Randy returned after an eternity, ice bucket in hand, rolling Meg's suitcase with a stack of towels and washcloths balanced on it, not sure what he would find in his suite. Knocking first, then testing the keycard, Randy carefully opened the door and waited a few seconds before stepping in. 'All I need is to get beat to death if Joe thinks I'm Jackson breaking in.'
"Joe? Meg? I'm back, but Dave was tied up on a triage call. He let me get Meg's stuff, but he's gonna be a couple hours before he gets here...hello?" The bathroom light was dim, and Joe had piled the glass and hairclips on a washcloth; Randy's stomach heaved when he saw the remnants of what was lodged in Meg's back. The tub was dry, the sink was wet, and all of Meg's clothing was in the bathroom trashbin. Even the used towels and washcloths were in the hamper.
The suite itself was dark. The bedside light was turned off, and the contents of Meg's clutch were moved to the bedside table. For a split second, Randy thought the worst, that something awful had happened and they'd had to leave, wondering why Joe hadn't called him if that was the case. Then, he heard Meg's small, quiet voice from further in the suite. 'The balcony? What the fuck are they doing out there?' Randy left the luggage, brought a few towels and the ice, and went toward the sound.
It felt like hours for Meg to wake up. When she did, slowly shifting in Joe's arms, her fingers were unconsciously playing with the ends of his hair, and a thin, sleepy smile played on her face.
"Welcome back. You had me worried." As hard as Joe worked to sound casual, the fear was still evident in his voice.
"Can't tap out now. I owe you." Meg shivered involuntarily, and Joe pulled her in closer. "Is there water? I'm kinda dizzy..." Her nose crinkled. 'Needy, Meg. Get yourself together.'
Joe scanned the bathroom. "No cups here, but I bet I can find a bathrobe to keep you warm. Some kinda five-star hotel, right? Come on. I'll be careful."
He carefully stood with her in his arms and moved into the suite, towards the wetbar. On the way, he nudged open a small closet across from the bathroom and shouldered a cottony bathrobe from its hanger. Catching it on its way to the floor, he draped it over Meg – a far cry from being put on properly, but a better start than they had in minutes prior.
"Still doing okay?"
"I feel like death. So, yeah." Joe chose to take Meg's sarcasm as a good sign; she was at least awake enough to be witty.
"Almost there. One glass of water, coming up." 'I wonder if I can talk her into letting me order room service.' "You good if I set you down on the counter? Not gonna fall?"
"We'll find out, right?"
"Not funny." Joe frowned and kept one hand gently on her shin after he placed her as far back on the wetbar as he could. Meg tilted forward to keep the towel in place on her back, but jolted when he put her down; the marble was cold against the backs of her legs.
"I'll hurry, hang on." He topped off a glass in the sink, scooped her and her robe back into his arms, and fussed at her when she began to grope around on the counter for the water.
"I can hold it. You can't carry everything. Besides – what's your plan?" Meg's teeth were beginning to chatter. 'You really need a plan. I don't have one, either. And I need the water, sooner rather than later.'
"Plan?"
"Exactly, Captain Bathrobe."
Joe rolled his eyes, more at himself than at her. "Okay. Uh...here. You, on the bed." Joe slowly knelt at the foot of the bed, settling Meg carefully on the edge, holding the towel against her back. "Can this come off now?"
"If it comes off. If it sticks, don't move it."
Joe started a slow peel on the towel, wordlessly begging anything that was listening to let it come away easily. For the first time that night, luck went his way. Uncomfortably but cleanly, he was able to remove it.
"Can you wear a shirt over the cuts, or is that a bad idea? That, then the bathrobe?"
"I don't know. Maybe?" Meg attempted to contort herself into the water glass; Joe had to help her make the reach. The relief on her face after each sip was evident, and he coached her through half the glass before digging through Randy's suitcase. He came up with a black, worn t-shirt. 'He probably won't mind. And if he does, I'll punch him.' "Here we go. And clean."
With the offer of clean clothing, Meg suddenly felt filthy. Joe had combed through her hair and managed to get most of her makeup off; the smudges that were left would take remover to lift. It was the residual, sweaty film coating the rest of her body, and the feel of Jackson drying between her legs, that made her want to burn her bones and run.
"Er, Joe?" The glass of water started to slide from her hands; Meg struggled to find a way to place it on the floor. "I don't...I'm wearing...can I..." 'How do you ask someone to take your bra off? Oh, by the way, please don't think I'm disgusting. I smell like sex.' She crushed her eyes shut and balled her hands into frustrated fists. "I can't talk."
Confused for the hundredth time that night, Joe held perfectly still over Randy's suitcase. "I'll wait, Meg. I'm not going anywhere." 'You call the shots, baby. What are you trying to tell me?'
"I can wear that," Meg breathed, looking over to the shirt Joe was holding. "I can't wear this," She looked down at herself, still in her bra and panties from her night with Jackson. 'Please let him understand what I mean.'
'I have no idea what she means.' "O-okay..." Joe stalled for time, trying to roll her words into shapes that made sense. 'She's not wearing anything. Her dress is gone. Her shoes are gone. All she's got on are her br-oh. Oh shit. Oh no.' His mind reeled, locked, reeled again. 'I can't undress her. Not like that. I can, but no. It's...no.' Joe knew nothing would happen between them that night, but he couldn't help his past thoughts of Meg, either. Given the context of that evening, guilt exploded in the pit of his stomach.
Meg hadn't moved from the end of the bed. She hadn't cried, tried to reach for the shirt, do anything more than clutch the bathrobe, undress herself, look at him, nothing. If it wasn't for the constant full-body tremor coursing through her, she may as well have been a piece of furniture. 'Too much, Meg. You fucked up. He wouldn't want to touch you, anyway. Why do you want him to touch you? Didn't you do enough, tonight? Confused much, Meg? Get your head together.'
"Sorry. Uh, here. I had to think about how to do this. Can I sit behind you?" Joe moved cautiously from the suitcase to the edge of the bed, waiting for permission to come closer.
Meg nodded slowly, waiting for Joe to recoil once he realized what she was, what was left of her. 'It's coming, Meg. Don't be surprised.' She felt the bed sink under his weight.
"It's okay. I think I figured it out. Can I touch you?" Meg nodded, and Joe put his hands over the tops of her shoulders. 'Take it easy, big man. Don't scare her. Nice and easy.' He leaned close to the back of her neck, speaking quietly. "Straps first, then the back, then we'll figure out how to move your arms. I'm staying right here. Okay?"
Meg nodded again. 'He's warm, and this is safe.'
"One at a time, Meg. It's me." He slipped one finger under the left strap on her bra and slid his palm down her arm until the elastic went slack and he could cup her elbow in his hand. "Still okay? I want you to know where my hands are. I'm not going to do anything to you." Meg nodded again. "Okay. Next one. If I need to stop, tell me." Joe slid the strap down her arm in the same way, ending with his hand on her elbow, still hovering over her.
"I'm fine." Her voice was raspy, as though she was fighting with herself.
"Meg, I'm serious, if there's something you-"
"I just want it off. Please."
Joe sighed, his breath warm across the back of her neck. He slid his hands from her elbows up to the back of her bra and paused, trying to decide the best approach, letting his hands linger on her sides while he thought. 'Think faster, before she loses it...' He gently pressed the tab-side down, while slipping a finger under the hooks and tugging them loose. Meg's back tensed with the pressure; Joe watched, entranced, as she arched slightly away from him before coming back to neutral. 'Stop it, asshole. You're supposed to be helping her.'
Joe slid his hands back up to her elbows, catching the straps and pushing them fully down. Meg lifted her arms just enough for Joe to fully sweep the garment away from her; he dropped it to the side of the bed and closed his hands around hers. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "Let's get that shirt." Joe managed, even with his hands holding hers, to keep a respectful distance between her bare skin and his chest, but she closed it by leaning back. He immediately snapped his head toward the ceiling, even though he couldn't see anything indecent.
"Meg...what are you doing?" His voice was a low rumble, and Meg wanted to crawl inside of him and die there. She pulled his arms around her stomach with no small amount of effort. Joe moved slowly, but didn't fight her. "Talk to me, Meg. I don't understand. I don't want to hurt you...your back." She pulled his hands up to her lips and pressed kisses into his palms.
"Just...thank you." She shifted her weight away from him. "So, about that shirt?"
Joe slowly let go of her left hand, reached across the bed, and felt for Randy's shirt. 'Did she...Jesus. She doesn't know; Randy didn't tell her.' He shook out the shirt, organized the sleeves, and slipped them on her, moving slowly, careful not to touch any more of her than was necessary. He lifted the shirt over her head and smoothed her hair as the fabric dropped over her shoulders. She was drowning in cloth, but she was at least dressed. "Bathrobe next. You need to warm up."
"Can I stand?"
Joe stood and eased Meg to vertical, watching Randy's shirt drape down to mid-thigh. Spider-like, Meg's fingers crawled through the fabric, then against the outside of her legs, gathering, bunching, looking for the hem of her panties. Managing to hook an edge, she tugged down, wrists working back and forth, dropping the bottom of Randy's shirt as she went. Joe looked to the ceiling for the umpteenth time. 'How am I even looking at her like that? The fuck is wrong with me after all this shit tonight?' Meg let the panties fall to her feet and stepped out of them, nudging them toward her bra with her foot.
"Joe?" Meg's confusion was evident in her voice. "What're you looking for?"
Chuckling dryly at being caught staring upward, Joe stood, bathrobe in hand. "Honestly? I don't know. An answer." He moved to her front, draped the robe around her, and, tempting fate, pulled the front closed. "I think you've always been the answer."
"Joe...you've got her, and I don't-"
"That's over. I ended it."
The floor fell out from under Meg, or the ceiling flew away, she wasn't sure, but a cartwheeling lightness stole gravity, took the air away from her, replaced by a delicious, tingling spiral stretching from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. "Show me."
It was Joe's turn to freeze in place. 'What the fuck is this? What the everloving fuck is going on? What does she-' Meg pushed up on her toes as far as she could and pressed a kiss into the side of his neck, ignoring the pain in her back from the tilt. Impulsively, he leaned down, nosed her face back, and kissed her deeply, both of them testing the depths of the bourbon's taste until Meg winced and backed down.
"Joe...I'm sorry." Meg looked terrified. "I shouldn't have...I just…" Her eyes found the floor, and stayed there, horrified at herself. 'Act like what Jackson made you, Meg. Very classy. If he didn't think you were dirty and fucked-up before, he does now.'
It took Joe a second to come down from his high. "Meg, no. If you knew. Do not be sorry. Tonight, just...be sure about everything. I don't want to...I mean…" He sighed and rubbed at his forehead. "I don't want to act like him. What's too much, I mean."
"Nothing new about Jackson, tonight. I had you to help, is all. And I was always sure about you, idiot." She managed half a smile and a small swat at his arm.
"For that, you're getting room service." Joe feigned a wounded look, breathing easier with Meg's playful gesture. How she found it in her to be lighthearted, or even affectionate, he didn't know, but he would gladly take it.
"And for that, I'm finishing your bourbon. On the balcony."
"I'll get you a chair and the bottle. Let me take care of things in here, and I'll come sit with you til food or Randy gets here, whatever comes first."
He guided her outside and watched her enjoy her first relaxed breath of the night, in the warm air.
Randy poked his head out onto the balcony, not entirely surprised to find the bourbon and tequila bottles on the table outside. More surprising was the soup bowl next to the bottles, more surprising still was Joe, holding Meg's hand, talking and laughing softly with her.
"Patched things up, I see?" Randy folded his arms across his chest, voice sharp.
"He's seen me in my underwear; I think we're past the awkward phase." Meg was smiling, albeit with a full awareness of the splits in her lips. "But he has terrible aim with a spoon."
"That's what napkins are for, baby. Hush."
"What alternate universe did I land in?" Randy looked thoroughly confused. "I mean...here. I brought ice. For ice packs." He thumped the bucket down on the table, tossing the towels down on top of the ice. "Joe, c'mere for a minute."
"Go get your knuckles swatted," Meg whispered, "I can fold ice towels." She brushed the back of her hand lightly against Joe's cheek and shifted herself slowly toward the table.
Joe shuffled after Randy, closing the balcony door behind him. Once Randy heard it click, he spun around. "What the fuck did I tell you before I left? Hm? What did I say to you?" His voice was an angry hiss he hoped didn't carry outside. 'She has no idea what she's doing right now. She can't.'
"What, exactly, is the problem? This is the best she's been all night. Maybe all week. Month. I don't know; you would know. Why don't you go ask her?"
"You're being a self-centered asshole. I told you to leave her alone! You fucking saw what she looked like, you can guess what he did to her-"
Joe cut him off. "No, you didn't tell me to leave her alone. You told me to respect her if she told me to go away. So far, she hasn't. We're actually talking. It's good. And she told me what happened to her. Meg said it's always like that with her and Jackson, and she said she ended it."
"And," Meg cut in from the doorway, "Joe actually told me to slow it down tonight." Both men jumped; neither heard her open the door from the balcony. She eased into the room, toward Randy, lowering her voice when she spoke. "You saved my ass tonight. If I didn't have your room key, it would have been so much worse. You've always been there when I needed you. Now, I need you to trust me. And him."
Randy looked from Meg to Joe and back again. "Meg...you're asking a lot. Jackson could have killed you. You can't just ask me not to watch out for you."
"I know, Ran. But you're watching out against one of your friends. That's not right." Time froze in the room, both men trying to stare each other down, Meg caught in the middle of a second war. "Guys...I'm not Helen of Troy. If this is the bullshit I'm going to cause..." The defeat in Meg's voice was overwhelming. "I don't want to destroy you. Either of you."
Randy relented, pulled Meg gently to him, and kissed the top of her head. "Take the master bed," he whispered, "There's a spare room in the back, I'll be in there if you need me." He lifted his suitcase and disappeared to the rear of the suite, shoulder checking Joe on the way. 'What did I just set up?'
"Asshole," Joe muttered.
"Hey now." Meg reached for Joe. "Help me with the ice, and let's stay in? My back needs it. The bleeding is done; the bruising, not so much." Joe continued to look over Meg's head, in the general direction Randy went. "Hey. You up there." The tension hadn't left Joe's jaw; Meg knew Randy had hit a nerve. "Look...we're all too tired for this. I just want to be in bed. With you. Safe."
'Safe.' "Right...sorry, baby. He just…"
"Let's get the ice and lay down." Meg half-stifled a yawn. "I'm fading anyway. Conversation sounds easier than standing."
Joe carried her the few strides to the bed, ignoring her protests. "You figure out the blankets, I'll get the ice." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and went back to the balcony. 'And now we're getting in bed together. Right.' Returning with the ice Meg had folded into the towels, he found her stiffly adjusting the pillows and smoothing the sheets.
"Trying to get it right for you." Meg shrugged.
"Are you going to be in there?"
"Unless you kick me out, yeah."
"Then it's fine." Joe smiled. "Lay down, babygirl. Where do you want the ice?"
Meg slowly sprawled up the length of the bed, tucking her legs under the sheets. "Back, ankle, and more back, please."
Joe took his time adjusting the ice, thinking about Jackson and what he planned to do to him when – not if – he found him.
"Stop that. He's not worth it, and I'm fine." Meg was half-asleep, but still fully aware of the simmering rage in Joe.
"Get out of my head."
"It's so roomy up there, though," Meg teased, "I could move in, really."
"You already have." Joe sat back behind her, and she watched his shadow play over the wall as he took off his shirt and sweatpants, cast in moonlight from the balcony. He stretched out next to her, careful with his movements. "Meg, like I said, I want you to be sure about this. You had a shitty night, and that's an understatement, so-"
She pressed a finger to his lips. "Shh. Look. It's always this bad with Jackson. Not this bad, he's never put me through a mirror before, but he's always been like this about..." Meg started to pick invisible lint off the sheets. "I'm not looking at you and thinking 'Gee, there's some guy, I bet he can save me,' and I hope that's not what you think, either."
"That's not what I mean."
"Then what?"
"I mean...you've been in my head for months, and I don't want this to be completely fucked up because we go rushing into it just because it's there and we can. I want to know you."
"Then talk to me." Meg tangled her fingers in the ends of Joe's hair. "I'm never going to get tired of this," she murmured, more to herself than anything else.
"Mmm. What should I talk to you about?" Joe closed his eyes, enjoying her touch. "Anything?"
"Anything." As much as the ice would let her, she pressed in against him, enjoying the feel of his skin, the soft strands of his hair, the ridge of the band on his boxers. Every fiber of her body ached, she was exhausted, and the low purr of his voice began to lull her to sleep. Her eyes fluttered, she relaxed, and finally, she let go of the night and slipped away.