If the formatting sucks, I apologize and will try to fix it when the site is behaving better. I had to upload this as a separate file, rather than my standard copy/paste, so thank you to Nattiebroskette for figuring THAT one out. As always, tip of the hat to AliceJericho, Mom2, EyeLinerWhore, and everyone who's reading, if not reviewing. I'd love to hear from you if you're out there. Please? I know where I'm going with this fic; I'd just hate to not know what you're all thinking along the way.

They shuttled to the airport and boarded their plane, Randy and Meg falling asleep on each other right after she'd crushed his hand during take-off. He always smiled at how nervous planes made her; it was one of the few vulnerabilities she didn't mind making visible to the rest of the company. He woke an hour into the ride, his phone buzzing against his leg, Meg still asleep against his side, her face peaceful. Carefully fishing for his phone, he checked his texts and opened Renee's.

'She still up for the dress thing?'

'Can you and Nell move it back one day? I wanna try to surprise her w/something'

'I wanna froyo, asshole'

'So did I. Tell Jon call room service.'

A wadded-up and soggy beverage napkin came flying toward them from several rows ahead, and Randy batted it down before it hit Meg, then sent it sailing back at Renee.

'Don't make me send Jon back there. He snores.'

'You win. But move the dresses back, k?'

Meg tried to put Randy directly on the shuttle from the airport, along with Jon, telling him she and Renee would deal with the luggage even if it meant two trips. Jon shrugged and headed toward the shuttle; Randy nearly went ballistic at the idea, knowing the walking and weight of the luggage would stress Meg. She shooed him off anyway, her expression pleading with him to let her win. Randy acquiesced, grumbling after Jon and neither man bothering to sign autographs for the fans who jabbed pens and paper at them. Randy nearly turned around to look for the person who yelled his name and asked where his homewrecking whore was, but Jon grabbed his arm and kept dragging.

"Chill. Just some random asshole. Let our two ladies talk dresses and shit. Meg and Renee are putting us on the shuttle to get us out of here because of people like that."

Twenty minutes later, Randy nervous and agitated, his eyes never coming off the window, scanning the crowds for either woman, not understanding how Jon could be sitting a row across calmly checking e-mail, Meg and Renee appeared, laughing, riding on top of the luggage, being pushed on a baggage cart by a rather portly middle-aged man who was laughing right along with them, giving them both hugs before he put their bags into the shuttle's storage for them and refused their offer of a tip. He fairly danced back into the airport, leaving Meg and Renee breathless as they made their way onto the shuttle, Meg limping slightly more than usual, but appearing overall no worse for the wear.

"Orton, is your girlfriend made out of voodoo or some shit? Some uniformed random just pushed them out of the airport, riding our luggage like a goddamned chariot. And they didn't even tip!"

"Don't ask me, man. Shit like that just kinda...happens...with her. It's Meg. It wouldn't be us if it didn't happen."

"Okay, okay, before you ask what that was," Renee panted, now on the bus, out of breath in front of their seats, but clearly amused, "Dumbass back there decided to whack herself in her bad leg with my makeup bag and fall on to the luggage belt. I'm trying to chase her down, she's yelling to forget her and get the rest of the bags before they go round again-"

"And I'm yelling how the fuck one person can pack that much makeup, Jesus goddamn," Meg grumbled lightly, keeping her weight off her right leg. "Randy, you win. I do not need eyeliner. Ever." Jon bit down his laughter.

"Anyway, that porter was about to die laughing. He gets Meg off the belt, gets our luggage, and once he sees how much shit we have – and all Meg said was we were medical and journalism for an entertainment company – he runs and grabs a luggage cart, throws all our stuff on it, tells us 'all aboard,' and rolls us out!"

"So, wait, you were gonna go down the luggage belt?" Jon still couldn't believe Meg was nearly sucked into the luggage conveyor. "Dude, where the fuck is my cameraphone when I need it?"

"Mine is right here." Renee smiled deviously. "Meg, I swear I was trying to get you off the belt, but...it was just too good to pass up."

There, in all her laughing, red-faced glory, was Meg, flat on her ass on a luggage belt, surrounded by suitcases and backpacks, looking for all the world like the happiest, craziest turtle in the world, waving her right leg in the air, clutching desperately at Renee's makeup bag. Renee's hand was visible in the bottom of the frame; she'd started to reach for Meg – but had clearly reached for the camera icon on her phone's screen first.

"Dresses, fro-yo, and then we're going out for shots. If you can pick an activity for girls' day out, so can I." Meg pasted one of Randy's trademark smirks on her face, and he immediately groaned, knowing Renee was in for a long night. "You said you wanted to learn; meet the master."

"Actually – Tenille and I called about that this morning. They can't get us in today, but they said they'd take measurements as soon as you get them to me and then set up a dressform for tomorrow morning. Which should be okay, right? You two usually drive and the next show is close, so it's not a big deal if we leave late."

"Okay, so...now I need to hit up our costuming department and mooch a measuring tape, without telling them why or letting them have-at me. Great. That'll be easy. By which I mean, not easy at all."

"Chill, voodoo princess." Jon, still amused about the luggage, was smiling strangely at Meg. 'Nobody is going to touch you. Or Renee. Trust me.' "You wanna watch how easy it is to get a measuring tape out of costuming?"

"Christ almighty, Jon, I didn't say terrorize the girls, I said get a measuring tape! I'm gonna have half of them in triage asking for Xanax and PTSD counseling!"

"Worked, though, didn't it?" He tossed the tape to Meg. "I'll even be nice and give it back when you're done."

"How about I give it back to them? They're less likely to scream when they see me."

"How about you hurry up and get Renee to wrap that thing around your ass, or wherever it goes, so they stop bitching? I can almost hear the sobs through the door. Renee's filming, but I think she said to meet her by triage or some shit." Jon smiled deviously, and jogged back to the locker room.

Shaking her head, Meg turned to head back to triage, picking up on the scent of jasmine and considering her options for a different, longer route to her destination, not in the mood for another run-in with Joe's wife. She was closer to their locker room than she realized, and couldn't help but overhear what was being said.

"So you're just gonna let her talk shit like that?"

"I didn't even hear what she said last night, babygirl. I said you looked nice, I did everything you wanted in the locker room, you went shopping...I don't get it."

"Why can't you make her leave?"

"She works here. I don't see her, I don't talk to her, nothing. What do you want me to do? She's got a contract, unless she fucks up, it's out of my hands."

"You know what, Joe? I honestly don't believe you. Something's up with you two. Don't think I'm not watching."

Meg huffed and shook her head. 'Too fucking bad she doesn't understand how hard I worked to get him the fuck away from me. She can have him. They're perfect for each other.' Walking as lightly as she could, Meg crept away from Joe's locker room, not hearing him come out the door mere moments later, not seeing him smile as he breathed the scent of her roses in deeply, looking for it to sustain him in a time of famine of the heart.

Renee met her at triage, catching the cloth tape as Meg lobbed it to her. "Well...how do we start this?"

"We head in the room, lock the door, and wrap it around stuff. Or find the length of stuff. Whatever you're comfortable with. When you're not comfortable, we quit."

"You make it sound easy."

"It will be. Promise. Just ditch the suit jacket and the boots – or at least, a boot, so we have one flat foot to measure length from – and we can start. Everything else is thin enough that it shouldn't throw numbers off. You just need me here to hold the tape around you, so that the bands are level and the ends are even. And before you start any shit about me knowing you're fat, shut the fuck up. You're half a toothpick on a good day."

"Oh, get the fuck in the room. Let's just get this done, Randy wants his fro-yo." Meg rolled her eyes, but couldn't hide her smile. Carefully, and with Meg having her eyes shut through most of it, Renee wrapped line after line of measuring tape around her, tapping numbers into her phone as she went.

"Holding up okay? All I need is hip to floor, and I think I got everything." It took her a few tries; it was difficult to figure out where Meg's actual hip was under her pants, but Renee managed the last number she needed and figured they could ask the dressmakers to add length based on the height of the heels she selected. 'Maybe we should start with shoes? I'll have to ask at the store. I'm not sure.'

Meg wasn't breathing, wasn't moving, was somewhere else entirely, and Renee was exceedingly cautious as she touched the tape to Meg's left hip for the final time and let it fall to the floor, being sure to leave her right side entirely alone. 'Maybe I'll text Randy real quick when we're done...something's a little off.' "Okay, Meg. Done, and done. When we go tomorrow, they'll have a dressform ready. Nobody will bother you about putting the dress on to do work, I promise. And if they do, I already told Tenille – we're just leaving. No arguments, no explanations, we're all just up and going. At worst, they might ask you to put the dress on once they've done some pinnings, but that is up to you. And once it's on, they aren't going to touch you. We won't let them. They can take notes, and then do more work on the dressform. Period. Plus, it'll let you know that they're keeping everything covered that you want covered. You're gonna be fine, okay? I'll send these ahead now."

Meg didn't respond, so Renee quietly let herself out, finding Joe's wife standing across the hall from triage.

"Well, aren't you sweet, dealing with her psycho broken head like that. If I was her, I wouldn't want to put a dress on, either, looking like I went through a blender. He's not really taking her with him to the gala, is he? He's that desperate? Or is it all part of her personal Make A Wish experience? I thought she was above the age limit, or do they make an exception if you're really pathetic?" Her smile was malevolent, and Renee wanted to dig her nails in around the woman's lips and peel them out from her face.

Renee blinked at the woman, barely opened the door to triage, pressed the privacy lock on the door, and pulled it shut, determined not to give her any easy access to Meg. 'There's Brie Mode, and there's 'Renee's About To Lose Her Goddamned Mind On You' Mode – and she's about to get that.'

"Don't worry," the woman continued, "I'm not here to fuck with her. She's a cripple, it wouldn't even be an interesting or fair fight. I feel bad for her, honestly. She's not going to hold up much longer. I don't need to fuck with her beyond putting on a short skirt and a cute shirt to have her fall apart. Her knowing I'm fucking her man? She had a breakdown. I am here to tell you and her, though, stay the fuck away from Joe."

"First of all, you're not fucking her man. Randy would rather dip his dick in bleach than put it anywhere near that crusty hole you call a vagina. And second, princess, lemme say it real slow, youdo understand she hasn't gone near Joe? That he's the one trailing her around, harassing Dave, stabbing holes through doors, trying to post up to Randy, hitting me with stage equipment, and generally being an asshole? You might want to get your shit straight before you come down here acting like you run something. Why don't you ask him where he disappeared to at two in the morning a few hotels ago? Fourth floor? Ringing any bells? Not ringing up purchases, sweetheart, I know the difference is a stretch for you. Think real hard."

Joe's wife raised an eyebrow, slowly turned, and clicked down the hallway on her heels. 'Joe's chasing after her? That's not exactly how he phrased it. Someone's shit is twisted. Bad.'

Renee, face flushed, texted Randy with urgency. 'Crazy bitch stalking triage. Help?' It was mere minutes before both he and Jon showed up at triage, Jon already taped and primed for a fight, trying to slow Randy down.

"I did something dumb. Since she was out here and Meg was in there, I opened the door, pushed the lock, and locked Meg inside. I didn't know if that bitch was gonna rush the door or what was gonna happen, so I thought..." Renee looked crestfallen, now realizing that if Meg was truly blanked out, she wouldn't open the door for them, and they didn't have a subtle way of opening it themselves.

"No, babe, you did the right thing. Go call your Badger dress place, or whatever the fuck, and we'll figure out the door, okay?" Jon squeezed Renee's shoulders, trying not to muss her outfit, and swatted her on the rear. "Oh, and throw the tape thing back to costuming? They're not gonna want to see me for a while."

Renee, looking tremendously unsure of herself, threw several backward glances at the door as she walked down the hallway. Jon and Randy waited until she was around the corner of the hall before making eye contact with each other.

"I told myself if she ever locked another door on me, I'd just take it off the hinges."

"Go for it, man. I'll back you up that it was an emergency. And fuck, it could be."

"Hang on, guys." Meg's voice was tiny, but close to the door. "I've got it. Give me a minute, okay?"

She eased the door open after several minutes, not just one, and Randy had to fight the urge to rush in and swallow her. Jon simply took up space in the doorway, preventing anyone who might have been lingering in the hallway from looking inside.

"You okay? Renee said you got a little lost on her."

"I'm good. It wasn't the dress-prep...I mean, it kinda was, I got lost in that, but some of it was in a good way. I was thinking about tomorrow. Renee promised we'd leave if it was too much. But then Joe's wife was outside, and she was awful to Renee. Told her to stay away from Joe, like she's ever gone anywhere near him." 'And more, but I dunno if that's a conversation for here.'

At that, Jon rolled off the doorframe, and Randy had to grab for him. "Fucking stop. You wouldn't let me pound that douche in the airport, so you can't pound Joe. Knock it off."

"Besides, Jon," Meg sniffled, re-zipping the one boot Renee'd had her take off, "If you're in jail, who are we gonna bring the other fro-yo to? Just...ignore her. She starts shit. She likes it."

"Only thing the fuckin' cow is good at."

"Not true." Meg smiled thinly. "You did just say she could be a cow."

Meg floated mindlessly through her shift at the show, Randy having explained to Dave that she'd need a little more support than usual, and was grateful when she only had four hotel calls afterward. Knowing that she had an early morning, she was eager to shower and crawl into bed next to Randy, fold under his warmth, and hope that whatever boutique she was going to suffer in the morning would have something in red, grey, or both. 'I just want to look nice for him. That's all.' Her sleep was restless, but it did eventually come.

Next to her, Randy could barely sleep due to excitement. He'd doze, to be sure, but then jolt awake, fearful he'd missed his alarm. While Meg had run back and forth on triage calls, he'd been on the phone with Sarah and her manager, arranging emergency time off, a single red-eye plane ticket that would let Chunk stay in the cabin under Sarah's seat, followed by company-car pick up from the airport. Deciding that anything she had to say to Meg would be better in person and not over the phone, Sarah jumped at the opportunity, making several noises over the phone that had Randy cracking up and her manager cringing. He managed to get her back on the phone while she was en-route to the airport an hour later, her phone all crackles and static.

"Promise you're gonna be room-service-ready? As in, you will not drink so much on the flight that you can't get up in the morning? This dress fitting thing is super early, and Meg's gonna flip when she sees you."

"I got this. Relax. And...thank you. You have no idea how much I miss her. I wanted to call, but I didn't even know where to start."

"You two are seriously just like sisters. Jesus. Just talk to each other. She's gonna need you tomorrow. Oh – and make sure she doesn't booze Renee to death at the bar."

"Nah, boo-thang. She's gonna be pacing me. Everyone else will be standing back amazed and horrified."

"I'll make sure Tenille has money for a cab. Or a hospital co-pay."

Since purposeful sleep didn't come, Randy held Meg in bed, thinking back across all the times he'd been in almost the same position, Meg tucked under one of his arms, asleep in his lap, arms knotted around his neck, whispering against his jaw, kissing his chest as she slid down under the blankets, her skin always cold – sometimes enough to startle him awake – but always a reminder she was there, she was safe, she was his. He refused to take a single night for granted, not knowing if it would be the last one before Jackson pushed her over a mental ledge, before Joe snapped and really did do something to her – and his arms would tighten reflexively around her. No matter how far she was into her sleep, she'd always trace her fingers along his tattoos, stop at his wrists, rub his hands and fingers loose from her, and smile against him as if to say, 'Maybe, but not tonight. Tonight, I'm here.'

That night, like so many others, she whispered to him in her sleep. His line about gold had stuck in her head, ping-ponging around trying to knock loose some misplaced chunk of memory, and she kept asking her unconscious self what it could be. Finally, climbing his chest, entirely asleep, she lay her head on his shoulder and whispered, in as disjointed and sleep-addled a way as she could manage, 'Going to gold churches forever?'

"I love you, Meg. I don't know how to do this right, so I'm gonna do a lot of shit in between to show you."

"I do."

Randy's eyes flew wide, then slammed closed like shutters in a storm. 'She knew?'

'She's the best thing to ever happen to me. She's the best thing to ever happen to me. Why do I still have to stand here and say it to myself? It's now. It's right now. It's here – she's here – I'm here – fucking everyone is here. Did I really just think that in a church? I'm going to hell. Just...get married. You're here now. It's nerves. Everyone said you'd be nervous. You love her, don't you?'

His inner monologue drew a protracted blank, but Samantha's pace up the aisle didn't slow.

'You love her, don't you? Tell yourself you love her. Say it. Say it to yourself, right now. Fucking say it. And stop fucking swearing in church, shit.'

Then she was next to him, her face contorting slightly when she grasped his sweat-slimy hand in hers. No answer from himself, just a tight smile at her.

'Say it, say it, why aren't you saying it? Don't you love her? Don't you care about her?'

Their vows started, Samantha going first. He had a few seconds left for deliberation and self-doubt.

'Okay. You care about her. Start with that. Everyone told you marriage is rough; maybe you love the person you marry...later, once you're married for a while.'

Sam turned to look at him, slid her foot over under her billowing gown, and tapped his ankle. He tuned in long enough to repeat what was needed, before the turn passed back to his almost-wife.

'Wait. If I don't love her now...didn't before...why are we getting married? I just-care about my accountant, too.'

And then they were presented as Mr. and Mrs. Orton, doubts or no doubts, and many years to go.

As much as it had irritated him that Joe had imagined marrying Meg, Randy found his mind drifting along the same lines, especially given that dress shopping was mere hours away. 'Whatever color you want, but...it's us. Prolly red and grey, at least for me. And if you want white, you get white. I know how much Louisiana meant to you, but I know you call Missouri home now, too. You could pick wherever you wanted, on that. I won't lie, I'd love to see all those places you used to tell me about. Make them clean for you, for us. Something tells me if we went with Louisiana, you've got some secret place, some inlet or – what'd you say they are? Bayou? Grotto? Where you'd want us to get married. And your dress would match that. I'm a guy, we don't know how to explain that shit, but it'd be part of that space, somehow. Knotted and earthy and from you to the salt. Who am I kidding – you'd find a way to make a grey dress work.

I know a Catholic church won't marry us unless I convert, so I don't know what to do there – I don't understand it – I'd do it – but it's you. You'd work your magic. I'm gonna be a pain in the ass about the cake, though. If it's not as good as the chocolate one you make, then it's not gonna happen. Would you want an outdoor reception? Probably. I think I would, I like you in moonlight, and you always leave all the curtains open at night. Indoors is so..it's not us, is it? I don't know what a cicada is, but you talked about them a lot – how they sounded, but they didn't sing at night. We'd have frogs, wouldn't we? Unless we were in Missouri, then I dunno what we'd have. June bugs? You'd have a lot of getting used to, to do with my mom...I don't know if she'd make it easy on you, but she'd come around. Just doesn't want another Sam, but I told her so much about you...she knows.'

Meg smiled against him as though she could hear his thoughts, kept whispering to him, I do, I do, lost in some dream of her own – this time, something pleasant and warm instead of something that was peeling her mind apart layer by layer. Smiling, Randy slowly slid down the bed, bringing Meg with him, drawing the blankets up over them almost as a shield against the morning – though truth be told, he'd almost never been so excited for a sunrise in his life.

It wasn't the banging that woke Meg; rather, it was the yowl of a cat that brought her bolt-shot upright in bed, flying out of Randy's lap and scrambling for the door to their suite.

"Chunk! Wait, nobody take her cat, the cat can stay here!" Meg tripped over the sheet she'd taken with her off the bed, her mind back at the wrecked apartment, convinced the police were taking Sarah's cat away, desperate to stop them. She hit the ground hard and kept propelling herself forward, determined to make it to the door before anything more terrible could happen. The impact with the floor kicked the last of the sleep from Meg's mind, and she felt Randy's hands around her waist, trying to lift her up and get her feet under her.

Carefully, Randy pulled her back, still on the floor, trying to get her to orient herself to the door as it clicked open, Sarah banging through with her cat carrier in one hand and her suitcase in the other, the neck of a bottle of liquor sticking out of the grate of Chunk's carrier.

"Well, shit, Sarah, no wonder he's making all that racket, he's probably dying of fumes or getting beat to death. What the fuck is that in there, a handle?" Randy was incredulous.

"Airport said it was the heaviest cat they'd ever seen." Sarah winked. "Damn, girl, not gonna get your ass up off the floor and give me a hug? I gotta go all the way down there after I went all the fuckin' way across the country? Stingy bitch." Sarah tackled Meg, not caring an iota that she was essentially in Randy's lap and most assuredly wearing only a t-shirt and half a bedsheet, glad to finally see her friend after so many months.

Meg couldn't move, couldn't breathe or bring her arms up to reciprocate the gesture, confusion and shock overriding every other emotion in her body. Finally, Sarah backed away, opened the cat carrier, let Chunk mooch around the room, and cracked open the bottle of Jack. "I know it's not exactly your speed, Randy, but it tends to snap her out of things. Welcome to breakfast, Meg!" Sarah took a hard pull off the bottle, picked up Meg's limp hand, and wrapped it around the neck of the bottle. Looking down, up, and back down, Meg shakily lifted the handle with an assist from her other arm, and drank like it was going to kill her or solve her dilemma. Panting when she was finished, her eyes seemed slightly more in focus.

"You sneaky...how did...the fuck are you..."

"Oh no, bitch. You turn right the fuck around and say all that shit to that fine piece of ass right behind you."

Meg turned as best she could to face Randy, who tried to look innocent, then bashful, then gave up and started trying to explain. "When you texted her and she said she missed you and you were all nervous about the dress stuff I thought it would be nice if you could just see each other and talk and since Renee and Nell are gonna be there it means Jon can hang out with me and you two have time to just -"

"'Scuse me, Sarah." Meg pushed herself over backward, fully, forgetting she was only partially dressed, and laid on Randy in a kiss designed to leave him breathless. Sarah, for her part, rolled her eyes and moved Meg's sheet up to cover her before setting about makeshifting Chunk a litterbox and unpacking her clothing.

"You get, like, three minutes. I'm not waiting for you two to fuck each other senseless. I got a text from someone I don't know – but you probably do – saying we gotta meet downstairs ASAP for breakfast, so do what you gotta do to him, get your ass in a shower, and then we gotta go!"

Meg broke away from Randy's lips, an impish grin on her face. "Get my ass in a shower, huh?" Randy needed only one hint, maximizing the coverage of the sheet before carrying Meg into the bathroom.

"Jesus, I have to watch what I say with those two, don't I?" Sarah muttered to herself. Chunk wrapped himself around Sarah's ankles, glad to be free of the cat carrier. "Let's see what we can get out of room service for you, eh? Tuna steak? If I get to dress swanky, I guess you get to eat swanky."

Meg took more than three minutes in the shower, but it was to lavish Randy in attention. Anything she could massage, wash, kiss, promise – she did. The dress, she swore, would be beautiful. She would find shoes that would let her dance every song with him, and she would walk the room with him the entire night. Meg thanked him in every way she could think of for bringing Sarah to her, for wanting to take them both to the gala, for simply being there, being hers. She never let him speak, and it was just as well, because he knew what would fall from his lips, but didn't know what the repercussions would be. 'I can still hold on to what you told me last night, Meg, even if you don't remember. Looks like Jon's going jewelry shopping today.'

Meg rushed to get dressed, Randy again helping her zip her boots, this time under jeans, but both he and Sarah assured her it wasn't a look that was "trying too hard." On the way out the door, they both shrugged at each other, having no idea what Meg meant by that. If it looked off, Renee and Nell would fix it. Introductions made over waffles and Sarah's handle tucked firmly into Meg's oversized tote – Meg insisting it would be one of the two things that would get her through the fitting, Sarah being the other – they set off for Badgley Mischka in a chauffeured car, Tenille practically dancing with excitement over the possibilities of the Winter Collection.

"You two are going to love it, trust me!" Tenille was a vibrating ball of nervous energy, not wanting to upset Meg, wanting to desperately to get everyone in on the fun, and then drag everyone off to what she thought was possibly the world's best frozen yogurt bar. Which would be followed later that evening, though she didn't know it, by an actual bar. The drive was much shorter than Meg anticipated, Sarah having hit it off wonderfully with Renee and Tenille, and Meg found herself craving not just a drink or a shot from the bottle that was with her, but a chance to lock herself in a bathroom stall and drink recklessly.

'I can convince Sarah to run off with me while Nell and Renee set up whatever they've got to set up at the store. That'll work. There's got to be a powder room somewhere.' Plan settled, she caught Sarah's eye, looked down into her bag, and jerked her head slightly, Sarah winking in response. Once they'd all piled out of the car, Meg begged off in search of a restroom in the mall's complex, promising to meet the other girls at the boutique in just a few minutes, with Sarah as insurance. Clutching Sarah's hand, bottle banging into her left leg, they fairly ran off to a bathroom, both piling into the handicapped stall, Sarah pushing the bottle back at Meg when Meg offered it to her first.

"Nope. You need it more than I do. I already know what I wanna buy."

"Buy my ass, you already know Randy's putting it on his black card. You're not paying for shit."

Sarah paled. "On second thought, gimme the bottle."

"Remember when we used to go through these things, one each, when we were having shitty boyfriend nights?"

"Yeah, like when you kicked boo-thang out and spent the night on my couch?"

"I still can't believe you let me do that! You didn't even know me." Meg sniffled and smiled, eyes watering partly from the alcohol and partly from emotion.

"Girl, you had Chunk in your lap. You think I was gonna dislodge twenty pounds of hellpuss just to get you out of my apartment? Besides, if Chunk liked you, I knew you were alright. You were the only friend I had in a long, long time."

"You were the only friend I'd ever had, Sarah. You're really gonna just let me...fuck up...like that, and get away with it?"

"Stop fuckin' crying and go put a dress on. They're gonna know something's up if we're gone too long. And yes, for the record, I am gonna let you get away with it. You think I did any better? C'mon. We're gonna talk about it, but we're gonna talk about it after shopping. Promise. How about at the hotel? We can get room service. Renee said something about Randy being out with Jon all afternoon. We'll have time."

Meg looked at the bottle, and drank as though it was the last liquor on earth. "Okay. Get me through this?"

"What are friends for? And here. Chase that shit with a cough drop and some gum."

Urging her toward the boutique, one hand on the small of her back, Sarah kept up a gentle forward pressure to make sure Meg went through the door. The interior was overwhelming – everything smelled like light, citrusy perfume, everything was brightly lit, everything was perfectly arranged and organized and new. Glaringly, overwhelmingly, pristinely new, in a way that Meg wasn't used to and almost couldn't stand. She was so used to thrift shopping and vintage stores – a habit Randy hadn't managed to break her of, but as she always looked classy and not worn, he didn't care – that the concept of having one entirely new ensemble, from stem to stern, staggered her.

"You okay, Meg? If you want to just sit for a minute, we can bring some ideas over to you. Nell and I already told the sales clerks they are absolutely not to bother you." Renee met them at the door and eased Meg toward a low chaise, gently settling her against the back of the lounger, patting her cheek.

"No, no...it's just a lot at once." Slowly, Meg let her eyes roam the boutique. 'Okay. What did Renee say? Asymmetrical...something about a shoulder..a high slit...organza...lemme just sit here and look.' "You go look for what you want, and let me know when you find stuff you like? I know Sarah said she had some ideas. I need to think for a minute about what I want. But...if you see something red and grey?"

"Of course, Meg. Red and grey. How about...we'll pull things we think you like – and Sarah and I can make sure they...fit the requirements, say – and we'll leave them in the dressing room for you. Try things on, see what you like, and then they can start work on the dressform, okay? If you feel up to it, come find us. Otherwise, we're not going to push you."

Meg smiled weakly at her friend. "I'll be fine in a few. Go ahead."

Renee and Sarah wandered off, joining Tenille, and Meg finally let her eyes focus. 'Nothing short, so I can skip the whole left side. Nothing bright, so I can skip the middle. That leaves the right side. Now or never, Meg. Get up, act...no. Don't say that shit. It's not 'act right' anymore. It's go do the one thing that he's asked you for. Go show him that you love him. Go show him that you lived.' Taking a few steadying breaths, Meg lifted her arms around the back of the chaise and hefted herself to vertical, trying to follow the sounds of her friends' chatter toward the back of the boutique.

She tried not to touch anything as she went, tried to keep the whisper of Jackson's voice to a dull hiss in the back of her mind, but the room began to overwhelm her again. Seeing nowhere to sit and nothing to hold onto, Meg did her best to tilt her ankles against each other and close her eyes, starting a slow crouch to the floor, pretending to fiddle with her boots but remembering too late that she had no laces to adjust. Folding and unfolding the cuffs of her dark jeans instead, she thought back to the night Randy took her to dinner at the resort, and felt her nerves steady. 'He thought I was beautiful in ballet flats and a ratty sweater and old jeans. I just need to find one dress. Just one. All my friends are here. And I can get shitfaced if I have to. Keep walking, Meg. You can sit down where they are. Just go back there, and keep looking while you walk. And Jackson, you can fuck off. I killed you. You're gone, I killed you, and Randy doesn't care. He doesn't care so much that I'm dress shopping because he's taking me to a gala and guess what, asshole – you're not invited.' Meg stood, slowly, carefully, cautiously, and continued her creep to the back of the boutique, eying each floor-length gown as she went. 'Not yellow. Not orange. Not rust, violet, emerald...where is the garnet and dark grey?'

"A pantsuit! Oh my gaw, everyone is going to have eyes on you! I don't think that's been done in, like, forever, and if anyone can pull it off, it's you. You're, like, what, forever feet tall?" Tenille was marvelling at Sarah who, flat-footed, towered over both her and Renee, letting the sales clerks fuss over her tuxedo pants.

"So, here's what I'm thinking, ladies. Super-dark charcoal fabric, dark charcoal satin stripe – actually, you know what, let's just go black, I know Meg wanted to go grey – cream cream colored blouse with a vee down to there, and throw in some crystals or sparkles or whatever kinda shit wherever the pros think it'd look good in – maybe along the stripe, to make it look longer? How about – since Randy's my meal ticket – red or grey sparkles. I gotta match my dates. While you're at it, pros, grab me some shoes? The taller the better, I hear all the gents at these things tend to run lofty." Sarah winked, let the seamstress finish pinning cuffs into her pants while sales associates scattered to racks to gather boxes of shoes. "Who's next, Renee or Tenille?"

"Girl, if bourbon gives you abs like that, then I've been doing it all wrong." Tenille snickered. "Hang on, I'll go next, but I want to see what shoes they come back with for you." Sales clerks came flying back to the dressing area with stacks of boxes, Meg visible far off in the store. All three women eyed each other, but opted to let her wander for the moment and focus on the task at hand. "And, we're not done with that blouse yet." Tenille tugged at the garment. "What're we doing to the sleeves?"

"Fuck if I know, making them sleevy? What do you do to sleeves?" Sarah shrugged, checking out her ass in the pants while hopping up and down, trying to put herself into a pair of black, open-toed heels. "I guess do something fancy to the cuffs. If there's a big vee in the front, have the cuffs be vee-ish, too?" The sales clerks nodded, took notes, and helped her down from the pedestal she'd been up on. Tenille squealed and started to strip, eager as anything to get into her dresses of choice and see which she preferred. All of the colors she'd chosen were obnoxiously bright and feminine, and Renee couldn't help but laugh at how different everyone would look. Sarah, meanwhile, held a hand up to her eyes, a look of mock-horror on her face. "Damn, woman, am I gonna have to tip when this is all done?"

Tenille was torn between a canary yellow floor-length frock and a mint green, feathery sort of thing in a similar length with crystals on some of the feathers. Renee groaned internally; she knew her friend could make the process take days and the best way to rush it along was simply to suggest she buy both and wear whichever one struck her mood that night, saving the other for whatever gala was up afterward. Or a girl's night out. Or a lunch date. Or wrestle in it. Whatever. Just move the process along before Meg hid in a dress rack, since Renee knew Meg was going to go last and they were all going to either have to coddle her or physically pin her down to get her to go through with it. 'Well, be realistic, Renee. Nell would never wrestle in a Badgley. She really would hurt whatever girl took a crystal off her gown.' Turning to scan the floor one more time, Renee realized she'd lost sight of Meg entirely, and cringed.

Renee was half right, Meg was lost. She'd made it to the back of the store, the black-banner section, the most unaffordable of the unaffordables, where the entire concept of a tag was a misnomer unto itself. Randy would have bought her every gown along the wall if it made her happy, but Meg had her eyes on one in particular. Smoky grey, gauzy, cinched at the waist – 'Well, the cinch has got to go...I don't know what that big sequined thing is, but it's ugly. Replaced with something red and gauzy, and we're getting there' – long and trailing in the back, a high slit like Renee said would look good on her, and up on one shoulder. The slit and the shoulder were even on the proper sides to mask the scars Meg was afraid would show. 'Now, how do I...well...fuck it. Get Renee or Nell to get it off the wall, and then just try it on. Make sure it really covers shit, and then they can dressform it.' With that in mind, Meg limped back across the boutique toward the dressing rooms.

She made it to the fitting room just in time to see Renee in a high-necked, richly emerald gown, all green crystals and small gems along the front mesh panel, but it was the styling that stunned Meg into silence. The side slits along Renee's legs reached up nearly to her hips, and the gems and crystals along the bodice panel plunged low down her sides, to her waist, the back entirely bare. Meg was stunned not just by how much skin it showed, but by how flawless Renee's skin was. 'Shit, shit...I should have made Nell wait and done mine first, then talked to Meg about what I picked before she saw it. I didn't do it to hurt her, I did it because it's what Jon likes, in the color he likes, and it's...too much for her. Shit. This just ruined her whole day. Renee, what the fuck were you thinking when you could have just grabbed the dress and told them to use your old fit-forms?'

Quietly, Meg walked to one of the cushioned benches lining the fitting room and sat down, looking at the bottle of alcohol in her tote and considering her options. The silence in the fitting room was greasy and thick; Renee's skin was starting to crawl and she realized while Meg had fully appraised the dress, she hadn't made eye contact with her at all.

"Renee?" Meg's voice was soft and almost muddy.

"Yeah, Meg?" Tenille and Sarah had frozen in place; the sales clerks had left the fitting room, deciding it was better to lose merchandise to a fight than to be present for whatever came next.

"You look beautiful. Jon's going to love that."

Renee looked at her cautiously. "Meg, you don't have to...I mean..."

"Can you help me get one down from the wall? I don't know how this stuff works." Still soft, still muddy.

"Uh...yeah, Meg. Lemme get out of this and we'll get you whatever you want."

Sarah sat down next to Meg, kicking her tote. "You found one. Good. Grab a drink, relax. You wanna try on whatever you found, or you just gonna stick it on the dress thingie and we head out for dessert?"

Seeing no sales clerks, Meg uncapped the handle and drank to end herself. Renee cringed, but said nothing, knowing the dress and so much more was behind it. "Fuck it. I'm trying the dress on. I don't even care. I need to see it. They can do all the work on the dressform, but I need to see it on myself before we leave. So...I guess someone should grab me a pair of heels, too?"

Tenille, Sarah, and Renee looked at Meg like she'd lost her mind, so Meg shrugged and drank again, this time to end the static in her head, the shrieking from Jackson, the shattering glass from the accident, her screams in the hospital, all of it, waiting until the bourbon turned into Randy's hands tracing her shoulderblades and tugging at the ends of her hair, promising her he would be there at the end. "Oh...I get the heels myself? Guys, I don't know how this works, remember?"

Renee snapped out of it first. "Meg. Right. Okay. Walk me to the dress you want. How tall do you want the heels?"

"It's a long dress. It's in the back-back, under that black awning thing, so I guess it's off the runway. I'm five-seven, so heels that will make me tall enough to be on a runway."

Tenille paled. "Meg, that's, like...Sarah's height. You want us to find you a pair of four inch tall heels?"

"Yup." Sarah stood up, taking a drink herself. "Put some hustle in it, Vege-mighty-mite. You want red or grey, Meg?"

"Grey. Dark. If not, then whatever. Black, I guess."

Meg looped her arm through Renee's and set off at a dazed, drunken pace toward the back of the store, pointing up to the grey dress she'd looked at earlier. "That. It's like what you said I should wear, right? I picked the right thing?" Her tone wobbled as badly as her stance, and Renee had to work to keep her steady.

"Let's get it down. And let me guess – let's get rid of that tacky sparkly thing?"

"Read my mind, why don't you?"

Back in the dressing room, Meg gave herself a horrified once-over in the mirrors, completely stripped of her clothing, standing in a strapless bra and smallish panties, scars now more like silverfish resting on alabaster than bloodlines through marble, her posture uneven from tilting her weight away from the right – now standing on one foot, since her boots were off – her shoulders crooked from the damage to her collarbone, her body curling protectively over the long scar on her ribs. She shivered, and put on one of the robes the boutique had provided, waiting for the rest of the girls to come back with the dress and shoes.

"Meg?" Renee's voice called through the curtain, uncertainly. "Everything's here. You want me to just put it in back, or-"

"Can you come back here? Uh...all of you?"

Tenille, standing directly behind Renee, almost fell over onto her. It was Sarah who snatched the box of shoes from Tenille and pushed Renee forward, the dress on its dresspole flying through the curtain ahead of her. "For as much as they move in the ring, you'd think they've got cement in their asses now. Here, Meg. Dress, shoes. You want us to help you zip, or you just want us to hold the Jack so you don't spill?" Sarah ruffled Meg's hair affectionately, drawing out a flat smile from her friend.

"I don't know how to get into it, so...I need help."

Renee, having seen Meg before, was prepared and moved to circle Meg with the dress as she shrugged the robe off. Sarah, for her part, positioned herself directly in front of Tenille, slammed the box of shoes into her chest, fixed her with a steely glare, and mouthed, 'Do. Not. Stare.' directly at the girl. Tenille looked terrified and sat on a cushioned bench, clutching at the box and looking nervously from Sarah to Meg. Renee tugged at the clasp on the sequined sash til it came apart, and pulled a makeshift gauzy maroon sash from another hanger on the dresspole, gently wrapping it around Meg's waist and adjusting it to run down the length of the back of the dress. Meg was drowning in the fabric pooling at her feet – she really did need the extra four inches the heels would give her, but the dress so far was doing its job. The scarring at her collarbone was covered, nothing was visible at her ribs despite the deep vee along the side as well as the opening down the other side of the dress, and the high slit put all the attention on her good leg, not her injured one.

"Shoes, Nell?" Sarah nudged the shoebox, expecting the girl to drop down and help Meg adjust them at least around her good leg.

"I'm...if I...what if..." Tenille struggled for words, and Meg bent to take the box from her hands.

"I get it, Nell. It's okay." She smiled, the first genuine one since the dress had been put on, and sat down next to Tenille on the bench to take the shoes from her and offer a hug. The shoes were simple grey heels, without straps, and it occurred to Meg she was going to have to stand, even-footed, for the first time since the wreck. 'I don't have to walk. I don't even have to move, or turn, if I'm in the middle of the room – there's a thousand mirrors in here. I just have to stand and see if I like it. But, if I'm not going to walk, I can't put these on here. I have to be where I can see things.' Meg edged herself up from the bench, shoes in hand, and hobbled away from the bench, setting the shoes on the floor and lifting the edges of the gown over them. Settling her good leg comfortably into the first shoe, she braced herself and stepped into the next shoe, wincing, feeling pins and screws grinding in her shin, Randy's hands on her arms, and surprisingly, no hint of Jackson on her skin. The girls collectively gasped; Renee bent to sweep the train of the dress away from Megs' feet and open the slit at the front of the dress.

"That bad?" Meg's eyes were still closed; she wasn't sure she could open them and risk seeing Jackson instead of potentially feeling him.

"No, Meg." Tenille whispered."

"Girl...I'd take that red eye twice for this. You aren't gonna make it in those shoes, but...shit. Jesus goddamn." Sarah took a shot and passed the bottle to Tenille, who looked at Sarah, shrugged, and drank as well.

"Meg...you owe this to yourself. Look. Please?" Renee's tone was gentle, and her hands closed around her shoulders. "Please, Meg? Here, let me put some of your hair up. Hang on, I've got clips in mine."

Cautiously, Meg flickered one eye open after she felt Renee stop tugging and adjusting her hair. The person in the mirrors looked cautiously back, her one perfect pale leg visible from the slit in the gown, the hem barely dusting the floor, one snow-bright shoulder visible – but the scarred one hidden, her ribs shaded by gauze and gossamer on the damaged side despite the slit there, with only the smooth, alabaster half of her body showing on the other. The pain from the height of the heels evaporated, the spiced tilting whirl of the alcohol seemed to spike through the top of her head, and the smile that followed nearly tore her face in two.

"Hey, uh...Renee?" Meg whispered, afraid the dress would evaporate. "Can we still do the shoes like you said? So I can walk?"

"Of course, hon."

"And...and maybe just a couple red...crystals? Sparkles? Like dust...down the front. When the car wrecked, the glass was like diamond dust."

Renee looked confused. "Meg, why wou-"

"I lived." She shut her eyes again and leaned back into Renee's hands, her smile becoming something small and warmly peaceful.

Clothing replaced, boots zipped, Meg's request for 'red crystal diamond dust' explained as best it could be and with demands for samples of the dust-effect made before anything was placed on the final garment, the girls moved over to their dessert destination, all pleased with how the morning had gone. Meg was limping noticeably, but had snuck two vicodin and knew between that and the alcohol she'd be half-gone by the time they made it back to the hotel. They giggled and teased their way through their orders before remembering to place two extra for Jon and Randy, Meg's threat of extra-extra Oreos not going unforgotten – though the clerk behind the counter did politely correct her to 'triple' Oreos, which sent them all into hysterical laughter. Meg tipped generously, not remembering the last time a girl's day out had made her feel better. They'd had to rush, to be sure; Tenille had media work to do, Renee and Meg had no idea if Jon and Randy were back yet or if they'd decided to stay at the hotel, and Sarah was game for whatever Meg wanted to do next – which was their bar night before they hit the road. They'd all decided to drive together; the next show wasn't that far away, with the silent agreement being that Jon would be nowhere near the wheel of the car.

"Then how are we timing all this?" Tenille sounded massively unsure of the whole process.

"Everyone's staying with me and Randy, since we're in our own suite. Room service in the morning, then we head out. For now, just finish up the media stuff that you two," Meg pointed to Tenille and Renee, "Have to do, and leave the fro-yo in my capable hands. I'll make sure Jon finds it. Just move your luggage up to our room, and you're all set."

"Have I mentioned you think of everything?" Renee teased, nudging Meg's arm.

"Concierge service, at your service. And wait til you see the view from where we are. It'll blow your mind."

Splitting up at the hotel, Meg and Sarah ran the desserts up to Randy's room, before they became any soupier, tossing them in the freezer and collapsing on the bed, Sarah opening the Jack and Meg fishing for one of her bottles of tequila.

"Where do you think your boo-thang went?" Sarah rolled around the bed as though it'd afford her a better view of where he might be in the room, and drew a chuckle from Meg in the process.

"Who knows. With him and Jon, I don't ask a lot of questions. It probably involves alcohol, fire, and fast cars."

"What, no naked women?" Sarah winked.

"If you knew how occupied I kept him, you'd know he doesn't have time for that shit."

Meg was correct on only one front; the two men had left moments after the girls did and were involving themselves with a bit of alcohol at the hotel bar, but it was mainly to steady Randy's nerves. Jon had fiddled his way through a few shots and a few beers, listening patiently to Randy wander through the story of his ordeal in finding Meg, always coming back to roses, fretting over whether or not she'd like the necklace, and more importantly, whether or not they'd be spotted at the same group of boutiques in the mall as the girls.

"Look, man. Either you wanna go see if this store can put it together, or you don't. If not, cool. There's other jewelers in other towns. We can go later."

"They're gonna see us."

"The longer we sit here, yeah, because you're gonna have fangirls up your ass. If we move, we're fine, because odds are they're all buried in shoes and dresses and shit in whatever that Badger Musher store is."

"Has anyone ever told you you're an idiot?"

"Has anyone ever told you you're a pussy who can't buy a fucking necklace for your girlfriend? Unless this is about more than a necklace. Dude, I told you, getting engaged is too much, and the mors I listen to you, the more I'm getting' the feelin' that's what this is. You two went through a fuckin' war, don't just do it like a reflex."

"You think that's what this is about? Jesus Christ, Jon, you just don't get it."

"Then make me get it, because I'm startin' to think somethin' else is goin' on here, or you'd be in that fuckin' store already."

"I'm not getting her a ring. I don't know if that's even what she'd want. But...I guess...no, I know...in my own, fucked up, I-do-it-all-wrong way...this is basically the same thing. You think anyone else ever did this for her? I'm wondering...it's because it's Meg. Is this the right way to do it, I mean."

Jon sighed, and waved the bartender down. "Shots. I don't even care what, just shots." He looked up at Randy. "Is this...the way you mean it, or is this the way she's gonna take it, or what is this? I feel like I walked into a fuckin' bear trap."

"No, it's just us. It wouldn't be us if it wasn't complicated. She'll know what I mean. No worries, man." Randy smiled, tossed back the two shots the bartender brought over, and tossed down some cash.

"You know one of those was mine, asshole."

"I need it more than you do. You have people send pictures and then jewelry just appears, remember? C'mon, junior. Time to learn how to get it custom."

Edging past the dress boutique and further into the mall, Randy and Jon – who Randy sorely wished had dressed up a bit better, but beggars couldn't be choosers – made it to the jewelry boutique. Security was glad to let Randy through, but crowded closer to Jon, who Randy had to reach back and drag through, muttering that they were shopping for their girlfriends.

"Uh, I didn't say I was getting Renee anything..."

"You think once she finds out you went with me to get Meg's necklace she'll let you live if you don't get her something?"

"Goddamnit, Orton..." Jon started to nose around the various cases, trying to figure out where they'd put the emeralds, while Randy stood at the counter in front of the platinum chains, near a sales clerk who looked to be about Meg's height, and waited.

Explaining things proved to be a bit trickier. He didn't want to point at the girl, or touch her, so another sales clerk had to come over and drape a diamond pendant on the first clerk, adjusting the chain until it hung approximately where Meg's Saint Julian covered her chest, so they could work the distance for the rose from there. Randy shot down every suggestion that he simply talk his girlfriend out of wearing the necklaces simultaneously – that wasn't an option, for so many reasons – so they gave up and asked what, exactly, he wanted to do with the rose pendant.

"They wouldn't work on the same chain, would they?"

"Sir! Sir. No. Fine jewelry next to...you said it was...bronze? Bronze colored? Absolutely not."

'Well. That was more than a little bitchy. It's not like she's wearing a piece of trash. And it's only bronze-looking on the front, she's rubbed the back of it down to silver. Maybe I'm going about the wrong way. Let's test a theory.' "Well, okay, I don't know what I'm doing. Why not?"

"Sir." The sales clerk wearing the pendant cleared her throat. "It it bronze. It's a cheap metal. You're talking about putting a custom piece of jewelry, fine metals, painstakingly crafted, designed by hand, next to something that was probably...stampformed." She cleared her throat again. "It's...a clash of styles, of appearances, of value..."

"Yep, value. I get it. Thanks for the help, ladies." 'I don't want them strung together, but not for your reasons. The rose is going to be on a shorter chain, just above Saint Julian. At the bottom of the hollow between her collarbones. She'd like that.'

"Shall we get the loose garnets and black diamonds, then?"

"Nah. Like you said, it's about value. Yours...clash with hers. Thanks for the help, though. Jon, you ready to go?"

"Thank fuck, man, I'm lost in this shit. Besides, our fro-yo should be back by now."

"We need a different plan of attack."

"Forks and spoons? Sporks?"

"Not for that, dumbass, for the necklace. C'mon. I thought of a better way to do this, but I need you and Renee to help me out again." Randy paused for a second, clearing his throat and putting on his best drunk-buddy look. "Uh...please?"

Randy and Jon walked out, leaving two very confused sales clerks in their wake, completely unsure what they'd said that had sent the two men packing.