Warning: Dark theme.
Ricardo Carlos Manoso, street name Ranger, silently slid his lock pick into the doorknob of Stephanie Plum's apartment door. Expecting a nearly inaudible click, the mercenary turned exhausted man was surprised when he found he already had access to his favorite person's hideaway. A security challenged second rate apartment in a boring brick complex, prone to break-ins by Trenton's finest. A far cry from his tastefully decorated, seventh floor safe haven in what was no doubt the safest building in all of New Jersey.
Making a note of the fact that he should replace the cheaply manufactured panel of wood – the only thing standing between his Babe and the rest of the world – with something sturdier, Ranger slowly twisted the doorknob all the way to the right. After a moment of decision making, a new lock and deadbolt was added to the list of renovations that would soon improve the apartment's security. Naturally, Ranger would have a copy of the key.
The fact the door was already unlocked was not lost on Ranger. A thousand different scenarios jumped into his mind, all screaming for his attention. All with the same thing in common. His Stephanie, his Babe, in danger and needing his help. In what seemed like slow motion, the door seemed to open without any effort from him, as if beckoning him in.
The relationship between Stephanie and Ranger was not a simple one by any means. Mentor and student, colleagues, one-time lovers, and best friends. A multitude of adjectives could be used to describe what flowed between their bond. Babe was undeniably the most important person in his life. His family, his men, and not even his own daughter had been able to carve out a place in his heart like Stephanie had.
But she didn't have just part of his heart. She had all of it, resting in the palm of her hand. And that very heart was beating fast in the thought that her hand, her self in its entirety, wasn't safely tucked away in bed. He couldn't count the amount of times she had made his heart stop. The memories flashed through his mind.
When he opened the cabinet door and she fell into his arms, walking into this very apartment and finding her held hostage by Scrog along with Julie, finding out she was with the Slayers in a park, the countless times she had blown up her POS cars or his Porsches – all times making her tracker blip go off the screen and causing him to choke.
Carlos Manoso was Army Special Forces soldier turned government mercenary, but at the very core of it all, he was a man. He could wipe away tears, cause laughter, make love to, protect, and take care of Stephanie Plum – but he wasn't God. He was lethal and dangerous at the right times, but he can't bring anyone back from the dead. And if his Babe had been killed while he was in the wind, he couldn't stop his soul from dying along with her. He was in too deep.
Drawing the handgun from the small of his back, Ranger took a few cautious steps into the foyer of the apartment.
He remembered the exact time he had last seen Steph: Three months, seventeen days, and twenty three minutes ago. He had started it off as just another routine day, unaware he would be whisked away by the government that evening to some God forsaken third world country. And the last time he had seen her, he hadn't even had the chance to speak to her.
Ranger was headed to the bonds office in his newest Porsche Turbo on the pretense of getting files from Connie. But a Betty Boop impersonation and manila folders containing sleazy mug shots was the last thing he desired. His mind had been on the curly-haired, blue-eyed woman that had double-timed it across the parking lot to make her escape just as he had pulled in.
As he angled out of his vehicle, his eyes met the blue ones peeking over her shoulder as she hopped in her latest POS Jeep. Ranger had stood at parade rest and watched as she floored it out of the parking lot, leaving behind a trail of car exhaust and desperation.
The lack of shine and sparkle in those trademark blue eyes had been in a pocket of Ranger's mind from start to finish during his mission.
Inquiring inside to Stephanie's two nosiest yet surprisingly tight-lipped friends hadn't gleamed him any information about her bizarre behavior. He had just chalked it up to the fact everything in Stephanie's life was bizarre, and had contented himself to retrieve his files. If she was still on his mind later, perhaps he would check her tracker and join her wherever she was.
Ranger never got the chance though. He was irritated but unsurprised when he received his orders that afternoon. He had three months left on his ball-busting but monetarily rewarding government contract. Trust the brass to make sure they squeeze all they could manage from him, since he had made it blatantly clear after their last fuck-up that he wasn't re-signing.
He knew from the file that the mission would take months to be cleared up – his plan was to spend the last few months of his contract on the mission and come back a free man. Finally able to claim who he desired to make his woman – Stephanie Plum.
Morelli had been out for the picture for a while, having taken a different position at work that had moved him out of state. He had asked Stephanie to come with him but she refused to say yes – stuck at an impasse, they had parted their ways. Steph had more mourned the loss of someone she had known all her life than a man she had feelings for.
At least, until the dust of Morelli's departure had settled down. Somehow word – and pictures – had gotten out of the activities Officer Morelli had been participating in. A mobster Barbie, an overinflated bimbo, and a local policewoman had all been a part of the unofficial Joe Morelli harem. Yet, all Ranger found from what Stephanie let on was pain from her precious trust being broken, nothing more.
Everything was laid out in Ranger's mind. His men had orders to watch over her while he was on his mission, Morelli was out of the picture, and soon his contract would be too. Things may change or happen while he was in the wind, but in Carlos Manoso's mind, there was nothing he couldn't handle. But it turns out his men may not have done their job in protecting his Babe like they were ordered to.
Stephanie Michelle Plum had a lot of nicknames. They included Babe, Cupcake, and Bombshell Bounty Hunter. Ranger's men often called her Bomber, and her daddy's childhood nickname for her was Pumpkin. Some nicknames she preferred over others, but it wasn't what they called her that hurt her – it was what they said about her.
Many women would complain about acquaintances and even friends saying one thing to their face, yet whispering an entirely different thing behind their back. Stephanie didn't even have that luxury. Many of the words said to her face would even have the more loosely tongued women gasping in shock.
Stephanie's own mother called her a failure and an embarrassment. Valerie looked down her nose at her even when she was doing her sister a favor. The sluts her ex-husband and ex-boyfriend slept with didn't keep their comments to themselves about why she apparently couldn't keep their attention. Her own cousin threatened to fire her daily from her lackluster job because her 'obvious incompetence'.
Being a bounty hunter was no little girl's dream job. A woman didn't just say to herself, I want to get my ass handed to me repeatedly and be thrown in garbage time after time for fun. Apparently it was okay to be unemployed and broke – people were sympathetic, blame the president for this horrid economy these days – yet finding a job that although isn't the norm, but pays the bills, is not respectable.
Futures didn't just go down the toilet for no apparent reason. After losing her job at E.E. Martin, her car had been close to being repo-ed. She was on her last jar of peanut butter and Ritz crackers. With no money in her wallet and a mailbox full of bills, what was a girl supposed to do?
Stephanie's mother could answer that question for the Burg. Helen Plum would hold her chin up high while glancing down her nose to say simply, "Get married."
Born in, bred by, and fucked with by the Burg the majority of her life, Stephanie would take what she considered the high road and take care of her own damn self. And apparently having a job and being single entitled her to degrading criticism.
Stephanie Plum didn't purposely keep her job to have another car bought by her hard-earned money blown up by an asshole skip and make the headlines 'Bombshell Bounty Hunter Blows Another Sky-high'. She didn't let the skips throw her into garbage and unmentionable substances to be a laughingstock and criticized, she was always trying her hardest to make ends meet.
She didn't date one Joe Morelli to have him harangue her to give up her life – an apparently pointless and joke of a life – to tie herself to him. She didn't trust someone she thought was a deep down good guy to be cheated on and then have his under the sheets relationships aired publicly.
According to the Burg, a thirty-year-old woman should snatch up any Burg man willing to take her, be him a womanizer or not. Considering Stephanie is 'average size and not that interesting to look at', she should be grateful to have a stud-muffin like Joe Morelli intending to put a rock on her finger. Her biological clock was tick tick ticking away.
Stephanie Plum didn't roll out of bed every morning to have a big 'fuck you' handed to her every day. She didn't try her hardest to progress in her life – to have more than a crap apartment, a POS car without insurance, and a hamster – by working the only job she could find that wasn't even consistent pay and went straight to bills and putting food in the cupboard.
So when you've rolled out of bed every morning to being taken advantage of and ridiculed for the past three years, it gradually gets a little more and more hard to take. Slowly the bitter pill gets bigger and harder to swallow.
Continuously it got harder every morning for Steph to work up the energy to roll out of bed. She was more content with watching the ticking hands move around the face of the clock. As the days on the calendar passed by, she was more and more ingrained in the habit of stealing snatches of sleep while the morning whizzed on by.
Soon getting up at nine turned into ten, ten into eleven, eleven into twelve… On it went until the earliest she could muster herself to rise was two o'clock in the afternoon. Her work suffered with the lack of attention and the hours of the day it required, making her accounts dwindle and her debt rise. Just like after her E.E. Martin days, anything in her apartment with value was sold for its worth.
Jeans and CAT boots faded into what was most comfortable or whatever she had closest to her. Curly hair was barely tamed into a half-mustered ponytail. A vacant expression and a readiness to nod and agree seemed to satisfy almost anyone she came in contact with.
The only person who could read her like a book and had any chance of helping pull her out of her nonexistence wasn't around anymore. There one day and gone the next, his silent but solid presence in her corner having vanished in a single day had laid her open to the public's barrage of criticism.
With each passing day that Ranger vanishing into the wind was further in the past, the more distance was between her and his men. They were obviously under orders to keep her safe, but the lack of excitement in the crazy stalker-slash-skip area of her life must have been convincing them their manpower and valuable time was being wasted.
Lula and Connie found interest in their own love lives – Connie had found a man with considerably notable ties to the mob scene she hailed from, and Lula had found a man similar to Tank that could keep up with her size and craziness accordingly. Mary Lou's in-laws had moved close by, and she was pressured constantly in family life and its expectations.
So without much attention, Stephanie's popularly known ravenous appetite dwindled into nothing. A bubbly, effervescent woman with bright blue eyes faded into a hollowed out, lackluster ghost of her former self.
Yet, everyone around her looked right through it. Absorbed in their own run of the mill yet oh so important lives, no one noticed the life seeping out of her cracks. A few noticed a bit more compliance with what everyone else wanted, but they just celebrated that as a success of breaking her in a bit. None of them realized that they truly had broken her spirit.
Stephanie Plum was suffering from clinical depression.
Taking the stealthiest steps possible in black combat boots, Ranger stepped into the hideously decorated and barely used kitchen. His gun was held at arm's length in front of him, two handed and ready to be used at a second's notice. When he froze in place, taking in his surroundings, the loudest thing in the apartment was the absence of a hamster wheel squeaking. A single glance at the kitchen countertop confirmed the rodent's absence.
Had Rex died? The little hamster had been Stephanie's silent and undemanding companion for as long as he had known her. Requiring two tiny meals a day and a clean cage once a month, Rex had been Stephanie's only commitment. The rodent hadn't asked for more attention and time than Babe was willing to give, yet he still gave her a sense of home. It worked for her.
The kitchen area blended into the so-called living room – now it was just an empty area. The outline of Stephanie's old worn-out couch was imprinted into the carpet. The outline for the TV stand also revealed its previous placement. Cheap plastic blinds were shut and covering all the windows, barely keeping the city streetlights and nosy world out.
Besides her bedroom, the living room was Steph's favorite place to spend her time. They had spent many nights together on that run-down couch, watching her favorite movie on the outdated TV and theater system she used to have. A flashback presented itself in his mind.
"Babe?" Ranger asked as he stepped into the living room of the apartment, his gun at the ready and his stance defensive. He didn't understand the image of the back of Stephanie's head from where she was seated on her couch.
She bounced around, her knees ending up on the cushions and her hands on the back of the couch, facing him. "There you are, Ranger!"
"Babe, you texted me there was an emergency, and to come to your apartment straight away. I don't understand."
Stephanie then proceeded to spring off the couch, grab something off the TV stand, and rocket to stand right in front of him.
"This IS an emergency! My VCR ate Ghostbusters!" She held up the ruined VCR in front of his face to prove her point.
Relief from finding out she was alright and amusement from her definition of an emergency had a rare full smile spreading itself across his face.
"There are movie rental stores for a reason Babe."
Why was her furniture missing? Babe had never been one to put a lot of effort into interior design – whether by lack of interest or lack of funding – but that had made her few pieces of furniture all the more relevant. It didn't even look like someone lived here any longer. Had Steph moved away? Had she gone to be with the cop after all?
He hadn't taken the time to touch base with Tank and Rangeman, preferring to see his Babe as soon as possible after his mission. He had spent the entire time he was away trying to figure out how to make up for all the lines he had fed her, and how exactly he would convince her of his love for her. Ranger wanted to start his life with her immediately – they had wasted enough time already, over three years.
Ranger pulled up the plastic blinds to stare down into the parking lot. His Porsche – left waiting by Tank for the moment he touched the ground – was in the first row. The parking lot mostly contained middle class cars purchased several years ago, the best thing about them being when they were paid off.
A 1997 Mercury Grand Marquis that had seen better days and a 2000 VW Bug painted an ungodly green color both stuck out in his mind. The Marquis seemed more likely considering the state of her apartment, yet neither seemed to scream 'latest POS car'.
It had started to drizzle since he had arrived, making the window foggy and the parking lot hazily lit. The atmosphere in Trenton and inside seemed different than typical. It left him apprehensive and on guard. What would the next hour expose to him?
Stepping away from the window, Ranger opened the kitchen cupboards to examine. They held an untouched box of Butterscotch Krimpets, an unopened JIF peanut butter and Ritz crackers. A few boxes of Kraft Mac & Cheese, several cans of soup and a cup of Maruchan instant noodles made up the rest of the food reserves.
Would he find olives, bread, and cans of soda in the fridge? No. The fridge was turned off. He was uncertain and confused – was his Babe still living here or not?
Ranger hadn't rested in over twenty four hours and his adrenaline high had crashed several hours ago. The soldier and mercenary were more centered in the forefront of his mind, and with his exhaustion, the man inside him had trouble taking over. Everything inside of him wasn't satisfied with what he was discovering.
Ranger headed down the hallway towards the door to Stephanie's bedroom. The door was closed and the crack under the door was pitch black, no rays of light peeking out at him. Still unconvinced that there was no threat of danger, he kept his gun at the ready while he opened the door with his left hand.
The Morelli garage when she was six. The floor of the Tasty Pastry when she was sixteen. The dining room table when she was married. The bedroom in her apartment when she was in Ranger's debt.
All of the moments in Stephanie's life where she was screwed over emotionally flashed in her mind.
Joe Morelli taking advantage of her twice in her childhood, her new husband screwing her childhood nemesis in the brand new home they had bought together, and Ranger sweet-talking himself into her bed then telling her to go crawling back to Morelli.
People take what they want from her and leave the rest. Her mother and Morelli would take her body, put it in the image of a wife and mother, and leave her personality behind. Ranger would take her body and leave her emotions behind.
Was there not a single good thing about her, something worth keeping? Not her diet, it drove Ranger crazy. Not her stubbornness and determination, it was a 'risk' and 'frustrating to the point of Maalox' according to Morelli. Not her job, it was the epitome of failing as a woman to the Burg. Not her body, she was considered average and unworthy according to society in general.
Her last conversation with Morelli chose to be the tipping point of it all.
"Cupcake, there you are. I've been looking everywhere for you… Why the heck are you back here? Why are you on the ground?"
Stephanie just stared at the scuffed but relatively new shoes Joe had on. She was sitting with her back against the brick wall, a couple feet deep in the alley that Ranger had made their private spot. Arms wrapped around the knees pulled up against her chest, she didn't even bother looking up.
"Wait, let me guess. Ranger pulled you in, kissed you till he got his fill, and then went to save the world once again? No, don't answer that. I don't want to know. I hear enough from everyone else about my girlfriend stepping out on me."
Again, no response or glance from Stephanie. It didn't need one – he had hit the nail on the head.
"When are you going to realize that I'm the best you're going to do? And I'm damn good. So why can't you get it through your head that he doesn't love you? From this type of behavior, I'd have thought even someone as strong headed as you would have gotten the message."
Didn't Joe realize that was what had her on the ground, struck to her core? Ranger's kisses healed and broke her heart at the same time. They made her world spin and stop altogether. And she had learned throughout her difficult life that magic like that didn't stick around. It didn't lead to a happily ever after.
It stayed long enough to change you then left you craving it for the rest of your life when it's gone.
"Anyway, have you decided about coming with me? The job is going to pay well. You won't want for anything, not like you are now with the way you're surrounded by criminals and thugs."
She was in love with Carlos Manoso, not this overinflated and condescending Morelli man. He lived his life claiming to have broken the Morelli curse, but it was slim. The way he carried himself and the way he talked to some people was reminiscent of his father. His 'holier than thou' attitude was picked up from Angie Morelli and Helen Plum.
Ranger never pretended to be more than he was. He was straight forward in what he wanted and the way he got it. He never promised Steph anything he wasn't willing to give and she was thankful for it. She always knew where they stood, even when she was longing and daydreaming for more. He didn't paint a picture for her to hope for then pulled it out from under her.
He was Ranger and she was Babe. Neither would ask the other to change.
"So it is a yes or no? I don't know how much more of this crap I can take, Cupcake. This is your last chance. Are you coming with me?"
Finally Stephanie slowly raised her head and looked up at her public boyfriend. She never had truly committed herself to him and didn't plan to. She had realized she hadn't truly loved him in a while. And it had never been with a burning passion or lifelong commitment, but because of how comfortable their relationship was when they weren't fighting, they had both clung on.
It was like a well-worn t-shirt you had for several years. It was comfortable, but after a while it was too worn out, and eventually you threw it out.
Blue eyes met brown eyes, and she found her voice, as weak as it was.
"No."
Flames filled with rejection, fury, and a bit of hurt flared up in Morelli's brown eyes. His nostrils flared, his jaw clenched, and the vein in his neck popped out.
"So that's how it is, Cupcake? You're choosing the mercenary over me? Fine, stay broke and the black sheep of the Burg. I was willing to ignore your stubbornness and inability to commitment – your cheating with Ranger the product of that – and give you a good life, but I guess not. Good luck finding another decent man that will put up with you."
Seeming to bite back the rest of the torrent of angry, bitter words, Morelli spun on his heel and started to march out of the alleyway next to the bonds office. After a few steps, he turned back around to face Stephanie with an air of finality.
"Don't even bother trying to improve your life. You act like you're too good for the Burg and for me, but you're not. In fact, you're doing us all a favor, because you're the one that truly isn't good enough. You'll never be good enough for anything. Goodbye, Stephanie."
And with that, he was gone – leaving a dangerous thought in his wake.
Even putting up with the Burg's comments for the majority of her life, what Joe had said to her had still struck something in her. Since she was a little girl, she had always been worried about being good enough. On the surface, she deflected barbs and played everything off like it was nothing – but being good enough had been one of her biggest worries.
If she would never be good enough… Why be anything at all?
A Stephanie-shaped figure under the rumpled sheets immediately drew his eyes. Relief flooded through him, his breathing slowing and his knees almost giving out. For a brief moment of weakness, Ranger allowed himself to slump against the doorway. She was safe.
Feeling the need to double-check the security, his attention was then focused on the bedroom window covered in a dark green blackout curtain. While having a fire escape was thought to protect in the case of a fire, they rusted out quickly and gave easy access into Babe's bedroom. It had proven to be a security hazard multiple times – the simple lock on the window did little to impede psycho FTAs.
The lock revealing itself to be latched and the glass intact, his single-minded focus on his Babe's wellbeing withdrew and allowed his tunnel vision to expand. A single nightlight plugged in a corner wall socket served as the only thing illuminating the nearly bare room to his eyes.
Memories provided everything that this room used to hold – a dresser, a chest at the end of the bed, a bulging closet – yet the bluish glow revealed to him the obvious holes missing those items. All that remained was the rumpled bed and the chest of drawers his Babe put her everyday clothes in.
In the corner of the bedroom that was diagonally left to the foot of the bed, there remained a blue chair that had seen the likes of Ranger many times. A small table and a lamp were placed next to her bed. Detecting no threat unless the furniture decided to attack, Ranger stuck his gun in the back of his cargoes waistband.
Upon opening the closet door, there was a glaringly obvious lack of distraction dresses and dangerously high FMPs that usually inhabited and overflowed the tiny closet. Only two out of the five dresser drawers held clothes – yoga pants and baggy t-shirts the most prominent items – the rest of the drawers surprisingly held the majority of Steph's sentimental trinkets.
One of the two drawers used for clothing brought an almost smile to his face. There were at least five of his standard black t-shirts, two pairs of black silk boxer shorts, and a small pile of her specially made Rangeman uniforms – courtesy of Ella. The black shirts had Ranger flashing back to one of his favorite memories of Stephanie.
Having spent a long day working together, trying to locate one of Stephanie's outstanding FTAs, she had offered to have dinner and watch a movie at her place to thank him for his help. After a few movies and more than a couple beers, she offered to share half of her bed.
Feeling grungy from sitting in an SUV the majority of the day, Ranger had elected to take a shower. Throwing his dirty clothes in a pile outside the bathroom door, he was in and out of the shower with the efficiency of a well-trained soldier. After all, there was a bottle of Bulgari already in there.
One towel wrapped around his waist and using another one to dry his hair, he opened the bathroom door, releasing the steamy air and strolling into Steph's bedroom.
"I'm beat," Stephanie yawned, walking into the room. She then proceeded to pull off her shirt and bra, toe off her jeans, and threw them in a pile of clothes in a corner.
Steph snagged the black shirt from the pile Ranger had left outside the bathroom and pulled it over head.
Ranger's eyebrow quirked. "It probably smells a bit Babe."
She grabbed the collar of the shirt and pulled it up to her nose. "It smells like you." She shrugged with a content little smile, and in his shirt and a pair of panties, bounced into her bed.
Snuggling into the sheets and getting comfortable, she attempted to mimic his eyebrow raise.
"Well, aren't you coming Batman?"
Ranger silently stood in the bathroom doorway and observed the barren sink counters. Stephanie's Jersey girl war paint was no longer sprawled across every available surface. The storage closet simply held a few supplies and necessities.
Was Stephanie deep in financial troubles? She had passingly told him about her living situation before she went to work for Vinnie and the status of her apartment now seemed to reflect the same picture. Why hadn't she gone to work at Rangeman if she was this desperate? Ranger had tried to make it clear that he would provide for her whether she wanted it or not.
Ranger knew better than anyone how stubborn Stephanie Plum could be, but anything she needed would be hers. As this night progressed, he was starting to regret not checking in. While he would have driven immediately over afterwards, it may have provided answers to the questions he had.
Planning for it shouldn't have been so easy. While she wasn't tied down unlike most people in their early thirties, it still surprisingly proved to be utterly simple. Things seemed to take care of themselves – her relationships had faded away and the majority of her belongings had been sold for money.
The remainder of her clothing and belongings? Let her relatives and friends pick what they want and donate the rest to Goodwill. The remaining furniture in her 'home' could easily be gotten rid of. The money remaining in her checking and savings account had already been deposited in both Mary Alice's and Angie's college funds. She had managed to scrape together five hundred dollars for them each.
When her used Jeep Liberty was turned into a fireworks display outside of Cluck in a Bucket two months ago, Stephanie hadn't bothered pouring more money into another vehicle. Simply asking Grandma Mazur had granted her use of the notorious Big Blue.
While it guzzled gas and wrinkled noses in distaste, it served its purpose as a mode of transportation. So when Stephanie started to plan her parting, simply returning Big Blue back to its hiding place had taken care of that matter.
What about Rex? At the last family dinner at her parent's house she had attended, her sister and nieces had been there was well. When Mary Alice had taken a moment to translate from neighing like a horse to speaking like a human, she had mentioned her class was looking for a suitable little pet. Her teacher had thought it would be a good learning experience for the class – taking responsibility for something other than themselves.
A call to Valerie had a happy agreement from Mary Alice to give Rex a new home in her fourth grade classroom. Upon picking him up, both Valerie and Mary Alice had promised that he would be well looked after – that was good enough for Stephanie.
The biggest question in her mind was how it would affect everyone close to her when they found out. While she was born and raised a Catholic, she wasn't scared that she was going to be sent to hell. She had already seen hell – looking into Scrog's eyes, Lula's eyes when she had found her, Stark Street, and some of the FTAs she had come across.
Stephanie knew her mom truly loved her underneath her exterior – Helen wanted what she considered best for Steph, and she tried to help her get it in her own twisted way. Her family may be a bit dysfunctional considering they used food to explain their emotions – pineapple cake said 'I love you' – but they weren't abusive like the Morelli family once was.
Her father routinely kept his head down at dinner, staying out of their conversations rather than deflecting Helen's pointed comments, but he loved her as well. The rare moments he elected to show some emotion was accompanied by his nickname for her, Pumpkin.
Grandma Mazur generally used her youngest granddaughter for gossip at her hair salon and a ride to viewings – and also consistently remained one of few loyal people in Stephanie's corner. Grandma had a fire in her that most seventy-year-old women didn't. Instead of choosing to be a bitter old crone, she had a youthful fire in her that was freed when Grandpa had passed.
Valerie, Saint Valerie, had been her mother's favorite since Stephanie could talk and was obviously not a Burg clone. They were polar opposites. Everything Stephanie did was compared to her, in which she always fell short, and Valerie loved every moment of it. Even when Valerie divorced her cheating husband, it was worse for Stephanie when she did the exact same thing.
As both they got older and Valerie got a better grasp on her place in the world, things got less tense in their relationship, but they would never been close. Feelings of resentment starting at an early age had formed an unshakable chasm between them.
So did Stephanie think her family would mourn her when they found out? For a little while. Would her friends? Lula, Connie, Mary Lou, Eddie, and Morelli – they all had their own lives now. They would be a bit shaken but they'd all move on soon enough.
Ranger was another matter entirely.
Stephanie and Ranger's relationship was not clear cut to the public, but to them, it was crystal clear. Ranger had admitted before that she was his best friend, and he was hers. A best friend she just happened to be in love with. But she never pushed for more in fear he would draw back. Just having him in her life whatever way he wanted was good enough for her.
But she wasn't good enough for him.
Morelli made it blatantly clear, and the Merry Men seemed to agree. While they never spoke their opinion – they rarely spoke at all – every time she met a new Merry Man, they seemed to have an air of amusement and wonder around them. She could always feel the unspoken question of why exactly Ranger chose to keep her around.
While it was a single time that they had been intimate together, she did prove entertainment and amusement to his life, which honestly Stephanie didn't think he got enough of. Ranger spent most days wading through the underbelly of society and she couldn't blame a man for keeping someone enjoyable around.
She couldn't blame him too much – but it still stung her. He was a gorgeous, successful Cuban Sex God. And Stephanie was a broke, failing-at-life Burg white girl. Even she wouldn't choose her if she was him. Ranger could have any woman in Trenton and he probably did, not that it ever happened to her knowledge.
Had she known before he disappeared that she would soon be parting ways, she would have taken the time to give a proper goodbye. One filled with kissing and being held, maybe a few tears he wouldn't have understood but that would have been alright. Being held by him one last time was all she wanted. It was almost tempting to her to wait until he got back, but she had the date set.
Stephanie knew the exact day and way she would finally fly away. She would write her final goodbyes in letters to the most important people in her life, take an entire bottle of sleeping pills, and lay down to fall asleep for a final time. The door to her apartment would be unlocked – someone would find her soon enough. By then, she would be free of this world.
Stephanie's plan was simple.
Ranger didn't hear deep breathing or snoring. She must have woken up.
Stephanie was an in tune to his presence as he was to hers. The majority of the times Ranger had let himself in during the middle of the night, she stirred shortly and immediately called out to him. He would sit in his usual spot – a straight-back chair she kept in the corner of her room specifically for him – and she would remain in bed.
Sometimes he would talk and she'd quietly listen, other times they'd simply enjoy the security of each other's presence. It helped soften his rough corners and pulled the man back out of the soldier when he was returning from government missions. One circumstance when Steph had sensed how precariously on edge he was came to mind.
Her voice sounded groggy with sleep and absolutely beautiful.
"Ranger? Is that you?"
"Yes Babe, it's me." He spoke softly and slowly, not wanting to frighten her.
He felt the exact opposite of comforting and safe at the moment, but he refused to allow himself to make a mistake with her. As it was, repeatedly sneaking into their bedroom in the middle of the night didn't exactly convince a person that he was sane and not to be feared.
Considering the state of him, he shouldn't even have come tonight.
But Stephanie had never proven herself to be like the norm, and that didn't change because of what time of day it was.
"Are you alright? Even from over there, you seem… tense."
Even in the dark, she hit the nail on the head. He was strung up and wounded emotionally. Not everyone on his team had made it out alive on this mission. A soldier had died while Ranger had been carrying him to safety.
He had led the team ten miles to their checkpoint, carrying the youngest squad member on his back after he had taken a bullet to the thigh, only to find him already gone when they arrived.
"You're right… I shouldn't have come." Ranger apologized the only way he knew how and was swiftly on his feet and headed to the door, his adrenaline still riding strong.
A movement from Stephanie caught his eye, even in the dark. With a bit of focusing and help from the nightlight, he saw a hand extended in his general direction.
"Don't go Ranger… Come sleep with me?" There was a bit of hesitation in the words, as if worried about rejection.
Ranger was torn between protecting her from himself, or doing as they both wished and climbing into the warm bed with her. But with the state he was in now – it was like a lamb inviting a lion to come share its den.
Sensing his hesitation, Stephanie said one word that sealed the deal – it had his adrenaline crashing into exhaustion and his boots being toed off to join her in bed.
"Please."
Babe never understood how much it had meant to him.
Many women were terrified of him due to his rough exterior, and the few who didn't immediately judge and condemn focused entirely on what lay underneath his clothes. Being held and sleeping sounded like such a commonplace and simple thing, yet it was rare. In all of his life, Stephanie had been the only woman to invite him into her bed for something other than a tumble in the sheets.
Ranger knew that she considered herself average and the Burg was the quickest to point out her flaws. But Stephanie's heart was the kindest he knew, next to his Abuela's. His employees that she had affectionately nicknamed Merry Men refused to admit it, but they all loved her in their own way. Looking straight through the usual judgments, Steph saw past the preconceived image of hired thugs.
Ranger admired her. Her strength of personality and perseverance matched that of the best soldiers he knew. She had a fire within her that made her strong enough to stand up to everyone who challenged her. The Burg, her family, skips and crazy people – they all couldn't break that strength in her regardless of their strongest efforts.
Although she could stand her own and willingly did when needed, he still had an instinct to protect her. While he was a trained assassin and had reserves to help her disappear if that circumstance came, it wasn't so easy for him to protect her against gossip. Damage control only worked when you had influence over the individual, and the Burg didn't give a rat's ass about whether he was a badass or not.
Ranger could tap the ground in Stark Street for information but remained unable to silence a chatty housewife. Strong faced and head held high worked in public, yet behind closed doors showed that Steph was able to take only so much bullshit. He had done his best to minimize repercussions due to his place in her life, although certain mouths were determined to continuously run.
Leaving for almost four months hadn't worried him a bit at the time – now he was finding out how much could change in fifteen weeks. If only she had went to live at Haywood. Stephanie would always be loved and taken care of when she was there.
Emotionally drained, Ranger approached his usual spot, noticing white envelopes resting on the seat of the blue chair. But the lack of movement or noise from Stephanie drew his attention away from them. His instincts once again buzzing loudly – they had never quite stopped going off since he had entered the apartment – he quickly approached the bed.
A gentle hand reached out to pull down the covers that were pulled over Stephanie's curly head. Curled towards the wall, her body was motionless – missing the gentle movement of deep, even breathing when asleep.
Shock sparked throughout the nerves in Ranger's body as he grabbed her shoulder and rolled onto her back. Pressing his ear against the left side of her chest, a broken sob escaped from his chest when he didn't find a heartbeat. Frantically grabbing her wrist to check for a pulse, desperate denial flooded him. Stephanie, his Babe, couldn't be dead. She was his life, she couldn't be gone.
No pulse was found. Her skin had already lost most of its remaining warmth. An empty prescription bottle was curled up inside her fingers. Her eyes were closed and her face was a pale imitation of its usual fair complexion. A simple black t-shirt and a pair of Army sweatpants that swamped her petite frame were the clothes she wore – Ranger's shirt and pants.
NO! Blackness overtook Ranger's subconscious as the truth before him sunk in. The lamp hit the wall and shattered. His fists beat against the walls and his boots battered the bedside table. The blue chair was picked up by its back – spilling the white envelopes across the carpet floor – and beaten against the closet door until it splintered into nothing. A wordless roar of fury filled the empty bedroom as the dresser was shoved onto its side.
Ranger finally collapsed against a battered wall as his rage dwindled out, leaving gut-wrenching despair and heartbreak in its wake. For the first time in twenty years, he cried. Ranger sobbed like a child getting separated from its mother, like a baby bird with a broken wing.
Stephanie, his Babe, was dead.
He pushed himself onto his knees and crawled over to the bed. Cradling his Babe's lifeless body in his arms, he sat on the floor and mourned.
He mourned the strong-willed little girl who jumped off her family's garage to fly. He mourned the trusting young woman who found her new husband cheating and promptly exacted hell on him. He mourned the broke and desperate woman who bullied her cousin into giving her a job. He mourned the nontraditional bounty hunter who hated her gun and got her cars blown up.
Memories of Stephanie flashed before his eyes. Held hostage by Scrog along with his daughter, scared for Ranger's life. Yelling back at Morelli after one of her cars was blown sky-high and he blamed her for it. Stunning Hal with his own stun gun.
Her being pleasured during their single glorious night together. The look on her face when he told her to go back to Morelli. Her lips swollen and her eyes full of trust staring at him after they kissed in their alley. The look of guilty happiness she had every time he handed her keys to one of his cars.
And the look on her face when he had last seen her outside the bonds office.
Ranger loved her, the coldblooded mercenary. Carlos loved her, the man underneath the mask. He was her Batman, and she was his Wonder Woman. This wasn't how their story was supposed to end, this wasn't their someday.
Her head tucked under his chin and his eyes burning from the tears, he remembered the white envelopes. There must be answers tucked inside them somewhere, he needed answers. Even with them, he wasn't sure he could still bear the pain.
There were five envelopes, the names on their fronts reading: Batman, Joe, Mary Lou, Plum Family, and Connie & Lula. Discarding the remaining four back onto the carpet, Ranger ripped open his letter while taking a deep breath.
Dear Batman,
I love you.
While I feel like I would be okay with this being all I finally say to you, I know you wouldn't accept that.
How does someone explain that all-consuming, gut-wrenching despair one feels? The only way to understand it is to experience it, and I pray to God you've never had to go through this. Though that may be a pointless prayer, considering what I plan on doing after I finish all these letters.
I know one of the few things you admired me for was my spunk. I wasn't successful, I generally didn't wake up happy with my life, and sure as hell no one was happy with me.
My entire life seemed to be spent deflecting comments and jabs at my decisions and who I am. Most people would have grown strong and made ignoring it seem second nature, but sometimes it just wears you down to the point of breaking. And I broke Carlos – it's as simple as that.
I know you probably won't forgive me for not saying goodbye – I wanted to wait to see you one last time, I will admit – but perhaps its better this way. You can keep me in your mind as the girl with the Jersey attitude, the handful that blew up cars and walked away from all the explosions. Not the girl who ghosted away, who faded from view.
Many people consider suicide as weak – religious people view it as a straight shot way to Hell. But I've experienced a bit of hell on Earth right alongside you. And statistics say that the suicide rate is high in soldiers –soldiers are anything but weak.
I know this letter probably sounds like nothing but lame excuses trying to convince you I'm not weak or choosing the easy way out by ending my life. But I'll let you be the judge of me – you were the only person I've truly cared about their opinion of me.
I don't think I truly regret anything in my life. It led me to know and meet everyone I have – it led me to you. I fell in love with you Carlos Manoso, the time I spent with you was the best part of my life. While I wish it could have been more than it was, I'm happy with what we shared together.
Now it's my time to fly Batman. See you on the other side.
Te Amo,
Babe.
To say a sense of finality settled over him after finishing the letter would have been a lie. His heart and his very soul felt like they had been torn out. In the end, he had failed at what he had designated as his most important assignment.
Ranger had failed at protecting and care for Stephanie. If he had been around Trenton instead of on a mission from the government, he would have seen the changes in his Babe and helped her overcome the darkness. Instead, he had signed his life away four years ago – along with it, hers.
The failure and loss struck him to his core. But Stephanie wouldn't leave him behind to live a half-life without her. Ranger had been incomplete before she came into his life, and now that he had a taste of what happiness and love could feel like, he wouldn't go on without it. He couldn't – the light at the end of the tunnel had gone out with her.
Ranger had torn through humid jungles full of bugs, deserts with never-ending sand, and waded through filthy cities entirely made up of Stark Streets – all only because he had a reason to keep going. His contract with the government was done and he had all the wealth he could ever want – but it meant nothing without the single person that consisted of his world.
Let someone come and find them together, assume whatever they care to. It wouldn't be anyone's problem but their own. Let someone else distribute Stephanie's goodbye letters for her. Ranger didn't have any goodbyes to say or plans to make – his will was plainly written and Rangeman taken care of.
Pressing a gentle kiss to Stephanie's forehead, Ranger reached behind his back to his waistband. He gripped the handle with a feeling of finality and withdrew it from his pants. Clicking off the safety and cocking it, he held the love of his life in his left arm while his right hand placed his gun against his temple.
"I'm ready to fly now too, Babe. See you soon."
And he pulled the trigger.
Author's Note: This is the first time I've written in two years, and I have to admit, it felt amazing. My own feelings and experiences fueled this story, so this has been therapeutic for me. I hope you enjoyed this one-shot - thank you for taking the time to read it, and I hope you'll take a moment to review!