Title: Freedom Match

Rating: PG-13 for language and violence

Spoilers: None

Summary: Finally, Angel's moment of truth has arrived. It's time for her freedom match.

A/N: This match never happened (though I wish it had, I'd definitely pay to see this). I made it up from start to finish. If you don't like reading long matches, just read scenes one and two and skip to the end to see who won, but I don't advise that. IMO, it's a way cool match with a few surprises so I hope you enjoy reading it.

A/N 2: Do you all realize you're meant to be cheering for Benoit? He's the face! Kurt's the heel and as for Angel, she's a manipulative little bitch right now. Lol. But I know in the real wrestling, I always cheer for the heels, so you can do what you want. Oh, and for the record, Test was a face then too ;-P

SUNDAY NIGHT HEAT, APRIL 8TH, 2001

"Twelve, thirteen, fourteen," Angel counted as she pulled the weights down and up.

"Sister, can I have a word?"

Angel let the weights return to their resting position and looked over at the person who'd spoken. He was leaning casually against the weight machine, everything about his expression and body language screaming 'look at me! I'm a conceited jackass. Give me attention now!'

"Only one word from you," she breathed. "Would be a refreshing change. I don't think you can do it."

He frowned down at her. "I'd watch what you say to me, baby. I'm not Chris Benoit."

"No, you're not," Angel smirked. "You're the Ayatollah of Rock and Rollah."

He glowered at her mocking sarcasm. "You know, I think I liked you much better when you were a Hardy girl."

Angel shrugged. "Life's a bitch, ain't it?" She reached for her water bottle, letting Jericho know that she didn't even respect him enough to keep eye contact, to watch her own back. "So, Ayatollah. What's on your mind?"
Jericho stared at her solemnly, his blue eyes burning right through her. "What are you thinking?"

"Right now?" Angel smirked. "You don't want to know."

Jericho raised his eyebrows and nodded at her. "You actually, voluntarily want to be Kirk Angel's manager?"

"Why not?" Angel shrugged. "In your words, we have the same name. Convenient for merchandising."

"You think you're pretty clever, don't you?"

"Yeah, actually, I do."

Jericho blinked. "Okay, sister," he said evenly. "I didn't want to have to say this, but would you please…shut the hell up?"

Angel folded her arms and stared at him indignantly, daring him to go on.

"You, sister," he started. "Are one of the biggest, cockiest, bitchiest ass clowns I have ever…ever met! I don't know why Benoit's even bothering to fight for you when you're quite obviously not worth it."

"Did Benoit send you?" Angel asked.

Jericho shook his head. "He didn't need to. I decided all on my own that I had to tell you to stop deluding yourself. Do you honestly mean to tell me you have no idea what Benoit's done for you?"

"What he's done for me? I'm his damn slave. The sooner I end that, the better."

"Slave? Wake up, sister! Without him, you'd be nothing."

Angel cocked her head and peered at him curiously. "Without him, I'd be free."

Jericho just dismissed her comment with a shake of his head. "Do you know how many people want to kick your ass right now? But they won't because they respect Benoit too much to even try it. If you manage Angle, you'd be dead within days."

"I have friends. And I can take care of myself."

"Oh, you think so?"

"Jerky, I know so."

"Jerky?" Jericho cried. "Did you just call me Jerky?"

"It hurts, doesn't it?" Angel asked innocently.

Jericho shook his head, glaring at her furiously.

"Y2J," Angel smiled. "You neither scare me, nor impress me. I just thought you should know that."

Jericho glowered at her, wringing his hands restlessly. He wanted to punch her, to shut her smart mouth and knock some sense into that pigheaded mind. But he didn't.

"Don't worry, sister," he said at last. "You'll get yours. Maybe sooner than you think."

"Bye-bye," Angel smiled, before rolling her eyes. "Jackass."

* * * *

"Commissioner Regal, I'm so glad I caught you."

"Miss Torres. Tonight is your night, correct?"

"Yes it is. But I was wondering if I could get a little change to the rules?"

"And that would be?"
Angel paused. "Have you noticed how tight Benoit and Jericho have become lately?"

Regal nodded. "Yes, I have noticed. Nothing but toe rags, the both of them."

Angel smiled. "I would hate for them to continue their alliance tonight. The last thing I want is an unfair match."

"I agree with you wholeheartedly," Regal nodded. "But how do you suggest we prevent it?"

"Simple. No one at ringside. No run ins. Even if I somehow don't see it, a run in means disqualification."

Regal nodded again. "I can't see any problem with that whatsoever. Any other requests?"

"No," Angel grinned evilly. "I think that about covers it."

"Well, my dear girl. I shall be watching. Enjoy yourself tonight."

"Absolutely," Angel smiled, while adding in her head, 'Especially now Jericho can't touch me.'

It was all set. Benoit was perhaps 70 or 80% after his handicap match while Angle was very close to full strength. And now, playing keep-aways with Jericho, there was nothing standing in her way. Finally, at last, after more than a month of misery, depression and pain, she was going to be free.

* * * *

"The following match is scheduled for one fall and it is for the managerial services of Angel Torres. Making her way to the ring, the special guest referee, Angel Torres!"

The response was lukewarm. Angel didn't care. She wasn't here to be popular. She was, however, very much enjoying making her entrance to 'Shooter' alone. It was kind of fitting.

She had tied the ref's shirt at the back to show her midriff and with her hair and makeup just so, she was easily the hottest ref the WWF had seen in some time. She climbed into the ring and turned to stare solemnly at the ramp, waiting for the next entrance, not really knowing which it would be.

'Medal' hit and there stood the challenger, arms raised and extended.

"Introducing the challenger, from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, weighing in at two hundred and thirty-seven pounds, Kurt Angle!"

Kurt reached the ring and climbed in next to Angel. They shared a smile and then Kurt took off his medals. Usually he would have just handed them to either the ref or the ring announcer, but this time he held them up high and slowly put them around Angel's neck.

Before Angel could do anything but smile back, 'Shooter' started playing again.

"And, making his way to the ring, from Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, weighing in at two hundred and twenty-nine pounds, Chris Benoit!"

Benoit tilted his head from side to side and then wiped his nose. He showed a complete disinterest in ceremony as he climbed into the ring, glaring at Angel and Kurt.

"Okay, boys," Angel started, stepping aside as they stared each other off. "I want a good fight, a fair fight…."

Benoit stared at her incredulously. "This isn't a movie."

The moment was enough. Kurt flew forward with a stinging right that stunned Benoit briefly, before whipping him into the corner. Kurt was on him in a flash with some more hard rights, kicks to the midsection and knees to the abdomen.

"Okay, Kurt, get him out of there," Angel advised.

Kurt responded with a huge belly to belly suplex, then made the cover.

Angel dropped to the ground and started pounding the mat rapidly. "One…two…"

Just before three, Benoit threw Kurt off and leaped furiously to his feet.

"What the hell was that?"
"A two count," Angel replied evenly.

"If you'd counted any faster I wouldn't have heard it at all!"

Bam! Kurt flew in again, sending Benoit for an Irish whip into a DDT. He scrambled around, trying for the ankle lock, but Benoit reversed it and locked on the crossface. Kurt screamed and tried to move himself towards the ropes, only to feel a kick to the kidney and a punch in the back as Benoit released for a second, dragged Kurt back into the center of the ring and locked on again.

Kurt was tapping, and tapping, and tapping, but all Angel did was look on, crying out, "One! Two! Three! Okay, Benoit, let him go!"

Her words completely threw Benoit, who slammed Kurt's face into the canvas, found his feet and got right in Angel's face.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" he demanded. "I had that bitch tapping!"

Angel didn't back down. "No submission."

"Excuse me?"

"Pinfall only," Angel insisted. "No submission."
"What?" Benoit screamed. "Are you making this up as you go along?"
Angel glowered at him. "You'd better get out of my face before I have to disqualify you."

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Benoit sneered, as he felt a hand on his leg and Kurt took him over into a cradle, pinning his shoulders.

Angel was back with the fast count. "One…two…two!" she cried as Benoit kicked out and gave her the evil eye. Angle grabbed him again, but this time he reversed, sending Kurt into a snap suplex and forming a bridge.

Angel slowly dropped to the ground. "One," she counted slowly. "Two…two and a half…two and three quarters…"

Benoit lost his patience and finally threw Kurt aside, before jumping up to meet Angel again.

"If you don't start calling this properly…"

"Two!" Angel interrupted him, holding up her fingers. "And if you hadn't let him go, we might have reached three!"

"What, after two and fifty-three fifty-fourths?" Benoit retorted, but just then Kurt grabbed his arm and sent him for yet another Irish whip into the ropes. This time, Benoit was ready, knocking Kurt down with a clothesline and making the cover. But this time, there wasn't even a slow count.

Benoit waited and waited, but still the count didn't start. He leaped to his feet in disgust and spun around, looking for Angel. He found her standing nearby, holding Kurt Angle's medals up to her face and using them as mirrors to check her hair and makeup. Benoit was absolutely livid.

"Forget your damn hair and start watching the damn match!" he screamed.

Angel's eyes widened. "Keep raising your voice to me and I'll have you thrown out of the damn match."

Benoit just scowled at her, then focused his fury on Angle. Grabbing him roughly, he lifted him to his feet, applied the waistlock and went for a German suplex, then another and finally a third.

Kurt lay dazed on the canvas as Benoit spread his arms. It was headbutt time.

Angel frowned as he climbed up top. If he hit this, Kurt was a goner.

Suddenly, she heard a strange sound coming from the crowd and spun to face the stage, expecting to see Chris Jericho. But what she saw made her mouth drop open. Edge and Christian.

"No," she murmured as the sprinted down the ramp. If they got in the ring, Kurt would be disqualified. The rule she'd designed to keep Jericho away was going to be her downfall. Without another thought, she jumped from the ring and sped to meet them.

"Stop, guys, stop! You can't go down there!"

"Angel face, what gives?"
"You can't go down there, guys."

"Why not?" Christian frowned. "We're gonna help Kurt win your match. Don't you want that?"

"Of course I want him to win, but you guys can't help. If you do, he'll be disqualified."

"But, you wouldn't do that, would you?" Edge frowned.

Back in the ring, Benoit was himself down after hitting the headbutt. He wearily dragged himself over the mat and made the cover on Angle. Again there was no count and Benoit pushed himself up and looked around frantically. There she was. Talking to Edge and Christian. Goddamn little whore.

Growling furiously, he pushed himself to his feet and climbed from the ring. He raced up the ramp, grabbed Angel around the waist, pinned her arms, and started carrying her back towards the ring.

"Let go!" Angel cried, struggling and kicking her legs. "Let me go!"

"Shut up!" Benoit snapped, throwing her into the ring and climbing in after her. "You are going to make the count that wins me this match and you are going to do it properly."

Giving her one last glare, he stepped back over to Kurt and made the cover.

Sighing, Angel dropped to the canvas. "One…two…"

Kurt just raised his shoulder. He must have had enough recovery time.

Benoit let out a furious shout and made another cover.

"One…two…"

Again Kurt raised his shoulder.

Frustrated, Benoit jumped to his feet and then dropped from the ring. He picked up a chair and then climbed back in.

Angel immediately tried to grab it from him. "No, Benoit. You use that and you're gone. I mean it, you're gone."

Scowling furiously, Benoit let the chair go and turned around, right into a missile dropkick from Kurt Angle. Kurt picked him up and hit a powerslam, then hooked his leg.

Angel dove to the ground, pounding the mat quickly. "One…two…" But somehow Benoit kicked out again.

He tried to grab for Kurt and they scrambled over each other, jostling for position, before Kurt made the ankle lock.

Angel nodded smugly and got to her feet.

"One…" she counted slowly. "Two…" Benoit had started to tap and Kurt looked up expectantly. "Three! Okay, Kurt, let him go."

"What?" Kurt cried, not releasing the hold.

"No submission victory," Angel explained. "Pinfall only."

"You have to be kidding me!" Kurt exclaimed.

"No, I'm not," Angel said solemnly over the sound of Benoit's screams and frantic taps. "Let him go, make the cover and I'll fast count it."

Kurt broke into a sadistic grin and released the hold, then quickly turned Benoit over and pinned him. Somehow, he still only got two.

Shrugging, Kurt climbed to his feet, then dropped a boot to Benoit's ankle. He went for a few more kicks and then reached down to grab Benoit by the boot. He dragged him over to the ropes, then slammed the boot down on the bottom one, attacking Benoit's ankle again and again.

"Get him away from the ropes!" Angel cried at Kurt, who turned to grin sadistically at her before grabbing Benoit's boot again. Kurt dragged him along as Benoit struggled to his feet and hopped after him.

Suddenly – thwack! Benoit hit the enziguri and Kurt was down. Benoit's left ankle was all but busted, but he dug deep, picking Kurt up and whipping him into the ropes. On the return, Benoit stopped him dead with a knife-edge chop, then another and another. Benoit chopped Kurt right in the corner, gaining momentum every second.

Just then Kurt raised his legs and kicked Benoit away, then spun him around so he was now trapped in the corner. Kurt punched him and kicked him until Angel cried, "Okay, get him out of there." Kurt nodded and scooped Benoit up, sitting him on the top turnbuckle, then climbed up after him. He was going for the superplex. He reached down and grabbed Benoit's tights, but Benoit wasn't going anywhere. Kurt got a new grip and tried again for the same result.

Suddenly, Benoit let out a wild cry and suplexed Kurt over his head, sending both of them backwards off the turnbuckle and onto the ground.

Shocked, Angel raced to the corner and peered down. Neither Kurt nor Benoit looked like moving. She had no choice but to start the ten count.

"One!" she shouted, throwing her hands in the air. "Two! Three!" Every number made her count more and more slowly. A ten count was no good to her. It meant no result – she'd still be stuck with Benoit. "Four! Five!" Suddenly, she dropped from the ring. She had to do it.

"Kurt!" she cried, scooping her arms under his. "Get back in the ring!"

With Angel's help, Kurt rolled back into the ring, followed by Angel, who started a new count, much faster than before.

"One! Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven! Eight!"

A very weak Benoit somehow found enough to crawl back into the ring, but Kurt was waiting, immediately applying the ankle lock. Again, Angel counted slowly to three as Benoit screamed and tapped.

"Okay, let him go now," Angel advised.

Kurt's only reply was to shout out "Whoo!" and twist Benoit's leg even further.

"Let him go, Kurt! You can't win if you don't make the cover."

Kurt ignored her. "I told you I'd make you squeal! This is just seconds away from snapping, pal!"

"Kurt, let him go!"

Still Kurt ignored her.

"If you don't make the cover I can't be your manager!"

Kurt made no signs of breaking the hold and it suddenly dawned on her. He didn't care. All he cared about was breaking Benoit's ankle.

"Come on, Kurt. Just make the cover and I'll be your manager."

Kurt still ignored her.

Angel took a deep breath. She was the referee. She had to keep control or they'd send out someone else who wouldn't fast count Kurt and slow count Benoit. Someone who couldn't guarantee victory. So, she did the only thing she could think of. She pulled out her fighting sticks and slammed them across Kurt's back.

Kurt immediately released Benoit and spun accusingly as Angel put her sticks away.

"Now, make the cover so we can end this thing," she suggested coolly.

But Kurt no longer cared about Benoit. He ran at Angel, grabbed her arm and whipped her into the ropes, before catching her on the return with a knee to the abdomen. She collapsed to the canvas but before Kurt could inflict any more damage, Benoit grabbed him and sent him for another trio of Germans. He then went to grab Kurt again, but Kurt hooked his leg and brought him down in a side Russian leg sweep. Just as Kurt got to his feet a sound rang out.

"Aah!" Angel was standing on the top turnbuckle, her sticks raised above her head. A second later she flew, bringing Kurt down in a hurricanrana and then crisscrossing her sticks over his fallen body. Suddenly, Kurt kicked out into her stomach, pushing her across the ring and scattering her sticks. But before Kurt could celebrate, Benoit took him down again with a clothesline. Angel was back on track, standing over Kurt before he got up. She gave Benoit a quick glance.

"Germans?"

"Germans," Benoit nodded.

Angel grinned sadistically and formed the waistlock. She gritted her teeth and leaned back.

"Holy shit! His fat ass is even heavier than yours!" she cried, but still somehow hit it, then got up to try again, but before she could even try, Kurt elbowed her in the face and she was down. Suddenly free, Kurt ran at Benoit and tossed him over the top rope before turning back to Angel with a sick smile on his face.

He picked her up quickly and held her over his head. The seconds ticked past and all her blood flowed to her head, before he finally slammed her down. It was a brutal vertical suplex and left Angel motionless on the canvas. Satisfied, Kurt nodded to himself and began to climb. He was going for the moonsault. He twisted back and took off, but smack! A chair slammed into him and he fell to the canvas.

Benoit dropped the chair and picked Kurt up, sending him for a snap suplex, just as Angel began to stir. Benoit then sent Kurt for a belly to belly, but Kurt landed on his feet, spun around and sent Benoit into a DDT, before heading for Angel.

"No, Kurt," she whispered warily. "Don't touch me."

But Kurt just grinned sadistically and picked up the chair.

"No, Kurt, no," Angel pleaded, not even thinking of disqualifying him.

Kurt silenced her with a shot to the head. "How many was it you gave me?" he asked, hitting her again and again. "Three? I better go for one more, just to be sure."

After the fourth chair shot, he scooped her up and sent her over in the Angle slam (the move formerly known as the Olympic slam) as the crowd started chanting, "Angle sucks! Angle sucks!"

Benoit was just finding his feet. He glared at Kurt furiously and picked up the discarded chair. Kurt turned away from Angel – straight into the chair. It cracked across his skull several times before Benoit picked him up and dumped him from the ring. Shaking his head with pure hatred, he followed Kurt with the suicide dive and landed right on top of him. Benoit picked Kurt up and paraded him around, bouncing his head off the barrier over and over and then whipping him into the steel steps. Kurt screamed in pain, but Benoit wasn't done yet, picking him up and rolling him back into the ring, before climbing in after him and picking up the chair again.

Every time Kurt moved, Benoit hit him, over and over and over until he didn't move at all. Kurt was busted open and out cold. Benoit slammed the chair over Kurt's motionless body once more, then tossed it aside. He peered over at Angel, who still hadn't stirred, and took a deep breath. For a moment her considered calling out another ref and pulling Kurt over himself for the cover – Kurt and the little whore deserved each other after what they'd tried to pull. But he didn't do it. Instead, he stepped up to Angel, picked up her arm and dragged her until she was right next to Kurt. Then, still holding her wrist, he dropped down onto Kurt and hit Angel's hand against the canvas. One…two…three.

An official rang the bell and 'Shooter' played. It was over.

Breathing heavily, Benoit leaned over and tore Kurt's medals from Angel's neck. He stood over Kurt's body and dropped them, a sick smirk on his face. Then he grabbed Angel's arm again and dragged her to the edge of the ring, before running to pick up her fighting sticks. He climbed from the ring, hoisted Angel over his shoulder and started up the ramp. Partway up he stopped and turned back.

Kurt still lay bleeding and motionless, but he'd live to fight another day. Sons of bitches like him always do. Still, Benoit allowed himself a satisfied nod, deciding that Kurt's broken, bloodied body was one of the sweetest things he had ever seen. And that was true.

************************************************************************

A/N 3 (What? Three A/Ns in one chapter? Shut the hell up already!): Poor Angel. As they say, the best laid plans of mice and men often come awry. And since awry is a great word, that's it for today…check back soon to see what happens next and thanks muchly for reading this far!!!!