Thank you EyexLinerxWhore, Nattiebroskette (Go read "Can You Help Me Heal?" if you haven't - shameless plug!), AliceJericho (Several stories in the works, there, but Fade To Black is my personal favorite and she's a dialogue genius), MistressKM, Mom2AllisonandJames, cougar3371, psion53, and ALL of you naughty lurkers out there...I'd love to hear from you, even if it's just to tell me how horrible I am and that Joe's really a lovely person and I'm not giving him enough of a chance. LOL!
Onward!
For all intents and purposes, Meg appeared asleep, curled in Randy's lap, earbuds in, music on – at his encouragement, no less – a concession he was willing to give her due to the stress of her morning, as well as a tactical maneuver on his part. He was trying to up the ambient noise around her in order to talk to Jon and Renee about the necklace and his plan to dip out to New Orleans. 'Jon's idea...is not a good idea. To just walk out on her. But it might be the only way to get this done. And that's if Renee can get anything out of her.'
"You're not seriously still gonna pull this shit? After all that shit in the airport and a meeting now? Look...I'm all for surprises, or whatever, but this is not the right time."
"You didn't even let me get a sentence out." Randy glared at Jon, but mostly out of annoyance that Jon had beaten him to the punch on the question he was about to ask.
"Jon's right, Randy. I'm sorry. I'll still try to feel Meg out on those questions, if she'll let me, but maybe this isn't the best time for you to...you know. Or at least...see what she's like after you meet with the board of the powers that be. It sounds like they're on your side, but stranger things have happened."
"What d'you mean?" Randy was confused.
"You...know how Vince can be when he wants things to go perfectly in his little bubble. Don't be surprised if other than the boards telling Joe to put a leash on his wife because of the bad PR, they tell you 'no harm, no foul, no consequence' – or don't tell you anything at all – and to get over it."
Randy sat back, hard, causing Meg to stir in his lap. He closed his arms over her, trying to prevent Renee's words from touching her even if they could be the truth. 'Then...why would they ask what we want done to Joe? Are they looking for an overreaction? Is there a 'right reaction' to have? I want to stay out of it – that's what seems right, because we don't run anything. They do. Control.'
"Don't flip out, Randy." Jon could see the disaster brewing in the backseat. "We'll figure something out, okay? So...maybe she doesn't get it now – it doesn't mean she won't get it at all."
Slowly, in the same motion Jon had watched Randy perform the first night they drank together, Randy curled his upper half down, over Meg, covering her completely, but this time, bringing his legs up underneath her, his decision suddenly final. 'You're going to get the necklace, Meg. I don't care how. Doesn't matter what they don't do to him, or what they drop on me. Just watch.'
Renee shot Jon a sidelong glance, hoping he'd give her some clue as to what was happening in the back seat. Jon looked back at Meg and Randy, then over to Renee, then buried his head in his hands, mumbling to himself. "This is gonna end in a shitstorm. Just drive." Renee sighed, loudly, and pressed harder on the gas pedal.
Meg, shielded by Randy yet hearing most of what they'd said, had no idea what she was supposed to be getting, and felt her irritation rise at their secrets. Realistically, she knew Renee was probably right and nothing would happen to Joe or his wife, and it made her heart break for Randy, who she knew just wanted to see something...fair? Just? Happen in this entire mess. Sighing and disguising it in a stretch, she slipped an additional two vicodin from the tight waist of her jeans – she'd hidden them there after taking her initial dose on the plane. 'Looking asleep isn't being asleep. Now I'm going to be asleep. Really, really asleep.' Slipping her hand past her mouth on the pretense of rubbing hair away from her eyes, she dropped the pills into the pocket of her cheek and worked at them until she managed to dry-swallow, keeping her face from registering any bitterness at all.
"Meggie. Meg, wake up. We're here, kiddo."
"Wh'r's'ere?" Meg hadn't opened her eyes, and showed little interest in moving from the warmth and comfort of Randy's lap.
"Hotel, kiddo. I'll get your bags, you just work on getting yourself awake and coordinated. We've got a couple hours to get settled, then we have to meet with Liability at the arena." Renee and Jon were already out of the vehicle, headed toward the back to handle suitcases.
Meg's eyes were closed again, and Randy gently shook her shoulder, trying to keep her focused. "Meg? You get all that?" Guiding her to a sitting position, he tried to rub the drowsiness off of her, brushing her hair away from her face, looking to see if she'd put a bottle of water in her messenger bag. 'The fuck is up with her? She was more awake than this when we started driving – I thought the meds were wearing off? Is something wrong?' He found a bottle of water, but left it on the seat, unsure if she'd even be able to drink it.
It was Jon's turn to give Renee a sidelong glance while they walked. 'She took too much, or took more,' he whispered, 'I knew he wasn't gonna watch her with that shit – he doesn't know how. She's fucked up, bad. Can you grab a coffee, but don't drink it? So you can go do something with Orton, I mean. I gotta detox his girl, or they're gonna be in a whole world of shit at that meeting. Act like you're drinking it, if you have to, but bring it back here.'
Jon was right to worry – Meg had slipped more than her standard two vicodin past Randy's watchful eye, and though her tolerance to medication was higher than most, she was intentionally trying to drive up the effects, and in a very compressed window of time. She slept, with little outward expression and a storm in her mind, in Randy's lap through the rest of the drive. Though she'd turned on her standard evening mix of music, the songs weren't bothering her the way they usually did – this time, it was Joe on her mind, along with trying to untangle the words of the three people around her, and what they could possibly mean by what she'd be getting.
Renee looked nervous, but once the lift gate of the SUV was open, she announced that she was feeling a little off herself and wanted to run in and grab a coffee from the hotel bar. Jon shrugged, told her he'd get their shit together, and squeezed her hand just out of view of Randy. He let her get a few paces ahead, then called out.
"Hey, Renee, hold up." Leaning further into the SUV and lowering his voice, Jon crossed his fingers and hoped. "Orton, Meg's pretty much asleep. You wanna walk in with Renee, just in case? No more beverage-bombing assholes? Coffee is hot, I don't want anything to happen. I can keep an eye on your girl. Couple more minutes of sleep isn't gonna hurt her. At this rate, you're gonna carry her in, anyway."
Randy looked icily at Jon, prepared to argue, but Jon held a hand up. "Please? You said she took a couple vicodin. It's not like I'm not...used to...that shit. I watch out for Meg, you watch out for Renee. Or somethin' like that? Right? I'm trustin' you with my girl. And, uh, you know I'm not real good with sayin' please for things."
"Can I go get my coffee now?" Renee threw her hands in the air, feigning thorough confusion. 'C'mon, Randy, get out, let Jon do his thing...'
Edgy, and no less concerned with Meg's sudden state of inebriation, Randy bent over Meg and kissed her gently. "I'm gonna run in the hotel with Renee real quick, kiddo. Be right back. Jon's with you. Try to wake up, Meggie, okay? You're making me worry." Meg, for her part, mumbled something incoherent, and half-smiled. 'Okay, she heard me. That's a start.' Randy backed away from their vehicle and jogged up to Renee, leading her in by the elbow, and groaning internally at the line-up at the Starbucks.
"Be nice, Ran. You know we're gonna get some pen-and-picture shit going on. It's okay. It gives Meg some time to wake up. You said she took a vicodin, right?"
Randy squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think. "I thought she only took two. She only ever takes two. I mean, she had a gin and tonic with them on the plane – sure, I'll sign that for you – and she's not much for gin, but I've seen her take two vicodin and make dinner, or do a month's worth of laundry – for who, Tom? No problem – or throw us both in the pool at home, or..."
"So this is weird for her, then. And why are you making her do all the laundry?" Renee nudged Randy in the arm, trying to elicit a smile from him.
"It could just be the stress. When she feels like she's really got to hold it together – and we were on that plane, she didn't want to start to lose it, and we have to go meet how many Departments Of Chairmen, now – she can just shut down. She's a lot better than she used to be, but sometimes it all overwhelms her, too."
"She'll get there, Randy. She's already doing so much better with you in her life. Give yourself some credit." 'I want to believe that's true, Randy. She does seem better. But this does seem so massively out of character for her, too. Something isn't right.'
Back in the SUV, Jon shoved the suitcases aside, hopped up in the back of the vehicle, and lifted Meg abruptly upright, dropping her down on the seat, her head snapping back against the seatrest. Cracking open the bottle of water Randy left behind, Jon held Meg's head in place and touched the open edge to her mouth.
"Drink it. You gotta wake up. You're startin' to worry me, and that takes a lot."
Meg, barely coherent enough to register what was real and what was imagined, felt a shooting pain snap up along the side of her ribs from the unintentional force Jon had used to drop her down into her seat, and wailed, clutching her side. He'd meant to jolt her awake; all he'd successfully done was jolt her, followed by holding a bottle of...something...to her mouth, and her brain hadn't caught up to her eyes, which hadn't caught up to the rest of the world, or even truly opened. 'What...who used to...Jackson. Jackson told you pain is a great motivator, Magdalena. Then he would ask you to do things. Don't drink it. The window. Where's your window, Meg?' As frantic as the pills would let her be, she tried to push away from Jon and the bottle of water.
Jon winced, watching her motions combine into something feebly uncoordinated and sloppily violent given the small space they were in, and he cautiously backed away. "Meg! Meg, chill. It's Jon. Randy went to get a coffee with Renee. You're fucked up from your pills. Stop tryin'a swing on me."
'That's not Jackson. Not Randy. It...is Jon? Okay. Meg, stop.' Keeping her hands up, just in case it was yet another trick or her rotten-cored mind, Meg forced her gummy eyes open. "Why...why'd you hurt me?" Her voice stabbed at her throat, and she found her hands greedy for the bottle or water, though her brain screamed at her to wait, not touch anything, to be sure before being dead.
"Shit, Meg. I didn't mean to." Jon frowned, debating whether reaching to straighten her out was a good idea or not. She'd slumped against the passenger door, and he didn't want her to drowse off again. "I don't know what's fucked up on you or not, to move you. You were passed out for too long, an' Randy said you had a couple pills over a drink on the plane. The way you started sleepin' again, I figured it was more'n a couple."
"Yeah." Eyes downcast, Meg wasn't about to admit the number.
"Right. Start drinkin'. Water, I mean. Renee's coffee is kinda for you. Randy didn't know what to do to wake you up..I'm more of a..."
"...Pro?" Meg managed a weak smile. 'My eyes want to stay open, at least. That's better.' "Got th' bags? Ran's gonna know shit's up, if y'don'."
"Keep talkin' so I know you're awake. And drink the water." Jon began hauling suitcases out, but not without a small degree of guilt. "Hey, uh...Meg...are you...I mean, all I was tryin' to do was..."
"Y'mean, why yell?"
"Well...yeah." Jon winced. "That sounded like shit. But...I wouldn't hurt you, either."
"I know." 'Jesus, I needed water. And that coffee sounds amazing. And I need to talk to Randy.' "Here – whole fuckin' airport saw t'day." Meg pulled her shirt up, spilling the water, revealing the lengthy scar up the side of her ribcage. "'S'ok, jus' kin'a stung. Y'set me down hard. Woke me up, though."
Jon didn't say anything, just looked at her side over the back row of seats, half-moved his hand up to touch her, silent. 'Jackson's lucky he's dead. If anyone did that to Renee...how does Randy not...Meg lived...' Dropping his hand, he began drumming his fingers on the seat in an agitated, rapid-fire motion.
"Fuck, y'oughta see m'leg. This ain't shit." Meg tried to make light of it, but Jon's head snapped up, his eyes locking onto hers. "Relax. I kep'im away from'ere an' I got out alive, din't I? An' his dumb, drunk ass died in the wreck. Hey, lookit – coffee – there!" Meg tried to point, but her arms couldn't cooperate.
Jon, still silent, gave a curt nod and sat on the back bumper of the SUV, watching their bags, still drumming his fingers, this time on the edge of Renee's makeup bag, taking in every lipstick smudge and mascara blotch. Sliding down into the seat, feeling an odd mix of guilt and something that unsettled her, something she didn't have a word for, Meg sipped at the bottle of water, waiting for Randy to get in and put her world back together.
Renee slid in first, blowing at the edge of the lid on the coffee cup, checking on Meg over the back of the seat. "Woo, girl, you look hit. Here. Have some of this. We can split it. And Jon got some water in you. Even better." Randy, taking the coffee from Renee, made sure Meg had a careful grasp on it before helping her tilt it to her mouth. Grimacing, Meg sipped – it was black coffee – but she knew she needed it.
"Meg...what'd you do?" Randy set the coffee on the center console and held Meg's face in his hands, trying to get her to look at him. 'You scared the shit out of me, let's start there. Then we can talk about whether I'm angry or not, because I don't know what the rest of this feels like.'
"Ran..." Meg struggled for clarity of speech, trying hard to make herself sound more composed than she had been thirty seconds ago with Jon. 'Force it. Is this the first time you faked something?' In that instant, Meg loathed herself, but it was just this once with Randy, she rationalized, just to get them inside, and then it could all come out. "Ran, let's get to our room. Please?"
Sighing, Randy helped her down from the vehicle, and Meg clung to his arm, letting the hotel porters deal with their luggage while Renee and Jon parked. "Just promise me you're gonna tell me why, and then be okay."
"Yes, and yes." Meg kissed what she could reach of his arm.
Once in the room, they sat on the balcony together. Meg bunched under his arm while she explained, half-trying to hide from his expressions and half trying to hide from herself. He knew the first two vicodin at the airport were due to her nerves getting the better of her, and while he didn't like it, didn't agree with it, he also knew that being crunched into an airline seat was going to do a number on her leg and she'd end up needing them anyway, so he let it pass. Not happily; the gin and tonic wasn't exactly the same as the glass of wine she'd sip at across a half-hour when they were home together and dawdling through making dinner or finishing up some household task, or half-watching a movie together at the hotel where she'd ask him if he wouldn't mind if she took a single pill – but he knew it wasn't worth an argument and believed the medication would stop there.
He hadn't counted on Meg being so rattled that she'd tuck two additional pills into the waist of her pants – dangerous, given airport security, and dangerously stupid, given that she'd essentially doubled her dose in half the prescribed time, and on an empty-yet-still-booze-laden-stomach.
He was doing his best to strangle his anger down as he listened, not to become the person he swore Meg had boxed up and sent away, but rage finally won out over rationality. "Meg, what the fuck were you thinking? You weigh next to nothing, that's laying the groundwork for an overdose! Plus the drink – you saw how they poured! And you're the nurse, it's not like any of us were gonna know what the fuck to do for you if something went wrong!"
"I know it was stupid, Randy. I apologize. And I know apologizing doesn't fix it. You asked what I was thinking – I'm trying to tel-"
Shaking his head, Randy slammed his hand down onto the armrest of the loveseat as though it could physically block any more images of Meg in the car and the hospital bed from filtering into his mind. "It doesn't even matter. What you did was so was so flat-assed stupid that the reason doesn't even matter." He slid out from under Meg, looking down at her. "I need to take a walk. I'm so fucking livid right now – do you understand I could have lost you? Again. Do you even care?"
"Would you just let me-"
He was out the door before she could even fully right herself; the vicodin didn't help her coordination, and her weak leg hampered her further. Falling back down onto the loveseat that, until a minute ago, she'd shared with her- 'And what do I call him? Boyfriend? Welcome back to junior high, Meg.'
Whispering out into the void across the balcony, Meg offered her answer to the air, rather than offer nothing at all. "I took them because Renee's right. Nothing's gonna happen to either one of them. It all happens to us, instead." Meg shook her head. "Grand irony is, you just pulled a Joe. At least you kicked yourself out, instead of kicking me out." Standing, this time with more stability, and eyeing her watch, Meg mumbled, "And what are you up to? All of you?"
Meg knew Corporate would be expecting them, so she rushed through a shower, left a note for Randy, plowed through another lobby-coffee, and took a taxi to the arena, realizing too late that she'd forgotten her triage bag back at the hotel. Seeing no sign of Randy having arrived ahead of her, she had to explain to the Corporate powers and board members that she wasn't sure where he was, but he was quite frustrated with the day's events, Meg calmly talked the situation down from 'Dear God, he's run off and won't be back for the show,' to, 'He would prefer to take some time at this juncture to process the events of the day in order to present a professional response.' 'In other words, I'm spinning like a damned tornado, and we all know I have no fucking clue where he is. As long as the location doesn't include Joe and a wood chipper, we're probably all okay. And since I forgot my triage bag, here comes a game of musical taxis!'
Randy banged through the door ten minutes into the video review, Meg looking thoroughly bored with the whole thing. He sat down a goodly distance away from her, sending over a glare rather than a greeting.
"I told them you were taking a few minutes to compose yourself before re-watching the tapes."
Randy grunted non-committally, and Meg wanted dearly to kick him under the table. The video record of the night progressed as Meg said it had, the girls doing nothing out of the ordinary or inappropriate, even in the valet area, where Meg announced loudly that everyone had their purses. A liability adjustor paused the tape.
"Why did you say that to your friend?" His voice was flat, but not unpleasant.
"Because Renee left holding her purse and shoes. Sarah had been drinking – we all had – and she was unsure that we'd all left with all of our personal property. Since I was seating the girls in the car, I knew everyone had everything. So, that's what I told her. I brought her back to the car, and we left." 'And I really, really hope that's the right answer, too.' The man seemed pleased enough, noted it, and dropped his pen.
The airport footage was exactly as Meg and Randy remembered, though Meg was surprised that more of the beverage hadn't landed on her. The way the cup hit, it had exploded outward, rather than spilling down.
Again, the liability adjustor paused the tape. "Why the family restroom?"
The question wasn't directed at anyone specific, so it hung in the air until Meg jumped in. "I'm a nurse. I didn't know if there was a chemical or irritant mixed into the beverage, and my concern was that it had gotten onto Randy, so I had to remove clothing. There's no...appropriate...way to do that if I go into a men's room or he comes with me into a women's room. We didn't have an airport-medical response at that point, so I chose a locking bathroom for privacy."
Another smile, another note. "It seems you're looking out for your friends and...Mr. Orton, whatever the relationship is there. Calling for cars, making sure nobody wanders off, protecting the company from liability related to the restrooms, chemical incidents...which brings us to our next point. You."
"You meaning me, or her?" Randy asked.
"Ah, he speaks." Mr. Liability smiled at Randy. "And I mean Miss Nechayev, of course, as all of this seems to be focused on her. We'd like to ask, would you like to continue to work here?"
"Are you threatening her?" Randy's voice and temper jumped several notches, and Meg slid closer to put her hand on his thigh. He tensed, but didn't brush her off. 'Jesus, she's freezing. That's too cold, even for her. Is that from the pills? Is she scared? Orton, you fucked up again. Like always. She needed you and you walked out. How the fuck are you supposed to make this right? Like...'Hi, I'm sorry I was an asshole again, we haven't done this in a while, can I have a do-over minus the narcotics?'
"Miss Nechayev, I thought you said he'd be composed?" Mr. Liability had a lilt to his voice that amused Meg and made Randy want to pound the man's face through the table. "No, Mr. Orton, I am not, as you said, threatening her. Merely giving her the option of voiding her contract if she finds working here to be too dramatic or dangerous for her tastes. She's been through enough, don't you think?" He cleared his throat. "In any event. Miss Nechayev, your answer?"
"I'd like to keep my job here, if it's all the same to you." Meg's voice was calm, but her face looked very much as though she was dreaming, hearing something not quite in the room.
"Very well. And any thoughts on what should be done with the perpetrators?"
"Perpetrators? More than one? The only perpetrator in this situation is the woman who threw the drink at me, and I'm sure the TSA has that covered. Internal company discipline doesn't concern me. I'm here to handle medical matters, not personnel matters."
Mr. Liability looked confused. "You have no interest whatsoever in knowing who caused this situation?"
"None."
"Or in effecting a disciplinary action against them?"
"No, sir."
"Well, indeed. Very well. Thank you for reviewing the tapes and verifying the identities of the people in your group. You and Mr. Orton have a safe show."
The entire corporate board looked at Meg as though she was crazy. To not want some involvement in the disciplinary process showed maturity, but to not even be the slightest bit curious about how the wheel was set in motion struck them as odd; odder still was Randy's complete silence until it seemed Meg's future might be in jeopardy. Regardless, Joe and his wife were next to watch the tapes. And the two groups passing each other in the hallway would be a telling encounter, indeed – one which corporate had intentionally set up, making sure to re-open the door behind Meg and Randy so they could hear every word as they floated down the hall.
"Is that who I think it is?" Meg squinted, trying to force her eyes to focus.
"Hm?" Randy grunted again.
Meg whirled around, poking Randy in the chest as hard as she could, still feeling a bit uncoordinated, keeping her voice low and leaning up to his ear. "Look. If you don't want to talk to me, fine. Do what you do. But remember that the entire corporate board is in there, so do not say a word to Joe. Or his wife. Not. One. Word. I don't care what they say to you, you don't say anything back. Period. And you keep your hands to yourself."
'I fucking hate it when she makes sense. I just want to kiss her and tell her I'm sorry I didn't let her talk. I'm not mad, I'm scared. Dave is right. Fuck, fuck, FUCK Dave for always being right.' Randy's mind trailed back to the conversation he'd had with the man right after the poor guy had almost knocked himself out running into the short edge of the guest-bedroom door, and Dave had point-by-point called him out on all of his bullshit. 'Keep your mouth shut right now, Orton. Just do what Meg says, because she's right, and keep your shit together.'
Randy sighed, and took Meg by the elbow, walking her down the hall. It was Joe's wife who spoke first, shrilly, and intentionally loud. "Oh, look. The cripple. Well, I guess it's better than needing a walker or a wheelchair, but it's kinda sad to have your man drag your ass around by the arm because you can't walk on your own."
"Would you fucking stop it?" Joe hissed at her, sick to death of her barbs and shots. "It's called escorting your wife. I'd try it with you, but you'd bite my head off."
"Jesus Christ, he married that thing?" She dissolved into hysterical laughter.
"No...no, not yet, that I know of. But if he hasn't, he probably will. And that thing has a name. Magdalena."
"Oh my God! Even better! A whore name!" His wife was staggering down the hall holding on to the wall for balance, laughing so hard she could barely keep upright. "And seriously, stop fucking defending her. It makes me think I'm right. That you still have a thing for that thing."
"Meg. Her name. You could try using her name." Joe's teeth were gritting now; the headache at the base of his skull crawling upward. "And I keep telling you. No. I don't." 'I do. I thought you'd be a tolerable substitute, and holy shit, my first mistake was thinking.'
"Well, since I checked your voicemail this morning, we're gonna see about that. You know why Corporate wants us here?"
"You went through my phone?"
"Yeah, yeah. Anyway," she continued, waving his concerns away and taking a seat at the table, directly across from the liability adjuster, who already had his pen in his hand, "After I got done deleting your wallpaper, it's because we have some tape to watch. Of you. Acting a fool at the club."
Mr. Liability spoke. "Actually, Madam...I don't believe you'll find it's your husband who's been quite so foolish – at least, not in this particular escapade. Though, Sir, this will be your final warning, as well – on her behalf."
Outside, Meg began to dial for a taxi. Randy did nothing to stop her, unsure of how even to begin a conversation, let alone an apology, and began turning between facing Meg and debating whether to go back through the doors and off to the locker area. 'It's been so long since I fucked up that bad – and she fucked up too, but she admitted she did, and apologized, and she tried to explain why, and it's Meg, she would have made it right somehow. She probably would have just given me her pills. Thrown them out. This probably would have been the time I could have talked her into the surgery, and I just blew that. What do I do now? I still have the idea for the necklace, I can start with that. Maybe talking to Renee will get her in a better mood, and then I can get her present started. I'm not even gonna have time to talk to her, I have to get ready for the show tonight, which means I need to stay at the arena because all our shit got shuttled over and I know she forgot her triage bag – it wouldn't be us if it wasn't a disaster – so maybe I can catch up with her once she gets back over here. I can text Renee and make sure she finds her. Right! Right. Lemme do that.'
By the time he turned back around, Meg was gone, the taxi already off in the distance. Randy bit his tongue and looked up at the sky, then set about looking for his locker room, Dave, Jon, or Renee. 'Even Tenille would work, at this point. Anyone. Because I fucked up. Twice, now.'
A trip back to the hotel, then a return to the arena, and Meg made herself intentionally scarce, dodging Randy, avoiding her friends, still not sure what to say or do to anyone. She wasn't trying to kill herself when she doubled up on her meds, she knew that much. She just knew the eventual outcome. Joe and his wife would be told to grow up, Meg and Randy would earn gold stars and pats on the head for being such saintly, patient people, and the world would keep on spinning. 'I earned the right to just fucking forget. To just not have to deal with another hurt. Didn't I?' From down a hall, Meg heard crying, which sounded suspiciously like Joe's wife, but she paid it no mind. 'Not my drama, tonight. I have enough of my own.'
"What the fuck were you thinking? You're lucky someone didn't actually try to kill her! Do you understand shit like that has actually happened? That people get attacked? It's not just some fucking game!"
"No...baby...I didn't know...I'm sorry..." His wife's voice was a thin whimper.
"You're fucking right you're sorry. You're a pathetic, sorry, fucking waste of my life. What the fuck were you thinking? How about, what the fuck was I thinking? I married you! She was right there on my porch and I picked you instead!"
"I can fix it! I'll make it up to you! Baby, I'll do better! Whatever you want! Anything you want! I'll stay in...I'll...I'll even just go home if you want!"
"I want you to leave her the fuck alone! How hard is it for you to understand that?"
Listening to Joe defend Meg, sound protective over her, a deep well of insecurity sprang up in his wife. "Why, so you can have more time to spend with her? I'm sure Randy would love to hear about that, how you've been chasing her around. I mean, he already got to watch film of you drooling over her at the club, how do you think he felt about that?"
"Do you think I fucking care how he felt about it?"
"You're my goddamned husband! You're supposed to care!"
"So, what, you're just gonna get her killed to make me care?"
The screaming continued for the better part of two hours, him towering over her until she sank to the floor, quivering, terrified, until he finally slammed the door open into the hallway and told her to get out. She was only too glad to oblige, tired of hearing how she was destroying his career, ruining his life, wrecking his finances, could have gotten Meg killed – 'And if I fucking hear her name one more time I AM going to kill her – wandering the halls, sniveling and sniffling, but earning only dirty looks, hard sneers, or shoulder-checks of her own from the various backstage employees. What had happened to Meg was no secret; for every dirt sheet made of evil there were three or four that got it right, and Meg's soda-bomb hadn't gone unnoticed – especially when the TSA had filed its own report on the incident, albeit a small one. That the misinformation had come directly from Joe's wife had been made perfectly clear, she'd now made herself from an annoyance directly into an asshole, and the whole employment roster was only too glad to let her know that her position was directly on the last rung of the ladder, with all shit rolling downhill.
Makeup ruined, hairdo a shambles, dress rumpled, and her own high heels in her hands, she finally collapsed into a chair in catering, immediately noticing Joe nearby – though he hadn't seen her, a tech holding up a clipboard in front of him, but he was looking over the clipboard, not at it. She tracked his gaze, passing the twins adjusting their tops, skipping Tenille bent at the waist fixing her boots, but most assuredly seeing Meg standing at the beverage table, trying to decide between her standard Diet Dr. Pepper or a regular water, messenger bag over her shoulder, tapping out a text message with the hand that wasn't occupied with the selection of plastic bottles on ice. Her attention was out in the ether, but Joe's attention was fully on her.
It was enough; it was too much.
"You fucking bitch!" She screamed, sending her shoes flying at the back of Meg's head. One connected solidly, the heel of the other drew an angular red line across the back of Meg's arm. Stunned, Meg pitched forward into the table, jostling everything, but managing to stay on her feet, completely unprepared for the flurry of weak-yet-speedy slaps and punches that came next from Joe's wife charging at her. Meg threw an arm back to push her attacker, whoever it was, away, not wanting to start more of a scene than there was.
Joe crossed the entirety of catering in four paces, grabbing his wife around the waist and simply throwing her as he turned, heaving her into a wall. He knocked the air out of her, and Meg watched as her ankle bent miserably underneath her when she landed, then cringing as Joe began to approach her while she was on the ground. 'Either he meant to, or he's snapped, but she's in trouble. Meg, you're an idiot, here goes...' Shaking her head, trying to clear the impact from the shoe, Meg tried to run ahead of Joe, wobbling on her boots, doing her best to fall over his wife on the floor, hold up her hands, slow him down, anything.
"Joe, it's okay! I'm okay. She snapped for a minute, don't go there with her." 'Please don't. I'm in front of her.'
"Meg, she hit you."
"With some knockoff Jimmy Choos. I'm fine. If I get up, are you gonna leave her alone?"
Joe looked confused. "All the shit she did to you, and-"
"I'm saving your ass, Joe. You just saved mine, right? 'Oh, please, Meg. Keep a straight face.' "You made her stop hitting me, remember? Now I'm making sure you don't get in any shit for this. You got her to stop hitting me, we walked over to check on her, I'm gonna call Dave to look her over since we both have bad history with her, and we're both gonna walk away from this. Okay?"
'Everything I did to you, too...and you're still saving me.' "...Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense. Okay."
It was at that moment Randy chose to turn the corner with Dave and Jon, seeing a long red welt on Meg's arm, Meg sitting over Joe's wife, Joe standing over Meg, Meg's hands up defensively in the air, and both Dave and Jon immediately jumped to put Randy to the floor.
"If you touched her I'm gonna fuckin' kill you! You're a fuckin' dead man, do you hear me?" 'Meg, I never got to say I'm sorry...Meg, please, don't be hurt, don't do anything...Joe, I swear to God, if you even breathe in her direction, I will destroy you...Meg, what the fuck are you doing?'
Meg sighed, squinting her eyes shut. She needed more water; the comedown from her pills was starting to give her a headache and the shoes and slaps hadn't helped. "Okay. Joe, I need you to walk away from her, so I can go get Dave and calm Randy down. Is it a deal? You can do that?"
"Why are you doing this for me?" A small, scared voice, from under Meg's leg – Joe's wife, trying very hard not to move, breathe, even so much as shed an atom, more from fear of Joe than anything else.
"She shouldn't be, you stupid fuckin' cunt. She's doing it because she's a better person than you're ever gonna be. Stay the fuck away from me the rest of the night. Get your own goddamned hotel room. If I want to see you tomorrow, I'll call. And if you fuck with Magdalena again, it's gonna be a big problem for you."
"Joe..." Meg's tone was gentle, but carried a warning. "Remember, you helped settle her down? Stopped her from hitting me, blah blah? Now's the time to walk away, okay? Start going. I'll let her sit up, I'll get Dave, all that. But you need to go, okay?"
"Yeah, Meggie. Thanks." 'You smell like roses. If you let me get close enough, would you taste like caramel?'
"Don't thank me, thank her shitty taste in shoes."
Once Joe was at a safe distance and catering had started to move as usual again, Meg helped his wife sit up, warned her not to move, and sprinted over to Randy, who was still fighting Jon and Dave.
"You coulda moved a little faster on that, ya know. He's not exactly easy to pin when it's for-realsies." Jon, thoroughly unamused, was coated in sweat.
"And if I didn't for-realsies convince Joe to walk off, he was going to kill her. Sorry."
Meg dropped to her knees in front of Randy, waving off the crowd that had gathered. "Dave, just let go. It's fine. I'm here. Go check on that thing over there. If she's lucky, her ankle isn't broken."
Dave, only too happy to dodge the heart attack he was sure he'd have if he tried to keep Randy pinned down much longer, let go of his arm and scrambled over to Joe's wife, who still looked too terrified to move.
"Did he hurt you? What the fuck was that?" Randy bolted to upright, trying to shake Jon off and reach for Meg, pulling her against him by the shirt, then pushing her back to inspect her, then pulling her in again before Meg pressed his arms into stillness.
"I'm okay, Ran. Joe's wife threw her shoes at me for...I don't know the fuck why, and ran up on me from behind. She was slapping at me. Then he threw her into a wall and went at her like he was going to hurt her, so I-"
"You seriously got in between Joe and his wife?"
Meg looked taken aback. "I should have let him pound her? He fucking threw her into a wall, Randy. She did an asshole thing throwing shoes at me, but he looked like he was going to kill her."
"And what if he hit you instead? Then what? No, wait, let me guess – you took more pills, didn't you?" Randy was yelling now, and the entirely of catering fell into a stunned silence a second time. "You had to, because how else would you make such a fucking stupid decision?"
"Orton, man, shut the fuck up. You're doin' too much right now." Jon tried to keep his voice low, but Randy was having none of it. Meg, vacillating between hurt, confusion, disappointment, and a complete absence of caring, was beginning to edge away from Randy. It was just as well; he'd turned his ire entirely on Jon.
"What, so you'd be fine with it if Renee just jumped in?"
Jon looked at Randy like he was dumb. "I'd be scared as shit, but nobody should be beatin' on their wife. Joe got the bitch away from Meg, that shoulda been enough. And you need to stop fuckin' yellin' about the pills."
Meg, meanwhile, completely blanched, had wandered away from them both as they argued, picking up her triage bag as she went. 'I need to disappear tonight. I need to do what I'm good at.' She tapped Dave on the shoulder as she passed, flashed her phone at him, and simply kept going, headed toward triage. Ducking inside, she dug through his work bag, taking out the bottle of Valium he always wrote for himself, offering up a quiet, wry chuckle that he'd continued to write scripts of 60 and wondering if she and Randy were the root cause of that. Dropping it into her triage bag, she slipped out of the room before anyone else could come down the hall, and sent a quick text to Dave.
'Hey. I'm out for the night. Stress. Sorry. Radio silence for a while. -M'
'Don't worry. Easy show. I've got this. What am I telling him?'
'Nothing, because I'm not telling you anything. You can show him this text.'
'Okay. Bad sprain, not broken, by the way.'
'She say she was sorry?'
'She said you're a stupid bitch with cheap perfume and to stay the fuck away from Joe.'
'You're welcome.'
Meg asked a company driver to take her back to the hotel, saying she was going to prep for the night. Once she was there, she changed clothes, ditched her boots, and shuffled anonymously out to the nearest liquor store, picking up two bottles of 100-proof SoCo to tuck next to the valium and vicodin in her messenger bag, then used the GPS on her phone to find a small, local coffee shop to hole up in until the show was over. 'I can camp anywhere that allows smoking and pulls a decent mocha. This will do nicely; it's even helping the headache go away. That's gonna get better later, though. Or worse, I guess. I dunno.'
She hadn't planned any further ahead than coffee, but eventually decided she should see what other hotels and motels had rooms open, just in case. She was surprised to find a hotel near the airport still showing a few singles open, but bookmarked the page and hoped they'd be open later if she decided she needed them. 'I'll see what kind of mood he's in when I go back to the room later, but right now...' Meg sighed over the top of her coffee. 'Right now, fuck it. How could he think I was going to let anyone just beat on another woman and not do anything about it? Wouldn't Randy have stopped Joe?' A cold shiver ran over Meg, and she tried to push that thought down. 'It's like we just fell apart, today. And that stupid gala is in...a week? How are we supposed to do that together? Maybe this is because of the gala, and he doesn't really want to go. I wouldn't want to go with me, either. Coffee, maybe another coffee, then hotel. Then, we'll see. Right now, it's just me. And I can think too much when there's space to do it in.'
"Randy, I don't know what to tell you. She's not answering my texts. I'll keep trying." Renee, flat as ever, was tired of Randy's tone with her and had no interest in helping him pull his head out of his ass.
"She's not answering mine either! She always answers mine between matches!"
"An' you can quit raising your voice to her, too." Jon, edgy that Meg wasn't responding to anyone, was furious that Randy was taking his own stupidity out on Renee. "Look, asshat, you fucked up today." Randy opened his mouth, but Jon waved him silent and kept going. "No, it's not that she took the pills. It's how you treated her when she tried to explain. Fuck, you even said you knew she was gonna take the first two, so why are you pissed about that? You told me and Dave you asked her why she took the next two, then you jumped all over her shit when she tried to explain, then you walked out. Does that sound like anyone you know?"
Randy looked at Jon, slate-blank, til Jon continued. "Lemme go real slow for you. Taaaam-paaaaaa. Ring any bells?"
Physically backing up from Jon, Randy turned to look to Renee for support, but she only rolled her eyes. "Oh no, asshat. You really fucked up on this one. And by all accounts, added on to the fucking up by yelling at her for doing her fucking job in catering and not letting Joe hurt his wife." Renee huffed, then dialed again, this time to Tenille to ask her to keep texting and calling, followed by checking in with Dave.
"Okay, now, no." Randy jumped to his own defense. "That's fucked up. Joe could have hurt her, and that's some bullshit. She doesn't owe that bitch anything, job or no job."
"No, Randy, you're fucked up!" Renee lost her temper, lunging towards Randy, Jon half-heartedly trying to hold her by the waist. "After Joe left her on his fucking porch, which was after – by your account – Jackson beat the fuck out of her, you really expect her to just stand there and pick her fingernails while another woman gets the shit kicked out of her by a man? Are you fucking stupid? Jesus Christ, Randy. Jesus fucking Christ."
Renee shook Jon off of her, looking from him to Randy. "You're on your own with your bullshit plan. Walking out on her at the hotel? Calling her out like that about her pills? About Joe? About doing her fucking job? You're an asshole. She can do better than you, Randy, and I hope to fuck she figures that out. Soon." Stomping off, Renee dialed Meg again, pressing one so the phone would go directly to voicemail. Randy couldn't catch all of it, but Renee's voice was teary, and she was asking please, just pick up, just wanted to know where, wouldn't tell anyone, please be okay, would tell her all of it.
'All you had to do was let her explain. You just had to let her explain. You had to sit down and hold her and let her answer your question, that was it. You could have stayed there and been angry and been scared, but just let her talk. And now Dave is right, and Renee is right, because you were right all along. You weren't good enough for her, were you? Right back to your same stupid shit. Like you were with Sam, after Sam, always are gonna be no matter who you're with. You asked her to keep you, and – will she? She always said there wasn't anything you could ever really do wrong, but maybe this was it.' He looked to Jon, his eyes helpless.
Jon just rolled his eyes. "And what the fuck do you want me to do, man? You fucked up! And now my girl's pissed about it. I gotta go deal with her. You're on your own. New Orleans is a fuckin' stupid idea. You have shit here you need to fix, and you ain't gonna fix it if you ain't here." Turning on his heels, Jon took off after Renee, trying to get her to slow down.
All Randy had to do was saunter down to the ring, pretend to be a bit angry at a few people, belt a few lines into a microphone, start half a fight, and head back to his locker room. Sometimes, Meg would be waiting for him, shower running and hot, if she wasn't caught up in triage. If he didn't hear the water running already, he'd set up their toiletries and head over to triage to find her, intent on bringing her back with him. Instead, post-performance, Randy trashed his locker room, dragged himself back to the shuttle, and went back to the hotel. He didn't expect to find her, and he didn't expect to leave such a short note, and he didn't expect his fingers to dial Remy, and Remy certainly didn't expect to hear from him, and neither man expected to meet at 2:15 in the morning in an airport in New Orleans, but with only the few clues Randy had from Meg herself, Randy knew he needed a native. And right now, he only had one in his corner.
Special thanks for editing! ::luvvies n cookies!::