyon,” she breathed, And then she jumped forward, hooked his arm and pulled him down onto his stomach. She wrenched his wrist around and slammed it between her legs, then linked her hands and smashed them into his face. Crippler crossface.

Kanyon was very vocal, screaming like a woman.

‘Screaming like a man,’ Angel amended, cinching the hold even tighter and feeling Kanyon’s spine buckle under the pressure.

“Come on!” she roared. “Tap, damn you.”

Then suddenly, she felt it. The hand between her legs. It was moving, rubbing against her thighs and further up. Angel dropped the hold and leaped up as though she’d been shot.

“You sick son of a bitch!” she growled, grabbing Kanyon’s hair and hoisting him to his feet.

“Hey!” cried the ref. “Off the hair!”

“Fine!” Angel cried, shoving Kanyon away and then, bam! Knife-edge. Bam! Another. Kanyon was reeling so she went for a third, but he blocked it and sent a boot into her stomach, doubling her over. After another kick weakened her defenses, he grabbed her head and forced it between his legs. And then he was gyrating again.

“Oh yeah, baby! Oh yeah!”

When he’d had his fun, he hooked his arms just under Angel’s breasts and began to lift her, but she twisted her body, broke the hold, slid around and scored the desperation side Russian leg sweep.

Then she lay on her back, regrouping and reaching her hand to her face, where it had earlier hit the canvas. She groaned and got to her feet, only to find that Kanyon was already standing. He went for a hard right, but she saw it coming a mile off and blocked it, bringing her arm right around to punch him instead. Kanyon immediately tried again, for the exact same result. Next he went for a kick, but Angel caught it, spun him around before he could think about the enziguri and grabbed him in a headlock. She raced to the corner, ascended the ropes with Kanyon in tow and rocketed down in the tornado DDT.
Just as he began to stir, Angel hit the ropes, leaped off the middle one and spun around in the Asai moonsault, knocking Kanyon down again.

Again she leaped up.

“A dropkick for the dropkick!” she roared, bouncing over to the corner. She climbed through onto the apron and began pulling herself up top. Just as she reached the top rope, Kanyon sprinted in and clocked her, right under the chin, snapping her head back. He was up there with her in no time, grinning and hooking an arm around her neck.

“Hey baby. You wanna superplex?”

Angel answered him with a punch to the gut and then another before leaping over him and carrying him down in the huge top rope sunset flip.

The ref was down there in a flash.

“One!” he counted. “Two!”

But Kanyon kicked out, pushing Angel off him and immediately escaped to the outside.

“Again?” Angel cried, spotting him. “Don’t they ever learn?”

While he floundered around on the outside, she again went up top. She waited and waited for Kanyon to turn to her. Then, when he did, she leaped and took him down in the huge hurricanrana.

“Hey!” cried the ref. “Get it back in here.”

“Okay,” Angel shrugged, grabbing Kanyon by the hair and the tights and shoving him back into the ring, laying him out with a few boots and dumping him in just the perfect place for her to go for the Stairway.
Bam! Bottom rope moonsault. Bam! Second rope moonsault. Jump up top, jump around.

“Who better than Angel!” she screamed, and then took off in the senton.

Kanyon must have heard her yell because he dove out the way, causing her to smash down onto the canvas. Kanyon pulled himself halfway up and sent her for the Irish whip. She hurtled off the ropes and tried to fly over him for another sunset flip, but he caught her, almost like a suplex and cracked her down in the modified DDT that was the I’m Better Than You.

He rolled her onto her back and made the cover, hooking her leg.

“One!” counted the ref. “Two! Three!”

Kanyon crouched over her as his music played.

“Who better than Kanyon now, baby? It’s nobody!”

He grabbed for his US title belt and rolled from the ring, then stopped and grabbed Angel by the boots, dragging her to the outside.

“Come on, baby. Let’s get you back to your keepers. Maybe they’ll let us spend some quality time together, huh?”

He put her over his shoulder and headed up the ramp, still talking away.

“See, you gotta learn, baby. Who better than Kanyon? There ain’t nobody. I’ll show you, I’ll do that for you, baby, ‘cause that’s the kind of guy I am.”

By now they’d reached the backstage area and Angel had begun to struggle. Kanyon gave a goofy laugh, gripping her tighter.

“Oh yeah, baby. Keep moving like that. That’s real good.”

Angel gave him a sharp kick to the spine and was just about to scream, “You sick son of a bitch” and keep on kicking until he let her go, but then she didn’t have to.

Jericho was there and the Hardy Boyz, too. They took Kanyon down, pounding the living hell out of him as Angel jumped free, too dazed and exhausted from her match to do anything but look on.

“Here they come!” she screamed as Lance and Rob and Mike and Justin raced in, fists flying. But then the APA were there – they had Angel’s back, just like they’d said. The Alliance locker room emptied – the rest of ECW, most of WCW, the only notable absence being Stone Cold Steve Austin himself. But then the WWF troops arrived – Edge, Christian, Kurt Angle, the Hollys, Kaientai, Kane, the Undertaker. Everyone was there, and soon the Alliance had no choice. They retreated.

“Yes!” Jeff cried, punching the air as the last of them ran off with his tail between his legs. “We did it! We saved Angel!”

“We sure did, bro,” Matt grinned, hugging his younger brother. “Now, where is the girl? We should all go celebrate, once the show’s over, once it’s official that the Rock’s back.”

“I don’t know,” Jeff frowned, scanning the slowly dispersing crowd of WWF superstars. And then, all of a sudden, he saw her…with Chris Jericho. They were standing just inside the open doorway of a locker room and they were all over each other.

Jeff stood fixated, unable to move, unable to breathe. And then Matt was nearby again, he must have been, because Jeff could hear his voice.

“Can’t find her, man. Hey, you don’t think they took her while we weren’t looking, do you?”

Jeff blinked heavily and tried to speak. Now he was hyperventilating. He only managed two words.

“Over…there.”

Matt looked and his mouth dropped open. “Oh man, Jeff, I’m sorry, bro. But hey, you still got Trish, right?”

“Phone,” Jeff said breathlessly. “I need my phone.”

“In your gym bag?” Matt asked. “You didn’t have a match tonight. Did you bring it?”

“I need my phone,” Jeff said again, still unable to look away from the kissing couple.

And then Matt had him around the shoulders and was leading him away.

As soon as Angel and Jericho were out of his field of vision, Jeff sprang into action, breaking away from his brother and bursting on ahead. He reached the locker room, threw the door open and leaped on through, past Lita.

“How’d it go, Jeff? I trust my cousin’s in safe hands now?”

He ignored her, dug through his bag and found his cell phone. He pressed the buttons urgently, made a mistake, and tried again. Finally it dialed and he heard it ringing.

Someone picked up.

“Trish?” he blurted. “It’s Jeff. Look, something happened. I need your help. Yeah, Trish, yeah. It’s about Angel. Her and Chris Jericho? They’re uh…they’re together. It’s the end, Trish. It’s over. No, not us. God, Trish. Me and Angel. Are you even listening to me? I said I need your help…”