Joe couldn't place his finger exactly on what had prompted him to respond to Randy the way he did. Legitimate dislike existed between the two men, and Randy's hostile tone hadn't helped things, but, truth be told, Joe was starting to reconsider his position on Meg. 'Old habits die hard, for everyone.'

Things started out well enough; his fiancee had been only too thrilled to hear from him, had doted on him lovingly and adoringly after surgery, even through most of recovery – but now that he was preparing to go back on the road, she'd started staying out late again. His credit cards left his wallet for days, only showing up when he commented on their absence. 'The closer I get to a hundred percent, the closer she gets to the way she was.' He'd caught himself, more than a few times, thinking of Meg.

While he'd long since cleared her things from his drawers and closets, there were a few shirts of his that she'd slept in that he'd never washed, still heavy with her scent, that he'd squirreled away. Lately, he was taking them out more often, fingering the ragged hems, thinking of the nights she'd spent in his bed, the times he'd simply brushed the fabric out of the way and she'd come to him, easily and without pretense, eager to touch and be touched, but without a sole demand or expectation of her own. 'She wanted what I wanted, whatever it was. Did I even know?' Now, the woman in his bed left smears of makeup on the pillowcases, and her perfume was oppressive, jasmine lingering harshly between her thighs where Meg had only ever been softness and strangely, warmth. 'The only thing warm, ever,' and every memory down that path forced Joe to bite back a strange sound that wanted to force its way from his throat and into his bedroom.

'My bedroom. Not ours, not hers, just mine. Alone.' It occurred to Joe he'd always called it 'ours' when Meg was with him, even though she left no trace other than a vague aroma of roses and the occasional stray sock. With his fiancee, it felt as though she was simply renting space. Showing up and going away as she pleased, and almost bored with his presence – resentful that he would be leaving, to be sure – but only because she wouldn't be the one sending him away, it would be his employer calling for him. He wanted to convince himself that it was simply cold feet, that he should drop to his knee, offer up the ring he'd taken back, and close the chapter, but he couldn't do it. 'It might help if I didn't keep the ring in the same place I keep Meg's shirts.'

Jealousy washed over him as he looked out across the bay; his shirts were Meg's and Meg's shirts were almost certainly now Randy's, especially given her penchant for sleeping without even so much as a pair of panties on but still feigning an interest in decency. 'She used to crack me up with that – basically naked, so why bother with wearing anything at all?' Again, he forced down memories of slender thighs and ghost-pale skin, instead trying to think of every time she'd woken him up by laying her cold hands too high or low on his body – but the memory brought only a smile to his face. 'This one...she only touches me if she wants something.'

His fiancee stepped through the back door as he mused, dripping salt water and shedding sand across the sunroom. It irritated Joe, though he and Meg had made the same mess dozens of times, usually throwing a beach towel under them as they collapsed to the floor before their afternoon ended in unhurried lovemaking. Now...he wanted to find a broom to clean the grit. His fiancee's fingers traced up his arms, paying no mind to his tattoo, not bothering to trail through the ends of his hair, and trying to duck him down into a kiss. He acquiesced, but not without bitterness in his throat. 'What did I do? And what am I doing?'

It took several obnoxious honks from passing taxis before Randy was willing to let go of Meg enough to pull her and his luggage back toward her car, still stunned by Meg's presence. It wasn't til they were both in her car and she'd moved it well away from the terminal that he was able to find any words – and they were, simply, "Drive. Anywhere, just drive."

'Thirty minutes, Meg. Just hold it together for thirty minutes.' She was speeding, she was practically vibrating from a combination of tension and exhaustion, her jeans were sticking to her thigh, and she was spending more time watching Jackson roll in convulsive laughter on the back seat of the car than was probably safe for highway speeds – none of which was lost on Randy. It occurred to him that he hadn't asked where they were going, but he also knew he didn't care. The spotty, edge-neighborhoods of Saint Charles turned to the downtown area, and Meg made a sharp right into the entrance of the apartment complex.

'And only a few blocks from the cemetery, kitten. See you soon.'Jackson's fetid breath licked across Meg's cheek, and she had to struggle not to retch while she drove to her building at the back.

"Meg...kiddo, I don't understand. You could have told me...shit, you could have stayed with me..." Randy's voice was tired, confused, but not at all upset as she slipped the car into park and leaned across the center console to wrap her arms around him again.

"I know. But I didn't want you to say no, either. This way..." She shrugged. "I'll wear you out, Ran. I need somewhere to go when that happens. So...here's home." He looked at her gently, playing with the last word she'd said, debating how far he could push them given how tired they both were and opting to let it lay. Her grip was awkward and she could only manage a minute before needing to fall back into her seat. "C'mon. You get to see it the same time I do. Unless you want to go to your place."

His eyes fell to the sticky bloodstain on her pants, and he couldn't help himself from reaching toward it. Meg blocked his hand, pushing it back to his lap.

"Meg, what'd you-" She was out of the car before he finished his sentence, struggling to get his bags out of the back. Randy sighed, pushed his door open, and stretched his legs out into the cold pre-dawn air. His back twinged; the plane hadn't done much for it, but he hoped Meg would.

The walk up the stairs was a trek of mutual support, easy smiles, each pulling or urging the other as much as could be done with the combination of thin sleep, heavy luggage, and wracking pain. She passed him the key and stepped back from the door, waiting. Randy didn't move, just looked at her, a half-smile on his face. "Here's home?"

"Yeah, Ran. Here's home." Meg's smile was unreserved, and she reached for his hand without realizing she'd done it.

'With me. Tell me you want me to sell my house and stay here; the sign goes up today. Tell me you want to move in with me, we get back in the car now.' He pulled her through the door with him, stopping just on the other side of the threshold, pulling her back against him. "I'm going to guess it came this way?" The décor was decidedly unlike her; nearly entirely beige and nondescript.

Meg shrugged. "As long as it came with a bed for us, it could have been bright pink. Besides," she tilted her head up toward him, "We can fix it. I get the feeling the landlord won't mind."

'She said we. We! She might actually...stay.' His arms closed around her, sliding down over her hips, until his hand grazed her thigh and she flinched. 'And we need to talk about that. That whole night, actually.' "Meg...c'mere. Let's find our bedroom. Lay down. I missed this."

In the bedroom – 'Our bedroom? He said ours.' – Meg pushed Randy's jacket back over his arms, letting it fall to the floor. A streaky dawn had started to pull over the eastern horizon as Randy reached for the front of Meg's jeans, and she inhaled shakily when he pulled her forward, her hips colliding with his. Her hands crept up the plane of his stomach, under his shirt, and Randy's breathing became equally shaky as she lifted the fabric over him and cast it on the floor. His fingers worked feverishly at the button of her jeans, and she slipped her own shirt over her head before pressing herself against him, pinning his hands in place between them. 'Meg, no. He deserves better than you.' Before she could speak, tell him to lay down, try to sleep, let her work at his back, Randy had freed his hands, sliding them up her waist, stopping to run his thumb over the scar on her ribs. His eyes hadn't left her body; they darted across the surface of her skin like stones skipped on water.

Gently, he led her back, waiting for her to stop him, tell him to let go, anything – but no words came. When he felt the edge of the bed behind him, he sat, pulling her at him, still waiting for some sort of flinch. Meg stood before him, her hands at the waist of her jeans, finishing what Randy had started, sliding them down her legs and hissing as they crossed the welt her cigarette had created and her fingers had deepened.

"Meggie...I know you're – we're – tired, but...what happened?" He reached up to toy with the strap of her bra, gently twisting it around his fingers, trying to avoid brushing against her leg as he urged her into his lap. She settled in so immediately that he laid back and pulled her over him, trying for as much contact as she'd allow.

"You're gonna think I'm crazy if I tell you." Meg's smile was half-ashamed and her voice was low; he could see her start to retreat into whatever scant respite her mind could offer. She slid across the length of him and down to his side, stroking the back of her hand down the side of his face, along his neck, trying desperately to distract him from continuing the line of questioning.

"Meg..."It was Randy's turn to let his voice slip low. "I won't. And we need to -"

Impulsively, she leaned up as though to kiss him, face-to-face, her medallion dangling between them. His words caught short, and he instinctively held his breath, waiting for her to close the last inch between them.

"Ran...please. We can – we will – but right now...please...can I just have this?" She dropped her head, dodging his lips, gently trailing hers down his neck as she spoke. "Just this. I missed you."

He pulled her in further, knowing their conversation could wait. The mark on her thigh, the irritated red lines on her arms – all of it would be different in full daylight and after sleep. Randy shifted away from Meg only enough to take his pants off, stretch, and silently will her hands to his lower back – and she was only too glad to oblige before falling asleep tangled over him, his fingers threaded through her hair in a heavy grasp. Sleep was a relief, sleep in the same bed, after so many days apart, was like an opiate.

Sarah pounded on Meg's door a few short hours later; trying to get her attention and get the necessary paperwork signed. Randy groaned at the noise; his back felt amazing thanks to Meg's ministrations, but the ache between his legs was intolerable. 'If I could touch her – like that – just once. Just once...' Groping for his shirt, he managed to get himself presentable before going to her door.

Sarah was stunned into silence once the door swung open; she'd expected Meg but not the giant man who stood, half-dressed, in front of her. "Shit. Meg didn't tell me she had company. Here, uh, these are for her." Sarah passed the stack of paperwork over to Randy, who was not nearly awake enough to cope with the amount of information being thrown at him. "I'll, uh...I'll let you get back to it." She leaned forward and pulled the door shut for him, letting out a small hum of appreciation as soon as the latch clicked. 'Damn! I knew there was a reason I rented to her. Maybe he's got a friend.'

Randy locked the door and ditched his shirt as soon as the door closed, not having hear Meg pad up behind him. Normally, he would have startled if anyone else had wrapped their arms around him from behind, but with her, he simply pressed his hands over hers, pulled her hands up over his chest, and waited for her to pull against him the way he knew she would, feeling only thin bits of her cotton panties and bra covering her against him.

"Landlord?"

"I think so. She left a bunch of paperwork. And made a really weird noise."

"Hmm." Meg began to pull him back toward their bedroom, turning him as she went. "Well...I can sign my life over later. For right now...back to bed. I don't think I'm done with you yet."

Randy felt himself break into a smile, and he lifted Meg up into his arms, earning a squeak of amusement as he moved. 'Meggie...I'm not done with you either.' From the counter, his cellphone chirped an email alert, and it crossed his mind that it might be Remy – but he ignored it in favor of moving toward the bed, his chilled bundle of roses in his arms and about to be under his sheets. 'This now, takeout later, and I don't think I'm ever leaving. Early retirement.'

The rest of their day was spent lounging on each other in bed, him sporadically answering the door for delivery, her figuring out local maps and TV stations, and both of them catching up between each other. Meg worked every knot and crimp out of his back; Randy parsed every snarl from her windblown and slept-on hair. Even without the added velvet of alcohol settling over her, Meg was completely at ease. Still shirtless, his tattoos hadn't spoken, Jackson hadn't made an appearance – the empty space in Meg's world was filled, and there was no room for delusions or creeping paranoia.

'Maybe...maybe this is the right decision, for once,' Meg mused. 'It feels right. And he feels good.'