Angel Dust

A/N: The more I write this story, the more I grow to love it. Let me know if you're feeling the same way. Hell, if you're not feeling the same way - let me know that, too. I welcome your thoughts, no matter what they may be. I don't own 'em - Enjoy!

"Please tell me you don't need more time," Dave sighed, flinging his massive frame onto the bed. Flopping back, he ran his hands over his face and looked at his watch again. "Princess, it's a movie! It's not the Black and White Ball," he reminded.

Rolling her eyes, Courtney finished applying her lipstick and turned on the seat of her vanity. "Lover, every time I'm out on your arm, it's an event," she winked, standing from the vanity and smoothing her hands over her jeans.

"Cute," Dave responded, groaning as she leaned over him and brushed her lips against his before pulling away quickly and smirking. "Can we go now?"

Nodding, she went to the dresser and began to search. "As soon as I find some earrings."

Standing, Dave moved to his girlfriend and wrapped his arms around her. "Try these," he whispered in her ear as he bent low and held his hand in front of her face.

They were beautiful, the teardrop diamonds he had given her that night. He had given her more jewelry than she had known what to do with over the course of their lives together, but those earrings were always her favorite.

"You're friend's here, Sweetie," Randy smiled from the doorway as he watched his girlfriend getting ready for her night out with Trish.

Sometimes, the term "girlfriend" almost made him laugh. The lived in the same house, fucked around sometimes, and went out together if he didn't have to work. But otherwise, their bond was as it had always been – friends.

Smiling, Courtney ran her hands over the front of her pants. "How do I look?"

With a nod of approval, Randy swept his eyes over her thin frame. He couldn't be sure, because he knew he wasn't a very good judge of that kind of thing, but he was pretty convinced she had lost weight since Dave's death – and she hadn't had much to lose in the first place. Even so, her faded jeans hugged her hips tightly, and the little flowing tank top she sported under her blazer flattered her. And the way her blonde locks flowed over her shoulders was breathtaking.

"Amazing, as usual," he winked as she sat on the edge of the bed to zip her stiletto boot.

Walking toward him, Courtney forced another smile and put a hand on his hip. Staring at him with wide eyes, she sighed. "Are you sure this is okay with you?"

Randy considered her for a moment and then shrugged. "If you don't wanna go, Court, just tell Trish that I made other plans. I'll be the bad guy. I don't care." It was evident in her expression that she was rethinking the Girls' Night Out.

Shaking her head, Courtney tried to tell herself it was silly. Trish was sweet, and she wanted to make a new friend. She wanted someone to talk to – someone who wasn't Randy. And this gallery, a new modern art house in the Village, had been receiving great buzz for weeks. She really wanted to see it.

But it had been more than a year since she had entered a room with photographers and reporters. It had been over a year since she had faced a television camera, and she hadn't loved it so much back then, either. But Dave had been there, and things never seemed so bad when he was there.

He'll be right there with you, Courtney. No worries. He would want you to enjoy this. Even as she told herself, she felt the warming, overwhelming presence that always seemed to settle on her shoulder when she needed it the most. To admit that she believed he was still watching over her, that he still stood beside her when she was hurting or scared, seemed silly to her. He was dead, after all. But that comforting sense that washed over her each time she was scared or hurting made it difficult to believe that he was truly gone.

"Thank you," she smiled finally, dropping a soft kiss on Randy's lips. "But I think it'll be good for me."

He nodded and walked her to the door, watching until she had hailed a cab and disappeared from sight. The designer clothes hung perfectly from her frame. The make up was perfectly applied. But the events of the last year had stolen some of her glimmer. He just hoped that tonight would be a step closer to reclaiming the old Courtney. The Courtney he so badly wanted to fall in love with.

"Oh my God, you're so mean," Courtney laughed as she looked from Trish's twisted expression to the painting before them.

"What?" Trish asked, her shoulders shaking as tried to stifle the laughter threatening to disrupt the casual mood of the evening. "Tell me you weren't thinking the same thing," she finally managed to say. "Tell me you looked at this atrocity and thought 'This is a damn work of art.' I mean, I'm no connoisseur or anything, but seriously, I think my little brother vomited better art than this."

There had been photographers, and there had been reporters. Some had asked her stop and pose for photos with her friend. A few had asked, off the record, how she was doing and where she had been for the last year. But, much to her surprise and elation, none of them had asked her anything specifically about Dave. Maybe they had forgotten him already. More likely, they just knew this wasn't the time or place for the questions. And for that she was grateful.

Turning to scan the room, Trish's eyes fell on a sad-looking woman nursing a champagne flute in the corner. She was there to hang with Courtney, but that woman clearly needed someone to talk to. Feeling a slight tug, she shrugged her shoulders. Dammit, Dave, I'm not here to babysit her. She'll be fine by herself for ten minutes.

Trish cleared her throat and smiled at Courtney. "I think I see someone I know over there. Do you mind if I go say hello?"

Courtney shook her head. "Of course not," she smiled as Trish promised to be right back and then scurried off.

She walked from one painting to another before stopping short and gasping. The piece before her was, quite possibly, the most brilliant thing she had ever seen. It was abstract, full of dark colors and harsh lines. Without warning, a memory crashed in on her, nearly causing her knees to buckle.

"Dave? I'm home!" Courtney called as she slammed the front door of the apartment after a late night at the office. When she received no answer, she called again. "David?" That was strange. His car was parked out front.

After searching the kitchen, his office, and the bedroom, Courtney noticed that the door of the bathroom was slightly ajar. Her heart raced as she pushed the door open and found him there. Lying on the floor, a band around his forearm, Dave rested his head against the bathtub and stared at the wall. For a split second, she feared he might be dead.

"DAVE!" She screamed and dropped to her knees beside him, untying the band and grabbing his face. "Can you hear me?"

He nodded and licked his lips. "I think I overdid it," he smirked slightly, rolling his head until it rested against her neck. "I missed you."

Reaching for his wrist, Courtney put her thumb over his pulse and allowed herself to relax. It was slow, but steady. Cradling him close to her chest, she rocked him slightly. "You could have died, jack ass," she laughed through her tears.

With another nod, he leaned his weight against her, causing Courtney to lose her balance and fall hard against the bathtub. She made a grunting sound in his ear, but didn't complain. She never complained. "You deserve someone better than me."

Though she sometimes hated to admit that she agreed, Courtney just shook her head. "Shh," she silenced him with a kiss on his temple. Splayed across the bathroom floor, she knew they made a pitiful picture. Her skirt rode up her thighs as she stretched her legs out in front of her. His dark skin was pale as he rested in her arms, his position nearly fetal as he curled further into her embrace. "You need to rest."

He would forget this moment in the morning. He would go about his life as he always had, tempting fate and pretending that he was invincible. He would snort more powder, swallow more pills, and stick himself with more syringes, even though he knew it scared the hell out of her. He was an addict, and she did deserve better. But it didn't matter.

"I love you," she whispered as he began to babble something about the prism of the fluorescent light overheard.

"I don't think anyone's looked at that thing for more than thirty seconds all night," a deep voice interrupted her thoughts.

Unable to tear her eyes from the painting, Courtney shook her head. "It is tragically, painfully perfect," she breathed.

The voice chuckled slightly, but said nothing else for a few moments. Finally, "I think it would look perfect on the wall in your shop."

After a double-take, she stumbled slightly. The man from the coffee shop. With the blond hair. And the perfect teeth. "Is this yours?"

Shaking his head, he looked from the Courtney to the painting. "It's yours. If you want it," he offered.

Courtney laughed and shook her head. "I couldn't. . . I mean, I'm sure I couldn't afford it," she started, knowing it was a lie. She was sure of only one thing – that she couldn't bear looking at that painting every day. "Thank you for the offer, though." Stopping for a moment, she smiled shyly. "I'm sorry – I don't think I've ever asked your name."

"John," he winked, extending his hand. "My family calls me Johnny, though," he turned his head to the side and studied the radiant woman at his side. "And my friends call me Nitro."

She found his grin infectious as she turned her attention from the painting and hitched her purse higher on her shoulder. "Why Nitro? You a professional wrestler or something?"

With a slight blush, he shook his head, his long hair falling over his shoulders. "Long story. Let's just say it was a college nickname that stuck." Courtney nodded. "I mean it, Courtney," he nodded toward the painting again. "The exhibit is up until the end of the month, and then it's all yours. I wouldn't even charge you all that much."

With a coy glint in her eyes, she let her gaze drift from his boots, over his brown chords, to the light blue dress shirt he wore over his pants. Finally resting on the expression in his eyes, she asked, "Name your price, Nitro."

"Dinner," he responded without hesitation.

But before Courtney could politely decline, Trish returned. "Alright, sorry about that," she gasped. "Line for the ladies room – outta control," she huffed as though she had just run across the room.

"You okay?" Courtney asked, eyeing her friend suspiciously.

"I'm fine," she smiled at Nitro and then at Courtney. "Actually, I'm feeling a little nauseous. I think it was those little hot dog things on the sticks?"

Nodding, Courtney turned back to Nitro one last time. "I'll see you at the shop," she waved, leading Trish out of ear shot. She wasn't sure if she was grateful to her new friend for getting her out of an uncomfortable situation, or royally pissed off.