MISTAKEN IDENTITY

RAW IS WAR, JUNE 18TH, 2001

Angel worked the punching bag rapidly. Her mind was clear and focused. She knew what she was had to do and she was going to do it. After tonight she’d be one step closer. One step closer to King of the Ring. One step closer to her contract. All she had to do was beat Rhyno and Tajiri.

"Yeah," she muttered, slamming her fist into the bag. "That’s all."

‘Oh, come on, Angel,’ her mind screamed. ‘Don’t doubt yourself now. If Benoit can beat the Big Show, you can win a triple threat. Maybe you’ll even be able to stay out the way while they wear each other down. You can’t let up. Can’t let up. Damn, I’m thirsty.’

"Hey Trish," she said out loud, wiping the sweat from her brow. "I’m gonna get a drink. You want one?"

Trish stopped applying her makeup long enough to peer over at her friend. "Sure! I’d love a Diet Pepsi."

"It’s yours," Angel smiled, leaving the room. She really should have eaten something earlier, because now her stomach was growling like a bear or something, but it was too late. Her quarter final was second, and if she ate now, she’d puke for sure. She’d just have to go out for steak or pizza after the show. If she survived.

"You’re gonna survive," she told herself, plunging her hand into a tub of drinks. "In fact, you’re going to win."

She held up the can of Diet Pepsi and spun around, almost running smack into someone who’d been standing right behind her.

"So, did you win?" he smiled, eyeing the can skeptically.

"Sure," Angel smiled back. "Only one calorie. Everyone wins."

He gave a nod, reaching around her for a Pepsi. "That stuff gives you cancer. At least you know what you’re dealing with when you’ve got real sugar."

"Doesn’t matter," Angel shrugged. "It’s not for me. It’s for Trish." She held up a still-damp water bottle. "This is mine."

"Ooh, the heavy stuff," he teased, dark brown eyes sparkling. "I had you pegged for a rebel."

She held his gaze. "I have a match tonight. I have to be careful what I ingest."

"A match. Really?" He leaned against the drinks table, watching her with interest. "A bra and panties thing?"

"I’m not a diva," Angel told him coolly. "I’m a wrestler. I have a wrestling match."

"Okay," he mused. "So, who’s your opponent?"

"Rhyno and Tajiri," Angel said simply. "It’s a King of the Ring quarter final."

"No fooling?" He let out a low whistle. "That’s impressive. Well, Angel. Good luck with that and I guess I’ll see you later."

"Bye," Angel smiled, watching him leave. His pants were a little too big for him, okay, a lot too big. He was sort of cute – kind of like a puppy.

"Hey Evan!" she called out, but he didn’t turn back.

Angel just shrugged. She’d been about to tell him to be sure and watch her match. But it really didn’t matter. She picked up her water and Trish’s Diet Pepsi, clicked them together and headed off to the locker room again.

* * * *

Angel stood nervously in the gorilla position, loosening up the muscles in her arms. She still had a while to wait – the match before hers had only just begun. Hardcore Holly was facing Tazz, but Angel wasn’t interested in that match. She had one of her own to worry about.

"Baby, there you are." Suddenly, there were strong arms around her.

"Hey," she smiled nervously, leaning back into Jericho’s warm body. "What’s happening?"

"I left Benny in the locker room while I go hunt down Spike. Apparently he’s been looking into some motivational speaking. It should be, well, frightening for the poor little Dudley."

Angel sighed. "Jerky, please don’t let him make Spike cry."

Jericho gave a little laugh and squeezed her tightly. "Anyway, I came to wish you luck and to warn you about the surprise I whipped up."

"Surprise?" Angel frowned. "What surprise?"

"Come on, baby. What were you going to use as entrance music?"

"I don’t know," Angel shrugged. "I guess ‘Shooter’ or ‘It Just Feels Right’."

"You can’t live in the shadow of your cousin and former coach forever," Jericho told her. "That’s why I got you a song."

"It’s not by Fozzy, is it?" Angel asked skeptically.

"Oh, you wish," Jericho sneered. "You like punk, don’t you?"

"Some punk," Angel told him.

"Chick punk?"

"I guess."

"Great, then you’ll love this. It’s an all-girl band. Cute girls. I gave them a tape of that one cage match where you saved my ass and they came up with your song. ‘Rogue Angel’. Plus, I got the AV guys to whip up a video of your run-ins, interferences and that incredible match against Regal. I even arranged some cool lighting for you. So, when you walk down that ramp you’ll be a fully fledged superstar, just like those assclowns you’re facing."

Angel was grinning maniacally. "You’re the greatest, Jerky. I…I don’t know what to say."

"Hey," Jericho smiled. "You haven’t heard it yet. You might hate it."

"Doesn’t matter," Angel breathed, throwing her arms around him. "You’re the best. The absolute best."

Jericho drew back, resting his hands on her shoulders. "I believe in you, Rogue. No matter what else you carry down there, make sure you carry that. I believe in you. Now, go get ‘em, okay?"

"You bet," Angel smiled, her face glowing.

"I’ll see you later," Jericho said, giving her shoulder a squeeze, then slowly walking away as Angel watched him, a small smile on her face.

"Angel! My sister!"

Angel jumped and turned back so that she was staring right into the crazed face of Rhyno.

"Hello, Rhyno," she said coolly.

"Angel," he panted. "You and me. We’re gonna be out there…in the ring."

"That’s right," Angel confirmed, careful not to raise her voice. It just wasn’t smart to yell at Rhyno.

"No..." he argued. "No…me and Tajiri. Not you. No way. No."

Angel just shrugged. "I’m not going to lie down for you, Rhyno. I want this just as much as you do."

"No!" Rhyno insisted.

Angel held his gaze, her face impassive, before holding out her hand. "May the best man win."

Rhyno frowned and tilted his head. "The best man…" he repeated. "You and me and Tajiri in the ring."

"That’s right," Angel told him, shaking his hand and pulling away as soon as she could without him realizing how scared she was.

Rhyno nodded rapidly and broke into a psychotic grin, uttering just one more word. "Gore."

* * * *

"I hope you enjoy your match, Miss Torres," Regal mused as he walked past her with Tajiri. "Now, young man. Cue my music."

Angel watched them walking down the ramp. The jackass was smiling and waving, like the crowd really gave a crap about him. Tajiri was good and Regal was holding him back.

"Thank God for that," Angel muttered. "If he was full force out there I might not survive."

She’d spent the whole day analyzing videotape – Rhyno’s matches with the WWF and Tajiri’s from ECW. Both men were very, very powerful and, unfortunately for Angel, fast too. That meant one thing. She’d have to rely on her brain. But just then her brain stopped working as some very loud music invaded it.

"Well!" screeched the vocalist. "Just call me Angel, of the morning, Angel." The words stopped in favor of some heavy guitar based music, but there was a bass and some drums in there somewhere, too. Listening carefully, Angel stepped out onto the stage, as blue and white lights sparkled to signal her presence. The vocalist was back again and the crowd was going nuts.

‘As they should,’ Angel surmised. For, although she’d been very prepared to hate this song, it was actually fan-bloody-tastic and suited her to a tee. It was hard, it was fast, but it was kind of sweet too. Outstanding.

"You rock, Jerky," she murmured, staring up at the ring. Suddenly, her music cut out. The ECW boys were starting without her.

Rhyno began with a kick and two chops and Tajiri was on the ground. Trying to remain unseen, Angel dove into the ring, sprinted across it, bounced off the ropes and hit the Asai moonsault on a very surprised Rhyno. She pinned his shoulders and hooked his legs, hoping for the quick win. Boom! Tajiri connected with a hard martial arts kick to the skull and Angel was down. Rhyno lunged and grabbed Tajiri, setting him up for the powerbomb, but Tajiri dropped out, lifted his legs and brought Rhyno down for the hurricanrana.

Meanwhile, Angel had rolled onto her stomach, where she could recover without getting pinned. Her head was throbbing like the drum in her entrance song and she was feeling kind of queasy. She could hear the crowd cheering inside her brain.

"You’re in a match! You’re in a match! Win it! Win it! Win it!"

She grabbed for the ropes and picked herself up, rubbing her head with her right hand, before turning to look for her opponents. They were down on the ground and Tajiri had just hit an Asai moonsault of his own.

Angel made a decision, moved away from the ropes a little, then bounced into them, getting up her momentum. She hurtled across the ring and leaped, landing on the top rope (although it wouldn’t have mattered too much if she’d missed). As soon as she felt the give, she twisted her body, aiming for Tajiri, spinning around in a somersault like a cannonball. Bam! She hit and he was down.

The crowd roared their approval as she picked herself up. "Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!"

Suddenly, she was grabbed from behind as Rhyno picked her up easily and shoved her back into the ring. Angel gave him the slip and bounced off the ropes, going for the flying clothesline, but he simply grabbed her and slammed her down in a vicious spinebuster. He made the cover.

"One! Two!" But Angel managed to kick out.

"Three!" Rhyno roared, getting right in the ref’s face as Angel rolled onto her stomach again.

Suddenly, Tajiri leaped into the ring, hit the ropes and crashed against Rhyno in a springboard reverse elbow. He clambered up to go again, but Rhyno grabbed him and held him over his head in a lateral press. Tajiri slid down his body and managed to plant him down for the pin.

"One! Two!" Angel rushed in with an elbow to Tajiri’s head, then grabbed him roughly and shoved him forward. She trapped his arm and dragged him down, formed the leg scissors and locked on the crossface.

"Tap!" she hissed through clenched teeth as she leaned back with all her strength. "Tap, damn you!"

Tajiri let out a cry and lifted his hand.

"Tap!" Angel screamed, leaning back even further.

Boom! Rhyno sank his boot into her side and she released the hold with a pained shout.

Rhyno pounced on a still-injured Tajiri, scooping him up and standing him on his feet, but Tajiri retaliated with a hard kick to the abdomen. While Rhyno was doubled over, Tajiri climbed onto his back, hooked one leg through Rhyno’s and the other over his head. He pulled back for the modified abdominal stretch he called the octopus. Rhyno roared in pain and tried to struggle free, but Tajiri had it locked in and wasn’t letting go. Neither of them had noticed that Angel had gone up top. Her eyes still somewhat glazed by the painful knock to the head early in the match, she watched them closely, set her aim and flew. Missile dropkick to the back of Tajiri’s head and all three were down. Angel grabbed Rhyno’s arm and tried to whip him into the ropes, but he reversed and whipped her instead. He stood up, ready to block her clothesline, but she grabbed his head for the headlock takedown, then scrambled over him, locking on a submission maneuver called the crossface chicken wing. She held tight, wrenching Rhyno’s body further from the abdominal stretch. He couldn’t force her back to the canvas or risk tearing his insides out, but he tried it anyway, roaring in pain. Angel squeezed her legs tightly into his stomach. He was fading fast, finding it impossible to reinflate his lungs.

‘The thinking man’s way to choke someone out,’ Angel thought, squeezing even tighter.

Bam! Suddenly Tajiri hit the baseball slide and Angel tumbled out of the ring, still attached to Rhyno, her head smacking heavily into the ground. Tajiri didn’t seem to notice, deciding that Rhyno was the more injured of the two and scooping him back into the ring. He climbed up the outside, hooked Rhyno’s arms and legs through the ropes and locked on the tarantula.

Angel shook her head heavily and peered up, noticing the hold. Tajiri could only hold it for a count of four, then she might lose her chance. She grabbed the second rope and flipped her legs up – right into Tajiri’s head. He released the hold and fell to the ground, just as he had on Smackdown, causing Rhyno to drop to the canvas, landing flat on his back. Angel didn’t even pause, leaping onto the apron, then flipping herself over into the ring, landing feet-first on Rhyno’s stomach, forcing all the air out of him. She moved quickly, determined to finish him off. Bam! Bottom rope moonsault. Bam! Second rope moonsault. She bounced to her feet. One to go. She hit the top rope, bounced to turn around, then flew in a senton bomb. Suddenly, her head slammed back into the ringpost, knocking her out cold. Rhyno had somehow pulled the midair gore. He scooped her up easily for the suplex, but Tajiri hit the spinning martial arts kick, flattening Rhyno and forcing Angel from his grasp.

A still dazed Tajiri began to make the cover, but suddenly he raised his head. William Regal was calling to him from outside the ring, telling him to go up top. Ever eager to please, Tajiri climbed the ropes, ready for the flying elbow, but, as he flew, Rhyno made another gore, covered Tajiri and one…two…three. The match was over. Rhyno was in the semis. He threw the ref’s hand away and ran up the ramp.

Regal was not impressed with his houseboy, refusing to speak to Tajiri as he led the way from the ring. It was only now that the ref noticed that Angel was flat on her back and not moving. He dropped to his knees by her side and gently tapped her face.

"Angel? Are you okay?"

Angel’s eyelids fluttered and she tried to speak.

"Have to…get up…win the match…stop Rhyno."

"Angel, the match is over," the ref told her.

"No!" Angel argued, still struggling to open her eyes. "Don’t. No. Have to win. I…I…"

By now, several other refs had joined the first one in the ring. They only took a second to realize that Angel needed more help, turning to the ramp and beckoning for the EMTs.

Angel kept babbling about the match as the EMTs strapped her to the stretcher and carried her from the ring.

"Need…have to…take me back…I have to win…please…please…my match."

"Angel! I saw what happened. Is she going to be okay?"

The lead EMT stared at the dark-haired young man. "She has a severe concussion. We’ll have to take her to hospital for observation."

He nodded solemnly. "I’ll go find her friends. Which hospital? Okay, thanks. We’ll meet her there." He ran off quickly. "Trish! Trish!"

Trish emerged from the locker room, eyes wide with fear and worry. "Evan! Did you see what happened to Angel? I wanted to go to her, but I was half-naked so I had to get dressed first."

"Well, they’ve taken her to hospital. Do you want to go see her?"

"Of course!" Trish cried, ducking inside to get her back. "But wait, Evan." She laid a hand on his arm. "We should tell a few more people. Chris Jericho and her cousin."

"Chris Jericho?" he frowned.

"We have to tell them, Evan. Last time Angel got hurt we all banded together to make sure she was okay. We’ll do it again. We have to."

"You’re right," he nodded. "You’re absolutely right. You go find Chris Jericho, I’ll fetch the cousin. Uh, where is…he or she?"

"She’s down the next hallway, second room on the right. Thanks for this, Evan. You’re the greatest." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and trotted off.

‘Okay,’ he thought, making his way down the hall. ‘Second on the right.’ He knocked on the door and received a muffled "come on in" as a response. He twisted the handle and eased the door open.

"Hey, I’m looking for the cousin of a girl called…oh, damn."

Matt and Lita’s mouths dropped open.

"Shane!" Matt cried. "What in the hell are you doing here?"

He sighed. "Shit, Matt. First Jeff, now you. I was told to keep a low profile. Damn."

"Shane," Lita cut in. "You said something about a cousin. Is it my cousin? Angel?"

Shane nodded rapidly. "Yeah. She got hurt."

"Yeah, we know," Matt told him. "We sent Jeff after her in the ambulance. We’ll catch her up after my match with Albert."

"I would have gone," Lita added. "Only they just let one ride with her and Jeff, well, he wanted to."

"Okay. So you guys are gonna stick around here a little longer?"

"I’ve got a title defense, bro," Matt announced. "And anyway, Shane. You never answered my question. What in the hell are you doing here? I thought you were with WCW."

"I am," Shane replied, shuffling his feet uneasily.

Matt frowned. "You’re not planning a screwjob like Storm and Morrus, are you? And if you are, it sure as hell better not be in my match."

"Matt," Shane sighed. "Okay. I’ll level with you. I’m here to cause trouble. There’s a bonus in it for every screwjob. Lance, Hugh and Stacy got theirs and yes, I’m looking at getting mine too…"

Matt cut him off, getting right in his face. "You’ll get yours, alright, if you even think…"

"No!" Shane insisted. "I wouldn’t do that to you, bro. How long have we known each other?"

Matt’s stare was full of distrust. "I swear to you, Suge…"

"Evan! You’re still here!" Trish cried, bursting frantically into the room. "I couldn’t find Chris, but I found out he still has a match tonight, anyway, so he wouldn’t be able to come."

"Okay, Trish. Same with these two. So, I guess it’s just you and me."

"Well, that’s okay, isn’t it?" Trish cooed, grabbing his arm. "See you later, Matt and Lita."

"Bye Trish," Lita replied. "We’ll be over as soon as we can."

"Bye…Evan," Matt added testily.

Shane turned to him. "Matty, come on…"

"No, Suge," Matt scowled. "Go to the hospital. At least then I know where you are."

Shane sighed. "Right, bro. Whatever. Come on, Trish. Let’s go."

"Okay, Evan," Trish cried cheerfully, still clutching tightly to his arm as, together, they left the room.

* * * *

"This way, junior," Jericho advised, pushing the locker room door open.

No sooner had they entered than they heard a voice. "It’s over."

Jericho frowned at his partner. "How’d she go?"

"She got her ass kicked."

Jericho nodded. "Is she okay?"

Benoit slowly shook his head. "They took her to hospital. She was conscious, but…" He shrugged. "What the hell was she thinking, eh? Goddamn stupid little bitch. Of course she got her ass kicked."

"Hey." Jericho stepped up to him. "You can’t tell me, that if it was you, you wouldn’t have done the same."

Benoit held his gaze. "I didn’t train her to fight men. When the hell is she going to get that through her head? She’s a woman. I trained her to fight women."

"Chris…"

"I don’t wanna hear it, Y2J. You think I care? I don’t care what happens to her. She can take her beatings just like everyone else. If she’s stupid enough to step out there with people like that, she’s gotta know they won’t hold back. If she gets her ass kicked, she gets her ass kicked. That’s all there is to it."

He was pacing the room in long, looping circles, until he suddenly spotted Spike and snapped, grabbing the small blonde by his T-shirt.

"What the hell do you think you’re staring at? Answer me. What are you staring at, Spike? Why the hell are you staring at me?"

Spike gulped. "I was just…"

"You were just!" Benoit mocked. "You were just…just what, Spike? You were just what? Just about to get your ass kicked? Is that it, Spike? Well, is it?" He scrunched his fist even more tightly around the shirt, glaring right into Spike’s eyes. "Answer me!"

Spike blinked heavily and took a deep breath.

"I was just wondering who you were talking about."

"Oh, you were, were you?" Benoit demanded, eyes blazing. "Well, you know what? It’s none of your goddamn business, so shut your damn mouth, okay?" He released Spike with a violent shove and turned his back, loosening up his shoulders.

"We were talking about Angel," Jericho said quietly, causing Benoit to stiffen but not turn back around.

"Angel," Spike repeated thoughtfully, trying to place the name. "She’s the tall girl with the neat accent, right?"

"That’s her," Jericho nodded as Benoit ignored both of them, stretching up his arms. "She’s about two foot taller than you are, junior."

"Right," Spike muttered, giving him a sarcastic smile. "So, what happened to her?"

"She was in a triple threat with Rhyno and Tajiri. By the sounds she came out about third best. What exactly happened, Chris?"

Benoit spoke, keeping his back turned. "Gore into a ringpost."

"Apparently she got gored into a ringpost," Jericho told Spike, who gave a sad shake of his head.

"Poor girl, I feel sorry for her. I faced those guys a bunch of times back in ECW. They’re about as tough as they come. But both at once? I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy."

Suddenly Benoit snapped, punching the wall furiously. "Goddamn piece of shit bitch!"

Spike cringed at the impact and turned to Jericho with an ‘okay, what the hell is that about?’ look.

"He used to coach her," Jericho explained. "He cares."

"I what?" Benoit screamed, turning on his partner with a truly feral look in his eyes. "I don’t give a shit about that little bitch! I kicked her ass out on the street, that’s how much I care. And now? Now she gets her ass kicked. Well, I’ll tell you what. I am not going to get revenge for her, because that shit is over. Do you hear me? Over!"

"Yes, Chris," Jericho sighed. "We hear you."

He slowly shook his head and sank down onto the bench – the bench where Angel would have sat if she’d been here. He was stuck in a six-man tag with Spike Dudley and Chris Benoit. Tonight, Spike’s girlfriend Molly hand been stunnered and Angel had been gored. Rough night didn’t even begin to cover it. And the scary part was that it wasn’t over yet. They still had their match against Stone Cold Steve Assclown and Spike’s brothers.

"It’s one for the books, alright," he muttered, dropping to the ground for some pushups. "One for the books."

* * * *

"And then, whammo! I hit the dropkick to Tajiri’s head and the tarantula…that’s it, isn’t it? Well, it fell apart!"

"Great, Angel," Jeff smiled. "Then what happened?"

Angel frowned thoughtfully against the dull throbbing of her head. "Then…you came in, right?"

Jeff sighed. "No, Angel. I wasn’t at your match. I’d already faced Kurt Angle, remember?"

"Oh yeah," Angel nodded. "Did you beat him?"

"No," Jeff sighed. "I was doing okay, but then he got me in ankle lock and that was that. But anyway, Angel. What happened after you broke the tarantula?"

He was trying to get her to talk him through the match, figuring that if she could do that, maybe her concussion wasn’t as bad as first thought.

"Then…" Angel mused, brows knitted, before her eyes lit up. "Then I flipped over and jumped on Rhyno’s stomach."

"Great," Jeff grinned. "Then what?"

"Hi Jeff!" called a voice, its usual cheerfulness injected with worry. "Angel! You’re awake!"

"Hey Trish," Angel replied, giving a tired little smile.

"Hi Angel," said someone else.

"Suge," Jeff greeted him. "You seeing Trish or something?"

"Uh," Shane started, but Trish was talking over him.

"See, Angel? I brought Evan. He was worried about you, too."

"Evan?" Jeff repeated skeptically.

"Sure!" Trish enthused. "Oh, silly me. Evan, this is Jeff Hardy. Jeff, this is Evan Moore."

"Evan Moore?" Jeff cried. "Come on, Suge. That’s the best you could come up with? I mean, didn’t you and Shan kick Evan out?" He gave his old friend an incredulous frown.

"Evan," Angel said, puzzled. "Jeff. What’s going on?"

Shane sighed, his cover well and truly blown. Damn Hardy Boyz.

"Okay, ladies. I have a confession. My name’s not really Evan Moore and I’m not really an intern."

"Might as well be, for how good you are," Jeff commented, causing Shane to turn to him with a scowl.

"Want to compare senton bombs some time?"

"I’d love to see both your senton bombs," Trish enthused.

"Wait a minute," Angel blurted, her thoughts finally getting through. "If you’re not an intern, what the hell are you?"

"I’m a wrestler."

"You are? But you’re even skinnier than Jeff!"

"Hey!" Shane argued, before noticing that Jeff was laughing at him. "That was a slam on you too, Wolverine."

Angel almost choked. "He…Jeff’s not the Wolverine," she spluttered.

"He was in OMEGA," Shane explained, giving one of his little smiles.

"Oh." Angel’s mind was a confusing jumble of pain and random thoughts. "So, if you’re a wrestler, you must be trying to get a contract like me, then."

"No," Shane shrugged, not willing to give anything away until he was asked point blank. And then he was.

"Okay," Angel mused. "If you’re not an intern, and you’re not trying to get a contract, why are you hanging around the locker rooms?"

He frowned, thinking of a better way to explain himself. "Well, you know Lance Storm, Hugh Morrus and Stacy Keibler, right?"

"Yeah," Angel nodded. "So?"

"Maybe there’s a better way to do this," Shane muttered, reaching for a vase. He held it up to his mouth like a microphone and cleared his throat, searching for his best announcer voice. "Introducing first, from North Carolina, weighing in at two hundred pounds, the WCW cruiserweight champion, Sugar Shane Helms!"

"Holy shit!" Angel blurted. "You are Shane Helms!" She stared at him, absolutely gobsmacked. She’d known he looked familiar, but she just hadn’t been able to put her finger on it. Now, though, it was all clear. "Did you know that, just by existing, you’ve made my life a living hell?"

Shane frowned his confusion. "Um, I’m sorry?"

"You should be sorry!" Angel cried. "I mean…why would anyone think I was a Sugar Babe? Are you Hispanic?"

"No," Shane told her.

"And you’re sure as hell not blonde," Angel went on. "How are you even my type?"

"Okay, ouch," Shane muttered.

Jeff was trying hard to hide his laughter. "I’m not sure I get it, Angel. What did Shane do?"

"What did he do? Anytime I tried to track down Shane McMahon, people always thought I was talking about Helms. If it wasn’t for him, I’d have a WCW contract now."

"You want to join WCW?" Shane asked.

"No. Why the hell would I want to join WCW?"

Shane went to argue, but Trish grabbed his arm. "Evan, don’t shout at her. She has a concussion."

Shane frowned down at Trish. "My name is Shane."

"I know," Trish purred happily.

Shane blinked and shook his head at her. Jeff was talking to Angel.

"Why would you want to talk to Shane McMahon?"

"It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m staying now."

"You ever weren’t staying?" Jeff frowned.

"I…I…" Inexplicably, Angel was in tears. "I just wanted him. I just wanted him to…to…I want him…want him…to…"

Jeff grabbed her tightly, running his hands up and down her back as she sat up in her hospital bed, crying on his shoulder.

"I want him, Jeff. I want him to…why can’t he?"

"Shh, Gel," Jeff whispered, gently pressing his lips to her forehead. "It’s okay. Just relax. It doesn’t matter." He slowly lowered her bed so that she could lie down. "Relax, Angel. Relax."

Angel closed her eyes, her crying eased by his gentle words. She clutched his hand tightly as pain and fatigue swallowed her from the head down.

"Relax, Angel. Relax, relax."

"Mmm," Angel murmured dreamily, holding Jeff’s hand between both of hers. "Stay here, please. I need you. I need you. Please. Stay with me."

Jeff reached out his free hand to brush her hair from her face. "Of course I’ll stay, Angel. Of course."

"Um, Jeff?" Trish piped up.

Jeff swiveled his head. "Yeah?"

"Do you want…I mean, does Angel want us to stay or leave? Is she going to sleep?"

"Look, Trish, Shane. It’s up to you. I’m gonna stay at least until Lita and Matt get here, probably longer."

Trish looked over at Shane. "I think Angel will be okay with Jeff. He’ll take good care of her."

"You’re probably right," Shane agreed. "You want to go get a drink or something? You can give me all the dirt on Angel and the Hardyz."

"Okay, Evan," Trish cooed. "Um, I mean Shane." She frowned over at Angel, who had her eyes squeezed tightly shut and was still mumbling phrases that didn’t quite make sense, to do with wanting and needing and wrestling. "See you soon, Angel. Sleep well and I know you’ll be better in the morning." She leaned over to give her friend a quick kiss on the forehead, then reached out to touch Jeff’s face. "Look after her, okay, Jeff?"

He nodded. "See you, Trish. Catch you later, Helms."

"Bye, Hardy."

Jeff watched them leave, then turned back to Angel. "Well, I guess it’s just you and me now, huh? I wish you’d stop frowning. I mean, I know you must be hurting, but I hate to see you in pain like that."

Angel’s only response was her quiet mumbling. "I want…need…Jerky…I love…want…I can’t…can’t…why…Benoit…why…I…I…"

"Oh, Angel," Jeff whispered. "I wish I knew what was going on in that head of yours. I wish you’d let me in. But for now, I’ll settle for you getting a good night’s sleep." He leaned over and pressed his lips against hers. "Good night, Angel. Sleep well."