Thank you to ALL of my loyal readers and reviewers: Nattiebroskette, psion53, eyexlinerxwhore, ShieldGirlforever, Mom2AllisonandJames, SweetHigh, Cougar3371, and everyone else who's out there following along. Without you, the story is nothing. I'd love to keep hearing for you, so please – keep 'em coming!
Nattie, especially, who walks me through every 3AM existential crisis I have. One of these days, you're gonna reach through the screen and whap me, and I've earned it. Just lemme put my drink down first...
And, welcome DieselAnnaNights!
With Joe out in the open, Meg knew she had a phone call to make the next morning. That night, however, she was going to enjoy everything Randy had given her, including the raspy, rattling noise currently echoing through her head as he breathed directly into her ear, curled over her as he was. Well, everything except the headache she felt netting its way around the base of her brain. That, she could do without – but she'd also done it to herself. Rolling her eyes inwardly, she turned toward him, kissed his temple, and worked herself toward sleep.
True to his word, he'd taken care of her that night. There'd been a protracted pause after Randy said he loved her – Meg hadn't expected to hear it – but there it was, in the air between them, and Meg moved so fast to capture it between their lips that her speed startled them both, her pain be damned. He was more than happy to respond in kind, wave after wave of relief rolling over him, washing away the blood he felt was on his hands. He was reluctant to pull away from her, and it took several false starts and small moans before he was able to coax her into agreeing to break apart.
"Meg...I swear, I'm never going to do that to you again."
"What, kiss me?" She smiled gently, trying to keep him from sinking back into self-flagellation.
He huffed at her, but returned her smile and scooped her up from the edge of the bed, settling her into the middle of it. "No, scare you. Hurt you. Anything stupid I did today." He left the bed only long enough to pull some pillows from a loveseat across the room. "How do I do this?" Randy gestured with the pillows like a sort of confused concierge. "Your leg, I mean."
Meg leaned forward and rolled up her jeans as far as they'd let her before the cuffing became too tight, and grimaced. A vicious black streak was beginning to appear, parallel to her shin, and Randy's concern jumped well past cautious and into terror.
"Don't worry about it, Ran. I'll deal with it. Grab Sarah's stuff so she's not passing out in the driveway, and come back up here?"
He looked tremendously unsure, but acquiesced, knowing that an argument was the last thing he should start. "Okay. Should I bring ice, or something else for you to take? I know, I know – no vicodin."
"Tequila. And ice. And more tequila. And we still didn't get groceries, did we?"
"Don't worry about it. The neighbor kid took care of it, kinda, I think." He jogged from the bedroom, practically tripping over Sarah at the bottom of the stairs, Chunk in her arms, bottle of whiskey under the cat, stacks of pizza on a plate.
"Yes, I'm fine, yes, the cat is staying in the bedroom, I already put a shitton of ice in a bowl in the kitchen, there's another box of pizza by the stove, and I didn't know what tequila you wanted, so you're on your own. Vicodin dissolves in alcohol. See you in the morning."
Randy blinked rapidly, trying to understand if Sarah had just suggested he drug his girlfriend. "Uh...right. Okay. See you in the morning." He bumbled around the living room, locking doors and checking windows, setting the alarm, then headed to the kitchen. He picked up the pizza he hadn't realized had ever been delivered, stacking the bowl of ice on top of it and wedging the tequila into that. He shot a sidelong glance at Meg's purse, perched on the edge of the counter, and idly wondered if she'd kept the vicodin from so long ago. 'Sarah wouldn't have mentioned it for no reason. But, Meg said no, and I'm not starting that.' Shaking his head, he went to the bathroom off of the den, rummaging through the medicine cabinet until he came up with various bottles of painkillers, all store-bought, and returned to the kitchen, dropping them onto the ice.
"Here we go. I'm going to get this right." He was whispering to nobody in particular, largely trying to convince himself. Heading up the stairs and gently opening the door after knocking, he found Meg half-asleep on the bed, her leg propped up by two of the pillows. She'd rolled her jeans back down over her shin.
"Meg? Hey, Meggie? C'mon, wake up a little. Food, drink, and Tylenol. Or Motrin. And I'm gonna find you something else to sleep in. Jeans aren't comfortable."
"Just a shirt, Ran. Nothing fancy." Meg tried to stuff down a yawn. "I'll wake up once I eat. I think I'm just worn out. It was hard to drive back." She watched him dig through various drawers, looking at shirts and discarding them as quickly as he found them, leaving a mess in his wake. "Ran...whatever is fine. Really, nothing fancy."
"I know. I'm not looking for fancy, I'm looking for..." He pushed a few more things aside, then shook out a well-worn, extremely wrinkled t-shirt. "This." He held it out to Meg, who recognized it as one of the – if not the – first pieces of merch ever generated for him. "Sentimental value. I want to see you in it. If...if you don't mind." He suddenly felt silly for even asking; she'd told him any shirt would do.
If Meg's smile had been any broader, her face would have cleaved itself in two and back again. "Hand it here, Ran. Of course I don't mind. Help me up?"
He slid her to the side of the bed, mindful of her leg, then eased her to her feet, unsure of whether or not he should let her go. "Meg, I don't want you falling...I know you can do this on your own, but let me help. Please?"
"Help me by getting me to the bathroom, and I'll take it from there. No locked doors. Just give me a minute to clean up and change, and then pizza and shots. You remember that birthday you scared the mess out of me-"
"When you got new boots for me and I faked you out? That was the best!" Randy smiled broadly, easing Meg slowly toward the bathroom, resisting the impulse to simply carry her and be done with it. "You were so pissed, but then we both ended up so drunk. Did we play quarters that night?"
"I think quarters turned into 'I dare you to take that shot' and then we ended up walking around on the hotel roof. Didn't we chase pigeons?" Meg leaned into the bathroom counter, and slipped from Randy's arms. "I've got it from here. Just give me a few minutes. And, hey – promise me something?"
"Sure." 'Oh, shit – ask before you agree, Orton, you were just talking about a drinking game.'
"Promise me you won't flip out about my leg. It's not pretty."
Randy sighed, but nodded, and retreated back to the bed, cracking open the bottle of tequila. "Go ahead, Meg."
Five minutes stretched into ten and then more, and though he could hear her moving around, sink running, towel moving, clothing shifting, he was edgy the entire time. 'Leave her alone, Orton. She's fine. And even if she's not, she just said leave her alone. Try listening to her.'
Meg stumbled around the bathroom, trying to maintain her balance on one leg, afraid to put any weight whatsoever on her right. Dealing with her shirt was easy enough, but her pants were proving to be a far more difficult endeavor. Sighing, Meg tried to ease herself down on the edge of the tub without toppling into it. Successful, she used her left foot to pry her jeans down the length of her right leg, shaking the entire time. Any touch, any pressure, and she prayed for death. For a fleeting second, she thought she felt Jackson's fingers brush down the side of her cheek, almost tender, but it was only errant beads of sweat. 'You're not starting that shit again, Meg. Nightmares are one thing, but that's too far back.' Pants off, Randy's shirt on, she hefted herself upright and toward the sink one last time, splashing water on her face.
"Okay, Ran. Grab the door for me?" Meg felt far too unsteady on her feet to reach for the doorknob herself, and knew if she fell she'd be dealing with Randy having a panic attack. He must have been on top of the door; it was open in seconds, and his arms were around her – first protectively, then lifting her from the floor – with him trying not to look at her leg, knowing he'd react poorly.
'Screw it. I'm gonna pick her up to put her in bed.' He'd reorganized the blankets and dimmed the lights while she was in the bathroom, making space for them both, and placed her back in the middle of the bed, gently laying a quilt over her. "You're gonna have to do the pillows, Meg...I don't know how." Then, he did look – and regretted it. It had to be broken. What might have started as a stress fracture was now a full-fledged problem, and one that had to be looked at soon. "Meg...oh my God...we have to-"
"Put it up on pillows again and throw some ice on it? I know. Mind grabbing a small towel? I forgot to get one." Meg cut him off at the pass, trying to take his mind off of things. 'I can't take half those meds, either. There's some kind of internal bleed going on. It's black. I'll make it worse. I need a narcotic, but...no.' She smiled at him when he came back with a bath towel, far too large to be terribly helpful, but he was trying. Stuffing it with ice, Meg wrapped it around her leg and pulled the quilt firmly over her thighs, preparing to freeze. "Tequila, or pizza? Actually..." She leaned over. "I'll start with you." Meg kissed him, gently but firmly, trying to wipe the last of the worry from his mind.
It wasn't working. Randy certainly returned the gesture, even eagerly, but his mind was locked onto her leg and what he could do. When Meg pulled away, she could tell he was still concerned. "Ran, seriously, stop. Eat something, have a drink or three, and relax. It is what it is, and we'll fix it in the morning."
He nudged the tequila over to her, having already had several drinks, and followed with the box of pizza. "Go ahead, Meg." 'And you know I mean eat, drink, and talk.'
Her shoulders dropped. "I don't know, Ran. Honestly. With this," Meg gestured at her shin, "It's been fucked up since the hospital. I didn't let them near me to work on it, I left too soon, blah blah. I think they put hardware in there, but I have no idea if it was supposed to come out or stay in. And honestly, it doesn't matter. I couldn't handle it now, anyway. Whatever's going on in there, it's staying that way."
'Don't argue, don't argue...argue later...and Meg, you mean you don't remember letting them near you. And we are not going to talk about that.' "Okay, Meggie. Okay. I get it, I know how much you hate hospitals. Shit, I guess I better not ever end up in one, huh?"
"I would die." Meg bit into her slice of pizza, chewed thoughtfully, and nodded. "Yeah. I couldn't handle it now. Nurse or no nurse. There's a reason I stick to clinic work."
'And you fucked up again, Orton.' "Meg...shit, don't say that. Please." He pulled her awkwardly over to him, stealing the tequila back, pulling another slice of pizza from the box. "I just...Meggie..."
She elbowed him. "I get it, Randy. You worry. Too much everything, and we said just about everything, tonight, didn't we?" She leaned up to kiss him, ignoring entirely the fact that he was chewing. "Tomorrow, an x-ray. At my clinic. But no promises after that, okay? It all...puts me back there, and I know I don't handle it well."
"Fair enough." 'I was thinking more like orthopedic specialist, but I'll take what I can get.' "Remember that time when Dave had to call you from the ER at...oh, shit, what hospital was that? When Ziv had to get her, what was it, elbow? Knee? Checked out after she bombed on Trin? And you were supposed to speak Lithuanian, translate for her, settle her down, and break her out of there?"
Meg laughed outright, pulling the tequila away again. "You should have brought two bottles. And yeah, I don't know what Dave was thinking on that one. She hams up that accent, it's not like she doesn't speak English. She was just super-pissed off about being at the hospital at all. Her elbow was damned well fine, and she knew it. Dave's so paranoid, sometimes. Worries about everything. You wouldn't know anything about that, huh?" She elbowed at him. "I really hope you brought a second bottle. You're not getting this back. My leg feels way better now. Better than vicodin. Best medicine in Mexico."
"I could be persuaded to go get a second or third bottle..." Randy headed for the door. "More ice?"
"Sounds good. Anything you want."
"Meg, be careful what you wish for..." He winked before he left.
Carefully, she pushed her quilt to the side and slid the pillows out from under her leg once the door closed, chancing her fingers on a walk down the length of her shin. At random intervals, she could feel small knobs deep under her muscle and guessed they were screws. Touching them was agony; she could swear they moved, and left well enough alone. 'More tequila. The rest of me is numb. Well, almost the rest of me. If I can get my leg there, then I'm set. Then maybe I can get him set. He's too torn up right now. Too shook.' Meg decided to make use of her time while he was gone, hunting down the remote, moving the pizza box, putting the tequila into the rest of the ice in the bowl, and then throwing herself heavily down into the pile of pillows on the bed, reveling in the cloud of cologne that surrounded her.
"Perfect, Meg," Randy murmured as he nudged the door open, "You look...perfect." His shirt, already smallish on her from repeated washings and dryer shrink, had floated up her thighs. Its trek north continued as she rotated to face him, reaching for the tequila in his hands, and her high-cut black panties slipped briefly into view before she tugged the shirt back down. Seeing Meg more relaxed, leg flat on the bed, he decided he could venture toward playful and swiped the tequila back from her hands.
"Nope." His smile was positively wicked. "Fix your shirt."
She met his mood, dragging the edge of his shirt up over her hip using only the tip of a fingernail. "Hand it over. And don't think you're getting anything til you fix what you're wearing." She reached out again and was rewarded with the tequila she'd wanted, drinking with one hand and pulling the edge of the shirt up to the edge of her bra with the other. "Consider that," she breathed, throat burning from the alcohol, "Incentive."
Track pants gone in one fluid motion, Randy was suddenly over her, equal parts predatory and delicate. "We're even," he purred next to her ear, "Unless you wanna up the ante."
"Oh, no. You're gonna work for it, tonight." Meg slithered her hips under him, half dare and half encouragement. 'Just walk the line, Meg. Figure out where his head is, first.'
"Meg, I'll work for it any night." Already over her, he leaned down into a kiss, then carefully moved to her side, trying his damnedest not to jostle the bed. "But I don't want to be an asshole about this, either. I'm supposed to be making you feel better."
Tilting toward him, drinking again – 'Drinking too much, Meg, lay off a little' – Meg rested her hand on his chest, under his shirt, and swirled circles on his skin with her fingernails. "Whatcha mean, Ran?"
"I know I was...too much, earlier. You said you wanted to feel safe. And I was rough with you last night. Where do I go from that? Meg...I'm no good at this shit, you know that." He rested his head against her shoulder, thinking. "Mistakes are one thing, but you were afraid. I know you were afraid. You hurt yourself because of me, you went there alone because of me, you-"
"Sh'up, Ran." Meg drank, again, annoyed, pulling her hand away. "Really." She thumped the bottle of tequila heavily on the table next to the bed, her shirt twisting up over her bra, and she couldn't decide if she should take it off or leave it on. She turned away, then back, drinking again, before deciding she could face him. "Look. And shit, I hate that I don't know how to do this when I'm sober." Meg leaned over him, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck, the tequila bottle cold between his shoulderblades. "It hasn't dawned on you yet? You can't actually fuck up. You can't do anything wrong. You yelled at me. Okay. You really think that's gonna be the only time we ever argue with each other? It's gonna happen, Ran, and you can't annihilate yourself every time we do something that doesn't sit right with each other. You wanna make me feel better? Then want me. Want to make me feel better. Let me enjoy it. Let me do that for you." She put the tequila back down, knowing it'd be a temporary divorce.
He looked up at her from his position on her shoulder, realizing she'd made some sense, but not feeling quite relieved of his burden, either. "No, it's not gonna be the only time we fight, but-"
"And as for last night," Meg continued, oblivious to him, "Do you know how nice it was to just...get laid? Have someone fuck you who wanted to because they really wanted you, not because you just were there, or they spite-fucked you, or they had a game to play?" She reached for the tequila again, nearly knocking it to the floor before she managed it back to her mouth. "It was good. The sex was better than good. I needed it. I needed you, and whatever you needed, I needed to give it to you, not bleed you dry. I've always bled you dry, Randy."
"Okay, Meg. That's enough." 'Wherever she's headed with this, it's not good.'
"No, it's not enough, and you can shut up again." She poked at him with the bottom of the bottle. "You can listen, for once. Do you think I feel good about knowing I dragged you across the fucking earth? I stay up sometimes and think about what that was like for you. Sometimes I'm glad I still hurt. I'm glad I look as fucked up as I do, because it makes it fair. Shit like tonight makes it fair. It levels it out. That I put you through all that bullshit – and I still do – and you keep coming back for more. You never knew how sorry I was, or how sorry I am." Meg drank til it hurt, and then kept going, eyes burning, throat closing, til she felt Randy push the bottom of the bottle down. She shoved his hand away, but held it, and put the bottle back on the table with much less force than she'd used previously.
Sure the tequila wouldn't tilt along with the rest of the world, she began studying his fingers. She knew what they felt like against her skin, pressed on her back, tangled through her hair, between her thighs, but she'd never really looked at them, not carefully. She traced the base of his fingernails, kissed each fingertip, nipping and sucking lightly as she went, each motion a threat and a promise of what she might do later, of what an apology could contain.
"And I told you why I keep coming back, didn't I? I love you." It was Randy's turn to drink, figuring if they were airing personal grievances with alcohol as the excuse of the night, he might as well jump with both feet.
"Did you ever know how much I loved you? In the middle of all of that bullshit with Sam – maybe even before, I don't know – I looked at you and realized I was just...all that shit I did, yeah, a lot of it was about her. And a lot of it was about trying to make myself not look at you like that, because I thought I shouldn't. We were friends, and I didn't want to fuck that up. It was fun. It was easy. It was right. Nothing I did ever shook you. Meg, if I ever needed someone to bail me out of jail at three in the morning, you were my phone call." He tried to force down the hurt, replace it with something else, make himself sound less angry, but didn't know if he could or it was worth it. He decided if Meg could bathe in tequila so could he, so he drank.
"Meg, I'm not blaming you. I'm not trying to make you feel guilty. That's the opposite of this, but it's coming out wrong. I mean it like...you were the one good thing I had. You kept me together, you actually cared about me. You got Dave to come around, you got other people to come around...it was like pieces came together. I knew I was so bad at this shit...relationships...I was scared to try anything else. Then Joe came along...and I know I gave you shit at first, but I tried to be happy for you. I wanted you to be happy. Then, all that shit with Jackson, and Joe wouldn't even give you a chance to talk." Randy drank heavily, the darkness in Meg's eyes scaring him. "So now when he calls..."
"You...get angry. And I don't make sense to you."
"Yeah. And...yeah." Randy drank again. "Wait. You're not mad at me?"
"You're being honest. How am I gonna be mad at you? Joe's an asshole. I don't want him. When I went back to the hotel after you beat the shit out of him, it was because I didn't want him to die. You fucked him up, Ran. Serious-like. I stayed awake that whole night, thinking about what he said. None of it made sense."
"What'd he say?"
Meg reached for her tequila, twitching and humming as Randy slid a hand under her shirt and along her ribs, tracing her scar. His lips followed the same path his hand took, and she relaxed into his touch. "That he was talking to...shit, I don't remember. Family, I think, which didn't make sense with what you said. He blamed all of it on you, said you wanted to parade me around like Jackson did, you lied to me...probably other shit. It was a while ago. He wanted me to stay, but I didn't."
"To get you-"
"And it didn't work." She drank, hitting the bottom of the fifth, rolling over him and not caring how uselessly her right leg was banging around behind her. "Because I'm here. And I'm faster than you. At drinking, anyway" She wagged the empty bottle at Randy, who rolled his eyes and tightened his grasp around her waist, pinning her on top of him.
"Look," Meg dropped the empty bottle to the floor and dropped her mouth to his neck, as aggressive with him as he was with her the previous night, knowing Sarah couldn't hear them, "All I want is to convince you that you don't have to worry about him." She felt his legs come up against her and his arms become impossibly tighter around her, so she bit harder, pressed deeper, ignored her leg, dug her nails in against any available part of his chest and raked trails over his skin as hard as she could. "What is it going to take from me, Randy? Tell me." Her words were a crush against him, and she had to work to make herself heard.
Words were gone from him as surely as though she'd caught each one in his neck before it had a chance to make it to his mouth. Her shirt had risen between them and her body was an icy plank; he could feel every muscle in her tense as she rolled against him. Her nails dug hot tracks down his chest, her teeth chased from his neck down to the tops of his shoulders. He wanted to pull the rest of the clothing from her, but every time her hands left his chest they pressed his arms, now wandering, to the bed. She wasn't pinning him down by any stretch of the imagination; rather, he was enjoying the feeling of giving up to her. 'Was this what she meant? How it feels when someone wants to fuck you? Really wants you at all?' He didn't know where one sensation ended and another began, didn't know if he could breathe, wanted to somehow pull her inside him, wanted to turn her underneath him and start over again with her as the focus. 'Meg, I don't know what to do with this.'
Meg stopped as suddenly as she'd started, sitting up over him, reaching for his tequila in the bowl of ice and admiring her handiwork on his chest. She was desperate to keep her weight off of her leg, but desperate not to break their rhythm. Surreptitiously, she palmed an ice cube, waiting, while Randy pulled himself to sitting. Meg watched while he re-opened the tequila and started to drink, waiting til he was fully involved in his shot before pressing the ice firmly against the raised marks her fingernails had drawn, savoring the jolt she pulled from him.
"Do you believe me yet?" Cold ice, cold fingers, Meg's tongue like hot satin, more fingernails, "Because you know I can do more to show you. You know I want to do more to show you."
Almost involuntarily, Randy's fingers tangled through her hair, half brushing it from her face, half locking a gentle hold into it and pulling her gently to the left. "I know, Meg. But...what can I show you?"
"First, finish your tequila." Randy glared, but drank and set the bottle to the side. "Now," Meg pulled her shirt off and dropped it gently to the side of the bed, "You can show me what you look like when I get you off. When I convince you. That's all I want. I want to put you back together. You broke, tonight. Start the next bottle."
"Meg, I-" He reached for her hands, which she was glad to give to him.
"I'm not asking." She leaned forward against him where he sat, rolling her wrists in order to pin the backs of his hands against the headboard. "I know you don't have to let me win this one." Meg arched in against him, never letting go of his hands, curling inward and coming to rest next to his ear, her voice becoming a breathy whisper. "But I want you to let me."
The resistance went out of him, not that there was much left after her previous work. There was no pretense to what she did, not at this point – she was steeped in tequila, determined to prove her point, break his will, know his taste, and she pulled his hands down with her as she dropped between his legs, letting him drag his boxers down. He didn't know where to reach first, reveled in discovering the second warm spot on her body even if her lips were cold, didn't know if he should reach at all, and found himself unprepared – as unprepared as she was the night before – for how ready she was, losing himself to her completely, unfamiliar sounds escaping his lips, trying to avoid her, enter her, not knowing what to do, not calm until her hands closed on his hips and she held him still until they were both sated, both empty and full, both in different ways.
"Now," Meg breathed, minutes later, backing her hand across her mouth, "Now do you believe me? That you don't have to worry?" Watching him, Meg knew. He couldn't keep his eyes open, his lips parted, and every time he panted he breathed her name. Where she expected his hands to dig into her shoulders, they floated over her, skimming across her skin feather-light. "I'm yours, Randy. I don't want to be anyone else's."
His throat was dry, and his hands were shaking too badly to bother with the tequila, which Meg was eying hungrily herself. Forcing a whisper, Randy tipped her chin up, making sure she was looking at him and nowhere else. "I believe you, Magdalena. I-"
She smiled, licked her lips, and tipped the tequila back before holding it up for him. "I know." She winked, and carefully eased up next to him in his lap. "Shh. I know."
Tequila finished, fears slain for the night, Randy balled himself up around her, burying them both in blankets and kicking off his boxers. Sleep came easily for him, not from the alcohol, but from the pure, relaxed bliss of having his evening turned on its head. He'd meant to be the one comforting her and somehow, she'd brought it all back around to him. 'If that's what it feels like to be wanted – if that's how I made her feel – this is right.'
Groggy the next morning, Meg knocked one empty tequila bottle to the floor before Randy reached over her and answered her phone. Immediately, he popped up on an elbow and began yelling at the person on the line. Her leg was on fire again, was making it hard for her to breathe despite being at the opposite end of her body, and somehow her ears were ringing from the pain, not the hangover. She couldn't hear Randy clearly at first, but saw the look he was giving her phone, which changed completely when he saw her – anger to fear – and she reached for him, taking the phone away, forcing her brain to check in.
"Meg...I'm Meg...here...who is this?"
"You wanna explain to me why the fucking cops are calling me and asking about a break-in at your place?" Joe snarled into her ear, his voice shaking her violently into the morning.
"Joe! Joe. Jesus. Yeah, I'm sorry about that." Meg was trying to reach for her leg and untangle from the sheets, and Randy was already back in his pants, trying to lean into her phone, look at her leg, get her to hang up, figure out how to get Sarah to help him get more ice when she was on a different floor of the house and just as hurt as Meg, if not more – and failing on all fronts. Meg pointed to the bed, waving him to sit down, and gestured for him to be quiet. The world rolled around her. "I was gonna call you this morning. Sarah was-"
"I don't give a fuck who was what, I want to know why the fucking cops are calling me!" Joe was screaming now, his voice so loud through the phone that Meg held it away from her ear, his voice echoing back over itself.
"Joe, calm down. I can't talk to you if you're screaming at me."
"Talk. You have exactly thirty seconds to make some sense out of this shit or else I make it into a problem."
Meg crooked an eyebrow and pushed Randy's hand down from the phone, shaking her head. "Okay. Whatever that means. Someone broke into Sarah's apartment and hit her on the head. She has a ton of stitches. I guess while she was coming around, she said your name. The cops asked me who you were when I went to get her stuff. She only mentioned you because I've talked about you. She probably has a crush or something."
"That doesn't explain shit, Meg, and you know it."
"Joe...I don't know what else you want me to tell you." Meg's stomach was starting to roll; her leg was picking various other body parts to attack, and while it had temporarily given back her sense of hearing, nausea was now becoming an issue. "She's my friend, we've talked about old boyfriends...I don't know. I'm sorry. It's not going to turn into anything. You're how far away, right? You can't be in two places. Nobody's blaming you." Meg pitched forward, clasping her hand over her mouth, and Randy reached for her. Meg mouthed for water, and pointed to the door. Randy nodded, and flew to fetch a glass.
Meanwhile, the line was silent. Joe mulled over her words. In the background, he heard a door click open and then closed. 'But she didn't move.' Rage shifted in an instant to sadness. "Meg, babygirl, tell me you're not with him right now."
"I'm at Randy's house. So is Sarah. I wasn't going to stay at my place. Sarah and I live on the same floor. She's only a few doors down, and she couldn't stay at her place. I didn't feel safe at mine. She's here, too. Why?"
"Because! Why are you with him?" His heart broke on every word; Meg could hear it.
"I needed a place to stay last night, Joe. I just said that." 'And more than that, but how is it your business?'
"You have a fucking place to stay. I'm gonna ask you again – especially when you can't be bothered to call me or see me, and you know I'd have you on the first plane out of there – why are you with him?"
"Joe...where do I even start with that question? What do you mean, why am I with him?"
Randy came back to the room just in time to hear Meg's response, Joe's rage a tinny echo across the phone, and slammed the door shut harder than was necessary. Meg startled, but motioned him to the bed and gestured for him to lean in. 'I have nothing to hide. Joe can say what he wants, Randy's smart enough to know it's bullshit.' "I'm with him because we're seeing each other. Because I love him." She sipped at the water, squeezing Randy's hand gratefully after she set the glass down.
"You do not love him." Sorrow to disbelief, and back again. "Meg, you would be safe here. With me."
"Joe, yes. I do love him. Is there something you need to say?" 'New topic time, Joe. Or we're done.'
"Meg...did Dave ever tell you to call me?"
'Cover, cover...' "I've just been really busy, Joe." Meg shook her head stridently at Randy and mouthed 'no' – Randy knew Dave hadn't talked to Meg about Joe; that all made sense to him, right along with her cover. If Joe and Dave had to be in close quarters, Meg was going to protect her friend. Randy nodded at Meg.
"Right. Okay. Yeah, he said you had stuff going on. I just...I wanted to talk to you. You've been on my mind. I'm...getting married. Soon. Really soon." Joe's sorrow turned to despair, a drowning, crawling stench.
"Joe, I'm happy for you. It's good you patched things up with her; there was a lot of history between you two."
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess so. I just wanted to talk to you first. To...I dunno, close all the doors."
"I don't follow." 'There are no doors, Joe.' Meg squeezed Randy's hand, hard. "We've been over."
"To tell you I'm sorry. I still don't think you love Randy – that's just you bullshitting yourself. But...getting married made me want to clear my conscience. Tell you I did you wrong, tell you that I'm always going to care about you, but if you really want to be with that asshole, then I...I need to let you go."
Meg pulled the phone away from her head and looked at it skeptically. "Well...thank you, Joe. I want you to be happy with her. But...first, Randy's not an asshole. And, I need the phone calls to stop."
"Oh for fuck's sake, Meg. You understand that maybe if you picked up the phone, I wouldn't have to call you so much?" The rage replaced whatever else Joe might have been feeling, despair, self-pity, or otherwise.
"Your fiancee wouldn't like it, Joe. You know that. I understand wanting to talk, but it's got to be reasonable. And once you're married, I don't think any amount is going to be reasonable. You understand that."
"Is this because of him?" 'I can find more than scissors, Meg. He's not good for you.'
"Honestly?" Meg paused, trying to choose her words carefully, more for Randy's sake than Joe's. "Joe, yes, it is because of Randy. It's because of my relationship. It's because I want to respect your relationship with your wife. It's because there's a difference between calling once in a while to say hi, and what you're doing now."
Joe felt his hand tighten dangerously around his phone. "Fine. Fine, Meg. I get it. Don't call so much, it pisses Randy off."
"That's not what I said. And I'm sorry about the police. You're welcome to call me," Randy nudged her, and Meg held up a singular finger in a gesture to wait, "But any interaction we have is going to respect the fact that we're both in relationships with other people. You're getting married. And regardless of what you think, I love Randy."
"Meg..." Joe wanted to reach through the phone, hold her hands, lean into her hair and breathe rose petals. "I just...I wanted to..."
"You wanted to what, Joe?" Meg pressed a kiss into each of Randy's palms, trying to calm him. He'd begun to bounce his leg on the bed, irritated the call had gone on so long. "Because it doesn't matter. Go to your wife, Joe. Call her, if you can't go. Tell her you love her."
'I'm supposed to tell you that, Meg, stop pushing me back. Make him leave, Meg. Make him leave so I can make you understand. Why don't you fucking see it? What the fuck is wrong with you?' "Remember when you said you had to get your shit sorted out, Meg? You should work on that. Why don't you go find Randy and do whatever the fuck it is you do. Drink? Hurt yourself?" 'I want you to feel like I feel. Why do you do this to me?'
"Are we done here, Joe?" Meg knew what he was aiming for and was trying not to let it get to her, but her leg served up reminder after reminder. "I've made my peace. Congratulations on your marriage. I'm sorry the police bothered you, but I'm sure that's done. I'll clear it up with Sarah. I have to go now." Ending the call, Meg tossed her phone onto the bed and cradled her head in her hands before trying to turn and face Randy. The pain in her leg was making her woozy; even her vision was blurred.
"Did he have to stay on the phone that long, Meg?" Randy had passed irritable, circled pissed off, and landed squarely in the middle of decidedly angry. "I'm so glad I got to hear about how much I don't love you. Did you want me to hear it? Were you trying to make a point?"
"Randy..." Meg's head was spinning. "I wanted you to hear the call. I assumed you'd be able to see through him. How many times did I tell him to stop calling? How many times did I tell him I loved you? When he didn't get the answer he wanted – I hated you, I wanted him, whatever – he got pissed off and went away. Isn't that what we both wanted?" Meg reached blindly for Randy, the room jittering across her field of vision.
"A simple 'Stop calling me, goodbye,' would've worked too." Randy's voice was pure contempt.
'Meg, what you did last night was stupid. You can't fuck your way into his heart. Bed, yes. Anything else, no. Why do you think things are ever gonna change for you?' "Oh my God, Randy! Do you hear yourself? Do you only believe I care about you when I'm attached to your dick? I'm sorry I tried to explain why I love you; next time I'll just point to your crotch, yell 'penis,' and jump on like last night! Is that better? I told you, you do not have to worry about Joe. I love you. I love you. What else can I do?" Meg slouched, defeated by his jealousy and broken by her body. "This is why sex doesn't work as an I love you," Meg muttered.
'Orton, fuck you, fuck you, fuck your stupid self. You just did it again. A-gain.' "Jesus. Meg...I'm-" His voice clipped short. "Wait. What did you just say?"
"Can you hand me the shirt I had last night? I'm cold."
"Meg...don't. I fucked up, but-" His voice was edgy again, and he snapped the shirt up from the floor.
"You're saying that a lot, lately." She was bitter, and rightly so, but knew she couldn't maintain the mood even while she made a show of snatching the shirt from his hands and huffily slamming it down around her neck.
"Yeah, and now you're saying the only reason you face-planted on my dick is because it was easier than actually saying you loved me."
"How many times have I? I've said it to you with words, I've shown you every time I dragged you out from whatever pile of bullshit or pussy you buried yourself under..." Meg trailed off, knowing she was being hateful. "You finally made me stop running, Randy, and last night...I didn't know what else to do! I'm running out of ways. I thought if I never figured out the right way to tell you...then maybe I could figure out how to show you. I let you do everything else, didn't I?" Meg wrapped her arms around herself. "I don't have any more ideas. All I ever did with Jackson – and with Joe – was pray to God they'd eventually believe me. Maybe decide I was good enough for a pass. You think I'm gonna fight that fight again here?"
"You think I'm asking you to?"
Meg threw her hands in the air. Her leg was screaming louder than she was, and she was nearly unhinged with pain. "Ran...I don't know what the fuck you're asking me for, anymore. You wanted me to stay, so I stayed. You wanted me here, now I'm here. You wanted to know what was going on with him, I let you listen. I've never ever said no to you, has that occurred to you? Other than the one night I didn't open the door, in your hotel, and that was because – get this – I felt guilty! I felt like I fucked up your night, because I heard Joe in your room and I just wanted to stay in the bathroom so I didn't bother you two." Meg reached for the water, saw the glass was empty, and passed it angrily from hand to hand, not realizing she'd finished it so quickly. "I'm not a tree to pee on. I'm yours. You want me to get a tattoo about it or something?"
He snorted, and couldn't help his smile. "I'm sorry, Meg. He just...I'm still angry. What he did to you. Unfinished business. And I'll work it out with talent relations so we stay away from each other when I get back. I don't want to work anything with him and get accused backstage of fucking him up on purpose." He looked at her leg. "And I'm worried about you. About that."
"Thank you. Really." Meg leaned over to kiss him, and winced. "And...you win. My leg. I think you're gonna be babysitting me on painkillers later today."
"You'd be a lot easier to babysit if you just lived here. Stayed, like you said. Moved in with me."
"One step at a time, tiger. Make sure you still love me after I'm all doped up and telling you what I really think of you. I've got all kinds of stories, just remember that." She squeezed his hand.
"So...no. You won't." He felt his stomach twist and his face burn, an intense wash of stupidity coming over him.
'Wait, that was legitimate? The fuck? First you're livid, now you're...whatever this is?' "I didn't say no, Randy. Calm down." Meg squeezed his hand again. "I..I mean, it's just...you're really asking?" She waited, but he didn't move. "Yeah...you're asking. Can we put the brakes on any more life-altering statements for a minute? This is...a lot for two days. I don't want us to fuck up by doing too much. Are you doing this because we-" 'I'm tired. Can we just stop? Fine, yes, to whatever you want. I'm exhausted. I'll stop.'
"No, I get it. This is big. I mean, for you, this is like, two suitcases and your books and that mirror. 'And wow, that sounded like such an asshole thing to say. I keep fucking up. I should stop talking.' I mean, no more major decisions, we have to get used to each other, make sure this works, I don't want anything to go wrong, this has to be perfe-"
"Ran, shh." Meg pressed a finger to his lips. "I know what you meant. And really, it's okay. I'm saying yes." 'This is all way too fucking fast and it's a bad idea. But, he's right. It's two boxes and a mirror I'm not attached to. When it doesn't work, I can put my shit in Sarah's car and stay with her. I need a place to stay that isn't a hotel, and he's not gonna take no for an answer. And God knows I'm used to that mentality, anyway. I give up.'
Joe seethed. "That entire setup is bullshit, Meg, and you know it!" She wasn't on the line anymore, and that fact hadn't prevented him from ranting at his phone nonstop for the past half hour, in between touchdown passes directly into his hotel wall. "What the fuck are you doing? I'm right here! I'm telling you to come here! What is he doing for you that I didn't do for you?" He threw his phone again, putting yet another angular dent into the drywall. "He is nothing, Meg. His time in the company is over. I'm on my way up. His back is done, his shoulders are done – I had one issue – one – and you run away from me. It's not like you're such a hot piece of ass yourself. I can do better. I am doing better. And she's hotter, thinner, a way better fuck..." Picking his phone up from the floor, Joe slumped down the wall, brushing his hair back from his face, ripping his fingers through the snarled ends. A bead of blood pulsed up from his fingertip as he drew it across the crack he'd caused in the glass screen, a photo of him with Meg still his background of choice on his phone. "Who am I kidding, Meg," he whispered, "Come back. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. Or who. I don't want this. I don't want this. Why am I getting married? I just want you to come home. You told me about Sarah, you wanted me to find you."
Joe had expected Meg to be at her apartment, not at Randy's house; now that he'd seen the picture of her with that other girl – Sarah – he knew he'd found the right place, the fool he'd worked with had just gone into the wrong unit. 'Figures; I got what I paid for.' He picked up the photo from the bed and tilted it back and forth in his hands, trying to avoid bleeding on it. He couldn't help but smile back at Meg's face. Sarah's nemesis, the pigeons, had filtered into the rental office with a few of the ballsier ones actually landing on the main desk behind them. The TV was on in the background; Joe didn't recognize the program, but knowing Meg and looking at Sarah, it was something loud. 'Probably music. Fuck, looking at that giant bottle of Jack on the desk – and how much is gone – it could have been porn. Her tastes went way downhill. I bought her the expensive shit.' And then, there in the foreground, his Meg.
The rental office must have been hot when the photo was taken; Meg was in layered, strappy tanktops that were sliding down her arms, along with ridiculously bright orange shorts. Her hair was wet, either from sweat or a sauna, and was dangling, stringy and loose, out of a ponytail that hadn't decided if it was willing to fall off the top of her head or not. 'Maybe there's a gym there? Nah. Meg never worked out.' She was jumping over Sarah's back at a skewed angle, Sarah pitching forward as she snapped the selfie, both of them grinning like fools, looking as drunk as they likely were. The closer Joe looked, the more he convinced himself he saw Meg holding what looked to be the neck of yet another bottle of alcohol, just out of frame. 'Still a drunk. More of a drunk, apparently. Maybe there's something to this whole car accident story you were telling me? I mean, shit, look how fucked up your arm is. Shoulder. Whatever.'
He traced his finger over the scar along her collarbone in the photo, trying to decide if he could get used to it or not. He waited for his phone to ring; whether or not the idiot from the cleaning service had found Meg, he'd at least found Sarah, and was going to want his money. 'Which you so have not earned, by the way.' Joe was a smart kind of stupid. When Dave had slipped up and mentioned clinicals, that was all it took for Joe to lose the tenuous grasp he had on reality and go on a hunt. Clinicals meant Meg had stopped somewhere long enough to set up a place to stay, even tried to finish the RN program she'd talked about and he'd only ever half-listened to, and where better to do that than with the one person who seemed to trail her like a bad odor – Orton.
Those scissors, meant more for Randy and Dave than for Meg, were a delicious release for Joe, but not nearly enough. He knew he needed to find Meg, fix the damage that was caused, make her see right, get her away from whatever poison she was being fed by those idiots, feel those cold fingers along his face again, wiping away the tacky, sticky residue from his soon-to-be wife. 'I thought if I just pushed the date up with her, made it official, it would be over. Bitch A, Bitch B, whatever. All interchangeable. I don't want what I'm doing, I want what I'm not getting.' He hadn't spent any time thinking about what he'd do once he had Meg; the simple idea that nobody else could win was enough for him. 'And why can't I have both? Family man with his side-thing. Everyone in the business does it. I do it. I'm going to do it, I mean. She's going to be fine with it. When has Meg ever argued with me about anything? I say yes, she says go. Isn't it what she's used to?'
His phone rang, unlisted number. 'See, Meg? I learned. Always answer unlisted numbers. I even learned how to use unlisted numbers. You really gave me a lesson in calling cards, didn't you?' He knew the gritty voice on the other end would be attached to the 'cleaning professional' Joe had managed to track down, and was demanding the rest of the money that had been promised. Joe sighed, and was temporarily lost in his thoughts before he answered the call.
It was simple enough to thin the list of apartment complexes in Randy's town; Joe knew Meg didn't have a car, and her misguided sense of pride would prevent her from borrowing Randy's for any significant length of time. 'Plus, Meg's had enough big city shit for a minute. No St. Louis. She's gonna be afraid of Tampa when she gets back here.' She'd either need or want some sort of public transit. She'd need something inexpensive, and she had no possessions of her own that Joe knew about. Meg had never mentioned so much as a storage locker, thus anything that didn't offer fully furnished rentals was out. She liked quiet and private, and given how hard she'd worked not to be found, she'd want something where she could disappear easily – and hide Randy with her. Calling Time Centre was a stab in the dark. Joe used a pre-paid card at a gas station phone, shocked he'd found a gas station that still had a working pay phone. 'Acting skills always come in handy, don't they? Even in bed? Did you fake it, Meg? For me, or for him? I wanted to make you happy.' Concocting a story about wanting to rent for his daughter but be sure she was safe, he asked about the service staff once he had Sarah baited.
Sarah was more than happy to provide the names of the pool company employees, the lawn care team, and the general cleaning staff, assuring Joe that they never entered the apartments, they only handled vestibules, office areas, and hallways. 'Perfect. Main keys are in main offices, and money gets you everything.' Luck was on Joe's side; several college-age girls rented a suite not long after. Sarah never questioned it.
Joe stockpiled calling cards, all paid for in cash. The same cash fans were only too happy to press into his hands after he signed t-shirts, pictures, bras, whatever was shoved at him – and then he waited. He figured the cleaning company would be his best bet; there was no snow for the lawn company, no reason for the pool company to go to the complex. Working the internet for all it was worth, it wasn't long before he was able to come up with a short list of young, impressionable, financially vulnerable names. Women were out; he needed a man who didn't want to push a mop, and who wouldn't appreciate another man getting dicked over by an ex. 'Public criminal background checks are a brilliant thing. It's amazing what the internet will let you do.'
Several thousand dollars later, and with the promise of thousands more, Joe told the man he didn't care what he did with the one who wasn't Meg, just give Meg a reason to leave or call, without hurting her. Whatever he found that made Randy look bad and made Joe look good, work that too. Bring photos, phones, laptops, whatever might lend a clue about what was going on in Meg's head, but don't touch her. Sarah, whatever. 'Well, good thing he got confused, I guess. He put 'the other one' in bed and left them both alone. And Meg wasn't there, anyway. Didn't fucking matter, in the end. And at least I got some intel, plus this clown has no idea who the fuck I am. I'm just some angry ex, to him, and Meg isn't anyone special.'
It was beyond simple to take the main complex keys from Sarah's office once the buffoon was in there to clean; even easier to figure out where Sarah lived from the roster of tenants, then go into the building after-hours, vacuum in tow for looks. Somewhere along the line, the 'hired help' had either mixed up who Joe was after or whose flat was supposed to be broken into, because he'd ended up in Sarah's place and not Meg's, but it had almost worked out anyway. Had Meg been there for lunch, that is. 'Maybe that's what he was planning, a two-for-one deal? Do her, make Meg watch, and then she for-sure would have been the fuck out of there and back with me. Randy couldn't have kept her there, after that. Whenever Meg panics, her first move is to run.' A failure all around; Sarah ended up with a headache and Meg ended up with a reason to run closer, not farther.
The phone hadn't stopped ringing. Joe shook his head, picked up, and listened as the man rambled on and on about trashing the place, boxing up everything he'd found – which Joe's extended family was happy to pick up for him at various post offices, re box, re-mail, through a dozen hands, til nobody knew who had handled what anymore – but where was his money?
"Did you actually find the girl I wanted?" Rhetorical questions aren't gonna be this guy's strong suit.'
"I dunno, man, I found a girl. Wasn't that the deal?"
"No, the deal was a specific girl. Which you didn't deliver on."
"I'll go back! I can go back!"
"Don't. You wore gloves, right?" 'Please let this chucklefuck be able to follow simple directions. He's already in the system. I don't need the headache.'
"Yeah, man. I'm not a fucking idiot."
"Okay. Give me a couple days, I'll call back when the cash is ready. Pickup same place as the first time, okay?"
"Don't fuck me over, or I'll go back just to see if she's there for fun."
Joe hung up, suddenly wondering if he'd come up with such a brilliant idea after all. 'Meg, why are you making this so fucking difficult on me? Can't your little experiment just be over, now? Just come home. You know I love you. I wouldn't do this if I didn't love you. I can just get rid of her and have you, or we can work something out, or...something. Why are you still trying to break my heart and be so fucking difficult?'