Disclaimer: Eh, you get the point by now.
Pyper: Hey, we're actually progressing faster now, here we are with another chapter. But, well,
we have to admit that we were pretty much running out of ideas so we decided to ask around.
deadgirlwalking8 contributed a lot to the plot for this chapter. Thanks, girl!
Azrael: Yes, and with the material she gave us I was able to screw around with Jericho's character
further. *Grins sadistically.*
Pyper: *Takes a hesitant step away from her.* Yeah, you could pretty much call this the 'Pick-On-Jericho'
chapter. Enjoy!
DESCENT
Meanwhile, back in the main cabin, nobody had gotten into an actual physical fight. Not yet, at
least.
Ric Flair was getting worried. David hadn't come back from his alleged trip to the bathroom. If
he only knew what his son was in the middle of right now.
"No, gentleman, I am not going to throw my jacket into the gambling pool in attempt to recover
anything else you've swindled out of me!" Regal declared from the eighth row. He was technically
seated in nothing but his undershirt, boxer shorts and socks and the jacket was the only thing left
inside his once full hand carry.
Faarooq shrugged, still admiring the watch his had won from him earlier. "Suit yourself." He said
nonchalantly.
Bradshaw said nothing. It was probably a good idea to stop; if Regal went out of the plane in no-
thing but his underwear it would be embarrassing for the entire company, even if it were hilarious.
Jericho was bored to tears. He was drumming his fingers on his armrest, being as the station he
had been listening to had stopped and restarted again. Damned recorded things. He didn't know
how long they had been in the air and damnit, he had forgotten to wear a watch. A glance at his
seatmate told him that she had one.
But then they had been engrossed in pissing each other off for over the past hour. He sighed and
decided that it was a harmless question to ask anyway.
"Hey Trish." He began, trying to sound cordial and ignoring the look of death that she shot him.
"What time is it?"
Trish had been silently fuming to herself, drinking a stifling cold mango juice that she held in her
right hand, but had been surprised by Jericho's question. Not wanting to be a bitch by using this
opportunity to restart their fight, she decided to just answer him. Nevertheless trouble started.
As stated before Trish was holding her ice cold drink in her right hand. It so happened that she was
wearing her watch on her right hand too, and the face had slid down to below her wrist. As a reflex,
she turned her wrist clockwise to look at it, and in effect spill her mango juice all over Jericho's
crotch area.
"YYEEEOOOWWWCCHHHHH!!!!!!!" Jericho howled in shock, trying to stand up but forgetting that
he was still pinned to the seat by means of his safety belt. Every head in the cabin turned to him.
"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry, Chris." Trish said, although it was obvious that she was trying to con-
trol her laughter.
"FUCK!! What in the fuck did you do that for??" Jericho yelled hysterically at Trish, having unbuckled
his seatbelt and now leaning heavily on the stewardess call button.
"You asked me for the time." Trish said with an annoyingly calm smile.
"Why you- Jesus Christ, that thing's fucking cold!" Jericho said, dabbing frantically at the stain on
his pants with the plane blanket. Yeah, not too bright, but I guess we can't blame the guy at this
moment.
A stewardess finally arrived. "Can I help you, sir?" she asked.
"Are you god-freakin' blind???" Jericho yelled, shifting his center of anger away from Trish for a
moment. "Can't you see that I've got a problem here?? Why the hell else would I call you?? To
have a chat?? Get me some paper towels… and a new blanket, pronto!!" he roared.
By now a bunch of the other superstars had started laughing. Jericho caught sight of Crash snicker-
ing as inconspicuously as he could. It wasn't good enough, though.
"You think this is funny, Elroy??" he snapped at him.
"Now come on, it was my fault, don't take it out on Crash." Trish admonished as the stewardess
left to get some paper towels. "Do you have a spare change of pants or something?"
"No I do not have a spare change of pants." Jericho told her. "Somehow I didn't think I would be
getting doused by your mango juice from hell."
"Well, we've got to get you out of those wet pants." Trish said reasonably. She stood up, cleared
her throat and spoke in a loud voice. "Everybody, Jericho seems to have wet his pants. Does
anybody have a pair that they can lend him for the time being?"
"Goddamnit, do you mind keeping your voice down??" Jericho hissed at her.
"Why? You were loud enough a while ago." She pointed out.
"I had freezing cold juice poured onto my genitalia!" Jericho snapped at her.
It was amazing that Trish still managed to keep a straight face after that. She simply turned
back to the others. "Please, anyone? He's freezing his balls off here."
That was enough for the Hardy brothers. They both broke into a fresh burst of laughter, clearly
audible even from where Jericho and Trish were sitting.
Jericho was stopped from yelling at them as well by Rikishi. The Big Man had stood up (with
Edge getting out of the way this time) and retrieved something from his hand carry that had
been stuffed into the overhead bin. "Here, Chris." He offered with a smile. "I've got an extra
pair. Just don't stretch it out, okay?" he held out an enormous pair of baggy white pants in
Jericho's direction. PHAT Wear.
"Give him one of your matching thongs while you're at it." Bradshaw snickered.
"Thanks but no thanks, Rockachichi." Jericho said. "I'll find something else."
Rikishi shrugged. "Your choice, dude." He went back to his seat.
At that moment the stewardess from earlier came back. "It took you long enough." Jericho
practically snarled at her, grabbing the paper towels she held out.
"Yeah, hi, listen, you wouldn't happen to have an extra pair of men's trousers lying around,
would you?" Trish asked her. "Something Jericho's size?"
"Stratus, you've done enough, just shut up." Jericho hissed at her.
"Hey, I feel responsible, I'm trying to help you out here." Trish told him. She turned back to
the stewardess with a smile. "So, any ideas?"
The stewardess looked Jericho over. "I'm sorry, but I don't think we've got anything for men
in his size." She said apologetically. "Though we do have a colleague about as big as him,
maybe one of her skirts would be able to…"
"Don't even think about it!!" Jericho cut her off abruptly.
"Hey Rock, you're somewhere around Jericho's size." Kurt suggested suddenly. "I know you
always seem to have spare pairs of pants everywhere you go. Why don't you lend Jericho one?"
The Rock raised his eyebrow at him. "Are you serious, Kurt? The Rock would sooner trade
places with Ivory." Then he thought about what he said. "Okay, maybe the Rock wouldn't go
that far…"
"Chris…" Trish still had that smile on her face.
"Would you please SHUT the HELL UP??" Jericho snapped at her. "I'm not wearing a skirt that
belongs to some oversized female flight attendant."
Trish turned back to the stewardess. "I guess that's a no. Thanks for your help."
"No problem." The flight attendant said before leaving.
As they continued to bicker, the pyro-technician seated three rows up looked at his seatmate
in surprise. Stone Cold was holding up three fingers. "Three." He said in a low growl, which
wasn't too drunk but not entirely sober either.
"Three?" he said nervously.
"I'm missing three beers." Austin said in that same voice.
The pyro-technician blinked, surprised that the Rattlesnake could still keep count.
"Yep, three." Austin repeated, looking none too happy. "And from the looks of you, I'm gues-
sing you're not behind it."
The pyro-technician breathed a sigh of relief.
Stone Cold slowly swung his head the other way, looking suspiciously at Scott Hall. Hall quickly
hid the third can he had taken from Austin from the Rattlesnake's view. Three cans weren't
enough to make him tipsy, not yet, but his face had the slightest twinge of reddish flush on it.
As Austin narrowed his eyes, the pyro-technician beside him inched away as far as he possibly
could, practically squishing himself up against the window.
Jazz banged impatiently on the restroom door. She had been standing there for about five
minutes now, which was entirely too long for anybody to spend inside an airplane comfort room.
"Whoever's in there, hurry it up!" she said loudly.
There was a scuffle inside and the door opened to reveal Brooklyn Brawler. Jazz scowled at
him. "What the hell took you so long in there?"
"Actually I didn't do anything." Brawler confessed, making Jazz want to deck him. "I just didn't
want to go back to my seat."
"Jesus Christ, Brawler." Jazz said in exasperation. She pushed him out of the way and went
inside the restroom, closing it behind her.
Brawler hung around there for a few more moments when Goldust came up. The bizarre Golden
dude blinked and looked around. "I thought Jazz was here." He said.
Brawler pointed to the closed bathroom door. "She's in there."
They waited there for a few more minutes until the door opened. Jazz stepped out and looked
at the both of them in suspicion, both of them looking back at her. "What are you two doing
out here?"
"I told you my reason." Brawler said. He jerked his head towards Goldust's direction. "He just
came along."
Jazz rolled her eyes. "Will you get back to your seat?" she said to Brawler. "It's a goddamn
plane, the Undertaker's not going to think of doing anything on it, especially after all the turbu-
lence earlier."
"Oh sure, that's easy for you to say." Brawler said sourly. "You're not the one seated next to
him."
"Fine." Jazz snapped. "You take my seat and I'll go sit beside the Undertaker. How's that to
you?"
Brawler's face lit up with renewed hope. "You'd do that for me?"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Jazz said, brushing past him. "Now go do it before I change my mind."
She turned to leave.
"Wait!" Goldust said suddenly.
Jazz and Brawler looked at him. "What??" Jazz asked impatiently.
"Actually, Jazz, I came over here wanting to talk to you." Goldust said with his best smile, making
Jazz scowl even harder. "You see, I was hoping that WE could change places so that I would get
to sit beside Booker T."
"Too late, she already made a deal with me." Brawler said quickly.
"Who're you sitting next to again?" Jazz asked Goldust.
"Ivory." He replied.
Jazz thought about it. Sticking herself and Ivory together probably wasn't for the best. In
fact, she'd go as far to say that it would be safer for everyone if she sat next to the Undertaker.
She sighed. "Fine, take my seat. But give Brawler yours."
"I can live with that." Brawler said eagerly.
Goldust nodded. "That arrangement seems best."
Jazz had no idea why she was being so nice today. Maybe it was the near death experience.
She rolled her eyes again and stalked off to claim Brawler's seat.
"She's got more balls than the average man, I'll give her that." Brawler commented when she
was out of earshot.
"Mm-hmm." Goldust said disinterestedly.
Brawler looked at him and realized that Goldust was probably one of the last people to under-
stand what being the average man meant. Man, Chuck, Billy, Goldust… they were the type
of guys in the locker room that made the other guys think twice about bending over to pick
up fallen soap in the showers. He hurried away to take the seat beside Ivory.
Let's get back to Jericho. Right now, the unfortunate Living Legend was trying in vain to
keep Trish from pulling off his pants there and then, and not for the reason people would
normally think.
"I'm telling you, Trish, don't even think about it!!" Jericho was saying, trying to keep her hands
away. Jesus, was this what they called the maternal instinct?
"Jericho, don't be such a baby!" Trish scolded him, giving him a patronizing look. "You can't stay
in those wet pants, besides there's this large and embarrassing stain on it. It makes you look
like you didn't make it to the john in time."
"Thank you for that descriptive analysis, Stratus!" Jericho snapped at her. "But I can take care
of it myself!"
"Hey Chris, I think I may have an extra pair of jogging pants!" Mick suddenly called out helpfully.
"But I'm not entirely sure when was the last time they were washed, or when I wore them for
that matter…"
"Yeah, thanks Foley." Jericho said sarcastically. "You were about as much help as Rikishi
over there."
Meanwhile, Kurt had been digging around in his hand carry bag and let out a small noise of
triumph. Rock shot him a disinterested glance. Kurt stood up with something in his hand.
"Hey Jericho, I happened to have an extra pair of jogging pants myself." He said with a smile.
"You're welcome to borrow them for now."
"Oh great." Jericho muttered.
"Hey, they're clean." Kurt defended.
Jericho looked at him, then at Trish who smiled sweetly back at him. Jericho shook his head
and groaned.
Undertaker looked up in slight surprise as Jazz took the seat beside him. He two of them
stared at each other for a split second before Taker spoke. "What happened to Brawler?"
he asked, not sounding too interested in the answer.
"We made some slight changes in the seating arrangement." Jazz said, equally as icy.
Taker said nothing after that. He wasn't too happy, but at least he wouldn't have a sniveling
idiot shivering beside him. What the hell did Brawler think he was going to pull, anyway? Open
the escape hatch and throw him out of the plane? Please. He had to hand it to Jazz, though.
She was one of the few divas who had managed to look him in the eye and not quake in her
boots.
"Where did this wine come from again?" Matt asked as he enjoyed his glass.
"Compliments of the 'gentleman' from across the aisle, as the stewardess who brought it so
charmingly put it." Hogan said, laughing.
The 'gentleman' across the aisle scowled as he stared at the empty glass on his folding table.
"Any chance we can get another?" Jeff asked with a grin.
"Watch it, Hardy boy." X-Pac growled at him.
Beside him, Kevin Nash actually laughed. Maybe he was tipsy himself, but of what we have no
idea. "Don't let it get to you, X-Pac." He said. "Besides, just be happy that you're not the most
humiliated guy on the plane yet." He snickered as he took a sip of his drink.
Speaking of that guy, he was currently in the bathroom changing, with Trish hovering at the
door. She knocked on it. "Are you done?"
"No, mother, and you can't come in." Jericho's annoyed voice came from inside.
She knocked again, patiently. Whether she was really feeling guilty of spilling her drink all over
him or knew exactly what to do to tick him off, Jericho didn't really know, but she was doing
a hell of a good job doing it. "Come on, Jericho. Let's get those wet pants to a stewardess so
she can take care of it for you."
There was a moment of silence. Trish grew impatient this time. She knocked again. "Chris?
Is something wrong?"
"I'm not coming out." Jericho said in a quiet voice.
"What? Could you say that again?"
"I'm not coming out." Jericho said, this time a little bit louder.
"And why not?"
"Trust me, if you're looking at what I'm seeing right now, you wouldn't want me out there either."
Jericho answered.
"It can't be that bad."
"Oh, it's bad."
"What's wrong with him now?" Lillian Garcia came up suddenly, indicating the closed door.
"He won't come out." Trish said with a shrug. "Says that it looks to horrible."
Lillian rolled her eyes. "What is it about men and their looks?"
"I know, I have no idea either." Trish agreed.
"Oh shut up, both of you." Jericho said from inside. "Vivian? Is that you?"
"It's Lillian." She told him.
"Whatever." Jericho said. "Anyway, I'm telling you, there is no way I'm going to go out in public
looking like this. I mean I thought it looked bad enough on that dork Kurt Angle, but wholly shit…"
"Jericho, just open the door!" Trish said edgily.
Another muted curse came out of Jericho's mouth before he reached over and pulled the door
open. Both women at the door looked him up and down, Lillian with a hand on her mouth to hide
her grin while Trish simply had this smile of incredulity and delight on her face.
"That's right, laugh it up, ladies." Jericho growled.
You guys know how Kurt looks like in those really weird jogging pants of his, right? The ones
that are a little short so that it reaches only to around the ankles and bunches up somewhere
around the hips. Imagine it on Jericho. Yes, are you guys done laughing? Okay then; let's get
back to the story.
"It's not so bad." Trish said, trying not to giggle as she did.
"Yeah right." Jericho retorted. "I can practically feel Kirk's dork-ness seeping into me via these
godawful pants."
"It's just for the rest of the flight." Lillian pointed out.
"Yeah, but then he has to get to his seat first!" Trish exclaimed, finally bursting out into laughter.
Lillian soon joined her.
Jericho growled something unintelligible at them then brushed past them. He tried not to think
of his hilarious get up as he stepped into the aisle and started to walk back to his seat.
The first person react was Paul Heyman. He was busy reading the in-flight magazine and stuf-
fing peanuts into him mouth when Jericho walked past stiffly. Heyman stopped in the middle
of popping another peanut into his mouth and promptly began to gag on it. Jericho pretended
not to notice as Brock Lesnar had to get up and perform the Heimlich on the choking Heyman.
"Wholly shit, that ranks somewhere up with you wearing lingerie on my bed." Booker T snickered
to Goldust.
"I didn't look that bad." Goldust said.
"Oh it, was bad." Booker told him.
"Not a word, Edgeward." Jericho growled at Edge, who looked up with Rikishi as he passed by.
"Not to worry, I'm speechless." Edge said, staring at him with the same expression Trish had on
her face when Jericho had opened the door.
Rob Van Dam, in the meantime, had burst out laughing. "Now I've seen everything." He chortled
to Michael Cole, who was trying not to laugh himself.
"Not a bad fit, Jericho!!" Mick called from the other side of the plane, Triple H laughing in the
seat beside him.
"Why's everybody laughing?" Kurt asked. "I think it looks good on him."
Rock raised his eyebrow at him for the nth time during this flight. "Sometimes the Rock wonders
about you, Kurt." He said. "The Rock really does."
Lita had stood up in her place with her camera in hand. Jericho saw her and stopped, holding a
hand out. "Hey, don't even think about it, Red." He told her.
"Chris, in the duration of this flight I've gotten pictures of Jeff cuddling up to Matt, the Rock trying
not to squeeze the life out of his seatmate, Test pretending not to read over Hurricane's shoulder,
a bunch of you guys resisting to break out in fights, Heyman ogling all the stewardesses and count-
less others. I can't not take a picture of you in this situation, it's too good to miss." Lita grinned.
"So smile, Jericho!" she said, as she happily took his picture before he could protest.
Jericho quickly made his way to his seat and sat down in a huff. Of all the places to be mortified,
it had to be at least thirty thousand miles above solid land. He watched as Trish sauntered over
to their row and sat down.
"I left your pants with a flight attendant." She told him.
"I'll get you for this, Stratus." He told her glumly.
Trish simply smiled at him. "We'll see about that."
It was quiet for a total of five whole minutes except for murmurs until the PA system switched on.
Ah, you thought it was broken, didn't you? Nope, it was still functioning, and the pilot's voice came
through.
"Well, here's some good news for you people." The pilot said cheerily. "We've begun our descent.
The journey's about to end, we expect to be landing in about thirty minutes."
"Assuming no one has gone about ripping each other's throats out, although some of you are no
doubt drunk, hysterical or soaking wet, we'd like to ask you to gather up your things as soon as
now." The co-pilot spoke up. "Oh, and buckle up your belts."
"Yeah, I think it's only fair to warn you that our landings are usually pretty bumpy." The pilot
said, making more than a few of their passengers groan and squirm in their seats. The PA system
switched off.
Hurricane was jolted out of light sleep by the PA system, and he went about dutifully buckling
himself up. He looked around in alarm when he noticed that his bag had disappeared. "What the…?"
A quick glance at his seatmate cleared things up. Test was seated, hunched up in his seat sip-
ping a glass of soda while reading one of his Marvel comics, not the one that he had handed to
him a while ago. His bag was with Test too, opened. "Citizen Test?"
"Hey, I'm just going to finish this, okay?" Test told him, barely looking up.
Hurricane blinked and shook his head with a shrug.
Ric Flair looked around. There was still no sign of his son. He had a good idea of where he
was by now, though, and he hoped that he hadn't met up with Vince. As he buckled up his seat-
belt he turned to look around one last time. Brawler was now seated beside Ivory and no longer
two shades whiter than he actually was. Stone Cold Steve Austin and Scott Hall were giving each
other death stares, which made him very uncomfortable. He hoped that those two would hold
off getting into a fight at least until the plane touched down. Torrie looked annoyed at the fact
that Kidman and Tajiri were shooting hostile looks at each other around her. Jericho was sit-
ting sullenly, obviously very much subdued while Trish smirked beside him, delighted that she
had managed to squash his ego for at least an hour. Flair hadn't wanted to admit it but he had
heartily joined along with the rest of the superstars as they laughed at Jericho's mishap. Kane
looked aeons better. Perfect was still smiling, with Venis not minding him in the least. He
found Jazz seated beside the Undertaker, neither of them interested in striking up a conver-
sation with the other. Rob Van Dam had blessedly stopped chugging down glass after glass of
orange juice. William Regal had tightly bundled himself up in his jacket, not making eye contact
with the APA lest he be suckered into another game.
Flair settled back into his seat. He was so glad that this ride was coming to an end.
And the plane dipped lower.
***
Pyper: I can't believe I let you do that to Jericho.
Azrael: Eh, he'll live.
Pyper: *Sighs.* Can you believe that we're so close to finishing this fanfic? I see a light at the
end of the tunnel!!
Azrael: *Gives her a weird look.* Right, whatever. I have a feeling that the last chapter is going
to be the longest. It's easy wrapping up everything.
Pyper: You'll manage.
Azrael: Excuse me?
Pyper: We'll manage.
Azrael: No, you said I would manage. I swear to God that you better help with this final chapter
or I'm hiding your stash of WWE magazines from you forever.
Pyper: *Shrieks.* You wouldn't!!
Azrael: Hope you all enjoyed the chapter!
Pyper: Hey, we're actually progressing faster now, here we are with another chapter. But, well,
we have to admit that we were pretty much running out of ideas so we decided to ask around.
deadgirlwalking8 contributed a lot to the plot for this chapter. Thanks, girl!
Azrael: Yes, and with the material she gave us I was able to screw around with Jericho's character
further. *Grins sadistically.*
Pyper: *Takes a hesitant step away from her.* Yeah, you could pretty much call this the 'Pick-On-Jericho'
chapter. Enjoy!
DESCENT
Meanwhile, back in the main cabin, nobody had gotten into an actual physical fight. Not yet, at
least.
Ric Flair was getting worried. David hadn't come back from his alleged trip to the bathroom. If
he only knew what his son was in the middle of right now.
"No, gentleman, I am not going to throw my jacket into the gambling pool in attempt to recover
anything else you've swindled out of me!" Regal declared from the eighth row. He was technically
seated in nothing but his undershirt, boxer shorts and socks and the jacket was the only thing left
inside his once full hand carry.
Faarooq shrugged, still admiring the watch his had won from him earlier. "Suit yourself." He said
nonchalantly.
Bradshaw said nothing. It was probably a good idea to stop; if Regal went out of the plane in no-
thing but his underwear it would be embarrassing for the entire company, even if it were hilarious.
Jericho was bored to tears. He was drumming his fingers on his armrest, being as the station he
had been listening to had stopped and restarted again. Damned recorded things. He didn't know
how long they had been in the air and damnit, he had forgotten to wear a watch. A glance at his
seatmate told him that she had one.
But then they had been engrossed in pissing each other off for over the past hour. He sighed and
decided that it was a harmless question to ask anyway.
"Hey Trish." He began, trying to sound cordial and ignoring the look of death that she shot him.
"What time is it?"
Trish had been silently fuming to herself, drinking a stifling cold mango juice that she held in her
right hand, but had been surprised by Jericho's question. Not wanting to be a bitch by using this
opportunity to restart their fight, she decided to just answer him. Nevertheless trouble started.
As stated before Trish was holding her ice cold drink in her right hand. It so happened that she was
wearing her watch on her right hand too, and the face had slid down to below her wrist. As a reflex,
she turned her wrist clockwise to look at it, and in effect spill her mango juice all over Jericho's
crotch area.
"YYEEEOOOWWWCCHHHHH!!!!!!!" Jericho howled in shock, trying to stand up but forgetting that
he was still pinned to the seat by means of his safety belt. Every head in the cabin turned to him.
"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry, Chris." Trish said, although it was obvious that she was trying to con-
trol her laughter.
"FUCK!! What in the fuck did you do that for??" Jericho yelled hysterically at Trish, having unbuckled
his seatbelt and now leaning heavily on the stewardess call button.
"You asked me for the time." Trish said with an annoyingly calm smile.
"Why you- Jesus Christ, that thing's fucking cold!" Jericho said, dabbing frantically at the stain on
his pants with the plane blanket. Yeah, not too bright, but I guess we can't blame the guy at this
moment.
A stewardess finally arrived. "Can I help you, sir?" she asked.
"Are you god-freakin' blind???" Jericho yelled, shifting his center of anger away from Trish for a
moment. "Can't you see that I've got a problem here?? Why the hell else would I call you?? To
have a chat?? Get me some paper towels… and a new blanket, pronto!!" he roared.
By now a bunch of the other superstars had started laughing. Jericho caught sight of Crash snicker-
ing as inconspicuously as he could. It wasn't good enough, though.
"You think this is funny, Elroy??" he snapped at him.
"Now come on, it was my fault, don't take it out on Crash." Trish admonished as the stewardess
left to get some paper towels. "Do you have a spare change of pants or something?"
"No I do not have a spare change of pants." Jericho told her. "Somehow I didn't think I would be
getting doused by your mango juice from hell."
"Well, we've got to get you out of those wet pants." Trish said reasonably. She stood up, cleared
her throat and spoke in a loud voice. "Everybody, Jericho seems to have wet his pants. Does
anybody have a pair that they can lend him for the time being?"
"Goddamnit, do you mind keeping your voice down??" Jericho hissed at her.
"Why? You were loud enough a while ago." She pointed out.
"I had freezing cold juice poured onto my genitalia!" Jericho snapped at her.
It was amazing that Trish still managed to keep a straight face after that. She simply turned
back to the others. "Please, anyone? He's freezing his balls off here."
That was enough for the Hardy brothers. They both broke into a fresh burst of laughter, clearly
audible even from where Jericho and Trish were sitting.
Jericho was stopped from yelling at them as well by Rikishi. The Big Man had stood up (with
Edge getting out of the way this time) and retrieved something from his hand carry that had
been stuffed into the overhead bin. "Here, Chris." He offered with a smile. "I've got an extra
pair. Just don't stretch it out, okay?" he held out an enormous pair of baggy white pants in
Jericho's direction. PHAT Wear.
"Give him one of your matching thongs while you're at it." Bradshaw snickered.
"Thanks but no thanks, Rockachichi." Jericho said. "I'll find something else."
Rikishi shrugged. "Your choice, dude." He went back to his seat.
At that moment the stewardess from earlier came back. "It took you long enough." Jericho
practically snarled at her, grabbing the paper towels she held out.
"Yeah, hi, listen, you wouldn't happen to have an extra pair of men's trousers lying around,
would you?" Trish asked her. "Something Jericho's size?"
"Stratus, you've done enough, just shut up." Jericho hissed at her.
"Hey, I feel responsible, I'm trying to help you out here." Trish told him. She turned back to
the stewardess with a smile. "So, any ideas?"
The stewardess looked Jericho over. "I'm sorry, but I don't think we've got anything for men
in his size." She said apologetically. "Though we do have a colleague about as big as him,
maybe one of her skirts would be able to…"
"Don't even think about it!!" Jericho cut her off abruptly.
"Hey Rock, you're somewhere around Jericho's size." Kurt suggested suddenly. "I know you
always seem to have spare pairs of pants everywhere you go. Why don't you lend Jericho one?"
The Rock raised his eyebrow at him. "Are you serious, Kurt? The Rock would sooner trade
places with Ivory." Then he thought about what he said. "Okay, maybe the Rock wouldn't go
that far…"
"Chris…" Trish still had that smile on her face.
"Would you please SHUT the HELL UP??" Jericho snapped at her. "I'm not wearing a skirt that
belongs to some oversized female flight attendant."
Trish turned back to the stewardess. "I guess that's a no. Thanks for your help."
"No problem." The flight attendant said before leaving.
As they continued to bicker, the pyro-technician seated three rows up looked at his seatmate
in surprise. Stone Cold was holding up three fingers. "Three." He said in a low growl, which
wasn't too drunk but not entirely sober either.
"Three?" he said nervously.
"I'm missing three beers." Austin said in that same voice.
The pyro-technician blinked, surprised that the Rattlesnake could still keep count.
"Yep, three." Austin repeated, looking none too happy. "And from the looks of you, I'm gues-
sing you're not behind it."
The pyro-technician breathed a sigh of relief.
Stone Cold slowly swung his head the other way, looking suspiciously at Scott Hall. Hall quickly
hid the third can he had taken from Austin from the Rattlesnake's view. Three cans weren't
enough to make him tipsy, not yet, but his face had the slightest twinge of reddish flush on it.
As Austin narrowed his eyes, the pyro-technician beside him inched away as far as he possibly
could, practically squishing himself up against the window.
Jazz banged impatiently on the restroom door. She had been standing there for about five
minutes now, which was entirely too long for anybody to spend inside an airplane comfort room.
"Whoever's in there, hurry it up!" she said loudly.
There was a scuffle inside and the door opened to reveal Brooklyn Brawler. Jazz scowled at
him. "What the hell took you so long in there?"
"Actually I didn't do anything." Brawler confessed, making Jazz want to deck him. "I just didn't
want to go back to my seat."
"Jesus Christ, Brawler." Jazz said in exasperation. She pushed him out of the way and went
inside the restroom, closing it behind her.
Brawler hung around there for a few more moments when Goldust came up. The bizarre Golden
dude blinked and looked around. "I thought Jazz was here." He said.
Brawler pointed to the closed bathroom door. "She's in there."
They waited there for a few more minutes until the door opened. Jazz stepped out and looked
at the both of them in suspicion, both of them looking back at her. "What are you two doing
out here?"
"I told you my reason." Brawler said. He jerked his head towards Goldust's direction. "He just
came along."
Jazz rolled her eyes. "Will you get back to your seat?" she said to Brawler. "It's a goddamn
plane, the Undertaker's not going to think of doing anything on it, especially after all the turbu-
lence earlier."
"Oh sure, that's easy for you to say." Brawler said sourly. "You're not the one seated next to
him."
"Fine." Jazz snapped. "You take my seat and I'll go sit beside the Undertaker. How's that to
you?"
Brawler's face lit up with renewed hope. "You'd do that for me?"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Jazz said, brushing past him. "Now go do it before I change my mind."
She turned to leave.
"Wait!" Goldust said suddenly.
Jazz and Brawler looked at him. "What??" Jazz asked impatiently.
"Actually, Jazz, I came over here wanting to talk to you." Goldust said with his best smile, making
Jazz scowl even harder. "You see, I was hoping that WE could change places so that I would get
to sit beside Booker T."
"Too late, she already made a deal with me." Brawler said quickly.
"Who're you sitting next to again?" Jazz asked Goldust.
"Ivory." He replied.
Jazz thought about it. Sticking herself and Ivory together probably wasn't for the best. In
fact, she'd go as far to say that it would be safer for everyone if she sat next to the Undertaker.
She sighed. "Fine, take my seat. But give Brawler yours."
"I can live with that." Brawler said eagerly.
Goldust nodded. "That arrangement seems best."
Jazz had no idea why she was being so nice today. Maybe it was the near death experience.
She rolled her eyes again and stalked off to claim Brawler's seat.
"She's got more balls than the average man, I'll give her that." Brawler commented when she
was out of earshot.
"Mm-hmm." Goldust said disinterestedly.
Brawler looked at him and realized that Goldust was probably one of the last people to under-
stand what being the average man meant. Man, Chuck, Billy, Goldust… they were the type
of guys in the locker room that made the other guys think twice about bending over to pick
up fallen soap in the showers. He hurried away to take the seat beside Ivory.
Let's get back to Jericho. Right now, the unfortunate Living Legend was trying in vain to
keep Trish from pulling off his pants there and then, and not for the reason people would
normally think.
"I'm telling you, Trish, don't even think about it!!" Jericho was saying, trying to keep her hands
away. Jesus, was this what they called the maternal instinct?
"Jericho, don't be such a baby!" Trish scolded him, giving him a patronizing look. "You can't stay
in those wet pants, besides there's this large and embarrassing stain on it. It makes you look
like you didn't make it to the john in time."
"Thank you for that descriptive analysis, Stratus!" Jericho snapped at her. "But I can take care
of it myself!"
"Hey Chris, I think I may have an extra pair of jogging pants!" Mick suddenly called out helpfully.
"But I'm not entirely sure when was the last time they were washed, or when I wore them for
that matter…"
"Yeah, thanks Foley." Jericho said sarcastically. "You were about as much help as Rikishi
over there."
Meanwhile, Kurt had been digging around in his hand carry bag and let out a small noise of
triumph. Rock shot him a disinterested glance. Kurt stood up with something in his hand.
"Hey Jericho, I happened to have an extra pair of jogging pants myself." He said with a smile.
"You're welcome to borrow them for now."
"Oh great." Jericho muttered.
"Hey, they're clean." Kurt defended.
Jericho looked at him, then at Trish who smiled sweetly back at him. Jericho shook his head
and groaned.
Undertaker looked up in slight surprise as Jazz took the seat beside him. He two of them
stared at each other for a split second before Taker spoke. "What happened to Brawler?"
he asked, not sounding too interested in the answer.
"We made some slight changes in the seating arrangement." Jazz said, equally as icy.
Taker said nothing after that. He wasn't too happy, but at least he wouldn't have a sniveling
idiot shivering beside him. What the hell did Brawler think he was going to pull, anyway? Open
the escape hatch and throw him out of the plane? Please. He had to hand it to Jazz, though.
She was one of the few divas who had managed to look him in the eye and not quake in her
boots.
"Where did this wine come from again?" Matt asked as he enjoyed his glass.
"Compliments of the 'gentleman' from across the aisle, as the stewardess who brought it so
charmingly put it." Hogan said, laughing.
The 'gentleman' across the aisle scowled as he stared at the empty glass on his folding table.
"Any chance we can get another?" Jeff asked with a grin.
"Watch it, Hardy boy." X-Pac growled at him.
Beside him, Kevin Nash actually laughed. Maybe he was tipsy himself, but of what we have no
idea. "Don't let it get to you, X-Pac." He said. "Besides, just be happy that you're not the most
humiliated guy on the plane yet." He snickered as he took a sip of his drink.
Speaking of that guy, he was currently in the bathroom changing, with Trish hovering at the
door. She knocked on it. "Are you done?"
"No, mother, and you can't come in." Jericho's annoyed voice came from inside.
She knocked again, patiently. Whether she was really feeling guilty of spilling her drink all over
him or knew exactly what to do to tick him off, Jericho didn't really know, but she was doing
a hell of a good job doing it. "Come on, Jericho. Let's get those wet pants to a stewardess so
she can take care of it for you."
There was a moment of silence. Trish grew impatient this time. She knocked again. "Chris?
Is something wrong?"
"I'm not coming out." Jericho said in a quiet voice.
"What? Could you say that again?"
"I'm not coming out." Jericho said, this time a little bit louder.
"And why not?"
"Trust me, if you're looking at what I'm seeing right now, you wouldn't want me out there either."
Jericho answered.
"It can't be that bad."
"Oh, it's bad."
"What's wrong with him now?" Lillian Garcia came up suddenly, indicating the closed door.
"He won't come out." Trish said with a shrug. "Says that it looks to horrible."
Lillian rolled her eyes. "What is it about men and their looks?"
"I know, I have no idea either." Trish agreed.
"Oh shut up, both of you." Jericho said from inside. "Vivian? Is that you?"
"It's Lillian." She told him.
"Whatever." Jericho said. "Anyway, I'm telling you, there is no way I'm going to go out in public
looking like this. I mean I thought it looked bad enough on that dork Kurt Angle, but wholly shit…"
"Jericho, just open the door!" Trish said edgily.
Another muted curse came out of Jericho's mouth before he reached over and pulled the door
open. Both women at the door looked him up and down, Lillian with a hand on her mouth to hide
her grin while Trish simply had this smile of incredulity and delight on her face.
"That's right, laugh it up, ladies." Jericho growled.
You guys know how Kurt looks like in those really weird jogging pants of his, right? The ones
that are a little short so that it reaches only to around the ankles and bunches up somewhere
around the hips. Imagine it on Jericho. Yes, are you guys done laughing? Okay then; let's get
back to the story.
"It's not so bad." Trish said, trying not to giggle as she did.
"Yeah right." Jericho retorted. "I can practically feel Kirk's dork-ness seeping into me via these
godawful pants."
"It's just for the rest of the flight." Lillian pointed out.
"Yeah, but then he has to get to his seat first!" Trish exclaimed, finally bursting out into laughter.
Lillian soon joined her.
Jericho growled something unintelligible at them then brushed past them. He tried not to think
of his hilarious get up as he stepped into the aisle and started to walk back to his seat.
The first person react was Paul Heyman. He was busy reading the in-flight magazine and stuf-
fing peanuts into him mouth when Jericho walked past stiffly. Heyman stopped in the middle
of popping another peanut into his mouth and promptly began to gag on it. Jericho pretended
not to notice as Brock Lesnar had to get up and perform the Heimlich on the choking Heyman.
"Wholly shit, that ranks somewhere up with you wearing lingerie on my bed." Booker T snickered
to Goldust.
"I didn't look that bad." Goldust said.
"Oh it, was bad." Booker told him.
"Not a word, Edgeward." Jericho growled at Edge, who looked up with Rikishi as he passed by.
"Not to worry, I'm speechless." Edge said, staring at him with the same expression Trish had on
her face when Jericho had opened the door.
Rob Van Dam, in the meantime, had burst out laughing. "Now I've seen everything." He chortled
to Michael Cole, who was trying not to laugh himself.
"Not a bad fit, Jericho!!" Mick called from the other side of the plane, Triple H laughing in the
seat beside him.
"Why's everybody laughing?" Kurt asked. "I think it looks good on him."
Rock raised his eyebrow at him for the nth time during this flight. "Sometimes the Rock wonders
about you, Kurt." He said. "The Rock really does."
Lita had stood up in her place with her camera in hand. Jericho saw her and stopped, holding a
hand out. "Hey, don't even think about it, Red." He told her.
"Chris, in the duration of this flight I've gotten pictures of Jeff cuddling up to Matt, the Rock trying
not to squeeze the life out of his seatmate, Test pretending not to read over Hurricane's shoulder,
a bunch of you guys resisting to break out in fights, Heyman ogling all the stewardesses and count-
less others. I can't not take a picture of you in this situation, it's too good to miss." Lita grinned.
"So smile, Jericho!" she said, as she happily took his picture before he could protest.
Jericho quickly made his way to his seat and sat down in a huff. Of all the places to be mortified,
it had to be at least thirty thousand miles above solid land. He watched as Trish sauntered over
to their row and sat down.
"I left your pants with a flight attendant." She told him.
"I'll get you for this, Stratus." He told her glumly.
Trish simply smiled at him. "We'll see about that."
It was quiet for a total of five whole minutes except for murmurs until the PA system switched on.
Ah, you thought it was broken, didn't you? Nope, it was still functioning, and the pilot's voice came
through.
"Well, here's some good news for you people." The pilot said cheerily. "We've begun our descent.
The journey's about to end, we expect to be landing in about thirty minutes."
"Assuming no one has gone about ripping each other's throats out, although some of you are no
doubt drunk, hysterical or soaking wet, we'd like to ask you to gather up your things as soon as
now." The co-pilot spoke up. "Oh, and buckle up your belts."
"Yeah, I think it's only fair to warn you that our landings are usually pretty bumpy." The pilot
said, making more than a few of their passengers groan and squirm in their seats. The PA system
switched off.
Hurricane was jolted out of light sleep by the PA system, and he went about dutifully buckling
himself up. He looked around in alarm when he noticed that his bag had disappeared. "What the…?"
A quick glance at his seatmate cleared things up. Test was seated, hunched up in his seat sip-
ping a glass of soda while reading one of his Marvel comics, not the one that he had handed to
him a while ago. His bag was with Test too, opened. "Citizen Test?"
"Hey, I'm just going to finish this, okay?" Test told him, barely looking up.
Hurricane blinked and shook his head with a shrug.
Ric Flair looked around. There was still no sign of his son. He had a good idea of where he
was by now, though, and he hoped that he hadn't met up with Vince. As he buckled up his seat-
belt he turned to look around one last time. Brawler was now seated beside Ivory and no longer
two shades whiter than he actually was. Stone Cold Steve Austin and Scott Hall were giving each
other death stares, which made him very uncomfortable. He hoped that those two would hold
off getting into a fight at least until the plane touched down. Torrie looked annoyed at the fact
that Kidman and Tajiri were shooting hostile looks at each other around her. Jericho was sit-
ting sullenly, obviously very much subdued while Trish smirked beside him, delighted that she
had managed to squash his ego for at least an hour. Flair hadn't wanted to admit it but he had
heartily joined along with the rest of the superstars as they laughed at Jericho's mishap. Kane
looked aeons better. Perfect was still smiling, with Venis not minding him in the least. He
found Jazz seated beside the Undertaker, neither of them interested in striking up a conver-
sation with the other. Rob Van Dam had blessedly stopped chugging down glass after glass of
orange juice. William Regal had tightly bundled himself up in his jacket, not making eye contact
with the APA lest he be suckered into another game.
Flair settled back into his seat. He was so glad that this ride was coming to an end.
And the plane dipped lower.
***
Pyper: I can't believe I let you do that to Jericho.
Azrael: Eh, he'll live.
Pyper: *Sighs.* Can you believe that we're so close to finishing this fanfic? I see a light at the
end of the tunnel!!
Azrael: *Gives her a weird look.* Right, whatever. I have a feeling that the last chapter is going
to be the longest. It's easy wrapping up everything.
Pyper: You'll manage.
Azrael: Excuse me?
Pyper: We'll manage.
Azrael: No, you said I would manage. I swear to God that you better help with this final chapter
or I'm hiding your stash of WWE magazines from you forever.
Pyper: *Shrieks.* You wouldn't!!
Azrael: Hope you all enjoyed the chapter!
