BROKEN ANGEL

RAW, JUNE 25TH, 2001

"Angel! Angel! Come look at this!"

Angel looked up from her food to see Trish racing towards her, waving a sheet of paper.

"What’s up, Trish?"

"This is the booking sheet," Trish replied breathlessly. "You’re facing Rhyno tonight."

Angel shrugged. "Yeah, I thought I might be."

"But it’s not fair, Angel. Your first match as a real diva and you have to fight Rhyno?"

Angel didn’t even bother correcting her for the ‘diva’ thing. "Them’s the breaks, Trish. I have the hardcore title. The 24/7 rule is back in effect as of today, so if anyone wants to challenge me, I have to defend it. I guess Rhyno just got in first."

"But he’s twice your size!" Trish protested.

"Yeah, and I can’t help that. But I’m good with weapons. I fought him without them a week ago and I still got some good shots in. Tonight, with hardcore rules, I’ll be fine."

"If you say so," Trish sighed. "I’ll be your valet, okay?"

"No, not okay. I don’t want you out there."

Trish pouted. "Why not?"

Angel sighed. "Rhyno’s a monster, Trish. If he got his hands on you, there’s no telling what he might do. And you haven’t had hardcore training. You wouldn’t be able to defend yourself."

"I could flash him," Trish suggested seriously. "Remember how much he liked Stacy Keibler? Just wait until he sets his eyes on me."

"Trish…" Angel started.

"No, Angel, it’s okay," Trish grinned. "If you don’t want me in your corner, I won’t go down there. I’ll stay backstage and hang out with Shane…if he ever shows up."

"Where is Shane?" Angel wondered.

"I don’t know," Trish shrugged. "I haven’t seen him since those security guards took him away from your match last night."

Angel sighed. "He probably just tracked down Shane McMahon, got his bonus and then split. Can’t blame him for that. I probably would have done the same. Still, it would have been nice for him to say goodbye."

"Don’t worry, Angel," Trish replied confidently. "I’m sure he’s just late. He’ll be here, you’ll see."

"Yeah," Angel shrugged uncertainly. Her eyes suddenly locked on someone at the drinks table. Chris Jericho. She leaped to her feet. "Hey Trish, I’ll meet you at the locker room. There’s someone I’ve gotta go see."

She hoisted her title belt onto her shoulder and ran off without another word, past the drinks table and out of the catering area. She kept running down the hall until she came to rest outside a particular door. She took a deep breath and knocked. No answer. She tried again. Still no answer. Finally, tentatively, she twisted the handle and opened the door.

The locker room was completely deserted. The only sign of life at all, other than a few gym mats on the floor, was a single gym bag, a towel and a T-shirt that read ‘Would you Please Shut The Hell Up’. There were no tag title belts – Benoit and Jericho had lost them to the Dudley Boyz on Smackdown, due in no small part to interference by Stone Cold. But, more importantly, there was no Benoit. That was very unlike him. Usually, he was one of the first to the arena, but here it was, less than two hours before showtime and there was no sign of him. Unless he’d taken up residence in another locker room. He and Jericho had had to fight each other the night before and both of them had very sizable egos so it had probably gotten pretty ugly. Angel hadn’t seen the match itself – she’d been in the trainer’s room and then had helped ferry Lita to the hospital for X-rays (thankfully her arm wasn’t broken) – but she’d heard what had happened. Austin had won. He’d retained his title. Benoit had lost. Jericho had lost. That was all that mattered.

She sighed and took stock of the room again as she sat down on the bench. Why wasn’t Benoit here yet, tonight of all nights?

The locker room wasn’t particularly different to other locker rooms throughout the nation. You wouldn’t know just from looking where they were, that this was hallowed ground of wrestling. This was the house that McMahon had helped build. This was Madison Square Garden.

"My dad used to get changed in these very locker rooms before he hit the ice for the Rangers," a voice announced quietly.

Angel looked around and gave a little smile. How had Jericho known what she’d been thinking?

"So, I was just pondering that," he went on, leaning over and resting a foot on the bench. "And I realized that, in the broadest terms imaginable, this is like coming home for me."

Angel nodded up at him. "I like that thought."

"Yeah," Jericho mused. "Me too." He put his foot down on the ground again and started walking around restlessly. "So, you came to keep me company, Rogue?"

She shrugged indifferently. "Sure, that fits. So, where’s Benoit? It’s not like him to be this late."

"He’s not coming, baby," Jericho replied seriously, holding her gaze.

Angel frowned. "Why, did you guys have a fight? Oh wait, that’s right. You did." She grinned triumphantly, waiting for him to acknowledge her.

But he didn’t lose his frown. "He got hurt last night."

Angel’s smile faded. "What? Is he going to be okay?"

Jericho sighed. "He tried to superplex me, well, he did superplex me. I landed pretty badly, but he landed worse…" he trailed off, looking very tired.

"What happened to him?" Angel demanded.

"He busted his neck."

Angel’s face contorted. "Oh my God. Is he…will he be okay?"

Jericho shrugged, giving another big sigh. "I don’t know. He walked out of there, so that’s a good sign, but…"

"That’s a good sign? You mean he won’t be able to wrestle again?" Angel demanded, almost in tears.

"Hey," Jericho told her, giving a tired half-smile. "Do you think they’ll be able to stop him? He’s Chris Benoit."

"How long, Jerky?"

"That’s hard to say. He’s…"

"How long, Jerky?" Angel demanded more forcefully.

Jericho took a deep breath. "He’s gone to see the specialist in San Antonio and they’ll operate some time this week, then they’ll probably know a whole lot more."

"How long?" Angel yelled.

"I don’t know," Jericho replied. "Three months, six months, a year…"

"A year?" Angel cut in frantically. "You mean I’m not going to see him for a whole year?" Her hands shot up to her mouth as she stared at Jericho guiltily. "I shouldn’t have said that."

"It’s okay, baby," Jericho replied quietly. "I know how you feel. God knows I actually grew fond of Mr. Roboto myself. But don’t worry about him. You know what he’s like. He’ll take his rehab very, very seriously and he’ll be back before you know it."

"What can I do?" Angel asked miserably. "I want to do something."

Jericho gave a little nod. "I guess the best thing you can do, any of us can do, is just pray for him."

"Screw that," Angel scowled, frightened and worried tears streaming down her face. "I want to be there for him. I want to be with him. I love him, Jerky. I love him so much." She hung her head miserably.

Jericho paused and frowned at her. "You don’t mean that, baby."

"Yes, I do," Angel replied. "I am in love with him, and if that means I have to go to San Antonio just to be by his side, I’ll do it. I have to."

"Alright," Jericho muttered. "I didn’t want to tell you this, but I guess I have to. He’s not alone in San Antonio. His wife is with him. She’s there for him, so you can’t be."

"No," Angel sobbed. "I love him. I love him."

"Well, he doesn’t love you, baby," Jericho told her. "I don’t know why he decided to mess with you in the first place, but…wait, you know what? Actually, I do. It was a power thing for him. Everything’s a power thing for him. He couldn’t break you any other way so he tried this and now look at you. Look at you, Rogue. He broke you. You’re in pieces and I hate that. I hate that he did that to you, but that’s the way he is and I have always known it. I thought he’d changed, but I was wrong. The only difference this time around was that he didn’t even bother trying to break me because he was too busy working on you."

"No," she kept sobbing. "I love him."

"He doesn’t love you!" Jericho cried. "And I will keep telling you that over and over again until you finally get it. Because as soon as you do get it, you can quit pushing the people who love you away and let them help put you back together again."

"All I want is him," Angel insisted.

"You can’t have him!"

"I don’t care! I don’t…"

"You can’t have him! He doesn’t love you!"

"I don’t care!" Angel screamed.

"He doesn’t love you. Jeff Hardy loves you."

"Oh, fuck Jeff Hardy!" Angel roared. "Jeff Hardy’s a damn pussy!"

Her mouth dropped open at her own words and she finally looked up into Jericho’s steely gaze.

"I didn’t mean that," she said at last, wiping her tears away and sniffling slightly.

Jericho just stared at her solemnly. "Do you want to be with someone who treats you badly?"

"No," Angel whispered. "I just want to be with Benoit."

Jericho sighed. "Let me put it to you this way. Sometime this week he is going to have his neck operated on. The WWF will have cameras down there, as you well know from the whole Triple H fiasco. His wife will be by his side, just as Stephanie was with Hunter. Now, baby, the question I have for you is this: When that footage goes to air and you see the face of the woman whose husband you slept with, and she’s holding his hand and worrying about him and waiting for him when he comes out…when you see that, how are you going to react?"

Angel wept loudly into her hands. "Why is she with him?" she wailed. "What the fuck is wrong with her? He cheats on her, cheats on her all the time. You’d think she’d work it out, wouldn't you? Is she fucking stupid or something?"

"She loves him," Jericho replied quietly.

"I love him," Angel sobbed. "Why the fuck is she so fucking special, huh? Why does she get to be the one?"

"Because he married her."

"Oh," hissed Angel, exhaling loudly. "You just have all the damn answers, don’t you, Jerky? Well, since you know everything, maybe you can answer me this." She looked up at him, eyes wild and flooded with tears. "If he loves her so much, why the fuck did he cheat on her with me? If he loves her, why did he tell me that she didn’t have to know about us? If he loves her, why did he make me fall in love with him? Why? Why?"

"Oh, baby," Jericho whispered sympathetically. She was a wreck, an absolute wreck, her whole body shaking with the force of her emotions. He stepped over to set a comforting hand on the back of her neck, bust she shifted away violently.

"Don’t. Don’t touch me. Just…you’re fucking right, okay? You were fucking right all along. He fucked me, now I’m fucked. I’m fucked, I’m fucked, I’m fucked, I’m fucked. FUCK!" she screamed, bouncing to her feet. "Fuck him. Fuck him! I fucking hate him. Fucking fuckhead fuck, I fucking hate his fucking guts, but I’d fucking give it all, you know? I’d fucking give it fucking all, just to fuck him again. Fuck, I wanna fuck him! Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!"

Jericho blinked as she finally stopped to take a breath. "Are you done?"

She glared at him and a more vicious glare he’d never seen, not even on Benoit. "Fuck you, Jericho," she spat and then she stormed out.

Jericho sighed. That had not been pretty. But now Benoit was gone, he didn’t have to listen to both their angst-ridden bullshit about how much they hated each other, when all either of them wanted to do was screw the other’s brains out. From what Rogue had told him, they’d done enough of that in the week or so they were sleeping together. Frankly, wrestling injuries aside, it was a wonder they were both still alive. Because Rogue was wrong. She was practically a baby, so he’d forgive her for it, but she was dead wrong. It wasn’t love. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but it sure as hell wasn’t love. His theory was that it was some kind of psychotic, frightening, S&M, powertrip bullshit, borne out of unmeasurable mutual loathing. For as long as he’d known Rogue, she and Benoit had been into that oneupsmanship powergame display, it only followed that eventually it’d lead to sexual warfare. But Benoit had won. Rogue had lost and now, faced with the prospect of never ever being able to turn that defeat into victory, she suddenly decided she loved him. Wrong answer. She didn’t love him. She didn’t even want him. What she wanted was to destroy him, just as he’d finally managed to destroy her. What she didn’t know was exactly how close to victory she’d come. Benoit hadn’t been the same…and if he hadn’t been injured, if Austin hadn’t screwed them out of their tag titles, if they hadn’t been pitted against each other in a triple threat, would their team have even been able to survive Benoit’s state of mind? It was hard to say. One thing was for sure, this injury was a mixed blessing. While it sucked that Benoit was going to need surgery and a hell of a lot of rehab, he would be gone a long time. Maybe even long enough for he and Rogue to realize that they could manage to get through life and leave each other alone at the same time. It was possible. All they needed was time. And now, thanks to one mistimed superplex, they had plenty of it. Things were going to work out, Jericho was sure of it.

* * * *

Angel sat on the toilet, trapped in the stall, tears streaming down her face. She just couldn’t believe it – that big, tough Benoit, who’d wrestled through ribs that were bruised and probably actually broken, wrestled through concussions, wrestled through a semi-sprained ankle, was out because of injury. An injury that really should have killed him, or at least turned him quadriplegic. Angel was almost prepared to lay bets it wasn’t a new injury, he’d just aggravated an old one that he hadn’t known about because he’d refused to see the trainer. Damn fool. She couldn’t feel relieved that he wasn’t dead, that he wasn’t paralyzed, and she hated herself for it. He’d be gone three months, six months, a year, Jericho had said. A year! He might as well have been dead. He was dead to Angel. He was gone. He was with his wife. It didn’t matter how much Angel loved him, she’d never ever have him again. He was gone. Two weeks ago today he’d gone down on her just to make her late for training. Her whole body throbbed with the memory as a heated fury took her over. God, he was an asshole. But she still wanted him, so bad. She could never have him again. Never.

She sobbed miserably and wrapped her arms around her body. How could he do that to her? It was one thing when she’d decided to end their affair; he’d still been around. She’d avoided him, sure, but if ever it got too much, he was there, she could go to him, beg him to screw her again. He loved it when she begged, it drove him crazy and made him so hot. He was like no one she’d ever had before, so much more intense, so much more hot, so much more unbelievably physical. He just was in completely another league altogether.

She ached with need for him and the shame just about killed her. He was going to have surgery on his neck to stop him from being paralyzed and all she could think about was how much she wanted to feel him inside her.

"Oh Benoit," she gasped. "Why did I let you get to me like this?"

He brought her nothing but pain and shame, he hurt her over and over and then she was ashamed because she enjoyed it so damn much. He knew how to turn her on even before she did. He knew ways of getting her hot that she’d never even dreamed about. That kind of shit was for fetish junkies and people in porn movies. Angel used to be normal. So much for that. But he didn’t even have to be with her to get her hot and make her ashamed. So often, since she’d ended it and he kicked her out, she’d been in her room alone. She’d found herself thinking of him and before she knew it…she was so ashamed of herself. She hated him, hated that he could do that to her, but God, she loved him. So ugly, and yet so beautiful, so repulsive and yet absolutely gorgeous, so disgusting, so brutal, so abhorrent, but so fucking sexy, far sexier than anyone she’d ever laid eyes on. He was an enigma, a study in contradictions and she loved him, she loved him so damn much. But he was married. He had a wife. And she was with him right now in San Antonio, would be by his side when he went into surgery.

"There’s no way," she moaned sadly. "There’s no way she can love him more than I do. No way. No way. I love him so much. So much."

"Is everything okay in there?"

Angel froze. Chyna’s voice. Chyna was in the bathroom. Angel sat stiffly on the toilet seat, even stopping her breathing.

"Hello?" Chyna called again after a while. "Are you okay? Do you need me to get some help?"

Angel bit her bottom lip. Damn it for being Chyna, a chick who was big and strong enough to break down the stall door if she thought it would help whoever was weeping inside.

Angel’s sobs caught in her throat, loudly. Chyna knew she was here. She had to get her to leave. So, she put on a half-hearted version of her Stephanie voice.

"I’m fine, okay, Chyna? I wouldn’t want you worrying about me."

She could almost hear Chyna breaking into a smug smile. "Steph, sorry to bother you. I just never expected someone like you to slum it in a public bathroom."

"Yeah?" Angel asked crisply. "Well, maybe I wanted to feel close to the little people like you."

"Ha," Chyna muttered. "Sorry I bothered to care."

"You should be. Now, leave before I get daddy to fire you."

"Take a Valium, Steph," Chyna advised. "It’ll make you feel much better."

Angel heard the telltale sound of a door shutting and exhaled loudly. The last thing she needed was people feeling sorry for her. Especially someone like Chyna, her hero. She was far too busy feeling sorry for herself. She reached for some toilet paper and blew her nose, then wiped her eyes harshly with her arm, raking her watch across her face. The feeling of it made her pause. What was the time? How long had she been in here? She checked her watch, blinking heavily to clear her vision through her tear-stained and aching eyes. Shit. Raw would be starting in just a few minutes. She hoped to God someone was opening Raw with a speech today, because her match with Rhyno was supposed to be up first.

Angel burst from the toilet stall and started running. She threw the locker room door open and leaped over to her gym bag, rifling through it until she found her makeup. It was important for female wrestlers…not divas…to always look their best. Weeping Juanita wasn’t going to cut it. Angel peered reluctantly at her reflection in the mirror. Holy shit. She looked like an absolute wreck. But there wasn’t much time, not much time. She removed her streaky eye makeup and reapplied it, touching up a few mascara trails with extra foundation. That was going to have to do. She’d eaten off most of her lipstick, but if she tried fixing that with her hands shaking as they were, she’d end up looking like a clown. She threw down her makeup case and reached for her title belt and backpack, which was stuffed with her hardcore weapons. Time to go.

"Angel! Shane’s not here and it’s time for your match."

"I know," Angel snapped, pushing past Trish, who was standing in the doorway.

Trish pouted. "Well, since he’s not here, do you still want me to stay back?"

"Yes, Trish. I do," Angel replied, walking away.

Trish nodded rapidly. "Okay, Angel. I’ll go wait for Shane in the catering area. He’ll show up, you’ll see."

But Angel didn’t answer. She was already out of sight.

* * * *

Angel walked on quickly, trying to clear away thoughts of Benoit and replace them with what she had to do. Rhyno – six foot two, two hundred eighty-five pounds, from Detroit, Michigan. Benoit – five foot ten, two hundred twenty-five pounds, from Edmonton, oh, for God’s sake.

"Hey Angel."

Angel scowled and tried to dodge around him, but he was right in front of her. "Oh, just get out the damn way, Jeff," she snapped, shoving him aside.

He leaped back, grabbing for her shoulder to at least slow her down.

She slammed her bag around into his hand. "Let go of me, Jeff."

"Hey!" he called after her, the concern in his voice making her want to stop and shake him by the shoulders and scream at him that she didn’t want him and never would and that he just better get used to it, because if there was one thing she knew it was that people just weren’t supposed to be with the one they really loved. Never. She probably would have done it, too, except that she was so late. She had to be content with letting his words add to her intensity. "You’re upset. What’s wrong?"

"Nothing’s wrong. I’m just late for my damn match, okay?"

"Okay. Well, I’ll talk to you later."

Terrific. She could talk to Jeff later. Swell. She didn’t reply, storming down the hallway until she reached the gorilla position.

"Coming back from commercial," one of the tech guys was saying. "And five, four…"

"Shove it, Rhyno," Angel snapped, slipping past him. "I’m going first. Cue my music!"

The first notes of ‘Rogue Angel’ filled the air and she stepped out onto the stage. She got a pretty good pop, probably due to the fact that, after Benoit’s attack last night, Lita had made it perfectly clear whose side Angel was on by not leaving her side until they stretchered her out of there. The crowd loved Lita, therefore they must at least like Angel.

She climbed into the ring and put her bag of toys down, then posed on the turnbuckles with her title belt, gratified for the number of flashbulbs that went off. Finally, she climbed down and reached for the microphone.

"How you doing, New York City?"

The crowd went wild and Angel grinned to herself. It was cheap heat and she knew it, but she wanted them on her side.

"I just thought I’d let you all know that this match, tonight, is my first as a fully contracted WWF superstar, and I’m real excited to be doing it here in the home of wrestling, Madison Square Garden!"

More cheap heat. Angel was on a roll.

"Now, some of you are probably thinking, ‘it’s her first match? But she’s got a belt!’ That’s right, I do have a belt, but I can tell you right now that soon, I won’t have a belt anymore. And no, I’m not planning on losing my match tonight, or any other night. I, Angel Torres, intend to become the first person in WWF history to simultaneously hold all seven title belts. That’s hardcore, light-heavyweight, European, intercontinental, tag team, heavyweight and women’s. And that means Jeff Hardy, Matt Hardy, Kane, Dudley Boyz, Chyna and Stone Cold, I’m putting you on notice. I’m coming after you. But tonight, I’ll just have to be satisfied with retaining the title I already have. And all I have to say about that is to quote what an old friend of mine, who is now the 2001 King of the Ring, once said. ‘Christian! Get the Rhyno!’"

Angel frowned as Rhyno’s music started and he made his way to the ring. He, too, was getting a sizeable pop, which was strange because he wasn’t generally thought of as a crowd favorite. How someone so vicious, so brutal could get himself over with the crowd was unbelievable, but then again, it had happened with Benoit. Benoit with the broken neck. Benoit, whose wife was by his side.

Angel scowled before she could start crying again, and upended her backpack in the ring. Rhyno was fast approaching and she had to decide what to do. Finally, she picked up the chain and, locking her eyes on Rhyno, began swinging it around her head, gaining momentum. If he came anywhere near her, he was in trouble. Rhyno climbed coolly into the ring, unaffected by her display. He wanted his hardcore title back and he was damn sure going to get it. Still the chain swung around Angel’s head as she glared at him warningly. And suddenly he knew what to do.

Angel should have known the gore was coming, but she didn’t, not until she found herself flat on her back. Rhyno was on top of her and the ref was counting fast, too fast. Her hands gripped a small street sign and slammed it hard against Rhyno’s head, just breaking the count in time. Angel jumped to her feet and pulled out her sticks, slapping them randomly against his body as he struggled to stand. Suddenly, he lunged and grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her head between his legs. He lifted her easily and slammed her straight down in the powerbomb. But this time he didn’t go for the cover. He wanted to make sure she was finished. So he climbed quickly from the ring and dug underneath it, finally locating a trashcan and pulling it out. But, just as he lifted it to put it in the ring, Angel hit the baseball slide and the can smashed into Rhyno’s face, knocking him down. Angel grabbed the ropes and launched herself up top, balancing there for a fraction of a second before she leaped in a missile dropkick, which had him straight on the ground again.

Angel didn’t have her sticks anymore, but it didn’t matter. Her body was a weapon. She grabbed a handful of hair in her left hand and dragged Rhyno’s body up, slamming her right arm against his chest in a knife-edge, then another and another. She released him for a second and he sat reeling, before she nailed a spinning martial arts kick, right to his head. It smashed against the ground with such a satisfying thud that Angel actually broke into a smile.

"Come on, Rhy baby," she muttered, grabbing him by the hair again. "Let’s get you back in the ring so we can play some more."

She dragged him along as he stumbled after her, anything to stop the pain roaring from the top of his head. He tumbled into the ring, but Angel paused before joining him, spotting the trashcan on the ground. Trashcans were fun. She dug under the ring for an untouched one, throwing it over the ropes and following it with another. Finally satisfied, she climbed in and spun to face Rhyno. He turned on her, carrying a trashcan over his head, but she ducked it and spun around, going for the bulldog. He dodged and threw the can at her, hard. She caught it clumsily, stinging her hands, then turned quickly, knowing Rhyno would be on her in a flash. She was right as he ducked and readied for another gore. Angel set herself, swung her arms and bam! Rhyno was down.

Sucking air into her lungs, Angel leaped on top of Rhyno, but only got a nearfall. Exhaling loudly, she sank her boot into Rhyno, but he simply rolled and escaped the ring.

"Not so fast, buddy," Angel muttered, racing to the corner and dragging herself up top.

As soon as Rhyno passed her, boom! Angel hit the hurricanrana and Rhyno hit the deck again. Angel reached into her pants and this time pulled out her nunchukas. She spun them a couple of times, then slammed them against Rhyno’s body as she had with her fighting sticks. Then she hooked the chain under Rhyno’s throat and dragged him backward towards the ring. She backed up into it, bringing Rhyno with her, never relaxing her hold, grinding the chain against his throat. She was choking him out. Suddenly, Rhyno let out a roar and Angel’s face slammed against the ropes before the back of her head cracked down on the mat. Rhyno grabbed her by the leg and pulled her from the ring, then put her over his shoulder. He started running and slammed her down on the barricade.

Angel roared in pain as her back just about exploded, but Rhyno wasn’t done with her, grabbing her by the neck and shoving her through the crowd. She whimpered as his fist pounded her back and then she screamed as he threw her against a crowd control fence, reminding her of all the damage his gore had done to her abdomen. This was too much. She just wanted to lie down and die, or at least sleep, but Rhyno was relentless, bouncing her head off walls, fences, anything he could reach. Then he shoved her to the ground, leaving her to cower there as he picked up the crowd control fence. This was it. He was going to end it. He rested the fence against the wall and picked Angel up, hooking her arm around his head, ready to send her for the belly to belly suplex onto the fence. But, just as he lifted her, she kicked out with both feet, right into his gut. Then she reached out, grabbed the fence and slammed it against his face, causing the fence to buckle under the pressure.

Angel grabbed his hair and forced him to his feet. She had to find some more weapons. Rhyno wasn’t done yet and she wasn’t strong enough to finish him off with her body alone. Not without heights and ropes and ring posts and steel steps. But it was too far back to the ring. She’d have to take her chances with whatever was through that curtain. She launched a hard kick to the base of his spine to propel him forward and kept right on his tail, kicking him, shoving him, keeping up his momentum.

She looked around quickly and took stock. Trolleys, tables, scaffolding, ladders. Perfect. She put two tables together then ran around quickly, hitting the standing dropkick to Rhyno’s head and forcing him backwards and onto the tables. She grabbed his hair and dragged him right to the middle, then looked up at the scaffolding nearby. It was time to go up top. She climbed quickly, ignoring her pain. She was going to do this and she was going to do it now.

She finally reached the top and turned her back to Rhyno, giving a quick glance over her shoulder to be sure he hadn’t moved. Then she closed her eyes, crossed herself and took off in the moonsault. Her stomach hurtled into Rhyno, shattering the table beneath their bodies and sending them crashing to the concrete floor below. Her own head was a little dizzy as she scrambled around, finding enough to hook Rhyno’s leg while she made the cover. This was it. She’d retained her title.

The count seemed to be taking so long.

"One!" She pushed Rhyno’s leg up even further.

"Two!" She shoved her other hand into his face.

"His shoulder’s up! His shoulder’s up!"

"What?" Angel screamed. The ref was wrong. He had to be. She picked herself up, using the scaffolding as support. So much for the moonsault.

‘Come on, Angel. Come on.’

Aha. There was a trolley nearby and Rhyno, big though he was, would easily fit inside. There was only one problem. Getting him there. Angel couldn’t lift him – he was almost three hundred pounds. And then an idea hit her. She turned the trolley on its side, tall part up, then ducked around Rhyno. She kicked him hard, almost breaking her leg off, but sure enough, he moved forward a little. Nodding to herself, she kicked him again and again, until he finally tumbled into the trolley. Angel dove over him, using his momentum as well as her own to set the trolley back on its wheels. Phew. Done. Now it was time for Rhyno to take a ride.

Gritting her teeth, she pushed the trolley and started running with it, faster, faster, faster until she finally released. It slammed against the wall, throwing Rhyno free, causing him to crash onto the ground. One more thing and surely, this time, that would be it. That’s when her eyes fell on the ladder. Perfect. She ran to it and picked it up carefully, turning and shoving it right into Rhyno’s head with sickening force. She quickly tossed it aside and made the cover.

"One! Two!"

"Shit!" Angel screamed as Rhyno again kicked out. How much more was this going to take? Resolving herself not to lose her cool, she again went for the ladder, but this time opened it, psyching herself to go up top. This time she was going for the headbutt. If that didn’t finish him, nothing would. She took a deep breath and began to climb.

She hadn’t even reached the second rung when she heard the noise and instinctively turned around. The instant she did, bam! Gore! Rhyno’s shoulder crashed against her abdomen and the ladder snapped shut, collapsing on top of her with a metallic clatter.

Rhyno quickly threw the ladder away and rolled Angel onto her back as the ref dropped to the ground beside them. "One! Two! Three!"

Rhyno was the champion again. The ref handed him the belt and he backed up the corridor, relieved it was over but surprised it had taken so long. He didn’t see the person sneak up behind him, didn’t see him until a pipe broke over his head and he was powerbombed onto the same ladder that he’d used to finish Angel.

"Count!" screamed a voice as the intruder alternated between shoving the ref and covering Rhyno. "I said count!"

The ref had to do it. "One! Two! Three!"

And just like that, in Madison Square Garden, a place so sacred to the WWF that no WCW star had ever set foot there, Mike Awesome became the World Wrestling Federation hardcore champion. But Angel hadn’t seen any of it. She was out cold again.

* * * *

Chris Jericho raced after the EMTs. He partially blamed himself for this. If only he’d waited until after Rogue’s match before telling her about Benoit. She can’t have been focused and, a lot of the time, lack of focus meant the difference between victory and defeat, between coming out of a match unscathed and being critically injured. For a second he wondered if Benoit…no, that was impossible.

"Is she conscious?" he asked, not focusing on anyone in particular.

"See for yourself," an EMT replied and he peered over as they began to roll her into the ambulance.

"Hi Jerky," she said wearily. "I lost my title."

"I know," he sighed. The girl seriously looked like death. Her face was frighteningly pale and her eyes bloodshot, but hey, at least they were open.

"They’re making me go to hospital again," she went on, matter-of-factly. "It’s a tradition. You wanna come?"

He gave a nod. It was the least he could do, especially when Trish, Lita, Jeff and Shane Helms didn’t seem to be around. He’d purposely left his schedule open for tonight. After all, last night he’d fought two top shelf wrestlers at once in the main event of the pay per view. Surely he was entitled to a night off.

"Great. You know I’ve got a headache again?"

Frankly, that didn’t surprise him. Sighing to himself, he climbed in after her.

"Hold it right there, Chris Jericho."

Jericho scowled and turned around, still hunched over in the ambulance.

"What in the hell do you want?"

Regal glared at him. "What I want…nay…what the so-called ‘Jerichoholics’ want, is for you to get down from that vehicle at once and return to your place of business."

"Newsflash, assclown," Jericho smirked. "I don’t have a match."

"Actually, my boy, you do have a match. I just haven’t made it yet."

"Excuse me?" Jericho cried.

"Ah, you’re not smiling now, are you, young man? Last night it was such a joke for you and Chris Benoit to leave everyone with the belief that you would defect to WCW. Well, Mr. McMahon and myself did not find it at all amusing, and as such, it was decided that you must be punished. Chris Benoit is quite obviously not here, but you are, so if I were you I’d get my carcass down from that ambulance and stick my eyes to a television monitor until I found out exactly what my punishment was going to be."

"You must be kidding me," Jericho muttered.

"No, Mr. Jericho. Unlike you, I don’t find my occupation funny. Now, get down!"

"Ready to go!" cried an EMT.

"Shit," Jericho swore, jumping out of the ambulance. "Take good care of her, okay?" He tapped on the closed door of the ambulance and watched as it drove off into the night.

"There you are," Regal gloated. "I knew you’d make the right decision for your Jerichoholics."

Jericho mimicked his smirk. "Yeah. I only wish the Jerichoholics could see this!" He lunged forward, slamming his fist into Regal’s face and then calmly continuing on his way as the commissioner hit the ground with a thud. "Now that was amusing, old boy."

* * * *

"I don’t think you’re taking me seriously," the doctor was saying. "Repeated and frequent knocks to the head can cause all manner of complications, from memory loss to sudden unexplained blindness to Parkinson’s Disease or schizophrenia."

"My head is fine," Angel insisted. "I mean, this time I can actually speak in full sentences."

But the doctor didn’t find that amusing. "Any head trauma which is accompanied by a loss of consciousness is cause for alarm. Now, you said that you did lose consciousness."

"Yeah, so I blacked out. It was only for a second."

The doctor sighed. "I still think it would be best to keep you here overnight for observation."

"Fine," Angel muttered. "I mean, I may as well. I’ve already been here more than an hour. But I don’t know why they brought me here in the first place. If I was back at the arena I could be getting one hell of a great massage right now, which is what I really need, not staying here and talking about concussions or whatever."

"It’s not whatever, Ms…."

"Angel," she cut in. "My name is Angel."

"Okay, Angel. I’m going to say something to you that you won’t want to hear."

"Shoot," Angel told him, figuring that whatever he said could be nothing compared with what Jericho had already told her that night.

"I want you to take a week off. No wrestling until at least this time next week."

"No way," Angel replied emphatically. "Our next show is Thursday and I fully intend getting my title back."

"You are not listening to me," the doctor snapped.

"Yeah, I know," called a voice. "She has a habit of doing that. What’s going on, baby? You giving this guy some trouble? You don’t need me to rough you up, do you?"

Angel scowled. "Jerky, this asshole doesn’t want me to wrestle for a week. A whole week!"

Jericho nodded slowly and turned to the doctor. "What’s your reasoning?"

"Two concussions in eight days. I think that’s reason enough."

"You gotta watch that head, baby," Jericho told her. "A few more like that and you’ll turn out like big bad Jupiter. I don’t know if you saw him tonight, but he was carting a mop around and talking to it as if it was Terri. It was one hell of a sight, I’ll tell you that."

Angel let out a short but almost humorless laugh. "I’m not going to end up like Perry."

"Which is why I advised a week off," the doctor pointed out.

"You know what, junior?" Jericho asked. "I agree with you. No getting down and dirty for a week, baby." He gave her a conspiratorial wink, but she completely missed it.

"Thanks for the concern, Jerky," she scowled. "But on SmackDown I’m gonna take on Rhyno again and get my title back."

"Uh, baby?" Jericho frowned.

"What?"

"Rhyno doesn’t have the title."

"Sure he does. My head doesn’t hurt that bad. I remember who beat me."

Jericho shook his head. "He got jumped from behind, just like you did to Test last week."

"Oh, okay," Angel frowned, surprised she didn’t know anything about that. She hadn’t blacked out for that long, had she? "So, who was the jumper?"

"Mike Awesome."

"Great, so I’ll kick Mike Awesome’s ass on Smackdown. I don’t mind."

"Uh, that might not be such a good idea," Jericho warned her. "For starters, Awesome goes six six, three hundred."

"So?" Angel shrugged.

"You’re what? Five nine, one thirty?"

"One fifty," Angel corrected him. Hell, he knew everything else about her, why not her weight as well? "And besides, what does that have to do with anything? Didn’t I win the hardcore title off Test?"

Jericho sighed. Obviously, she wasn’t seeing his point. "And anyway, you can’t take on Awesome. He’s in WCW."

"So? I'll just get a match with him," Angel argued.

"Can't. That’s why Vinnie was so eager to sign you when you had the belt. You can’t book a person who doesn’t work for you."

"Dammit," Angel scowled. "So, I guess I have to concentrate on the other belts. Maybe you should tell Jeff Hardy I want his ass. He’d probably get a kick out of that."

Jericho frowned at how flat, humorless and, okay, bitter she sounded. "Jeff lost his title tonight as well," he informed her.

"Really? To who?"

"X-Pac."

"You’re shitting me. Didn’t Jeff beat his ass at King of the Ring?"

"Yeah, but Paccy wanted a rematch. He got his wish and his belt."

"Well," Angel sighed. "I guess me and Jeff actually have something in common after all." She let out another sigh. "So, how come you showed up here to check on me? I wasn’t exactly miss sweetness and light earlier."

Jericho shrugged. "Are you ever? But seriously, Rogue. Of course I came after you. What I told you…that can’t have been easy to take. I wanted to ride in the ambulance with you, remember?"

"No," Angel frowned.

"Okay," mouthed Jericho. That wasn’t good. He’d have to take a little better care of her, now Benoit wasn’t around to keep her from getting her head kicked in, seeing as how she wasn’t doing such a great job of it herself right now. An idea came to him, but he decided to think it over while he continued the conversation. "Well, I did. Only that assclown Regal stopped me and told me I was all set to face a mystery opponent for that WCW prank me and Benoit pulled last night…"

"That was a prank?" Angel cut in.

Jericho nodded. "My end was, anyway. So, I get this mystery opponent, and guess who it is? Your other friend from that triple threat. That’s right, your friend and mine, Ta-junior."

"Tajiri?" Angel echoed. "Did you beat him?"

"Of course I beat him, baby. I’m Y2J."

"Of course," Angel echoed, actually smiling. "So, you were never going to WCW?"

"Hell no. I’m good here, you know? I’ve got the Jerichoholics, last night I main evented at a pay per view. Why would I leave?"

"And Benoit?" she asked, voice catching a little. "Was he going to leave?"

Jericho sighed. "I don’t know. He’s not the easiest person to read."

"Yeah," Angel agreed as she started to lose it again. "Well, I guess it doesn’t matter now, does it? He’s not going to be wrestling for anyone for a long, long time."

And, just like that, her tears spilled over, compounding her headache. Jericho leaned in and took her into his arms, reaching to her face and gently massaging her temples. She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to his shoulder.

"I’m so scared, Jerky," she whispered. "What if it goes wrong? You said he can walk. What if they screw up somehow? What if they make it so he can’t walk? What will he do? Wrestling’s his everything. It’s more important to him than life."

"I know," Jericho replied gently. "But don’t worry about it. He’s gone to the best specialist in the country. The same guy who operated on Austin’s neck, and you’ve seen where he is today. Still with that heavyweight gold around his waist. So don’t worry about Benoit, baby. He’s got his wife to do that, and I promise you, he’s in the best hands possible."

Angel choked on her tears a little. She knew Jericho wasn’t purposely trying to hurt her, but hurt it did; it ached throughout her entire body. She had to change the subject, had to, before she completely lost control and turned stark raving mad, had to.

"I know," she said at last, pulling abruptly away and raking her arm across her face again. Subject change, any subject change. "So…um, you didn’t happen to see Shane Helms tonight, did you?"

Jericho frowned. "No. Didn’t see him. Why, baby? Are you thinking this Helms guy might possibly be…?"

"How about Trish?" Angel cut him off, before her subject change could turn full circle. "I expected her to be here, even before you."

"Yeah, I saw her," Jericho announced. "Asked her if she was coming, but she said something about helping Show plan a trip to Europe and then stalked off."

"Huh," Angel frowned. "But she thinks the Big Show’s a big ugly Neanderthal. And that’s a quote."

Jericho grinned. "I don’t know what to tell you. Although I am surprised she knows the word ‘Neanderthal’."

"Are you talking about that bitch Stratus?" called a voice. "No kidding, Ange. I don’t care that she’s you friend. If she shows up here tonight I’m gonna beat her fat ass all over New York City."

"Good evening, Lita," Jericho joked as the redhead and the Hardy brothers filed in next to Angel’s bed.

"What did Trish do, Li?" Angel asked, a frown on her face.

"What did she do? That skanky little slut. I swear to you, the next time I see that bitch…"

"Lita, just cool down," Matt soothed, wrapping his arms around her waist and trying to kiss her.

"Get your damn mouth off me," Lita snapped. "Your tongue isn’t coming anywhere near mine until you rinse it with industrial strength Listerine."

Matt sighed and backed off as Jeff formed a slight smile.

"Trish kissed Matt," he told Angel.

"Oh, you think that’s funny, Jeff?" Lita demanded. "Well, you tell me. How did you feel when you saw Test kissing Angel?"

That shut Jeff up real fast. "Lita," he started nervously.

"I don’t care, Jeff," Lita cut him off. "I don’t care if she’s lying right here."

"Lita, please," Matt tried again, pulling her aside and trying to calm her down.

"Well," Jericho commented. "Now the cavalry’s arrived, I think I’m gonna call it a night."

"Okay," Angel replied, giving him a little smile. "Thanks for stopping by."

"Hey, anything for my little Rogue Angel." He leaned over to gently kiss her forehead. "I want to talk to you about something, okay? Come find me as soon as they release you tomorrow."

"Okay," Angel said again. "Bye Jerky."

He squeezed her hand in response, then turned to leave. "See you, junior," he called to Jeff. "Bye, Matt. Bye, Lita." Finally, he walked away.

"So," Jeff sighed, looking deep into Angel’s eyes. "We both lost our titles tonight."

"Yeah," Angel nodded. "Are you going to get yours back?"

"They’re not gonna give me a rematch," Jeff told her. "I already asked and it’s not going to happen."

"Don’t give up, Jeff," Angel advised, finding it hard to hold his gaze. "I mean, you can get your title back. I’m gonna keep trying until I get mine back from Mike Awesome, so you should do the same. Or hey, in the mean time, I could challenge X-Pac for light heavyweight. And I promise you, Jeff. When I do that, I’ll give you the first tile shot, I promise."

Jeff broke into a lazy smile. "You’d do that for me?"

"Hey Jeff," she smiled back, concentrating on his nose rather than his eyes. "I never said you’d beat me."

"You really want to fight me, don’t you?" Jeff asked, eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Jeff," Angel replied. "I wanna beat your ass." And suddenly she wrinkled her nose up as pain rocketed through her head. "Argh!"

"Angel!" Jeff cried, alarmed. "What’s wrong?"

"I don’t know!" Angel wailed. "I don’t know! Argh! Oh God!" She cradled her head in her arms, desperate to stop the pain.

Jeff leaped to his feet. "Someone get a doctor in here! Get a doctor!"

"Jeff! Angel!" Lita cried, turning to them at last. "What’s going on?"

"I don’t know," Jeff blurted. "She just started screaming. I think it’s her head. Come on, come on. Where’s that doctor?" He dove for the nurses’ call button and started pressing it frantically.

Angel kept screaming, her knuckles turning white as she grabbed at her pillow, pulling it urgently around her head. She couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything as the pain overwhelmed her, kicked her across the room, beat the living hell out of her, far worse than Rhyno ever could.

"Help!" she screamed. "Please, please help!" And she just kept on screaming and crying for help as a nurse walked to her side and injected something into her IV line. They probably weren’t going to let her sleep through the night, not with her concussion as bad as it was, but Angel didn’t care. All she cared about was an end to her pain, an end to her agony. Anything.