A/N: At long last, an update. I won't bore you with the details, but I've dealt with several eye infections, a flare-up of my CFS/FMS, and most frustrating of all, a complete change to the Dvorak keyboard layout (google it) that makes typing a very slow exercise.

Believe it or not, this is likely the second last chapter. This was never meant to be a long project--just something to play around with.

Hocus Pocus

Ellie and I always let each other deal with personal stuff. So why was it that all of a sudden, I was sure I knew what was best for her?

Sure enough, Tim called me later that day and invited me out for coffee. I refused, suggesting beer instead. If I had to face the guy married to the girl I love, I sure as hell wasn't going to do it sober.

I think I was sabotaging them--no, I was sabotaging her. I knew she wasn't happy and I knew she wasn't willing (or able; I'm not sure which) to be with me and so I wasn't content to just sit back and do nothing. Maybe if I shook her world up, maybe if I turned it on its head, maybe then she'd make changes.

I was five minutes early but he was already there. He stood and shook my hand, offering up a warm smile. I couldn't help but be a little suspicious. What guy treats his wife's ex like a new best friend? Just what had Ellie told him about me, anyway?

"It's nice to finally meet one of Ellie's high school friends," he said, oblivious to my confusion. Wait--was this dude gay or something? He was being awfully... polite.

"Uh, yeah," I grunted.

"She doesn't talk much about her past," he continued.

Time to change the subject. "So, uh, what do you do? To support yourself?"

"Oh, I'm going to school. Studying journalism." He brushed off the question and I was boiling mad inside. I mean, I'd already known. But the fact that he seemed to have no guilt over relying on Ellie for money really had a way of pissing me off. Nonetheless, I had slept with his wife just nights before so I wasn't exactly in the position to lecture him.

"Oh." I didn't feel I really owed him more than one and two-word answers. After all, he'd invited me.

"So you two were close, I guess?"

Damn it. Why did he continue talking about her? This was hard enough. Yes, I wanted to talk about Ellie--but on my schedule, not his.

"I guess so." I wasn't trying. I'll admit it. And I was starting to think I should have listened to Ellie and not come at all.

"It must have been hard. I mean, sorry. I shouldn't have..." Seemed like he was having as much fun as I was. I shrugged. I didn't like him and I didn't see the point in pretending otherwise.

"So, what was Ellie like in high school? I always wish I'd known her."

"Digging for dirt?" My words were a little harsher than I intended, so I gave in and tried to sound pleasant. "El was great. Brilliant. She was quiet sometimes, but she stood up for things that she thought were important. She could cut you down in three words. And," I couldn't help but add, "she was a great kisser."

He laughed--not the reaction I was expecting. "Good for a girl, right?" I guess it was obvious I had no idea what he was talking about, so he clued me in. "I'd be jealous if I didn't know you were batting for the other team." My eyes narrowed and his laugh was more nervous than before. "Sorry. Ellie told me. I guess I shouldn't have brought it up."

Ka-ching! No wonder he hadn't been concerned about Ellie and I spending time together. I don't know if she'd hinted or outright lied, but clearly El had done a fantastic job at convincing her husband that I was some version of Marco Del Rossi.

"What else has Ellie told you?" I asked slowly. "What do you even know about her?"

"I love her--" he began weakly.

"No!" The anger was starting to get the best of me. "What do you really know? What's her favourite colour? Where does she work? Why does she look like a goddamn eighty year-old who's been to hell and back? Who the hell IS she?"

I don't know what I thought would happen--maybe that I'd knock some sense into him, or maybe that I'd get his temper going and have some vague excuse to punch him out. Instead, he remained deathly calm.

"She's Ellie Nash. She's my wife. She's never quite been the same since her father's funeral. Her favourite colour is red and she works at the local diner."

And that's when I lost it. I laughed. I laughed some more. And then I smirked and I heard myself correcting him--all the while trying to suppress my astonishment at her father's death. "Her favourite colour is baby blue. She never wears it, but it was the colour of the gem in the necklace her Dad gave her as a baby. She works at the strip joint downtown. And the other afternoon? When we went out for coffee? We went back to my hotel room and had sex."

I hated myself for it, but I couldn't wipe the self-satisfied grin from my face, even as his fist met my lip.