Days later, despite room key after room key from Randy, Meg paused one last time to look at her face in the mirror next to the sink. She didn't look like herself; she wasn't sure if she liked that or not. The dress and shoes were borrowed after the show from her friend in the costuming department, along with assurances the black wasn't too severe. Meg wasn't sure; she imagined Jackson would make comments about her being too pale, or that her hair was the wrong kind of dark red, and start asking her to dye it blonde. The high heels were a complete mystery to her; the majority of her days were spent in work shoes, sneakers, or flip flops. 'Keep pacing. It's just practice balancing. You'll get it.' Her clutch was annoyingly small; the glitter on it flaked off and stuck to her palms. 'At least it holds your phone and cards. Small favors.'

Meg's friend in costuming had forcibly dragged her to hair and makeup, which had then led to Meg trying desperately not to touch anything above her neck – she was afraid to smear something she couldn't repair or knock any bobby pins out of place. 'How do women wear this shit every day? This is horrible. And itchy. I hope he appreciates this, because this is not me. Not me at all.'

Pulling in a last, deep breath, Meg stepped out into the largely quiet hallway, smoothing the front of her dress. The few techs and interns around shot her low whistles and appreciative glances, and Meg felt her face flush. 'Okay. Time to go see if Jackson figured out his backstage pass or not.'

She made it past catering and was nearly to the green room before she heard Dave in her ear, his voice thick with concern.

"What are you doing? I mean, where are you – I mean, you look great, but-" He caught her arms in his hands and started to pull her back toward catering.

"Dave, let go." Meg rubbed her arms where Dave had grabbed her. Dave released her, but reluctantly.

"You didn't answer me. What is all this?" He gestured at her outfit, causing Meg to pull back from him even further.

"This," Jackson spoke from behind her, "Is what she's wearing to dinner with me. And what she's wearing to go dancing with me. And what she's wearing to the hotel with me." With that, he dropped his arm over her shoulders and dragged her roughly against her. "Did you need anything else, Dave? Or can I take my girlfriend out now?"

"Meg, this is what all this nonsense is for?" Dave completely ignored Jackson, locking his eyes on Meg's now-slumped frame as she shrunk into Jackson's side.

"Yeah...yeah, Dave, I'm going out…"

"You know what? When all this blows up in your face, Meg, don't call. I love you, but I can't bail you out of this one. You know you shouldn't be doing this. You just...shouldn't."

Meg looked up, crestfallen, then sighed. 'Well. I guess that door's closing. Closed. Whichever.'

Dave and Jackson stared each other down, Meg caught in the middle, willing them both to stop the pointless show of masculinity and go back to their respective corners. She never saw Randy turn from his seat in catering to watch the near-argument unfold. Meg looked miserably trapped against Jackson's side. Dave finally threw his hands in the air and walked away. Randy quirked an eyebrow and made a mental note to talk to Dave. He fired a quick text to Joe, finished his bottle of water, and headed toward the parking deck, hoping he could still catch the medic before he boarded the late shuttle to the hotels. Jackson and Meg were long gone, Randy watching her struggle the whole way to keep up on her tottery high heels.

Having snagged a cab, Meg and Jackson settled in for a quick ride to the main boulevard.

"You cleaned up really well, babe," Jackson murmured into her neck, oblivious to the driver who was watching them with far too much enjoyment in his eyes, "Sometimes I think you're always gonna look like you did when I found you, and then you go ahead and surprise me."

"Wow, Jackson. That's, uh...that's really sweet of you." 'You forget, you were in the same bar. Even business-district guys cross the tracks.' Meg couldn't help the stab of annoyance, but pushed it down. 'Knock it off, Meg. So he was slumming it that night. So what? He stuck with you, be grateful instead of being a bitch.'

Forcing a smile she hoped didn't look half as fake as it felt, Meg turned to nuzzle Jackson's face out of her neck before he left marks. "So...what's the plan tonight, babe?"

"Remember how you complained you never went to expensive restaurants, swanky clubs, or posh hotels?"

'Think, Meg...think...' Her brain turned up nothing on that level of complaint, so she blanked her eyes and applied a Barbie-doll expression. "Of course, hon. It was so disappointing." 'What the hell are you talking about?'

"Well, you're going to be so glad I'm here. Tonight is all about expensive, swanky, and posh."

Suddenly, it clicked. That phone call the night Joe...well, that night. Their argument. She hadn't complained about company travel in Europe; it was Jackson's accusation. 'Well, whatever. He wants to parade me around, let's see what happens. These heels are going to be the death of me.' "Oh, sweetheart," Meg purred, a little too sweetly even for her, "You are just too good for me." 'Stop provoking him, Meg. You're being snotty.'

"I know, babe. I know."

Meg had to lean into a kiss in order to have an excuse to shut her eyes; otherwise she would have rolled them at him and she knew better than to do that. She could tell Jackson had a pre-dinner drink or two; their arguments were always worse after that. Tonight was for her to be on her best behavior, enjoy herself, and see if the two acts weren't mutually exclusive. 'I can act right and still love him. And he wouldn't do all this if he didn't love me.'

The cab stopped in front of a very dimly-lit restaurant, and Jackson literally dragged Meg from the cab, nearly dumping her on her knees. "Come on, Meg. You look like a mess. Don't be embarrassing." Jackson planted one hand on his hip, a perturbed look on his face. "Get inside. If we miss our table because of your bullshit...well, I'm not going to be happy."

Meg slunk past him, head down. 'Get it together, Meg. You're the one who asked him to come see you. You sent him the pass. You're the one who asked to make it work. Now make it work.'