Good thing I have Alice and Nattie out there to both remind me I hadn't actually POSTED the damned chapter. DERFDERF!

There's hints, people. Gotta look for 'em. They're in there. There are great greatnesses, and there are big uglies.

Thank you a million times to all who have read and reviewed, please keep them coming. I miiiiiiiss yoooooooooou...

Randy had to walk Meg out of the shower – the hot water wasn't nearly as forgiving as in their last locker room – towel her off, and get her dressed. She moved her arms, adjusted her legs, stood or sat as he asked – but only as he asked. If Randy wasn't giving Meg direction, she simply stood there, near-comatose.

Once she was clothed, Randy had her sit and wait on the bench at the front of the room while he dressed, and he made a show of checking the locks on the door even though he wasn't sure it registered with her. 'Lemme make sure she's safe. Feels safe. And then once we're at the hotel...shit. I don't know. We fly out tomorrow, no good way to drive this one. Maybe I just need to get her to sleep. Fuck knows I need a drink. Advice. I don't know. I don't know what I need.' Despite the heat of the room, he doubled up on covering his arms, opting for a track jacket over a long sleeved shirt, not wanting to be the source of any more angst for Meg. When Randy came back to her, having picked up the last of their soaps and shampoos from the shower, he found her staring at the toes of her boots, flicking one edge over the other.

"Why do you put up with – stay with – me, when you can have someone like that?" Meg's voice was so quiet it was almost swallowed by the space of the room, and he wasn't sure he even heard her correctly.

Randy sat gingerly on the far end of the bench, as confused as he was cautious. "What, a complete bitch?" He slid a few feet closer, gauging her response. When she didn't flinch, he stayed where he was, continuing his thought. "Meg...I stay because I love you. If you're asking why I love you..." He paused, looked down at his own shoes, and realized he was mimicking Meg's same toe-edge flick. "I don't want someone like her. I had it, and look how that worked out. People like her want perfect. I love you because you're the one person who's never minded that I do sharp and broken, not perfect. I love you because you give me the real you." He edged closer again, and this time pulled her against him, feeling her bristle but ignoring it. "And Meg, when I said I didn't care, I meant it. The real you has scars and sneaks cigarettes and cusses a blue streak, and you're still the only person I want to come home to, because the real you knows how many ice cubes I like in my shakes after I work out, and can snap me with rubber bands from, like, fucking miles away, and puts pillows under my shoulders when I fall asleep on the couch. That's what I want, not some Barbie prancing down the hallway."

Meg sniffled. "Technically, Barbie was in our booth at the resort restaurant. And you were a little afraid of her."

Randy chuckled. "Yeah, and once she left I almost knocked my wine over. 'Cause I'm slick like that."

"I have to stop doing this, don't I?"

"Meggie, you do what you need to do. I'm here no matter what."

"Let's go back to the hotel. I need to talk to Renee, and then I think I need to call Sarah. There's got to be a way to work...around...this dress thing. Maybe she's got an idea. I can put on a bikini for you when we go on vacation, right? Private rooms and shit? So I know I can at least let you see me."

'Dear sweet God...I didn't fuck up?' "Magdalena...explain it so I get it?"

"The gala...unless you don't want to go anymore?" Meg's voice dropped again. "I mean, I get it."

"I want to take my girlfriend to a really big party, but only if she's absolutely sure she's comfortable with all the girly bullshit that goes in to getting ready for it. Which excludes heavy makeup and new perfume, okay?"

"I have two weeks, Ran. Can I...try? Not promise you anything, but just try? Renee wants to look at dresses with Tenille, and I thought...maybe I can go with them? Nell said the store they like is in the next city. And something about frozen yogurt."

"You can go on one condition."

"I come back with a chocolate-vanilla swirl, extra Oreos, extra sprinkles, waffle cone?"

"See why I love you?" Her grousing done for the moment, her moment of uncertainty past, Randy pulled her up into his lap, holding her close and nosing her wet hair away from her neck in order to kiss her. "Spend some time with Renee tonight. Call Sarah, if you feel up to it. If it works out, I'll get an extra pass if we end up going."

"You gonna actually get some sleep tonight, then?"

"Nah. If you're stealing Jon's girlfriend, I'm stealing Jon."

"Please, do not make me bail you two out of jail."

Randy poked his head out the door, checking the hallway for rancid perfume and Joe's obnoxious wife. Finding neither, he ushered Meg out ahead of him and toward the shuttle bus bay, eager to get back to the hotel and ease them both into their evening. 'Triage phone won't be busy, the show was okay...I hope Jon's in the mood to listen to me bitch about bitches. And if she calls Sarah, it doesn't go like shit. Bitches, though...'

"Hey, Meg?" Randy knew that stopping to talk now risked them missing the last shuttle, but he figured he could call for a car. The question was going to eat him alive if he didn't ask. "When she came out like that...why...I mean..." 'Great, I know what I want to ask, and have no idea how the fuck to ask it.'

"I showed Renee. And told her...some of it. No details. I guess when I did that...she saw, somehow, too."

"Meggie..." Randy pulled her against him. 'Thank God. I'm not the only one who's looked in Pandora's Box anymore.' "Thank you. Because you...just...you don't have to keep it all yourself, okay? It shouldn't have ended like it did, but fuck her for that. That shit's gonna stop, too."

They caught the shuttle, but barely, Randy holding Meg's hand, touching her shoulder, keeping contact with some part of her the entire distance they covered to the boarding zone.

Renee pounced on her phone when her text alert went off, Jon grumbling about how women shouldn't have that much energy for social shit. Renee rolled her eyes and texted Meg back that she was on her way out to swap places with Randy.

"Okay, Jon. Remember our deal. You play nice with Randy for a couple hours, I go settle Meg down, and then you can do whatever you want with me for the rest of the night."

"Don't tease, woman. I ordered chocolate sauce from room service."

"I hope you ordered booze from room service, because I'm betting your new BFF is gonna be doing shots with you in a few minutes. And chocolate is fine. As long as there are strawberries."

"Of course there's booze, Renee, what kind of - shit! Strawberries! Hang on, I gotta call them back." Jon rolled off the bed, taking the receiver from the room's phone with him, slapping at buttons and hoping he ended up with the right department. "Woman, you are gonna be the end of me one of these days."

"Only when you smack your head on the table and die on the way down. Randy's on his way over. I'm meeting Meg in her room. You've got a couple hours to account for the time difference, then she's gonna call her friend back in Missouri. You're allowed to get him shitfaced." Renee popped her head over the edge of the bed and tipped Jon up into a kiss. "So please, get him completely shitfaced."

"So tell her to order some chocolate and strawberries while you're over there? I mean, you stole one of her moves with the ribbons..." Jon winked at Renee, who slid back over the bed to get the door, Randy calling a quiet greeting ahead of his knock.

"Hey, Randy. Expect dessert later. And don't ask about room service. See you guys in a couple hours." Renee slid around him at the door, her own bottle of tequila in hand, and took his room key from him as she passed. Shutting the door behind her, Randy threw himself down, heavily, into an armchair in the corner of the room, winced, and caught the bottle of tequila Jon threw to him.

"Fucked up your back?"

"Yeah, but Meg'll fix it. I can't be doing shit like that, I know my back is trashed. Guess I'm old." He opened the tequila and drank deeply. "Not too old to kill Joe. Or put his stupid wife into a suitcase and mail her to Tahiti."

"Well aren't you dramatic, princess. What happened?"

"Meg finally...talked...about the wreck. To Renee." Randy drank again, and was surprised to find a quarter of the bottle gone. "She showed Renee the scars from what the hospital did to her, and told her – I don't know how much – but told her what happened. Other than Sarah – you haven't met Sarah – Renee's the only person who knows even that much. Dave hasn't even read the reports, far as I know."

"So that's why she's freaking out about the dress?" Jon hadn't moved from where he'd landed on the floor, but it was just as well; he'd piled the bottles of alcohol under the desk nearby.

"Renee told you?" Jon shrugged; he didn't know much, but he knew enough. "She's worried about what it's gonna show, she's worried about being able to walk – her leg was all fucked up in the wreck – and I guess somehow Joe's evil bitch either heard or saw Meg when she was with Renee because I'm standing with Meg in the hallway when she's in the middle of tripping out about how shitty she thinks she's gonna look when his Barbie-bitch pops out of his dressing room wearing, like, three inches of clothing and six inches of heels."

"Fuck. Like, shit to set Meg off?"

"Legs out, shoulders out, stomach – well, sides – out. The stuff Meg doesn't show, because she's all scarred up. Or at least, the stuff she doesn't show to anyone but me. And that cunt pranced right down the hall in stripperella shoes, just to top it off."

"Well, fuck. It's that bad? Meg's not girly like that, she doesn't act like she'd care about that shit."

"I don't know, anymore." Randy drank, again, Jon matching him. "I dunno if it's about what she looks like, if she doesn't want to answer questions about how the shit got there...I look at her and she's perfect. I see it, but it's just a part of her. It means she lived, and man, if you knew some of the shit she lived through..." Randy could feel his voice hitch, his throat constrict, and he drank again, deciding what was his to tell and what was hers.

"None of us know shit, Orton. Maybe it's time you let some of it go?"

"Does it all die in this room? It has to. Fuck, I couldn't live with it if I said something she didn't want out there."

"I'm an asshole in a lot of ways, but...I know what it's like to have shit chase you around. I ain't sayin' shit."

Randy took a shaky breath, letting it pull him back to Tampa and finding her curled in the lounge chair, followed by a second breath that took him back to sitting at a small table with Dave at yet another company event, Meg's medallion tapping against a bottle of tequila while he finally admitted out loud what he knew all along. A third breath, and he was back to the first day he saw Meg, baggy cargo pants, clingy work shirt, clipboard pinned between her knees, trying to talk around a pen in her teeth, trying to stuff her dark red hair into an obnoxiously bright orange hair elastic while Sam screamed into his ear on his phone for the umpteenth time that day. Their conversation ended when Randy unceremoniously smacked the "End Call" button, pocketed his phone, and wandered over to Dave, sarcastically asking who the newbie was and if she knew he was to be addressed as Sir.

When Meg wanted to know if it was Sir Jackass, Sir Asshole, or Sir Clusterfuck since his reputation preceded him, Randy knew he was going to have his hands full. A wonderful buzzing filled him until he couldn't stand it, and he doubled over in laughter. He remembered Dave exhaling loudly in relief, the hilariously confused look on Meg's face, and him reaching up to put his hand on Meg's back, telling her she just might make it after all.

After a heavy pause, Randy started, not knowing where, exactly, to begin. "Meg left work – here – no notice, to track down her ex, so he didn't come up here to find her. She knew he'd make it bad for everyone. So...she thought if she went to him, we'd all be safe. He...the shit he put her through...did to her. Jon, anything you can imagine, make it worse."

"Back up, man. Why was her ex trying to start shit?"

"He...attacked her at one of the hotels we were at. Bad. Beat her, but..."

"But? It's Meg. She probably beat him back."

Randy chuckled, dryly, and drank again. "How much tequila did you order?"

Jon lobbed Randy another bottle. "You're covered. So, was I right, Meg kicked his ass?"

"She got some shots in. After he beat the hell out of her in the elevator. And...raped her." Randy could feel his stomach lurch, and debated drinking again or putting a hold on the idea. "She made it out, but he came after her and threw her into a mirror. Her back looked like...there was...she made it to my room with glass sticking out of her. And he wasn't done with her, he tried to sue her and say that bullshit was her fault. So...she knew he'd keep causing problems. Instead, she went to him. She was trying to protect us. The company."

"Jesus Christ...Meg..." Jon drank, looked into his bottle of Jack as though it was going to agree with his sentiment, and then drank again. "But I don't get it, why'd she go to him instead of getting a lawyer or shit?"

Randy leaned back in his chair. "Meg felt like she had a plan. And she did, it was keeping him occupied. She stayed there...New Orleans...til she found him. He spent months pounding on her. I...shit. I don't even know. I read the hospital reports. She almost died. He used plastic ties to strap her to a bed. He would cut her...for fun. Beat her with belt buckles. Electrical cords. There were shoe prints. Throw her into things. And not just walls. Things that would break bones. He raped her so many times...everywhere...they had to do surgery. And more."

Jon was silent, knowing he had to say something, but completely unsure what. 'If someone even thought about touching Renee...and Meg left so that fucking nutbar didn't come up here and do that...around us...Jesus...she's just...' He cleared his throat, softly. "Well...at least she made it to a hospital, right?"

"She made it to a hospital because of that car wreck. Jackson beat her so bad one night after he..." Randy shook his head. "He was drunk, and they ended up in his car..." 'Tread lightly, Orton, there's one thing he can't know.' "He was so shitfaced and going so fast that he wrecked. Hit the concrete median, flipped it, rolled eight-fucking-hundred feet down the highway. Her head went through the window. That was the only reason she ended up in the hospital. And they cut her up to 'fix' her. And wouldn't let her see me or Dave."

"She didn't tell my girl any of that, because Renee would have been a fucking basketcase all night. Jesus Christ. Randy, are you sure you're okay?" Jon drank, heavily, using the alcohol as an excuse to think and the burn as a way to take his mind off things.

Randy slid the bottle of tequila alongside his chair and stretched his legs out in front of him before folding down into his lap and bringing his hands up to his face. Jon watched him cautiously from the floor; he'd never seen Randy both coil and uncoil at the same time. He wondered if he was watching something break or mend.

Without moving his hands, seemingly without breathing, and after what felt like aeons had passed, Randy finally spoke. "You're the first person, other than Meg, to ask me that. No. No, I'm not the fuck okay."

Jon slid his leg over to Randy's foot, and kicked him gently. "Fuck, man. She lived. You're not okay now, but...you're not gonna fall down now, either."

Randy looked up at Jon and reached back for his tequila, not caring if his eyes were red or the mental cracks were finally showing. "I know, man. She's really something."

"Nah, not that. I mean, yeah, she is something, but you fucking hunted her down. Do you get how much you love her? You're not okay because of how much you love her. You can't go back and kill that motherfucker, and now here's Joe and his cunt trying to fuck her up more, and you can't do anything about that, because it's gonna cost you and her in the end. That's why you're not okay. Meg survived. You found her. That shit's done. It's the shit you can't fix that's killing you."

"Don't ask me not to love her." Randy's voice was intensely dangerous, and Jon knew the liquor was making them both fuck up in all sorts of directions.

"I ain't sayin' that! I'm sayin', deal with the shit you can actually deal with. We can't do more to Joe than we did – okay, fine. So we let it go and we make our women feel fuckin' gorgeous. Invincible. Whatever we need to do. You can't make Joe's fuck-of-the-week stop paradin' around like a two-dollar hooker. So you gotta come up with somethin' to get Meg to stop dyin' over it. I dunno know her like that – but you do."

"When the fuck did you turn in to Jon the Romantic? This was the shit you were giving me shit for earlier." Randy had gone from angry to bemused, but had to admit – Jon was making sense. He couldn't erase Joe, but he could minimize the effects if he crawled far enough into Meg's head. 'And if I'm ready for what's in there. What she remembers, anymore. Some of it's coming back to her.'

"Aw, shut the fuck up. It ain't me, it's the fuckin' booze. And 'cause if someone touched Renee like that, I'd be just like you. I'd wreck that motherfucker. Joe hitting her 'cause he was pissed off 'bout you and Meg? He's goddamned lucky I didn't use his own arm to give him a prostate exam."

"Yeah, I don't think I'd let Meg go to that Concierge call."

Both men laughed and drank in amiable silence, their minds on their respective girlfriends, Jon laughing at himself for being so happily tamed, and Randy mulling over what he could have said to Meg when he knelt in front of her, zipping her boots, knowing that he saw the same look on her face that was on his own.

Meanwhile, in Meg's room, she and Renee were working through the tequila at a much slower pace, Meg knowing it wouldn't take much to get Renee completely wrecked, and Renee thoroughly underestimating the alcoholic firepower she'd need to take down Meg's liver.

"You're such a not-a-bitch for not telling me I needed, like, four bottles of this shit!" Renee laughed, nearly rolling off the bed, Meg snatching for her arms before she hit the edge.

"And you're such a lightweight that it's hilarious. Be glad I'm not the type to take photos, because Jon would be pissing himself laughing right now."

"They needed that guy's night thingie, didn't they?" Renee tried another shot off the bottle, and Meg giggled when she barely managed a sip before passing it back, trying desperately to suppress a heaving, ragged cough.

"I'm just glad Randy found someone he can talk to. Joe called him his brother, back before all this shit got started...I worry that he felt kinda...alone? I mean, not alone, he's always had Dave, but – it's nice to have someone around who's going through the same shit. Plotlines, injuries, publicity, all that. Stuff in common. Plus, we all bring out the best – or worst – in each other. Though I gotta say, I padded our score on glow bowling." Meg took a heavy, real shot off the bottle, and Renee watched, interested.

"I'm gonna learn to do that. Jon would be proud. Gimme the bottle again?"

"If you puke, he's getting a picture." Meg passed her the bottle. "Try not to think about it, relax your throat – wow, that sounds wrong – and as soon as you feel it hit the back of your mouth, swallow."

"I'm gonna be laughing too hard if you describe it like that again! Jesus, Meg, was that a blowjob or a shot?"

"It's gonna be my bottle of tequila if you don't get busy, woman. Besides, you're supposed to be getting me drunk enough to talk into this dress-fitting bullshit, not me getting you drunk enough to waltz back to Jon and declare yourself Queen of the Vegas Strip on two-dollar-shot Tuesdays."

Renee swatted playfully at Meg. "Well, I can already tell that one bottle isn't gonna get you fucked in the head enough to agree to go, so what can I do? But...you brought it up, so spill. What happened with Tenille? I obviously didn't explain enough, and she laid it on way too thick."

"I come prepared." Meg lifted up a bottle of Randy's tequila, cracked it, and drank. "But you might wanna leave this stuff alone, it'll kick your ass. And with the dress...I panicked. You saw what I look like. Really look like. Fittings mean people are gonna be looking at me, asking questions...I'm not ready for all that. You're the first person here, other than Randy and sorta Dave, who's seen that shit. One friend back home, in Missouri. With work...it's like, the fewer people who know, the better. In part because of how I left, and a lot because of what happened to me when I was gone."

"Okay, so..." Renee reached for Meg's tequila, pulling it easily from her hands as Meg was lost in thought, "Then the solution is, we have to get you a dress that you don't actually try on, but is custom. And we ditch the makeup and shit. Like, put on what you want to put on, for makeup. Wear your perfume. I mean, the bra and shit is gonna have to be something that works with the dress, but we can find stuff. Tenille just got really excited because you looked so happy and she loves Badgley Misc-"

"Uh, how am I gonna have a custom dress that I don't try on to...y'know...customize?" Meg lingered on the last word, slowly, as though Renee might actually have had too much tequila to think straight. "Like...I'd have to put the dress on, just like you've got to hand my tequila back to me."

Renee passed the tequila back, glad to be rid of the hellfire in a bottle. "What if we got the store to...make a dressform? It'd be more expensive, but they could build it to your measurements, then just build the dress on that. Nell and I have been there before, so when they do work on us, it doesn't take them as long. You're new, so they really would be on you for a while." Meg started to pull a face, but Renee was prepared.

Carefully, she fell across Meg's lap, dodging her leg. "Look...I really want you to know how important this is to Randy. No pressure, but if it's bad enough that he came to me and Jon for advice...then it's bad. He said he wants to show you off. That man is slapdick head over heels in love with you, and he'd just be that much more if you'd go with him. You do understand you're beautiful, right?"

"What the fuck does slapdick mean?" Meg ruffled Renee's hair and smiled. "Look...they'd need to measure me, and that's uncomfortable enough as it is. And what would I even wear?"

"That's why we shop! Meg, you'll look amazing in anything you pick out. Truly."

"Okay. Let's say they...agree to work with a set of measurements I give them. And just give me the fucking dress at the end, leave me alone, whatever. I don't want to deal with nitpicking adjustments. What the fuck am I gonna do about shoes?"

"Would you believe me if I said I thought about it?" Renee was starting to slur, and Meg couldn't suppress a giggle. "Whatcha laughin' at? You said you were worried you were gonna land on your ass, and you said Randy got you all those boots, so what if...you got a really strappy pair of shoes? Like, straps all the way up, like your boots? You can walk in an Ace wrap, so maybe if it was, like, an open toed, kinda Grecian-style shoe, with the heels you like, but the straps were actually meant to hold you up?"

Meg looked down at her tequila, which she capped tightly, then further down at Renee, who looked scared, and then dissolved into hysterical sobs. Renee flipped over and upright as fast as she could manage, trying to hold Meg and not lose her alcohol-affected balance on the bed.

"Shit, fuck, Meg, I'm sorry, you don't have to, I won't bring it up again, I promise, I didn't mean to make you upset...calm down, I wasn't trying to make you mad, I just thought the shoes would-"

"Oh, shut," Meg hiccuped, "The fuck up, Renee," she coughed, "I'm not upset like that." Meg forced herself to slow down. "It's just...like...you thought of everything. I'm used to Randy doing it, Sarah used to take care of me like that all the time, but I didn't think-"

"What, that anyone here would give a shit about you? Lemme borrow a tired-ass line: Girl, bye. Meg, we all needed you back. Not just Randy, not just Nemeth with his concussion-prone dumbass UFO-panty self, but all of us. You ever notice how many people just kinda sat their asses in triage for no fucking reason and talked?"

"Not really; I just thought it was part of the gig. Your shoulder feels bad, you get ice. Your mood feels bad, you get Meg. And drinks." She sniffled onto her sleeve, earning a wrinkled nose from Renee, and uncapped her tequila again. "It was just normal to talk to everyone. And honestly, some people I never heard from."

"Well, they were dumbfucks and they were missing out." Renee scrubbed some lingering tears off of Meg's cheeks. "So can I let Tenille make the shop reservation for us tomorrow, before the flight? You figure out measurements or however you wanna do it – and I will personally kill any sales clerk who fucks with you – and we can look at dresses. Who knows, you might not even like Badgley. We might end up somewhere else."

"No, I have to find something there."

Renee looked confused. "Why?"

"Because I promised Randy I'd come back with a fro-yo for him."

Roaring with laughter, both of them staggered down their hallway and back to Jon's room, which was surprisingly quiet. Renee quirked an eyebrow at Meg, who shrugged and banged on the door, earning slurred requests to hold on and wait a minute from inside the room.

"Guess they had fun," Renee giggled, "And I hope Randy got some quality, manly bonding time out of the deal. Whatever guys do."

"Renee, I don't even want to think about what these two consider to be manly and bonding. The possibilities are endless...and probably gross."

The men bickered good-naturedly from the other side of the door about who got to open it, with Meg growing impatient. "We don't care who does what, just let us the fuck in. We've got open bottles and yoga pants!"

Jon managed to get the door open, shoving Randy out and grabbing Renee in by the front of her pants, dragging them precariously low. She managed to squeak out a goodnight before she disappeared into the room, and then both Meg and Randy heard, "No, not against the door! Trust me on that one!"

Randy looked at Meg, who was barely able to contain her laughter. "Don't ask, babe. Trust me when I say the echo is better than the thumping." Shrugging, Randy threw an arm over her shoulders.

"Were you gonna call Sarah when you get back, or did you do that already?"

"Prolly when I get back, why?"

"Tell you after." He pulled her in closer to him, Jon's words echoing in his mind. 'Whatever you need to do. Invincible. Gorgeous. Get her to stop dying over it. Do you understand how much you love her?' "Do you understand how much I love you, Meg?"

"Of course, Randy." Meg stopped to look at him, quizzically, in the hall before they got on the elevator. "Why, did Jon say something?"

"Yeah, he did. But it wasn't anything bad, trust me." He smiled, warmly. "Elevator, kiddo. Then call, and then let's see where we end up."

Joe and his wife got off the elevator just as Randy and Meg approached, Joe not bothering to make eye contact but his wife doing her level best to stare down Meg. For her part, Meg met her glare with an equally stony expression, determined not to crack for a second time in one day. 'Plus, I have two girlfriends and a Badgley-Misch-ker-something-or-other on my side. So watch yourself, you are not the HBIC you think you are."

As the elevator door slid toward closed, Meg looked up at Randy. "What is that perfume? It's like the 70's fucking died in here." She wasn't intentionally loud, but wasn't necessarily quiet, either.

Randy's eyes widened, and he looked up in time to see Joe's wife spin around, slack-jawed, Joe clearly unaware of what Meg had said. The door started to close, the bell sounded, and they were on their way up to their floor, Meg getting in a tiny salute with her tequila bottle before the other woman was completely out of sight.

"Meg, kiss me. That was...you're just...fuck, I don't know. Amazing. Kiss me."

"Y'know, Sarah always stays up late. If there's something you wanted to talk about first, I can call her after."

"Less talking. More kissing."

Kissing turned into madcap pawing on the way down the hall to their room, with Randy half-banging Meg into their door before he was able to successfully open it. 'Whatever I need to do. Show her, tell her, anything.' He remembered the night he asked her to trust him – and tonight, he would do it again, but because of what he hoped she needed.

Continuing the theme of the hallway, pawing led to clothing discarded in a haphazard trail to the bed, Meg landing heavily as Randy pushed her back, following her almost immediately. "Trust me one more time?"

There was a pleading tone in his voice, a need that was there for both of them, but something only he could express. Meg leaned as far up as she could to kiss him, mouthing 'always' against his lips, and feeling him pull her arms above her head, holding her by her wrists, sliding a knee between her legs, stretching her upward, out of herself, and he could see her start to float out of body, go somewhere else in her mind.

"Come back, Meg. I want to tell you how you feel around me. I want you to know what your perfume does to me. The way you look at me when you move under me. Over me. Please just stay here, Meg." He brushed her hair away from her face, tangling the ends around his fingers. "This is about me needing you, but this is about me needing to tell you, too." He eased his knee back, waiting to see if she'd flinch or let him go with the moment – he had no idea what she'd talked about with Renee, and her run-in with Joe's wife at the arena hadn't done her any good – but it was his turn to flinch. Meg's eyes locked onto his, snapping into focus with a knife-like sharpness that drew a shiver out of him.

"Then tell me. But...like that night you needed me. Need me again."

"Meg...I always need you. Don't ever, ever forget that. Ever."

"Need me like that." 'Tell me all those things, but do it while you need me like that.'

Randy, after a few slow blinks, a few gentle kisses, seemed to understand. Explaining what her rose scent drew out of him, telling her what she felt like, silken, around him when her hips lifted, sank, shifted, the depth of her eyes – and the force he used to explain it – drove every fear from Meg, had her breathing his name as though it would be the last thing on her lips if she were to die under him. He realized she was forcing herself to wait, trying to pace herself for him, even if he was trying to make the moment about her, and he had to lean down over her, beg her, promise her the only thing that would push him over his edge was watching her fall over hers. When she finally did, digging her fingers into the back of his neck, his shoulder, her broken leg locked high around his waist, he almost failed her out of fear, until he heard her panting in his ear, pleading with him, now, please now, and he couldn't deny her.

It was several minutes before either of them could speak coherently. Finally, Meg broke the silence. "What...I mean...I loved it...I needed it. You're like a drug for me. But...something's on your mind."

"You, Meg. Just you. I never want you to feel that way again. The way you did after that stupid bitch pulled that stunt in front of you." He rolled her on top of him. "Remember the first time we went to your apartment?"

"Yeah, why?"

Randy shrugged. "Jon reminded me I have some promises to make good on. For you, and for us."

Meg smiled. "So do I, babe. Gala, first. Remind me to call Sarah?"

"In the morning. I'm not letting go of you right now. I want you forever, Meg. You gonna let me do that?"

'Oh. Oh shit. What does that mean?' "Randy...of course I'm yours. For as long as you want me."

He'd curled around her, pulling her tight against him, sleep and alcohol beginning to overtake him. "Then that's forever. How do we do forever, Meggie?"

"I dunno, Ran. It wouldn't be us if we had all the answers." She stretched her legs, now sore from his ministrations and her decision to wedge herself into an impossible position around him. "You got any ideas?"

"Lots, but they're not what you're thinking." 'Well, that sounded dumb, because you know what you thought this morning. And you were gonna argue that point with Jon, too.'

'Way to sound dumb, Meg, you coulda hinted at this morning.' "Oh...well, I'm not thinking anything specific, I guess, Ran. Just that I'm yours for as long as you want me."

"For-" He couldn't stifle his yawn. "Forever, Meggie. Europe, so we can see all those cathedrals. Anything you want. Not gold, though, you hate that shit." 'Are you...babbling? How much did you drink? You can get it up, but you can't shut your mouth?' "However you wanna do forever, Meg. You tell me when, where, and I'm all yours." He rested his head on her chest, listening to her heart, drifting off.

"Let's start with the gala, Ran. I'm all yours for the gala." Meg's voice dropped low, and she started to drift off herself, but not before her mind asked itself why on earth he'd mention that she didn't like gold.

The next morning, Meg and Randy woke in largely the same position, only Randy had pulled the blankets over them at some point during the night. Stretching, Randy kissed her deeply before arching over her and heading toward the bathroom for a shower. Meg stared unabashedly, so he paused at the doorway and stretched again for her benefit. Biting down a groan, she averted her eyes and felt around for her phone, deciding that a call to Sarah while he was in the shower might be enough to at least get a dialogue started, though potentially not enough to resolve everything that'd gone on between them. Casting a backward glance at Meg, Randy nodded to himself and decided to make it a long shower, also for the benefit of her phone call.

Nervously, Meg dialed. The phone rang so many times she began to suspect that Sarah remembered her number and was ignoring it on the ID. She'd planned no opener, had no witty line ready to amuse her friend, and was terrified the phone was going to be slammed in her ear. Finally, Sarah picked up.

"Welcome to Bella Vista Condominiums, you've reached Sarah, how may I assist you?"

'Wow, that's different. Formal.' "Uh...Hi, Sarah. It's-"

"Meg." Sarah's tone was flat. "I'm really very busy right now. It's not a good time to talk."

"Oh. Uh...is there a better time to call back?"

"Lunch. Noon my time. I don't know where you are, so you'll have to look up the difference. I have to go." Sarah hung up the receiver, and Meg buried her face in the pillows, searching out the scent of Randy's cologne and realizing too late she wouldn't find it, as he'd slept on her instead. Throwing herself upright and whipping her phone into the bathroom door, Meg opted to bunch herself into a ball and sit with her face in her hands, not realizing Randy had come to her until his hot, wet skin collided with her frigid body and he lifted her up.

"C'mon. Hot shower. You don't have to talk about it, just sit with me and relax."

Meg huddled on a corner of the bench of the walk-in shower, half watching Randy and half lost in her own thoughts. 'She hung up on me. She doesn't want to talk. Maybe she really was busy; she said call back. Maybe she's just gonna tell me to fuck off then. I don't know. We fought so much over such stupid shit. I went off on her over things that were petty and not her fault. I needed to grow up. I needed to learn how to have friends. Which means I probably broke this one because she was the test-case. You break everything, Meg. Everyone who cares about you.' The blood was on her hands again, and Randy's tattoos were snuggling up into his hands, enjoying the lather he was working over them, but it was Jackson's skin, sloughing off as he danced under the hot water, that made her want to vomit. 'How can Randy not smell that? Jackson's rotting. Oh, right, because it's in my broken, crazy, rotting head. You break everything because you're broken too, Meg.'

Randy pulled Meg up, gently, from her knotted position, and held her against him, not knowing that she could feel the teeth of his tattoos chewing into her skin. She tried to hold still, to breathe, to will all of it away, but it was Jackson's howling laughter that pushed her over the edge, pushed her to fight out of Randy's grip, then to run from the shower entirely, burying herself in a towel as she left the room. Randy sighed, rinsed, and then went out to find her – easy enough, she was still wrapped in her towel, on the edge of the bed.

"What happened?"

"I called, she told me to call back later and hung up on me. We...we argued about everything before I came back on the road. After I moved in with you. It was bad. I don't think it's something I can fix."

"And in there?" Randy gestured toward the bathroom.

Meg was quiet, looking down at the sheets. "My usual bullshit. It doesn't take much to push me. It's my fucking mind. Here's where I feel safe, and then it turns around on me. I need to stop."

Randy, still in his towel, reached for Meg, debating the wisdom of the move – it was, after all, his arms that had contributed to the problem. "Meg, just call her back. If she can't accept an olive branch, it's her. Not you. You tried. Some people...you just write off. Whether or not it feels good. Maybe that's your closure, you know?"

Meg refused to open her eyes, so Randy simply guided her back to the bathroom and pointed her in the general direction of the shower, suggesting she leave the door open and take an actual rinse so she felt better. Meanwhile, he packed, lost in thought, picking at the cuffs of yet another long-sleeved zip-up, wondering what would shore her up enough to function, if he would always be another trigger lurking in her periphery.

It was his turn to jump when Meg touched his shoulder, nearly pitching him forward into his suitcase. 'See, Meg? Maybe you should disappear. Just go back home. He can see you when he's got time to be there, you can fly out to shows, and you can take some meds. You need something. You're a fucking nutcase. You're going to destroy him.' "Ran...you okay? I didn't mean to sneak up on you."

"C'mon, Meggie. Pack up. We've got a plane to catch." Randy went back to the bathroom to finish fiddling around with his cologne and toothpaste, not seeing Meg start to shake. Feeling her point about breaking people was proven, she dressed, packed, and was out the door silently, Randy not knowing she left until he realized the room was too quiet. 'She's...not mad at me. So what is it? Sarah blew her off...she said they argued about everything...so that includes the break-in...Sarah telling me about Joe...now she's hallucinating...' Randy left the room in such a hurry he'd forgot his suitcase and had to run back for it, hoping Meg hadn't left entirely.

Sitting in the lobby of the hotel, trying to make herself small in a high-backed, plush chair, Meg typed and deleted a text to Sarah, unsure if it was a good idea to send it or not, the chatter from Jackson in her head telling her there was no way Sarah was going to want to hear from her now, no way Randy would ever really want her again at all. 'Why don't you listen for once, Meg, and leave people alone who don't want you. Who don't need you.' Fumbling, she deleted the message she'd typed, and tried again.

'Sar- I'm sorry I'm a complete bitch. Tell me talk or go away, I'll do it. Just wanted to apologize, tell you I love you and I was wrong. -M

Compressed to 140 characters, Meg was limited in what she could get out, but she felt like she'd dissolve if she had to wait until she got on a plane, off a plane, went shopping, figured out a time zone difference and whether or not she missed Sarah's lunch hour, and all the other things that could go wrong in between. Her fingers hovered over the keys, still unsure.

Tenille solved that problem for her, running up behind her and slamming into her chair, banging Meg's fingers down into the keys, message sent.

"Thank God! Randy, she's over here!" Tenille yelled, waving her arms and pointing, calling far more attention than was necessary to Meg's chair. "What the hell were you thinking? He was worried sick!" She hissed at Meg, gently kicking one of the chair legs. "Don't ever do that again, wench, we were all worried!" Tenille scooted away as quickly as she'd scooted up, Randy taking her place.

"Meg..." Randy's voice was part warning, part fear. "What happened?"

"I needed some space. I was going to fall apart, and I didn't want to do it in front of you."

For the second time in as many days, Randy knelt in front of her. "Meg...if you can't fall apart in front of me, then who can you do it in front of?"

'He has a point, Meg. You were listening to the wrong person. Jackson.' Meg shook her head, hard. "I don't know anymore, Ran. If I lay it on you, eventually you're gonna end up like me."

"Then we'll be broken together. Worse things could happen, Meg." Randy shrugged and reached for her. "Are you gonna be okay for the dress shit today or should I tell th-"

Meg's phone beeped, and she threw it at Randy. "You look. I can't."

Looking at her text messages, he opened the new one from Sarah, read it, smiled, chuckled, then laughed outright. "I think you two are gonna be okay, Meggie. Here."

'M-Devilboss was with me. Will call ASAP. I missmissmissmiss you, crazy bitch. Sucks to drink alone. Bring boo-thang with you and visit.-S

Meg laughed til she cried, falling into Randy's lap, arms clasped around his neck, promising she'd never run on him again, him telling her it was fine – it was only a few floors, not the few miles to another apartment like the last time she'd snuck off on him.

"Guess I'm getting...better?"

"Every day, Meg. We both are. A little less fucked up all the time."

"Double-double Oreos on that fro-yo. You earned it for putting up with me."