Angel Dust

Orton,

First of all, enclosed you'll find a hundred bucks. I'm sure I owe you for something. And if I don't, give it to charity or something. And yes, I'm laughing even as I write that sentence.

I don't know what you're doing now, though if it doesn't involve running the network, I'm disappointed. You're on the fast track, Kid. And I know I never say sappy shit like this now, but since I won't be around by the time you read this, I can afford a little "mush." You're a damn good producer, and you deserve to be at the top of the ladder. I hope this letter finds you perched there comfortably.

But you know that's not why I'm writing. I need a favor from ya, man. It involves Courtney and the request is simple: Find her. Look at the villa in Italy. Make sure she's doing well.

If she is, great and thanks for checking. If she's not, bring her home. Make her happy, Orton. You spent three years watching me work, learning your craft. But more importantly, you saw me love her. You know how much she means to me. And you're the only one who will care for her the way it needs to be done.

We both know there's not a lot of people I can trust in the world. But I am entrusting you with the single most important thing in the world. Don't fuck it up.

I'll be watching you,

Dave

Randy Orton clutched the envelope containing Dave's letter in his left hand, and loosely held a yellow rose in his right. The dark sunglasses he had worn to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun on the Mediterranean were now pushed onto the top of his head, and the sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled to his elbows.

Knocking firmly on the door of the villa, Randy cast a glance over his faded jeans and noticed a scuff on the toe of his shoe. Rolling his eyes, he shrugged it off and focused on the task at hand. If he was honest, he still didn't really know why he was even there.

Because that crazy motherfucker still has me runnin' errands for him, Randy reminded himself, raising his hand to knock again.

Before his fist came down the second time, the door flew open and he gasped. She was as beautiful as ever. "Hey," he smiled.

Drawing a deep breath, Courtney stared into the bluest eyes she had ever known, her jaw dropping. "Well, if it isn't Randy fucking Orton," she laughed, shaking off the initial shock and opening the front door for him.

Stepping inside the villa, Randy took a moment to skim the room. It wasn't all that different from the apartment she had shared with Dave in DC. A little roomier, and more sparsely decorated, but color pallet was similar, with it's rich burgundy and warm gold tones. And the sculptures that occupied empty spaces on the floor, paintings on the walls, and photos on the end tables were all familiar.

"Not bad, huh?" Courtney asked from behind him as he turned on his heel and smiled down at her.

She hadn't changed – physically. Her blonde hair was a bit longer, flowing over her shoulders in waves, but her style and grace were ever-present, just as they always had been. There was a distance behind her dark eyes, but he had expected that.

Extending the rose to her, he said, "Happy Anniversary, Court."

With a good-natured grin, she accepted the flower and took it to the kitchen, setting it in water before returning. "I see he got to you, too," she smirked at the envelope in Randy's hand, sinking to an oversized chair and nodding toward the couch.

Setting the envelope at his side, Randy lowered his lean, muscular frame to the couch and crossed one ankle over his opposite knee. Re-adjusting the sleeves of his shirt, he settled back and watched as she lit a cigarette and waited for his explanation.

He withdrew the money and flashed her a smile. "For once in his sorry life, he paid up," was all he could manage before a round of emotion he wasn't expecting smacked him in the gut. Courtney diverted her gaze, exhaling a long line of smoke as she allowed him to collect himself. "He sent this, too," he finally said, withdrawing a dvd from the package.

Nodding to the television, Courtney finished her cigarette and waited for Randy to start the film. She was expecting something extraordinary. Perhaps a message from him. It wouldn't be out of the question after the letters. But what roared to life when Randy pressed "play" was beyond anything she could have imagined.

There, in Technicolor Surround Sound, was Dave, larger than life. Wearing a white tank top and holding a bottle of Guiness, he grinned like an idiot as he walked through a raucous crowd of inebriated partiers. He kept throwing looks over his shoulder, boasting to the camera about an interview he had just secured with Russian President, Vladimir Putin.

"For fuck's sake," Randy's voice was heard as Dave continued through the crowded halls of the house. "You're the only fucker I know who gets wasted and talks about world leaders," the young man laughed off-camera.

Courtney laughed at that, pressing the butt of her cigarette into the glass tray on the arm of her chair. "Remember the night he smoked that bowl on the balcony in Amsterdam? Fucker spent three hours talking about the socio-economic oppression of post-Apartheid South Africa." Randy smiled and nodded. "He was the most fucked up basehead I've ever met," she laughed to herself again.

Dave opened a heavy oak door at the end of the hallway. "There's my Princess," he beamed with pride as the camera panned to a couch in the corner.

Courtney's appearance that night was anything but "politically correct." Dressed in a barely-there halter top and a micro-mini, she lounged lazily under the haze of the joint between her fingers. "Hey, boys," she greeted, her husky voice dripping with sensual invitation. "I thought you were coming right back."

Kneeling on the couch, Dave hovered above her and dropped a light kiss on her forehead. "I'm back now," was the only apology he offered. Thrusting his hand into the back pocket of his dark jeans, he produced a small baggy of pure, white powder. "With the good shit."

She smiled and kissed him passionately, her tongue running over his bottom lip until he opened his mouth and allowed her access. By the time Randy cleared his throat and lowered the camera, Courtney's knees were spread and Dave was cradled comfortably between them.

"Alright. Find me if you need a ride home, okay?" Randy laughed from the television, only his shoes visible on the screen.

"Wait," Dave's voice insisted. "I want you to film something for me."

There was a laugh from Randy as he raised the camera and pointed it at himself. Courtney smiled at the man on her couch as he appeared on the television. With a knowing grin, Randy shrugged his shoulders.

"I just wanna point out, for the record, that this kinky motherfucker is clearly blasted if he thinks I'ma forego a dick sucking from one of those eager bitches out there just to play his cameraman for some fucked up porn." He turned the focus back to Dave. "Fuck you, Crackhead."

Dave was shaking his head and sitting back against the arm over the couch. With his hands on Courtney's thighs, he pulled her toward him, until she was laying flat. Lifting the bag for her to see, he licked his lips and winked at her. "Wanna help me cut this line, Princess?"

Turning doubtful eyes to the camera, Courtney shook her head. She was fucked, but not enough to film either of them engaged in illegal activity. "Not on tape," she told him.

But "no" wasn't a word Dave understood. Both she and Randy watched in rapt attention as Dave slid his hand up her skirt, his fingers disappearing from view of the camera as Courtney's eyes drifted shut and she emitted a loud hiss.

"I promise to keep this one all for myself, Princess. Nobody will ever see it, okay?" Biting her bottom lip, she focused on what his fingers were doing to her clit. "Just this once?" She nodded as he withdrew his fingers and began to sprinkle the white powder against her toned stomach. His gaze never left her enraptured face as he held his hand out toward the camera.

An arm, covered in jagged black ink, came into view, as though Randy had been ready for the request. With concentration etched on his features, Dave began to run the flat edge of a credit card over Courtney's abdomen, forming a thin line of powder that started in the middle of her stomach, and ended at her navel.

Finally satisfied with his creation, Dave winked at the camera and then hovered over Courtney once more. "Be still, Princess," he whispered, softly massaging her thighs while he dropped a few light kisses on the tender skin below her navel. He then bent low and placed a finger to the side of his nose.

Slowly, deliberately, he snorted the line. And even as she watched it two years later, Courtney could still feel the tip of his nose, and his upper lip, brushing her skin as he moved. Squeezing her thighs together in the chair, she found herself drawn to the way he groaned, "So good," as he sat back from her and offered her a smile.

Without warning, he gathered her legs and put them over his shoulders. Turning back to Randy, he ordered, "Keep your focus on her face."

The room around them was silent, filled only with Courtney's moans and groans from the speakers as her image on the screen twisted in pleasure. "Damn, that tongue," she mused in a slight whisper.

As she screamed out, and then laid back peacefully on the couch, Randy's voice was heard. "Are you done?" Dave smirked at the camera, and then the screen went dark.

Shifting against a tightness he wished to hell wasn't there, Randy met the eye of the woman who had just turned him on without intent. "So, how's it goin'?" he asked.

Laughing, Courtney lit another cigarette and shrugged. "I miss him, Orton." Her voice cracked. "A lot."

It was in that moment that Randy knew exactly why he was there. She had spent the last year running from everything that reminded her of Dave. Though she would deny it – insist that she was immersing herself in all of the dreams they had shared, he could see it. He was there because she was hiding in the one place on the planet they had never seen together. And more than Courtney wanted to remember Dave, she wanted the pain of remembering to stop.

Nodding, Randy stared at his knee. "Me, too," he admitted as she furiously blinked back a barrage of tears.

He knew why Dave had sent him there. He knew his mission. But he wasn't entirely convinced that he was the man for the job, or that he wanted to be. He knew they were both crippled by that man's absence, and he wasn't sure he was any stronger than she was at the moment.

With an expression of deep concern, Dave watched as Randy moved to the chair and cradled Courtney in his arms. For a year, he had watched them both put on their strongest faces to enter the worlds in which they now existed. And then he had watched them come home and crumble, sometimes openly weeping at his memory.

"Stop fucking crying and get the fuck over it," he mumbled.

From behind him, a soothing voice spoke. "There might be a way, Mr. Batista, for you to help them."