Welcome back! Again, thank you for all of the R&R. This chapter will be brief; I promise, we're getting to the good stuff. The *good* stuff.
Meg froze. She couldn't fight Joe; one of his hands was locked into her shirt and the other was snarling through her hair. Even if she had tried, she knew from every prior attempt that night it would only cause him to tighten his grip. She hadn't moved, hadn't even breathed, and then the moment was over before she could formulate a retort, a plan, an escape – anything. Joe had simply let go of her, his hands slowly sliding across her back and out of her hair.
"Joe," Meg breathed out, quietly, "I'm not-"
"I know, Meg. Not my fiancee. Go get the ice. Come back. You promised."
Gently, she pushed herself up from his shoulders and looked at him with complete bewilderment on her face before sliding off the bed and backing out of the room, ice pail in hand. Joe breathed deeply, inhaling as much of her perfume as he could in case she decided to run rather than return. She tasted like the roses he remembered, with undertones of whatever caramel thing she had eaten earlier. He smiled slightly to himself. It would be at least another minute before Meg came back, maybe more if she stopped along the way, and her taste was something he could keep. He hadn't meant to upset her; rather, Joe had meant to settle them both and didn't understand any of it himself. He only knew she was here and his fiancee wasn't. And now he and Meg were together the rest of the night. 'She's going to ask me why. I don't know. I needed to know...what did I need? I don't know. I needed her.'
By the time Meg returned, ice pail overflowing, Joe had begun looking expectantly at the door. Meg wrapped some of the ice in a now-damp washcloth and gently pressed it to his eye, then let herself into the bathroom to check her hip. An arc of angry red, black, and green bruises had formed along with a line from her impact with the bathroom counter; Meg cursed her anemia silently. Emerging with a hand towel, she packed it with ice and slid it between the waist of her pants and her skin, curling tightly into the loveseat against the opposite wall of the room.
After several minutes of total silence, Joe finally broke. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. There's nothing to be sorry for. You took at least three solid shots to the head; you were probably confused about who I was, where you were, all that. Plus, we have to work together. Let's not make it awkward."
"But I wasn't-"
"And neither was I, and I was doing the same thing. How's your eye feeling with the ice?" Meg cut him off sharply, knowing that the road their conversation was headed down was dangerous. 'I want to know what you were thinking, but no good way to ask that, is there? You don't need to hear me pining after you like a soppy little girl.'
Joe sighed. "Better. I still feel out of it. Tilted, kind of."
"You will, for a few days. Don't tell, but you have a concussion. Unfortunately, since you're the company golden boy, you're only going to get a day or two off, tops. Policy and practice aren't the same thing."
"Yeah, tell me about it. I've wrestled fucked up so many times it's sad."
"I'll do what I can to keep you together. Dave will, too. We're pretty good at patchwork."
Joe tilted a smirk. "And what about you? What happened?"
Meg flinched visibly. "Enh, nothing. Tripped over you in the bathroom, basically. You take up a fair amount of real estate."
"And if I call bullshit on that?"
"Then I still wouldn't tell you the truth."
For what felt like the hundredth time that night, Joe sighed, this time with a frown. "Meg, really, if something I-"
"Nope. Next? If there's not a next, I can get Randy to sit with you. You guys probably have more to talk about, anyway. Shit about your match, or whatever." Meg moved to stand up, and winced in organizing herself to rise from her seated position, giving up entirely on the idea of ice for her hip.
"Okay, okay. You win. C'mere, pick out a movie. It's all on Vince's tab, anyway. I'm not supposed to sleep, and you can't see the TV from there."
Meg tensed. Her leg didn't feel like it could carry her across the room, and she was skittish about being that close to Joe. 'Meg, stop. Stop for a second. You just talked it out. It's done. Just sit on the edge of the bed, keep the ice on his eye, and watch the fucking movie. It's done. You weren't the one who started kissing people. If he does it again, you leave. That's that.' The confidence of having made a decision buoyed her, and Meg slowly felt her stomach uncoil. She shifted slightly forward. "Fine. It's going to take me a minute to get over there. In the mean time, process of elimination. No rom-coms. Your turn."
"You really are hurt, aren't you?" Joe's voice edged through concern and into worry.
"I'm going to head for the door if you ask me again."
"No, you aren't. You promised me you wouldn't leave."
'Fuck him for remembering.' Meg glared, but shuffled further forward toward the foot of the bed. "Your turn. I said no rom-coms."
"Nothing sad."
"Fair enough. Tell me what time it is?" While Joe searched, bleary-eyed, for the numbers on the bedside clock, Meg took the opportunity to massage her hip and lunge forward a few feet. She didn't want to stay vertical any longer than she needed to. The loveseat was comfortable, but the bed included blankets and pillows. It had to be an improvement.
"It's...1:45 in the morning."
"Well, then our options are limited. I'll call it for either action or horror, since we both know that's all that's going to be on."
Meg sat, turning, onto the foot of the bed. She managed to stay upright, but the trek up the bed toward anything resembling a pillow was still a long way away. Joe toggled through channels while she contemplated how to scoot upward. Giving up, Meg simply laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
"Meg, reach your arms above your head." Joe's voice was firm. "I can pull you up here. It's not gonna hurt me, you're a whole five pounds."
"Joe, leave me alone. I'm fine."
"You also can't watch me from down there."
Meg's mind struggled to keep itself in places free of prurient thought, at that comment. "Put the ice back on your eye and keep talking. I'll know your fine if you keep making noise."
"I need help with the ice." 'Joe, you're an asshole for this.' In truth, the ice hadn't moved an inch from where Meg originally placed it, but for reasons he couldn't articulate, Joe wanted her next to him.
Meg rolled onto her stomach from her position on the bed, and using her left leg, pushed her way up to him in one fluid motion. Joe's eyes followed the line of her hair, the angle of her collarbone, and that persistent one-two-one-two swing of her necklace. "What's wrong? The ice, or something with your eye? Here – hang on, I need a little light." Rather than try to squint in the darkness, Meg tipped off of the bed and forced herself to limp over to the curtains, pushing them partially open. The moonlight was enough to give the room some glow without causing Joe any significant discomfort, and she dragged herself back to the bed.
Leaning in, Meg pressed her palms to Joe's neck and jawline, tilting him slowly to and fro, but staying physically distant. 'You scared her, asshole. Good job. You wanted her here, and it's just like she's gone. And your actual fiancee is where, exactly?'
"Nothing looks out of place. I'm already up here; I'll just hold the ice. You pick the movie. I'll even be nice and add kung fu to the list of movie options."
'That's better. At least she's here. Really here. Don't do that, Joe. She's telling you to stop, she's trying to save...whatever. Her thing, your thing.' Meg moved closer to Joe's right eye and gently pressed the ice to it. He winced slightly but allowed her to continue, especially when she leaned on his arm and adjusted the pressure. Meg's fingers danced across his tattoo for a bare second, and once she settled the washcloth in a position she was satisfied would help him, she leaned back against the pillows next to Joe, her arm reached awkwardly across both of their bodies.
"Just talk to me." Joe poked up and down on the remote, finally landing on a movie that looked to have enough ridiculousness to keep them both amused without being annoying, but not actually starting it.
"Talk about...what?"
"I don't know. Anything. You said you had to keep me awake."
"Okay. How about practical concerns? Like...when is your fiancee going to be back, so I don't get beaten to death by a hungover chick with a makeup bag who wants to know why a stranger is in bed with her man?" Meg smiled and nudged Joe a bit; she didn't want him to think she was taking an actual shot at him.
Joe chuckled, deeply resonant, and Meg's entire body vibrated with his. "She's with one of her girlfriends tonight. Got mad at Randy, got...weird...with me...and angry, I guess...and then left."
"I'm sorry."
"No, don't be. We go through shit like this all the time, we'll be fine." Strangely, Joe smiled when he spoke. It was taut, and Meg couldn't tell if he was uncomfortable with, or irritated at, her apology.
Meg's chest wrenched at the idea of Joe being 'fine' with someone who wouldn't or couldn't be bothered to stay with him when he was so obviously hurting. 'Not my business. He's happy, good for him.'
"Well. Great. What'd you pick?" Meg tucked her St. Julian medallion back under the neckline of her shirt and pointed at the TV.
Joe felt Meg shut down, watched the necklace disappear, felt the air tense around him, but didn't know what to do. He thought she would relax at the idea of his fiancee being gone for the night – he didn't expect her to jump on him – but he thought she might talk more openly, come closer to him. He didn't understand why Meg suddenly closed off. She stayed still next to him, held the ice to his eye, and allowed the room to drift into a nasty, oily quiet. Joe closed his eyes. 'I did everything wrong, tonight. When I wake up, none of this happened. Back to my life. Same for her. What was I trying to get her to tell me, anyway?'
"I...I don't know. I don't know what I picked."
They both stared blankly ahead until they dozed off despite warning each other not to do so, waiting for the inevitable blare of a cell phone's alarm clock set too early to be healthy.