All my hearts and stars to nattiebroskette, eyexlinerxwhore, sweethigh, blackhat, chellelew, and anyone out there still bothering to read...I do love the love, keep it coming!
Think of this one as a little filler and some implied hotness before Meg gets her ass back in gear backstage and the sparks start to fly. To my dear Ms. Eyeliner: There are plans for Joe, and I promise you, they do not involve a car. Well, not that way.
The scent of roses was thick in the air, and Joe breathed their odor in hungrily, trailing after the source. His wife was buried in the shoe section of the nearest shopping mall, so he didn't have to worry about her spotting him running to and fro backstage like a pig on the hunt for truffles. 'You're here, somewhere. You have to be. Nobody else wears that, and if they do, I'm going to find them and make them take it off. No. I'm going to take it off of them.' Joe could hear Randy's voice echoing down the halls, and wasn't sure if it came from catering, triage, or his own mind. He sounded happy, relaxed, almost smug, and the scowl cutting Joe's face began to slice deeper as he strode through the arena.
If he'd stopped any shorter or harder when he came around the corner into the hall near gorilla, he might have sprained an ankle. There was Meg, tall, pale, made taller still by the spiky heels on her shoes – a far cry from the ratty work boots she used to wear backstage – slender, and firmly ensconced in Randy's left arm; his right was occupied with her phone, trying to take a picture that included him, Meg, and a slew of people who were all squealing and trying to pry her out from under his arm into welcome-back hugs, elevated spins, and a whole host of other affectionate gestures. From performers and talent to crew and stagehands, the horde surrounding Meg was at least four people deep, all clamoring to greet her and bring her back into the fold. The atmosphere was nearing carnival levels of intensity; people Joe didn't even realize were part of the company were flying from corridors and doorways, all trying to wrap Meg in their arms, touch her, know that she was real – and not a soul was asking why she was present. It was simply enough that she was there. Back. Home in the circus that only the backstage environment of a wrestling show could produce.
Leaning on a wall nearby, Dave crossed his arms over his chest and smiled warmly, opting to save his embrace for when he wouldn't have to fight a crowd to offer it. Joe's jaw dropped, worked its way shut, then dropped again, leaving him looking much like a gasping, beached sea creature. Out o the corner of his eye he saw Dave, looking far too calm and comfortable, and his temper exploded. Stalking over to the older man, Joe intentionally positioned himself to block Dave's view of Meg, his breathing heavy.
"Were you planning on telling me she was coming back? That she was here?" Joe crowded Dave's space, trying to intimidate his way into answers. Nothing on Dave's face belied even an iota of fear.
"She told me you two talked. I assumed she told you what was going on. Joe...it's not my job to work this shit out for you. You're married."
"I fucking know I'm married!" Joe's voice, a scream that came from somewhere well past anguish and full of things that leaked from a much darker place, caused the entire crowd around Meg to drop into startled silence. Meg gently disentangled herself from Randy's arm, patted his hand, and with as much balance as she could muster, ambled over toward the two men.
'Thank God for tall boots, ankle reinforcements, and having backup about ten feet away from me. This is gonna get ugly.' Meg tried to force a confident smile onto her face, but her visage was just as taut as Joe's voice was wounded. "Dave! You said you were gonna walk me around, and here you are ditching me for Joe instead." She closed her hand tightly around Dave's elbow, pulling him away from Joe and across the face of the wall, passing him behind her and toward the group of people – all having switched modes from a welcoming party to a henhouse. "And Joe," she continued, her lips tightening further, "I'm so glad to see you. Welcome back, though I know you've been back for a while. I'll see you around, I'm sure. Dave, c'mon. I need you to walk me to triage so I can set up my concierge bags." She patted Joe on the arm, and moved away.
Walking back towards the crowd, Meg leaned in to Dave and whispered, "You know, he's gonna kill you. Be careful. And meet me in triage, but in a half hour or so. Make yourself scarce for now."
"Meg, like I haven't been dealing with this? His bullshit is just bullshit."
"Yeah, but it's different now that I'm here." Reuniting with the group, Randy was quick to pull her back into his arms, spinning her so they both faced Joe. He buried his face in her hair, trailed a hand down her arm, and then looked up, meeting Joe's hateful stare with a look of his own that dared him to finish the fight he'd started months ago. Meg could feel Randy's body tense behind her, and pressed her hips back against him, in part to provoke Joe and in part to reassure Randy that she was here for him and with him, no one else. 'See this? I'm his now. Him. Not yours. You need to stop, Joe. Not to Dave, not to Randy, and sure as shit not to me.'
April leaned over to her and giggled. "You suck at being subtle. And thank God you're back; that other guy was a creeper. Dave's so glad he's gone, but he's just too nice to say it." She wrapped Meg in another hug. "So tell me again how this concierge deal works?"
"Basically, I'm everyone's bitch." Meg chuckled, rubbing Randy's arms. "Okay, I'm just his bitch. I'm everyone else's private off-hours nurse. It's a sweet deal. I can help Dave off the books backstage if the situation is hairy, but primarily – officially – I'm supposed to be doing hotel work. You guys call me, I show up. Simple as that. No more waiting for us to show up, no more creeper guy, just overall better care and no worrying about bothering anyone at two in the morning because – and here's the best part – I'm staying in the same hotel as you all." Meg winked up at Randy. "Wonder how that happened, huh?"
He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "I have no idea, Meg. But I bet corporate is happy that they don't have to get you an extra room." Meg's eyes flew wide, and several of the members of the crowd threw up appreciative whistles and shouts.
Joe simply stared, taking in the scene in front of him. Rage had given way to cold. Meg still smelled of roses, he heard her talking around a caramel and could smell it on her breath, along with a vague odor of cigarettes that wasn't altogether unpleasant. But her fingers – those horrible, delicious, tapering twigs of ice that laid frost on his skin – felt like they'd burnt him where she touched his arm.
"What the fuck happened, Meg? How did you get here?" Joe rubbed at his arm, whispering, not daring to move from where he stood but at the same time feeling every bone in his body ache to propel him across the floor and directly at Randy. "And now that you're here, what do I do? How do I get you to listen?"
"For once, you had good timing. I owe you, Meg." Dave, after having wrapped Meg in a dozen hugs of gratitude and relief, was showing her around the triage bays, not that she needed the refresher. She'd replaced all of the items the way they'd been before she'd left, completely upending the useless replacement hire's 'organizational' system – which hadn't been much of a system at all. With things back the way they needed to be, everyone seemed to exhale. Everyone, that is, except Joe.
"So...Meg...catch me up on how all this happened? I know I told you I'd help you get the job and then somehow you just show up here, contract all handled? And in dress pants and hooker boots?" Dave flicked a cotton ball at Meg's footwear, laughing brightly. "I guess you didn't need me at all, huh?"
"It's a long story. You got the time for this?" Meg looked skeptical; it was only 35 minutes to go time; typically they'd be swamped with people needing last-minute tape-ups, wraps, and adjustments.
"I'll take my chances. I'd rather get half a story than no dirt at all."
"For practically being my dad, you're such a girl." Meg flexed at the waist and snagged the cotton ball from the floor, biffing it at Dave's nose. "Randy talked me into getting films of my leg. That's kinda how the whole job thing got started."
"Uh, what? You went to see a doctor, willingly, and it got your job back?"
"No. Well, sort-of. My leg's a mess. You said I had hooker boots; they're actually custom. Here, look." Meg propped herself against the table and slipped her pants up over her calf, slowly unzipping the boot on her right leg and wincing as she went. "It's got all kind of shit in it. Lifts, risers, blocking, there's giant metal strips along the sides...it's like a combat leg, basically."
"Okay...but what does that have to do with-"
"Like I said. Randy talked me into getting films done on my leg." Meg motioned Dave over, and he helped her hop up onto the exam table. "There's basically...nothing...left in there, as far as my shin goes. It's all dust. Well, not dust, but it's in small pieces. Shit broke, and re-broke, and the screws and pins didn't so anything. They probably made it worse. Kept moving, kept prying things apart."
"Jesus Christ, Meg. Did you get them out? It'll help everything knit back together; you probably have shitty adhesion because you're so anemic and if you just get the metal out then-"
Meg held her hand up. "I know. But the kind of surgery I'd need...I can't do it. I'd be completely under. I'd be in the hospital. Catheters, IVs, sedatives, opiates...I just can't. I'm taking vicodin now, for management, and that's as far as I can go. Randy and I fought – I actually walked out for a couple days and stayed with Sarah, just to get my head straight – but we decided that until I'm ready, or if I'm ever ready, the best thing we can do is try to keep it together around what's in there. Our agreement was, I move back in and let his ortho work with me non-surgically, and I..."
"And you what?"
"Honestly? I don't think I asked him for anything. I fucking hate when he's right, but I got him to lay off the push for surgery. He was getting overbearing; it was triggering me. I woke up one night and hit him with a wine bottle. Didn't break it or anything, but I bruised the hell out of his arm."
Dave wiped his hand over his face, trying to take it all in. "Okay. One thing at a time. You moved in with Randy?"
"Yeah. He...was worried. I mean, more than that, before that, we finally got it out in the open. He loves me. He wants me to be with him, really be with him, and once we both realized we don't know what the fuck we're doing and we're going to screw up all the time, it got easier." She eased her boot back onto her leg, the bruising making Dave wince the further she pulled the zipper upward. "I won't lie. It sucked the first few weeks. I was overmedicating myself, he was angry about having to come back here, I didn't feel like I fit in his house, he was worried about my leg...it was all just for shit."
"Yeah...you said you stayed with Sarah. About what happened with her...she's okay, right?"
"Honestly? I don't know. We haven't really talked, and I should fix that. Even when I stayed at her place, it was more like 'Oh, hi roommate.' We co-existed. It made me realize I had to go home, and Randy was home. I wasn't solving anything by running, even if I was only running a couple miles. Randy was at least kind enough to let me go." She smiled sheepishly. "Old habits, I guess. I'm better, though. I didn't leave the state. Fuck, I didn't even leave the zip code."
"But things are clearly better now." Dave smiled and rubbed Meg's arm. "Between you and Randy, I mean. He was all over you, outside. And you're here – must have blown his mind."
"Hardest secret I've ever had to keep, Dave. Ever. Not talking about Jackson was easy, because I didn't want anyone to get hurt. Not telling Randy about this was killing me."
"How did that work, exactly?"
Meg laughed uproariously. "Oh, let's just say you wouldn't have appreciated the show." A knock sounded at the door, and Dave rushed to open it.
"Tell me anyway? Just keep it PG-13; I have high cholesterol and a bad heart." He ushered Tenille into the triage bay, finding himself being ignored by her as she nearly tackled Meg to the floor in a sorority-style hug.
Meg set about wrapping Tenille's ankles while she bopped her feet back and forth against the table, rhythmically nodding her head to the noise in her iPod. Convinced she wasn't listening to anything "Well, Dave, if you really wanna know..."
'-Meg couldn't help but roll her eyes at herself; her hands hadn't shook this badly even before she stabbed Jackson in the car. 'It's a fucking envelope, Meg. Open it.' She managed not one, but two paper cuts on her thumb before giving up and tamping the paper down into one of the short ends of the envelope, tearing the opposite short end open and shaking out the single sheet inside. Meg inhaled deeply before unfolding the sheet. She was surrounded by Randy's scent – it was his (no, their) house, it made sense that somehow he'd be there even in spirit, reassuring her – and she hadn't ever been so glad to be back, to be home, to feel his arms around her even if he wasn't really there.
"Fucking corporate," Meg muttered to herself, "Because I don't want to open this alone...but I wouldn't show it to you, either." Unfolding the paper, Meg read what she'd hoped for, and secretly known would happen all along – she was now nationally recognized, fully licensed, and had her own phone call to make to corporate.
The phone call went surprisingly well. Meg knew Dave had set something up for her; she just wasn't sure what the terms were, and she hoped she didn't need to go through Dave to get the deal in motion. After allowing them full and open access to her medical and legal records, corroborating Dave's version of events, and swearing up and down that she really was ready to return to her job, they offered her a contract that mirrored the tenure of Randy's, if not the terms. Apparently impressed with her dedication to the company, headquarters made Meg a 'Medical Concierge' – rather than have their talent wait for non-critical assistance to show up at the hotel, Meg would simply be staying with Randy and going on inter-hotel calls as needed, monitoring non-critical post-show care, and generally being a record keeping healthcare badass, all while assisting Dave and doing the minimal amount of gruntwork necessary backstage during live shows to keep herself in the loop without hurting herself.
The only thing she'd asked for was to keep it a secret from Randy – not because there would be an issue, but because she missed him terribly and wanted to surprise him. Talent Relations, who had conferenced in on her call, was only too quick to agree to her request. Randy had been miserable since he'd returned to work. His back was in prime shape, as was the rest of him, but his mind was elsewhere, in bed with cool skin and flexible hips and rose perfume, where he was safe and she was home. He worked, he traveled, he spent every free second with his phone glued to his head and his laptop open, video chat nearly running 24-7. He didn't mind the phone sex, he enjoyed the shows she put on for him on Skype, but it wasn't the same thing as feeling her move under him, around him, hearing her breath start to hitch right before her fingernails dug into his chest and she arched up into him. They'd just started playing with silk ribbons in bed before he'd gotten his call to come back, and he carried the image of red and grey ribbons, gently woven around her wrists, with him onto the plane as he boarded.
When she'd asked why he picked red and grey – the question came later, as they lay tangled together on the floor of the dining room, after he'd let her arms loose from behind her and gently lifted her from his lap, all shivers and shudders, both of them unwilling to stay in the high-backed chair they'd started in at the table (and where the vision of her riding him, wrists bound behind her, back arching, was going to make for some intensely inappropriate dinner conversation) – and also unwilling to make the trek to their bed just yet – the answer was simple:
"They reminded me of my birthday present, Meggie."
She hummed pleasantly in his arms, curling closer to him on the floor, feeling the silky threads of the Oriental rug underneath her. "I'm just as good as wrestling boots?" Her voice was playful, and she traced her fingers along the contours of the muscles crisscrossing his shoulders and arms.
"You want me to get metaphorical?" Randy chuckled and pulled her gently on top of him. "When I put those on, I trusted you. You knew what I needed. And right now, I'm pretty sure you did something really fucking trusting with me. I knew what you needed. Or...at least, I knew what you'd be okay with."
She hummed again, and pressed her hips down against him, her hands searching the floor for the ribbons. "I'm not ready to turn the tables on you just yet. I think I like you knowing me. Show me what else you know?"
By the time Meg was done, Dave's face was scarlet and Tenille was struggling to stop from arching her eyebrows into her hairline, Meg not having noticed her turn the volume on her iPod down. "I told you, dumbass, you didn't want to know." She stuck her tongue out at Dave.
"So, wait. I get you back as my assistant because Randy tied you up with gift-wrap?"
"Basically." Meg patted Tenille's feet after finishing the laces on her boots. "It made me realize, I trust him. I need him as much as he needs me. It's probably always been that way, but we both kept fucking it up, and I wanted to do something for him to...even the scales, I guess? He chased me across the fucking country. It wasn't like packing a suitcase and getting on a plane to catch up to you guys was such a big deal. Sarah's keeping an eye on his place. He's okay with it. And I've got a license and a real contract."
"But you still haven't really talked to Sarah."
"I know, I know. She's really the only...she's the one relationship I've still got to fix."
"Untrue." Joe stated, flatly, from the doorway. "You owe me a long, long discussion."