Angel Dust

A/N: As always, thank you guys so much for your reviews. You've all been great, and I appreciate it more than you could know. I don't own Dave, Trish, or Randy in name, though their personalities are kind of mine in this story. Enjoy!

"Isn't this a rerun?" Trish's bubbly voice sounded from Dave's doorway as he sat in his recliner, nursing a beer and watching the platform in the center of the room.

With a slight nod, he motioned for her to enter and sat his bottle on the end table. "Never gets old, though," he admitted as Trish flopped herself into the other chair, Courtney's chair.

Biting back the growl that threatened to escape each time she made herself comfortable in that seat, Dave returned his attention to the image before him. He had been slightly disappointed when, upon returning to the States, Courtney had encouraged Randy to take a position with the network that would move the couple out of DC and into the heart of Manhattan.

In his master plan, Courtney was working toward becoming a Senator again, so when she purchased a small storefront in the East Village, seemingly content to stay away from politics for awhile, he had cringed slightly. But she seemed content with the routine life she was settling into, so he had decided to let it go for the time being. She would realize that running an Italian pastry and coffee shop wasn't what she needed soon enough.

"Don't you have to be going soon?" Dave asked Trish, barely turning his head.

Nodding, the blonde stood and threw her hair into a high ponytail. "Yes, I do. It's about time for me to be getting off of work," she winked, watching as Courtney made change for the customers at her counter.

For three weeks, she had visited "Ronzio Dello Zucchero" daily, striking up conversations with Courtney and getting to know the women she was charged with helping. Not surprisingly, Trish found herself as drawn to the young woman as Courtney seemed to her.

They talked about little things. Trish learned that the name of the café was Italian for Sugar Buzz. Courtney was born and raised in Vermont, a state that she sometimes missed, especially during ski season. Her favorite breakfast was a chocolate-chip biscotti, dipped into a steaming double-shot espresso latte with light whipped cream.

Over time, Trish had also learned the not-so-little things. Courtney was dating her late husband's best friend. She felt that moving to New York had been a good way to escape the constant reminders of the city she had shared with her husband. And sometimes she missed girls' nights out.

"Trish," Dave spoke evenly as he watched Courtney take an order from a young man with blonde hair and perfect teeth. "It's time," he said.

With a roll of her eyes, Trish pulled a stocking cap over her ears and huffed. "She's getting there, Dave. Don't push," she warned. When he turned and glared at her, Trish felt a slight chill in the air. "Okay, fine. Today. I'll do it today," she conceded, moving out the door.

Watching the images on the platform, he fought the urge to reach out and slap this smiley motherfucker chatting his wife up. Fortunately, the tiny bell over the door "dinged" and Trish made her entrance into the image before he could do something regrettable.

"Hey, woman," Courtney greeted as Trish sidled up to the counter and ordered her usual. "How was work?"

Launching into a long story about broken copy machines and inept technicians, Trish watched Courtney's features as she sat the steaming mug of espresso on the counter and then leaned forward in interest. She was beautiful, and Trish thought for a moment about all the things Dave must have loved about this woman.

As she neared the end of her story, she noticed that Courtney's dark gaze had drifted over her shoulder. "Whatcha lookin' at?" Trish asked, turning to rest her eyes on the small, round table by the window.

The young man from earlier was bent over a book, sipping his coffee and concentrating on the words he was soaking in. Shaking her head, Courtney tore her stare from the man and smiled again. "Nothing. I'm sorry. Something outside," she stumbled over her words.

Biting the inside of her lip, Trish refused to think about the angry words Dave would have for her if she allowed Courtney to dwell on any man, other than Randy, for too long. "So, I was wondering, Court," she smiled and reached a hand out to cover her new friend's. "Are you busy Saturday night?"

With the raise of her left eyebrow, the corner of Courtney's lip twitched into a sly smirk. "Are you asking me on a date, Trish?"

Returning the smile with a coy one of her own, Trish withdrew her hand and pushed off the counter. "Depends. Do you think you can get away from Randy for a night?" As Courtney considered the offer, Trish fished a tip out of her coat pocket and laid it on the wooden counter. "Art Gallery opening up the street," she smiled, nodding at the card she had left with the five dollar bill. "Think about it – I'll ask you again Friday."

Even as she exited the shop, Dave found a grin tickling his own lips. Courtney wanted a friend, and now she had one. Now all he had to do was make sure that Trish got close enough to convince her that her that life with Randy would only be made better if she followed her dreams to the Senate.

Sure, Trish had told him he was being controlling and bossy. But Dave knew his wife better than anyone knew her. He took great pride in the fact that she still wanted him, still moaned his name in her sleep. He loved that she still spoke to him in the back room of the shop as she went about her daily duties, and that she still reacted to his soft touches and reassuring embraces.

But he couldn't make her happy if she didn't suck it up and do what was best for her. He hated that he needed Trish to get that message across, but he wasn't above using her to help his Princess find happiness again.

And to make her stop smiling at that punk-ass kid with the perfect teeth.