As always, NATTIEBROSKETTE! You are the bestest :)
The cold days became sun-starved winter weeks; Randy managed to talk Meg into warmer coats and better gloves due to the brisk Missouri weather she wasn't prepared for, though she refused to let him buy them. 'You're too used to the south,' he'd tease, and she'd roll her eyes and make a mental note to buy another scarf.
That was the extent of the way they argued. It hadn't snowed much yet; not in any way that stuck to the ground, and Randy began grumbling about having his lawn service out one last time to do a sweep of the property and check the sprinkler system. Meg, having no idea what to do with a lawn service but knowing several people who worked for them, told him it sounded like a good idea, and left it alone. 'One of those money things, I guess? I wouldn't know, but I can't fault him for it, either.'
Whatever contractual magic Randy and Dave had drawn up in regards to his physical therapy had seemed to work, and Meg was allowed to do as she pleased with him. Feeling better and better, Randy managed more time in his home gym, then started venturing out in public a bit more. Seeing fans was a nice reminder that he hadn't been forgotten, though the constant attention from women irritated him. 'I wonder if I could talk Meg into a picture? I don't know if that would get us more left-alone, or more focused-on. Nah. Just keep telling her when the stupid shit happens, so she doesn't have to hear about it or see it second-hand.'
Between Randy's back, work, her rare time with Sarah, and her finals and clinicals, Meg's days were long and her nights longer, especially the ones she spent with Randy. Joe called, called again, and was ignored. She didn't know what to say to him or about him, so she let the voicemails pile up, deleting them only often enough so that Randy and her licensing board would have room to leave her messages if they needed to. 'I should tell him about all this stupid shit with Joe, but what's the point? It won't make it stop, and if I block the number I give him a reason to do something more obnoxious.'
And oh, the messages. Often drunk, sometimes angry, hysterical, remorseful, threatening, Meg was beginning to be afraid Randy would be angry at her for letting it go on so long without telling him. 'What could I even say to explain this? We were so happy I didn't want to make you unhappy? I didn't think you could have a rational response? I was worried about what Joe would say to me?'
Dave was getting worried about what Joe would say to him, as well. He worked hard at never being alone in triage, but his less-than-intrepid assistant had a habit of disappearing at inopportune moments, leaving Dave to fend for himself. Hearing heavy footfalls approaching, he knew it was about to be one of those moments.
"I haven't heard from my girl yet." The door swung shut; Dave heard Joe's familiar growl, then the door latched, locked, but he tried to act as though he thought nothing was amiss.
"Oh, shit – you know what, I meant to tell you, she had clinicals all this week. I'm sorry – that really is my fault." 'Oh, shit – you know what, I shouldn't have mentioned clinicals. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He didn't need to know about that.' Dave mentally kicked himself, and knew he had to call Meg and warn her.
"It's not just this week, Dave." Joe's voice was steely. "It's last week, the week before that, the week before that...I'm beginning to wonder if you told her to call me at all." Idly, he picked up a roll of surgical tape, peeling a strip off and inspecting it. He ran it in a perfectly straight line along the edge of the counter and replaced the roll where he'd found it, tapping his fingers along the stripe he'd made before slamming his hands down, making Dave and all of the supplies jump.
"Okay, Joe, I get it, you're angry. What do you want me to do? I can't make her pick up the phone. She barely picks up when I call. I don't think she talks to anyone else here. Have you asked around?"
Joe's hands had slid forward, up to the bandage scissors, and Dave felt the room become several degrees colder. "I asked you. Maybe I should ask again? Did you tell her to call me?" The way Joe was inspecting the scissors made Dave wonder if he was looking for something in his teeth in the reflection of their metal. They were dangerously close to his face, even for a pair of blunt, snub-nose shears. "You're awfully quiet over there, Dave. You need something to motivate you to talk?"
"Joe, I'm worried about you." He'd edged nearer to the door, but was on the wrong side of the doorknob.
"Oh, I'm worried about me, too. Do you know how expensive weddings are? Flowers, cake, dresses – and it's not just her dress, it's dresses for every single bitch that bitch has ever met in her life – the catering, the booze, the veeen-uuuuue...it's all such a waste. Oh, and please don't forget the rings. Fifteen fucking minutes of blah-blah-blah bullshit, a meal that sucks, sex that you know is gonna suck, and then boom. Ball and chain, the rest of my goddamn life."
"You proposed, like, for-real, for-real, then? Everything's back on?" 'Well, that explains 99.98% of his insanity, and the rest is gonna go into a pee cup real quick.'
"Yep. Back on. And you know her, she wants all this shit done quick, before the credit cards cool off. Dave, I had her rings wrapped up in Meg's old shirts. I kept them like that. I was gonna give them to Meg, just change up the setting. I loved her, and she just walked the fuck out on me like I wasn't shit."
"Okay, Joe. Okay. So you wanna talk to Meg before you do the wedding thing, get some closure, right?" Dave continued edging toward the door, trying to look casual, at times leaning over the exam table, at times elbowing against the wall to fidget with his shoes. 'Keep it moving, Dave, just get around to the door.'
"Exactly. That's all it is. I know I get...persistent. When she left...there are times I could just kill her for it. God knows it killed me." Joe, nonchalant, drove the bandage scissors directly through the cupboard door over the sink, an explosive bang that froze Dave where he stood. "But I just want to talk to her before I get married. Close all the doors, get her off my mind, make sure there's nothing there." Joe worked the scissors up and down in place, not trying to loosen them but not driving them in deeper, either. "You get that, right, Dave?" Joe looked at Dave over his shoulder, eyes sad, body calm, not an ounce of fight in him, either completely broken or completely sociopathic, then turned back to the scissors and continued to stare.
"Ri-right, Joe. I get it, completely. Just talk. I'll call her again, tell her it's really important. Wedding, and all. I can't make her call, or pick up, but I'll try really hard, okay? Promise." He flashed a watery smile. "Hey...it's getting close to go-time, you got all your loose ends tied up before you go out there? I don't wanna get our company rising star upset..I'll have Corporate Kane up my ass, 'Bad for Business!'" Dave did his best to pantomime Glen, lighten the mood, anything to get Joe out the door.
"See, ol' man? Always lookin' out for me. Just let my girl know, okay? Tell her I said good luck with her clinic shit, or whatever you said it was." Joe, having snapped out of it for the moment, turned from the cupboard and walked out the door, Dave holding it open for him. The split second it closed, Dave bolted it behind him, holding up his phone and snapping a picture of the scissors wedged in the cupboard, trying to decide when to send it to Meg. His heart was racing, and he dug through his bags for a Valium, praying Meg's license exam would come back as a pass, but simultaneously debating his decision to push her through corporate in order to get her another contract with the company, albeit more permanent and better-paying. 'Open mouth, make promise, insert foot, Dave. Good fucking job. Break her heart, why don't you? And his too, if he ever finds out.'
"What do you mean, it's just a few dings? You sprayed the entire side of my car – my cars – with gravel! The front door has dents – you wanna tell me how you managed to get gravel up the front porch when the gravel is only in the garden beds? My lawn has trenches dug in it! You were there to winterize a sprinkler system, not install one! Were they confused? At the wrong address?"
"And we'll gladly pay damages, just submit your insurance information to us and -"
"That's not how this works. You have insurance, you send your information to my company, then they set up the repairs. Do you understand how much damage you caused?"
"Sir, really, this is being done as a courtesy. The bottom of the contract states that we're not responsible for damage done to vehicles left unattended, or incidental property damage, so if you could just -"
"I'll call back." Randy cut the line, furious that both of his cars had been peppered with gravel from the service that he'd hired to handle winterizing his lawn while he was out at the gym. He'd overdone it, mistaking his confidence for competence and health, and his back was making him pay for it now. Sore, verging on reinjured and undone, and knowing Meg had a late night, he checked his fridge – then realized he hadn't sent his PA out to the store for groceries. Meg had warned him she would be late due to practicums and wouldn't be able to shop for him, then had warned him again in voicemail, a note she'd placed on his keys, and a perfumed Post-It in his gym bag. With a groan, he opted away from taking the stairs up to his room and headed toward the first-floor guest bedroom, where most of the shirts he kept there had been slept in by Meg and still smelled of her perfume.
The floor was coated in broken glass, and the room was frigid. The same gravel that had been sprayed across his cars and porch in the front had apparently also been sprayed from the garden beds in the back, across the side and the rear of the house, directly through the sliding plate-glass doors of the guest bedroom. 'Which means it nailed the bathroom. Which means it wrecked the stucco. Which means I need to call the gatehouse, have them call the security company, and get the fuck out of here before I completely lose my mind. I have no food, can't get to a shower, two beat-ass-looking cars, a lawn that's chewed to shit – just go. Meg should be back now. She's gonna be the one thing that goes right.'
Caught in traffic on the way there, Randy knew he'd been spotted. He was being harassed and tailed even though it was well past dark, and he'd tried politely smiling and waving off the most persistent of the drivers around him. He was well past hungry, his body ached, he felt his back locking up, he was tired of the screaming people snapping pictures and banging on their car windows, and he didn't want anyone following him to Meg's apartment – not because of where it was or who she was, but because he didn't want her terrified by a mob stalking her residence for days on end. 'I have gates for a reason. She has what, a tipsy friend who can change the locks?'
He picked an exit at random, punching Meg's address into his phone. Speeding and driving erratically, he managed to lose the last of the persistent fans, got himself well and truly lost despite the digital help, then turned around and retraced his path. He dropped back onto the highway, and finally – without a cadre of people behind him – made it to Meg's apartment, scraping his car over the speed bumps on the way to the back and truly not giving a fuck. 'I'll blame it on the lawn company. Who cares?' His back begged him to slow down, but he pushed up the stairs three at a time, gym bag banging into his legs, pounding on her door so hard that the frame rattled in the wall.
Inside, the last of her coursework done, exams and practicals over, and with every expectation of peace, Meg flinched away from the door, dropping her book on the floor and ducking behind the end of the sofa. The pounding continued, but Randy's voice came with it this time. Shaky with relief, Meg sprinted to the door, threw the chain and deadbolt back, and was rewarded by almost being knocked down by the force with which he came through the door, slamming it behind him. Randy caught Meg's arm, hauling her up to vertical, and pinned her to the wall, her wrists swallowed entirely by one of his hands, the other tilting her face up to his, her body virtually disappearing under his.
"Jesus Christ, Randy, what's wrong? Are you okay? What happened?"
His speed was unnerving; first he was over her, then he was next to her, his voice a growl in her ear that echoed through her as though it bored her hollow while it went. "Show me you trust me."
Meg's face wore confusion and fear in equal parts; her mouth had gone dry, her pupils were pinpoints. 'What is he asking me for?' Her voice was horrifyingly dusty, but she managed to eke out a yes. He kissed her so violently she came off the ground and almost didn't know how to respond, couldn't move her hands out from under his, and could feel herself start to black out. Something in him was different, his demeanor had changed entirely, and Meg turned her head away, forcing him to stop, trying to read his eyes.
Satisfied with what she did and didn't find there, she breathed shakily. 'He let me stop him. I can still stop this.' His skin was still sticky from the gym, and as she wrestled her hands from his grasp and down to his sides, she felt the spasm in his back and winced, but persisted. 'What the fuck happened to him today?' "Show me what you need."
It was the only invitation he would have accepted. Randy spun her around, face first against the wall by the door, and pawed around to turn off the lightswitches he knew were nearby. Pressing her under him for the second time, he pulled the elastic out of her hair and bent to kiss the side of her neck. Wrapping her hair around his hand and directing her into a sidelong tilt, his kiss became more aggressive, less about skin meeting skin, more about what she'd let him get away with, whether nips could become bites, if bites could draw out gasps or moans, how long her legs would steady her before Randy felt the abrupt drop in weight that told him she'd either given up or given over.
Meg held out longer than he expected, but he rationalized that she was fighting herself and he was fighting her fears. He'd had to work a deeply red mark into the top of her right shoulder before she'd given him even the small pleasure of a gasp, and as soon as she did, he'd reorganized his grasp on her hair and tilted her neck in the other direction, starting all over again on the left, slight adjustments in the amount of pressure he used, but this time, allowing his other hand freedom to roam her body rather than simply brace him against the wall. It took much less time to earn the same gasp, slightly lower in tone, in part from the dance his hand was doing across her body, urging her back against him from the wall, and in part because she was starting to believe that she was allowed the response she was having, even that it might be what Randy wanted.
He pulled her back from the wall, then pushed her away from him into the middle of the room, her breath coming in shaking pants and jags as she slowly turned to face him, trying to regain her balance, trying to understand what would come next, if it might be her, how she was so close to wrecked from just his touch on her shoulders. By the time she'd turned around, his shirt was off and he was almost on top of her, sending her into a frantic backpedal down the hallway.
"Go, Meg. Get in the bedroom." Randy's voice left no room for her to negotiate; she wanted it, she didn't know how to want it, and before she knew it she was at her door and he was backing her through it. He caught her by the waist of her lounge pants and pulled her against him before she was fully to their bed, and she shivered. There was always some build-up, some sticky-sweet confection between their sheets before anything real happened, and tonight, there was just his need. Leaning down over her, Meg was almost too afraid to look up, so she watched his fingers trace the inside of the waist of her thin, worn sleepwear. Held in place by a ribbon, he played at the near-ends of it before grabbing handfuls of the fabric and sweeping it down her legs, pushing her backwards onto the bed. Stumbling, Meg managed to disentangle her feet before she sat, much less than graceful, and then he was on top of her.
His kisses had gone hungry again; Meg felt consumed by him. His hands were under her shirt, pushing it up, tangling it in the camisole underneath, and when he gave up on lifting it over her, he simply brushed her hair and necklace out of the way and tore straight down, using her startled jolt upward to sweep the clothing away from under her.
Meg was still, forcing herself to breathe, realizing he'd stopped moving as well. He was staring into her eyes with an intensity he typically reserved for emotions on the other end of the spectrum from this, and then he was all motion again, kneeling over her, working at the waist of his pants, his eyes never moving from hers. Briefly, an image of Randy from the night he'd attacked Joe, all bloodied knuckles and desperate hands, telling her he would never hurt her, flashed across her eyes, and then was gone. Left in its wake was a physical understanding of what he'd meant, what she'd done, a willingness and finally – ability – to let him in and show him, if he had a whim to indulge, an urge to satisfy, then she was hotly ready.
Hurling herself at him, Meg clawed at Randy, working one leg up between his to push his pants down the rest of the way, pull him down on top of her, not caring if her panties met the same fate as her shirt and cami, which they did. She found herself pinned down again for her efforts, but this time, she returned his intensity when she met his eyes.
"Meg...don't..." He stopped again, was warning her, wanting to be sated but not so indulgent that he hurt her or hated himself in the end.
"Show me what you need." 'Because if not now, then not at all. Now, I can. Please, God, I can, I want to, I need to. This needs to happen.'
Quicksilver couldn't have moved the same, Meg thought, been both on her and in her that fast, and then faster, forceful, and she didn't care what was propelling her to beg him for more, but the word kept coming, took her mind away from a brilliantly sparkling awareness of how far her arms were bent above her head, how taut her ribs were stretched underneath him, and how vastly she had overestimated her readiness for what he needed. As much as she wanted to shut her eyes, she couldn't look away from his, mindful that she was reading as blank as he was in the moment, both of them in some deeper pool of thought.
Whatever had happened, or not happened, the small or large parts she had played in it, hurts past or present, he was driving them out of himself. It wasn't an act of brutality as much as it was a purge within a question – 'Now that I'm back in this space, Meg, what do I do with it? How do I feel it? Do we still self-destruct?' She forced herself to meet him stride for stride, knowing it was about his knowing. Somehow, it was that thought that brought her arching into him, more becoming now, now becoming please, please becoming yes, again and again, until she felt him give way to her and his body give way to gravity.
She couldn't breathe under him, but she couldn't let him move, either. Any shift in weight or position was torture to her; Randy had held her arms above her head for so long that her collarbone had locked up, and her ribs were stretched beyond measure. The fire between her thighs was equal parts delight and dismay. He tried to tilt to one side, and Meg couldn't help her small moan. Randy's forehead immediately dropped to the bed next to her, and Meg saw his hand clench angrily at the sheets. His movement, however, stopped.
"Meg?"
She forced as much of a breath as she could manage. "Stay, Ran. Don't move. You feel good." 'Is he mad at me? He's gonna strangle that sheet. Did I do so-' Meg swallowed hard, flinching. "I mean. Uh. Please? Please stay?"
Randy turned his head slightly, watching as much of the sharp, short rise and fall of her chest as he could see, the long line of her arms above her head, each ridge of her ribcage outlined in the moonlight and lot-lamps. The long scars outlining her body had begun to pale, and looked serpentine and slick against her skin. He trailed his foot along the one that rode her leg, and she shuddered.
"I didn't..." He didn't know where to start. "I mean...it wasn't like..." His hand was back to clenching the sheets. "Meg, if I hurt you, I-"
"Show me what you need."
He looked at her as though she was out of her mind, then slid back over her, letting go of the sheets, rubbing her shoulders, and kissing her.
"Meg, I need you to tell me I didn't-"
"You didn't, Ran. I promise. You needed what you needed." The feeling was starting to come back to her arms, and she chanced moving them down around his back, which immediately took the tension out of her ribs, earning a relieved sigh from her. He lifted his weight off of her and flipped her on top of him, keeping his word not to move anything else, his legs knotted through hers. "Gonna tell me what happened today?" She laid her head on his chest, fingers playing at the underside of his jaw, feeling him ease out and back as their bodies simultaneously relaxed away from and into each other.
He recounted the whole miserable thing, from gravel to highway, Meg silencing him only once so she could go to the kitchen and return with dinner for him, trying hard to walk a comfortably straight line and ignore the fact she hadn't bothered with clothing. After she slid back under the blankets next to him, passing him a fork, Randy eventually reached the point in his story where he was at Meg's door and found himself struggling for words.
"...And you wanted to know I was...here. Yours."
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess so."
Meg feigned hurt, and playfully shoved his arm. "You guess. And here I was, ready to tell you the good news."
Randy felt the world become an echo around him, the sound unable to clear from fog so he could hear Meg. 'The good news? Oh. Oh God. Oh Dave. Dave, you fucking told me so. I mean, it's not a bad thing, and it's Meg, and she's amazing, and I'll be here, and she'll be with me, I just don't want her to panic, and maybe she hasn't really thought about it yet because there's so much shit with doctors, unless she just doesn't want to deal with doctors, but then what do you do-'
"Hey, you in there? I say something wrong?" Meg nudged his arm again. "I said, I really am stuck here."
"What...what do you mean?"
"Christ, say it like it's a bad thing." Meg's face was starting to fall; the furrow in her brows the first sign she was actually hurt by his strangely underwhelming reaction. "I'm stuck here because today was the last day for clinicals and practicums and exams and all that shit. I passed everything, all that's left is the national exam. But..." Meg sighed and leaned away. 'Here it comes, Meg. You knew he was gonna decide it was just sex.' She smiled. "You had a shitty day. Just get some sleep. We can talk about it later."
Plate thumping hard on the bedside table, Randy tackled her down into her pillows, trying not to hurt her, but trying to swallow her with his body at the same time. 'She can stay! She really can stay, all she needs is the license, it'll be a better paying job, she won't feel like she's sitting on my bank account, so it's one less fight.'
"Mine," he breathed between kisses, "Mine, mine. Keeping you. Staying here."
Meg wrapped her arms up around his neck, doing her best to keep pace with his affection. "Much better response. What the fuck did you think I said, anyway?"
"Don't ask. I'm a dumbass, sometimes."
"Sometimes?" Meg chuckled. "Get some sleep, Ran. We'll deal with our house tomorrow. I'm off the rest of the week; you can wear me out as much as you want. And I can get your groceries."
Lights off, Meg's breathing even and quiet for several minutes, Randy lay awake next to her in the silent bedroom, finger-combing her hair free of snarls before convincing himself she was truly asleep. He whispered her name and waited for a response. Getting none, he continued quietly.
"You trust me, Meggie. You let me...and I didn't scare you. You're not having nightmares. I think, anyway. And you called it 'our' house. You really do...trust me. I think. Can I win this one? Please?" He kissed the back of her neck lightly before allowing himself some sleep, enjoying the idea of having her to himself for several days without interruption.