Chris Jericho whistled to himself as he made his way out of the arena. He hadn't socialized much that evening, as he'd called Trish on his cell phone and she said she wasn't feeling well. More or less a loner, the blond man was okay with his solitude.

It was fairly late, and it was dark as he emerged from the large building. He carried his bag over one shoulder and trekked to his rental car. As he wended his way through the parking lot, he decided he would call Trish again and see if he could go visit her back at the hotel - if for nothing else just to make sure she was all right.

A slight rustling sound came nearby, causing Chris to glance over his shoulder. He had been one of the last superstars to leave the arena, so his guard was definitely up. A fan lingering and approaching him for a picture and his autograph would be okay, but what if someone had the idea to try and mug him? He felt his body tense up.

"Who's there?" he called. He had his keys in hand as he stood just beside the rental, but he still didn't see anyone. He glanced around and began to wonder if he'd imagined it all. Or maybe it was just the wind.

Jericho shrugged one shoulder as he ignored the odd feeling and turned back to unlock the driver's door. However, that was when someone snuck out of their hiding place and suddenly grabbed him! He found himself being tackled to the ground. His bag flew off his shoulder, but somehow, he still had a good grip on his keys.

"What the fuck...?" He grew angry when he realized who'd attacked him. It was dark, but he was able to make out the guy's face in the shadows. "Edge?"

"Yeah, it's me... What in hell's name did you do?!"

Jericho grunted in pain and gave the tall Canadian a shove.

"Get the hell off me, Junior!" He was suddenly in a royally shitty mood. As the other man seemingly obliged his demand, Y2J suddenly felt himself hoisted to his feet in a most unceremonious manner.

"You son of a bitch!" Edge shouted.

Jericho frowned, confused, but was perfectly capable - and ready - of defending himself if need be.

"What the fuck has gotten into you?!" he yelled.

"I think I should be asking you a slightly different question - like who the fuck have you gotten into?!" The Canadian glared at him, one arm up and held back, poised to punch him.

Chris was furious at this point. Forcibly, he freed himself of the other man's grip and stood toe-to-toe with him, glaring straight into his manic green eyes.

"And since when does that concern you, jerky?" He stared at the man he'd actually considered his friend for a few seconds but then thought he understood. Beginning to chuckle, he spoke again. "Come on, you can't seriously think I'm messing around with Lita! Edge, you know me, and I'm not the kind of guy who-"

His words were abruptly cut off as the taller, younger and angry man grabbed him by the shirt collar again.

"Don't you play dumb with me... you know I'm not talking about Lita," the man dangerously growled.

"Huh?" Jericho gave him a more perplexed look than ever. His brows knit together in a frown as he shook his head. "I honestly have no clue as to what you're talking about, jerky."

Edge glared into the shorter man's clear blue eyes.

"Does the name 'Trish Stratus' mean anything to you?"

Again, Jericho looked confused.

"It does, but I swear, I haven't done anything to hurt her, if that's what you're thinking." Once again, he removed the Canadian's hands from his shirt collar and straightened up, facing the other man. "I think you'd better tell me what this is all about - now... And stop grabbing my shirt!" he shouted.

Edge softened as he studied Jericho. It seemed apparent that, just like he'd done with Christian, he'd made a big mistake in accusing him.

"You mean, you really don't know?"

"No, I don't! Tell me what the hell's happened to Trish!" Chris demanded.

Edge sighed and ran a hand through his long golden hair.

"She claimed she was raped... and she has no idea who did it."