Title: Shooter

Warnings: the usual, language, violence, probably some adult themes in there too.

Spoilers: Just SmackDown, I think

Summary: Angel and Jericho have a tentative understanding. Will a dirty trick or two from William Regal be its downfall?

A/N: Chapter 51, we're on the home stretch now. Not many left in the 'R' version at all. This chapter's for Andraste, who is one cool chica *grins*. But once again, thanks to all reviewers for making my life so happy!

SMACKDOWN, MAY 10TH, 2001

Angel pounded the punching bag with one hand, growing more and more frustrated by the second. This was the first time she'd actually gotten to use it and she couldn't even do it properly. She cursed her broken arm and got creative, using her feet, knees and legs, slamming into it over and over and over. Better, but she was still pissed off.

"Hey Wolverine and Wolverette."

Angel stopped her workout and spun around. Jericho had arrived.

"Hey," she replied coolly, wiping the sweat from her brow.

"That looks intense, baby," Jericho noted, eyeing both Angel and the punching bag.

"That's the idea," Angel shrugged, reaching for her water bottle. "I think I should amputate this, though," she added, holding up her left arm. "It really is an extraordinary pain in the ass."

"Just like the rest of you, eh?" Jericho joked, receiving a scowl from Angel in return. "Hey, I'm just kidding, baby. Here, I got something for you."

Benoit looked on with a frown as Jericho handed her a plastic bag.

She peered inside. "Clothes. Why does everyone always get me clothes? Let me guess, it's a Jerichoholics Anonymous shirt, isn't it, Jerky?"
"Guess again," Jericho replied. "You can wear it to the ring tonight."

Like she had so many times before, Angel pulled out whatever it was and took a look. It was a tiny crop top, midnight blue, with silver letting spelling a single word. 'Shooter'.

"It's beautiful," Angel murmured, honestly touched. "But I can't wear it. All costumes must be pre-approved by the man over there. That's why I'm always either 'Crippling' or 'Proving People Wrong'."

Jericho frowned thoughtfully and turned to Benoit, who looked very uneasy. "Can she wear it? It says 'Shooter'. That's your thing, right?"
Benoit nodded solemnly. "She can wear it."

"There you go, baby," Jericho announced. "You're all clear."

"Oh," Angel said, suddenly gloomy. "Shooter, as in Benoit. Right."

"No," Jericho told her. "Shooter as in you."

She looked up quickly. "You really mean that?"
"That's what the shirt says," Jericho nodded.

"Wow. Thank you. I'll go try it on right now."

She actually gave him a hug, then hurried towards the women's locker room.

Benoit stared at Jericho darkly. "She's not a shooter."

Jericho frowned. "Says who?"
"Says me. I coach her. I say when she's ready."

"Did you watch the tape, junior?" Jericho asked. "Did you see what she did? Now, if that's not shooter behavior, I don't know what is."

"It's psychotic behavior," Benoit argued. "She could have killed herself."

"But she didn't," Jericho pointed out. "She knew exactly what she was doing and she did it, and because of that, I won."

"That doesn't make her a shooter," Benoit scowled.

On the outside, he looked calm, but inside he was seething. How dare Jericho imply that the bitch was a shooter? That label was an honor, it had to be earned. She'd done nothing to warrant it, nothing at all. She'd never even had a damn match!

"Okay," Jericho replied. "What's your definition of a shooter?"

"A master ring technician," Benoit replied quickly, as if quoting from a wrestling dictionary.

"Which means?" Jericho prompted.

"Someone who maintains the perfect balance of submission, grappling, brawling and high risk. Someone who is systematic, technically perfect and unrelenting. Someone who has a plan and implements it, making minor changes for the unexpected…"

"Someone who doesn't let size bother them?" Jericho cut in.

Benoit blinked. "Sometimes."

"Someone who thinks through any problem so that they win, whatever it takes?" Jericho asked. When Benoit nodded, he went on. "All that I saw from her on Monday night. Everything she did was planned precisely. She used her strengths and hid her weaknesses. So she has a strength problem. It didn't matter, she used leverage instead. She was fast, she was tough, she was un-re-lenting. Junior, William Regal didn't even know what hit him. Trust me, the girl is a shooter."
Benoit simply shook his head and turned his back, not willing to argue about the bitch anymore.

"You should be proud," Jericho called to him. "You think Stu's not proud of your shooter status? Of course he is. And besides, everyone associates great wrestlers with the people who trained them. Like you and me. Everyone knows we trained with Stu. People are gonna look at Angel and say, 'Chris Benoit trained her'."

Benoit glared at him. "I am a great wrestler."

"And so is she," Jericho told him. "Maybe it's time you recognized that and cut her a little slack now and then."

"A little slack?" Benoit cried incredulously. "I don't believe this. What's gotten into you?"
"Nothing," Jericho frowned. "Look, just forget it. Everyone's gonna think the shirt means you anyway. We'll just go with that."

"Good," Benoit muttered.

Just then, Angel returned. "What do you think?"
"You look great, baby," Jericho enthused.

And she did, too. She didn't know how Jericho had known, but the top looked stunning on her. She'd received way more than one look on her way back from the changeroom. One guy had even walked into a wall. She was hot, no doubt about it.

"And don't worry, Benoit. I can still wear a bra under this one so I can keep hiding Kurt's medal for you."

Benoit raised his eyebrows. "How about you shut up and go get me a match? You know who I want."

"You haven't been yet, baby?" Jericho asked.

Angel shook her head. "I was waiting to see who you wanted."

"Well, that was sweet of you. I want those jackasses Edge and Christian."

Angel nodded.

"Same as him," she replied, indicating Benoit. "Okay, boys, I'll be right back." She stopped when she was hallway to the door and turned back with a smile. "Thanks again for the top, Jericho. I love it."

"You're welcome, baby," Jericho told her. "See, Benoit? All you gotta do is be nice to her."
"Nice," Benoit spat. "She doesn't know the meaning of the word."

"Yeah, we'll see," Jericho shrugged. "They can be trained, as you well know."

Benoit's only response was to shake his head.

* * * *

"Good afternoon, commissioner Regal," Angel said cheerfully.

Regal nearly jumped out of his skin. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

Angel frowned. "You mean after what happened on Monday? I'm still Benoit's manager. That hasn't changed. I still make his matches."

"Not with me, you don't," Regal scowled.

"Come now, Regal. Don't sulk," Angel smirked, pacing confidently. "It's gonna be easier on both of us if you just give me what I want. Then I'll go, I promise."
"And if I refuse?"

"Well," Angel shrugged. "I'll just have to call Benoit and Jericho in to kick your ass. They're waiting just outside, you know, and if they hear so much as a raised voice from either one of us, well, mate, you're in trouble."

Regal formed his besmirched face as he digested this.

"Okay, Miss Torres," he said finally. "What is your request?"

"Benoit and Jericho versus Edge and Christian," Angel replied without skipping a beat.

"Impossible!" Regal cried.

"And yet possible," Angel challenged.

"Not a chance," Regal insisted.

"Oh well," Angel shrugged. "It was worth a try." She turned to the door. "Hey, Be…"

"Wait, wait, wait," Regal cut in, causing her to turn back. "I'll tell you what I'll do. Chris Jericho will take on Christian and Chris Benoit will be facing Edge. How does that sound?"

"Perfect," Angel smirked. "Pleasure doing business with you, Commish."

Humming to herself, she again turned to leave.

"Hold it right there, Miss Torres. There is the certain matter of your punishment."

"Punishment?" Angel cried, spinning around to glare at him. "What for? The cage match? Those are no DQ, jackass. Johnny from Row 4 could run in and interfere if he wanted to."

"I'm not talking about interference on me," Regal announced "I'm perfectly aware that besmirchment of that kind is within the rules. Besmirchment of a referee, however, is not."

"What?" Angel cried. "I didn't touch the ref!"
"Perhaps not," Regal replied evenly. "But you did prevent him from completing his job as guardian of the cage door."

"Excuse me?" Angel scowled at him as the realization hit her. "Oh, that is low, Regal. That is really, really low. So, what's my punishment, huh? A hundred hours community service kissing your ass?"
"No, and don't be crude," Regal snapped. "What I had in mind is for you to experience what life is like for one of the referees you so readily dismiss."

"You want me to ref?" Angel questioned. "Been there, done that."

"This time, you'll be impartial," Regal went on. "If I judge that to be the case, you have nothing to worry abut. If not, however, I will have no choice but to suspend you for three months."

"You can't suspend me," Angel challenged, hands on her hips. "I'm not under contract here. You can't touch me."

"Oh no?" Regal asked. "Then perhaps I should reconsider my decision not to press assault charges against you for your attack on me at Raw. As a civilian, an uncontracted heathen, you have no rights."

Angel's face fell.

"You son of a bitch," she spat. "So, who am I reffing for? Edge and Benoit? Bring it on!"

That'd be no problem. Maybe she could even borrow the 'He Hate Me' ref's shirt Jericho had worn for Eddie versus X-Pac. Yeah, that'd be pretty sweet.

"No," Regal answered quietly. "Since you and Chris Jericho have become so close lately, I feel I should do all I can to keep you in close proximity to one another. You will officiate in Christian versus Chris Jericho." He threw a ref's shirt at her. "Enjoy your match, Miss Torres. And remember to remain impartial. You criminal record depends on it."

"Shit," Angel spat, storming out of the room. "Shit, shit, shit. I am a dead woman."

Regal quickly jumped from his seat, ran to the door and stuck his head out to watch Angel walk away. She was alone. Benoit and Jericho were not around.

"Call my bluff, will you, you bloody tart?" he said aloud. "Well, I sincerely hope you know what you've gotten yourself into. I'm yet to begin with you, young lady."

* * * *

Angel stood stiffly next to Benoit, waiting for their entrance. They were about to surprise Edge and Christian, who thought that Jericho would be in his match alone.

Angel sighed deeply. She hadn't had the heart, or rather guts, to tell Jericho that she was to be referee in this match. He was probably down here with Edge and Christian, wondering what was going on. Oh well, they'd find out soon enough.

Benoit shot her a sideways glance. She looked worried. Good. That was preferable by far to her sweetness of earlier. At least when she was scowling he knew what he was dealing with.

Just then, 'Shooter' played.

"Come on," Benoit muttered.

Angel sighed and stepped forward to meet her fate.

By the time they reached the bottom of the ramp, se cold hear Edge and Christian discussing the situation.

"Where's the ref, dude?"

"I don't know. Should I just start hitting this chump stain and see if one comes running out?"

"Maybe."

Angel took a deep breath. If she took any longer, there was no way she'd keep control. She reached into the front of her pants, thinking for one disgusting second of Benoit and the medals, and pulled out the ref's shirt.

"What?" Benoit cried. "You?"

Angel just pulled the shirt over head and climbed into the ring.

"Okay," she said evenly, switching her gaze between Jericho and Christian, who looked back at her, absolutely bewildered. "Let's keep this clean. You," she called out to Edge. Don't even think of getting involved. Same goes for you, Benoit. Okay, let's go."

She nodded to herself, knowing she'd at least sounded a whole lot more confident than she felt. It was going to be so hard to be impartial in this match but she had to. Her life depended on it.

The two competitors locked up, then grappled until Jericho scored one knockdown off the ropes and then another. Then he hit the armdrag into a submission hold which pinned Christian's arms.

Angel leaned forward, hands on her knees. "What do you say, Christian? Do you give up?"
"No," Christian groaned, punctuating his word by rolling over out of the hold.

Jericho still held his arm and jerked it down, trying to injure the elbow, before forming another submission hold.

"Do you give up? Do you give up?" Angel asked.

"No!" Christian cried, pulling himself to his feet, before backing Jericho into the corner.

Angel ran to them.

"Get out of there! Get out of the corner. Come on, get out!"

Christian stopped hitting Jericho and got in Angel's face. "Shove it, hosebeast."

Angel held her ground. "Do you want a DQ, Christian?"

Christian shook his head and turned back to Jericho in time to get a kick in the ribs. He fell to the canvas with a thud. Jericho reached forward to grab him.

"Not the hair!" Angel warned, but at that moment, Jericho sent Christian back with a knife-edge chop and threw him in a hiptoss.

"Hey!" Angel cried. "Watch the hair!"
She didn't want to push it, but she'd been warned to call this by the book.

Christian quickly rolled through the ropes onto the apron, but Jericho jumped and hit him with a dropkick, knocking him to the ground in front of Benoit.

Angel turned to Jericho. "Jerky, you're gonna have to keep off Christian's hair. I don't want to have to DQ you."

Jericho smirked at her.

"Whatever you say, baby," he shrugged, before hitting the baseball slide and jumping down after Christian.

"Get him back in here, Jericho!" Angel cried. "One! Two! Three!"

Jericho bounced Christian's head off the barricade, then threw him back into the ring. Jericho went up top and Angel had no choice but to start counting him out.

"One! Two!"

Bam! Jericho flew and Christian was down. Angel dropped to the mat.

"One! Two!"

But Christian kicked out.

"Two!" Angel cried, holding up her fingers.

"What?" Jericho cried. "That was three!"

"Two!" Angel said again, although she wished from the bottom of her soul that it had been three.

Jericho hit another knife-edge, then started to roll Christian over into the Walls. Suddenly, he spotted Edge standing on the apron and raced over to punch him, releasing Christian, who was right on him immediately.

"Stay down there!" Angel shouted down at Edge. "You too, Benoit."

Meanwhile, Christian had hit the backbreaker and was sinking his boot into Y2J's body. Then he grabbed Jericho's hair.

"Let go of his damn hair!" Angel cried.

Christian did as he was told and lifted Jericho to his feet, only to be punched in the chest and knocked to the canvas. After an Irish whip, both men flew off the ropes, but it was Christian who scored the takedown and made the cover. Angel dropped and began the count.

"One…two…"

Jericho raised his shoulder.

"Two count!" Angel announced. "Nearfall."

Both Benoit and Edge were encouraging their teammates, but Christian was first up, pounding Jericho, who scrambled to the ropes. Christian pushed his head down, choking him.

Angel was right there.

"Break it up! One, two, three, four…this close, Christian!"
"Shut up, psycho," Christian argued.

"Christian, don't try me. I will disqualify you."

"Whatever," Christian muttered, heading for Jericho again, but Y2J was ready and the two grappled until Jericho telegraphed a back body drop and got a kick in the head for his efforts. Christian went for more momentum off the ropes, but Jericho raised his arms and catapulted him into the ropes on the other side of the ring. Both men were down. Angel looked into their faces to make sure they were still conscious and then started the count.

"One! Two! Three!"

By four, both men were up. Clothesline by Jericho, then another. He missed the third but nailed two chops and scored a takedown. Checking that Christian was down, he climbed to the second rope for the missile dropkick.

"One!" counted Angel. "Two!"

Jericho flew, hit Christian, hooked his leg and made the cover as Angel dropped to her hands and knees.

"One! Two!"
Again Christian kicked out.

Jericho picked up Christian by the hair and hit him again.

"Last warning, Jerky, stay off the hair!"
This distracted Jericho long enough for Christian to reverse the whip into the knee to the abdomen. But Jericho reversed another whip into the bulldog. Angel looked down at Christian as Jericho went for the lionsault. When she looked up again, Jericho was down and Edge and Benoit were trading punches.

Although Angel had an idea what had happened, she could only call what she saw. And right now, Christian had the cover.

"One…two…"

But again, Jericho raised his shoulder.

"Two!" Angel cried, holding her fingers up.

Both men were weary, but they battled on, until Christian whipped Jericho off the apron, then rolled him up.

"One," counted Angel. "Two. Three." She got to her feet and gave a dismayed sigh. "Ring that bell, it's over," she called to the timekeeper.

Edge and Christian escaped quickly up the ramp, leaving Angel with two very pissed off men called Chris.

"What the hell was that?" Benoit demanded. "Didn't you see Edge?"
"I called it like I saw it," Angel protested.

"And what was all that 'get off the hair' crap?" Jericho added.

Angel sighed deeply. "You can't do that. You should know that."
"So?" Jericho questioned.

Angel slowly shook her head. This was all going wrong.

"Look, forget it," she muttered, rolling from the ring and heading up the ramp.

Jericho was by her side in a flash. "No, I won't forget it, baby. You've got some explaining to do because as far as I'm concerned you just screwed me. So, what's it about, baby?"

Angel sighed again. "You wouldn't believe me anyway." She pushed past the curtain and entered the hallway.

Jericho grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around.

"Try me," he sneered, eyes wild.

Angel withered under his glare. "It was Regal. He blackmailed me. He said if I didn't call your match and call it even he'd have me arrested for assaulting him on Monday night."
Jericho was unmoved. "After all the shit you've pulled, you actually expect me to believe that?"
Angel blinked back the tears that were starting to fill her eyes.

"No," she replied quietly. "I don't. Just forget it."

She shoved his hands off her shoulders and started walking back to the locker room.

"Hold it right there, sister," Jericho cried, grabbing her arm.

"Let go of me," she growled. "That asshole's the only one allowed to grab me like that."
Benoit stood back, letting Jericho deal with her. So long as he didn't hurt her, everything was fine.

"You know what, baby?" Jericho snapped. "Right now I don't care. Come on, we're taking a walk."
He dragged her along, just like Benoit did, as she complained, "Let me go, okay?"
"Okay, baby, I'll let you go," Jericho sneered. He shoved her through a door, then pushed her across the room. She stopped short and hugged herself as she realized where she was. William Regal's office.

"Whatever is the meaning of this?" Regal demanded.

"Maybe you can tell me that," Jericho scowled. "This girl seems to think that the only reason she had to referee my match is because you blackmailed her with some bogus story about an arrest. Now, assclown. Is that true?"

Regal looked uneasy. "No, of course it's not. She came to see me asking specifically to officiate in your match. She has been a referee before and wanted another chance. I was apprehensive at first but then, I never have been able to say no to Miss Torres."

Jericho glared over at Angel, who was frozen to the spot and emitting the occasional terrified sob. She was trapped between two men who hated her and Benoit was nowhere to be seen. She was in big trouble.

"She told me you'd have her arrested unless she called the match properly," Jericho went on.

"Now, why would I do that?" Regal protested.

"Relax, jerky. I just want to know your opinion of the match. Did she call it right?"

"Well," shrugged Regal. "The better man won."

Jericho broke into a knowing smile, then leaped across the table and started punching Regal.

"You son of a bitch! You son of a bitch!" He grabbed Regal by the collar of his shirt and slammed him against the wall, right next to the filing cabinet. "Let's get something perfectly clear, jackass. You don't ever…ever threaten that girl again, you got me? Don't threaten her, don't touch her, don't even talk to her unless she speaks first and if she does, you better make damn sure you give her what she wants. If you don't, not only will that piss me off, it'll also piss off Benoit. And you know Benoit's nickname? The Crippler? They don't call him that for nothing. So, you got me, jackass? You got me?"
"Yes!" Regal cried desperately, trying to wriggle from Jericho's grasp. "Yes I get you. Now, unhand me at once!"
Jericho twisted his grasp and pushed Regal into the filing cabinet, knocking it over.

"You better watch where you skate, assclown," Jericho warned. "You just might fall through." He stepped over to Angel. "Come on, baby. Let's get out of here. Oh yeah…" Angel was still frozen to the spot, so he grabbed the ref's shirt and tore it off her. "You can keep your stinking shirt!" He threw it over at Regal, put an arm around Angel and led her from the room.

They were almost back to the locker room before Angel regained the power of speech.

"You didn't have to do that," she spluttered. "You didn't have to believe me."

"No, but I had to not believe him," Jericho told her. "Commissioner assclown is a compulsive liar. You're just damn lucky he told a different story to you."

"Yeah," Angel murmured, pushing open the locker room door. "I guess I am."

* * * *

"Come on, Benoit! Fire up!"
"Get your ass up, Benoit, come on!"
Angel and Jericho pounded the mat and cheered on Benoit. Although it wasn't her style, Angel allowed Jericho to lead her, and besides, it was better Benoit than the other option. At least Benoit had never kicked the crap out of her.

Benoit and Edge got up at the same time, before Benoit hit two chops, then whipped Edge into a trio of Germans.

"Yeah, Benoit! All right!"

Benoit spread his arms and went up top for the headbutt. He flew and his skull slammed straight into Edge's. They were both down, but Benoit had landed awkwardly on a knee Edge had been working on earlier in the match. Still, he managed to make a cover.

"One…two…"

"Three!" screamed Angel and Jericho.

Unfortunately, the ref didn't agree. Christian had pulled his brother from the ring, just in time.

"Not on your life," Jericho muttered. "Come on, baby."
The two of them raced around the ring and attacked Christian and Edge from behind.

"Get back in the corner, bitch!" shouted a voice as Benoit jumped down from the ring and Jericho continued pounding Christian.

Angel scowled but did as she was told, stomping heavily over the steps and muttering under her breath, "I was cheering for you, jackass."

Suddenly, Edge pushed Benoit right into the ref, who, if she hadn't jumped off the steps at that second, would have collided with Angel. As it was he hit the steps and lay facedown on the floor. Angel ran the few steps to his side.

"Hey ref. Are you okay? Are you alright?" It didn't look too good. The guy was out cold. "Come on, ref. Wake up. Come on."

She was rewarded with a low groan.

"There you go," Angel smiled. "Now, get up, okay?"

Angel heard the roar of the crowd and snuck a peek into the ring. Benoit had Edge in crossface.

"Come on, ref," she called. "Edge is tapping. Come on. Get up."

Near the top of the ramp, Jericho had turned his back in order to put Christian in the Walls. At that moment, a shirtless Kurt Angle appeared from the crowd and jumped into the ring. Angel spotted the movement out of the corner of her eye and shook her head furiously.

"Kurt."

She quickly left the ref's side long enough to crawl under the ring and grab the first thing she found. Trashcan lid. Then she dove into the ring and, just as Kurt was sending Benoit into the Angle slam, brought the trashcan lid over his head with a crash. Dazed, he spun to her.

"Again?" she asked, slamming it across his skull, three times in a row.

Kurt was on the back foot and running, but she kept pounding him until he'd completely escaped the ring.

"Kiss my ass, Kurt Angle!" Angel cried, holding the trashcan lid up to the cheers off the crowd. "Now I own you too!"
Ding! Ding! Ding! Angel turned around with a start. The match was over? Sure enough, Benoit had a miraculous cover on Edge and the ref was back in the mix. The ring announcer's voice blared from the PA system.

"Here is your winner, by disqualification, Edge!"

Angel's mouth dropped open as Benoit's voice rang out.

"What? A DQ? How?"
He furiously clambered to his feet and suddenly spotted Angel, who was still in the ring. She stared back at him, then down at the trashcan lid in her hand, and finally back at Benoit.

"Uh oh."
By now, Jericho was also back in the ring and the two of them were staring at her as though she was bacteria riding on the back of a maggot that was feeding from a dead rat.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, dropping the trashcan lid with a clatter. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't cut it," Benoit snapped. "You lost me the damn match."

He was stumbling towards her, a deadly look on his face, grabbing at both his knee and head. She knew he was even more pissed then he looked, because he was injured. He hated that, almost as much as he hated losing.

Angel backed away from him, right into the ropes. She wasn't afraid, but she was upset. The one time she'd actually wanted Benoit to win and she'd lost it for him, just because she'd tried to stop Kurt. But Benoit wouldn't understand that. Why should he?

He glared right into her face, panting like a wild bull. Then, at the last second, he turned away and exited the ring. Jericho stepped up to him and the two of them talked quietly. Angel took a deep breath, dropped to the ground and followed them, maintaining a respectful distance all the way to the locker room.

As she pushed the door open, she felt it release under her hand and Benoit was standing there, still looking furious. He pushed past her and headed off down the hallway without a word.

Angel took a huge breath and entered the locker room. Jericho looked up at her, eyebrows raised.

"I didn't mean it," she told him urgently, again fearing his reaction. "I swear I didn't mean it."

Jericho started walking towards her. She thought about backing up, but where would she go? Finally, she stayed put.

"What will be, will be," she whispered.

And right then, Jericho wrapped his arms around her. She was so surprised she almost started crying. She pressed her head against Jericho and slid her arms up his back so they were on his shoulder blades.

Benoit chose that moment to come back.

"I forgot my bag," he said darkly, stopping to glare at both Angel and Jericho.

Jericho gave him a nod over Angel's shoulder and he strode forward, grabbed his bag and stormed out again.

* * * *

"Can I ask why the hell you felt you had to interfere in my match?"

Benoit was back from the showers and he was really letting Angel have it.

She scowled and folded her arms protectively across her chest. "I was trying to stop Kurt Angle."

"Why were you in the ring?" Benoit demanded.

"Because of Kurt!" Angel cried.

"Actually, I don't even care why," Benoit rushed on. "Just don't do it. I don't need your help. You just stay in the damn corner and keep your mouth shut. You've rarely felt the need to help before. Why now?"
"Because you needed it."

"No," Benoit snapped. "I don't need your help, ever! You stay out of the ring and out of the action. Do you hear me? Do you hear me?"
"Yes," Angel muttered, feeling like a ten-year-old at the principal's office.

"Good. Now get your shit together. We're leaving."

Angel made no move to leave. She just put her head in her hands. Tonight, causing the men who'd beaten her up to win their matches, it had exhausted her. Not knowing where she stood in the weird world of Canadians called Chris had exhausted her. She was exhausted.

She heard and felt someone sit next to her, but she didn't look up.

"I thought I was doing the right thing," she said softly. "I was trying to help."

"I know," Jericho replied. "Don't worry about it. He'll get over it."

"No, he won't," Angel murmured. "He never forgets anything. I hate him. I hate him."

"Yeah," Jericho sighed. "I know."

Angel finally tilted her head and looked at him.

"You know what?" she asked, forming a little smile. "You bought me a shirt. And you threatened Regal for me. Those were favors."

Jericho raised his eyebrows and gave a little nod. "Well, what you did on Monday was a pretty big favor."
"No," Angel argued smugly. "I don't do favors. I just return them."

Jericho gave a little laugh.

"Touché, baby," he replied, giving her a friendly punch on the shoulder. "You better get moving. I think Benoit needs his beauty sleep."

"Yeah, no kidding," Angel mused. "I guess I'll see you later."

"Yep." Jericho gripped her hand for a moment. "Be good, okay?"
"You bet," Angel nodded, grabbing her bag and heading after Benoit, a smile still on her face. So what if Benoit was still a jackass? He always had been and probably always would be. But now she had an ally. Now she had a friend…a friend who could get things done. And that made her feel like she could take on the world. Or at least face Benoit another day. A small victory was a victory, nonetheless.