Angel Dust

A/N: I had a much longer note here, but I think I'm just going to suffice it to say this: your reviews have meant so much more than you can possibly know in the last few days. Life gets crazy sometimes, and we look for comfort anywhere we can find it. I am extremely blessed to have someone in my life who offers me unconditional support, and consider myself lucky to have all of you out there, reading my stuff and sending your reviews to let me know that my shit touches you, or at least keeps you entertained. So thanks for your time, and Enjoy!

For the duration of the drive from Vermont back to New York, Courtney had pep-talked herself into doing what she wanted to do. Sure, it was a scary prospect. Going after what she wanted meant people were going to get hurt, and that she might have to give a little to gain a lot. But she could do it. She deserved to give herself the life that she had always wanted. And, though she felt a little guilty for thinking it, she knew that she had earned some happiness for herself.

But decisions were easily made in the peaceful sanctuary of the car. Back at home, staring at the ceiling as Randy slept beside her, reality made everything ten times more complicated. Doubt began to creep into the corners of her mind. What if it wasn't the right decision? What if her heart couldn't be trusted? What if she just managed to fuck everything up in the process of trying to do the right thing?

Randy rolled over and slung an arm around her in his sleep, grunting slightly as he burrowed his face into the back of her neck. She could feel his warm, naked skin against his back, and the butterflies in her stomach fought for position as she settled back against his chest.

She allowed her mind to wander through time, thinking over the events in her life that had brought her to this moment. She thought about the way Randy used to look at her in the student center when they were in high school, his crystal eyes begging her to notice him, to give him a chance. She thought about the way her stomach had dropped to her toes when he walked back into her life years later, this time as Dave's assistant.

And she thought about all of the times he had helped through the most difficult of Dave's outbursts, the ones she never could have handled on her own. Sometimes he would help her drag her husband's nearly-lifeless body from the bathroom or the kitchen into the bedroom. Sometimes he would offer to make a run to Dave's dealer so that Courtney didn't have to trek to the seedy side of downtown to make a purchase.

And sometimes they would just laugh together about how absurdly ridiculous her husband could be when he was high. As one particular memory washed over Courtney, her shoulders began to shake. She was trying not to wake Randy, but it was all she could do to contain her giggles, and soon they were spilling over.

"What's so funny?" Randy mumbled against her neck.

Rolling over in his arms, Courtney smiled at his semi-conscious face. "Remember that time in Paris? When Dave was convinced you and I were sleeping together?"

Randy smiled slightly, still fighting sleep as his mind involuntarily fluttered to the moment which Courtney was referring.

It had been a long day, and tomorrow didn't look much more promising. All Randy really wanted was a hot shower and a soft bed.

Like any other business trip, Dave had already settled into his room for the night, probably snorting something to take off the edge before partying until the sun came up. And no matter how little sleep he got, he would still show up at Randy's door looking refreshed and ready to face the day at seven. Those were the moments when Randy thought he truly hated Dave.

Back in Washington, Courtney had already been sound asleep for a few hours when her cell phone rang. In a groggy mumble, she reluctantly answered. "Courtney Lane-Batista."

"Princess," Dave's smooth, deep voice flowed through the phone line. "Are you asleep?"

"Why are you calling me?" she asked, looking at the face of her phone. The only times she ever got to bed before midnight were the nights when Dave was away on business. And if she did the math right, it was nearly four in the morning in Paris.

"I miss you, Princess," he whined slightly. "I miss you so much." He breathed for a few moments, heavy sounds that stirred something in Courtney's belly. "I love you so much, Courtney," he added, sniffling.

Fighting to sit, Courtney looked around the room. "Dave, stop crying," she rolled her eyes and pushed her matted hair out of her face. He went on, mumbling about how much he loved, needed, and wanted her. "Are you high?"

He ignored the question, and Courtney knew she really didn't have to ask. Lately, it seemed like he was always high. "I wish I was home with you, Princess. I wish I was running my hands over your smooth body, hearing your voice when you whimper and writhe under my touch."

The line went dead and Courtney stared at the phone in her hand. Had he called in the middle of the night for this? Surely he hadn't woken her from a peaceful sleep to get her all worked up and then hang up on her? "Fucker," she muttered, sinking back into the covers.

The phone rang again, and when she answered, and he apologized for accidentally hanging up the phone. Dave told her how much he loved her, and how he wished he was there to trail kisses over her breasts and stomach. He wished he could dip his tongue in her navel and feel her muscles tighten under the gentle prodding of his mouth. And then he hung up again.

This time, Courtney could have sworn she heard him giggle before the line went silent. He was fucking playing with her. Sometimes his teasing was hot as hell. And sometimes, when he was acting like a junior high boy on crack, it was beyond annoying.

Well, Courtney decided, if he wanted to be a juvenile motherfucker, she could give it right back to him. So when he called the third time, she laid back against the pillows and lifted the phone to her ear. "Orton?" she muttered sleepily. "Is that you?"

"WHAT?" Dave's screech forced her to hold the phone away from her ear as Courtney chuckled to herself and hung up the phone, waiting for him to call back.

What she hadn't intended was for Dave to take her joke so seriously. Instead of dialing his wife again, he jumped from the bed and charged into the hallway, like an angry bull in search of a china shop to terrorize.

Pounding on the door of Randy's room, he seemed to forget that he was completely naked and making enough noise to wake a small French village. "I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE, ORTON! OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR, MOTHERFUCKER!"

Flying up in the bed, Randy didn't even glance at the clock before racing to the door. In his groggy state, Dave's visit struck a deep fear in his chest and his heart pounded as he threw the door open. "What is it?" he asked, panic in his voice.

Dave pushed past his young assistant and stood in the middle of the hotel room with his hands on his hips. "Are you fucking my wife?"

Randy's eyebrow shot up. "What?" He took a moment to let his eyes sweep over his boss's naked form. "Dude, you're naked," he stated dumbly, his brain still fogged with sleep.

If he had even noticed his nudity, Dave didn't care. His mind was focused on one thing. "You're fucking my wife, aren't you?"

Rolling his eyes, Randy made his way back to the bed. There had been a time when Dave's violent, drug induced outbursts intimidated him. But he had been around long enough to know now that the man was harmless. Even if he had tried something, he was clearly fucked up and Randy knew he could, at the very least, outrun the angry giant.

Looking at the clock, his heart sank. 4:30. He still had a good two hours of sleep, and Dave had interrupted it. The look on the older man's face said he wasn't leaving until he was satisfied. "No, Dave, I am not fucking Courtney," he insisted, laying back in the bed.

"Don't fuckin' lie to me, Orton," Dave shot back, his tone angry, but his expression beginning to relax. "I know you're fucking my wife, motherfucker. You've been sneaking around behind my back and I know it now."

Flipping the light off beside the bed, Randy turned on his side and closed his eyes tightly. "Okay, Dave," he finally agreed, his voice dripping with patronizing concession. "Whatever you say, man."

There was silence for a moment, and Randy thought that maybe his mentor had decided to sleep on the couch. Until he felt the bed move. Turning on the light again, he rolled over to see Dave leaning against the headboard, his eyes trained on Randy's form.

"Motherfucker, what are you doing?" Randy asked flatly, as though this was not a new development. Truth be told, it wasn't. Though Dave had never accused him of anything quite so crazy, he had said a million ridiculous things when he was high. And while he found it highly irritating, Randy couldn't really complain, since nights like this were always followed by substantial raises in pay, or bonuses when Dave realized what an ass he had been.

"Making sure you don't fuck my wife," Dave responded, his voice deathly serious.

Raising an eyebrow, Randy considered him. "Dude, you realize we're in Paris, right?" Dave nodded. "And Courtney is in DC?" Again, he nodded. "Jesus Christ, Dave. I mean, I'm hangin' pretty long, but not enough to fuck your wife across the ocean and three states," he sighed, running a hand over his hair and face in exhaustion.

"I'm watching you," was Dave's response as he continued to glare at Randy. "I know you're fucking my wife."

"You're right, Dave," he muttered, turning on his side once more. As he turned the light off again, Randy found the paranoia almost funny. There were moments when the addiction was truly sad. And then there were moments like this. Ones that could only be laughed off as absurd and ridiculous. "I'm fucking Courtney right now," he added sarcastically as he began to slip into another peaceful sleep.

"He was pretty convinced," Courtney laughed.

Randy sighed and rolled onto his back. "Remember when we got home and he insisted I sleep on your couch so he could keep an eye on both of us?" He kissed Courtney's shoulder. "He was one fucked up crack head," he sighed. "You need to make cole slaw for your dad's birthday party," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"Huh?"

"Your mom called. I was gonna tell you when you got home, but I got distracted," he smirked, running a finger over her bare hip. When her body shuddered, he kissed her again. "You do remember we're going to your dad's barbecue, right? Sunday?"

Nodding, Courtney rested her head against Randy's chest. As much as she tried to deny it, laying in his arms felt right. They had history together - whether it was talking about high school memories, or reminiscing good and bad times about Dave, she had a strong connection to Randy. If she stayed with him, they had a shot at a future together, too.

The only problem she could fathom as she drifted off to sleep was the possiblity that she might have a "right now" with Nitro.