The a/c in the car hummed continuously, a pleasantly neutral drone that kept Meg asleep and Randy anchored to reality. "Holy shit," he whispered, "You're really here." He felt frozen, afraid that any movement would cause her to disappear, prove she was an illusion and he really had lost his mind from lack of sleep and an overload of guilt. Slowly, he reached for his phone, unlocked it, took a single picture of her as he drove toward her rental car, and sighed. "I have no idea what to do now," he whispered, "But I'm glad you waited."

Randy could barely believe Meg had stayed in the clubhouse after he left. His car was parked in Joe's driveway, and not only did he refuse to let her walk that far, he saw no reason to make her face the same misery twice. He left his cell number at the clubhouse desk with instructions to call if she so much as stood up, but she made no moves to leave. 'Just trust me,' Randy thought, as he jogged to his car, 'No promises, because I know I fuck up. Just trust me enough to stay put, and I'll take care of the rest.' By the time he returned, he was coated in sweat from the humid Tampa air, and Meg wrinkled her nose at the sight of him.

"You look like you got your car, went to a match, and then came to pick me up."

"Would you be offended if I said you probably needed a shower, too?"

"Touche, Mr. Orton. You win this round. Just remember, I smell better when it's all said and done. And while you're at it, hand me your phone? I need to ditch my rental if we're going to be taking yours."

Mentally, Randy fist-bumped himself. 'She said she would ditch her rental! And take yours! Once we get Dave, maybe he'll have a better idea.' Meg made a quick call, and then lobbed the phone back to Randy – her toss wobbled badly off-center, and he had to lean to grab the phone.

"Sorry. My aim sucks. Anyway...we have to get going. I don't have long before someone comes to get the car, and my suitcase...and stuff...is in there."

"You can arrange rental pick-up service from three states away?"

"You can do lots of illegally-arranged things if you have enough questionably-attained cash."

Shaking his head, Randy stood to guide her out the door, but Meg snatched her arm away from him. "I've got it. Go ahead." She waited until he was well out the door ahead of her before following, leaving Randy to puzzle over what he had done wrong. Meg didn't say anything, just walked to the door of his car and leveraged her body against its frame while trying to pry the handle open. Randy knew better than to try to help; he just got into the driver's seat and waited the few minutes it took her to get the door open on her own.

'I'll wait til you tell me, Meg. Just...don't bail on me.'

She dozed off almost immediately once she got in, greedy for sleep as though she hadn't had any for months. Randy was glad to give her silence and security. Interestingly, or oddly, she didn't flinch as he began to drive – a statement of trust he didn't know how to appraise, but was grateful to mentally file away.

Meg woke briefly when they picked up her suitcase and box, and then again once they reached the airport after sunset. It was a struggle to talk Randy out of actually entering the airport, but he eventually acquiesced. Meg reasoned that sitting in the car would be private and quiet, the parking garage was darkening, and they'd be able to pick up Dave and leave much sooner if they were able to direct him out than if they had to send a series of 'Where are you? Are you here?' text messages, on top of dealing with people who might recognize Randy. 'Plus, I can sleep in here. You're here. It's quiet.' After a few minutes of watching Meg settle in the passenger seat, her breathing even and slow, face relaxed, Randy was glad he hadn't continued the argument.

Dave messaged continuously, each text more exuberant than the last. Randy sighed, aggravated that his phone kept lighting up, and while trying to put it down instead managed to drop it in the center console much louder than he meant to. The thump woke Meg, who jumped slightly, then began a series of small, slow stretches with her eyes half-closed.

"Shit! Sorry, Meg. I didn't mean to -"

"It's okay. Really. I should probably get out and -"

Randy, panicking, grabbed her arm. "Meg, no! No. If you get out, you're going to leave." He watched her eyes go wide, then blank, and let go of her arm as fast as he had grabbed on to it.

"Randy," Meg whispered, "I wasn't -"

"No! No. I fucked up, I shouldn't just grab you like that."

Meg never took her eyes off his hands. She edged away from him in her seat, feeling blindly behind her for the handle to the door. By the time she got the door open, disentangled herself from the seat belt, and managed to orient her feet to the ground, her teeth were chattering. "I just...I wasn't..." Meg kept staring at him, backing away slowly, not bothering to close the door. A nearby car door slammed, and Meg launched herself back into the SUV, clipping her foot on the running board as she went. Randy quickly went from trying not to touch her at all to awkwardly trying to catch her before she fell face-first into the center console.

"Meg! Meg. Calm down. It's okay. It was just another car. We're in a parking garage. I've got you." Randy pushed her back into the passenger seat by her shoulders, leaning over to get the door closed behind her, mentally going over how things fell apart, not knowing if touching her now would make things worse or better. 'Five minutes ago, she was sleeping and calm. Then I had to fuck up and grab her. Yeah, that was probably when things fell apart.'

"Meg? Talk to me." Watching her refocus on him was a bit like watching a radio tune from static to stations. "Hey? Welcome back?" He carefully slid his hands down her arms, then away from her, and held them up in a gesture of surrender. "I swear to God, Meg, I didn't mean to-"

Dave chose that moment to materialize and knock on Meg's window; she shot a good foot out of her seat and nearly screamed. Randy had to start all over with trying to touch-but-not-touch her to calm her down. Dropping an elbow onto the button for the passenger window while still trying to hold Meg relatively still, he lowered it a good six inches before waving a middle finger at Dave, raising the window again, and unlocking the doors. Meg jolted at the noise.

"No, it's okay. It's Dave. Just Dave." Randy reached around her for her seat belt, clipping it across her waist. "Look, uh, I skipped the sandwich part of the deal, so I still owe you dinner." Meg wasn't listening; her eyes were darting around the SUV as though she was bracing for an attack. "Hey, Meg? Tune in for a second. It's easier when you pay attention." He leaned in entirely too close, but it forced her to back herself into the seat and look at him. "There you go. Slow down. I don't know what we're supposed to do with Dave. Or why his dumbass self hasn't put his luggage in yet. But, dinner. I owe you dinner. Can we go take care of that?"

Meg eyed him cautiously, her breathing too fast and too shallow, then nodded slowly. "O-okay. But...can we not go out?"

"Uh...sure?" 'Tread lightly, Orton.' "Can I be really dumb and ask why?"

Meg blushed. "You said I needed a shower."

Randy chuckled. "I think we both do." His phone took that opportunity to buzz from the center console. Without looking, he reached to pick it up – the message was from Dave, saying he was sorry and asking if he could open the door yet. Looking over the top of Meg's head, Randy could see him standing several parking spaces away, the expression on his face one of horrified regret.